Alone was safer though, and the sound of others had brought his pulse to racing. He moved nimbly through the trees toward the sound, gripping a piece of glass tightly. He had been using it for a weapon for a few months, and had duct taped the edge so he could grip it firmly as he swiped it at whatever threat was looming. There were more wild dogs than ever now. After the humans had begun to die out, their pets grew feral and ran rampant around the cities and towns, meeting and breeding, populating the emptiness with their own pups. The same was true of cats, though their feral nature was already commonplace where he came from. Cats and their kittens roamed the streets without fear. He'd enjoyed it at first, feeling that finally it was time for man's supposed best friend to take his rightful place on the food chain. It seemed like poetic justice in a way.
Now though, the savage creatures would show no mercy. They vaguely remembered humans, and didn't think very fondly of them on the whole. The result was that he now had to fear both man and beast. At night, he had to keep watch for the glowing eyes of feral cats who wouldn't hesitate to jump out of the foliage and grip whatever was moving with fierce claws and teeth. He missed the way things used to be, when they were simple and safe. He had been younger then, and the few people who survived had created a new, hellish world all their own – one he wanted no part of.
The sound of heavy footfalls – a twig snapping loudly – brought him to attention. Somebody was running, heading toward the stream where he was standing dumbly, staring off into the distance. He narrowed his eyes and focused on the sound. Somebody was probably being chased. Sure enough, a stampede of feet followed closely after the first person he had heard. The Jackals were apparently after new prey. He shifted, selfishly irritated that the person they were chasing might lead them to him. He had been so peaceful there, but now he would have to hide.
He leapt up into a nearby tree, watching the action unfold. He wouldn't get involved; he would just stay out of sight long enough for the danger to pass and then go about his business. A woman burst through the bushes, her long, light brown hair framing her face. She gazed longingly at the water – he felt a pang of pity, as it was a look he knew well – but she was trapped and couldn't drink. She looked around helplessly, her beautiful oval face contorted in panic and fear. He groaned to himself and lowered himself to the ground, motioning her over to him. She didn't seem to be wearing any of the signature clothing styles of the tribes he was familiar with, and he had a fleeting, hopeful thought that maybe she was like him and didn't belong to any of them.
That was unlikely though – the safety and food security in a gang was tempting to most people after the virus had hit, and he was sure that most others would have to be crazy to try to make it on their own.
“Up there,” he hissed. “Go!”
She looked at him in confusion before registering what he said. He didn't wait for her to respond before he hoisted her up, letting her step hard on his muscular forearm, and then took off running, throwing a large stone into the stream, hoping it would keep them off the trail, and dodging into a bush just as the three Jackals arrived, panting and swearing, their bare chests heaving as they gulped in air and looked into the stream.
“Where'd the bitch go?” the scrawniest asked. His hair was buzzed short and bleached white by the sun.
“We should split up,” the leader of the small group decided. He tugged at his pant leg – the Jackals went around shirtless with one pant leg up and one down to make them distinctive – and pointed into the stream. “All yours, Buggy.”
The third man groaned. He was tall and lanky, with sandy blonde hair and a small, round face.
“Why do I always get the shit jobs, Orson?” he complained.
“Because you always whine about it,” Orson said, slapping him hard on the back. It left a red imprint. “Now be a fuckin’ man and go get that sea hag out of the water.”
Buggy grumbled to himself as he waded in, looking around for her. Orson and the blonde split up in different directions, leaving Buggy alone. He waded around for about half a minute, before an epiphany struck him.
“This is stupid,” he growled, wading back out of the stream. “Jinx never has to do this shit.” He began to wring his pant legs out. “I don't see nothin'!”
As he said this, his eyes fixed on a shuddering branch. Suddenly, he saw bare, tan legs and recognition flickered on his face. He hurried forward, opening his mouth to alert his friends. Before he could, his throat was filled with blood. Jax was behind him, the shard of glass lodged into Buggy's esophagus. He uttered a strangled gurgle and collapsed to the ground. The woman in the tree watched, paralyzed.
“Did you find anything, Bug?” Orson asked, emerging suddenly out of the brush. Jax crouched, lunging like a panther, and tackled Orson to the ground. He tried reaching to his side to pull out his weapon, but Jax was too powerful. Orson hit his head hard on a rock, momentarily stunning him. It was just long enough for Jax to slash him, leaving him for dead on the ground.
A few final, terrifying beats passed as Jinx approached, whistling as if calling to a housecat. He took one look at his friends lying dead on the ground and his face turned white. Jax glared at him, ready to strike.
“Fuck this,” Jinx said, and turned on his heel and ran away.
Chapter 3
Nothing could have prepared her for what happened after she let the lithe stranger hoist her into the tree. She'd had no choice but to let him help her, otherwise she would have been killed. Now she stayed put, corpses littering the ground at her feet. Would the man who saved her think she owed him something now? She hadn't asked for his help, and hadn't thought of the consequences of accepting it until it was too late. She saw what he was capable of, he could probably kill her in an instant. What would he want to do with her?
