Feral Skies

by K. M. Raya

  Wyatt glares at his friend, breaking rank enough to show that he’s being reckless, and everyone here knows it. He’s not coddling Alex, and it makes a grin stretch my lips only slightly. “Are you trying to get your ass kicked, man? Shut the hell up while you still can... you’re usually good at that.” That last part was whispered, and sounded like it might have accidently slipped out. But I feel Alex deflate a little. I don't know what kind of drama lingers inside their little group, but those words must mean a lot more to him than we realize because the fight drains from him quickly. Wyatt watches him with hard eyes and a clenched jaw. Clearly, Alex’s shit attitude isn’t a fluke. He must be an absolute pleasure to cohabitate with.

  Alex wisely keeps his mouth shut. It’s only now that I realize he doesn't have a mask on anymore. I can't see his face, but I can practically hear his teeth grind with the strength it takes for him to stay quiet. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Dante glide back over. That dark stare of his could bring lesser women to their knees. Even now, I feel a strange sort of heat race through me as my eyes run over his toned physique. Times are hard up for men these days, and Dante’s definitely not hard on the eyes. He’s hard everywhere else, though...

  His hands are also palms facing outward, but when our eyes finally lock, I see no malice in them. His heavy, dark brows are drawn, and with his mask off and his beard covering the lower half of his face, he looks kind and wise. I don’t think Dante wants to hurt Nina. I don’t think he would hurt anyone who isn’t actively trying to hurt him. I feel like Dante’s a kind soul. It’s just something I can feel, and I don’t know how exactly. Trying my hardest to get my head back in the game, I shut down any notions of his good looks and even better heart. I shut it down fast, knowing I can’t afford to let any part of my heart get involved. We all saw what happened the last time I let my guard down.

  “Hurry up, Doc,” I wave him over, tilting my chin towards Nina. He blinks at me for a long moment before shaking himself and heading towards the couch. Stooping down low, Dante gently cradles her injured ankle in his strong hands before poking her skin gently. His hands are nimble, and his fingers are sure. Without his jacket on, my eyes stray to the twisting black tattoos that decorate his tanned skin. There’s some sort of latin phrase that I vaguely recognize, intertwined with vines and what looks to be a few skulls thrown into the mix. Idly, I wonder if the rest of that toned body is decorated too.

  Bringing my mask to Alex’s ear, my breath from the filter blows a few strands of his dark hair away and some of it grazes my mask. Intrusive thoughts float through my head, and for the briefest of seconds I find myself wondering what that hair would feel like on my lips. Shaking my head, I whisper, “If I let you go, are you going to attack my friends?”

  He’s quiet for too long, but still I wait. I can tell he doesn't want to answer me. It’ll probably wound his pride just a little. I’m counting on it. These guys started out by underestimating my friends and I. I know what we look like. A bunch of wayward girls, lost in a world of monsters. Men like them probably see themselves swooping in to rescue us, and we’ll swoon and thank them in bed. The thought almost makes me laugh. I think Dante is beginning to catch on, but Wyatt seems the hero type, while Alex is just a little bitch. I don’t have a great picture of Beretta… or, Ret, as she asked us to call her. So far she seems like a cool chick, but we’ve known these people for all of two hours, so I have to keep my guard up.

  “I asked you a question.” My knife digs in just a tiny bit deeper. I don’t really want to hurt him, but I need to get my point across. If they think I might be bluffing, the tables could turn much too quickly.

  “I won’t shoot her,” Alex grits out, sounding like a petulant child being forced to apologise to a playmate. “You happy?”

  “Is that a trick question?” I raise an eyebrow, but only Ret and Wyatt can see. Ret’s eyeing me from the other side of the room, but her face is a blank mask, giving nothing away.

  “He means it,” says Wyatt. His hands are lowered now. “Lex is a lot of things, but he’s not a liar. If he says he won't hurt your friend, he means it.” I want to snort at that. Like I give a shit. They might just say anything if it’ll get my dagger away from Alex’s throat. There’s no way to know if his word is true.

