Next, we discussed salvage. Even as the low man on the totem pole, I was entitled to a share of anything I found. If the quartermaster didn’t want it, it was all mine. Any male slaves I took belonged to Lucian and the Carls, but they would compensate me for them. As for women, the first one I captured belonged to the Legion, but any others were mine to keep. When I asked what happened to the women who were given to the Legion, I got about the answer I expected. I didn’t reach across the table and rip Paul’s heart out through his mouth, but it was a near thing.
Last, we talked about ascension through the ranks. My current rank was that of prospect. If I proved myself, I could become a regular, like Paul. If I demonstrated intelligence, motivation, leadership, and resourcefulness, I might be considered for promotion to crew leader. Promotion to Carl, however, was a dim possibility. Unless the Legion got big enough to warrant commissioning more of them, or if one of them died, it was unlikely that I would achieve that rank anytime soon. I nodded understanding at that, all the while thinking to myself that the Legion’s growth prospects were about to become extraordinarily grim.
Once finished, Paul had me sign a document confirming that I understood the terms conditions of membership in the Free Legion, and that I consented to abide by them.
As if I had a fucking choice.
We then went back across the parking lot to the warehouse and tracked down Kasikov. He was down in the tunnels supervising the grumbling Legion troops that Lucian had ordered to begin work on a walkway of wooden planks. The planks would provide an even surface for the luggage carts they would use to move supplies and equipment back and forth between sites. I tried to sneak a peek down the Hollow Rock access tunnel, but all I saw was darkness.
“There are not being openings on any of the crews except one,” the big Russian said with a grin.
Paul raised an eyebrow. “Which one is that?”
Kasikov’s grin swiveled in my direction. “Mine.”
Paul seemed pleased. “Well, that was easy. Logan, say hi to your crew leader.”
“I thought Tommy was your crew leader,” I said.
“He was,” Kasikov replied. “He is being reassigned. An entire crew was slaughtered near one of our supply depots.”
“What?” Paul said, eyes widening. “Which one?”
“Carson and his men. A patrol found them yesterday and sent runner to tell Lucian. They have been dead many weeks.”
“Son of a bitch.” Paul looked stricken. “What were Lucian’s orders?”
“He is sending Tommy and some others to track down the people who are being responsible.”
People. Plural. I wondered what they would think if I told them it wasn’t an army, or a team of Special Forces operators that slaughtered their men. Just little old me.
“So what’s next?” I asked, shuffling and trying to look unsure of myself. “I mean, what do I do now.”
“For now, you are to be going topside and finding Mike. You remember Mike, da? Skinny little man, face like a rat.”
“Yeah, I remember him.”
“Tell him you are being on our crew. He will be setting you up.”
“I can do that. Then what?”
The Russian smiled and grabbed me by the shoulders. “Then you have drink! And woman! We celebrate tonight, da? Go now, my friend. I have work to do.”
I forced a smile, but my heart was sinking. Slowly, I made my way back to the exit hatch.
*****
Rat-Face wasn’t thrilled that I was on his crew, but he seemed to take it in stride.
“There’s your bunk,” he said, pointing. It sat beside three others in a shabbily constructed plywood shack. Heaps of weapons and equipment cluttered the bunks around it. “Just so you know, the penalty for stealing is twenty lashes, administered by Aiken himself. Believe me when I tell you, you don’t want that.”
“I’ll take your word for it.” I made my way over to the bunk and began unloading my few belongings.
“Don’t get too comfortable,” Rat-Face said, sitting down in front of a Coleman stove. “We’re heading out the day after tomorrow.”
I walked over and sat down in a chair across from him. The smell of grilled mutton wafted from the stove. The only light in our corner of the warehouse was a single propane lantern that did little to chase away the gloom.
“Where to?”
“Fucking McKenzie.” He said it like it hurt. “Place is a goddamn horror show. Infected everywhere.”
“Then why are we going there?”
He pointed at the stove. “Goats.”
