by Tarah Benner
She hopped off the counter and started rummaging in one of the open drawers. A second later, she withdrew a tiny key.
I followed her out the back door and around the side of the house in the dark, where two rusted doors were sticking up out of the ground. Trying to ignore the prickle on the back of my neck, I occupied myself with scanning the yard for encroaching carriers. We were alone.
Logan turned the key in the lock and jiggled the handle. It didn’t budge. She turned the key again, and this time the lock clicked back.
Her brow furrowed. “That’s weird. Ida’s so stingy with her strawberries . . . I’ve never seen her leave this unlocked.”
I shrugged, and Logan pulled up on the handle. The door creaked open, and the stench of damp earth filled my nostrils. Logan descended the rough stone steps, waving her arm in front of her to find the hanging cord for the light. She caught it and yanked it down, and a single bulb illuminated the dusty cellar.
Dozens and dozens of canning jars winked at us from shelves around the room, but they were not Ida’s jars filled with pickles, strawberries, rhubarb jam, and tomato sauce. They were filled with a clear liquid.
I jumped down the stairs after her to investigate.
“What the —” She snatched a jar off the shelf and twisted the lid. She smelled the liquid, and her nose wrinkled instantly. “It’s alcohol.”
She handed the jar to me, and the strong stench hit my nostrils before I even sniffed.
“Not even good alcohol,” I amended.
“Awww, shit,” crowed a voice from behind me.
I jumped, and the jar slipped from between my fingers. It shattered, bathing the brick-and-dirt floor in the foul liquid. I jerked my head up toward the entrance to the cellar, squinting to make out the figure in the shadows.
“Now that hurts my feelings, sweetheart.”
My heart was pounding in my throat. Boots scuffed on the rough brick, and dirty denim-clad legs began descending the steps. This man could have been a friend of Ida’s, but we were alone in the dark, and something about his shifty voice made my skin crawl.
I saw his shotgun before I saw his face. He was wearing a heavy brown jacket over wrinkled flannel, and his face was covered in a scratchy-looking gray scruff. He had a halo of wispy hair around a huge bald patch, and he was missing several teeth.
“Now this is a shame. Usually I only have to kill ugly guys — not a couple-a pretty girls.”
His black eyes flickered toward Logan, and I threw him a warning look.
“But since you don’t like my moonshine, I really don’t see a way for this to work out . . . unless you decide to be real friendly.”
He took a step toward Logan, reaching out with a dirty hand, and Logan lunged at him so fast, I didn’t have a chance to react. She twisted his hand, and he bucked forward, howling like a coyote. Her knee shot up, connecting with his groin, and he doubled over in pain, sending the shotgun skidding across the floor.
“You filthy piece of trash,” she growled. “This place doesn’t belong to you.”
“No?” said another voice.
I flew to the ground, grabbing the man’s shotgun and pointing it at the entrance of the cellar. Even the man’s gun felt dirty.
Another pair of boots appeared at the top of the stairs, and then another, but the two seemed to be engaged in a struggle.
“You first,” the man above growled. The second pair of feet descended slowly in front of him. As his face came into view, my heart sank.
The man had Greyson around the neck, a handgun pressed against his temple. Greyson’s face was contorted in anger. There were more footsteps from outside — several more pairs of feet.
Greyson’s captor was younger than the man Logan had pinned, shorter than Amory but taller than Greyson. He was wearing a dirty camo baseball cap and an orange cutoff shirt despite the cold. One of his flabby biceps was pressed against Greyson’s windpipe. The man had all his teeth, but he sucked his saliva in a sickening way and spit out a dark stream of liquid.
When the man saw me pointing the shotgun at him, he broke into a condescending smile. “If I was you, I’d put that down real nice and slow. Otherwise, I’ll blow your boy’s brains out.”
“You hurt him, I’ll kill you,” I growled.
The man smirked. “I see he’s not your fella.” He pushed the gun harder into Greyson’s head and turned to Logan. “He belong to you?”
Logan glowered.
