“Now the other one,” Wicks told him, signaling for the rest of his team to join him. They caught up, just as the second door was opened.
Wicks led the charge, aiming his rifle at Nomad’s face. His boss may have demanded nonviolence, but he wasn’t taking any chances. He’d rather be judged by three women than be buried by one man. “Hold it right there, asshole.”
Nomad knelt on one knee, with the Scab girl still draped in his arms. “We surrender unconditionally,” he said in a deep, gravelly voice.
The other five Scabs dropped too, though they hit the floor with both knees instead of one, their heads hanging low and arms limp.
Wicks held his rifle steady as he swung his head, making eye contact with the only guard to his left. “Watson, secure his weapons.”
“Yes, sir,” Watson answered, taking a wide path around Nomad and approaching from the rear.
The former-cook-turned-operative leaned forward and pulled the twin swords from their sheaths. He put them aside, then patted Nomad down, starting with his shoulders and working his way down.
“He’s clean,” Watson said, picking the swords up and returning to his position next to Wicks. He spun the weapons around in his hands. “They’re heavier than I expected, sir.”
“Hang on to them for now,” Wicks said before peering at the balance of his team to the right. He motioned for them advance on the Scabs. “Secure those things. But maintain your distance.”
His men scampered to the Scabs and spread apart, walling them off with their weapons drawn.
One of his men slung his rifle, then proceeded to lash the hands of each Scab behind their backs.
After they were restrained, he pulled out a wad of handcloths and used them gag each of their mouths in a wrap.
“All right, bring them here,” Wicks said, pointing to a spot behind Nomad.
The men angled their weapons to the side, then grabbed the Scabs by the arm, pulling them to their feet.
Wicks had expected the Scabs to resist, but they didn’t. In fact, it seemed as though they came willingly, almost as if this entire event had been scripted.
Either way, it was clear Nomad was responsible, a dynamic Wicks never saw coming.
If someone had asked him, Wicks would have admitted there was a big part of him that wanted the women to struggle. That way, he could have shown them the extra force needed to send a loud, powerful who’s-really-in-charge message.
Not only to them, but to Nomad.
It’s the first rule established by a jailer—removing all doubt in the mind of the detained.
However, when facing docile prisoners such as these, it becomes an unnerving, hard to anticipate situation. More so when the captives are formidable adversaries, as in this case.
Liz arrived with Summer, who had her hands on the gurney, rolling it into position next to Wicks.
Nomad brought his face up and made eye contact with Liz through the cutouts in the mask. “We humbly request medical assistance for our sick friend. Will you help?”
“What’s wrong with her?” Liz asked, her eyes apparently scanning the black splotches around the Scab girl’s mouth.
“She must have eaten something she shouldn’t have.”
“When?”
“Few hours ago. We got here as soon as we could.”
Liz stepped forward, swinging her eyes to Summer. “Help me, please.”
Summer joined her.
“You get her feet. I’ll get her arms,” Liz said, motioning for Summer to get into position.
Summer and Liz grabbed the girl at each end and hoisted her up and onto the gurney.
“Use those straps,” Wicks said, pointing at the rolling stretcher. “This could be a trap.”
“May I go with her?” the Nomad asked from his one-kneed position.
“Not a chance,” Wicks said. “You’re going straight to the brig, along with the rest of your little girl scout troop.”
“Except this one,” Liz said, lashing the unconscious girl to the platform using the restraints hanging from its sides. She angled the gurney toward the vaults doors and pushed.
Summer remained behind, standing to the side with her arms folded as Wicks used a heavy-duty zip tie to confine Nomad’s hands.
Wicks turned to Watson. “Go help Doc with the threshold.”
“What about these?” Watson asked, holding the swords at eye level.
“Just leave them for now. Someone will fetch them later.”
Watson bent down and put them on the floor along the wall behind him, stacking one on top of the other with the blades facing away. He jogged ahead, catching up to Liz in a flash.
