Fallen Earth | Book 1 | Remnants

by Morrow, Jason D.

  The crowd watched Savage nervously. There were no more laughs, no more jokes. It was as if each of them knew that something serious was about to happen. And this was different because it was one of them. If it had been happening to one of the citizens, like the mayor or some city council member, the jokes would’ve continued and they wouldn’t have cared. Henry could feel their eyes on him as they contemplated Savage’s words. Henry had broken their trust. In the prison system, he was not a man of honor. None of them other than Blake knew the details of what had happened, but they didn’t need to know. They swept aside the ideas that Savage would have done the same thing. They swept aside the idea that each and every one of them would’ve done the same thing were they in Henry’s position.

  Savage continued.

  “At the end of the day, none of this matters to me, nor does it matter to the overall mission of why we are here. But what does matter is that we have a team that can count on each other. We need a team who can trust each other. We need a team full of people who aren’t going to try to kill each other.”

  Savage pulled out a sharp knife that glinted in the sunlight. Henry wasn’t sure where he got it, but it had a long blade and a jagged edge like something out of a Rambo movie.

  Savage tossed the knife to the ground, breaking the silence with a loud clang. Henry looked up from the knife and saw Blake staring at him in the eyes. The two men were about twenty feet from each other with Savage between them. In an instant, Henry understood what was expected of them. Still, Savage was sure to let the crowd know what was about to happen.

  “Because I can’t have the distraction of enemies plotting against each other, you two are going to have a little fight. There’s one knife and two of you. The survivor gets to stay on the team, the loser dies. Those are the rules.”

  With that, Savage stepped back from the knife, the crowd creating a circle around Blake and Henry.

  Henry wasn’t fast enough. There had been a part of him that wanted to cry out against what Savage was doing, to say that he would be happy to leave and not be a part of this group at all. Why couldn’t one of them just be on their way? Why did it have to be a fight to the death?

  The answer was clear in the man’s name. Savage. The man was living up to this name, and he wasn’t about to show mercy. Henry suspected that he also enjoyed the sport, and probably enjoyed watching the bloodshed that was about to ensue.

  Blake jumped for the knife, scooping it up before Henry even had a thought to move. Henry’s hesitation probably saved his life because if he had gone for the knife, he was sure Blake would have ended him within a moment. Henry had been a fighter his entire life. He had had to defend himself plenty of times, once or twice against a knife. But it was rare he had ever come up against someone like Blake, particularly when death was expected rather than an unintentional consequence.

  Blake stood a foot taller than Henry, and the muscles in his arms seemed like they were as big as Henry’s torso. Henry knew muscle wasn’t everything, nor was the ability to wield a large knife. In fact, the size of the knife was to Blake’s disadvantage. It wasn’t a quick knife, and if he had any skill to throw in, it was probably a lot heavier than what he was used to. This wasn’t the kind of knife for a close-quarter fight. It was the kind of knife you would use for wilderness survival. It was something you could skin a deer with, then dig a hole if you needed to, or hack away at tree limbs for firewood. It wasn’t a fighting knife, despite its menacing appearance.

  There were no rules, and Henry wasn’t afraid to fight dirty. Blake was a hulking figure, and despite the knife not being ideal for a fight, one wrong move and Henry would be carved to pieces.

  Henry glanced at the ground in front of him, then to the sides looking for anything to help him against his enemy. There were some loose rocks on the ground, some pieces of gravel, but he wouldn’t get to them before Blake came at him with a knife. The two of them circled each other, Blake feeling out Henry’s movements. Of course, Henry wasn’t about to attack considering he had nothing in his hands. It wasn’t a fair fight and Savage knew it. Everyone knew it. In fact, the knife had been tossed several feet closer to Blake than to Henry. That was the price he paid for stealing Blake’s escape plans. He shouldn’t have done it. He should have just stayed in his cell and escaped like everyone else. But he couldn’t have known that the power would have gone out and that the prison riot would have turned into an escape for each and every prisoner.

  He wasn’t even supposed to be here. This wasn’t his fight. To be where he was at this moment for the sake of some sheriff’s daughter made Henry angry. Angry enough perhaps to give him some strength in the fight.

  Blake lunged at him with a knife and Henry sidestepped it. Blake swiped again and again. Each time, Henry dodged or jumped back another foot. Blake wasn’t stupid enough to charge him fully because he didn’t know what kind of fighter Henry was. Henry had never killed someone in a knife fight, but Blake didn’t know that. On the flipside, Henry had no idea whether or not Blake was a master at fighting with a large knife. He could’ve murdered fifty people with that knife for all he knew. Still, this was simply a game of keeping out of Blake’s reach. Being the one with the weapon meant he had to be the one exerting all the energy. All Henry had to do was react, and wait for an opening, to wait for Blake to become tired so he would make a mistake. Once he made a mistake, Henry could exploit it. Yes, by his calculation, this was the only chance he had of surviving.

