by W. A. R.
“George? What’s wrong? I thought we agreed…” she paused then, her eyes trailing up and finding Buddy as she advanced towards them. He took her in, her nervous stare, straightened and determined shoulders, her filth-ridden clothes, her swords, and Miles’s guns. She stopped a few feet away and George gave her a pointed look that spoke volumes that only they understood.
“Buddy wanted to talk to you real quick. I figured it would be alright.” He glanced at Buddy once again and turned back to Amber. He placed a hand reassuringly on her shoulder. “I’ll be inside.” And there was an underlying meaning to his words, one that Buddy couldn’t decipher. And surprisingly the tension didn’t leave whenever George did; if anything it rose higher and Buddy couldn’t bring himself to look at her.
“You’re looking much better.” She stated after a few seconds, turning and glancing at the barn behind her. Buddy followed her gaze and realized belatedly that both doors to the barn moved with the wind.
He cleared his throat. “I feel a lot better.” He replied, unsure of what to say to her, unsure of where to even begin his apology. He let his eyes drift over her, taking in the rip in her jeans and the fresh blood that coated them, her crimson arm; the blood dried against her skin and turning into flakes of what once was.
“Buddy? You wanted to talk?” he heard her ask and he stared at the ground, shifting on his feet. He was quiet, and hadn’t realized how truly silent he had been. Really, he just wanted to see for himself that she was alright, that he hadn’t hurt her too bad. “You really are looking much better and you sound a little better…so I have to ask: is this about what happened yesterday?” she asked him and still, he was at a loss for words. She stood about two feet from him, and he couldn’t even bring himself to look at her. Slowly, he nodded. She was quiet for another few seconds. Time seemed to drag on as he waited for her to speak. After about a minute, he could no longer take it and he lifted his eyes to hers, trying to find the words he wanted to say.
“I…I just…” He stuttered, and she lifted a brow at him.
“Are you trying to apologize?” she asked, briefly turning to glance at the front yard. “Because if you are, I forgive you.” She said simply and he stared at her, noticing finally her bruised lip. He grimaced. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“Amber…I…” he tried but words failed him. Slowly, he reached forward, to touch her, to comfort her or ease his own mind, he wasn’t sure. Still, it shocked him that she didn’t pull away in fear whenever he caught her arm. Instead, she glanced at where their skin met and sighed. She stared hard up at him and he saw a torrent of emotions in their depths. “You’re still upset with me.”
She scoffed at this and pulled from him, in turn grabbing his arm and urging him towards the house. He dutifully allowed her to lead him, anxious to hear what she had to say. “You are the last of my worries Boudreaux. Seriously, I forgive you. It’s alright. Now, why don’t you go on into the house and get something to eat?” she suggested and just the thought of food made his stomach recoil. He grimaced and stepped back, witnessing both the irritation and the immense amount of despondency that came over her features. She wanted him to leave; she didn’t want to be around him and that hurt him beyond reason.
“Talk to me.” He demanded gently and for a moment she stopped. He could see the war in her eyes, the sadness and uncertainty that gripped at her. He wondered why she was so torn, and which part was winning. He assumed he would never know.
She cleared her throat then, running a hand along the length of her long ponytail, all hints of whatever battle she was fighting internally gone. “I am talking to you, and I am urging you to go eat before you get sick. You were out all night, not to mention the better part of the day yesterday. We can…we can talk later.” She offered and he studied her, noting how her eyebrows knit together, how sweat beaded on her brow and how she appeared completely and utterly lost.
He stared down at her and sighed. “Amber…” he began but he was cut off by a loud banging coming from the door. He and Amber both jerked their heads toward the sound and he could feel Amber’s sudden tension, he could see how her breathing became shallow and rapid. She was afraid…but of what. “What was that?” he asked, knowing that the sound was familiar…it was that of a car door shutting. He turned back to Amber who swallowed thickly. Everyone else aside from Damien was in the house. “Who’s in there?”
She looked to him wildly then, her eyes desperate and yet resolved. “What are you talking about?” she feigned innocence and he narrowed his eyes at her before quickly sidestepping her.
“You know exactly what I’m talking about.” He told her bitterly and as he advanced towards the barn, she quickly ran in front of him and placed both hands on his chest, stopping him. “Amber,” he began, looking down into her worried face. His heart dropped at seeing her so lost. “What are you hiding? We can help you…just talk to us.” He told her and for a moment she seemed to consider this.
“I know…I know…it’s just…” she paused, glancing towards the barn once again and she cleared her throat. Her shoulders straightened even more so, if that were possible, and she patted her hands against his chest. She turned back to him and he saw something different in her eyes. “Before you go in the barn and see…before I tell you…just…know that I forgive you…and I need you to forgive me.” She told him and he looked down at her in confusion. He studied her in silence for a moment before he heard a few more movements inside the barn. His head felt dizzy again and he bit back the bile that rose in his throat. Damn ivy.
“Forgive you for what, Amber?” he asked and she sighed. She looked so sad.
