Commodity

by Shay Savage

  Maybe the rain woke me.

  I can’t remember when it rained last. It’s been at least two months since the last real rainfall. Finding fresh water while on the move is becoming increasingly difficult. The ground is still fairly dry under the trees, so it hasn’t rained much.

  My position against the tree trunk is less than comfortable, and my leg aches as I push myself up from the moss and leaves. I rub at the spot on my thigh, feeling the rough scar tissue under my jeans. It never healed quite right. At the time, I’d been too busy trying to keep from bleeding to death from my abdomen to worry about my leg. By the time I got to it, I went with the fastest way to sew up the wound, and my stitching has never been pretty. It kept me alive though.

  Wasn’t fast enough.

  I shake my head at the thought. It doesn’t help to dwell on it.

  I walk slowly and silently toward the nearby outcropping of rocks that overlook the dry creek bed below. It’s a good vantage point. I can see for a couple of miles. My gaze scans the creek, looking for anything large enough to have made the sound that woke me, but there is nothing to be seen. There are no foxes or deer in the area. There aren’t even signs of a raccoon or squirrel. Many animals have migrated farther north in search of water.

  I should do the same, but I won’t. I won’t leave until I’ve found them—the men that took her. All these months and there has been no sign at all, but I’m not going anywhere.

  I swore to protect her. I failed.

  Across the creek bed and off in the distance, the collapsed tops of skyscrapers are easily seen, but I can’t make out any detail from here. I haven’t ventured near the city limits in quite some time—it simply isn’t safe there. However, I’m probably due a supply run.

  The crack of a dry twig alerts me, and I turn quickly with my gun raised, but I see nothing through the trees. My skin tingles, and I’ve learned to rely on my senses.

  There’s something there.

  I sidestep back to the base of the tree where I had been sleeping, press my shoulder against the trunk, and look farther into the woods.

  Movement.

  The hair on the back of my neck stands up. I swallow hard as I creep forward to the next tree and then the next, making my way closer to whomever is out there in the forest. I hold the gun low, pointed at the ground, and I creep around each tree. As I get closer, I hear voices.

  “Can’t fucking believe it!”

  “It’s like findin’ Venus’ tits!”

  “Venus wasn’t missin’ her tits, asshole.”

  Pressing my back to a large tree, I peer out cautiously. Less than a hundred feet away, down in a small ravine, six men gather in a lopsided circle, crouching slightly to get a better look at something on the ground.

  From this vantage point, I can’t see whatever it is they are gathered around. I drop low to the ground and move to my left and behind a fallen log. I listen carefully to make sure I haven’t been heard, then again look down at the group.

  They have someone pinned to the ground, face down in the leaves. I can only make out dirty jeans and a pair of boots. The figure on the ground struggles fruitlessly, and I catch a glimpse of a soft, curved cheek and full lips within a blur of long, dark hair.

  Female?

  My heartbeat picks up.

  I haven’t seen a female in months and then only from a distance. There are so few left. I was starting to think I would never see another one.

  A female. A real, live, apparently healthy female.

  She continues to thrash on the ground, kicking at her captors, but she’s completely pinned and grossly outnumbered. The group taunts her.

  “You think she’s a breeder? I bet she’s a breeder.”

  “Looks fertile enough to me!”

  “Only one way to find out!”

  “We gotta take her back to camp. Gary’s gonna want to see her.”

  My ears perk up at his words. They must have a camp nearby. It could even be the one I came out here to find. It’s the perfect opportunity to follow them back and gather more information on the group before I make a move.

  “If we have some fun first, we won’t have to wait later. Won’t have to pay for it, either.”

  “Good point, man! Tie her hands! Hold her legs!”

  I glance away for a moment, silently shoving the rage down as far as it will go, boiling inside of me. I’m not about to get involved in this—not now. I need to follow them back.