He saw her staring at him, and could tell instantly that she was feeling intimidated.
“You're safe now,” he said. From the way he spoke, she could tell he wasn't used to the sound of his own voice. His words were labored and he flinched at the sound of their harshness against the silence.
“Thank you,” she said, not moving from her spot in the tree. It seemed silly to stay there, knowing he could probably jump up there at a moment's notice, but she wanted to keep her distance from him as long as she could.
“There’s no other way to deal with the Jackals,” he said apologetically. “It didn't used to be this way.”
He turned his back on her and began to walk toward the stream, where he washed the blood off of his arms and took a long drink of water.
“You should drink,” he said, remembering the longing look in her eyes when she had seen the water. Her bottle must have been empty. Maybe she didn't have one. But everybody had one, they had to.
She agreed – the exertion had left her dizzy and parched. She licked her lips; they felt like cotton. There was no doubt that she would be in trouble if she didn't get some water soon. She slowly climbed down the tree, but kept her back pressed firmly against its trunk. She didn't trust this man. It was a mistake to trust anyone anymore.
He seemed to understand, if not expect this, and went about his business as if she weren't there. When he turned around and saw that she hadn't left yet, he looked surprised.
“Good luck,” he said, pursing his lips. He didn't want to be around her, she realized in surprise. He hadn't planned on saving her, and didn't expect anything from her. She exhaled and slowly made her way to the stream, where he was pulling a bottle out of his bag to collect water in. Layne did the same, and chugged the cool stream water down with reverence. So this was what the Jackals wanted to protect. They had their own fresh water source right in the backyard. If others came, who knew what would happen to it?
Pollution, disease... A lot of the survivors were carriers, but they had become outcasts in the new society. Everybody blamed them for the state of the world, and they clearly blamed themselves. The guilt was impossible for them to live with, and many of them had become addicts – crea
ting their own dangerous chemical cocktails or trading for them from other people. Those chemicals could pollute a body of water in a heartbeat, killing whatever might be living in it and rendering it undrinkable.
She didn't know the area very well, as evidenced by her recent escape. However, she was nervous about being a sitting duck, and shifted uncomfortably once her bottle was full.
“We should get out of here soon, that guy will be back. And he'll bring others.”
Jax nodded. He himself had thought the same thing. He took one last drink, relishing the freshness of the water before it was tainted by the moldy smell of his bottle, and slung his bag over his broad shoulder.
“Do you know how to get out of here?” he asked her, his eyes narrowing. He'd already gotten her this far. He might as well see to it that he saved her all the way and not just a little bit.
“No,” she laughed. It wasn't a humorous laugh. It was exasperated and tired. Sad. Angry. It made him upset to think that such a pitiful sound could come out of somebody so beautiful. As if she didn't expect him to help her. Didn't see why he should. Or thought maybe he didn't know the way either. They were all used to assuming they were the most alone they would ever be, and finding help always came at a cost.
He'd had enough of words, and nodded toward a discreet path. He wanted her to follow him. She swallowed hard, forced into making a snap judgment about the trustworthiness of this stranger. He was handsome, but he was fierce. He didn't seem to require anything of her for his help. At least not yet, not while they were still in danger. Who knew about later? She had heard many stories about young girls being forced into indentured servitude, doing who knew what to pay off a debt they hadn't meant to fall into.
“I appreciate you saving me,” she said. ‘Thank you' was an antiquated phrase, one that had fizzled and died out once there seemed to be nothing in the world left to feel gratitude toward. Thanking others was like acknowledging a debt you owed to them, and that was dangerous. “But if you help me, there's nothing I can give back to you.”
What she meant was there was nothing she would give to him. She was on her own and planned to keep it that way. It had been working out fine for her so far. If she hadn't made that one stupid mistake, the Jackals never would have known she was there. He looked at her as if he was waiting for her to get to the point. He really didn't seem surprised by the fact that she had nothing to give and turned away from her, walking into the foliage as if whether she followed or not was inconsequential. It puzzled and surprised her, so she moved forward, following him through the brush, unsure of what she was getting herself into.
Chapter 4
At first she thought he might be leading her to his own tribe and was tempted to flee. Judging by the way he fought, they would undoubtedly be a vicious and merciless group of men who took what they wanted and killed without mercy. It would have made sense, considering how easily he had taken the life of those Jackal boys. However, they simply moved gracefully through the trees. He was desperate to make it out before nightfall. It was hard enough to keep an eye on himself in the dark woods, let alone to be with someone else who wasn't experienced in the area.
Maybe she'd dealt with similar things before, but maybe he would have to keep an eye on her. He would have to try not to get attached, because anything could happen to her. He couldn't let anything weigh his conscience down. It was hard enough to live with memories of the outbreak, being a survivor when everyone else he loved hadn't been so lucky. It was something all of the survivors shared – the guilt. Many people dealt with it through violence and addiction to oblivion, others just tried to swallow it and move on. Some pretended that nothing had happened, claimed to be the same then as they always were. They lied to themselves, buried their past, and eventually turned out more twisted than the rest of them.
