My left-hand releases from the clutch. The tips of my fingers probe the recessed energy gauge as I steer the bike with my right. I wipe away enough of the dirt to give me a good idea of how much power is left in the cells.
It’s more than halfway empty. I’m going to need to keep on the lookout for a secure place to stop and allow it to recharge some. Besides, I need a break. Being bent over in the same position for hours on end is placing a crick in my back. I need to stretch and move about a bit.
I ride on for a while longer before I spot a gas station in the distance. It looks abandoned from here. I spy no raider movement or other unscrupulous wasteland trash around the structure. Still, I’ll need to be mindful and keep my head on a swivel. They can be just as stealthy as the vampires.
I slow down and approach the derelict building. The storefront’s white exterior is faded and worn. The paint is cracked and peeling from the wooden planks. The glass windows have been busted out, leaving only jagged shards that look like teeth surrounding the rusted metal frames.
A portion of the roof has caved in. Thick beams and shingles hang down in the building’s interior. I pull up next to the pumps and turn off the bike. I sit there for a moment, staring at the structure. Mother nature has shown no mercy to the infrastructure of the past. The torrid heat, brutal winds, and stinging bite of the whirling sand has caused devastation to humanity’s past.
I run my tongue along the rigid edges of my lips. It does little to stay the drought that has invaded them. My gums are sticky. I need to find some water before dehydration becomes a problem.
I shut the bike off.
My foot maneuvers the kick stand down as I lean the beefy bike to the side. I swing my leg over and stand up. Man, it feels good to get off that cracked seat. My backside has been battling the sharp, cracked edges for hours, and has been losing the war. It will be nice to have a reprieve.
I stretch my arms up into the air. Fingers reach for the damaged covering that is above the pumps. Portions of sunlight bleed through the deterioration of the stout covering.
My body shifts past the inactive gas pumps. Before I consider settling in and allowing the bike to recharge, I need to clear the station for any possible threats. Although the bike can charge while on the move, it works faster if it’s not running.
I crane my neck, and skim over the interior of the building, searching for any activity. Although I’m doubtful that any vampires would be taking refuge in such a place, considering its lack of complete darkness during the day, there are still pockets that could prove to house the demons. If they were desperate enough to ride out the sun’s lethal rays, they could make it work.
I retrieve the kukri from its sheath on the side of my thigh, and approach the main entrance with cautious footing. I glance to my left, then my right in search of any movement or signs of possible trouble.
The whistling of the wind through the numerous holes within the building’s walls grabs my attention. Busted glass crunches under my boots. I stop just shy of the missing door and peer inside.
Minus the elements, it’s dead silent. I don’t spot any threats from within. I continue on. More glass gives from my bulk pressing down on it. I skim over the space. The smell of mildew and rotting wood permeates the air. It’s not the best scent in the world, but it isn’t the worst that I’ve ever smelt.
I venture on through the rest of the main part of the building. Not a single soul is discovered within the four walls, dead or not. Fortunately, this station has a small diner attached to it. Nothing elaborate, or anything like that. Just a small kitchen area that has a single large stove and grill.
My stomach grumbles. It begs me to feed it something. Anything, really. I guess I should’ve eaten something back at Trevor’s place, but the need for some rest won that battle. I wonder if they have any canned food still in here. Maybe some bottled water would be nice as well.
I move past the counter, and head toward the single gunmetal gray swinging door that leads to the kitchen area. I try to peer through the smudged window that is molded in the top center of the door, but can’t make anything out. My arm stretches out in front of me, fingers rest against the exterior of the door. It’s pushed open with the slightest touch. The hinges belch their warning signal.
I stop and listen for a reaction. Nothing.
More pressure is applied as I push it open further. I step inside the narrow space, and turn toward my left. Dirt and grime coat the stove and grill. Cobwebs hang in the corners where the appliances and cabinetry meet. Large spiders dangle from thick white webs, waiting for their meal to present itself.
I check the metal cabinets to my right first. I bend down and slide the doors to the side. The shelves are empty. Not that I was expecting them to be stocked or anything, but I’m hopeful that I might stumble across a can or two. I’m not picky. Can’t be. Whether its beans or some potted meat, something is better than nothing.
The search continues through the remainder of the kitchen. No cabinet is left untouched. Every nook and cranny that I find is explored for anything of use.
It’s been picked clean.
I notice a small pathway that moves off to the right past the counter. It looks like it might lead to a storage room or something. The light only stretches so far before the space transitions to an eerie, dark hue.
I make my way around the bend. My senses remain on high alert. The kukri stays clasped within my palm. I listen for any discreet sound that may warn of a possible threat.
There’s another door that is cracked ahead of me. It’s much denser, with a large steel handle attached to the exterior. Given the dark condition of this area of the structure, I prepare myself for an encounter with a vampire.
I pause, and peer back over my shoulder. There’s a nagging feeling of someone or something lurking close by, but I see nothing. Despite not spotting any movement, the sensation of being watched remains.
My fingers grab the handle, and I pull it toward me. The door swings open and reveals a cooler of some sort. A weakened spot in the ceiling above allows some light from the outside to illuminate the interior. I skim over the small, cluttered space, and find it void of any creature, living or dead. There is, however, shelving units that line the walls—absent of anything edible.