  Though he had been in some knife fights, he had never had to fight a man while unarmed. This was a completely different match. He watched Blake’s eyes, trying to determine where his next swipe was going to go. As Henry watched Blake’s movements, he saw the big guy did not have a plan. Blake’s movements were that of a man who had never held a knife. It didn’t mean he wasn’t dangerous, but it did mean he didn’t know the techniques for winning a fight like this. He was just stabbing and slashing, hoping to hit something, anything that would take Henry off of his feet. This was what Henry had to exploit. He didn’t have to exploit Blake’s endurance. Blake could probably go all night without becoming too tired. He didn’t have to exploit Blake’s size. Sometimes being so much larger than another person was a weakness. No, Henry had to exploit Blake’s inexperience.

  A large man wielding a knife, however, was still a terrifying enemy, and the odds were far against Henry in this situation no matter what his experience level was. One well-placed stab or slice would have Henry on the ground bleeding out and dead within the next minute. The attack could be calculated or it could be accidental—either way he would end up a corpse.

  Henry watched Blake’s eyes and occasionally would let his eyes flick to his hands. Blake’s movements were clumsy. The only consistency was that Blake seemed to be aiming for Henry’s chest with every move. The motions were often different, but the target was always the same. He watched for a jab, then another, then another. Henry knew what to do. If he didn’t take action they would dance like this for the rest of the day, and he knew Savage didn’t have the patience for that, and would probably end up shooting him in the back of the head. He waited for three more jabs. He counted in his head. One. Two. Three.

  With the third stab toward his chest, Henry spun to his right, a move Blake had not been expecting. Henry found himself on the other side of Blake, almost behind him. Blake swung around, clumsily swinging the knife toward Henry’s head, but Henry ducked and punched Blake in the ribs as hard as he could. Henry felt bones crunch beneath his knuckles, and a wheeze escaped Blake’s lips. Henry hoped that Blake would drop the knife with the punch, but the strong man held firm. Henry landed a second punch, then pushed himself back and stood several feet away from Blake, who was now hunched over. Blake clutched his ribs with one arm and held the large knife out with the other. Henry tried to ignore the whoops and hollers of the inmates who had, up until this point, been silent throughout the fight. But the sight of a good fight was too much for them to handle. Each of them had expected
this to be a quick fight, but Henry had surprised them.

  He studied Blake and knew he had the large man where he needed him. Henry was tired, but he wasn’t injured like Blake was. This was something else Henry could exploit. An injury was the best thing to exploit in a fight. Exploit it enough, exploit it successfully, and the fight would soon be over. Still, he couldn’t underestimate his enemy.

  Despite his labored breathing and broken ribs, Blake swung at Henry over and over with his knife, giving no time for breathing or rest. This was another tactic by an inexperienced knife fighter. Overwhelm your enemy and make yourself look like an enormous threat. Henry didn’t bite. He waited for the moment, and Blake rewarded him with a stutter step. Blake tired himself out enough to drop his knife to the side for less than half a second. But it was all the time Henry needed. He lowered his shoulder, charged forward, and rammed into Blake as hard as he possibly could. He heard more bones crunch and he was relieved to know that they weren’t his own. The knife flew as they tumbled to the ground. Henry straddled Blake and unleashed his fists on the man’s face. Punch after punch, slam after slam, Henry was unrelenting until Blake finally shoved Henry off of him, barely hanging on to consciousness. Fortunately for Henry, Blake had thrown him closer to the knife. With a scramble, Henry reached the knife and stood in his spot.

  Blake struggled to get to his feet and Henry looked toward Savage. “It’s over,” Henry said. “He’s beaten.“

  Savage shook his head. “That’s not the rules of the game. The two of you fight until one of you is dead. Whoever remains gets to stay.“

  This wasn’t what Henry wanted. He wasn’t here to kill someone in cold blood. He had won the fight, despite how much smaller he was than Blake. The simple fact remained that Blake was not as superior a fighter as Henry. But Henry was the first to say that a man didn’t have to die to prove he was the lesser fighter. Henry certainly wasn’t afraid to kill someone if his life depended on it or if someone else was about to kill an innocent. But did this situation call for a murder? Would Savage kill Henry if he didn’t finish Blake off? It went against everything Henry was. It went against his own personal code. He had gone against his personal code before, and he got life in prison as a result. The guilt was worse than the punishment, however. He still felt justified in what he had done, but that didn’t mean he didn’t hate his actions. He was a murderer, but he didn’t kill just for the sake of killing.

  Blake could barely stand. He looked at Henry with wide eyes that revealed an anger so intense Henry was worried the man might gather enough energy to attack him with an even more brutal force than before. Henry had the knife, but with enough adrenaline pumping through a man’s veins a lot of damage could be done before he died from knife wounds.

  “If you attack me, you die,” Henry said. “You know that, right?”

  “You have to kill him no matter what.” Savage watched Henry, his eyes squinting. “If you want to live, you have to kill him.” Savage said it with a finality that told Henry if he didn’t kill Blake, Savage would probably finish the job for him, then turn his gun on Henry and have them both dead in the middle of the street.

