I stay quiet for a few moments. I want badly to agree with or just ignore him, yet instead I find a confession rising up inside of me. I try to fight it back, but it claws its way out of my throat.
“I don’t know if I can do it,” I say, each word forced through gritted teeth.
Jed stops walking. I continue for a few paces, but he grabs my arm. I turn to him, raising my eyes to his face.
“What do you mean?” he asks, frowning. “Of course you can handle a few townies.”
“I don’t mean it like that,” I say. “I guess I mean … I don’t know if I should do it.” He tilts his head questioningly. I let out a long breath. “I don’t know if I can live with myself after doing it.”
“Live with …?” Jed repeats, not getting it. “Clementine, you kill people all the time.”
I take a deep breath and push a strand of hair behind my ear, trying to form coherent thoughts and words.
“But it’s different,” I say. “I have these … rules. I only kill for profit, or out of necessity. That’s it.” I guess a raid is for profit, but that’s just a technicality and I know it. And of course, I can’t bring myself to add that “protecting Jed” seems to fall in the “necessity” category now, as proven by Fort Cain.
“Or else what?” Jed asks, and I shake my head, unable to find the words. “I feel like there’s something you’re not telling me. There’s a story there, yeah?”
My stomach twists and turns.
“I killed for the first time when I was eight years old. A raider.” His eyebrows rise slightly. “And I kept killing them, whenever they came to town. I was good at it. Really good at it.”
“Okay,” he says, when I pause. “So you were defending yourself and your people. Nothing wrong with that.”
“Sure,” I say, thinking of beating that half-dead man’s head in with a metal pot. “The town loved me for it. They used to call me a hero. But it got out of hand.” Jed is quiet, waiting for me to continue. “One day a man came to stay for a night. I was in town, freshly back from the latest hunt.” I take a deep breath. “He was an older guy. Pretty charming, actually. Polite. Funny. Everyone liked him, except for me.”
“He was a raider,” Jed says. There’s an odd look on his face, some emotion I can’t discern, even though I haven’t finished the story yet.
“Yeah. He had these tattoos, and this look about him, and he carried a huge gun with him even though he never threatened to use it. I knew what he was, and I hated that the townsfolk seemed to accept him despite it. This was in the early days of J—” I pause, remembering who I’m speaking to. “Of your father’s rule, I mean, so things were tense and confusing and everyone was still figuring out what it all meant. But I was angry. I wanted to fight. I wanted to protect my people. I thought I understood things, and that it was worth breaking the rules.”
“How did you kill him?” Jedediah asks. He stares down at the ground, not looking at me, and the emotion is gone from his face.
“I slit his throat in his sleep,” I say, remembering it as I say the words. He woke up halfway through, and fought me, but it was too late and he was losing too much blood already. I can still picture the light dying from his eyes. “I burned the body, but I was an idiot. I kept the gun. So when Jedediah Johnson’s crew came looking for the man they lost, they found it stashed under my pillow, and they knew.
“They didn’t think it was me. I was just an eighteen-year-old townie girl to them—I had already been hunting bounties for two years, but they didn’t know that. They thought it was my father, and while they questioned him, I ran. I thought they would figure it out, that they would come for me and leave the town alone, but … they were dumber than I expected, I guess.” That was one time of many that I found myself wrong in my assessment of people. But that time, it was brutally punished. “Later that night I saw the smoke. I went back, and tried to get in to save my family, but …” I trail off, absently raising a hand to touch the burns on my face. The blaze at Fort Cain has the memory vivid in my mind: the intense heat, the hungry flames, the screams. I take a deep breath. “That’s why I need to follow the rules. I need to … make sure I stay aimed in the right direction. Make sure I stay on the right side. Like my people would’ve wanted me to.”
Several long seconds pass, and Jed says nothing. I glance at his face, uncertain. Maybe sharing this much was a mistake. But he’s not even looking at me, still staring at the ground with his eyes distant, like he’s lost in thought.
“Jed?” I ask. His head jerks up. He blinks at me, like he’d forgotten I was there, and his face stays guarded.
“Let’s get some sleep,” he says. That’s it. I take a deep breath, and hope the hurt doesn’t show on my face.
“Okay,” I say, my voice coming out flat. I set up my blankets, and he sets up his a few feet away. I fight the cold, and my thoughts, for hours before I finally fall asleep.
XXI
The Raid
I wake early. The sun isn’t up yet, the wastes still dark and blessedly quiet. I stand and stretch, shrugging off the sluggishness of sleep. It’s quickly replaced by nerves, my entire body buzzing with a static energy that hisses up my spine and down each of my limbs.
Today’s the day.
There’s too much to think about right now—the raid, my rules, my conversation with Jed and its uncomfortable ending. I can’t let myself worry about any of it right now. If I’m distracted today, I’ll get myself killed. For now, I just need to push it all to the back of my mind.