“We got the old man, too,” called another voice from above.
Godfrey.
“Now,” said the man holding Greyson. “What’s all the trouble? I heard you mouthin’ off to Denny.”
“You and your other lowlife friends better get the hell off Ida’s land,” said Logan. Her voice was steady, but I could see her hands shaking.
“Aww, Hank,” said Denny. “These pretty girls don’ like our alcohol.”
Hank let out a guffaw. “I don’t give a flying fuck in space what they like or don’ like. But now they’ve found our stash, not much we can do with ’em.”
I wasn’t listening anymore. I was thinking about Amory and Roman. They were still out there. I just hoped they would be able to get the jump on the others outside.
I decided the best thing to do would be to keep the men talking long enough for Roman and Amory to wonder where we’d all gone.
“Listen,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm. “We don’t care if you use this place to store your moonshine. That’s your business. We only want the house. Our friend Ida used to live here, and we are just reclaiming it from the PMC. You can still use the cellar. I promise no one will interfere with your operation.”
Hank laughed. “Well, lookie there, Denny. The little bitch says she’ll let us use the cellar. Isn’t that nice?”
Denny chuckled stupidly. “That’s real fuckin’ hospitable.”
“But see, this place belongs to us now. We drove off the PMC. They won’t be back ’til spring, and we can move a lot of shine before then at the Exchange.”
“It was you,” I breathed, thinking of the crude carrier bait.
Hank ignored me. “See, I know your friend Ida. I know she’s joined up with the rebels now. She wants you to turn this place into one of them rebel camps. What do you think’ll happen when the PMC gets wind that y’all are postin’ up here? Now, I ain’t no fortune-teller, but I’d bet my ass the PMC won’t like that. We can’t have you all making trouble for us. It’s bad for business.”
“She was just being polite,” said Logan, twisting Denny’s arm harder and eliciting a howl. “We aren’t going to let you fucking hillbillies squat on our land.”
In the second Hank had been distracted by Denny’s yell of pain, Logan had reached down to her boot to retrieve her knife. Now it was pressing into Denny’s throat, and I saw that gleam of fierce satisfaction in her eyes. “Unless you think you won’t miss him — and I wouldn’t blame you — I suggest you let our friend go.”
Hank laughed. “See, I thought you might feel that way.” He turned his head toward the entrance of the cellar. “Hey, Roy! Why don’t you see how our handsome new friend feels about that?”
There were sounds of a scuffle outside and a muffled yell of pain. I would have recognized that yell anywhere.
It was Amory.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
As we climbed the cellar stairs, all I could think was that I would rather be mauled by a horde of carriers than die at the hands of these men.
We cleared the top of the cellar, where two men were holding Amory by the arms. He had a bloody nose and a split lip, but the two moonshiners looked even worse for the wear.
Two other men had their guns pointed at Godfrey’s temples, and three men were holding Roman down. He lay as still as a corpse. He had to be unconscious.
I still had Denny’s shotgun trained on Hank, and Logan had her knife at Denny’s throat, but there was no question we were at a serious disadvantage.
“Now, I’m in a real fix
here,” said Hank, dragging Greyson along. “I really don’t want to dig six holes today. But on the other hand, I know if I tell y’all to skedaddle, you’ll just turn around and rob me.”
“Why would we want your shitty alcohol?” Logan growled, digging her knife into Denny’s skin so a line of blood appeared.
Hank cocked his head, his mouth breaking into a dangerous grin. “Woo! I was hoping you’d give me a reason, darlin’.”
He shoved Greyson to the ground and kicked him hard in the ribs. Greyson grimaced in pain but strangled his yell before it left his throat. I felt the anger burning in my chest and thought about gouging Hank’s eyes out with Logan’s knife.
Greyson stayed on the ground, and another man shifted to cover him with his gun.
Hank strode toward Logan, his steps slow and pronounced, until his gun was pressed against her forehead. She didn’t even flinch.
“Now, you let Denny go nice and easy, or I’ll blow your brains out . . . and then Roy’ll blow your boy’s brains out.”
