“Cook it all,” Gunner said. “We’re growing boys.”
The tents were fairly small. One of them was slightly bigger than the others, but it was clear she would not be sleeping alone. She tried not to think about it. Such a darkness had filled her that she could barely breathe. She set the other cans on the burner and bit her lower lip until it bled.
Just run away, she thought. Run away right now. Maybe they won’t catch you. It’s worth the risk.
A futile thought. She was sick with fear, shaky, and surrounded. Soon, the men settled in around the camp stove. Wolf, whose face was so craggy it looked cracked and broken, produced a large bottle of Jack Daniels, twisting off the cap with one deft spin of his callused fingers. He took a long swig, coughed, and passed the bottle to Pike.
“We’re just gonna leave our ambush spot unguarded, I guess,” Pike said, then took a long drink from the bottle. “Someone’ll move all the cars and undo our hard work.”
“It wasn’t an effective location,” Talon said, reaching over and yanking the bottle out of Pike’s hand. “The sight line was too long. People saw the roadblock for what it was and turned around before we could stop them. We caught one old man on a scooter with all his dirty clothes in a sea bag. Big deal.”
He downed almost a fourth of the bottle in one long pull. Then he wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his jacket, belched loudly, and passed the bottle to Gunner.
“The old man begged for his life, though, didn’t he?” Gunner smiled, as if recalling some fond memory. “He squealed like a stepped-on cat when I smacked him around.”
“He wouldn’t shut his stupid mouth,” Wolf said. “I told him to lie on his face and be quiet, but he kept begging. Like, what have you got to live for so much, you old fart, that you’re going to cry and plead with us to spare you?”
“Some people got an inflated sense of their own worth,” Gunner said. He gestured at the camp stove with the end of the bottle. “When’s dinner going to be ready? I’m hungry.”
Jodi ignored him. The cans of chili were bubbling on the stove. She wasn’t about the grab them with her bare hand, and she didn’t care if they got upset with her. Instead, she drew her knees up to her chest and rested her arms on top. Her right arm throbbed endlessly, making every position uncomfortable.
Finally, Talon pulled his sleeve down past his hand and grabbed one of the cans off the stove. He proceeded to slurp the hot chili right out of the can. The other men followed suit, alternating between their cans of chili and the bottle of Jack Daniels.
At first, the drinking bothered her. They got louder and crasser, cursing and laughing, telling filthy jokes, but as they neared the bottom of the bottle, she began to hope they would pass out. Sadly, that didn’t happen. They were quiet, tense, and glassy-eyed by the end.
As the sun set, a bright, almost-full moon hanging low in the darkening sky, they finally polished off the bottle and discarded the cans by tossing them to the far side of the lot.
“Well, I’m turning in,” Pike said, finally. “I won’t sleep as good as Talon tonight, but I’ll sleep.” He gave a hideous little laugh and crawled into the nearest tent. He was so skinny, he looked like a spider retreating into its den.
“Yeah, I just hope there’s not too much noise,” Gunner said with a laugh, turning and shuffling toward another tent.
Wolf lingered for minute longer, his leathery face looking monstrous in the faint, flickering light of the camp stove. Jodi couldn’t stand it, so she reached over and shut off the burner. In the moonlight that remained, he removed his hat, smacked it against his leg, and flung it onto the ground.
“Crying and screaming gets boring after a few minutes,” he said. He still had a rifle slung over his shoulder, but he removed it now and dragged it with him into his tent. “Sometimes, I wish people would just learn when to shut up and accept it.”
That left Talon and Jodi, and the awful darkness that filled the space between them. Hours of anger, fear, and pain had left Jodi on the verge of collapse. She saw him rocking from side to side, as if working up the courage to do what he intended to do. Finally, he slid closer to her.
“It doesn’t have to be as bad as you think,” he said, voice thick with booze. She smelled the Jack Daniels on him, as if he’d bathed in it. “I can make things awfully nice for you. The world belongs to guys like us now. I think you know that.”
