by Christa Lynn
But here I am, and weak as I may be, I have to defend myself. I’m all I’ve got in this world, and if I can’t depend on myself, then I’m as good as dead, which may not be a bad thing after all.
The man moves, and his boots crunch on the glass, kicking pieces away as he steps toward the aisle I’m on, so I frantically look for an exit. I see the back door, one that once was an entry for the back storage room, and I scurry, still on my hands and knees, right for the door. I watch as I go, trying to avoid the larger shards of glass, but find it’s the smaller ones that cut into my flesh. I hold on tightly to the piece in my hands, as this is my only defense mechanism right now. Sure, I can fight, but the lack of food and water has weakened me. If he gets to me, I’ll be in a world of shit.
As I reach the doorway to the back room, I freeze. The man is right behind me—his heavy breathing and the smell of body odor overwhelms my nose. It’s strange that I can even smell him over the stench of dead bodies in the air. His gun is in his hand, and I hear him click the safety off.
“Where do you think you’re going, little girl?” he asks, his voice deep and scratchy, parched like mine, pointing that gun at my head.
I stay still, my undernourished body shaking both from the lack of food and fear. I shouldn’t be scared after what I’ve been through, but this guy is big, brutal, and mean looking. I stare at him, and he knows I’m scared, so I know he plans to take advantage of that. But my fight instincts kick in, and as he reaches for me, I kick up and my foot hits his chest, knocking him back. His eyes flash, and he charges me once again, his boot hitting my ribcage and knocking me over. He pulls me up to my feet by my now ripped t-shirt and he scans my body, bruised and bloody. I grip the shard of glass behind my back, the edges cutting into my hands.
He pulls me toward him, and he brushes my hair out of my eyes, almost looking sympathetic before he knees me in the gut, sucking the breath out of my lungs. I’m bent over at the waist trying to catch my breath when he grabs the back of my long, black hair and yanks my head back.
“You’d be better off not fighting me, little girl,” he growls at me, and I spit in his face. However, since my mouth is so dry, only a puff of hair fluffs his hairline and manages to piss him off even more.
My mind argues with itself, the angel arguing with the devil.
Slash him with the glass, Jo. Now, before he kills you.
No, he could be a good guy, I have to give him the benefit of the doubt.
Look at his eyes, Jo. There’s nothing good there. Kill him now, while you still can.
The argument wreaks havoc on my brain. I know there still has to be good in this world, but as I stare into the eyes of this man, I know I haven’t found it yet. He grabs my upper arms and pushes me back toward the wall, my head cracking against the cement as he tugs at the hem of my t-shirt. “You’re a pretty little piece of ass, little girl. How long has it been for you?” His breath brushes my neck as his body presses me against the wall.
He’s going to rape me, I know it. It wouldn’t be the first time. But the last time Duane raped me, I swore to myself it would be the last.
He rips what’s left of my t-shirt, exposing my braless breasts, and his grimy hands squeeze one so hard it brings tears to my eyes.
Now, Jo.
I swing my hand from behind my back, my fingers tightly wrapped around the piece of glass, and I slash his neck, the sharp edge instantly severing the very vein I was going for. Blood pumps from his neck, splattering all over me and the floor. His gun drops to the ground, and he steps back, his hands covering the gash—a futile attempt at stopping the bleeding. Blood gushes from his neck like a river, flowing freely downstream. Explosions of crimson pump out of the wound with every beat of his heart. A heart that is so black, I’m surprised the blood is red.
“Damn it, bitch. You cut me. You’ll have to pay for that,” he gargles as his throat fills with sticky blood. He rushes me, but the rapid loss of blood quickly takes over, and his face turns a greenish hue and sweat coats his face before his eyes roll back and he falls to the hard floor, his head crunching against the cement. A small puddle of blood from the back of his head joins the larger puddle at his neck, and his chest heaves one last time before his body goes limp.
