Page 27 of Beast in the Badlands
"Shutup?—"
He drags my leg higher over his shoulder, hitting a place that whites out my vision. "Say it."
"I—I can’t?—"
"Say. It."
"Please!" The word tears free as my walls clench around him. "Gods, Renn—please?—"
His roar drowns my scream as we shatter—a tangled mess of teeth and trembling limbs. He collapses atop me, breath scorching my neck.
Outside, a rusty drone beeps a proximity alert. Neither of us moves.
"Remind it I’ll kill anything that interrupts," he mumbles into my hair.
I flick his scarred earlobe. "You can barely walk."
Renn rolls over, tucking me into his chest like his most prized possession. "Watch me."
CHAPTER 21
EMRY
The Coalition med zone looms ahead, its presence unmistakable, a tattered canvas tent that flaps in the wind like a dying flag signaling distress. Each gust sends ripples through the fabric, creating an unsettling rhythm that echoes the tension crackling in the air.
I clutch my pack tight against my back, feeling the weight of the scavenged supplies pressing down on me like a heavy burden that I can’t shake off. The lie rolls off my tongue in the privacy of my thoughts, sweet and deceptive like honey: it’s just a supply run.
Inside the pack, I can feel the reassuring texture of the bandages, their sterile surfaces brushing against the vials of antibiotics, remnants from the old med bay that now feels like a ghostly memory. The supplies are more than just items to barter; they are the tools of survival, enough to make them believe me when I say I’m only here for a simple errand.
I can almost picture the Kira inside, her weary face lighting up at the sight of fresh supplies, blissfully unaware of the truth that lurks behind my eyes and the real reason for my visit.
Step by step, I push away thoughts of Renn.
As I near the tent’s entrance, the atmosphere shifts. Tension coils tight in the air; it feels wrong—too quiet for a camp that usually buzzes with voices and laughter, however strained. Shadows flicker along the edges of my vision as I approach, and an uneasy knot settles in my stomach.
I step inside the perimeter, scanning faces—pale and drawn, eyes wide with unspoken fear. Something isn’t right.
Before I can take another breath, an old comm tech rushes toward me, nearly tripping over his own feet. His expression is frantic, wild with urgency.
“There’s movement. Not ours.” His voice trembles as he speaks.
I raise an eyebrow. “What do you mean? Another faction or…?”
He nods sharply, wiping sweat from his brow with trembling hands. “The Red Maw Syndicate. They’re closing in.”
My heart drops into my stomach. Our defenses are weak—fractured by dwindling supplies and morale—and we all know it.
“Are we ready?” My voice comes out steadier than I feel.
“Ready? No! We’ve barely got enough people to defend ourselves against raiders!” He swallows hard. “We should have evacuated weeks ago.”
My pulse quickens as reality sets in: if they find us here… If they discover Renn…
“We can’t panic,” I say quickly, forcing myself to think beyond fear. “Get everyone organized at least.”
The words barely settle when gasps ripple through the crowd, followed by frantic shouts. I turn, adrenaline kicking in as eyes widen in unison.
A drop ship slices through the gray sky, its dark silhouette stark against the chaos of swirling clouds. The hum of its engines thunders in my ears like an approaching storm.