I blinked. “Goats?”
“Goats. Place is lousy with them.”
I had learned about the large herds of wild goats that roamed Western Tennessee months ago. But Logan Morrison wasn’t from Tennessee, and hadn’t been in this part of the state for very long. He was just passing through when he was captured. So he played dumb.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“There used to be a goat farm just north of here. The guy that ran the place raised them all organic and shit. Made cheese with their milk and sold it for twenty bucks a pound. When the Outbreak hit, he wanted the little fuckers to have a fighting chance, so he set ’em all free. They went forth and multiplied.”
“So you hunt wild goats?”
“Yep. Capture ’em and use ’em for milk, too.”
I shook my head and chuckled. “So how did you learn where all the goats came from?”
“Remember the farmer I just mentioned? He was one of the first guys to join up with the Legion back when Lucian took over. We were on a crew together for a while until the Carl over in Western figured out what he could do. Gave the guy a permanent gig making cheese and raising new herds. Lucky bastard.”
He took the goat steak off the grill, turned off the burner, and began cutting it up. “You want some of this?”
My stomach lurched, growling loudly. Even with the extra rations I’d been getting lately, I still hadn’t been eating much. “I could eat the ass out of a buffalo right now.”
Rat-Face chuckled, and scraped some meat onto a metal plate, along with a few potatoes from a mason jar. We sat in silence, eating our meal together.
The irony of the situation was not lost on me.
A short time later, Kasikov showed up with another man whom I recognized as the guard who had caught me talking, and had cracked me in the kidney with his rifle.
“Privyet assholes! I am being hungry. Mikhail, be giving me food.”
Rat-Face glared at the Russian. “Stop calling me that, or I’ll fucking poison you. I ain’t no goddamn Cossack.”
“And how is being our new friend?” Kas shot me a wolfish grin.
“He is being better now that he’s got a full stomach,” I said. “This is the first decent meal I’ve had in months.”
“That is being good. There is being more where it is coming from.”
“You remember me, right?”
I looked up at the man that had accompanied Kasikov. “Yeah, I do. My back hurt for a fucking week.”
“Look man, I was just doing my job. If I hadn’t done it, it would have been my ass.”
I waved off his apology. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve had worse.”
“No hard feelings?”
“Would it do any good?”
He grinned. “Nope. I’m Will Jones, by the way.”
“Will is to be joining our crew now,” Kas said, whacking him on the back. “He is being good man, you will see.”
I sincerely doubted that there was anything good about Will Jones, but I stayed quiet and ate the rest of my food. The other men exchanged chitchat and cleaned their plates. Once finished with his meal, Kasikov belched loudly wiped a hand across his mouth, and reached under his shirt. He produced a length of cord with a set of keys dangling from it. He selected what looked like a handcuff key and handed it to me.
“It is being time for party now, Logan. Go and get our women. Mikhail, find us something to
drink. I am being thirsty man.”
My heart beat faster in my chest, and I felt cold fingers marching up my back. “Um … which ones are your women?”
Rat-Face gestured to where the female slaves were chained up. “The skinny blond with the big tits, the redhead, and the black chick with a butterfly tattoo on her ass.” He pointed a finger at me. “That last one’s mine. Keep your hands off her, new guy.”
I struggled for a good reason to refuse, to convince Kas I wasn’t interested without raising suspicion, but nothing came to mind. Numbly, I muttered acknowledgement and started walking.
When I reached them, the girls all stood up and let their blankets fall to the ground. They kept their gazes pinned downward, their eyes blank and lifeless. All of them were naked, and I wondered if their captors ever allowed them to wear any clothes.
Out of the thirty or so women, Miranda was the only large-breasted, slender blond. The redhead was also easy to identify—she was the only one with red hair—but there were several black women. I asked them to turn around, and identified the one with the tattoo. After unchaining them, I told the three of them to follow me. The others looked relieved to be passed over, and sat back down on their pallets, pulling their blankets around them.