I knew once I was released into this world, I’d have to kill someone. I’m sure I’ll have to kill again, because that’s the only way to survive in this world. I thought I would feel some remorse the first time, but I only feel satisfaction standing there staring at his dead body. It’s then I see the small H on his shirt. Good, I took down a bad guy, so that’s one less in this crazy world.
I get to my knees and empty his pockets, taking his AK47, his ammo, and a nice large knife. I examine the knife, and the dried blood on it tells me he’s killed before, even though I already knew it. The Heretics are a brutal group—they’ll kill anyone and anything. It’s been thought that it was this terrorist group that started the war, and I’ve done my part in eliminating a part of the problem. Though, I imagine he’s not alone outside, and it won’t be long before his friends come looking for him.
I unclip the gun holster and wrap it around my waist. It’s way too big, but I manage to make it work. After getting all I need, I stand up, my eyes reaching the front door to the store. Still quiet, but I duck to the back and find the back exit, the door wide open. I step outside and take a deep breath before coughing again, a combination of the punch I took and the pungent air outside.
I need to get to the country or the woods, somewhere less populated, and find shelter and food. Surely there are still wild animals out there, and with this gun, I can kill something and have food for some time. The city is not the place to be, not right now. So I quietly exit the store and head down the narrow alleyway to the street, because streets always lead out of town. I may be visible for others, but I’m also armed now. And with the sweet burn of killing someone fresh on my mind, I won’t hesitate to do it again.
The feel of the serrated edge of the glass cutting through his flesh like a hot knife in butter was a glorious feeling. Knowing I had all the power and that my face was the last he saw before he took his last breath thrilled me to the bone. I was trained as a killer, schooled to be a badass, and I’ve just graduated at the top of my class. All fear has disappeared with the falling of one body at my hands, and there will be more. That I can promise.
My feet hit the hot pavement, the aura of steam evaporating off of the cracked streets. Cracked due to thirteen years without maintenance. Weeds peek through those cracks, and the lines in the road have long faded, years going by without many cars on it. Some still work, the older models without the onboard computers, but the newer vehicles sit stranded on the side of the road, their hoods popped and all mechanical items removed, repurposed for something else. Batteries, wires, fans—all stripped from those cars and nothing but the shell sits. And even some of those are broken away from years in the elements.
It’s quiet right now, almost too quiet. Over the past two days, I’ve come to understand that quiet is bad. It means something is about to happen; gunshots, or an explosion followed by screams and more bloodshed. The only sound I hear is my boots hitting the concrete. I’m not exactly sure where I’m headed at the moment, but out of town is a good thing. I need a safe place to hunker down and figure out my next move. I need to get back to Arrow's Crossing if I can, but I have no idea where I am or how far away that is. Once I was yanked out of the family bunker, I was taken on horseback, bound, and gagged. It felt like I had been on that horse for days before I was not so politely shoved into another bunker, tired and naked. I shiver at the memories but also swallow tightly knowing that I was prepared for this world, one sick moment at a time.
I lost my virginity to an older man, violently, I might add. The pain rushed through my body as he took something so precious to me and kept it for himself. Three weeks later, my first pregnancy was confirmed; I was barely fourteen and pregnant. My father was killed in the first chemical explosion
, and I was ripped from my family. Now I’m starting out on my own, scared shitless.
I was treated like a queen while I was pregnant, though. My captors did anything and everything to protect me and my unborn child, which turned out to be a boy the first time. Once he was safely delivered, I was isolated in a room for weeks while I recovered before they forced me back into the general population. There were twenty-three of us there, all pregnant at different times by the same men, a lame attempt to put bodies back on the Earth and start over. I’m not sure what they were thinking, but as time went by, new girls showed up daily while others disappeared. We all thought they were being killed as they no longer could have children, but now I know that they were all just shoved back into society and forced to make do. Or, at least, I was. I think back now and wonder what happened to the others.