Wicks leaned into Nomad’s ear. “Don’t test me, asshole,” he said in a whisper, knowing Summer had her eyes on him. He pulled Nomad to his feet and shoved him forward. “Walk.”
As Nomad passed Summer, she uncoiled her arms and said, “I don’t know if you remember me, but I was the one who was buried under all that equipment in the cannery. Thank you for helping me.”
Wicks expected the man to say something in response or at least turn his head, but he didn’t, almost as if he hadn’t heard a single word she’d said. He looked at Summer. “And you think I’m an asshole.”
Summer twisted her mouth but didn’t respond, appearing to be more interested in Nomad than Wick’s passing remark.
When Nomad made it to the threshold of the first vault door, he stopped his feet and held for three-count before twisting and looking back at Summer.
Nomad’s tentative body position and shoulder lean gave Wicks the impression that an epiphany had just slammed into his brain.
“Got something to say?” Wicks asked him after grabbing the back of the man’s leather coat.
Nomad didn’t utter a word, only turning forward again and stepping over the bulkhead after Wicks let go of him.
Wicks looked back at Summer.
She shrugged, looking sheepish for the first time since she’d taken over.
Wicks wasn’t sure what any of it meant. Not that he cared.
There was only one thing that mattered—getting the prisoners to the brig. He moved his attention to his team holding onto the Scab women. “Bring them. If they so much as breathe wrong, you know what to do. Just try not to catch me downrange.”
CHAPTER 5
“Strip off those clothes,” Wicks told Nomad for the second time in as many minutes. “I’m not going to ask again.”
Nomad stood there, rubbing his hands across his wrists. The rest of the security team was present as well, manning their post in the men’s locker room, only two doors down from the brig.
Wicks shook his head. “Your ears work just fine, so don’t play deaf with me, boy. Take off that damn coat.”
Nomad ignored the request, standing firm with his back to Wicks, his mask still in place.
“I’ll take it off, boss,” Watson said, stepping forward.
“Hold your position, Watson. It’s time he learns who’s in charge here,” Wicks said, turning his attention back to Nomad. “So what’s it going to be? The easy way or the hard way?”
Nomad put his arms down at his side in silence as if he were steeling himself for something.
“Fine, but that leather is not going to protect you,” Wicks said, taking a step forward and landing a heavy punch to Nomad’s kidney.
Nomad gasped as he dropped to the floor, leaning over to compensate for the pain. It took a half-dozen breaths before Nomad righted himself, then pressed to his feet, keeping his back to Wicks.
Wicks figured Nomad was sending some sort of defiance message, perhaps trying to embarrass him in front of the men. He turned to his squad. “Well then, I guess he likes it, boys.” Wicks brought his fist back and readied another strike. “No reason to disappoint our new friend.”
With that, Wicks landed another strike, this time following the sharp kidney punch with a sweeping overhead blow to the side of Nomad’s head, knocking the mask from his face. The covering spun i
n the air and landed in the corner next to a wooden bench.
Nomad fell to the right and hit the deck on his hands and knees, his face covered in a blanket of curly black hair. The man spit out a patch of blood, never bothering to move the strands covering his face. Some of the blood shot through his mane and hit the cement, but a good portion of it clung to the hair and dripped in clumps.
“Looks like he wants more,” Wicks told his team, stepping forward and raising his fist for another thump.
Nomad pushed at the ground with his hands, then sat back on his knees in a slump, his side now facing Wicks.
Wicks took a step to the right, trying to see through the mop of hair.
When you can’t look into a prisoner’s eyes, you can’t judge their state of mind. The eyes tell the whole story, regardless of what the mouth is saying or the body is portraying. It’s the most important vantage point when interrogating. Or simply trying to get someone’s attention.
After Wicks moved another step to the right, Nomad brought his arms up, positioning his hands in front of his face. “For the record, I’m not resisting.”
