Startled, she saw him widen his eyes and shake his head at her. He knew. He knew she’d given up hope.
“Get it together!” he hissed.
He was right. This was no time to fall apart. Once they had the antidote, she could fall apart all over the place if she wanted—just not now. They were losing precious time; she had to find a way for them to escape.
Dropping her shield, she scanned around her, searching out weaknesses.
Okay, so Max was a walking billboard for terror, but it turned out, ol’ Max imagined himself as a bit soft on Indies. He was talking amiably with them, filling in both sides of the conversation when they didn’t answer, unconcerned by their silence.
Coru was concentrating on staying on his feet, the shock of every step shooting up into his hip and down his leg. Still, he never stopped searching, constantly assessing their situation. Nelson was doing the same, running the possibilities of escape routes. He knew this city and could work their way out of any place, given the chance…
Wren eyed her bow proprietorially, currently slung over Max’s shoulder. That would be her first move.
Wren slowed her pace trying to stick close to Coru and Nelson but kept being bumped back and away. There was a lot of “bumping” into her. She shied away from what many of these men had going on in their heads about her but didn’t dare raise her shield. She couldn’t afford to miss anything. What she did do was block their ideas from Coru. He had enough on his plate without worrying about her.
Not working, darlin’, Coru sent her in a dark cloud of fury.
Damn. She’d thought she could do at least that much. Her control of this mental ability was all over the map.
You’re wrung out; overstretched. You need rest.
She prayed he was right.
Max was still rambling, “Since you’re kinda shy, I’ll just go on and tell you what’s gonna happen. You see, normally I’d maybe take your stuff—you’ve got some pretty cool stuff here—and just let you go. I got no quarrel with you Indies. You’re honest folk, for the most part, the ones who didn’t cave.”
Cave? Through Max, Wren saw a trickle of people making its way into New Pacifica, giving up, signing up—to Professor Red’s POE army. Another piece fell into place. Professor Red had grown strong after the first flush of the virus, attracting followers with promises of food, shelter, and protection.
“… you work hard, you mind your own business.” Max, still jawing. He slanted his gaze in their direction, waiting on a response. “But you weren’t minding your own business tonight now, were you?”
When there was still no response, he shrugged and rambled on, “But things are different now. The POE, those gutless, dull, stupid sons o’ bitches, excuse the language, Girlie, but they’ve earned it. The POE are making a move, something big is going down and I gotta take care of mine. We’ll be trading you three in for credit with the POE—.”
“Pustules On Eggplant,” one of his followers blurted.
Max paused and looked at him. “Fair, but not your best, Damian.”
“You like eggplant?” Damian countered, stumbling over something in the tall grass.
Max pursed his lips and pondered. “You have a point,” he conceded cheerfully.
They walked on for a few minutes, lost in thought, this alternate definition of what POE stood for a running challenge in their gang, who, Wren read, called themselves Swing Shifters, priding themselves in their ability to pivot, to survive anything.
“Where was I?” Max mused. “Oh yes. Trading up.”
Damian tripped again, stumbling against Coru and Nelson this time, grabbing hold of Coru to keep from falling. The guy was a train wreck! Coru grunted and staggered, barely staying on his feet, losing his knit cap in the process. Nelson and Coru stopped, forcing the line to stop as well. Nelson jerked his chin at the ground. “His hat, man.”
Max turned around to face them, a wide smile at the ready at hearing one of his captives finally speak; a smile that faltered the moment he took in Coru’s bald head and tattoos. He raised up both arms, AK in one hand, Wren’s bow in the other and commanded, “Halt.” His eyes had bugged out.
The troop stopped, and whirled toward Max, alarmed by his tone and change of mood, ready to fire, or bolt if need be.
Max was staring at Coru, a slow smile crawling across his features. “Ah. Like I keep telling you boys, always be ready for opportunity to knock.” His arms still raised, Max called his troops around, drawing them into a circle, waving at Coru like a carnival barker at the center ring of a circus. “Say hello to Mr. Opportunity, Shifters.”
