The Dead Saga (Book 5): Odium V

by Claire C. Riley

  When I come back, all three men are in a discussion as to what to do next. It’s clear that none of them want me here. Apparently these men left their women’s rights banners back in the 1950s and I should be ogled and not heard. I stay in the kitchen area and decide I can’t resist the food and water any longer, so I fix myself something to eat. It’s not much—stale cereal and water—but it fills the hole in my stomach and keeps me occupied while I listen in to what they’re planning.

  “So Mikey here, he had friends with him. The bitch from the truck said that her and her psycho husband sold them to another group of…” Butcher’s words die off and I look up just in time to see him frowning heavily. “They sold them to another group.”

  “These motherfuckers eat people too?” Drag says, with that smirk of his planted on his face, like he takes great enjoyment from making other people uncomfortable.

  “Yeah,” Butcher replies. “I promised we’d help get them back.”

  “Not your promise to make, though, is it, brother?” Drag returns.

  “The man here saved my life. It was the least I could do.” Butcher is frowning, hard.

  I think about something that Butcher just said and realize that I need to say something, because I haven’t been entirely honest with Mikey.

  “Just one friend,” I say, looking over at the three men. They all turn to look at me, but it’s Mikey that I focus in on, because it’s him that I can see the guilt pouring from. “Ricky is gone. I found him…” I shake my head. “It was too late for him.” I look at Drag and Butcher now, watching the anger boiling below the surface on Butcher and the smirk finally leaving Drag. “But Phil was still alive—is still alive. We can go get him and save him and however many other people these bastards have there, and then we can kill the rest!”

  My words get louder and angrier as I speak, the emotions finally leaking to the surface. I catch myself before I fall into the rabbit hole.

  “Who says we should kill them?” Drag says, breaking the silence of the room.

  “Prez?”

  Drag turns to look at Butcher. “These people run a business—one that we deal with and is profitable. All I’m sayin’ is we consider all of our options before sending them to ground. It would be a real shame to lose a good business deal in a world when they are already few and far between to come by.”

  “Harm no brother,” Butcher replies, his words low and threatening. “Those the rules, Prez.”

  Drag is silent while he considers what Butcher said. He stands up when he comes to his decision, his smirk back in place. “Well now, that was the old club, but I hear ya, Butcher. We’ll get you your vengeance, brother.”

  Drag makes for the door and Butcher stands up and does the same. Mikey comes to stand by me as we wait to be told what’s happening next. Drag heads outside and lights up another cigarette and Butch holds out his hand to Mikey.

  “We’ll be rollin’ out in twenty. You’ll be expected to come.”

  Mikey takes Butcher’s hand. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  Butcher looks across to me. “Normally bitches aren’t allowed to come along on rides.” He looks back out to where Drag is talking to some of his men, and then he looks back in. “But I reckon you’ll be safer coming with us. Can you fight? Shoot a gun?”

  I can’t help but laugh. “You have no idea.”

  Butcher cracks a smile, and even though it looks strange on his pale and sweaty face, I like it. It shows the man he used to be, before all of this. Before Clare and Tim, and maybe even before the apocalypse.

  “All right then.” He turns and walks away, and Mikey walks over and shuts the door behind him.

  I’m nervous, more nervous than I’ve ever been—certainly at least since the start of all this madness. I feel like I’m surrounded by sharks, and at any time one of them could attack. My odds for survival are slipping, yet when I look up at Mikey, watching him stride toward me, I know it—I can feel it in my gut that I’ll be okay.

  Mikey is close, so close I can feel his breath on my cheek. He doesn’t say anything when he puts his hand on the back of my neck and pulls me in to kiss me, and then I’m kissing him back, and somehow my jacket is sliding off along with my jeans being unbuttoned.

  I let my hands move over his body in a way that I didn’t allow myself to last night. I feel every taut muscle, every inch of scarred flesh, and I memorize it and him. His mouth is on my neck and there’s not even time to take me to the bedroom this time.