I’m thankful for the training I received, though. When I wasn’t being whipped, beaten, or raped, I was taught to fight. A skill I’m thankful to have right now, or I would be dead at the hands of that guy back at the drug store. I wonder if I can find any of the other girls that were released, or did they all die at the hands of these killers? How many survived? How many of them took their own lives, refusing to live this way? So many of those girls were weak and cried a lot, but not me. I decided that if I lived through this, I’d come out of it stronger than ever. I want to see my mama and Hank again, wherever they may be. I’m not even sure they’re alive, but I plan to find out. I just need to figure out where I am first, so I know which way to go.
The ground shakes suddenly as an explosion rocks behind me. I get to my knees and crawl behind a tree that I’m surprised has lived this long. It’s not much protection, but it’s enough to get me out of the line of fire. Coming down the road, I see three big trucks, older models that managed to survive the war, circled by men in camouflage carrying guns. I can’t tell from here if they’re Heretics or Mercenaries, which are the team of fighters that are trying to restore peace, only the Heretics have a problem with that. It is a typical good vs evil war, and unless you got up close and personal, you couldn’t tell which was which.
I stay hidden behind the tree, hunkering on my heels in case a fight was about to ensue. The smoke from the explosion billows into the sky, black and thick as the caravan gets closer and closer, the low rumble of the truck engines getting louder and louder. I hold the AK in my hands, flipping the safety and having it at the ready. Guns are quick and penetrative, but there was something out the slicing of skin that thumps through my veins, seeing the pain infiltrate their eyes as they bleed out a slow and painful death. But there are so many of these guys coming toward me that a gun is the better option.
I hear the clicking of their boots on the pavement, and I can now see the whites of their eyes, scanning the area and preparing for anything that might jump out at them. One of them sees me, and he stops, nudging another guy in the shoulder and nodding my way. His face is covered in hair, a thick beard, and his hair is pulled tight in to a ponytail. His deep blue eyes are piercing, and they cut right though me, burning my own retinas. I can imagine that he would be nice looking after a shower and a shave, but I shake those thoughts off. These could be bad guys, or they could be good guys … and I’m not waiting around to find out.
We stare at each other for a second as I attempt to close my torn t-shirt before he starts to move toward me, slowly, but with his gun drawn. I can see his muscles through his fatigues, and I can tell he’s been training for this, making sure he’s strong enough to kick whoever’s ass he needs to. He continues toward me, his crew taking their places behind him, guns drawn and looking right at me. I know I have nowhere to run, and I’m too weak with very little food to fight these guys off, so I stand up and aim my gun right at the man walking toward me. He stops and holds up a hand in warning, I guess. My hands are shaking, and I try and steady them by resting my hip against the tree and aim right for this guy’s head.
“Easy, girl, I’m not going to hurt you,” his deep voice growls at me.
“Sure you aren’t,” I snark back at him, knowing exactly what this man wants—what all men want. Women are scarce these days, as they’re either having babies or hiding. Most women aren’t strong enough to fight off these guys, so they stay hidden. A man sees a woman, especially one they believe is fragile, and they’ll go for the throat. I’ve been raped so many times that I’m numb to it, but that doesn’t mean I want it to happen again. It’s time I stand up for myself and from now on, my body is mine.
“Put the gun down, girl,” he says, pointing his weapon right at me.
“Oh, yeah, I’ll just go ahead and do that while yours points right at me. Think of something else, asshole.”
“Why don’t we put our weapons down at the same time? I’m not the enemy here,” he says as he starts to lower his gun.
“What about your friends over there?” I ask, nodding my head toward the men circling the truck.
“They aren’t the enemy either; we’re Mercs,” he acknowledges as he sets his gun on the ground and raises his hands. He turns to look at his team and nods, all of them slowly lowering their weapons.
This is too easy, I think to myself. A group of fighters just surrendering their guns to one solitary woman with an AK. “I’m not stupid,” I say, stepping backward toward the open field behind me. It’s not an ideal escape route, but I don’t trust anyone, and I’m better off alone until I can figure out what’s going on.
