“Have you got some drinking water?” My throat was dry after marching through the night.
“Sure.” He pointed to a water jug on top of the counter between the kitchen and the dining area. “I believe this is yours, by the way.” Martin handed me the gun he’d just trained on my face. “Again, I’m sorry for—”
“Don’t worry about it. I understand. Thanks.” I effortlessly slipped the gun into its holster. After the episode at Karla’s place, my feelings toward the lethal instrument were no longer mixed. I definitely breathed easier with the extra weight at my side.
I strolled into the kitchen and took a small glass from the cabinet. I studied Martin’s face as I filled it up. Although he smiled politely and his brown eyes seemed as warm as ever—despite their drowsiness—I couldn’t help feeling like a stray dog he’d picked up.
“You can have that room.” Martin pointed to the second of three doors. “It belonged to a woman, so maybe you’ll find some clothes you could use. The bathroom’s at the back, but there’s no water, obviously. I can get you some from the pond in the morning, so you can take a bath before we set out tomorrow.” He looked at a pendulum clock hanging on the wall and rubbed his eyes. It was almost four in the morning. “Set out later, I mean.”
“Set out for where?” I asked, refilling my glass so I wouldn’t have to look at his face.
“Well… the settlements on the eastern end of the island. Obviously, you can’t stay here,” he said, his voice suddenly lower.
“Why not?” I looked into his eyes. Martin dragged one the pinewood stools from under the counter and sat down. The dim moonlight pouring from the windows struck his face, highlighting his stubbled jaw and wrinkled brow. The man had almost ten years on me. I couldn’t help thinking of Amy and her new living arrangements. Maybe I'd been too quick to judge her.
“Does shacking up with a stranger in the middle of nowhere sound like a good plan to you?” Martin leaned toward me.
“You’re not a stranger. I know you’re okay.” I studied the wooden counter’s grain pattern, and my cheeks flushed again. Although fully aware that I hadn't exactly kept a clear head around Martin, I also knew he’d saved my life several times during our escape from the city and that he’d been a real friend to me after what happened with Tommy.
Martin chuckled. I raised my eyes, meeting his gaze.
“You don’t know anything about me, Rebecca. What if I told you I murdered this cabin’s previous occupants and then dumped their corpses in the woods?” He placed a sinister grin on his face. I almost believed him, but something in his eyes gave his bluff away.
“Well… at least I won’t feel bad about killing you if you try anything, then,” I said, thumbing my pistol’s grip. Martin’s grin turned into a more natural smile as he shook his head.
“Listen, Martin, I don’t want to go looking for another settlement that’ll take me in.” I leaned against the counter. “They’re going to want my gun, and then I’ll be at their mercy, hoping they can actually protect me in case the demons or those raiders show up. Meanwhile, I’ll be hauling water or doing the laundry all day long, following whatever rules some self-important idiot dreams up. Frankly, I’d rather stay here. I could help out, you know?”
Martin sighed. I couldn’t tell whether he was about to burst out laughing or give me a lecture on the stupidity of my plan. “I guess I know what you mean. Nothing I say’s gonna change your mind, is it?”
“Looks like you’re starting to know me.” I straightened my back.
“Well, if you really want to stay, I guess I could use some help around the house.”
“Really? You want for me to be your maid? I was afraid you were about to spring an indecent proposal on me, but this isn’t too far off.” I frowned even though the thought of being proposed to by him didn’t make me all that mad. “I can actually use a gun. It’s not just for show, you know?” I tapped on my handgun for emphasis. Martin laughed as he ran his fingers through his short black hair.
“Oh, I believe that you can shoot a gun, but can you hunt? Can you track your prey? Can you actually maintain firearms? Can you—”
“No, I can’t.”
“Can you cook? Can you sweep? Can you—”
“Okay, now you’re just being a dick.” I felt my face flush. “I don’t know what sort of life you’ve had for you to end up as a hired gun, but most people never actually learn how to stalk deer or reload spent bullet cases, okay? Besides, I’m willing to bet that if you learned how to do all that stuff, I wouldn’t have much trouble with it, either.”