  It takes me a second to weigh my options, but for some reason I don’t really feel like analyzing, I believe Wyatt. Reluctantly, and irritatingly, I believe him. Don’t ask me why, but I think he really does have faith in his friend’s ability to restrain himself, even if I definitely don’t.

  Chapter ☣ 5

  Alex

  I can feel blood trickling down the side of my neck. This chick better hope my wound doesn't get infected. These days infections are all too common, and I’ve been careful so far. As Hell backs away, the warmth of her body leaves me, and cold seeps through my thin t-shirt.

  ​Quickly, and on shuffling feet, I make my way around the couch, keeping a wide perimeter around her wounded friend. I don’t care what these girls say, there’s a bleeding stranger in our hideout, and we’ve taken too many chances already. You can’t trust people these days. Shit, even back before the world ended I didn’t trust anyone but myself and a few loyal friends. I learned long ago that most of life’s biggest letdowns come from those you care the most for.

  ​My heart chooses then to give a sickening twinge. Jessa’s face flashes before my eyes and I have to physically shake her away. It happens more often than I’d like to admit. Sometimes I lay awake at night and it’s almost like I can still feel her here, arms wrapped around me, whispering how she’ll never leave my side. The longer I think about that fucking bitch, the angrier I get. My head is pounding, and I have to stop the bleeding at my neck before it ruins one of my last good shirts.

  ​The others are talking now, but I’m largely tuning them out. That fucking woman and her friends are going to become a nuisance, and I for one, can’t wait for them to get the fuck out. We don’t need that kind of drama, and I’ve already noticed the way Dante’s been drooling over the hellacious blonde. That’s Dante for you, though, chasing anything with boobs and two legs, not counting Ret. She’s a beautiful woman, but I’m afraid she’s jumped aboard the pussy train the same as us guys. Back when we first met her, Wyatt made the mistake of hitting on her one sorry day, only to get a heavy boot right up his ass and a stiff warning to keep his dick in his pants before it gets chopped off. Since then, not one of us dared to look at Ret in any sorta way.

  ​I know things are different with this new woman, though. I don’t care how tough she thinks she is, I saw with my own eyes the way she sized us up out there behind the Costco. There was no mistaking the heat in her strange golden gaze as she took stock of my burly, blonde best friend. She hadn’t noticed the way I watched her because she was so focused on Wyatt, but I saw it. She’s gonna be trouble, and I need to make sure she leaves before she gets one or more of us killed.

  ​At the old rusted sink, I grab a bottle of well water and carefully pour it over the cut on my neck. It stings like a bitch, but it’s nothing compared to what comes next. Movement from my right makes me turn my head against the sting of the cut. Ret approaches, holding out her small, hunter green flask. Internally, I cringe, but grab it with a nod of thanks. Uncapping the flask, I gently pour the amber liquid over the wound as my eyes water and I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from crying out. I refuse to give Hell any sort of satisfaction.

  ​After bandaging the wound, I reluctantly turn back to the drama. Dante is kneeling next to her friend… Nina, I think her name is. I’ll be the first to admit her foot looks bad. It’s swollen and purple, and I know it can’t mean anything good. I’ve seen wounds of pretty much every kind out on the road, and if she doesn't get some sort of medicine in her soon, she’s gonna be shit out of luck.

  ​“The blood isn’t mine,” Nina rasps out as Dante’s experienced fingers knead the flesh around her ankle bone. She’s holding things together nicely, but I can see the agony
in her dark eyes. The girl with the red hair, Missy, clenches Nina’s fingers tightly. I can tell the two are an item, I can see it in the way Missy barely takes her eyes off her. For a second I feel bad about holding a gun on her.

  ​“She’s right,” says Dante. Reaching over into his medical bag, he removes a small bottle of rum and tosses a splash over her ankle before wiping it away with a small, dirty rag. Medical supplies are in short supply these days, so we have to make do with medieval means. “It’s dead blood, not hers. She’s not bitten.”