  The woman is rolled to her back and then hoisted up by her armpits until she’s sitting. They wrench her arms up over her head and tie her wrists together with nylon rope. She struggles and kicks as her ankles are grabbed and held to the ground. One of the men starts fumbling at the top of her jeans.

  I lick my lips and breathe slowly through my nose. I need to stay quiet and out of sight so I can follow them back. I can’t watch what they are going to do to this woman, and I can’t get in the middle of it, either. That shit doesn’t concern me. Besides, it would be six against one. Getting involved in something that isn’t my business is just going to get me killed. I can’t risk that. I push myself onto my knees, planning to move a little farther out until they’re finished with her. I stand slowly before taking a slight step back.

  She must see the movement because her eyes suddenly lock with mine.

  My stomach clenches as she stares at me. For my own sake, I should sneak away and pretend I never saw any of this. It’s the tactical thing to do. I don’t know these people. I have no quarrel with them. I only need to follow them and get my hands on their pack leader.

  A woman’s voice echoes in my head as her face flashes through my mind. If she were here now, she’d want me to do something about it. She would never let me just stand by while this happens. She knows what it is like, and I know what it did to her.

  This woman isn’t my problem.

  Her eyes are still locked on mine, her expression pleading as a dirty hand covers her mouth and muffles her cries. The rage I’d been shoving into my gut resurfaces. I can’t do it. I can’t just leave this woman to her fate.

  I raise a single finger to my pursed lips. The woman’s wide eyes show understanding. She looks back to the men surrounding her and doesn’t look in my direction again.

  I scan each of the men in turn, searching for any weapons. The only obvious one is the assault rifle strapped around one man’s shoulder. One of the others has a slight bulge under his arm. It could be another gun. The others have knives at their belts but no obvious firepower.

  I’ve got nine bullets in the gun. I don’t want to waste them all, but I need to increase the odds in my favor. The men are all thin, undernourished, and from the way they speak, uneducated. They are probably used to using their numbers to overwhelm adversaries and don’t think about tactics.

  If I take out three of them with the gun, I can handle the other three melee.

  I can’t take any chance of hitting the woman. I’m a good shot but not perfect, and she’s far more valuable than bullets. If I aim for the men on the far side of her, I’ll decrease the chances of a stray shot getting near her. I’ve also got to take out the guy with the AR. He’s standing closest to me, which puts the woman right behind him. He needs to go first, and I’ll need to go for the head shot. The second will be the one with the suspicious bulge under his left arm. My last distance target will be the one guy who looks like he could give me the most trouble physically. He’s bulky and taller than the others by several inches.

  Flicking my finger over the safety, I raise my arm and take aim. I breathe deeply, slowly exhale, and pull back on the trigger.

  Five of the men in the group startle at the sound. The man with the AR falls to the ground as the back of his head explodes. I switch my aim to the right, targeting the guy with the bulge under his arm—he’s reaching into his jacket—and shoot again before the remaining four men begin to scramble. As they dive for cover, they all look around for a moment before they catch sight of me.

  I get o
ne more shot off, but the tall man moves too quickly. I hear his scream and know I’ve hit him but only to wound. I fire again, and the shot goes wide to his right.

  “Fuck,” I mutter.

  I aim again, following his movement in the sparse undergrowth. One more shot and I see his body drop to the ground. I only have four bullets left. I’ve wasted more ammo than I can afford. I shove the gun back in its holster and rush down the hill, drawing one of my knives.

  I tackle the nearest adversary immediately, shoving the knife into his side and shoving him to the ground. He screams in pain as the other two take position, trying to flank me.

  “I don’t know what your problem is, bro,” one of them says. “We ain’t got no fight with you.”

  I don’t reply. I stand at the ready, waiting for either of them to make a move.

  “Hell, we can even share a little, if that’s whatcha want.” He motions to the woman on her back. She’s pulled her hands up in front of her face and is trying to get her ropes untied. “We got other breeders, too. We got a whole camp nearby.”

