Commodity

by Shay Savage

  “All right,” I say as I let out a long breath. “We’ll do it together.”

  *****

  “You sure you got this?”

  “I’ve got it, hon,” Christine says. “Don’t you worry about me.”

  I’m trying hard to believe her, and I have to admit her aim is pretty good, but I’m not used to handing my sniper rifle over to someone else to use.

  “Just stay out of sight, and only use it if you have to.”

  “If I get a chance to nail one of those assholes after you are away, I might just have to take it.” Christine smiles and winks at me.

  “No,” I say as I shake my head. “There are too many of them. There isn’t that much ammo. You would just be putting yourself at risk.”

  “I’ll keep her covered,” Marco says.

  “I can’t have any of you getting trigger happy,” I remind them. “This should be a quick in-and-out operation. Hopefully, no one will even know what’s happened until it’s too late. No shots fired, no bloodshed.”

  “Do you think that’s likely?” Chuck asks.

  “I think we’re outnumbered,” I say. “We have a serious disadvantage if we’re discovered. Everyone will hear a shot fired in that area. They have two exits they use plus the one I found. We only have enough people and weapons to cover two of them. I’m still not sure I like the idea of any of you being involved.”

  “Cope.” Christine looks at me pointedly, and I sigh.

  “If you come with me, and something happens, you won’t be able to come back here. They almost certainly know where you are.”

  “Sam and Katrina can get everything moved to another location,” Marco says. “Just the essential stuff. If something goes wrong, we’ll meet there.”

  “We can go to the house I was staying in with my brothers,” Katrina says. “I don’t know those guys, and they obviously don’t know about me, or they would have grabbed me, right?”

  I can’t argue with her logic. Katrina gives detailed directions on finding the house—I don’t want any of it written down to be found by someone else. Everyone seems clear on where to go if we’re separated.

  “The two of you move the essentials,” I say, “and then meet up with the rest of the group only if there is time.”

  Katrina and Sam agree though Katrina’s not happy about it. She seems to want to be in the potential thick of it.

  “We’ll meet up with everyone else before daybreak,” she says with determination.

  “Just be careful,” I warn. “Don’t be seen.”

  She salutes me with a grin.

  “We’re wasting time,” Chuck says. “Let’s get going.”

  *****

  Christine, Chuck, and Marco take their positions around the camp. Christine has the high ground on the far side of Ferst Drive on top of a semi-truck trailer abandoned in the street, and Chuck is close to her on the ground. Marco is two hundred feet away, under cover of rubble and facing the main entrance. If I’m discovered, it’s the most likely place people will exit, and it won’t take Chuck long to join Marco if needed.

  I take inventory of everything I’m carrying: two handguns, extra clips, a small crowbar, and my knives. Satisfied, I look to Chuck.

  “Good luck,” he says quietly.

  “Thanks.” I give him a grim smile. “I appreciate this—more than you know.”

  “Go get her,” he says as he grins back at me. “I’ll get Christine to cook those rabbits in celebration when it’s all over.”

  “Like hell,” she calls down from on top of the trailer.

  “I’ll cook them myself,” I tell him.

  “Deal!”

  It’s still dark as I approach the former fast-food place and duck inside. I have to walk carefully to avoid tripping over the debris on the floor as I make my way to the hole in the wall and the tunnel beyond. There’s no one in the storeroom when I get to the other side, and I slip between the crates and make my way into the compound without anyone taking notice.

  There are only a few people milling about outside. The water station I had seen the previous day now holds large percolators of coffee. At first, I think they have somehow managed to get a generator running, but then I realize the pots aren’t plugged in. Someone is filling them from smaller pots heated on a cooking fire.

  I keep close to one of the buildings between the Kessler and the shack where they’re keeping Hannah. I can’t see the front of the latter, but I assume the guards are still posted out front. As the sun breaks over the wall of garbage, more people enter the common area.