“The hell you aren’t,” Wicks snapped, holding his pose with fist raised.
“What happened to my friends?” Nomad asked.
“They’re in the brig, with the other one.”
“Seven?”
Wicks laughed, then uncoiled his fist and let his arm drop, peering at his men. “You see that, boys? Brain damage is already settling in. The man thinks he came here with seven of those things.” Wicks turned back to Nomad. “No, you dumbass, just the five you brought. At least the ones that weren’t sick. The other one is down in the infirmary, though I don’t know why Doc even bothers. She looked near-dead to me.”
“So they’re unharmed?”
Wicks scoffed. “Roger that. Luckily for them, they didn’t resist when I told them to strip.”
“I made sure they’d comply before we arrived.”
“Then I guess you missed your own memo on that one.”
“We’re not the enemy,” Nomad said, his face still concealed in hair.
Wicks turned to Watson. “Why don’t you help our guest to his feet? He obviously wants more and I plan to oblige.”
“On it, boss.”
Wicks flashed a hand at his other men. “And somebody go find me a razor and some soap. Time to clean this asshole up before he starts to decompose. My nose can only take so much.”
* * *
Krista opened the right-most cell door in the brig and shoved Lipton inside. “Back home where you belong.”
Lipton flew past Horton and caught himself on the bed frame, then turned and pointed at the jail cell next door. “No. You are not leaving me here with them.”
Krista laughed as she closed the cell door, watching Helena and the other Scab girls swarm the bars between cells and start to growl at him. “Looks like they just found their next meal.”
Lipton backed up, pressing his back against the bars on the opposite side of his cell. “Have you ever heard of cruel and unusual punishment?”
“Nice try, but that’s no longer part of the legal system,” Krista said. “Or society. Not here. It’s all about what Krista wants and when. Or haven’t you figured that out yet?”
“Oh, I know exactly what this all means.”
“And right now, I want to see you squirm. And maybe bleed a little.”
Horton made eye contact with her, but held his tongue.
“Feel free to feed him to them if he gets out of line,” Krista said to Horton.
“Gladly,” Horton said, giving her a single head nod.
Lipton shook his finger at Krista. “Don’t forget, you need me for those EOD calculations.”
“How could I?” she answered in a sarcastic tone. “You remind me every ten minutes.”
Lipton continued. “And as trade bait for that other camp.”
“Then I’d suggest you stay as far away from Helena and her friends as you can.”
“Oh, I plan to, trust me.”
Krista held for a beat before responding. “Wow, for a man nobody trusts, you sure use that phrase a lot. Kind of diminishes the whole meaning of it.”
“That may be so, but it doesn’t change the facts. You do need me.”
“So you say, but you’re really not my focus at the moment.”
“Nomad?”
Krista tilted her head and raised an eyebrow, but didn’t respond.
“He’s your focus? Seriously? That man is a lowly cretin. Yet another Neanderthal. You’d think you learned your lesson about men like him after the whole Frost debacle.”
“Wow, you’re just a legend in your own mind, aren’t you?”
“You really need to listen to what I’m saying. Nomad can’t help you. With anything. I’m your only hope, but you’re too damn stupid to see it.”
“Have fun, Lipton,” Krista said with a smile covering her lips. “Try not to turn yourself into a crunchie while I’m gone.”
CHAPTER 6
Liz stopped in the hallway when she saw Krista exit the door of the brig and head her way. “I was hoping to run into you.”
Krista pointed at a door nearby. “Just on my way to the locker room.”
“Is that where he is?”
“Who?”
“Nomad.”
“Yes. Why?”
“Need to ask him some questions about the girl he brought in.”
“I take it she’s in bad shape.”
Liz nodded. “Can’t treat her properly without additional information.”
Krista opened the door to the locker room. “After you.”
Liz walked in first, seeing a half-dozen men standing in a semi-circle around another door in the back of the room, all of them looking inside. She stopped her feet and looked at Krista. “What’s going on?”
