The Dead Saga | Book 7 | Odium 7

by Riley, Claire C.

I wanted to go look inside too, but I wasn’t sure about leaving Highlander with the two women. Something about them was keeping me on edge. I wasn’t sure why I didn’t trust them, or if it was just that I didn’t trust anyone anymore. Was that how it would always be now? Would I never trust people ever again?

  “Go.” Highlander grunted the single word at me, clearly sensing my unease. “I’ve got this.”

  Zuly stopped chewing, her mouth still full of bread as she glanced between me and Highlander. For the first time I saw genuine fear in her eyes, and as awful as it sounds, that look of fear put me at ease.

  “Okay,” I agreed, passing them both and going inside.

  The darkness swallowed me whole, the dirty windows drowning out the bright daylight. I looked both ways, not immediately seeing Shooter or Crank anywhere. I pulled out my katana and headed down the first empty aisle. If there was anything left there, it was long ago rotten and unusable, inedible and just plain useless to us now.

  I sighed and passed around to the second aisle, my gaze sweeping around the corner. The floor was smeared with dried blood, but there were no bones anywhere, or telltale signs of the usual slap-and-slide of deader footprints. That aisle was equally empty as the last, and at the end of it I called out Shooter’s name, feeling more confident that there was nothing and no one in there, barring us.

  “In the back,” he replied, and I followed the sound of his voice to a small storeroom at the back of the store. He and Crank were rummaging through a pile of boxes, but by the looks on their faces they hadn’t found anything useful either. “Nothing but piss and shit,” he grumbled.

  “Fun times,” I replied.

  Crank snorted on a laugh. “Real fun. They weren’t lying when they said there was nothing here. Place is emptier than my dead mom’s brain.”

  It was my turn to snort on a laugh. “Got a way with words there, Crank.” I smirked. “I’m going back outside. Something about these two makes me uncomfortable.”

  “Everyone makes you uncomfortable,” Shooter grumbled.

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence.” I eye-rolled and walked away with a scowl even though I knew he was right.

  People did make me uncomfortable. People. Animals. New groups. New shoes… Okay, the last one sounds stupid but it’s probably the most important. Think about it: Wrong size shoe and you got blisters. Those blisters just got worse and worse and worse until they popped. Maybe they even got infected. Painful blisters made it difficult to walk. Difficult to run. Difficult to escape sticky situations like those of the undead variety.

  So yeah, I rarely trusted new shoes.

  Passing back through the small store, I could see Highlander standing outside with Zuly and Kensa. Highlander was smoking and the two women looked like they were still eating. I took the time to check behind the small counter where the cash register was to see if there was anything there—maybe a sneaky shotgun strapped underneath the counter or a sly handgun hidden—but the place had been stripped bare. Nothing but stale air and empty shelving remained. With a sigh I went back outside, glad for the fresh air. I won’t say clean air, because the stench of the dead hung heavily.

  Highlander nodded at me as I came back outside.

  “Nothing,” I said.

  Zuly looked at me matter-of-factly. “Told you.”

  “We had to check.” I shrugged and she nodded back in understanding. “So, is it just you two or are there more of you?”

  Kensa and Zuly looked between themselves, looking uncomfortable. I knew that look. It said they had something to hide and didn’t trust us with the information. I could understand that. But it didn’t mean I had to like it.

  “That’s how it’s going to be, huh?” I asked.

  Shooter and Crank came back out looking as pissed off as I had been that the gas station was empty. Shooter glanced between us all, immediately sensing that something was amiss. His hand went to the gun at his waist.

  “Easy there, cowboy.” I held up a hand. “This isn’t an episode of John Wick. They just don’t want to tell us about their people” —I glanced over at Kensa and she looked away— “or where they come from.”

  “We don’t know you,” Zuly said.

  “We don’t trust outsiders,” Kensa added. “No offense.”

  “None taken, darlin’,” Highlander said, his gaze heated. “It takes a lot to offend a man like me, if you know what I mean.”