  ​“Feel good about yourself?” This comes from Helana, who’s moved around the couch and stands in the corner with her arms folded. I don’t want to look at her, but I can’t help but cut my eyes over.

  ​My chest squeezes. My brow starts to sweat, and my traitorous dick jumps. She’s removed her mask for the first time. I almost want to groan in frustration. A part of me, however bitter, was almost hoping that under that heavy contraption, she’d be hideous or deformed in some way. It might have made it a lot easier to hate her. But no. Fate must not be on my side today because the woman’s a fucking goddess.

  Surprise shoots through me. How the fuck does a girl like that survive in a man’s world? With all kinds of creeps and stragglers roaming the wastes, she should have been picked up a long time ago. Girls like her were bound to become entertainment or sister wives sooner or later. In fact, Nina and Missy aren’t hard on the eyes either, though they don’t possess the same savage beauty that Hell clearly embodies, but still…

  ​I don’t let my thoughts show, but I do let my eyes wander over the soft lines of her face. Tanned skin, upturned button nose dusted with freckles, wide, full, rose colored lips and bright golden eyes that are much too large for her face. She looks like a pixie dressed as a soldier. It would almost be laughable had I not seen her in action.

  Her white blonde hair is pulled back into a long ponytail. Even under all those layers and all that Kevlar, I can tell the girl is slender and muscled. She’s the exact opposite of Jessa, I can’t help but realize. Where Hell is all ferocity and reluctant sensuality, Jessa was always soft, curvy… but weak. She relied on me to keep her alive, hiding behind my gun and my training, but something in the way those golden eyes watch me now and the way Helana’s lush lips tilt into a mean smirk makes me feel like I’ve finally met my match.

  Chapter ☣ 6

  Hell

  It’s been a few hours and we've mostly settled down for the night. Nina’s passed out cold from painkillers, while the rest of us sit in a sort of circle on the two couches and a few fold out chairs.

  ​Wyatt passed us all some warm tea, and it’s the only thing I can seem to focus on right now. I’m trying hard to ignore the loathing glares Alex sends my way every few minutes from across the room, and I also try not to look at that little bandage on his neck. The one I’m responsible for. I’ll admit, I feel a tiny bit bad about how that all went down, but I make no apologies for defending my sisters. I’d die for them without blinking, so anyone who tries to threaten them or harm them won't like what it turns me into.

  ​When I was younger, growing up with three older brothers, my dad instilled such a strong sense of loyalty to family in my head that even as an adult I never let it go. In the Marines, my squad was my family, and we put our lives on the line for each other every single day. I’d gladly die in the place of any one of those men or women. Still would. Once again, thinking about my family makes my heart ache.

  ​Since leaving the trapper settlement, the girls and I made it our small mission to locate a working radio or at the very least find a vehicle to travel over states. Dad uses his to track police activities, and to connect with his old military buddies, so if I could only get close enough to find the right channel, just maybe someone from the ranch might be listening. I know it’s a longshot, but it’s the dream that gets me up and on my feet every morning. I have to find them. Dead or alive, I have to know once and for all.

  ​Someone clears their throat, snapping me out of my own head. Looking up, I see Wyatt staring right at me. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly. Looking down to his mug of tea, he stares at it for a second before looking back at me with so much guilt I almost feel sorry for him.

  ​“For what?”

  ​“For not helping y’all sooner. We should have gotten out of the car when we saw her hobbling around like that...”

  ​Snorting, I set my cup down and lean my back against the wall from my perch on the floor. “Don’t worry about it, we thought you were trappers anyway.” I still don’t know how we ever mistook them for trappers.

  ​“What’s a trapper?” asks Dante from over on the couch. He leans forward, elbows on his knees as he clasps his hands in front of him. He’s so large that he dwarfs the couch, and Nina’s forced to curl up into a small ball to sleep.

  ​Missy and I make eye contact, and she nods her head subtly, letting me know she thinks it’s ok to be truthful about this one thing. To an extent, anyways. “I’m surprised you haven’t run into them already. Trappers are the fucking worst.” Shaking my head, I try hard to wipe those memories away, but they just keep on coming back with more and more clarity every day. “Basically, a group of survivors established a couple of small strongholds from Texas to the border of Utah. They drive these big monstrosities that used to be trucks and actively hunt the zoms. “

  ​“That’s not such a bad idea,” muses Wyatt.