  “Where?” I keep my eyes on both of them as I utter the single word.

  “Not far. I kin show ya.” His eyes widen just a little. He has no intention of showing me anything. There’s a hint of fear, but it’s not exclusively because of me. He glances up the side of the hill and then quickly back to me.

  At least I know in what direction to begin my search.

  I stand up a little straighter and move my hand to sheath my knife. I watch his muscles relax as he glances at the man beside him.

  With one quick movement, I switch the knife to my other hand and draw out a shorter throwing knife. I flick my wrist, and it slams into his neck.

  He drops to his knees, gurgling.

  The younger man to his side stares open-mouthed for a moment. When the body drops the rest of the way to the ground, the young man takes off, running up the side of the ravine in the same direction the older man had indicated with his eyes.

  “Don’t move.” I glare at the woman on the ground but don’t wait for her to answer before I head off after the runner. They mentioned others, and I can’t risk him getting back to his camp and warning them about me. I also can’t risk anyone else knowing about the woman they found.

  My thighs burn as I propel myself up the hill. The runner isn’t coordinated enough to navigate the forest floor, and once I get to flat ground, I catch up with him quickly. I leap forward and grab him around his waist, sending us both into a patch of mayapples.

  With a quick thrust, I jam my knife into his kidney. He screams and thrashes on the ground, but I press my weight into his shoulders and stab him again. Withdrawing the knife from his side, I grab hold of his hair and pull his head backwards to slit his throat, ending his cries.

  As his head drops to the ground, his profile is clearly visible. My chest clenches slightly. He can’t have been more than eighteen or nineteen. I exhale sharply out my nose, push off the boy’s body, and head back to the ravine.

  As I get to the edge and look down, the guy I had stabbed first is stumbling over to the woman on the ground. She’s trying to simultaneously push herself away from him and tug at the knotted rope around her wrists.

  One target left.

  Turning my feet perpendicular to the downslope of the hill, I shuffle down as quickly as I can. The wounded man holds his side as he tries to keep his footing and lurches for the woman on the ground. I don’t know what he thinks he’s going to do; he’s in no condition to haul her off somewhere.

  I stride quickly to him, and he turns at the sound of my footsteps. He reaches for his belt and pulls out a long hunting knife. He crouches slightly, defensively, and grimaces against the pain.

  “You think you can take me, you piece of shit?” His taunting has no effect on me.

  I don’t respond. I’ve been in this position far too many times, especially in the beginning. I discovered early on that my silence is more unnerving than any clever, threatening retort.

  He tosses his knife from one hand to the other. I watch, still and silent. I’m not sure if he thinks his display makes him look more skilled with the weapon or if he’s trying to make me think he has equal skill with either hand. If the latter is his intent, it doesn’t work. I can tell by the way that he grips the knife that he’s predominantly right-handed.

  He lunges, but the wound affects his balance. I sidestep easily, catching his ankle with my boot. When he stumbles, I dive on top of him. We roll twice, and he knees me in the side, trying to gain the advantage. For a moment, he’s on top of me, and he slams his elbow into my face.

  I’m stunned just long enough to feel his blade at my throat. I twist my neck away from the cold metal and punch at his existing wound. He grunts, and the grip he has on the knife loosens. Wrapping my legs around his, I flip us both over and pin him to the ground.

  His eyes widen as he feels my blade slip deep between his ribs. He grabs my shoulders with both hands, but his grip is weak. I twist the blade, feel the gush of blood from the artery I’ve severed, and he sags to the ground.

  I stand, panting, with my heart still in my throat and blood trailing from my knife to my arm. I move my gaze from the last body on the ground to the face of the woman behind him. She’s breathing quickly through her mouth as she grips the leaves on the ground with her shaking fingers.

  She lean, but has color in her cheeks underneath smears of dirt. Her legs are long and clearly muscular. Her eyes are bright and intense though I can’t tell what color they are from this distance.

