by Amy Braun
I turned my shoulder and plowed it into the Junker before he could hurt Sawyer. I was fairly small, but my unexpected and sudden shove caused the Junker to trip over his own feet. Both his weapons missed Sawyer, who was only now aware that someone had nearly stabbed and shocked him.
The Junker didn’t fall onto the ground like I’d hoped. Instead, he whirled around and turned his full attention on me. He was much, much bigger than I’d thought, and he was furious. At first I was amazed that I’d moved him as far as I did, then I was a little proud, and then terrified when he charged at me.
I’d been in a few fights as I grew up and worked for Garnet, but I’d never been formally trained to defend myself. Most of what I knew was from experience and luck. I didn’t know how much of either would save me from this infuriated maniac.
The Junker swung his knife-arm at me. I jumped back, but not far enough. The tip of the knife– which I learned from an unwanted, up-close glance was more like a shank– cut a line from my left cheek to the bridge of my nose. I screamed from the shock of it, but turned away and thankfully saved my eye. The wound stung but didn’t feel deep enough to be fatal.
I blinked as my face prickled and throbbed, slapping my hand to my belt to grab my pocketknife, trying to turn my head and find the Junker before he struck me with the electrified baton–
A thwack and a grunt came from in front of me. I watched Sawyer pull his arm back from the punch he delivered to the Junker, then turn and hack at him with his sword. The Junker raised both weapons, and while his arms were bigger than Sawyer’s, I didn’t think he could hold off against the marauder for long. Sawyer didn’t just know what he was doing– he was trained. Any fights I’d seen or been in had been scraps. Almost no survivors had this kind of precision and skill. He moved with fury, sweeping his sword up and down, left and right, never allowing his opponent to get anything but his guard up.
I didn’t know who Sawyer had been before The Storm or what he had done, but I wasn’t going to question it when he was saving my life.
I looked over my shoulder to where Nash and Gemma were fighting. More Junkers crept around the edges of the scrap piles, their electrified batons snapping and buzzing in their hands. Both marauders fought back aggressively, but while Nash seemed to have similar training to Sawyer, Gemma’s moves revolved around grace, speed, and deception.
They were all handling themselves well, but the Junkers kept coming. If the fight didn’t stop soon, I was certain one of the marauders would draw a pistol or drive their blade through someone’s gut.
We didn’t need bloodshed, yet I couldn’t figure out what the Junkers were doing. There had to be almost a dozen of them out in the Yard, and some pairs were huddled together, pulling at something that looked almost like–
A strong hand curled around my arm. I jumped and screamed furiously, turning to slash at the person holding me with my pocketknife.
Sawyer grabbed my flying wrist and fixed me with a furious gaze. The moment he saw that I wouldn’t hurt him, Sawyer turned and dragged me off the road, weaving between two large piles of scrap metal. I struggled to keep up with him, glancing back to see if we were being followed.
The large Junker that Sawyer had been fighting was on the ground, clutching his head and groaning. Two more thin Junkers sprang over their injured ally and chased us. I whipped my head forward and started running again. I didn’t stop to think that Sawyer didn’t know where he was going, or why he was leaving his friends behind.
Sawyer took a sharp, sudden turn that nearly cost my footing, but he hauled me up and turned me behind a metal shed. He hid me just behind the corner, glancing around to see where the other Junkers were. Sawyer turned his tawny eyes back to me, and I could almost see the adrenaline glowing behind them.
“How many Junkers are here?” he demanded.
“About a dozen,” I replied. “They’re all out there.”
Sawyer cursed under his breath, then let go of me. “Stay here. I’m getting Nash and Gemma, and then we’re leaving.” He turned away.
“I can help,” I blurted.
Sawyer looked back at me. A mischievous grin played along his lips. “You are helping. By staying here, and not making me worry about you.”
The marauder darted away from the shed, leaving me to hide like a coward while he and his friends took on the wild Junkers. I was still holding the pocketknife, panic and a hint of excitement fuelling my veins. I wasn’t a skilled fighter like Sawyer, wasn’t as fast as Gemma, and was nowhere as strong as Nash, but there had to be something I could do. Four on one odds weren’t ideal, especially since the marauders hadn’t killed any of the Junkers. I didn’t know if that would change, but I knew that the Junkers wouldn’t have anything harmless planned for the pirate trio–
The shed door banged open on my right, and nearly made me jump out of my skin. I slid down the side of the shed and held up the pocketknife, silently unfolding the blade. I carefully peered around the corner, hoping that whoever was coming out of the shed wouldn’t hear my racing heartbeat.
Recognition hit instantly. The man standing outside the metal shed was tall and lanky, but there was wildness in his steel blue eyes that made it difficult to pass him off as a threat. He still looked thin under his tattered shirt and grease-stained pants, but he looked bigger than the last time I had seen him.
Something’s different, I thought.