  I pull the ball cap down a little, shielding my face. I haven’t seen any sign of Caesar or Brett, but I don’t want to be recognized if they enter the area, and I don’t see them first. I scan the faces of the men as they pass me, recognizing only the two men who came to trade last night and the young man who had just shown up to join the camp.

  “Come on. It’s time for the drawing.”

  I take a deep breath and push off from the side of the building where I’m standing and walk at a steady pace against the crowd heading for the Kessler. No one seems to be paying attention to me as I make my way to my destination.

  To Hannah.

  Hold on a little longer. I’m coming.

  There is only one guard at the door. I wasn’t sure if these assholes would be included in the drawing or not, but one is better than two. He’s sitting near the door, propped up against one of the support beams holding the shelter roof in place. He’s smoking a cigarette and picking at dirt under his nails.

  I walk past, not looking at him, and twirl the small, yellow bracelet around my fingers. He glances in my direction and then goes back to picking at his fingernails. When I step off to the side and around the back of the building, he stays in the same position.

  Perfect.

  I close my eyes briefly as I center myself. I ignore the fact that Hannah is just inside, only a few feet from me, and concentrate.

  With one swift motion, I grab his head, pulling it back as I wrap my fingers around his neck and plunge the knife into his back. I turn and twist it, making sure the artery is severed. The rush of blood over my arm and his quick collapse tell me I’m successful.

  Propping him up against the support post, I try to make him look as lively as possible before I jump back to the side of the building. I look around quickly to see if anyone has noticed, but everyone is still focused on the drawing and not looking in this direction.

  Moving quickly, I pull the gutter away from the rain barrel and tip it to dump out the small amount of water at the bottom. I glance inside the container. It’s smooth enough and shouldn’t cause undue injury. There are rails on each side where Hannah will be able to brace herself. It will be a tight fit for her, but it’s the best way to get her out unnoticed. Even if her absence is discovered before I’m out of the compound, no one will suspect she’s inside the barrel.

  Again, I check the group in the distance. A few of them are starting to move about, their tasks for the next few days determined, but none of them seems to be in any hurry. I pull the barrel back into the cover of the shrubs beside the building and peek through the crack in the wall.

  There’s no one visible inside the main room.

  Quietly and quickly, I pull the small crowbar from my belt and slide it into the crack, wedging it securely before pulling back. The plywood is thin and cracks easily under the pressure. I pause a moment, making sure no one has heard the sound, but everyone is still far off at Kessler.

  When I’ve made the opening large enough to squeeze through, I find myself inside the empty main room. I have no idea how much time I really have, so I make my way around the room to the other side of the building.

  Beyond the wall, in the area I couldn’t see from the crack, there are two small doors side-by-side. They look like stall doors from a public restroom. I can see underneath them well enough to tell that there isn’t much inside other than a pile of blankets to make up a bed. To the side of the stall door
s, there’s another small cot.

  Hannah is there, lying with her back to me, sleeping. I can see her shoulders shift as she breathes steadily. I check the door behind me as I approach and then lay my hand on her shoulder, shaking her gently.

  “Hannah!” I call quietly. “Hannah, wake up! I gotta get you outta here!”

  She doesn’t respond though I sense her breathing change. I want to revel in the fact that she’s right here in front of me for the first time in seven months. I can feel her warm skin under my fingers again, and all I want to do is hold her close to me and enjoy the moment, but I can’t.

  “Hannah! It’s me! It’s Falk! Now come on—I’m going to get you out!”

  She still doesn’t move, so I grab onto her shoulder and pull her toward me. Her eyes are open but dull and unseeing. Her hair drops off her shoulders in long, greasy strands. There’s a bruise on her cheek and smudges of dirt on her neck and arms.

  But that’s not what alarms me.

  When I look her over, I see her round, protruding stomach.

  Oh fuck. Oh fuck, no.

  I have to force myself to start breathing again. Hell, my heart may have stopped, too. My fingers are shaking as everything hits me at once. I know what they were doing to her—I’ve known it since the day they took her away—but seeing the evidence of what they have done is too much.

