Page 67 of Calico Descending

The leader strides up to me, gun leading the way. Behind him, one of the marauders has already gathered up Neela, laughing as he runs his hands over her.

“Get walking, girl. We got a long way to get home.”

“He’ll come for me. You should know he’ll kill you when he does.”

“Assuming he finds us? I’m pretty confident my men will tear him a new asshole.”

“Your men were slaughtered.”

“Recon team. I got a whole damn village of men who are going to be happy to meet you and your friend.”

“’The fuck did we bring him for?” A smaller marauder, about half of Cadmus’s size, stands with his gun pointed at the broken Alpha.

“Something’s wrong with the asshole. Thought it’d be fun to poke at him a bit, before we string him up on a spit.”

My lips curl in disgust at the visual, and I glance at Cadmus, who twitches and stands hunched over, oblivious to his demise.

“Get walking.” The leader points the gun at my head and smiles. “All my men need is a hole. Doesn’t have to be warm.” With a hard shove, he sets me walking in the opposite direction as the truck.

The truck I can no longer see.

Chapter 30

It feels as if we’ve walked for hours, and by the time we reach a clearing of tents and scattered motorcycles, there’s fire in my legs that reaches up into my shoulders. My throat is so dry, I can’t even muster enough spit to swallow. A celebration erupts as we enter the camp, men dressed in leather and rags rushing toward us, random hands reaching to touch private places, pulling my hair when they run it through their fingers. Hidden behind a mountain, this place is well off the main road, and the chances of Valdys finding us are slim enough to leave a sinking feeling in my gut. Some of the men sit bloodied, others gravely injured, nursing wounds I’m well aware are too deep. Men from the scuffle with the mutation who managed to find their way back to camp afterward. Far fewer than earlier in the evening.

“Found us some treasure, boys!” The leader howls with laughter, and another shove from behind kicks me forward. I turn to see Neela’s arms folded over her body, as she pushes away unwanted hands reaching out for her. Behind her, Cadmus stumbles along, lost in his own world, as the men swat at his head and chest.

They lead us to a massive pyre set in the middle of the camp, where the leader directs the three of us to sit. Handed a bottle of liquor by one of his men, he tips it back, before slamming it into my chest. “Drink.”

I want to deny him, I want to throw the bottle in his face and tell him to go to hell. But that’s the thing about thirst. It turns you humble. Weak. Grateful, when you know you shouldn’t be.

I’ve never had liquor in my life, and when I tip the bottle back, the burn on my tongue sends me forward and spitting the fluids out of my mouth. Another round of laughter erupts, as I wipe the bitter flavor from my face with the back of my hand.

“Can’t hold her liquor!” the leader says amid the mirth, and I hand it back to him.

A fowl smell clings to the air, like greasy death, reminding me of the incinerators back at Calico. I lean forward to see something black hanging from a rusted metal rod, stretched flat between two metal posts across the flames, and I suck in a sharp breath the moment I realize it’s the Legion soldier. Cooking on the flames, his skin is as black as the uniform that hardly clings to his body anymore.

Screwing my eyes shut, I turn away from him to Neela, beside me, who sits with her head tucked into her hands. Beside her, Cadmus twitches and rocks, as usual. Whatever happened to him back in Calico has turned him into a walking ghost.

Panic swirls in my gut, mingling with the lingering burn of liquor. No matter what I see, no matter what these men do, I can’t lose my head, like Cadmus.

I have to be smarter.

Think faster.

A chunk of sizzling meat lands in my lap, and the moment it hits my thighs, singeing my skin, I let it fall to the ground.

“Don’t be rude, girl. Isn’t polite to decline a meal out here in the Deadlands.”

I glance up to where three of the men stand around the cooked soldier, tearing pieces away from him, and before I can stop it, vomit creeps up my throat. I bend forward in time to expel it onto the ground next to the meat. Slimy strings of bile hang from my lips, which I spit away.

“Not hungry. ‘S’okay. One man’s trash, is another man’s treasure,” he says, and swipes up the meat from the ground, just outside the halo of my last meal. He pops the meat into his mouth and smiles as the grease coats his lips. “We don’t pass up on a meal out here.”

“Whatever you have in mind … for us ... we can help you.”

“Help us? Help us how?”

“You want Calico, right? You want to bring it down? I can tell you how to get inside.”

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