Running around the opposite corner of the shed was another Junker, who looked bruised from the fight. I twisted behind the shed, but was still close enough to hear what they were saying.
“What the fuck is going on?” demanded Briggs with his hoarse voice.
“Marauders,” replied the Junker. “We’ve netted the girl, but the other two are becoming a problem.”
Gemma. The Junkers must have gotten lucky and unfolded a net to trap her. They often carried junk to their designated piles with a thick, rope net that was wrapped so tightly that not even the smallest shard of metal could slip free.
If Gemma were captured, Nash would lose his mind. He’d blind himself to save her, and get caught himself. And Sawyer wouldn’t let his friends be hurt, which meant he would turn the same blind eye to his enemies.
“Do you want us to kill them?” asked the Junker.
“No,” answered Briggs, relieving me until he added, “Take them alive. We need the meat.”
Dread seeped into my stomach. Now I understood why we hadn’t dealt with Briggs and the Junkers as much lately. Why the people Garnet did send lately never came back.
Why the rumors of survivors eating each other had begun.
Briggs’ voice faded as he walked with the other Junker. I slid to the front entrance of the shed where Briggs had been, watching as he and the Junker stalked through the piles Sawyer took me past just moments ago.
Once they were out of sight, I got up from my crouch and ran forward. I knew the Junkyard well enough to know that the road I was on would curve to let me see where Gemma and Nash were fighting. I slowed down by the pile, crouching again and pressing myself against the rough metal. I forced myself to look around the corner, praying I would be right, that the marauder’s fighting skill would get them out of this without my help.
I heard Gemma scream, and knew I was wrong.
She was on the ground and tangled in the thick, heavy net. But it wasn’t her own peril she was screaming at. It was Nash’s.
The big marauder was curled on the ground, trying to protect himself from the four Junkers kicking him and jabbing him with the batons. His body twitched and jerked from the jolts blasting through him. The Junkers only pulled back so they could kick Nash some more.
Gemma’s next scream was one of pain, and I knew the Junkers had shocked her, too.
Sawyer was thrown into view. He tumbled on the ground, pushing himself onto his hands and knees and shaking his head. He was missing his cutlass. The large Junker stalked forward, bruised but furious. He picked Sawyer up by the lapels of his coat and punched him
solidly in the cheek. Sawyer’s head rocked to the side, and the large Junker hit him again.
The beating continued, all twelve of the Junkers standing in wide circle around their captives. Briggs and the Junker I heard him talking to strode into view, coming from the direction Sawyer had been thrown. For such a slim man, he looked confident. And angry. Like many survivors, he clearly had no love for the marauders.
“Enough, Brock.”
“Brock? Really?” I thought Sawyer was insane to grin. “That’s a shame. Your name is harder than your hits.”
Brock growled and punched Sawyer again. This time he was sent to the ground.
Briggs took another step toward Sawyer and waved his hand at the Junker standing beside him. The man rushed behind Sawyer’s back, hooked his arms, and hauled him to his feet.
“What are you doing here?” Briggs asked.
“Sight-seeing,” Sawyer told him coolly.
Brock didn’t wait for his leader’s command to hit Sawyer in the stomach. The marauder doubled over. I could almost see his face tighten with pain, but he didn’t cry out.
“Tell me the truth,” Briggs ordered. His patience was running thin.
“I did,” gritted out the marauder. “Never been to this part of Westraven before. Heard there were lunatics living here.”
Brock punched Sawyer in the stomach twice. I winced as he absorbed the blows, unable to defend himself from the Junker holding his arms.
“I have other ways of making you talk,” warned Briggs. “Believe me when I say they won’t be pleasant for you, or your friends.”
Sawyer’s entire attitude changed. “Can’t imagine they would be. But whatever you do to me will be nothing compared to what I’ll do if you lay a finger on them.”
I was shaken by Sawyer’s hostile words, because I believed them. He would fight for Gemma and Nash. Kill or torture for them. Endure agony and die so they would live.
Briggs didn’t understand that, so he chuckled at Sawyer’s threat. “We’ll see about that. Now, before we get started, is there anyone else here with you? Someone hiding that you hope will save you?”
I shrank back into the pile of garbage. I hadn’t been seen yet, and I didn’t have a plan. Running headfirst into the fight would get me captured, and if Briggs knew I was working for the marauders, he would make sure I was tortured the longest.
“Who says we need a savior?” Sawyer taunted. “We’ve gotten through worse dilemmas than this.”
I blinked. Sawyer could have gone back on his word and given me up. He didn’t know I was watching this. Even if he were being noble, he couldn’t expect me to save him or his friends. The whole reason he hid me was because he knew I wasn’t a warrior. I wanted to rely on his word that he, Gemma, and Nash could escape without my help. But he was barely conscious. Gemma was trapped under the net. Nash didn’t seem to be moving. Even if they could escape, they wouldn’t be able to get far before the Junkers caught them again.
