What Little Remains (The Fallout Trilogy Book 1) (14 page)

Daren and Nicole are going in through the North
gate. Jack and I are going over the wall where the smoke from the house
provides us good cover.

We split up, Jack and I go one way, and Daren and
Nic
go the other. Before we separated, Nicole seemed to
change. She let go of her anxiety and fear. She replaced it with an eerie sense
of calm and determination. The butterflies in my stomach are making my hands
shake, but all of my senses are heightened. I can see everything, even though
it’s dark. I hear the scavengers talking no more than twenty feet from me.

Daren helps Jack and me get into position on the
wall. We lie on the wall, facing each other, waiting for Daren and Nicole to
get in position. After a little recon, we realized they weren’t guarding the
hole in the wall. It is on the west wall; Jack and I are sitting on top of the
northwest corner. We can see the men being held in the bonfire area, but we
aren’t close enough and there is too much smoke to make out faces.

The recon changed our plans slightly. Jack and I
were going to get the women and children to safety before trying to free our
men. Daren and Nicole are going to get into the barracks for weapons to arm our
men.

From our position on the wall, I can see three men
guarding the small cabin holding the women and children. I can’t make out
distinct features. They look how I imagined scavengers to look. They have long,
stringy hair that looks like it hasn’t been washed in weeks, and they are
covered in dirt. Two of the guys have facial hair, and the third looks slightly
cleaner.

“I can’t believe there were this many people
settled here,” one of the grungy guys says, his voice thick like he was or is a
smoker.

“I can’t believe it either. We really lucked out. I
haven’t seen this many women in one place in a long time,” the clean one says,
looking at the cabin next to them where all the women and children are being
kept. My stomach churns as I realize where his thoughts are going.

“Keep it in your pants,” one of the grungy ones
says, and from the tone of his voice, I can tell that he doesn’t like the clean
guy very much. “Do you all remember putting a blond girl in there? Mitch is
looking for McQueen’s girlfriend, and he can’t find her. Or a
red-head
? Liam said there’s a
red-headed
bitch here. I think she’s the one that messed him up so badly.”

The hairs on the back of my neck and arms stand,
and I glance at Jack, whose face has tightened. He puts a finger up against his
lips to keep me from saying anything. I shift on the wall, the clay bricks
digging uncomfortably into my chest. They are looking for Nicole and me. Liam
must be the one who escaped and is looking for revenge.

“McQueen, as in Ricky McQueen? That guy is a
legend. I had no idea he was even real. That dude is more badass than Razor,”
the young guy says, and the grungy one waves his hand and walks away.

Jack looks at me, but I shrug. He nods his head,
and we both slowly get into a sitting position on the wall. I’m careful; a fall
from this height wouldn’t kill me, but it would hurt. I pull my bow off my
back, my eyes watering as the smoke blows directly into my face. He signals me
to attack one of the guys, and he gets his bow ready. He counts down, and we
both let the arrows fly. Mine hits the one guy in the jugular, not where I was
aiming, but he can’t scream. Jack’s arrow hits his guy square through the
heart. Both guys go down, and Jack and I jump down from the wall and run to the
bodies.

Jack’s shot killed his guy, but the one I shot is
still alive, gurgling on his own blood. I look away as Jack puts him out of his
misery.

“Let’s go,”
Jack
mutters,
his voice grim.

We move forward. Jack takes out another scavenger
who crosses our path.

“Go behind the house and see if you can tell how
many men are in there,” Jack says. “Be careful.”

I walk behind the building, looking for a crack in
the wood or some way to see inside. I hear a noise and hide against the
building as someone walks by. He doesn’t notice me and walks behind the other
houses, shotgun in hand. I don’t worry about him, knowing that Jack will get
him.

I find a small crack and try to widen it with a
knife. There are two men inside, and they’re both in front of the door looking
bored. The women and children are all huddled close together, the children in
the middle. I see Megan holding Isaac, muttering to him under her breath.

This is unlike any of the other attacks that I’ve
heard of scavengers doing. No one stays alive this long, especially the men.
It’s like they want something. This is personal.

I hear the sound of a safety clicking off and feel
the barrel of a gun pressed against my head. I slide my knife into the pocket
of my shorts before he sees that I have one.

“Well,
lookie
what I have
here,” he says, coming up behind me. His hand grips my shirt, turns me around
and shoves me against the wall. My head snaps back against the wood, and I get
a clear look at the man who just assaulted me.

There are three guys behind him. They have our
weapons in their hands. The guy who threw me up against the wall puts his
pistol in the waistband of his pants; the gesture makes him feel more
dangerous. He doesn’t need a gun to hurt people.
 

Out of all of the guys that I have seen here, he
seems to be the cleanest. His hair is slicked neatly back and parted off
center. He has slight stubble on his face, but it has grown in evenly like he
takes care of it. I never would have thought of scavengers as the types of
people who’d care about personal appearance. He has a round face that wouldn’t
be bad looking in any other situation.

“Sweetheart, why aren’t you locked up with all the
other women?” he asks, giving me a once over, his eyes resting on my bow. “We
need your help with something. I think we may have some things that belong to
you.”

“Actually,” I say, standing up as straight, but it
doesn’t change the extreme height difference between the two of us. “I’m a
little busy. Big plans, you know. Maybe we could chat later?” I suggest.