I only know so much about this war, just the bits and pieces that my captors would tell us at the clinic. Heretics: Bad; Mercenary Fighters: Good. But the line between good and bad in this world is very thin, and until I can wrap my head around all of this, they’re all bad. My captors proved this to me, but I’m trapped in a world of men, and I need to be leery of them all.
I step back again, taking a quick look of my surroundings, and then take off running.
“Wait,” the man yells, his boots hitting the ground behind me. I don’t look back as I have to stay focused on what’s ahead of me, preparing for a bullet in my back at any time. I’m not ready to die yet, but I won’t go down without a fight.
I run and run, my calf muscles burning, but I keep going, my eyes focused on the tree line up ahead. It’s darker in the woods, and I can find better hiding places there, though, at this point hiding is a cowardly move. The sound of his boots gets louder and louder, and just as I reach the tree line, my foot hits a divot in the ground and my ankle twists, the ground coming into my line of vision as I tumble to the ground. “Ahh, fuck,” I scream as I roll over, grabbing my ankle.
The pain sears up my leg, and I cry out over and over. I look up, and the man is standing over me, sweating and out of breath. “Damn, you’re a fast runner,” he says, a smile curving his lips. He leans down next to me and takes my ankle into his hands, lifting the hem of my jeans and examining it, acting like he knows what he is doing.
“Relax,” he says, his nimble fingers on my foot. I still don’t believe that he isn’t going to hurt me, so I scoot back and pull my foot out of his grasp and stand up, painfully, and try not to put my weight on it. He grabs my right arm and twists it around behind my back. “Would you relax? Jesus, I’m not a bad guy.”
“How I can I be so sure,” I ask, my voice trembling.
“Because I would have shot you as soon as I saw you. Heretics shoot first and ask questions later; you’d be wise to remember that.”
“You’re hurting me,” I say, the pain in both my ankle and my leg radiating up my body.
“You’re bleeding,” he says as his fingers trace the cuts in my palm. “Did you do this when you fell?” he asks, his voice now soft and calming.
“No.”
“How did you do this?”
“You really want to know?” I ask as he releases my arm, and I turn to face him. He stays silent and just stares at me. It’s unnerving, but I don’t let that get to me. “I killed a man earlier today,” I say, my eyes narrowing at the warning to this man. “To
ok a shard of glass and sliced through his neck.”
“That was you? You do realize you took out one of the higher ups with the Heretics, right?”
“I don’t care who he was; he was a threat, and I took him down.”
“So that’s where you got the AK and the knife,” he growls as his eyes find the knife holster around my waist, his eyes pausing on my bare chest.
“I damn sure wasn’t going to leave an armed, dead man lying around. So yeah, I cleaned him out.”
“Ahh, beautiful and a badass. I like,” he says, stepping toward me, but I manage to take a step back.
“Yeah, you’d be wise to remember that,” I say, my own lips tugging up at the corners, but I fight that down. I haven’t smiled in years, and now is not the day to try it. He may be acting like a good guy, but I can’t trust anyone. Not yet.
“Well, I think you’d be better off with us.” He nods toward his friends.
“I may be a woman, but I don’t need a babysitter.”
“No, I don’t think you do. But you have no idea who you killed, and I can bet you they’ll be looking for you. In fact, with you walking right out here in the open, I’m surprised that haven’t yet. And trust me when I tell you this; you don’t want the Heretics to find you. Their torture tactics are brutal, and I don’t even want to imagine the gang raping that will go on. They have no morals, and women are weak and insignificant to them, only good for one thing. The fact that a woman took down one of their leaders? It won’t end well for you if they find you. Grab your gun and follow me, we can protect you,” he says as he lifts his chin toward my AK on the ground
“I’m not afraid of those guys, and I’ve been raped before, so that’s nothing new,” I say, shaking off the memories of the clinic. I look at this guy, and rage fills those deep blue eyes.
“What did you say?” he growls, low and angry as he takes his own t-shirt off and pulls it over my head so I’m covered.
