Smith angled away from the road. It’d brought him nothing but trouble the last few days, and it was best to avoid it. Besides, he had a horse now, so that made the decision easier. He didn’t forget about the sniper, though—it was going to take a while before that happened—but he was glad to be alive, even if his head was pounding more so now than in the moments when he’d been shot.
Was there a drumline pounding away inside his skull and no one bothered to tell him about it?
It didn’t feel very good, and he considered stopping for a while to get his bearings.
But he didn’t. It was just a little discomfort. He could deal with it.
Smith shook the pain off and kept Lucky pointed north. He wasn’t sure where he was going, exactly, but it seemed like a good start.
What was north? South Dakota. Or was that North Dakota? Was he actually in Nebraska?
Well, it was one of the three. After that was Canada—
He fell off the saddle for the second time, the ground rushing up on him in a blur just before he struck it with a solid and painful-sounding thump!
The last thought that raced through his head before he lost consciousness was Well, this is embarrassing. I hope no one saw that…
Ten
It was bad enough he fell off a horse the first time, but to do it again, and in the same day? It was downright shameful. The only thing that could have mitigated the embarrassment was if no one saw him.
One can only hope.
He knew one thing for certain: Someone had found him after he fell off Lucky. Those same someones had then brought him here.
Not that he knew where “here” was.
Smith was still holding onto the chance no one had seen him fall off Lucky for the second time when a voice said, “Man, the way you just plopped off that horse, that was something.”
Or not.
He woke up on the dirt floor of some kind of shack. It was a small building made of flimsy, termite-infested wood with big slivers between each board, allowing the sunlight from outside to come through in gaping swaths. There was a particularly big pool of light on Smith’s face at the moment, and it was probably why he had woken up.
This is embarrassing.
He could turn his head slightly to the left to avoid most of the sunlight, but that meant keeping his head at the odd angle, which he could only do for a few minutes before straining the muscles along his neck. He certainly couldn’t move the rest of his body, which was fastened to a big wooden pole by thick rawhide ropes that were so tight they dug into his arms even through the fabric of his jacket and the shirt underneath. Whoever had tied him up had done a goddamn good job of it.
He’d expected to feel the headache to end all headaches when he opened his eyes, but that was oddly missing. The drumline that had been pounding away inside his skull like it was trying to win a Battle of the Bands competition during a football halftime game had mostly faded away. Mostly. It was still there, lingering in the background, but it wasn’t as prominent as before. Or, at the very least, it wasn’t making him feel as if his entire head would crack open at any second.
“Hey, can you hear me?” a voice said. “Yoooo hooo.”
Smith focused on the speaker. He was a young kid around fifteen or sixteen years old, crouched in front of Smith. Sandy blond hair, dust-covered boots, jeans, and a jacket. Other than a knife in a sheath along his right hip, he didn’t appear to be armed, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t have something behind his back.
And he was grinning stupidly at Smith, which Smith found extremely annoying.
“What’s so funny?” Smith asked.
“You,” the kid said.
“What’s so funny about me?”
“The way you fell. I thought you’d hang on, but…” The kid mimed a tree “falling” with his hand. “Tiiiiiiiiiiimber.”
“Funny.”
“Yeah, it was pretty funny.”
“Wait. You saw me fall?”
“Of course. Was watching you the whole time. If it wasn’t for me, you’d still be lying out there right now. Probably end up worm food by nightfall. Or worse.”
Or I could have woken up, with no one the wiser, and spared the embarrassment.
Smith couldn’t tell if he still had the bandage over his temple, where the sniper had shot him. But he wasn’t bleeding again, and he would have been able to feel it dripping down the side of his face. Of course, he didn’t know how long he’d been unconscious, so the gash could have started bleeding again and coagulated.
“Did you shoot me?” Smith asked the kid.
The teenager flashed Smith a puzzled look. “Huh?”
“I said, were you the one that shot me?”
“Why would I shoot you?”
“I don’t know. Maybe the same reason you brought me here and tied me up in this…whatever this is.”
“Storage shack,” the kid said. “‘Cept we haven’t really had anything to store for a while so we put you in here.”
“We?” Smith thought.
He said, “If you didn’t shoot me, then who did?”
“How should I know? I was just investigating the smoke. When I got there, you were already escaping on Sally.”
“Who’s Sally?”
“The horse.”
“You mean Lucky.”
“I mean Sally. Lucky is the guy who owns Sally. The guy you killed and stole the horse from, remember.”
Smith shook his head. “I didn’t steal the horse.”
“And you’re saying you didn’t burn down Lucky’s place, either?”
“I didn’t.”
“Of course you’d say that. You’re a thief and a killer, after all. Thieves and killers are notorious liars.”
Well, the kid right about one of those things.
“You got a name?” Smith asked.
“Of course I got a name,” the kid said but didn’t offer up what that name was.
“And?”
“And what?”
“What’s your name?”
“You don’t need to know my name, dead man.”
“‘Dead man?’”
“That’s you. Dead man.”
He didn’t like the sound of that.