Krista slid in next to her. “I told them to clean him up. Just like they did with the women he brought in. You never know where these drifters have been. Plus that smell has to go.”
Liz passed a wooden bench on her way to the gathering of men, then turned sideways and pushed her way inside with an outstretched arm.
Krista followed her, both of them breaking through the group on the other side.
“Hey, that’s enough,” Liz yelled at the man holding a firehose that was shooting a heavy stream of water.
It was Wicks. He had the nozzle aimed at the back of a naked man in the community shower area about ten feet way.
The man’s hands were braced up against the wall in front of him with his wet, stringy black hair hanging down an inch or so past the bottom of his neckline.
“Easy, Doc,” Krista said, grabbing Liz’s arm. “He’s just following orders.”
“Make him stop, now,” Liz snapped, wondering why Krista kept putting Wicks in a position to cross the line. The man obviously had issues. “I mean it. Shut it off. We don’t do this here.”
“Do what?” Wicks asked, his tone sarcastic. “Clean up the filth?”
Before Liz could respond, Summer arrived and stuck her head in, eyes wide, bouncing her pupils between Krista and her. “What are you ladies doing?”
Liz pointed at the man being blasted by the water hose. “They need to stop this. Now.”
Summer shot an intense look at Krista. “You heard her. Turn it off.”
Krista paused, then turned to her man. “All right, Wicks, that’s enough.”
Wicks aimed the hose at the wall to the left, then peered behind him at a guard who stood where the other end of the hose met the water spigot. “That’s enough, Watson.”
Watson leaned down and cranked the valve, ending the water stream.
Nomad dropped to one knee, his chest pumping hard for air.
“What the hell happened to him?” Summer said, her eyes focused on the man in the shower.
Liz noticed the scars on Nomad as well. “Looks like burns. Third or fourth degree, if I had to guess.”
“You ain’t seen not
hing yet,” Wicks said, walking to Nomad. He grabbed the prisoner’s arm and yanked him to his feet, then shackled his hands with a pair of cuffs. He spun the man around to face the women.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Wicks said, grabbing the hair in front of Nomad’s face and flipping it up and over his head. “I give you, The Freak.”
Summer gasped, turning her head away.
Liz wanted to do the same but convinced herself not to react to the man’s disfigurement. It looked as though his face had been hit dead on by a flamethrower. His scars were layered, and a good portion of his nose was mangled, making him look less human than the Scab women he’d brought to Nirvana.
“Any wonder why he wears a mask?” Wicks asked, pointing at Nomad’s face. “Look at this shit. And I thought my face was messed up.”
Nomad turned his head away and let his chin drop to his chest.
Liz wondered why Nomad didn’t resist Wicks. His reputation as a ruthless swordsman turned vigilante meant he knew how to fight. Yet he remained there limp, taking the abuse, as if he welcomed the humiliation. Or perhaps thought he deserved it.
Summer brought her eyes back to the prisoner. She squinted. “Someone get him some pants.”
Liz turned to Krista. “She’s right. A little dignity, please.”
“And one of your commando masks, too,” Summer added, turning her head away again.
“You mean a balaclava?” Krista asked.
“Yes, whatever you call it.”
Liz decided to jump into the conversation. “It’s obvious he prefers his face covered. I think we should indulge him.”
“For everyone’s sake,” Wicks said, his hand sliding to the back of Nomad’s head and yanking on his locks.
Nomad’s head jerked back in obvious discomfort, but he still chose not to resist.
Summer nodded. “It beats that heavy mask he normally wears.”
“Fine,” Krista said, bringing her eyes to Watson. “Get one from supply. I’m sure Zimmer has a spare or two.”
“Roger that, ma’am,” Watson said, heading for the exit door.
Liz looked at Wicks. “What about the women?”
“What women?”
“The others he brought in.”
“You mean the Scabs?”
Silo Page 3