  I should ask her if she’s hurt. I should tell her that it’s all okay now and that I’m not going to hurt her. I should offer her some kind of comfort, but I don’t.

  I swallow hard past the lump in my throat.

  I take a few steps closer to her, and she pushes with her heels against the dusty soil to move backward, but there’s nowhere for her to go. I crouch and grab hold of her arm. Her eyes draw me in. They’re dark blue and surrounded by thick lashes. Her lips are full and look soft. I look over the rest of her, taking in the roundness of her breasts under her thin T-shirt and the curve of her hips encased in tight denim. Her knees are still bent and her legs slightly spread.

  My head swims. I barely see the actual person in front of me. Instead, I see another woman—beautiful and strong. She had soft lips and gorgeous curves. She challenged me, infuriated me, made me laugh, and made me care. She brought out every primitive, protective instinct inside of me, and I had failed her.

  I inhale slowly, trying to slow my racing heart. I want the scent in my nostrils to match the memory. I want to smell her skin, but all I can sense is the thick scent of blood in the air. It brings me back to the present and the real, physical woman in front of me.

  Barely a woman.

  She’s young. I’m not sure she’s even twenty years old.

  Glancing back to her face, I reach out and run my thumb over her cheek, rubbing at the dirt there. I only manage to smudge it, not rub it off. She’s got that look in her eyes that I’ve seen way too often. It’s the kind of look that reveals she’s been through too much. She’s on the edge. She could break at any time.

  She could be mine.

  The voice in my head has become louder and louder lately. It keeps telling me that my cause is futile—I’ll never see her again. I would be better off joining one of the camps so I’m not constantly providing for myself and having to watch my own back. More importantly, so I wouldn’t be alone.

  Being alone has never worked out well for me.

  This woman could change that.

  I could take her back to the bunker. I could protect her from anyone else who might come along and find us. I could hold her at night and fuck her slowly. I could give into all those wants and desires like everyone else has. I wouldn’t be alone anymore.

  “Let go of me!”

  Her voice startles me out of my thoughts.

  She doesn’t actually pull away as she makes her demand, bu
t I release her arm anyway. My palm cools as I let her go, and I swallow again. I look around though I’m sure there is no one else in the area. That doesn’t mean someone else won’t come. If I’m found with a woman at my side, there will be no negotiating.

  I have to get her out of sight.

  “Get up.” I stand and look around again, listening carefully to the sounds in the trees.

  “I’m not going anywhere with you!”

  I shift my gaze back to the woman on the ground, almost expecting to see the vision from my mind there instead. Her tone sounds similar.

  I don’t have time to argue with her. Her voice is already too loud. If someone hears her, they will be on us in a heartbeat. I’m tired and my head is pounding. I might even have a concussion. There is no room for debate.

  I crouch again and grab her wrist. I speak slowly and quietly.

  “You are going to stand, and you are going to come with me. No talking.”

  “Why?”

  “Because those men have friends,” I tell her. “Because those friends may be closer than you think. We need to get out of here before more of them come back.”

  She stares at me for a moment before she comes to her senses and listens. I watch her rub her wrists after she gets herself off the ground, but she doesn’t appear to be hurt in any other way.

  “Follow.” I start climbing up the ravine where I first saw her. I need to get my pack, which I left at the base of the tree where I had slept last night.

  I don’t stand behind her or otherwise put myself in a position of protection, but I do listen to her footsteps to make sure she’s keeping up.

  I’m annoyed with myself.

  I’ve spent the last seven months with one purpose and one purpose only. Find her. I haven’t aligned myself with anyone unless doing so furthered my cause. Now I’ve picked up a hitchhiker, and I have no idea what to do with her.

  I grab my pack and sling it over my shoulder and then start heading back south.

  “Where are we going?” she asks.

  “I’ve got a place,” I tell her. “It’s safe there.”