Smith looked around him again, but there was just a lot of dirty and old boards to his left and right and above him. He tried to peek through the slits in the walls and could make out what looked like colorful…somethings.
Chrome? Metal? What exactly was he looking at, and where had the teenager brought him?
No, not this kid. He was too small and thin. He wouldn’t have been able to drag Smith all the way up here. Smith had to weigh twice as much as his captor. So the kid had help. How many more?
“Relax,” the kid was saying. “Mandy’s coming here and she’ll take of you.”
“Take care of me?” Smith thought.
The kid held up one forefinger to his throat and made a “cutting” motion. Then he grinned that stupid grin at Smith again.
Ah. “Take care of me.” Gotcha.
“Where is she? This Mandy?” Smith asked.
“You don’t need to know that,” the kid said as he stood up. “You’ll meet her when you meet her. In your shoes, I wouldn’t be so anxious.”
The boy turned around and opened the door behind him. It creaked loudly on rusted hinges, and Smith glimpsed what looked like a pile of car bumpers stacked outside. He was in some kind of car junkyard. Or maybe it was just a junkyard that happened to have car parts, among other throwaways.
As soon as the teenager with the stupid grin left, a girl with blue eyes and an easy smile came in to replace him.
She was older than the boy—Early twenties? Maybe mid-twenties—and taller, too, but maybe the boots she was wearing had something to do with that. She had long blonde hair tied back in a ponytail and was balancing a metal cafeteria tray in one hand like she’d been doing it all her life.
She stepped inside but didn’t walk over to where he sat right away. Instead, she st
ood at the open door looking at him. “I’m here to feed you. If you try anything stupid, I’m going to have to kick you in the balls. You understand what I’m saying, dude?”
Smith smiled. “Yes.”
“You gonna try anything?”
“I don’t wanna get kicked in the balls.”
“Yes or no.”
“No, ma’am.”
“So long as we understand each other.”
Unlike the boy, the woman had come in here completely unarmed, but Smith could see figures moving around outside, one of them just beyond the open door, ready to spring inside should Smith try something.
The woman walked over and placed the tray on the ground in front of him, then sat down Indian-style and took out a plastic spork from a jacket pocket. Lumps of mash potatoes and small strips of jerky. The tiny jerky size was to make feeding him easier. Not exactly gourmet stuff, but his stomach growled anyway.
He didn’t know why; he’d already eaten this morning with Mary and Aaron, so why was he so hungry again? Had he been unconscious that long? He didn’t think so. It was still bright outside, with no signs of nightfall anytime soon. Unless, of course, he’d slept through the whole day and this was already the next day, but Smith didn’t think that was the case. He would have felt a big difference if he’d gotten a full twenty-four hours of sleep.
“Someone’s hungry,” the girl said as she spooned some mashed potatoes and held it up for him. “Say Ah.”
He didn’t say “ah” but opened his mouth and let her feed him. They had seasoned the potatoes. It wasn’t great but not entirely bad, either. He’d had worse. Much, much worse, especially since he left Black Tide’s cafeterias behind.
She smiled, clearly pleased by his cooperation. She had freckles just under her left eye. They were cute freckles.
“Did you kill Lucky?” she was asking him while picking up another spoonful of chow.
“No,” Smith said.
“Billy says he saw you at Lucky’s place when it was torched.”
Billy?
That was probably the kid with the stupid grin.
“Billy’s wrong,” Smith said. “It was already burning when I stumbled across it.”
“Is that the truth?”
“Yes.”
He opened his mouth up for another spoonful of mashed potatoes and bits of jerky. It was better the second time for some reason.
“What happened to the horse?” Smith asked. “Sally.”
“She’s being taken care of. How did you end up with her? They said you were riding her when they found you.”
“It was just there, next to the burning house.”
“So you decided to just take her?”
Smith shrugged. Or as much as he could while roped to the big pole. “It would have been a waste to just leave her out there alone. Besides, I’ve been walking for a while and didn’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth.”
She grinned, but unlike with the boy earlier, hers was a lot more pleasing to look at. “That’s funny.”
“What is?”
“‘Gift horse in the mouth.’ Appropriate, in this case.”
He smiled and temporarily forgot that he was being held prisoner.
“What’s your name?” she was asking him.
“Smith,” he said.
“Is that your last name?”
“Yes.”
“What’s your first name?”
“John.”
She might have rolled her eyes. “Seriously?”
He attempted another sorta-shrug. “It’s a name.”
“It’s that, all right.” Another spoonful of potatoes and jerky. “I’m Blake,” she added, before he could make a comment, “I know, it’s a guy’s name. I’ve heard it all before.”
“I wasn’t going to say anything.”
“No?”
“A name’s a name.”
“Just like your name, Mr. John Smith.”
“That’s right. Nice to meet you, Blake.”
“Likewise. Well, mostly. You’re probably not feeling pretty good right now.”
“I’m feeling a lot better, actually.”
“Oh yeah?”
“I like this visit better than my last one.”
“Because I brought you food?”
“That, too.”