  It’s raw and powerful, as if he’s trying to obliterate every feeling, and every emotion, he has inside of himself. As if it’s all too much and he need a release somehow to get it out of him before he breaks completely. And when it’s over I’m dizzy and in love.

  We dress quietly, with Mikey glancing at me every now and then with a look that I can’t explain. One that I don’t know.

  “Are you okay?” I ask, sliding my jacket back on.

  He nods and takes my hand in his. It’s rough and firm and grips me tightly. “Come on.”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  “All right, the Savages are not expecting us to be making this little booty call, brothers,” Drag laughs. “And we all know how well they like to have uninvited guests over to their little camp. Keep your eyes sharp, and your blades sharper.” Drag walks to his bike, dropping his cigarette by the front wheel and stepping on it. He looks up to the gate for a second before turning back to us all.

  “The deal we had with the Savages is over. I’m not the sort to be getting involved in other people’s business, but they’ve been dealing with the psycho we brought in last night, and that crazy bitch almost cost us our brother Butcher, so now I’m making it our business.” He’s all serious now, his gaze finding Butcher in the crowd. “We’re killin’ every one of these fuckers today. We’re sendin’ every one of them to ground, you hear me, brothers?”

  The men cheer, a loud chorus of angry yet excited cheers for blood and death, and I can’t help but worry. They’re unpredictable, so who knows what will happen today. But I have no doubt in my mind that these men will get rid of the Savages. That’s the only certainty in my mind.

  We’re all sitting by the main exit, either on bikes or in trucks, each one of us armed to the teeth for war. I feel much better with a rifle in one hand and my death stick in the other. Less a woman in need and more of the warrior I’ve become. Butcher told me that I had to stay with Mikey at all times, and I told him he didn’t need to warn me of that, that I had no intention of being anywhere but at his side. He seemed to like that. Loyalty is big with these men.

  Even with only one arm and bandages wrapped tightly around his middle, Butcher looks fierce and threatening. I mean, all of these men do, but Butcher looked like he was at death’s door last night, so the miraculous recovery is still somewhat of a shock. Or maybe it’s not a recovery at all, but a hunger for blood that’s keeping him going. A rage that’s burning in him. After all he’s been through, surely it would drive anyone to insanity and back.

  I glance across at Mikey and wonder if he’s in the same frame of mind. He’s not himself, at all. I mean, he’s with me after saying he wasn’t ready to be with anyone barely three days ago. And he seems darker somehow, like a black cloud is swallowing him and he’s waiting to sink under the strength of it.

  “We go in there, we play it off as an early trade, and then we give ’em hell, brothers.” Drag raises his gun in the air and all the other men copy him.

  The other bikers cheer, and I’ll be damned if it doesn’t sound like there’s a thousand men right now, even though there’s only twenty or so. A chill runs over me.

  Drag starts his bike, and the gates open up and one by one each vehicle leaves the compound. Butcher is in the truck with us. His window is wide open and he’s resting with his arm out as if he hasn’t a care in the world, but I’m good at reading people and I can see past his façade. Mikey is behind the wheel, at his insistence, and there are five or six more men in the
back of the truck too—all armed, of course. And though I’m nervous, I feel confident that we’ll be okay. The Savages may be insane cannibals, but that’s nothing compared to what I sense from the Devil’s Rejects.

  Mikey’s hand falls on top of mine and I look over at him. He gives my hand a little squeeze before putting his back on the wheel. I smile at him but he doesn’t smile back, and I wonder what’s going through his mind right now. If it was vengeance he wanted, he could have gone to see Clare. Butcher said he’d been toying with her all night and that Mikey could too. I’m glad that he didn’t, of course, because I think once you cross that line you go somewhere that you can’t come back from. It isn’t killing to stay alive, it’s toying with death as if it’s a plaything. And that’s a dark place to be.

  So what, I wonder, is driving Mikey?

  It’s our turn to leave, and as the truck bumps over the uneven ground as we exit the Rejects’ HQ, Butcher hisses under his breath as his shoulder bangs up against the wall. Really, he shouldn’t be coming along, but I don’t think anyone was ever going to try and stop him. He deserves vengeance more than any one of us.