“I’m just fine, thanks,” she replied, tightening her grip on her knees as he slid even closer. “I don’t need or want anything you guys have to offer. You took all our stuff. What else do you need?”
“Just one more thing,” he said. “How do you want this to go down, Treasure? You know what’s gonna happen. I don’t have to spell it out for you, so how do you want it to go down? I don’t mind a little fight, but it’s your choice.”
“I don’t,” she replied. “I’m…” She desperately tried to think of some excuse. “I’m sick…I’m injured. We can’t…”
“I won’t hold that against you.” He tried to slide an arm around her, but she squirmed out of his grasp. “Just accept it. This is what’s gotta be.”
He reached for her again, and this time she managed to crawl away. He grabbed her ankles and dragged her toward him, so she reached for the camp stove. She grabbed it, but the metal was too hot. With a gasp, she let go, and he kicked the camp stove away from her.
“Stop,” she said. “I can’t. Don’t.”
He grabbed the back of her shirt, hoisted her off the ground, and practically flung her toward the biggest tent. She landed directly on her injured arm and cried out in pain. Talon didn’t give her a second to recover but fell on top of her, breathing loudly like a desperate animal. She drew her knees up, trying to hit him in the groin, but he was too low. Her knees pressed against his stomach, and he grinned a gap-toothed grin in the moonlight.
Hurt him. Make him pay. Make him regret it, she told herself, but it was easier said than done.
She flung her head at him, trying to smash him in his face with her forehead. She made contact with the top of his head, but it hurt her as much as him. Scooting along the ground, he dragged her into the tent, though she writhed and protested and tried to resist. Inside the tent, he’d unrolled a large sleeping bag, and he picked her off the ground and flung her onto it. When she swung her forehead at him again, he planted his forearm across her neck and pressed down just enough to make it hard for her to breathe. She tried to claw at his face, but he batted her right arm aside, causing a burst of excruciating pain that took the last of the fight out of her.
Gasping for breath, her mind full of white-hot hate and disgust, she made a last-ditch attempt to wriggle out from under him, but he brought his full weight down on her body. It was like being pinned by a full-size wild bull. The stink of booze burned in her nostrils.
I’ll kill him for this, she thought. Somehow, some way, I’ll kill him. Before, during, or after.
He lay on top of her, still fully clothed, breathing heavily in her ear. He removed his forearm from her neck and pinned both of her hands above her head. Jodi didn’t want to cry in front of him, but tears filled her vision. She clamped her eyes shut and turned her head.
I’ll kill him somehow, she thought again, trying to disconnect from the moment, willing her mind to retreat into some shadowy place.
But Talon continued to lie there, breathing heavily, for almost a full minute. Finally, he made a weird expulsive sound—half disappointment, half disgust—and flopped over onto the sleeping bag beside her.
“Can’t get it up,” he said. “Too much booze, I guess. Oh, man. Sucks, but maybe it’ll be better after the liquor wears off.”
Then, incredibly, he laughed, as if they’d just shared a wonderfully amusing moment together.
“Yeah, let’s try again in a few hours,” he said. “Don’t go anywhere, girly. I’ll make it up to you in a few hours. You wait and see. It’ll be worth the wait.”
Jodi lay there, utterly weak, trying not to sob
as the tears flowed freely. She was shaking uncontrollably, but she managed to wriggle away from him, creating as much space between them as the small tent allowed.
All of a sudden, Talon sat up and turned to her. “It’s your fault, you know,” he said. The humor, apparently caused by initial embarrassment, had been replaced by a demon-faced fury. “I was doing just fine, but you messed it up. You killed the mood.”
She chose to ignore him, but before she realized what was happening, he punched her. Her left cheek burst into pain, and her vision momentarily dimmed. Groaning in pain, she raised her left arm to ward off more blows. He sat there, glaring down at her with his glassy eyes for a long, tense moment.
“Remember your place,” he said, voice slurring. “I own you now, stupid, and you ain’t as tough as you think you are.”
And with that, he lay down and rolled away from her.