Max motioned for his men to pull Nelson away from Coru. Nelson snarled in protest but was no match for four on one. Coru stood wavering on his own, staring Max down, his eyes burning.
Now Max made a show of parading around Coru, raking his eyes up and down his body from all angles, a hungry wolf sizing up an injured buck. “Interesting. Very, very interesting. You know what we’ve caught ourselves, men?”
His followers shrugged or shook their heads, mystified why Max was so taken by their strange captive. Max came to a stop, facing Coru. “Someone’s been looking for you. He’s been looking for you for a very long time. Truth was, I thought he was delusional, but…you’ll bring us a pretty penny.”
Coru lurched forward, his only available action, forcing Max to step back. “Who? Professor Red?”
Wren started at where Coru’s mind had leapt. Was this their shortcut to Payton?
“Yeah, because you’re just that important.” Max laughed hard at this, his followers joining in like trained seals on the jocularity.
Wren struggled with her restraints to no avail. Yes, these guys were clowns, but they were dangerous clowns who intended on selling Coru. The Swing Shifters had no affiliation, always rolling with the flow. Highest bidder, most favorite current friend, whoever was on top—all seemed to be their motto.
Scum floats to the surface.
Coru tried again, “Zhang?”
Max’s eyes emptied. He didn’t recognize the name, but he recovered quickly and sneered, “Who?” already counting his good fortune in his head. The Swing Shifters had just found the holy grail. “Yup. This is our lucky night, men. We’re stashing our little payday here and heading over to Tanya’s for a visit. Our guy is one of her captains.”
Tanya?
The Swing Shifters regrouped, formed a new line, before and behind their now precious cargo, and resumed the march, their steps livelier than before. Nelson tore from his captor’s grip and caught the staggering Coru, shoving his shoulder under his arm, lifting as much of Coru’s weight as he could manage. Wren’s heart swelled with gratitude at Nelson’s selflessness. She could feel Coru’s pain, his struggle to keep up, his determination not to show weakness before their captors. Max was silent now, all thought of small talk forgotten. He was working out how he would approach the Glenbrook Ravens’ without getting shot for his troubles. The north entrance was pretty well protected. I could talk it out from a place of shelter. Mostly bullet proof. I’ll send out Billy to do the initial negotiations.
Wren grew impatient with his musing. “Give me something to work with,” she murmured under her breath. Who wants Coru? Why do they want him?
She was shaking at the possibilities. She could not let this happen. Coru simply could not be handed over. She didn’t know how, but Zhang had to have his hands all over this. Was it the wanted poster? It had to be! That poster had haunted Coru for months—following them wherever they went, and it had been posted ten years ago.
Coru looked over at her, sending her a questioning look. She realized he’d been pinging her and she had not heard him. What was wrong with her? She was losing it.
The Shifters approached one of the high rises with confidence. It was obviously their building/headquarters—for now. These things changed hands often. Turf wars were on-going here in New Pacifica Wild. Why the POE had waited this long to step in was puzzling…
They passed t
hrough a guarded entrance and proceeded to climb four floors of a thoroughly tagged cement staircase—there was no electricity here, so no functioning elevator. It was surprisingly clean, otherwise. Max ran a tight ship.
Once they were on the fourth floor, they were hustled into one of the former apartments, still furnished, though dark. Here, Wren’s hands were untied, they were given water, and some hard, dark bread while their ransacked packs were dumped by the entrance.
Max motioned toward an open fire pit in the middle of the living room with a collection of shadowy couches encircling it. The floor was ruined, burnt down to the cement base. Broken pieces of furniture and roughly chopped wood were stacked across one of the walls. The place was chilly and damp and smelled of wood smoke and body odor with a hint of mold. “There’s wood and matches. Knock yourselves out.” He left, locking the door behind him.
Wren went immediately to Coru. “Let’s look at your leg.”
Nelson laid Coru onto one of the couches, and in four long strides, pulled back the sagging curtains, revealing bars on the open, glassless windows. He yanked the curtains closed with a bark of disgust and strode into the other rooms, more sounds of frustration following his path as he found more of the same.
