Page 47 of The Last Sanctuary
“That’s right. I was there. Your pretty face and your pretty lies won’t work on me. I know what you are.”
He swallowed. “You don’t know what things are like out there, how bad it’s gotten.”
“I’ve watched the news. I saw the state of the town. I—” She almost mentioned Zachariah and her father, but this traitor didn’t deserve to see her grief. Her mouth shut hard.
Damian shook his head. He stiffened as the blade sliced through a layer of his skin. A droplet of dark red blooddribbled down his neck. “The country is in chaos. Everything is… everything is gone. It’s over. The world has ended.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. That doesn’t give you the right to steal from others. That doesn’t give you the right to kill people.”
“There’s no more law. No police. No rules. It’s kill or be killed, eat or be eaten.”
“Carl was unarmed.”
He blinked. “I—I didn’t want to kill him. I wouldn’t have.”
“I call B.S. You people didn’t have to kill them. You did it because you wanted to.”
“I didn’t! I swear it! It wasn’t me. I didn’t want any of that to happen.”
“Whether you pulled the trigger or not doesn’t matter. You’rewiththose monsters. That makes you just as bad. Worse, maybe.”
“Okay.” His gaze flickered desperately around the room, searching for something, probably a weapon, but there was nothing for him. He pursed his lips, trying a different tactic. “Listen. Dekker is a psychopath. I know that, okay? I know what it looks like to you. I get it. I’m not a moron. And I’m not a monster, okay? I’m not like them. But you’ve got to understand. I don’t have a place like this, out here in the boonies, away from all the sick people, with lots of food to hold me over. I didn’t have anything like this. It’s been six weeks since this crazy disease started killing everyone. The national supply chain broke down over a month ago, longer maybe. Do you know how much surplus food stores hold? Three days. After the panic started, store shelves were empty within days. Days! There’s been nothing to buy for weeks. What are we supposed to do? Everyone not sick is so hungry they’re going mad. People murdering each other for a can of green beans. It’s not just us. We’re not even the worst of the gangs, okay? There’s worse out there. What was I supposed to do?”
“Not join a murderous gang, for one.”
“If you don’t align yourself with the type of people who can protect you, then you’re already dead.”
“And just whoarethe people you’re with?”
“They call themselves the Headhunters. They’re a group of organized criminals, operating in Georgia and parts of North Carolina, specializing in weapons smuggling, drug trafficking, stuff like that. But once the virus started destroying everything, they saw an opportunity. They’re traders and service providers.
“The Headhunters travel around scavenging, searching for anything of value. They can get people whatever they want or need—illegal weapons, drugs, expensive, rare medications. Pretty much anything. Communities exchange their resources in trade for services rendered, like offering protection from thieves and marauders.”
She caught how Damien spoke of the Headhunters as “they” and not “we,” trying to distance himself from their brutality, trying to make her believe he was somehow different from Dekker and his ilk.
She scowled. “What other kinds of services?” She suspected, but she needed to know. She needed to hear him confirm it.
“I’m not sure. I’m just a low-level guy. I don’t know everything?—”
She tilted the curved razor-edge of the blade enough to draw another trickle of blood. “Tell me.”
He swallowed. The edge of the knife bobbed along with his Adam’s apple. “Sometimes, they trade in… people.”
Her blood went cold.
“Like I said, there’s no law anymore. No one to stop those with certain… appetites. They pay for people. Mostly girls. Young, pretty ones that can be subdued and… trained.” His lips pressed together, as if he were embarrassed. Good. He should be.
“That’s why they want me. To sell me to the highest bidder.”
“I’m not a part of any of that, I swear. Mostly it’s trading in good things, helping people survive, to get medicine and food, and other stuff they need. I’ve—I’ve never even killed anyone.” He said it like a confession, like it shamed him.
Me neither, she almost said. But that would’ve defeated the purpose of the knife—and the threat behind it. Just because she hadn’t killed before didn’t mean she wouldn’t, if she had to. All creatures would fight to the death to defend themselves. It was instinctive.
“Let me go,” Damien said. “Please.”
“No way.”
He sighed. “Then we’re at a standstill. Either you kill me, or you don’t. Eventually, Dekker is going to come looking for me, and then what are you going to do?”