I mechanically sort through my weapons, mostly as an excuse not to think. Pistol at my hip, knife strapped to my leg, one spare revolver with a few bullets left. Not much ammo left for my pistol either. When I came here, I had so many beautiful weapons, and no end to ammo in sight. But the last several days have had a hell of a lot of shooting in them, more than I’m used to—and that’s saying a lot, since I make my living shooting. But back in the east, it’s all about the careful balance of power, and purposeful killings, and goods changing hands. Here, it’s just charging into the fray, guns blazing, and hoping for the best. For someone like me, the chaos has proved to be livable—but not so much for all the dead townies in our wake.
By the time I’ve finished my routine, I’m not the only one awake. Dolly is up and watching me, carefully handling her own weapons, going through a process similar to my own. She and I exchange a nod across the open space between us. Near her, Kid and Wolf are starting to stir as well, and Tank is soon woken by a kick from the latter. Jed is still snoring. I let him; I want to enjoy the silence while I can.
Only when the sun is rising and the crew is packing up do I finally wake Jed, prodding him in the side with my boot until he opens one eye. I grab his hand and pull him to his feet, and together we fold up the blankets and stuff them into my bag alongside my paltry supply of remaining ammo. He says nothing about last night—nothing at all, actually, which is odd for him. I mirror his silence. When we’re done packing, we set off.
I expected a serious atmosphere on the dawn of a raid, or a ferociously excited one, but instead the crew meanders along and chats among themselves as if this is any other day. I guess it might be, for them. While this is huge for me—my first raid, the day I could easily lose my life or a far more integral part of myself—it’s not the same for them. This is what they do, how they make their living. And even though that “living” revolves around killing and stealing from helpless townies, I guess it’s just another job to them. Maybe it’s as easy for them as bounty hunting is for me.
But the atmosphere changes once the town looms on the horizon. First a hush falls over the raiders—not just Wolf’s crew but all of them, chatter and complaints alike dying down to a complete silence. Then someone shouts, and the horde roars back in response. The mob draws together, individual crews dissolving into the singular, terrifying mass that I’ve seen before.
It feels unnatural looking at a raid from the other side. The mob swells around me, psyching thems
elves up for the attack. The typical shouts and war cries of raiders, usually a herald of danger, come from all around me now. My whole body is so tightly coiled that it feels like part of me will snap off. I try to keep my face cold and hard, like I’m used to doing this, but my heart is pounding. I can’t stop thinking about the concerns I voiced to Jed, and how he hasn’t spoken to me since I spilled them.
This thing inside me, gnawing and tearing, it’s always hungry for more. If I feed it, it will only grow stronger. Already I can feel it clamoring inside me, making me feel equal parts excited and afraid. Soon the two become indistinguishable, one dizzying rush of adrenaline so intense that my hands shake. Bloodlust is thick and infectious in the air around me.
When a raider from another crew bumps into me, I snap at him, my gun instantly in my hand. It’s a decision that could mean disaster, but luckily, he just slinks back with his head down. Jed glances sideways at me, but I refuse to look at him. I’m having a hard enough time keeping myself in check right now without thinking about him. I force myself to place my gun back in its holster, restless hands clenching and unclenching.
As we draw closer, I imagine watching the horde appear from the town. I know from experience what it feels like to see the raider mob for the first time—the awe, the fear, the helplessness. I feel none of that, staring down the town. Instead, I feel predatory. The closer we get, the more my nervousness dissipates, replaced by steely resolve.
This place is no Fort Cain. There’s no metal gate, no huge wall, just a cluster of barely stable buildings patched together with scraps, a true western-wastes town. And the townies are nowhere to be seen. Unlike Cain, and the Nameless Town before it, there’s no front line of armed townies waiting to meet us, no attempt at defense. The place just looks empty. The raider mob slows as it approaches. I slow with everyone else, frowning, my eyes scanning the town and finding no signs of life.
“Fuckers ran with their tails between their legs,” Wolf complains from ahead.
“Probably took all the supplies first too,” Tank says glumly.
The other raiders walk right in, eager to scour the buildings for anything left behind. I pause on the edge of town. Wolf’s assessment does seem like the most likely case. It’s not farfetched that this town, hearing how the others before it fell, would flee instead of standing their ground. And yet something gives me pause. I’ve learned to trust my instincts, and right now they’re telling me that something isn’t right.
But the crew is moving forward without me, Jed included. So I grit my teeth, try to subdue the rising urge to run, and advance into the town.
It’s eerily quiet, made more so by the fact my senses are all on high alert, straining to find signs of danger in the seemingly dead town. My eyes dart around and my gun is ready. I’m careful to search every dark corner, not put my back to open space. After a few minutes, the effort starts to feel ridiculous. There’s no one here. Every noise and movement I jump at turns out to be one of the raiders. They’ve diffused throughout the town, spreading out to cover as much ground as possible. And yet, my uneasiness only grows. These buildings aren’t just empty of people, they’re completely empty. I would have expected the townies to take all the food, and water, and weapons … but the furniture? The silverware? Every blanket, every article of clothing? It’s all gone. I guess it could be some kind of overzealous, burn-it-all method to ensure there was absolutely nothing the raiders could use to their advantage, but still. It’s odd. I don’t like odd, and I don’t trust it.