Jax wondered if this girl was like that – someone who pretended she had it together when really she couldn't trust the ground she was standing on. Someone who might snap unexpectedly, and had been turned out on her own, kicked out of her tribe for being a liability to the others. Some tribes had rules about procreation – if she'd become a mother without permission, or insisted on tending to, or keeping a child, she could have been cast out. Sometimes the tribes would keep the children and desert the mother, claiming that it was for the good of the tribe. The child would either be indoctrinated or eaten, depending on how bad times were.
Although he was burning with curiosity, one thing he knew was that too many questions were trouble. He would rather not know. His own past was too heavy a burden for him to carry, let alone discovering a whole well of the same misery in another person. He wouldn't be able to do anything to ease her pain if he couldn't even deal with his own, it would be useless to try, or to even want to try. He would surely be overwhelmed.
Layne walked beside him, her head high, face alert. She didn't seem to be looking for anybody to take care of her. She hadn't begged him to help her, aid her, or keep her company. She simply needed to know the way out, which was something that he could easily help her with. They walked in agreeable silence as the sun began to set. The golden light cast dark shadows of the trees across their faces, and soon they were nearing the edge of the woods. Jax breathed a deep sigh of relief. He wouldn't have to keep her safe in the forest. They could part ways now and never see each other again.
She seemed to be having the same thought, and bowed her head to him, acknowledging the kindness of his act without presenting herself to be vulnerable. He admired her in a way, so composed even though everything in her world had twisted and shattered. Who knew what her story was, how she got to where she had to fight off three Jackals and put her life in the hands of a perfect stranger. This was the kind of thing that used to be of great interest to him – how things came to be, the lines that people followed to where they ended up. He had once believed in fate, trusted that there was something good guiding the world along its track. Now he wasn't so sure.
“Good night,” he said, turning his eyes from her piercing blue eyes to the ground, suddenly remembering that he had never been that great at talking to girls. They had generally talked enough to him for the both of them though. Fortunately, he doubted this was the kind of woman who would have carried on a one-way conversation just for the hope of spending a few lingering minutes with him. He was a stereotype – tall, dark, handsome – and they were stereotypes – petite, pretty, helpless – and somehow that was supposed to mean fate. But it never had, and he hadn't found any comfort in their talk or their attention. Theatrics and games, all a waste of time. None of them had been down to earth. None of them had carried themselves in a way that attracted him, the way this woman carried herself.
She noticed him staring, lost in his own thoughts, and suddenly a look of crippling anxiety crossed her face. She wasn't great at concealing how she felt, he noted. He could understand why she would be nervous. The end of the world had meant that people who had hidden degenerate tendencies decided that it was now or never – these tendencies would come in handy and they might as well give in to the temptations of their darker natures. This meant few women were safe on their own, as the men had an advantage of strength and a barbaric anger fuelled by their hopeless situation. He'd once read a book about a group of boys abandoned on an island – he couldn't remember the title now - he couldn't remember a lot of things – and they used it as a chance to divide and conquer, trying to dominate each other. The kids grew bloodthirsty and savage, and it was much the same with most of the tribes.
He wondered if this was just a general fact, the nature of survival. Everyone got a little mean when their survival was at stake. Even this pretty woman probably had a demon in her yet, ready and willing to be released when the time was right. Would she slit his throat in his sleep to make sure he didn't take advantage of her first? He didn't trust her, and she clearly didn't trust him. This mistrust was sure to lead to some culmination, some act of violence he would rather avoid.
“Good luck,” h
e said firmly when they reached the edge of the woods. Normally he would be relishing the power, pleased to know that he invoked caution and fear from a potential enemy. But an old nagging feeling was disturbing him, something he hadn't felt in a long time, since his initiation into a tribe called Hex. He wanted her to like him.
“Same to you,” she said with a nod, waiting for him to leave her sight. She didn't want to turn her back to him, and she definitely didn't want him to be following her. She appreciated the help, but she wasn't stupid. He could probably catch up to her if he put his mind to it, pretend to be out of sight until she was most vulnerable and unsuspecting and make his move then. She would have to stay on her guard, especially if he was rogue. Those guys ended up crazy from the loneliness and desperation to survive. She should know.
But as he walked away, clearly disinterested in her now that he had dropped her off at the designated area, like she was just a delivery, that overwhelming loneliness nearly choked her. She wasn't very happy about how it had snuck up on her like that, but there it was all the same. She wanted to stay close, and found herself acting in a way she never would have expected herself to act, saying something she would normally be kicking herself for saying.
“Will you camp with me tonight?”
Chapter 5
Jax stiffened as he attempted his graceful departure and turned around in disbelief. A smart woman wouldn't be asking him to stay with her, but he was sure she was a smart woman. She looked so frail and beautiful standing in the pale moonlight that he had to look away before she changed her mind and chose not to want anything more to do with him. She'd definitely feel better avoiding any man who looked at her like he was starving.
GUNNER: MC ROMANCE (Forsaken Riders MC Romance Book 4) Page 50