“No,” Briggs sneered. “I don’t think you have, boy.”
Brock landed a savage blow to Sawyer’s temple, knocking him out. Briggs began shouting at his men to take the marauders to the main road. Gemma screamed one more time before she was shocked and silenced. I stayed where I was, watching helplessly as the marauders were dragged away by the primitive Junkers.
I could have left them. I could take the parts I needed for the power core. I could go back to the port and rebuild the engine, then look for another crew, even if that meant taking a few more dangerous trips. I shouldn’t have been willing to risk my life for a trio of pirates who would throw me away the moment I’d served my purpose.
But even as the thought crossed my mind, I knew I wouldn’t give into it. Sawyer and his crew had agreed to help me. He’d kept me out of this fight with Briggs. Abandoning him, Nash, and Gemma to that monster wasn’t just wrong– it was cruel.
I looked around the Junkyard, seeing piles of rubber. Remembering where to find flammables and blowtorches.
Seeing the Behemoth floating over our heads.
An idea began to form in my head. It was a bad idea. Terrible even.
But it would work.
Chapter 6
The first thing I did was gather the scrap parts and small sheets of metal for the power core and stuff them into Gemma’s messenger bag. Even if my plan went the way I hoped it would, we were still going to have to make a fast escape.
And if it didn’t work the way I hoped, we’d have to escape faster.
As soon as the parts were secure in the bag, I took a shortcut to the main road. I’d been here enough times to know where each path would lead me. But I didn’t avoid caution. I glanced back at every turn to make sure the Junkers weren’t patrolling the roads.
There was no one. The promise of fresh meat must have been too enticing. My stomach rolled at the thought.
Pushing it to the back of my mind, I stopped behind a pyramid of rusted rebar. Ahead of me was another rusted metal shed, but unlike the one Briggs came out of, I knew this one had tools in it. I didn’t carry a blowtorch with me, and would need one to set my plan in motion. I peeked out from the rebar, made sure the coast was clear, then sprinted to the open door of the shed. I pulled to a stop when I was inside, grateful that there weren’t any Junkers working in it. I quickly scanned the shelves and drawers, looking for the blowtorch.
Finally, I came across a handheld one behind a box on the bottom of the shelf. After one glance, I decided to keep it. It wouldn’t be the first thing I stole, or the last, and I was going to need it to make repairs anyway. I grabbed it, welding gloves, a pair of goggles, and extra gasoline canisters, and shoved them all into my bag. It was heavy now, but I would have to adapt to the weight. I pressed my hand against the wall by the doorframe and looked out. The Junkyard was still empty and nightfall was a long time off, but seeing the Behemoth linger in the clouds wasn’t filling me with confidence or ease. Hellions came down any time they wanted, regardless of the weather. But the darker it was, the more dangerous they became.
For a brief moment, I wondered about Abby. I told myself that she was all right. She was staying strong and holding out, knowing I would come for her. But nobody knew what happened after the Hellions took a victim up to their ship. There were no stories or rumors, because no one ever returned.
Swallowing my fear, I lowered my gaze and stepped out of the supply shed. I ran onto the main road, which was wider and more beaten than the one I had led the marauders down. I seriously hoped this plan worked and that they would still be willing to help me. If I went through all this only to lose my allies and precious time… I didn’t know what I would do.
I wasn’t seen or accosted, but I slowed down a few minutes later when I came around a bend in the road and found the Junkers and the marauders.
It was hard to see their faces, but I made out the shapes of Sawyer and Nash. They were tied on separate worktables with chains shackling their wrists and ankles. Between the two tables was a generator with two large wheel cranks on each end. The chains on Sawyer and Nash’s ankles were wrapped around the wheel, the chains on their wrists speared to the ground by rebar. It was impossible for them to escape, and whatever the generator did to them wouldn’t be pretty.
Pinned on her knees across from Sawyer and Nash, Gemma was struggling with the chains wrapped around her arms and legs. She thrashed and struggled, but the two Junkers behind her pushed their boots onto her body, keeping her from moving.
Briggs and his dozen Junkers were spread out along the road. Two holding Gemma, four surrounding Nash and Sawyer, and the other six spread out along the road, sharpening knives and propping metal buckets under the tables. A large fire was being coaxed to life in the middle of the road with a roasting spit laid across it. Briggs himself was standing by the tables, staring down at Sawyer. I was about twenty feet away, still hidden by a pile of scrap metal and springs. Near the very top of it were useless rubber tires. They weren’t far ahead and I hadn’t been seen yet,
but I didn’t think time was on my side. Hoping that my luck would hold a little longer, I started climbing the pile.
It was hard to do, since the bag weighed down my shoulder and every movement could trigger a slide or knock something out of place. I moved without thinking, knowing that if I stopped to contemplate my actions, I would be seen, captured, and killed. Or worse.