On the walk back across the warehouse, I realized that my fists were clenched and I was grinding my teeth. Taking a deep breath, I forced myself to relax.
Come on, Riordan. Think.
When I got back, Kasikov thrust a bottle of Captain Morgan at me. “Drink, my friend. This is being good day for you. Miranda, you are being with Logan tonight. You are to be doing whatever he wants, da?” There was a subtle warning in his voice that made the petite girl shudder.
“Yes, master.”
“Hey, what about me?” Jones shouted.
Kasikov seized the redhead by the arm and thrust her at him. “She is having three holes. Two for me, and one for you.”
Jones laughed. “That works for me.”
The black girl straddled Rat-Face, keeping her head turned away as he began slurping at her breasts. The redhead knelt down in front of Jones and started unbuckling his pants. Kasikov dropped his trousers and pulled up on the girl’s hips.
“Be standing up, bitch. The floor is being cold.”
She got to her feet and bent over in front of him. Her head started bobbing up and down over Jones’s lap. The Russian slapped her buttocks, crouched into position, and roughly thrust himself in. I looked away, but still heard the fleshy slapping sounds.
For a moment, I considered just killing them all right then and there. They were all distracted, and Jones had left his gun belt on a table just a few feet away. I could snatch up the pistol and the knife, stab Kasikov at the base of the skull, and shoot Jones in the heart. The only worry was Rat-Face. I’d have to pull the girl off his lap first, which might give him time to draw a weapon. My hand had just begun to stray toward the belt when Miranda reached out and touched my arm. I looked at her and saw her eyes shining wetly in the dim light of the lantern. Her head shook just a fraction.
Please don’t. She mouthed, using the hanging sheet of her hair to hide her face from the others.
I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. Absently, I became aware of the forgotten bottle of rum in my hand. Miranda stepped over to a chair a few feet away from the others and motioned for me to sit down. I hesitated for a long instant, not wanting to do it, fighting down the killing urge. The silent pleading in her eyes finally moved me.
I sat down in the chair, and Miranda took a seat on my lap. Her hand started rubbing circles on my chest, and she leaned her head down to nibble on my ear. I wanted to crawl out of my skin.
“It’s okay,” she whispered. “I know you don’t want to do this. But if you don’t, they’ll send you back to the mines. It’s part of how they test you.”
She slid down my lap until she was kneeling on the floor in front of me. Gently, she pushed my knees apart and began rubbing a hand over the front of my pants. Her other hand pushed up my shirt and her lips began tracing a tingling line over my stomach. Even though I didn’t want it to, and as much as I hated myself for it, my body reacted.
I remembered a girl I had known back in junior high who had thought that boys only got erections when they were horny. She’d been one of those kids with hyper-conservative parents who had refused to let her attend sex education. I had explained to her that guys get hard-ons all the time, usually for no reason at all. The penis has a mind of its own, and it will react to just about any kind of stimulus, as long as it isn’t too painful.
As Miranda’s hands and lips did their work, I told myself that it wasn’t my fault. I wasn’t doing this. It was just the animal that was my body responding to millennia of evolution. A pretty girl was touching nerve endings that stimulated an involuntary response in my cerebral cortex. A chemical reaction that I had no control over. Nothing more.
Her fingers began plucking at my belt buckle, and I turned my head away. I had a desperate thought to drag her off somewhere in the darkness under the pretense of wanting privacy, but then remembered Miranda’s warning. I needed to maintain my cover, and the last thing I wanted to do was get myself killed. But this was too much. Beatings, I could take. Isolation, I could take. Slave labor, and starvation, and being locked up underground, I could take.
But this, letting this girl do what she was about to do, it was more than I could stand. I was not being victimized here. I was the one doing the victimizing. The Legion was making me an accessory to their crimes by forcing me to sit here and let Miranda carry out this act. Realizing that fact, juxtaposed against all the other things the Legion had put me through, their methods were beginning to make a monstrous kind of sense.