  ​Frowning, I shake my head. “You don’t understand. The trappers aren't hunting to kill. They’re hunting to… well, to trap. They catch the zoms and bring them back to their strongholds in cages. I still don’t know what exactly they do with them, but I do know it can’t be good.” I’m lying through my teeth again, and it puts a bad taste in my mouth. I know exactly what the trappers do with those zombies. I know first hand.

  ​Memories of my time with them assault me. Missy’s watching me carefully, probably deep in her own memories we still have yet to discuss in detail. There aren’t many people who live long enough outside the trapper’s stronghold to spread the tales of what happens to rebels.

  ​“Sounds like a bunch of fucking hillbillies to me,” mutters Alex. He’s cracked open an old, dusty book now, but I can’t make out the cover. Although his eyes are scanning the yellowing pages, I can tell he’s listening in closely.

  ​I can’t help but shoot him a scathing glare, even though technically he’s not wrong. “Actually, most of the trappers are ex cops or retired soldiers. The others are hunters and fishermen that had the means to start over from scratch. They already had the firepower to take over large areas, and they had access to equipment other people didn’t. But that’s not even the worst part.”

  ​“What could be worse than hoarding zoms?” asks Beretta.

  ​Looking at her, I school my features into something I hope is neutral. “They also trap the living. They capture anyone they see out on their own and bring them back to their camps, forcing them to live and work there against their will. They tell people they're trying to save them, trying to build a new settlement, but it’s all just a power move. These guys think they can gain control of the remaining resources, making the new bullshit laws and basically trying to make themselves the leaders of what remains, but they're out of their minds.”

  Wyatt’s giving me a funny look, so I just stare back, waiting for him to say what he has to say. “Sounds like you’ve had your runs-ins with the trappers.” Everyone looks at me, even Alex, who lowers his book slightly, peering at me from over the top.

  Biting the inside of my cheek, I can’t help but crack my knuckles nervously, flashes of those days passing before my eyes. It’s an endless hell I relive every night, and I have no plans on advertising to these people just how much it fucked me up. “Let’s just say I’ve seen first hand what these guys believe paradise should be and leave it at that.” I glance at Missy, and she looks to her hands in her lap, eyes glossing over. I hope no one's paying too much attention.

 
“So you thought we were trappers?” asks Dante. “I don’t know if we should be offended or not.”

  Nodding, I think back to earlier today and the way my heart lurched when I saw them. “I saw your floodlights and figured you were with them, but then I noticed your severe lack of cages and barbed wire. We realized you were just a bunch of randoms. Still, we had to be sure.”

  Alex shakes his head, running a hand over his jaw. “This is some Mad Max bullshit, what the fuck…”

  Snorting, I have to agree. “No kidding. Clearly these guys have a complex, but you don’t wanna go head to head with them. There’s just too many. They have plans to spread out and build more settlements.”

  We’re all quiet for a while, silently contemplating. The more and more I think about it, the surer I am that the fire wasn’t an accident. I’d bet anyone’s left nut that it was another way for them to flush people out. I think they probably saw these guys with their guns and took off, but how long will that last? I’m only speculating here, but I know those lunatics. I know them better than I want to, but this has trapper written all over it.

  ☣

  I’m restless as we all settle in for the night. Missy and Nina took the longer couch, while Dante took the shorter so he could listen to Nina’s breathing if it changes. I’m stuck here on the floor with Beretta, Wyatt and Alex, who insists on staying as far away from me as humanly possible.

  ​He looks like an idiot, all scrunched up against the wall, trying to pretend he’s comfortable. He’s got his book resting beside him, all dog-eared and beaten up. I’m still curious to know what a man like him is interested in reading. I don’t know what his problem is, but he’d better learn to change his diaper soon, before this animosity between us becomes an issue.