“For this.” She said and quickly she reared back and hit him in his tender, sensitive, stomach. He doubled over immediately, the pain radiating along every nerve ending and he again felt sick. And just as quickly as that hit had happened, did she offer him another, and this time her knuckles met his temple, causing his wave of dizziness to overcome him and he fell to the ground in pain. He was weak and his entire body was hurting. He could do nothing more than lay on the grass and dirt and writhe in pain. He closed his eyes tightly, refusing to look at her. Was this payback for what he had done to her? Or was she just trying to keep whatever was in the barn a secret? He got his answer whenever he felt her kneel beside him. “You should have just gone into the house.” She then stood and with a loud, distinctive whistle, he heard the barn doors slam open. He opened his eyes in time to see the men they had gone to meet the week before run out, guns at the ready.
Two of them, the leader and another dark-haired man came up to Amber and Buddy. “Their weapons gone?” the leader asked her and she nodded. What were they doing here? Weren’t they dead? Hadn’t she killed them all? Fear seeped into his veins and he tried to stand. The dark-haired man next to the leader stepped forward and despite Buddy’s struggle, bound him and prevented him from getting to his feet. Buddy watched in horror as more men raced into the house.
“All of them. I went through the house and took away everything. They are in the Dodge; be sure to take it with you.” Amber replied before turning sadly to Buddy. Screams were heard from inside the house, some banging against the walls. Amber winced, and seemed as if she wanted to rush in whenever the leader placed a hand on her shoulder.
“It’s for the best. This needs to be done.” He told her and slowly she nodded. What needed to be done? Had she really betrayed them? Was that why she had been so distant, why she had been spending such a large amount of time with Damien? She looked down at Buddy then, who stared up at her in confusion and despair.
“Amber…what are you doing? What have you done?” he asked of her and she stepped back from him. This wasn’t like her; Amber wouldn’t do this. “What have they done to you?” he asked and he didn’t miss the regret that flashed in her eyes, even if it was brief.
“I’m doing what needs to be done. I’m sorry…I’m so very sorry.” And with that, he was gagged and jerked up from the ground and dragged to one o
f their trucks in the front yard.
Amber turned and spared one last look. “Treat them well.” She told him, feeling so much emotion within her body that it threatened to cripple her. She knew it was the right decision, that it had to be done, but it didn’t make it any less painful. Quickly, she turned and began towards the barn where the Silverado was, Damien sitting in the passenger’s seat, Zeus beside him, alert and watching Amber. Their weapons, she remembered, were in the red Dodge, all aside from her own. It had been hard work, and she knew she just betrayed every single one of them, but she hoped that in the end it was worth it. She heard the screams for her grow louder in the house and she understood that they were calling for her to help, to come in and fight but she wouldn’t. She was going to let them all go with these strangers, with the enemy, and she was going to stand by and watch as they did so.
Tears pricked her eyes as she hurriedly disappeared into the barn, climbing into the driver’s seat of the truck before these strangers dragged her family out of the house, bound and gagged, unable to fight or escape because she had made sure that they were unable to. The tears snaked their way out of her blue eyes and she felt everything weigh down on her, it was crushing her.
Murderer.
Betrayer.
Conspirator.
She was officially all of these things now. She was officially like Damien; a carbon copy of the man that she hated. They sat in the silence for a long moment, waiting until the back door opened, revealing the strange men carrying her mother, her daughter, and little Elliot out. She swallowed thickly, wanting nothing more than to stop it, but knowing that she couldn’t. It was too late. They kicked and cried and struggled against the men. Amber inhaled a shuddering breath and felt on the verge of hysteria. Her baby girl, her mother…would they eventually understand that there was no other way? She hoped so, she thought as she watched them disappear around the corner of the house. They were soon followed by a struggling Rick, Derek, and Jacob and finally, a not struggling, but obviously emotionally torn, George. Amber covered her mouth to stop herself from crying. As George, the last friend, her brother, rounded the house, he tossed one saddened look into the barn and nodded.
It had all gone as planned. They were all gathered and captured. Her entire family, then, was gone and in the hands of the enemy. She hoped she did the right thing.
It wasn’t long before the trucks roared to life and her and Damien watched as they opened the gate and pulled out of the drive, weaving through Biters as they reached for them. And within seconds they were all gone. Every single one of them gone, apart from herself. She bit back the tears, knowing there was nothing else to be done, and she cranked the truck, forcing her resolve to the forefront of her mind. She spared a glance at Damien, who watched her with concern, his eyes heavy with worry for her. She cleared her throat.
“Are you ready to do this?” she asked and slowly, he nodded, turning his focus to the Biters that came into the yard from the open gates. She sighed, still feeling the wetness of her tears on her face; still tasting the salt from them. She shifted the truck into drive. “Then let’s do it.”
Chapter Twelve
Six days. It had been six days. Miles had kept count by the rise and fall of the sun as he rested on a makeshift cot in some warehouse, ever since he had woken up later that same day. Rotting wood and equipment littered the room he was in and the ground surrounding the building. He knew where they were; it was painfully obvious. He looked through the window every day, saddened by the view that was offered to him. There was nothing but abandoned cars and lumber, nothing but a tall bridge that arched far too high above the water in the distance. The Shallow Falls Bridge; where they were meant to have met with the rest of their family before Ryder took them hostage. He didn’t understand…they weren’t treating them badly. Hell, they were actually treating them well. He glanced across the room at Shelly, Chloe, and Lacy and sighed. They were all still bound, simply as a precaution from fighting or running away, and they were all bound with chains instead of some material that could easily be cut through. They were officially prisoners again and had been since he woke up.