She waited a minute in the darkness, her heart pounding like a drum against her ribs. Her crying abated, the fear and desperation of the moment giving way to something dark and hateful. She clenched her fists so tightly that her hands began to ache. Eventually, Talon’s breathing changed, becoming slow and phlegmy.
Just get out of here, she told herself. The keys are in his pocket. Take them and go while you have the chance.
Not wanting to rise for fear it would wake him, she wiggled down toward the tent flap, her left hand reaching for his jeans pocket. He had rolled almost all the way onto his stomach, however, and she only managed to brush a seam on the side of his pants. She dared to sit up to increase her reach, slowly working her fingers into his pocket.
He grumbled suddenly in his sleep and rolled toward her, pushing her left hand away and forcing her back down onto the sleeping bag. Jodi found herself crushed under his weight, her face buried against his chest. This forced her against the corner of the tent, pressing her against the canvas so that she was trapped.
Though he seemed to be asleep, she wondered if he hadn’t done it deliberately, if he hadn’t somehow sensed that she was trying to leave. Being trapped caused the anger to flare up like a sudden backdraft, a fury so intense it took every ounce of will to keep from thrashing and waking him up completely. Just when she thought it couldn’t get worse, he drew his knees up, curling his legs on top of her. Her injured right arm received the worst of it, pinned beneath the massive bulk of the man.
If she could have, she would have torn her way through him. She’d never felt such an overwhelming violent impulse in her entire life. Only her left arm was free, so she fumbled against his pants, trying to find the pocket again, but since he’d rolled over, the keys were now beneath him. Her fingers brushed against the top of his boots and felt a hard plastic edge. She knew what it was, so she worked her hand under the collar of the boot and wrapped her hands around it. A knife handle. The same blade Talon had used to puncture the gas tank on the Silverado. Working slowly, trying not to rouse him, she drew the blade out of its boot sheath. It took a furious act of will to move slowly as the reality of what she intended to do began to crystallize in her mind.
Once the knife was free, however, she just held it, pressing the flat of the blade against her belly. In the quiet between his wet breathing, she heard at least two of the other men snoring in their nearby tents. The fourth guy was quiet, but maybe he wasn’t a snorer.
You know what you have to do, she told herself, but she couldn’t quite make herself do it. Don’t think—just act.
Instead, she tried wriggling toward the tent flap again, sliding beneath him inch by inch, as if pulling herself out from under a hot, smelly boulder. With a snort, Talon thrashed and pushed himself up on his forearms.
“What are you doing back there?” he said, sleepily.
Jodi eased back down onto the sleeping bag, holding the knife against her hip so he wouldn’t see it.
“Nothing,” she replied. “Trying to find a comfortable position to sleep. You’re smothering me.”
“Oh, I know.” He laughed, and it was like some animal croak. “I like it that way. I like it when we’re all snuggled up together.”
He grabbed her shirt and dragged her further into the tent. The tip of the blade snagged on the sleeping bag, and the knife almost slipped out of her grasp. By rolling onto her side, she managed to maintain her hold, bringing the blade up against her belly.
“Where are you going?” Talon snarled. “Quit moving away from me, Treasure. You’re mine, and I intend to keep you close. You’re not gonna do me like the last two.”
He still had hold of her shirt, but now he began pulling her toward him. She tried to resist, but he was far too strong. It was like being dragged by an elephant.
“I don’t like it when they try to get away from me,” he said. He sounded half-awake, almost speaking as if in a dream. “That’s what makes me really mad. I didn’t mean for Wanda to die, but she tried to crawl away in the middle of the night. I had to put my hands around her neck. I choked her too long, that’s all; just a little too long.”
Breathing loudly, he drew her against his body and slid his arm around her neck. Jodi saw that in mere seconds she would be imprisoned in his grasp, unable to move or fight him.
“Then Claire tried to sneak off while my back was turned,” he said. “I told her what would happen if she made me run after her, and she called my bluff. I hit her too hard with my fists, that’s all. Just a little too hard.”