I spot a red crate on the floor in front of the shelves. The container is filled with something that might be edible.
Hold on. What do we have here?
It looks to have some canned goods piled within its thick, plastic walls. A large, black backpack rests against the wall just to the left of the shelving unit. Someone was here.
The sound of footsteps from the main entrance of the station catches my attention. My head snaps back over my shoulder. Raiders? Perhaps they heard me arriving and hid well enough to avoid detection.
I leave the food be and head back down the narrow passage. I peer out through the opening into the gas station’s main store front. A figure dashes by and heads for the door. My pace quickens as I round the counter. I think of the bike, and how it could get stolen. I do not want to get stranded with a half a day or more of traveling still left to do.
My boots hammer the tile floor. I cut around the corner of the counter, and force the swinging door open. It slams hard into the wall. I race toward the entrance when I catch a flash of something hurtling towards me. It smashes into the side of my head and knocks me off balance.
My vision goes blurry, and my legs become weak. I stumble into the wall next to me. I drop to one knee. I shake my head, trying to erase the stars that hover in the air before me.
The footsteps are close by. They’re calm and collected. There is no sense of urgency with each step. Hold on. There is another pair coming toward me as well from my right.
I squint hard, then blink, trying to clear out the blurriness that fills my vision. Through the haze, I spot a pair of brown, scuffed-up boots.
“Well, look what we have here,” a gruff baritone voice snarls. “And here I thought today was going to be
a bust. Guess you proved me wrong once again.”
“I’m not sure who you are or what you want, but I can promise you that you are making a mistake here.” I lift up off the drab floor. Something round and hard burrows into the right side of my temple.
“I wouldn’t think about doing anything stupid there, honey,” the man warns. “Shane here has a hair trigger finger and has been known to blow his load without warning.”
“That happened only one time, Danny,” Shane barks. “I wish you’d stop bringing that shit up, for Christ sake. It’s not like I meant to do it.”
My fingers are still latched around the kukri’s handle. The two men banter back and forth a bit more as I contemplate engaging the duo. I’ve taken out hordes of vampires and packs of raiders. These two jokers shouldn’t be a problem.
I bring the blade up, slow and steady.
“Man. Looks like we’ve got a fighter on our hands.” The man in front of me lifts his leg and places the sole of his boot on top of the kukri. He forces it down to the ground, then scoots it back toward him. I don’t resist. I’m not in a position to do so just yet.
“You think Pop would like this one?” Danny inquires.
Shane lowers down to my level. He picks up the kukri and holds it in his hands. I tilt my head back a bit more to get a better look at the man that I’ll be killing soon.
His face is filthy, slathered in a mixture of dirt and sweat. His blonde hair is messy and wiry. He brings the blade up to his face and stares at it.
“I think Pop will really like this one.” Shane cuts his gaze over to me. “Nice blade you have here. I don’t think I’ve ever seen one like it before. I bet this bad boy could do some damage. A good hacking weapon.”
“Unless you want to experience what it feels like first hand, I suggest you give me back my blade and leave me be. Do it now, and I’ll spare your lives. Don’t, and I promise you will fucking regret it.” I offer a final warning to the both of them.
He snickers. He doesn’t seem to take my words of imminent demise serious. Not in the least. He looks to me, then back to the blade. “Since we’re offering up advice here, allow me to do the same for you. Make sure you keep that fighting spirit. You’re going to need it.” He glances up to his cohort and nods. Before I have a chance at a rebuttal, something strikes me in the side of the head once more. This time, the lights are snuffed out.
ELEVEN
It’s never a dull moment in the wastelands.
For once, I’d like for people to just leave me be. Simple as that. I don’t think I’m asking for much. Most times, it seems like I am, whether I know it or not. I know not every person trudging through this life is an asshole, but there appears to be an unchecked balance of them running amuck out here.
The loud gusting of wind rushes into the vehicle through the open windows, creating a boisterous noise that irritates my head.
Damn it. That isn’t helping my headache.
A deep seeded pounding makes my skull feel like its inflating. It hurts to think. There’s something wet on the side of my head. I try to probe the area with my fingers but can’t. My arms are restrained behind my back, and the rope bites into my wrists.
Prone on my side, my body rocks back and forth. It feels like I’m in a vehicle or something.
I fight through the painful, dull, pulsating sensation. I tilt my head to the side and glance up. Portions of the solid steel roof of the truck are visible through the torn gray fabric that whips about. I glance to the front of the cab and spot seats that are in disrepair. Through blurred vision, I see a man in the passenger side.
They don’t pay me any mind. Their attention is front and center.
My arms tug in opposite directions, trying to work my hands free of the rope they have my wrists bound with. It offers me no wiggle room to work with. I’m not sure what these two think they’re going to do with me, but as I stated before, it’s not going to end well for them.
“Hey. Look who’s awake,” the man from the passenger side seat says with a jovial smirk. He doesn’t look like the guy that I spoke to earlier. He’s much younger, say early twenties or so and has brown, scraggly hair. His yellow-stained teeth are messed up, crooked with a few gaps spread throughout his mouth. I’m assuming this is Shane. “Sorry about that second love tap on the old noggin. You were a bit feistier than what we like. Didn’t want to run the risk of having to shoot you.”