I thought of Allison, and her lovely smile, and the soft, glowing warmth that we had shared on so many cold nights together. Something mutual, and consenting, and beautiful. One of the most profound joys of the human experience. Not sordid, barbaric, and filthy like what these men were doing.
I resolved that if I survived the coming fight, I would tell Allison about everything that had happened here. I just hoped she could forgive me.
Miranda was gentle, and skilled from long practice. When she took me into her mouth, I wanted to scream with frustration. My hands gripped the sides of my chair, and I clenched my jaw so hard I thought my teeth were going to break. She kept her hands busy as she worked, and thankfully, it was over quickly.
She wiped her mouth and leaned back. “Is there anything else you want me to do?”
Her eyes were wide, and I saw pity in them. My throat constricted with a barely suppressed sob, and I felt the burning sting of tears as my vision blurred. I stayed quiet, not trusting my voice. Looking at Miranda, I wondered what kind of gentle, forgiving soul could feel sorry for a man who had just forced her to give him oral sex, even if that man had done so against his will. Maybe she thought I was just as much of a victim as she was.
Get it together, Riordan. You’ve come too far and endured too much to fuck this up now.
I cleared my throat and sat up straight, blowing out a deep breath to relax. “No, that’s good enough for now. Go on, fuck off.”
I stared at her as I said it to let her know I didn’t mean it. She gave me a small smile, and squeezed my knee.
“Are you being sure?”
Looking up, I saw Kasikov still ravaging the redheaded girl. Jones cried out across from him as he came in the girl’s mouth.
“She is good, my friend. Well trained.” He switched his attention to Jones. “Hey, hand me my vodka.”
“Okay, enough bitch.” Jones pushed the girl’s head away. “Goddamn woman, the thing gets sensitive right after a man cums. Didn’t anybody teach you that?”
He leaned over and grabbed a bottle off the floor, then held it out to Kasikov over the redhead’s bare back. The Russian unscrewed the cap and took a long swig, then gestured at me. “Go on, my friend. There are many things she can be doing to you. Give
it a few minutes. You will be getting it up again.”
I opened the bottle of rum and faked a languid yawn. “I appreciate it man, but I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in … shit, I can’t even remember. If it’s all right with you guys, I’m just gonna have a few drinks and go to bed.”
Rat-Face turned around from where he had the black girl bent over in front of him. “You’re fucking lame, Morrison. A goddamn two-pump chump.” The others laughed.
“Yeah, yeah. Pick on the new guy. See you tomorrow, fellas.”
Their attention went back to the women as I left. Jones called Miranda over and ordered her to pick up where the redhead had left off.
“If the new guy doesn’t want to use you, I will …”
I propped up a pillow, lay down on my bunk, and tried to ignore the sounds coming from the common area.
You had better enjoy yourselves, you sick fucks, I thought, taking a pull from the rum. Because by God, your days are numbered.
*****
I awoke from a nightmare in the middle of the night.
It was one of those dreams where in the middle of it you realize you’re dreaming, and when that realization strikes home, you wake up. I didn’t sit up in my bunk screaming, or anything. My eyes simply snapped open, and suddenly I was awake.
For all the light in the warehouse, I might as well have kept my eyes shut. The darkness was complete and impenetrable. I reached down and fumbled in my pack until I found the wind-up lantern. A few spins of the crank handle charged it, and I used it to find my boots and make my way to the main entrance. A sleepy looking guard stood by the doorway, Kalashnikov in hand.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
I motioned toward the door. “I was going to step outside and get some air for a little while.”
“Not out here, you’re not. This entrance is off-limits after dark. If you want to go outside, you’ll have to take the tunnel over to the admin building. There’s a courtyard behind it that’s invisible from the road. But you’ll have to leave your lantern with the guard over there. No lights outside after dark; it’s the rules.”
Surviving the Dead 03: Warrior Within Page 28