  Henry wasn’t sure he could do it. Even though his life was on the line, he didn’t feel like he would have the ability to walk up to Blake and shove the knife into his heart.

  There was a momentary feeling of relief when Blake charged at Henry. But the feeling went away quickly as Henry braced himself for impact. Blake was making a last-ditch effort to hurt Henry as much as he possibly could. The movement was so fast all Henry could do was point the blade to where he thought Blake’s heart would land. The knife ripped deep into the man’s flesh, but his body hit against Henry so hard they both fell to the ground. If the knife had landed anywhere other than Blake’s heart, Henry’s enemy might have still struggled and tried to fight. But the body that lay on top of Henry was not one struggling to stay alive. It was a dead weight. The knife had hit its mark.

  It took more strength than Henry thought he had in him to shove Blake’s body off. But when he stood up, he left the knife in the man’s chest and stepped away from the body. Other than a couple of scrapes, bruises, and bleeding knuckles, Henry was relatively unscathed from the confrontation. Some in the crowd might have seen him as a skillful fighter, and others might see him as someone not to mess with. Henry counted himself lucky to be alive.

  Savage looked at that body on the ground, then looked up at Henry. “Well, there you have it. Welcome aboard.”

  Regardless of what Henry wanted, he was now an accepted member of the group. The crowd dispersed, and Henry was handed back his shotgun. The group walked away almost as if nothing happened—like this was just a normal part of their day.

  Then, Savage motioned for Henry to follow him.

  Henry’s hands were shaking.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Gwen felt like a zombie.

  It was as though she were walking, but there was no life around her. The hostages were expressionless. Most of them had their heads down staring at the floor, while others looked around them, possibly searching for a way out. She knew there wouldn’t be a way out unless they fought. And the way she had just witnessed Savage so brutally murder the mayor, then without even a thought have two of his own men fight to the death, she knew he wouldn’t have any problem executing the rest of them if it served his purpose.

  She knew the kind of situation she was in now. Yes, she had known that a girl was killed when her father had arrested Savage, but it had been written off as a terrible tragedy in the midst of a manhunt. Savage was a dangerous criminal, and anyone who died while trying to apprehend him was considered one of Savage’s victims. She had never thought about the man sitting in prison thinking about her dad as the man who murdered his daughter. She had never thought there was someone inside the prison who was plotting his revenge against her dad.

  Where was her dad? Was he alive? Maybe he had been in his car when everything went dark. She knew none of the vehicles were working, but if they stopped working while in motion, would they have crashed? Was her father lying in a ditch somewhere, stuck inside a crumpled car with no way out? This whole time she had been waiting for him to swoop in and save the day, but he hadn’t, and it was starting to look like he wouldn’t.

  Was her dad part of the shootout earlier? Those gunshots in the woods had killed a few of the inmates, but she thought she would have seen her dad by now if he had been the one to instigate the attack.

  As she sat back in her spot in the library, she felt for the gun in the large pocket of her hoodie. Was the salvation of the town going to be left up to her? She scanned the library, looking at all the faces. Her eyes finally rested on Bryson near the back of the room. When he saw her, he offered a smile, which was the first time she had seen anyone from the town show any expression other than fear or defeat. It was a moment of optimism that gave her some courage. Bryson McClure was an ally to her, she couldn’t forget that. He was a fighter, just like the rest of his family. Sure, they often fought amongst themselves, but they were never afraid to take the fight somewhere else. It usually took the form of causing trouble or breaking minor laws, but a long look at their family would show that they longed for something more. Gwen was good with a gun, but Bryson might be more willing to approach one of the inmates and take them out. Then they would have to quickly start dispersing the weapons to other people who would be willing to fight. But by that time wouldn’t they already be in a large standoff? It would only take one or two shots before other prisoners started taking cover. But wouldn’t a standoff be better than sitting here like a bunch of chickens in a coop?

  She was probably more motivated to fight than anyone else in the room, however. She understood the stakes for herself. She knew that Savage wanted to kill her, but he would wait until her father was watching. It was twisted, but it gave her some assurance that she had some time left. This was the first time she thought that her dad actually showing his face would be more of a da
nger to her then if he just stayed away. Still, Savage would only wait so long. He wouldn’t let an uprising happen before he had the chance to kill Leland West’s daughter. He would make sure the sheriff knew his own sorrow whether he got to witness it or not.

  Gwen looked away from Bryson and turned to Miss Morgan, who held her arms at her side and slowly rocked herself back and forth. Gwen looked up at the guards who stood in front of her. They weren’t looking at her, but they weren’t going to let her get out of their sight.

  They weren’t looking at her when she grabbed Miss Morgan’s hand and pressed the yellow pill into her hand.

  “I don’t have any water,” Gwen said.

  Miss Morgan looked at her with a shocked expression on her face. “You left? Did you get the…”

  Gwen held her finger to her lips to shush her. The guards didn’t seem to be listening, but Miss Morgan was not in the right mind to talk to her about a gun.

  “Just take the pill,” Gwen told her. “Everything is going to be okay.”

  “Thank you. Thank you so much.”