“You mean blowing your load too soon again,” the other man jabs.
Shane growls. “Wish you’d stop saying that shit, Danny. You know I hate that.”
“Pop thought it was funny,” Danny retorts. “Well, he used to. He doesn’t find anything too comical anymore.”
“Where are you two dipshits taking me?” I demand. “My offer still stands. You stop this rust bucket and let me out, and I’ll let you keep your lives.”
Once more, they both snicker at my aggressive and more than fair proposal. Most wouldn’t present such an offer, especially to a couple of degenerates that have no clue what’s in store for them.
“I tell you what. I do not recall the last time I came across someone as ballsy as you,” Danny remarks. “Most people beg for their lives, and try to bribe us with trinkets and such. Generally, that would be all well and good, but such things are of no value to us at the moment.”
He has that right. He hasn’t met anyone like me before. After I get free, neither of them will ever get the chance to meet anyone again.
I grunt and growl as I battle with the knot. The harder I fight, the tighter it seems to be.
“Believe me when I say, you’re going to need your strength,” Danny cautions. “Struggling is only going to work against you.”
His words of caution fall on deaf ears. I’m tired of messing with these two. My legs aren’t bound. Just my arms.
I roll over onto my back and strike the door. The men peer back over the bench seat at me. They sputter more warnings, but I ignore them.
“What the fuck! Stop kicking the door!” Shane blurts out. “You’re going to knock the damn thing off its hinges!”
Each blow is more devasting than the last. The steel creaks and pops. It bulges more with every blow. The door comes ajar. Shane reaches over, and tries to grab my legs but is unable to get a handle on me.
“Hit her with that damn shock stick thingy that we found in that police station,” Danny hisses. “That should settle her down.”
I strike the door harder and harder. I can see light now through the gap that’s between the door and the frame of the truck. One more strike and I should be good. My knees pull back to my chest, and I throw them forward. Something zaps my side. My body freezes as a jolt of electricity surges through it. It’s held in place for what feels like forever.
The truck comes to a grinding halt. I’m thrown forward and slam into the seats.
“Damn it, Shane,” Danny hisses. “Don’t mess her up too bad. Christ, sometimes I wonder if you have a brain rattling about in that skull of yours.”
“Well, I guess we know it still has some juice left after all.” Shane guffaws.
A door creaks open.
The crunching of rocks under boots fills my ears.
I lay there, unable to move or function in any sort of useful way. My body feels as though any energy I had has been stolen from me.
With blurred vision, I spot Danny through the window next to the damaged door. He throws his arms up in the air. “Aw man. She fucked this thing up pretty bad. It’s all bent to shit now. I’ll have to see if I can pound it out later.”
He rips open the door and points at me. “I should take it out of your hide. Try that again, and see what happens.” He grabs my legs, shoves them in toward me, and slams the door.
“We’re almost home. Just get in the trunk. Pop is waiting for us,” Shane says.
“If she so much as breathes a single syllable, hit her again with that taser thingy. I don’t think Pop is going to really care if she’s a bit limp. He might like it
.”
Danny loads back up into the truck, and we get back on the move. I lay there on the seat, trying to fight through the fatigue coursing through my body. My muscles are slow to respond. They twitch at random. I struggle to move my arms as the jostling of the rough, bumpy ride sends my paralyzed body shifting from side to side.
The worn brakes of the truck sound like metal grinding together. It ebbs, and the truck comes to a rolling stop. The engine dies. The shuffling of gear up front plays inside my head.
“Go inside and make sure everything is set up. I’ll grab our guest here and bring her in,” Danny orders. “Remember to keep your distance from Pop. He’s probably a bit beside himself at the moment.”
“You don’t have to tell me twice. I love that cranky bastard but want nothing to do with what’s going on with him. I plan to stay as far away as I can,” Shane says.
The rear driver’s side door creaks open. Sunlight floods in and hits me in the face. I tilt my head to the side to avoid the strident rays.
Danny grabs my arms, and yanks me out of the truck. “You know, me and my brother have only done this a handful of times. So far, you’re the most trouble we’ve had. They all fight to get away, but none have proven to be as big of a pain in the ass as you.”
A sardonic response toes the edge of my lips, but I’m unable to form the words.
He drags my limp body out of the back of the truck and stands me upright against the bed. Between the sun’s brutal gleam and the fatigue that has set in, I’m unable to get a clear idea of where we are. I strain to see where we are, but all I can make out is a large structure that appears to have no windows.
He slams the door shut, then swipes his arm across his forehead. “But I must say, I am really looking forward to seeing him have his way with you. He’s a bit of a biter. I hope you don’t mind.”
Danny bends down and grabs me by the waist. He tosses me over his shoulder like some primal cave man. He turns about and heads for the structure. Through the corner of my eye, I spot my bike in the back of their truck. The handlebars are the only thing that’s visible, but at least I know where it is.
Crimson Thirst (The Huntress Bane Book 2) Page 8