“Sounds like a challenge.” He grinned as he got up from his stool.
I felt even more pissed off now that I had to crane my neck to look him in the eye. “Sure, why not? Killing defenseless animals can’t be that hard,” I said, standing up as well.
Martin’s kind expression disappeared as he squinted with a savage smile.
“Fine then; I’ll teach you how to hunt. Who knows, maybe some excitement will take care of your boredom and naïvete. This place still needs a good sweep though, so to make things interesting, how about the one with the most trophies by the end of the hunt gets to nap, while the loser gets on with the chores? I won’t even use a gun.” He drew a switchblade from his pocket and flipped it open in one motion. “What do you say? Sound fair to you?”
He buried the tip of the blade into the counter and stretched out his large, rugged hand toward me. His sudden outburst of savagery scared me a little, but I found myself shaking his warm, rough hand with a smile on my face. I didn't know if I was just bored and naïve, as he'd suggested, but it seemed like a good chance to learn how to survive by myself in our strange new world. My heart pounded against my chest with excitement by the time our handshake ended, beads of sweat soaking my brow despite the cold.
“I don’t know if you’re brave or… something else, but you’re certainly not boring, Rebecca. See you in the morning.” Martin strolled back to his room, laughing and shaking his head.
Chapter 35
With my eyes still shut, I swatted the nightstand in an attempt to silence the terrifying ringing that interrupted my sleep. It wouldn’t stop, so I slammed my palm on the wooden surface. The tingling pain finished waking me up. Rubbing my sore eyes, I stumbled over to the old-fashioned dresser at the other end of the room, where I had—quite wisely—placed the brass windup-alarm clock that was set for seven in the morning. I turned off the alarm.
I slipped my feet into some worn fuzzy slippers I found under the bed—a size or two larger than mine, same as the lavender night gown I was wearing—unlocked my door, and staggered into the dining area.
“Good morning.” Martin sat at the table, all decked up in clean boots, jeans, and an earth-colored shirt. He’d even shaved, which admittedly robbed him of some of his charm.
“Oh… morning,” I answered, tugging on the nightgown’s collar to cover my bare shoulder.
“There’s water in the bathroom, so you can take a bath if you want. We’re pretty late already, though.” Martin ground the blade of his hunting knife against a rectangular sharpening stone, a sly grin on his face.
Fine. Be a dick. You’re not beating me.
***
“Martin, it’s looking straight at us,” I whispered, my concentration wavering as the young doe a hundred feet away moved in and out of the frame made by the iron sights of my hunting rifle.
Martin crouched next to me. “It’s probably captivated by your exquisite fragrance, Rebecca. Even with the wind carrying away our scent, French perfume can’t be very hard to miss out here.”
It’d taken a few hours to track down the animal, a feat made harder by the over-sized clothes I had to wear after washing my own. I couldn’t handle the thought of all that effort being wasted, but when I found my mother’s perfume—or at least the same brand—on the dresser, I couldn’t resist sprinkling some on me so I could be enveloped in that familiar floral scent once more.
“Maybe we sh
ould’ve had some target practice first, Martin. You do realize that I’ve never shot at a live target before. Well… not like this.”
My hands shook as the memory of Tommy’s death came back to me. I breathed slowly and deeply to regain my composure until the deer was back in my sights. The doe’s big black eyes looked straight at me as if pleading for mercy.
“Do you want to learn to shoot or to hunt? Just remember to lean into the rifle and control your breathing. Bend your knees a little, but keep your back straight… that’s it.” Martin molded my posture with his steady hands. It didn’t exactly help to keep my aim straight since my heart fluttered at his touch.
My throat suddenly tightened as I recalled Mr. Forcellati’s brief training back at the yacht club and wondered if I would’ve taken that level of manhandling from the drunken man. I hoped I hadn’t caused too much trouble for him…
“Stay focused,” Martin whispered, tapping my shoulder.
“Uh, yeah. Sorry,” I said a little too loudly. The defenseless doe’s ears pointed straight at us, looking for the slightest excuse to flee.