Logan’s eyes flickered once to Greyson. He shook his head almost imperceptibly, but Logan’s face crinkled in fury as she let Denny drop to the ground. He scooted away on all fours like a mangy dog and righted himself beside his companions.
“And you!” Hank yelled in my direction. “Put that fucking gun down, or we’ll all shoot our way out of here. Now, maybe you can shoot — maybe you c’aint — but I guarantee I won’t miss.”
I scowled but lowered the shotgun. Even if I could shoot Hank before he shot Logan, the other men would open fire.
“That’s it. Now put it on the ground real slow.”
I bent to lay the gun in the grass.
“Now kick it over here,” called the man holding up Greyson.
I glared and kicked the gun — softly — until it was just out of my reach. Another rifle shifted to point in my direction.
Hank’s eyes were gleaming in wicked satisfaction. “Good girl.” He turned to Logan. “Now, sweetheart, you drop that knife, and I promise I’ll be gentle.”
Logan was wearing an expression I’d never seen — such intense hatred that it sent a shiver through my entire body. “Go to hell.”
Hank reached to grab her wrist, but Logan was too fast. She slashed the knife up and across his face, and Hank howled in pain. “You bitch.” Blood was streaming down his face.
He lunged at her, but she struck him so fast, her arm was a blur. He howled again, and I knew she’d broken his nose.
“Are y’all just gonna stand there and watch?” Hank grunted.
One of the men standing over Roman’s unconscious form handed his gun to Denny and came up to Logan’s other side.
Her elbow flew up and connected with his jaw, but I saw none of Logan’s usual joy in her movements. Her face was blank — focused — but I knew she was scared. She had to win, or this fight would not end well for her.
Greyson’s expression was pained, and Amory was watching in fury. Godfrey looked strangely serene for someone with two guns pointed at his head.
I didn’t want to watch the men fighting Logan, but I couldn’t look away. Even two against one, they were no match for her. Logan was incredible.
Their movements were clumsy and predictable, while she was precise, economical, and deadly fast. She knocked Hank’s feet out from under him and sent his companion crawling with a hard kick to the groin.
Then a shot rang out.
Logan yelped in pain and fell to the ground.
My heart stopped. She was clutching the outside of her leg, where her black pants were shining with blood.
Hank’s eyes gleamed from where he lay, and he stood up and sauntered over to her. “Not so tough now, are ya?” He grabbed her by the throat, and Logan looked at him with disgust. “That’s the thing about pretty little bitches . . . they always try to fuck you, one way or another. You don’t belong in a fight, baby. You belong on your back.”
Logan spit in his face.
Hank closed his eyes once, and when he opened them again, he shoved her head against the ground. He had both his hands on her windpipe, choking her. Logan was flailing, trying to get back in a fighting position, but he had all his weight on her.
Before I could react, Greyson lunged at him, and another shot rang out.
I gasped, but Greyson wasn’t hit. He had tackled Hank. When they rolled over, I saw an arrow sticking out of Hank’s back.
I still couldn’t discern the source of the gunshot, but one of the men who’d been holding Godfrey was lying dead in the grass.
Were we being ambushed again?
Without thinking, I dove for Denny’s shotgun and aimed for the other man pointing his gun at Godfrey. I shot him in the foot. He doubled over, losing his aim, and I put a second bullet in his chest.
Amory had gotten the jump on his two captors, but he was still struggling. Hank was still alive. He and Greyson were rolling around on the ground. Godfrey was fighting with Denny, and Roman was stirring.
I glanced over my shoulder again, looking for the shooters, but I didn’t see anyone.
I threw myself into the fray with Amory, striking one of the men in the nose with the butt of the shotgun. Amory brought the other man down and delivered a hard kick to his gut.
The man I’d hit swung a fist in my direction. He was uncoordinated, and I used the opportunity to put him in a chokehold and knee him in the stomach. He doubled over, but before I could finish the job, he threw all his weight into me. I lost my balance and hit the ground — hard.