  I glance over at Mikey and ponder that thought for a moment. I still don’t know what happened to him when he was in that room with Clare and Tim, but whatever it was, it was mental and not physical. Mikey is a strong man, so for him to have lost a part of himself the way he has, it must have been bad. It’s almost like he’s checked out from reality, and the only thing keeping him here and in the moment is me. I’d like to think that I’ve gotten through to him and that he’s just turned a corner, gotten over the woman he’d been with previously and is now ready to move on. But I’m not that arrogant. I know, if I allow myself to, that he’s with me purely because he needs to feel something. He’s using me, and I’m using him—using his current state of mind to my advantage.

  I wanted Mikey to be mine, no matter how I got him. And that’s exactly what I got—the fragments of the man he was.

  Or maybe I should give myself more credit.

  Regardless, I finally got my man, and I’m not giving him up. Even if I only got him because he’s been mentally tortured. I mean, really, haven’t we all? Aren’t we all just clinging onto each other in the hopes that we’ll make one another feel a little more alive?

  I sigh and look away from Mikey when I hear Butcher grunt again as the truck bumps up and down. I look across at him, watching him hold his stump of an arm steady but stay completely stony-faced, despite the obvious pain that he must be in. He has a cigar hanging out of the side of his mouth, and every now and then he puffs out and the smoke wafts out the open window, evaporating into nothing.

  Out of all the men here, he seems to be the most stable. Stable might be the wrong word, actually. He’s definitely unhinged and would no doubt still do unspeakable things to anyone who messed with him, but I at least have a little trust in him. After all, he’s kept his word and is helping us get Phil back.

  I just hope we get to him in time.

  “What?” Butcher says, and I realize that I’m still staring at him. “You see something you like, bitch? You not satisfying this woman of yours, Mikey?” He looks around me and toward Mikey, but Mikey is lost in his own world again. “I can help you out there, brother, it’s no problem.” Butcher reaches out and places one of his large hands on my thigh. He gives it a firm squeeze and laughs when I push his hand off of me.

  Mikey doesn’t say anything. In fact, he doesn’t look like he’s even acknowledged what Butcher said; his intense gaze is purely focused on the road in front of us.

  “I didn’t mean to stare,” I say firmly, my cheeks flushing hot. “And stop calling me ‘bitch’—my name’s O’Donnell. Call me that or keep your mouth shut.” I look away from Butcher, ignoring him when he starts to laugh again. I open my mouth to say something else, when Butcher’s gaze looks back out the window and his smile falls, his laughter dying in his throat.

  I turn away from him and look out the window to see what he’s looking at. Up ahead, another motorcycle is heading toward us, dirt and smoke billowing up behind it, and damn it’s going fast. I stare at it for several seconds, wondering if I’m seeing things or not, but then I see Drag pull his bike to a stop and the other men begin to slow and then stop too. Drag raises his hand to make sure everyone knows that he wants them to stop, and then he climbs off his bike and begins to walk toward the other bike, even though it’s heading straight for us.

  I look to Butcher for some sort of answer. He’s leaning forward in his seat, his forehead furrowed into a frown.

  “Butcher? Who is that?” I ask, my voice a whisper though I know that there’s no reason to whisper.

  “Well I’ll be. The traitor came home,” he replies, not paying me any mind. His hand grips the gun in his lap.

  “Traitor?” Mikey asks. “Is this going to be a problem? Is he going to be a problem?”

  Butcher doesn’t reply. Instead he continues to watch the scene in front of us. My eyes need to be everywhere—on Butcher, on Mikey, and on Drag—but of course I can’t look everywhere at once, so I fix my gaze on what’s happening in front of us.

  Drag has stopped walking and is standing in the middle of the road. The other biker comes to a stop too, and turns off his engine. He climbs off his bike and pulls off his helmet, releasing a thick mop of bright green hair. He drops the helmet to the ground and begins to walk toward Drag. I realize that I’m holding my breath, uncertain and nervous of what’s going to happen next, when Drag grabs the other man and pulls him into a hug, slapping his back loudly. I release my breath just short of passing out.

