Page 61 of The Dire Legacy

I’d gladly cut my leg off daily to know he’s okay.

“Please, is he alive?” I need the truth.

The bearded bastard pats my foot like he cares. “You don’t need to worry about him anymore.”

I’ll show you who to worry about. Me. My new life goal is going to be to kill every last fucking one of you.

A dull roar slowly grows louder. We’ve been following the lake for a while when we break out of the forest to see a wide dam hedging along one side.

Walls tower on each end with cabins and trailers parked between them.

It’s a whole town barricaded on the top of the broad concrete barrier.

Smart way to keep the dogs at bay.

A giant double paneled door opens that we drive through. The lake is huge from this perspective, stretching miles back up through the hills.

The drop on the other side looks like it’s hundreds of feet down.

If I knew I would die, I’d contemplate trying to make them drive over the edge. But, I crashed a plane and survived.

Michael rescued me.

Stabbing pain returns to my chest.

He won’t now.

Lefty pulls a pair of handcuffs out and fastens my wrists together.

I know this game. They don’t know how patient I can be.

“Hey, JD?” Neck guy calls to the bearded one as he releases me and steps out into the cool afternoon sun. “Are we taking her to a cell, or straight to the infirmary?”

“Infirmary. Kyle, get Doctor Parker to meet us there.” JD loops his arm through mine while Scarfy grabs my other elbow.

Kyle was my lefty, but now he jogs away like he has a load in his pants.

What can I do that would make them all shit themselves? Maybe blow this thing to the moon?

That’s a nice thought. The earth opening up and this entire trailer park being washed downstream.

Better than this dingy room they’re walking me through.

JD pushes me ahead of him through a steel door.

At least this one is a little cleaner. Smells like bleach.

What in the hell is that?

A stretcher with a tiny form on it. It has tubes going in, but none coming out except a catheter bag hanging from the side.

An older lady in a faded hoodie is standing next to it with an oversized needle.

When she pulls a tiny arm from beneath the blanket and starts drawing blood, I feel sick.

“What’s wrong with the kid?” I wonder if they’re doing this on purpose to play on my empathy.

Surprise, bitches. You shot down any morsel of compassion and left him laying on the ground.

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