Blake smiled. “Cute. You’re cute.”
“Question…”
“No, you can’t leave. Not yet.”
Not until Mandy shows up, I take it, he thought, but said, “Not that.”
“What’s the question, then?”
“Am I bleeding? I was shot in the temple earlier.”
“No, you’re not.” She leaned closer to get a better look. “Bandage is still in place. You did a pretty good job with it.”
“I’ve had experience, unfortunately.”
“Ooh, dangerous man.”
“Stop flirting with the enemy and just feed him, will you?” a voice said from the open door behind Blake.
Smith looked past her at another woman, about the same age, except she wasn’t nearly as pleasing to the eye as Blake. Not that she was ugly, but compared to the blonde in front of him, everyone would probably come up short. His guard wore a ball cap over short brown hair, and hard brown eyes looked back at Smith with suspicion. Unlike Blake, she wore a gun belt with a pistol in the holster and wasn’t nearly as friendly.
Blake ignored the other woman and continued feeding and talking to Smith. “Don’t mind her. She’s always grumpy. That’s why we call her Gramps.”
“Gramps?” Smith said.
“Short for grampa. ’Cause, you know.”
“She’s always grumpy.”
“Uh huh.”
The woman Blake called Gramps rolled her eyes at them. “Hurry up and feed him already.” Then, as she turned to leave, “And stop flirting!”
“I wasn’t flirting!” Blake called back at her.
“Yeah, you were!” Gramps called back. Smith followed her through the slits in the wall as she went back to standing guard outside.
Blake was smiling at Smith. “I wasn’t flirting.” Then, holding up another spoonful, “Much.”
Smith opened his mouth and took another tasty bite of mashed potatoes and jerky. It occurred to him that maybe the food wasn’t really all that good after all; it was probably more the company.
Probably?
Yeah, it was probably just the company.
“Where am I, anyway?” Smith asked.
“Our place,” Blake said.
“Yeah, but where, exactly? Is this some kind of junkyard?”
“Uh huh.”
“What are you guys doing in a junkyard?”
Blake shrugged. “One place is as good as another. All I know is that it’s not Gaffney.”
“You guys are from Gaffney?”
“We escaped from there,” Blake said.
Eleven
He remembered the gratitude on Mary’s face and the simple “Thank you” she had said to him before she and her son rode off with Hobson and the others. Their destination was Gaffney, which at the time Smith thought would be a safer place for the two of them than walking around out here with him. Anything could happen where he was going. Like, for instance, finding a horse, only to get shot off said horse moments later.
There were a lot of dangers in the wilds of what used to be America. Smith had learned that the hard way multiple times. So had mother and son after what had happened to them with Peoples and his two pals.
Except maybe Smith had been wrong.
“You guys are from Gaffney?” he had asked Blake.
“We escaped from there,” Blake had said.
That…didn’t sound good.
It didn’t sound very good at all.
He’d tried asking Blake for more information about Gaffney and what exactly made it a “hellhole” according to her, but the woman wasn’t willing to talk too much about it.
“You don’t want to be there if you d
on’t have to,” was all she would say, and any further attempts he had to broach the topic got him nowhere. He could almost see the black clouds forming above her head with every Gaffney question he threw at her. She did not want to talk about that place with him.
After she finished feeding him, Blake produced a bottle of water. The container itself didn’t look all that clean, but the water inside was a different story. The taste was lukewarm against his throat, but it was better than nothing.
“Stay right here,” Blake said when she picked everything up to leave.
“Where are you going?” he asked her.
She didn’t answer. She opened the door and closed it after her, but not before glancing back and—did she just wink at him, before leaving?
He couldn’t be entirely sure. There was too much sunlight outside and chromed car parts trying to blind him, but he was pretty sure that was a wink. Or maybe he just wanted to think she had winked at him.
Now that he was alone again, but more importantly awake, Smith was able to finally get a better feel for his binds. The pole he was fastened to didn’t move when he pushed back against it. It also wouldn’t budge when Smith tried going side-to-side. The ropes were tight, and despite Smith having struggled against it for some time, he couldn’t feel any loosening anywhere along the length.
Unlike the last time when he was able to wiggle his way out of his bindings, he had no such luck here. His longer-than-usual arms weren’t going to do a bit of good with ropes that had his entire body lashed against what felt like a very stout telephone pole. And, for all he knew, that was exactly what it was.
He couldn’t get free, and no one had returned to talk to him. He could see glimpses of people moving around outside and could hear chatter every now and then. Unfortunately, the figures weren’t talking loud enough or weren’t near enough for him to eavesdrop on their conversations. The ones standing guard outside—he assumed the oddly-nicknamed Gramps was one of them—also weren’t very talkative. Smith counted two figures out there but couldn’t get a better look at the second one. They didn’t go anywhere, either, though one of them did leave for a few minutes before returning. Smith assumed he or she had gone to the bathroom or to fetch something to eat, because he smelled food a few minutes later. More seasoned beef.
After The Purge, AKA John Smith (Book 2): Run or Fight Page 7