I smelled his disgusting, unwashed body all over me. The stench of alcohol and decay on his breath made my stomach turn inside out. I struggled to right myself, but he was too heavy. The man sneered, and I caught a glimpse of rotten teeth.
Then an arm wrapped around his neck, yanking him off me. My lungs expanded instantly, and I gasped for air.
Amory was on top of the man, pummeling him with a rage that terrified me. The man cried out, but Amory kept going. His knuckles were bleeding, and the muscles in his back rippled with every move, so I knew he was throwing his full force behind each blow.
Finally, he stopped. The man was whimpering.
Amory got up, grabbed one of the fallen moonshiners’ guns, and shot each of his two attackers in the head.
I looked around. Everyone was still and quiet except for Hank. He was curled up in a ball on the ground, and Logan was pummeling him with all the force she could muster. She was breathing heavily, her hair mussed and her green eyes feral.
I watched Greyson lay a careful hand on her shoulder. She jerked around, and he raised an eyebrow.
Logan stopped, looking a little ashamed, and took the handgun he was holding. She hovered over Hank, who was still smirking through bloody teeth. It seemed Greyson had done a number on him before Logan had her way.
Logan’s nose wrinkled once, and then she shot him in the head.
She lowered the gun, and Greyson took it from her gently, emptying the chamber and pocketing the bullets.
“Your leg,” he murmured, dropping to his knees to examine Logan’s bloody thigh.
“He missed,” she said. Her voice was hollow. “Barely grazed me.”
Greyson dragged in a deep breath. “Still, Amory should —”
“What a mess,” called a voice from behind me.
I whipped around, searching for the source of the voice, and heard Logan and Amory point their guns toward the trees along the side of the house.
The shooter.
I squinted into the trees. There was a dark shadow moving toward us, sending my heart into overdrive.
“Who is it?” called Amory.
“Considering I just saved your asses, I’d say a friend.”
A chill shot down the back of my neck.
Roman had just pulled himself into a standing position, but he was already alert.
“What’s your name?” he called.
“Marcus. Marcus Hooper.”
“Well, I’ll be damned,” murmu
red Godfrey.
I turned. “You know him?”
Godfrey nodded once, a shifty smile breaking over his face.
“Show yourself!” yelled Amory.
The shadow moved again, and I glimpsed a pair of broad shoulders and a buzz cut.
Marcus was a large man in his early thirties. He had a thick, beefy neck that stretched out his camo jacket and small, suspicious eyes. He was clutching a crossbow in his thick hands, looking from Roman to Amory with a wary scowl.
“Marcus Hooper, as I live and breathe,” murmured Godfrey. “Last time I saw you, you had your daddy’s pickup truck wrapped around a tree.”
Marcus’s face lifted in a crooked grin that looked out of place and held out his hand to Godfrey.
Godfrey pumped his hand once, and I noticed how fierce he looked despite his smaller stature.
“How you been, Mr. Godfrey?”
Roman snorted, and Godfrey shot him a warning look.
“Been better, now you mention it.”
“I’ll say.” Marcus glanced around at the dead moonshiners lying at our feet.
“Thank you . . . for your help,” said Amory, stepping over and offering a hand to Marcus.
Their hands collided with a hard, manly smack, and I noticed the dark look smoldering in Amory’s eyes.
His greeting wasn’t a welcome; it was a warning. A muscle twitched in Marcus’s jaw, making him look like a wolf with his hackles raised.
“It wasn’t a second too soon,” said Greyson. His voice was burning with uncharacteristic anger.
Marcus looked over, as if just noticing Greyson. The marked difference in the way he sized up the two guys irritated me instantly.
“Sorry about that,” he said casually. “I was waiting to see what other information they might spill.”
He strode over to Hank, nudging the man’s head with his boot. “This is Hank Burns. Those two are his brothers, but there are more of them.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“They live around here — the whole nasty family. Real trash.”
“So there’s more of them?”
Marcus nodded. “Bound to be a lot more of them if all their relatives have regrouped since the Collapse.”