The three goons crack a smile, and the man in
charge lets out a laugh with a dangerous edge to it. “I think that you’re
gonna
help me out by coming with me. It’d appear that you
don’t belong in there. I have a special place for you if you’re willing to help
me out,” he says, there is a nice southern drawl to his voice.
The kind of voice that a male country signer would want.
It’s deep with a richness that would make it hard to think if so much
adrenaline wasn’t rushing through my veins.

Locking my knees so that they don’t shake, I put on
a loose smile and raise my voice slightly. “You know what’s funny. I really
don’t feel like helping you assholes.”

I am buying time. I hope that Jack heard me and
takes the hint to get away. I won’t risk his life for mine. I can’t do that. If
the scavengers don’t know about Jack, then he, Daren, and Nicole still have a
chance to turn this around.

“We’ll just have to see about that,” he says,
chewing on something. “You don’t know who I am, do you?” he asks.

“No. And you don’t know who I am, do you?” I
counter, my curiosity peeking about this guy. He is definitely someone of
importance in this group. He didn’t just come in to kill everyone. He’s smarter
than that, and he wants something. It makes him dangerous. The dark part of my
mind wonders if this is what Ricky is like when he is out scavenging.

Seeming bored at the direction in which our
conversation has taken, he reaches out and grabs my bow, yanking it off my arm
and throwing it to the ground. With a quick motion he brings his foot on it,
snapping it in half. It lies broken on the ground. He grabs my quiver next,
pulling out an arrow. He raises his eyebrows, looking at me.

“You guys are something else,” he says, smiling
slightly as he tosses the quiver on the ground.

His fingers circle around my arm as he pulls me
next to him.

“Let’s get this party started,” he says, dragging
me with him.

The three guys form a triangle around us, and I
realize exactly how important this man is. I know exactly who he must be.

“My friends call me Razor,” he says, extremely
tense, like he is afraid he is going to be caught any minute now. “Because I
killed the guy who held my position previously with a razor blade.” He gives
the signal, and two of the guys go off, and the third guy follows behind us.

His accent doesn’t match the words coming out of
his mouth. He should be talking about sweet tea or his great aunt, not about
killing people.

He’s not how I pictured him. I pictured someone
with a giant scar across his face, a few missing teeth, and greasy hair.

I know where he is taking me. He leads me through
the bonfire area, in front of Ricky’s men. I try to find Ricky’s face, but it’s
too dark to make out anything other than body types. The cabin that was on fire
is still burning. The roof caves in, and fire erupts from the top and shoots
out through the windows.

I close my eyes. That was someone’s home. This is
my home, and someone has come in here and destroyed part of it. It’s not like
we haven’t already lost enough. The wood crackles as it burns, and the smell of
burnt wood fills the air. The sight of the men who are supposed to protect us,
on their knees, hands tied behind their backs while smoke billows through the
home that they have built is surreal.

I open my eyes and look at Razor who is surveying
the men. He still hasn’t let go of my arm, and my fingers are starting to lose
feeling.

“Now,” Razor says, getting everyone’s attention.
Not a sound floats through the air other than the crackling of the fire. “Since
no one here will give up Ricky, and he won’t give himself up, I brought some
incentive. I believe that this pretty little thing here is his girl,” he says
with one arm wrapped around my stomach, keeping me against his side.

I dig my nails into his arm and ram my elbow into
his stomach. He presses something sharp against my throat, just under where
Jack cut me earlier.

I forgot about that cut; it didn’t hurt until he
pressed against it. Though the pain from that cut is nothing compared to having
yet another knife pressed against my throat. I start breathing faster, trying
not to panic, but failing. The sight of the knife terrifies me more than his
gun did. A gun means a quick and painless death.

“Now, McQueen, you come forward now, or I’ll slit
her throat,” he says.

I wrap both of my hands around his arm and try to
pull it from my neck. He digs the blade in, cutting the skin and I stop, a
sharp pain radiates through my body.

“McQueen you have left your mark, and I’ll leave
mine. I saw what you did to one of my soldiers. It took me seeing your work in
person to really appreciate the magnitude of it. Would you like to see what my
work looks like?” Razor says, pressing the knife against my cheek.

“Stop,” a voice calls out. One of the figures
stands up, and I recognize Ricky immediately.

“No,” I scream. “Don’t.”

Razor tosses me to the side; one of his other men
grabs me. He pushes me to the ground and wrenches my arms behind my back. He
and another man keep my hands behind my back as I struggle and tie them
together. The rope digs into my skin and chafes it every time I move.
 
He jerks me to my feet, holding me in
place while Ricky walks forward.

“I guess after that reaction I don’t have to ask
who you are,” Razor says as Ricky comes in front of him.

Razor is taller, but Ricky is thicker. Ricky has
won every fight he has ever been in. He is smart, lean, quick, and strong. He
knows how to throw a punch and how to take one. His look of confidence is gone.
It shows in his stance and in his eyes as he takes in Razor. He now has the
look of a predator who realizes that he has just met his equal on the food
chain.
 

Despite the stupid nickname, I can see a dangerous
intelligence in Razor’s eyes. Just like Ricky, he has a beautiful face that
hides evilness inside. In another life, I wonder if they would have turned out
differently. Would they both be leading groups of scavengers, killing people
merely for the amusement of it?
Or would they have been good
men and lived good, honest lives?

I can wonder as much as I want. Looking between
them, I know that it doesn’t matter what they could have been. They are what
they are. Creatures created by everything that is ugly in this time.

“You have me. Let her go,” Ricky says, not looking
at me. “Let them all go. You came here for me.”