Wren carefully revealed Coru’s wound. It was swollen, the flesh spilling from the opening, front and back. “Oh, Coru,” she sighed, sitting back on her haunches and staring at it. “We need disinfectant and you should have stitches.”
“Look in the packs,” he grunted. “They were searching for ammo, not first aid supplies. You might get lucky.”
She brought the bags to the couch where Coru lay with his leg propped up. Nelson was busy constructing a fire, muttering profanities as he worked. Nelson was not good in confined spaces.
She rummaged around the ransacked bags, relieved to find the first aid supplies untouched. She tugged a nearby chair closer, stretched one of her shirts across it in an attempt at cleanliness and assembled what she needed.
“Okay. We need to lose the pants.”
Coru shifted and she got them off but laid them under him as a layer of clean against the grimy couch. She looked up at him apologetically. “First the disinfectant. Sorry.”
He gave a gruff laugh. “Beats an infected wound all day long.”
“Good attitude.” She opened the bottle and carefully poured the liquid over the wound.
Coru hissed as the liquid sank into his ruined flesh. After a few minutes, Wren had him turn over and repeated the process. This time he groaned in protest. The exit wound was much worse than the entrance wound.
Nelson had the fire going good now, lending much needed light for what would come next.
Wren wiped all around the opening, then prepared to stitch it closed as best she could. “This won’t be fancy,” she warned, feeling a little breathless at the thought of sewing up a human being.
“I don’t need fancy.”
Sitting off to the side to allow firelight to flicker over Coru’s pale skin, she laughed tremulously, her needle poised over the wound. “That’s a good thing. Last time I did this, I was working on Hero.”
“I’ll have to compare notes with him when we get back home,” Coru told her. “Me and the dog. Twins.”
“Here goes. Tell me if I hurt you.”
He barked a laugh. “Seriously?”
“Ah, yeah—that was stupid. Going in.” Cringing, she inserted the needle. Coru said nothing, though his muscles quivered under her hand. Carefully and as quickly as she could, she closed the wound, tied off the thread, poured more disinfectant over it then swabbed it with antibiotic ointment and bandaged it. The stinging scent of the disinfectant wafted around their little huddle, making Wren’s nose prick. Waving it away, she moved back and let Nelson help Coru flip onto his stomach before repeating the stitching process on the exit wound.
Coru made no sound through the whole event, but his muscles jumped with each piercing of his skin. Once everything was bandaged, she helped him don the POE pants they’d kept from the Vedder Bridge. They were loose, thick and warm, a much better quality of garment any of the Indies had had access to since the pandemic, and perfect for over his injury.
Nelson gave him pain meds and water. Before Wren packed everything away, she made up a few quick wound care kits for when they were on the run again.
Coru smiled at her, having read her thoughts. “Ever the optimist.”
“You’re the one anxious to compare scars with Hero when we get back home.”
“We’ll get there.”
“Oh, I know we’re getting out of this mess,” she assured him, tossing him some of the dark bread. “Eat this. We’ll save our stuff for later.”
She tore another chunk off and handed it to Nelson.
Nelson bit into it, his restless eyes roaming the smoky room. “We should get some rest here. Sleep as much as we can. Be ready to make a break when they come to move us.”
He was right. Now that the stitching was over, Wren barely had enough energy to chew the hard, tasteless bread. She rolled her eyes at Coru. Where was Catherine when you needed her?
Coru grunted his agreement. Catherine’s bread is sublime. With Deklin’s honey.
Nelson looked from Wren to Coru. “You two at it again?”
“Sorry,” Coru said. “We were remembering when bread tasted good.”
“I hear ya’. My Amanda’s some cook.” Nelson grew quiet, hunching closer to the fire, the thin smoke rising over their heads listlessly before meandering out the open window into the cool night. They ate the rest in silence.
Nothing but the best for Max’s prisoners—high tech—Wren couldn’t help noting, her mood soured, then mentally brought herself back to her companions, and what she needed to know about them to best help. She could see Nelson was struggling not to think of his wife and daughters. He believed if he did, he’d be useless. He needed to focus, to make this work.