  “Oh, shit, Hannah,” I whisper. I run my hand along her arm, but she still hasn’t uttered a word.

  What the fuck am I going to do? How is she ever going to be able to live with this?

  I consider smacking myself in the face to get my shit together. Everything else can be assessed later—I have to get Hannah to safety. I can’t fall apart now.

  “Come on,” I say again. This time I grab her by the shoulders and haul her to a sitting position. She’s dead weight in my arms but stays up once she’s sitting. I grab her legs and pull them over the edge of the cot, but I can’t get her to stand up. She just stares into space without saying anything.

  This is taking too long.

  Out of options, I take a second to compose myself and then slip my arms underneath her. I’m going to have to carry her like a child—there’s no way I can toss her over my shoulder with her swollen belly. Carrying her isn’t easy. I have difficulty just getting her through the crack I made in the wall, and I have to force it farther open while holding on to her with one arm.

  Outside, I look at the rain barrel and stop.

  There is no way I can put her in there. She may not even fit in it at all, and even if she did, I can’t roll her around in her condition.

  There’s a lot of movement off to my left. Everyone in the group is breaking up now, moving off to start their new assignments. The other guard could be back here at any moment.

  “Not supposed to leave the stable.” Hannah’s looking left and right, but there’s still only dim recognition in her eyes.

  “I’m getting you out of here,” I tell her, but she doesn’t say anything else.

  But how?

  I can’t just walk carrying a limp, pregnant woman without being noticed, and I have no other way to conceal her. Wrapping her up in a blanket or something like that would be equally suspicious. I wouldn’t get ten feet without being questioned.

  What could I say that wouldn’t arouse suspicion? I need something that will be believable enough to allow me to get past whoever stops me without having to draw my gun. If I have to fight my way out, I’m going to lose.

  Possible reasons I might be moving her to another location run through my head, but anyone who stops me is going to wonder why I would be moving her at all. It’s not my job. Only one of her guards would be asked to do something like that.

  The guard.

  “Stay here,” I whisper to Hannah. “Don’t move, okay?”

  I have to lean her up against the wall, telling her again not to move. She still doesn’t respond to me, and I’m not even sure if she knows what’s happening. She does stand in one spot at least, giving me the chance to get what I need.

  Crouching down to stay out of the line of sight, I rush over to the dead guard. On his wrist is a black rubber wristband with a silver “X” on it. Slipping it off his hand, I place it over my own and roll up my sleeve so it can be plainly seen.

  I get back to Hannah, wrap my arm around her waist to support her, take a deep breath, and then start walking purposefully down the path toward the storeroom.

  “Come on, Hannah,” I whisper in her ear. “You gotta walk with me. Just a little ways, then everything’s going to be okay.”

  There are still a lot of people in the group near the Kessler, drinking coffee and complaining about their assignments. Others have broken off from their groups. The first two glance at me but say nothing. The third one is the man I saw yesterday leading the traders around the camp.

  He narrows his eyes as he watches me walk closer to him. I can see the questions forming inside his head already. I beat him to the punch.

  “Hey!” I call out to the guy who is eyeing me. “Where’s Brett?”

  “What are you doing with her?” he asks with a glare. “She isn’t supposed to be out of the stable.”

  “Hey, I just got this job,” I tell him as I hold up my wrist. “Brett said he wanted her brought to him and Caesar right away. I’m just trying to do my damn job!”

  He continues to eye me suspiciously.

  “Come on, dude,” I plead with him, “I only got here last night. I don’t want to fuck this up.”

  His face relaxes a little.

  “They were headed toward the depot,” he tells me. “Someone just brought in a new batch of toilet paper, and some fuckers are already fighting over it. It’s on the other side of the main entrance.”

  “Cool,” I say. “Thanks a lot, dude. I owe ya one.”

  “You’ll be all right,” he says. “Pretty nice duty for the first day!”