  I quirked an eyebrow in surprise.

  Crank snorted out a laugh.

  Kensa looked embarrassed.

  Zuly looked offended.

  And Shooter—well, Shooter…he just sighed and dragged a hand down his face.

  “For fuck’s sake, Highlander, we don’t have the time for this,” he grumbled, pulling out his cigarettes and lighting one.

  But Highlander was like a dog who’d found a scent he wasn’t willing to let go. His attention was solely on Kensa, and when I glanced at her I noted that though she looked embarrassed, she also looked like she actually enjoyed the attention from him. I guess I couldn’t blame her. Highlander was a big, burly biker. He was broad, with a twinkle in his eye and a smile that you couldn’t ignore.

  “Don’t have a vehicle you can have,” Shooter said, ignoring Highlander’s seductive gaze on Kensa, “but I can give you a little water to take with you and a couple of weapons to help you. I’d offer to drop you where you need to go, but I’va feeling you’d reject the offer.”

  “Your feelings would be correct,” Zuly replied almost primly. Kensa elbowed her in the side and she sighed. “The weapons and water would be helpful though.”

  “Done,” Shooter said with a nod. He looked over at Crank, sharing a silent message before Crank headed toward the bikes to retrieve the weapons and water.

  I could tell that this was killing Shooter—letting these women fend for themselves and not just drag them kicking and screaming back to the clubhouse where he could protect them. I offered him a small smile, grateful that he was finally listening to me. That he was finally understanding that not everyone needed saving after all.

  Was it wrong to feel proud? Because that was how I felt. I felt proud of him…for him, whatever. Maybe I felt a little proud of myself. I’d managed to change the way the Highwaymen lived and ruled. They no longer saw women as victims that needed saving. They were finally seeing us as equals.

  Well, maybe that was a little farfetched.

  Women would never be these bikers’ equals, but regardless, I was still making a difference.

  Crank came back, handing over a crowbar and a short-handled knife plus two small bottles of water. Kensa and Zuly took them gratefully.

  “For what it’s worth, we appreciate the help,” Zuly said. She exchanged another look with Kensa before sighing. “We do have a group, but we don’t let new people in anymore. Or, very rarely.”

  “Och, we have our own group and a place to stay, little lady. Don’t worry about us looking for a new home,” Highlander said.

  “We just…” Zuly began.

  “Don’t trust people you’ve only just met,” I finished for her. “We get it. I get it.”

  Zuly nodded. “It’s not my call to make. We don’t know you or your group. We’ve had people before who we let in that…well, let’s just say they weren’t good people.”

  “Who the fuck is anymore,” Crank snorted on a laugh.

  “True,” Kensa agreed. “We’ve all had to do things that we aren’t proud of, but there’s a difference between killing for survival and killing for pleasure, if you know what I mean.”

  Shooter grunted in agreement. “I feel you. My brothers and I aren’t that kind of men, but I wouldn’t expect you to just take my word for it. I know I wouldn’t.”

  “Groups are always good for tradin’ though, don’t ya think?” Highlander said, and I wanted to laugh because there was no way he was thinking about trading. The only thing that man was thinking about was the thing in his pants.

  “They are,” Kensa agree
d. She took a breath. “How about we meet back here tomorrow, same time, and we each bring something to trade. If it goes well…” She shrugged and sighed. “If it goes well, then maybe we can make it a regular thing.”

  “How do we know you have something we want?” I asked.

  “Ohhh, she definitely does,” Highlander said with a deep rumble of laughter, and Kensa blushed harder.

  “How do you know we don’t?” she countered, and I rolled my eyes.

  “Listen, lady, we don’t have time for the back-and-forth crap, okay. We have a lot to trade, a lot that you would want, but we don’t know if you have anything. Considering we found you starving to death, with no weapons and trapped in a gas station, well, let’s just say that you’re not winning anyone over.”

  Kensa shrugged again. “Do as you please. We have things you’ll want, but I’m not giving anything up until I know what you have. As far as I know, you could be four people driving around stealing from people. No group, no home, and nothing to trade.”