Jodi reacted in a panic. All resistance to the violent impulse evaporated in her desperation, and she rolled toward him, bringing the knife up and around with as much strength as she could muster. The four-inch blade found the side of his neck, and the fury of her strike drove it all the way to the hilt. She was amazed at how easily the blade pierced his flesh—like puncturing a ripe pear. Talon made a single sound, a kind of shuddering, wet gasp, and then she heard blood pouring from his mouth. It sounded like water spilling over the edge of a pool.
Must’ve hit the carotid, she thought.
He fumbled at his throat with both hands, flailing against the handle of the knife. When she pulled her hand back, the knife came with it, and she heard a gush of blood. Talon went limp, collapsing on top of Jodi, her face crushed against his chest. She felt his last breath leave his lungs as a faint tremor against her cheek.
Though he’d stopped breathing, he continued to twitch for a while, as if the last vestiges of life fought to hold on. She waited until he was utterly still, then she slowly worked herself out from under the body and pulled herself through the tent flap. Only when she stood up did she realize she had his blood on her back and in her hair. Fighting the urge to wipe it away, she reached back into the tent and fished the keys out of his pants pocket.
The motorcycles were lined up behind the tents, and she moved toward them in a crouch, trying to time her steps with the snores from the other tents. She had some familiarity with motorcycles, though it had been many years since she’d driven one. In college, her boyfriend had owned a Honda 250, a much smaller bike with less horsepower than these Indian Scouts. He’d borrowed a second bike of the same make and model during spring break of her senior year so they could travel around the South together. The trip hadn’t been quite as exciting or romantic as Jodi had expected. Mostly, she remembered scrubbing road dust off her face and picking bugs out of her teeth. Still, she’d gotten pretty good at handling the bike, and she still remembered the basics.
As she approached Talon’s bike, she examined the controls. They seemed roughly the same. She was worried about the bigger and more powerful engine—would she be able to handle it? She had no other choice. This was her escape.
As she studied the bike, she realized she was still holding Talon’s knife. The blade looked black in the moonlight, a glint of light revealing dark blood. Repulsed, she almost tossed it aside, but then she had a better idea. Moving down the line, she stabbed the tires of the other bikes, moving as fast as she dared. The hiss of air was loud, so she hurried back to Talon’s bike. She raised the kickst
and and started walking the bike toward the road, stepping as lightly as possible.
Someone stirred in one of the tents. She thought it was Pike. He’d crawled into the tent at the end of the row. From the sound of it, he’d unzipped his sleeping bag and sat up.
It’s now or never, Jodi thought.
She climbed onto the bike, turned the key in the ignition, squeezed the clutch, and hit the start button. The starter motor sounded very loud, cutting through the symphony of snores, but the engine didn’t start right away. At the sound, Pike cried out, pushing his way out of the tent.
“Guys, get up,” he shouted. “She’s stealing a bike. That woman is stealing a bike right now! Get up!”
Jodi saw him moving toward her, fumbling in his pocket for something. Suddenly, the engine started, the sudden vroom drowning out even the shouting of Pike. Jodi sensed the others climbing out of their tents now, but Pike was closing in.
“Stop her,” one of the other men said. It sounded like Wolf, the craggy-faced and leathery one. “Grab the bike! Pike, grab it quick.”
Jodi put the Scout in gear and gave it some gas. Too much gas, as it turned out. With a squeal of tires and a sudden burst of dirt and gravel, she blasted forward, fishtailing as she went. She just managed to regain control of the bike as she reached the end of the parking lot, easing up on the gas as she turned onto the street. She dared a final glance over her shoulder and saw Pike pull a pistol out of his pocket. Wolf and Gunner were standing dumbly, still sleepy, in front of their tents. Then a line of trees swept in between them, and she lost sight of the men.
She dared a bit more speed and raced away. Amazed at her own escape, all the pent-up emotion came flooding out of her, and she alternated between crying and laughing, sometimes both at the same time. The wind quickly swept any tears away.
Surviving The End (Book 2): Fallen World Page 8