  “I ain’t arguing!” We both laugh, and I move quickly past him, heading in the direction he indicated.

  When I’m sure he’s not checking on my route, I veer off and pull Hannah over to the storeroom. I have to pull her close and balance her against my hip to pull the door open. Thankfully, there’s no one inside. I shift her weight to my other arm to get her through the door.

  “What the fuck?”

  I glance over my shoulder and see Brett standing not twenty feet from me.

  “Hey!” he screams at me, and I see his eyes widen in recognition. “Motherfucker! You aren’t going anywhere with her! Caesar!”

  Fuck!

  I shove Hannah the rest of the way into the storeroom and slam the door behind me. I let her go, and she sways slightly but doesn’t fall. I grab onto one of the shelves with both hands and pull as hard as I can, toppling the shelf in front of the door. I grab the table from the middle of the room and lodge it in front of the door as well.

  “Move, Hannah!”

  She’s still almost completely non-responsive. I grab her arm and pull her to the crates near the opening. I have to drag the crate back farther to fit her through the crack and then shove her into the tunnel.

  “Come on,” I tell her. “You gotta crawl. Move with me, Hannah. You can do it! Move!”

  I shove her ass to get her to go, and she moves a couple of feet. It’s enough for me to grab the crate and pull it back, blocking the tunnel. I can hear scraping sounds coming from the door, along with a lot of yelling and cursing. The mess from the shelf won’t hold them for long.

  I shove at Hannah again, trying to get her to go, but she doesn’t even seem to be aware of what’s going on around her. I’m not sure if she’s in shock or just shut herself down, but I don’t have time to figure that out now. I keep pushing and encouraging her, and we finally get to the other side of the tunnel.

  A shot is fired behind me, and I hear the bullet ricochet off the side of the tunnel.

  “Go out the front entrance!” I hear Brett yell. “Cut them off before they can get out! I’ve got t
hem from this side!”

  “Goddammit, Hannah! Move your ass!” I scream.

  I don’t know if my voice or the shot spurs her on, but she moves faster. She gets out of the tunnel and stands up on the other side, turning and moving backward as I start to crawl out.

  A hand grabs onto my ankle, and I’m pulled off balance. I fall forward and land in the debris on the floor, cutting my hand on something in the process.

  I roll quickly, drawing my gun, but I’m not fast enough. Brett is on top of me, and I take a right hook to the chin. The back of my head bounces off the floor, stunning me for a second. Brett is straddling my chest, grabbing his gun from a shoulder holster and swinging it toward my face.

  I slam my fist into his crotch. I don’t have enough leverage to really make it count, but it slows him down enough for me to grab his wrist and twist it backward. The gun falls to the floor, sliding out of reach. I quickly punch up and into Brett’s nose. He jerks back as blood spatters over my face.

  Turning my hips, I dislodge him and pin him to the ground. With my knees on his shoulders, I land blow after blow into his face.

  How many times? How many times has he hurt her?

  I punch again. I’m fairly certain I’ve cracked one of my knuckles, and I don’t care. I should have killed him when he first touched her. I wanted to. My gut instinct told me to, and I didn’t do it. He’s punching me in the side, bruising my ribs, but I don’t stop.

  A sudden, sharp pain in the side of my head sends me to the ground. I’m not sure what he hit me with, but Brett is now on top of me, wrapping his fingers around my throat. At first, I’m too dazed to respond. All I can manage is to grab his fingers and try to pull them off my throat, but it’s no use.

  I’m lightheaded. I can’t be more than a minute away from losing consciousness. I have to move. I have to think, but the dizziness is getting to be too much. I can’t loosen his fingers from my neck.

  No. If he gets me, he’ll get her back. Oh fuck, no!

  With all my strength, I reach up and grab a hold of his shirt, wrapping it up in my fingers. I yank him down as I clench my stomach and pull myself up, slamming my forehead into his. It dazes me, but it also gets his hands off my neck.