“All right, now, remember to squeeze the trigger with confidence—don’t pull on it,” Martin whispered. “Oh, and by the way, if you get scared by the recoil and jerk the rifle before you’ve even fired, you’ll be using an elephant gun until you man up, understood?” He underscored his threat with a smile.
I lined up the rifle’s iron sights with the doe’s golden-brown flank, eager to wipe that smile off Martin’s face.
Forgive me, Miss Doe. Nothing personal.
I squeezed the trigger.
The explosive blast of the .30-06 cartridge hurt my ears as the rifle’s metal butt-plate hammered against my shoulder. I gritted my teeth until the pain became manageable, and followed Martin to the deer’s twitching body. The wounded critter had managed to stumble for a few yards before collapsing. I smiled as I approached it even as my heart sank at the pitiful sight of the dying animal.
“You got its stomach.” Martin stared at the finger-sized entry wound. “It’ll take it a while to die at this rate.”
“What do we do?” I cradled the rifle in my arms. The earth around the wounded doe turned a darker shade of brown as it soaked up its blood.
“If we hurry, we might be able to take it to the vet in time,” he said, scratching his chin.
“Really? But… oh, very funny,” I said as Martin snickered. “Look at it. It’s suffering.”
The doe made a gurgling whine, struggling to breathe.
“You have to finish it off,” Martin said, looking into my eyes. “I can do it for you if you want, but then it’ll be my kill, of course.” He drew the large hunting knife sheathed at his side.
“No, that’s okay. I got this.” I pressed the rifle’s stock against my throbbing shoulder.
“Are you sure this is what you want, Rebecca?” Martin asked.
I squeezed the trigger in reply.
***
I’d changed my clothes and scrubbed my hands in the kitchen sink with a green scouring pad and lemon-scented dish soap, but the stench of blood and crap wouldn’t come off.
“I’d have told you to aim at a better spot, but I had my doubts you’d actually fire at that cute little doe, let alone be able to hit it,” Martin said as he wrapped the meat cuts that hadn’t been marinated in feces. “I did warn you to hang back when cutting it up, thought.”
I didn’t give him the satisfaction of answering his taunt. Martin knew that dressing out the doe would be a nightmarish disaster. As soon as I'd slashed open its belly, the liquefied mess that had been the deer’s insides squirted through, covering me in a rust-colored substance that smelled like a bad case of diarrhea.
“We can trade this for clothes that actually fit you,” Martin said, sticking the meat parcels into a large cardboard box. “Those settlements to the east always have great things to trade for.”
Oh, I see what you’re doing. You won’t break me, you dick.
“How sweet.” I wiped my hands on the hem of my baggy shirt. “But can’t we just look around the abandoned houses for some clothes?”
“Sure, if you don’t mind combing for hours through the rubble, looking for something that fits you well.” Martin lifted the box off the table. “You’re not making it very far as a lone wolf, you know. You’ve got to establish connections and alliances of mutual benefit. Call it networking if you want.”
“Yeah. I guess you’re right, but I don’t think we’re making it all the way to the other end of the island before that meat spoils.” I watched Martin on his way out.
“Oh ye of little faith,” he said as he crossed the threshold.
I followed Martin outside and found myself pleasantly surprised when he rolled out a dirt bike from the shed. He secured the box onto a metal grill at the back of the bike with an elastic cord and started the engine with a strong kick. The pungent smell of combustion reached me as he drove toward the cabin.
I walked down the front steps. “Are you telling me that while we slogged all the way to the airport and then back to New Jerusalem, you had a working dirt bike hidden in the shed?”
“Of course not, Rebecca. I actually found it last night just after dropping you off. It seems to work fine. Must’ve been a karmic reward for taking you home safely.” He revved the engine as he laughed.