  “We have weapons, alcohol, canned goods,” Shooter said, being the first to offer up something. It was the only way we could move things along, and that’s the way he worked: he moved things along or he kicked them to the side. He must have sensed that they had something to offer, since he hadn’t kicked them to the side and was showing his hand.

  Kensa licked her lips and I swear Highlanders chest rumbled at the sight. “Okay, we could use some of that, I guess. Well, we have water…” She glanced at Zuly and I noted the almost imperceptible shake of her head.

  “We have a well,” Shooter grunted. “Don’t need water.”

  “We have fruit trees,” Kensa countered, looking annoyed that her offer of water wasn’t enough.

  “Any peaches? I love a nice juicy peach,” Highlander said with a damn right dirty smile.

  “Highlander!” I snorted on a laugh, unable to contain it because seriously, when was the last time he’d gotten laid? The man was acting like a teenage boy in heat.

  “We have a medic,” Shooter said, showing his ace card. Medics were highly sought after. No one needed to know that our medic was actually borrowed from another group and that the said medic was actually a trained vet. Best keep that to ourselves.

  “We have a herbalist,” Zuly returned proudly. “And water.”

  “Told you, don’t need water, but a herbalist…” He sighed.

  Damn, a herbalist would be really useful. Doctors and nurses were great, but if we didn’t have any medicine, they couldn’t do an awful lot. A herbalist could help us with new medicines and what berries were poisonous. And water! Lots of water, no less. Their camp must have been close to a good source of water, but again my mind wandered back to the maps that we’d been looking at that showed no sources of water for miles around.

  But they were getting it from somewhere…but where?

  “You have well water. Dirty, no doubt. Our water is direct from the source. Clean, fresh. Best water you’ll ever drink.”

  Shooter raised an eyebrow. “All right, that does sound good.” He stroked the hair on his chin, and looked deep in thought. “We have engineers.”

  “Badass engineers,” I said, wafting the air in front of me to show the cool attachment Balls and Highlander had made me. Plus, water was a big win for them so I needed to big us up.

  Kensa’s smile grew at the sight of my arm. She’d noticed it previously, but now she really had time to examine the craftsmanship of it. “Touché.”

  I had a feeling that Shooter had just hit upon what it was their group really needed. And looking over at Highlander, I could see that he was as happy as a pig in shit about that.

  Kensa, meet your engineer.

  Engineer, meet the woman of your dreams.

  12.

  Nina

  “Three days then,” Kensa said, giving Highlander a side glance. “Same time?”

  We’d climbed back on our bikes—me securely strapped to Shooter once more—and were ready to set off and leave Kensa and Zuly to make their own way home. They said they lived a couple of miles away, but I wondered how true that was. It couldn’t have been that close, because their people would have come and found them if so, but it couldn’t have been too far away either or they would have at least asked us to take them some of the way home.

  “Aye,” Highlander agreed, saluting her with two fingers against his forehead.

  Shooter nodded in agreement and the two women set off through the trees beside the gas station, and we watched until they were out of sight.

  “A herbalist would be good,” Crank said. “We had one up in the hills.”

  “Yeah,” Shooter agreed, “maybe they could show us a few things too.”

  “There’s a library in the town over. If we make a run for books they could show us the right stuff,” Highlander said, and Crank started to laugh. “What the feck are you laughing at, ya sorry son of a bitch?”

  “The thought of you in a library,” Crank said, still laughing, and even I smirked.

  “Feckers, all of ya. I can read, I’ll have ya know. I’ve read all the classics.” Highlander glared at Crank, who was laughing even harder now.

  “The classics?”

  “Aye.”

  “What, like The Very Hungry Caterpillar?” Crank slapped Highlander on the back and then quickly dodged as the other man swung a fist at him.

  “All right, all right,” Shooter said, “let’s get the fuck out of here.” He started his engine, his gaze still on the women that had gone through the tree line.