As almost an afterthought, he said, “I wasn’t kidding about getting sleep. We have to be ready.” He stood, his knees crackling with the action, reminding her Nelson was not a young man, and went to check on Coru. Yet, here he was, willing to fight for his family.
Caught up in his mood, Wren found herself staring into the fire and thought of Nicola back home. What was she doing right now? Were they all safe, taking care of each other? Were they tucking into their beds with a cup of tea and a book before sleep? Was Catherine soaking morning oatmeal with milk and dried blueberries and honey?
After a few minutes, Nelson came over and settled beside her. “He’s asleep,” he murmured, tossing in a chunk of wood, what might have once, in better times, been a newel post.
“That’s a good thing,” she answered softly, still staring at the flames. “He took that shot for me.”
“Better his leg than your pelvis. You’d never have survived it.”
She glanced at him in surprise.
“Don’t you go feeling guilty. I heard what Amanda told you. Amanda’s a hard woman—she’s had to be. And, she wasn’t wrong, but neither were you. I see that Coru needs you; we all do.”
She didn’t answer; she couldn’t. To begin to explain how she felt about Coru would open the floodgates and she couldn’t do that here. She had to shut out that part of her now. She poked the fire. It sparked and crackled in response. “Tell me about your daughters.”
“Oh, we’d be here all night if I started in on Paula and Gia, and we can’t have that.” Nelson’s face was soft now with thoughts of his girls.
“I could use a happy story right about now.”
He considered her. “Hmmm. Happy story, huh?”
“Yeah. Tell me what you did before, you know, before all this.”
Now he chuckled. “Before? Before I was a dentist.”
She gasped and gave him a shove. “Get out? You were not!”
“I was. Honest to God. And I was considering partnering up with an orthodontist to round out my practice—a one stop shop—when the BSV hit.”
“Not a big calling for dentistry these days. And not a big community happening up at Williams Lake. Not one I wanted to stick around in with my two young daughters. Waylon, either. He was the local butcher.”
Wren smiled, picturing the big, wild-haired Waylon wearing a white apron, standing behind a polished glass counter over a solid block of wood and wielding a massive cleaver with finesse, carving out the perfect roast for a customer. In her mind, Waylon was grinning, the customer smiling. She murmured, “Waylon, a butcher. I can see that.”
“Good one, too. All the hunters came around every fall. He treated them right, and man could Waylon make sausage. Summer sausage, breakfast, kielbassa, garlic, honey garlic, salami, pepperoni…and bacon…the guy was an artist.
“But Williams Lake became a dangerous place to be. A group of thugs took over what was left of the town and me and Waylon saw the writing on the wall, so we packed up the girls after dark one night and headed south. Back down to the Fraser Valley, where the weather is milder, and we both still had family—my dad and my brother, Waylon’s uncle.”
“Both your dad and your brother survived? Wow, those are some great genes you got there, Nelson. Better hang on to them.”
“We found some like-minded survivors and took up raising sheep. Can’t go wrong with sheep. They’ll eat anything and everything, they’re pretty easy to get along with, they produce wool for clothes and blankets, and they’re not bad eating either.”
“They’re easy to get along with then you eat them? How is this a happy story?” she teased.
“I’m getting to that part.” He smiled at her. “It was through a lamb that I met Amanda.”
“I’d have never guessed Paula and Gia weren’t yours and Amanda’s. She loves those girls as her own—I felt her love for them back in the cabin. She’d give her life for them, for all of you. I just assumed you’d been a couple since before the pandemic.”
“No. My wife’s name was Patricia, and she was Paula and Gia’s mother. She was a fragile woman and went quickly. I was part of the Emergency Response Teams we set up at the start. Watching it all go down and how others suffered, I was grateful Patty went quickly. Me and the girls…well, we got lucky. Don’t ask me why. I guess those girls have a bit of their dad’s DNA, huh?”
Cursed Apprentice (Earth Survives Book 2) Page 31