“Huh. You’re a very lucky man.” I thought of how he’d “stumbled upon” the cabin as well. Maybe the previous night’s murderous confession hadn’t been a bluff after all…
Chapter 36
We travelled eastward on the Long Island Expressway for almost an hour, riding the relatively smooth green area in the middle until we reached a large, triangular outlet mall, no more than two thousand feet north of a small lake. Martin slowed down as we neared the settlement. It didn’t take long for me to see why, as several armed men took aim at us from the rooftops of the stores.
The stores—which acted as a defensive wall—enclosed a spacious parking lot filled from end to end with hundreds of makeshift tents. Three rows of cars had been placed at the mall’s entrance to seal the perimeter, laid out in such a way that it was necessary to zigzag around them to enter the settlement. I didn’t fail to notice a car outside with a piece of white fabric tied to the antenna.
“What do you want?” a bearded man asked from behind the first row of cars as Martin parked the motorcycle in front of him. He didn’t aim his shotgun at us, but still pumped in a shell. Two men behind the barricade covered him, as well as several others on the rooftops.
“We’ve got some fresh venison we’re looking to trade,” Martin said, kicking down the motorcycle’s stand. He got off the bike and carried the box with the meat to the bearded man. He studied Martin and me for a few seconds—his eyes shielded by aviator sunglasses—and grabbed a parcel. The man opened it and took a long, deep whiff. He laughed, patting his considerable belly.
“Maybe this will add some flavor to the hot water that passes for soup around here. Sorry for the rude welcome, but since the army boys have left us to fend for ourselves, we’ve been hit pretty hard by those raiders sneaking in by boat.”
“At least the army’s keeping those monsters at bay,” Martin said, taking the box back. “People are much easier to kill.”
“Yeah, thank God for small favors, I guess. Hey, Bob! Show our visitors to the kitchen, all right?” The bearded man shouted to a scrawny guy behind the third row of cars.
Without a word, the man approached us, pulling his baseball cap lower over his forehead as he walked out of the shadow and into the punishing summer sun. He took the box from Martin with a squinted glance and walked away. The bearded man patted Bob on the back and signaled for us to follow him.
Bob marched ahead of us through the narrow alleys separating the blocks of tents and shacks that made up the camp. The simpler ones consisted of little more than a plastic sheet held in place by rocks, bridging the gap between two parked cars, but a few had more elaborate building
materials like planks of wood and sheet metal. People dressed in dirty, tattered clothes stared at us from inside the tents and shacks. The stench of festering garbage was heavy in the air.
“Are all of the eastern settlements so awful?” I whispered, nudging Martin’s side. Creepy pastor or not, New Jerusalem seemed downright heavenly by comparison. I thanked God I hadn't succeeded in dragging Karla along with me.
“Looks like the place has gotten a lot more crowded recently,” Martin whispered. “The raider activity over here must be worse than I thought.”
One of the larger shacks caught my attention. About twenty children had gathered inside, sitting on a carpet, while a young, blond woman stood in front of them, reading from a children’s bible. Two college-aged guards stood outside the shack, armed with rifles—white armbands pinned to their shirts.
The young woman brushed hair back, and I caught a glimpse of Amy’s smiling face.
“Oh, crap.” I shuffled around Martin to hide myself from her.
“What is it?”
“Those guys… they’re from New Jerusalem,” I said, my body growing cold despite the afternoon heat.
“Huh. So they’re reaching out to other settlements. That’s nice.” Martin looked at the shack.
Yeah… scavenging for souls instead of supplies.
Bob looked over his shoulder at us. I smiled at him—perhaps too eagerly—and he quickened his pace toward a large, cube-shaped building sticking out in the middle of the sea of makeshift structures. Once we got close enough, I realized the place was a food court, its rows and rows of identical tables visible through cracked glass doors. We kept walking around the building until we reached the loading area for the food court’s miniature restaurants. An old man wearing a short-sleeved white shirt greeted us from behind a table at the entrance, fanning himself with a clipboard. He was listening to Brother Tim’s broadcast on a small radio on the table, next to a cash box.
Bob finally broke his silence. “Hey, Stan. These people have brought some venison and are looking to trade.” He placed the cardboard box on the table.
Mercy (The Last Army Book 1) Page 19