  “What is it?” I asked, because I knew Shooter and I knew when something was bothering him.

  “Just thinking about what other skills we can trade off,” he replied, and I nodded in agreement. Skill trades were just as important as physical trades in many ways, but I wondered what skill Shooter intended to trade with them.

  *

  We’d been riding for thirty minutes, give or take, though I’d lost track of the time as I’d settled into the ride and finally started to relax. The wind on my face, Shooter’s back against my cheek, my arms wrapped around his muscular waist. I watched the world go by in a blur.

  It was all so beautiful when you saw it like this. You weren’t still long enough to see the death and destruction that lay just below the surface, hidden beneath the colors of nature that were exploding around us.

  The fight for survival was clearly going better for mother nature than it was for mankind, and it made me remember looking over the wall after so many years trapped behind it and seeing the explosion of flowers and plants that had taken over the world. It had seemed like so long since I’d seen so much color. I’d been living in a world of gray and brown—pale, deathly colors of starvation and pain—and then climbing that wall and looking over into the world beyond had been like looking into some strange hallucination.

  How could there be so much beauty in so much ugly?

  I was still trapped in my memories, thinking of the wall and wondering what had become of those places, when Highlander pulled up beside us and lifted his hand in the air, pointing left. Shooter nodded and our mini convoy turned at the next corner. I sat up straighter, more alert as we drew close to stopping. We were heading into a small industrial area with brick buildings and warehouses on either side. Shooter drove in the middle, with Highlander flanking the left and Crank flanking the right as we pulled to a stop.

  The engines shut off and the silence surrounded us. Not even a bird could be heard singing.

  We all sat silent and waiting, checking all around us to see if anything, or anyone, was going to come out, but when a good five minutes had passed with nothing but stillness, Shooter nodded for us to get off the bikes and be ready.

  He unclipped me from his holster and I climbed off the bike, rolling my shoulders to get the blood circulating again. My thigh muscles felt tight from sitting still for so long but I relished the ache in my muscles. This ache was one I could learn to love because it meant I was alive. I was mo
ving. I was living. I wasn’t a victim with one hand just waiting to die. I was strong, I was capable. I was doing this survival thing, and I was winning at it. Fuck you, Scar!

  “You good?” Shooter grunted.

  “Yeah,” I replied with a nod of my head. “This the place?”

  The place being the last place the Savages were seen, according to our scouts.

  He shook his head. “Nah, we gotta stop for supplies first. Highlander needs some things.” He looked over my shoulder at Highlander who, as usual, had a grin on his face.

  “Need stuff to make that badass mace you so kindly requested,” Highlander said with a wiggle of his eyebrows, and despite myself I smiled.

  “I wouldn’t say I requested it, per se. I merely agreed to wield this so-called badass instrument of death if someone happened to make it.” I winked and his grin grew wider.

  Crank was leaning against his bike, a cigarette dangling from his lips. He sighed heavily, pulling out a small hip flask from his saddlebag and taking a sip. He gave a hiss and put it back away before standing up.

  “We ready?” he asked.

  “As ready as a cat in shit,” Highlander said with a chuckle.

  Crank frowned. “That don’t make no sense, brother.”

  “Nothing this fuckwit says ever makes sense,” Shooter grumbled.

  “Och, I’m offended, Prez!” he laughed.

  “He’s right though,” I agreed.

  “Fair enough, Queen B.” Highlander smirked and gave a jerk of his head for us to follow him. Everyone normally followed Shooter, but since this was Highlander’s supply run I was guessing he knew exactly where we all needed to go.

  We walked down the center of the wide road. Rusted-out cars were parked on either side and looked like they’d been unusable before all of this end-of-the-world stuff had begun. I took the time to read the small, dusty signs on each of the buildings. Most of them had faded away after several years of sun and storms had beaten down on them, but a couple were still readable. Mostly the ones telling us to take deliveries around the back or letting us know that this was private property and trespassers would be prosecuted. But one of them stood out to me.