  “Butcher?” Mikey says his name, finally garnering Butcher’s attention.

  “It’s club business, nothing to do with you,” Butcher says, sitting back in his seat, his glare on the two men in front of us.

  When the two men finally pull out of their hug they start talking, their words clearly coming thick and fast by how animated they both are, but we’re too far away to hear what’s being said. Drag nods at the other man and then he looks back to us, his gaze skimming over the truck where Mikey and I are, though I know it’s Butcher he’s seeking out. Drag suddenly reaches back and throws a punch, sending the other man to the ground. Blood explodes out of the other man’s nose, but he’s back up on his feet within two seconds. Drag punches him again, and then shoves him to the ground, and this time he stays down. I’m so confused by what’s going on, but don’t bother to ask Butcher because I know he’ll give me the same “club business” speech that he gave Mikey.

  The other man is still on the ground, though he’s on his knees now, his face tipped up to glare at Drag, who’s yelling at him loud enough that some of his words drift in through Butcher’s open window.

  “…prove yourself…fuckin’ traitor…brothers for life.”

  When he’s done shouting he takes a deep breath and pulls his hands through his hair, and then he reaches out and helps the other man up. They both turn toward the other bikers, and Drag drapes his arm over the top of the other one’s shoulders, smiling that one-hundred-watt smile of his like he didn’t just smash the other guy’s nose in.

  “He’s back, brothers,” Drag calls loudly, a wide smile on his face. “Tonight we party!”

  All the men cheer, though from the looks on some of their faces they aren’t pleased that this other man is back. I glance at Butcher again, and see the look of utter disgust on his face.

  “Who is that?” I ask him.

  “That’s Nitro, Drag’s brother,” he replies smoothly. “And a fuckin’ traitor, if you ask me.”

  I look back at the two men. They’re walking back to their bikes; Drag’s arm is still around Nitro’s shoulders while he pulls him in and talks to him, no doubt telling him about what we’re about to do.

  “You said he was a traitor,” Mikey asks. “Can we trust him?”

  Butcher breathes out heavily through his nose, like a bull ready for a fight. “That slimy fucker can never be trusted.�
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  “What should we do?” Mikey asks seriously, clearly as unhappy with the situation as Butcher us.

  Butcher turns to look at Mikey, his frown deepening. “Nothin’. He’s a brother, so we do nothin’.” His jaw twitches, though whether it’s because he’s unhappy with his words or Mikey’s, I’m not sure anymore.

  Nitro and Drag go back to their bikes and put on their helmets, and then everyone starts their engines again. The two brothers take point as we all move on toward the Savages’ camp, and the uneasy feeling I had in my stomach intensifies.

  I didn’t trust Drag one hundred percent, but I’d felt better about it because I trusted Butcher, at least a little because he had the same motives as we did: kill the cannibals. And well, Butcher ensured us that he trusted Drag. So to know that he doesn’t trust Nitro and now that man is leading our convoy…it doesn’t sit well with me at all. And from the look on Butcher’s face, it doesn’t sit too well with him either.

  I hold on tighter to my death stick and my rifle, glad to have my weapons with me, at least. Because whatever happens, there’s no way I’m not making it out of this situation, and so is Mikey.

  Chance of survival?

  Fifty percent.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  The bikers are quicker than us, obviously, but Mikey never lets them get too far ahead that he can’t see them—or perhaps they hold back and wait for us, I’m not really sure. Either way, we all arrive at what I’m guessing is the Savages’ camp at the same time. And it’s not what I expect it to be.

  I thought, what with these people being truly the scum of the earth, that they would have somewhere secure and stable, with cages and barbed wire, kind of like a futuristic prison of sorts. You know, the sort of thing that keeps you awake at night and gives you nightmares.

  Yet, instead of finding a camp with walls that we can either knock down, burn to the ground, or climb over, the Rejects have brought us to the entrance to a small wood, their bikes and trucks bumping over the uneven ground.