He had woken up in a truck hours after they had knocked him out. They didn’t speak to him, none of them did, not even Ryder, who had appeared at the warehouse within the last two days. He had shouted questions at them, accusations, and all that they had done and still did was offer him skeptical or even amused looks. They traveled intermittently for three days before arriving at the warehouse, and there he witnessed them dragging Shelly, Chloe, and Lacy into the building with him. He had never been so relieved that they were alive and alright, although judging by their hurt and angered looks they wished otherwise. He felt it was his fault, trusting a man that was the enemy, but still…at least they had tried. Still, it could have been worse…it had been worse. Since they arrived at the warehouse, sawmill, whatever you wanted to call it, they had been fed regularly and well, they were given plenty to drink and were even occasionally permitted to work their muscles (with the assistance of two or three armed men). Miles didn’t question this, and instead took it, refusing to let himself get weakened as he was before, regardless of their intentions. He continued thinking of a way to escape but he would be a liar if he wasn’t curious of their intentions. These new people were far too nice and Miles couldn’t help but wonder why…and why they weren’t torturing them for having run to begin with. Ryder had said that their people would be there, that they would see them again and strangely enough, even after everything, even after Ryder betrayed them, he believed him.
He glanced at Shelly, who stared out of the window solemnly, hopeless and lost. “You alright?” he asked of her for the third time that day. It was nearing noon and he wished she would talk to him. She hadn’t said much though, not much to anyone at all since they had been taken again. It was obvious to him by that point that she was with child; the small bulge of her abdomen and the tender care that their captors even offered her showed him that much. He hadn’t mentioned it though, and he wouldn’t until he thought she could handle that heavy of a discussion.
“I’m fine.” She replied sadly, never taking her eyes off the window. He wasn’t sure if she stared at the road or at the cars…maybe even the sun. He wasn’t sure what she expected to see out there. Then again, he knew that was a lie. Just as he continued looking out of the window to see if the others would arrive, to see if he would at some point see Amber, she looked out for the same reason.
He shifted on his cot and sighed. He had avoided the subject of Brian since they had arrived, except for whenever they were first put into the room together. He had explained what happened and she had cried against him. She was torn, tattered, and he hated it. He hated Brian then, for just a moment, for turning and running back to them. Miles felt so ill equipped for handling a pregnant Shelly. Brian was the only one that could take her pain away. He wasn’t sure if Brian was alive or if he was dead, and the question or theoretical question of such wouldn’t be approached. It never would. Truth was, they all hurt. Chloe and Lacy remained silent, defeated. They believed that this was the end for them, and he couldn’t really blame them for feeling that way. They had all been captured, had run, and yet again were captured. They were all alone. They had every reason to believe that being in that warehouse was the end for them, but Miles didn’t. He felt something; he wasn’t sure what, telling him that it was far from over. Something told him repeatedly to keep his eyes open and alert, to keep looking out of that window because one day very soon he would see what he so desperately wanted to see.
He hoped to see Amber and the others make it across that bridge and to safety; away from the enemy.
Still, the vivid images of Brian running back, of him offering his life stayed with him and haunted him most every night whenever he finally was able to sleep. That was one family member he knew wouldn’t be making it across that bridge to safety. Brian, thoughtful and protective Brian, would be at the abusive hands of the enemy. When Shelly
would leave with the strangers to help bring back her strength, he would allow a few tears to fall. It hurt so badly, and he could only imagine what she was going through. Brian had been her lover, her best friend, her future, and now…now he was gone. Granted, if these enemies were the same enemies as before (if the men at the warehouse keeping them locked up were the same men that had taken them in the first place), maybe Shelly would see him again one day. Witnessing her tumble into a depression and wither away into nothing was just as bad as the not knowing of whether Brian was alive or…dead. He tried not to think about it; he tried not to think about the torture that Brian might have to endure should he be alive, and he tried not to wonder of how his death would have gone if his life had been taken from him.
Slowly, he stood and limped over to Shelly, his leg hurting slightly and sore from the events of a week before. He had been shot in the calf while running and Lacy had sprung an ankle whenever she had fallen. Still, they had run, they had fought for their lives…and though they were once again captive, at least they were still breathing.
“Shells…” he began as he lowered himself to sit beside her on her cot. No, their feet were no longer bound and at least, he thought, they were offered that sort of freedom. He didn’t understand where their kindness, if you could call it kind, came from, but it was there. Though they could have tried fighting back against these men, they hadn’t. They were all injured, weak, and outnumbered. They understood this, and they knew that it was fruitless to try to escape again. They were completely imprisoned and unable to get out. They were going to become monster, creatures. They were to be taken away and experimented on and there was nothing that they could do to stop any of it. Yes, they had fought as hard as they could considering the circumstances, but it didn’t make the pain of failure and defeat any less bearable.