Page 11 of The Dead Don't Talk
“So, he gets to shoot at us and thenleave?”Such a pissy lil kitten.
I nod and offer Amo the jar of alcohol that Wilson made. “That’s what he’s here for.”
“Then why the fuck are we?” he nearly screams.
Taking a sip when he ignores my offer, I hiss at the burn then answer him coolly. “So he can do a supply run. It’s been six weeks or so. He likes to look at the plants or some shit.”
Amo’s eyes bug out of his head, and he throws his arms up.
“Oh, motherfuck. You are so confusing and infuriating,” he huffs.
I watch him with barely contained mirth as he rubs his face and walks in a circle. There’s not much space in here with the cot on the floor, the plants, and the two chairs, but he manages to make it work.
“Okay, kitten, have a seat and I’ll explain.”
Relenting feels like the right answer until his audible groan of frustration almost makes me smile more.
“Okay. Speak.” That earns him a brow raise he growls at as he drops into the chair next to me before adding, “you dragged me out here, had me attacked, and now what? We gotta wait here until he comes back?”
“Yes, actually. He should be back mid-morning.”
Another bug of his eyes.
“We have to stayhere?” he yells.
“You wanted to follow me. This was always the plan.”
“So why the fuck is he the only one Guard out here, but it’s off limits to everyone except you?”
“It takes most people a day’s trek to get here from the community.” Normal people that is, but Wilson is not normal.Neither am I.“It’s riddled with decomposed, and he knows the area better than anyone. Enough to keep the spread back and the raiders out.”
“You mean kill them all.” He almost seems exasperated by that possibility. That killing the already dead fucks isn’t what we’re supposed to be doing. As if they aren’tdecomposed.
“You’re catching up.”
He blinks at me. Glances around at the various pots nestled neatly in every free corner that are hanging from the ceiling and the walls, then shakes his head.
“What does he do with the bodies?”
“Why does that matter?”
Groaning, he snaps to his feet and paces some more.
“So, what are we supposed to do all night?”
My brows jump but I quickly recover before he catches the thought broadcasted on my face. “Sleep or hunt.”
That’s not what I’d prefer, or what I want to say. On the nights that I bring Wilson’s supplies, we generally spend the evenings eating. Hunting.
Fucking.
But Amo doesn’t seem into men in the slightest. He’s just a little jumpy and a lot jumbled. Almost awkward and jittery. Which means my night is going to be filled with hunting game and decomposed alike, instead of showing him what his prostate feels like.
What a shame.
Chapter 5
You can’t eat that! I don’t think anyway.