After scanning a building to find it just as cleaned out as all the rest, I hurry forward to catch up to Jed. He turns and looks over his shoulder at me.
“What do you think?” he calls out to me. It’s alarmingly loud in the quiet town, echoing off the buildings around us. I crouch down automatically, expecting some kind of response, but nothing happens. I slowly straighten up.
“Something’s—”
Not right would be the next words out of my mouth, but I cut off at the sound of an explosion nearby. Jed and I both turn toward the sound. There’s nothing to see other than a plume of smoke rising above the buildings. Shouts echo around the empty streets, the words unintelligible. I hesitate, torn; do we run toward the chaos, or away from it?
Before I can decide, there’s another explosion, this time from the opposite direction. I turn that way instead, but once again, I can’t see what happened. The shouts come from all around us now—and then, gunfire. Not a steady unloading of ammo, but short bursts, and no returning fire. I frown at Jed, who’s staring in the direction of the latest explosion. He takes off in that direction. Cursing under my breath but with nothing better to do, I follow.
I turn the corner and slam into him. He staggers forward a few steps before coming to a stop again, and continues staring.
Ahead is the aftermath of the blast. From the looks of it, it must’ve been a grenade, and one that landed right in the midst of a raider crew. Not the one we were traveling with, which gives me a surprising sense of relief.
A few of the unfortunate raiders are splattered across the dusty ground, a couple have been flung away and lie unconscious, and one is holding the bloody stub of a leg and groaning. While Jed seems entranced by the gory sight, I tear my eyes away and scan the town around us. Was it another raider crew that did this? Or was it townies after all? There are plenty of windows in the surrounding buildings, good vantage points to throw an explosive from, but they’re empty now.
On the other side of the carnage, a second raider crew turns the corner. They scrutinize the bloody remains and mutter among themselves, before their gazes find Jed and me. We stare at one another across the mess of dead and dying.
“You do this?” one of the men shouts at us, his words echoing up and down the street.
“Of course not,” I snap. “We’re with you.”
“Well, someone took ’em out,” the man growls. “And ain’t no townies to be found.”
We glare at each other. None of us move, but I size up his crew. There are only four of them, a mangy group aside from the bulky, red-faced man who’s been shouting at us. Jed and I could probably take them, especially if we shot first, but I’m not eager to start a raider civil war right now. I know what these people are like. If they see a fight erupting, they’ll join in, even if they don’t know why it’s happening. One little misunderstanding like this could rip the entire raider army apart.
Just when I’m starting to wonder if that’s such a bad idea, Jed decides to open his mouth.
“Well, let’s not get too hasty here,” he says, raising his hands in a ‘stop’ motion.
Out of all of the things that have come out of Jed’s mouth, that’s possibly the most reasonable sentence yet. But somehow, it incites a murderous rage in the other raiders. The leader lets out a shout as if Jed personally insulted him, and comes flying in our direction. The rest of them follow, their feet skidding and sliding across the bloody mess they have to cross to reach us, one of them stepping right on the stomach of the man who lost his leg.
I hesitate—unsure if I want to run or shoot—but Jed grabs my arm and yanks me back, making the decision for me. We tear down the street, the shouts of the raiders echoing after us.
“What did I say wrong?” Jed asks between pants for breath, casting a look over his shoulder at our pursuers. They’re still coming, still yelling, and the situation still doesn’t make much sense. Other raider crews are emerging from side streets and poking their heads out of buildings to see what the hell is going on. They all stare as we pass.
I don’t answer him—partially because I have no fucking idea, and partially because I’m trying to figure out what the hell to do about the situation. Secretly, part of me is pleased at the turn of events; the immediate danger leaves no room for moral concerns, and the weirdness between Jed and me is gone, replaced by the camaraderie that comes with fighting for our lives together.
I’m guessing our best bet is to find the others. We may not really be
part of the crew, but Wolf seems like the type who’s always looking for an excuse to fight, and I’m sure he’d gladly jump in. Problem is, I’m not sure where he went. This town seems much bigger now that we’re inside of it, a confusing maze of streets and broken buildings. I have no idea where to find them, though every other goddamn raider crew seems intent on gaping at us.
As I’m searching for the crew, I make a critical mistake, a wrong turn. Jed and I skid to a stop at a dead end. A brick wall looms up ahead, cutting off our escape. I scan the area, but there’s no other exit, and the crew in pursuit of us has already reached the mouth of the alleyway. They stop there, completely severing our only escape route, while we stand with the wall at our backs. The red-faced leader’s face splits into a grin.
“Got ya,” he says. “Fuckin’ cowards.”
The plus side to fighting in an alleyway is that they can’t all come at us at once. The downside is that if any of them get a good hold on us, there’s no way to escape. My pulse rises to a steady hammer as I raise my gun, Jed doing the same at my side. He opens his mouth, and shuts it again; maybe he’s too afraid to talk, now that his previous harmless phrase sent these men into a mad frenzy.
“Calm the fuck down,” I say, hoping that speaking “raider” might get the message through their thick skulls. “We don’t have time for this shit right now.”
Once again, that somehow seems to be the exact wrong thing to say. The man lets out a howl like an incensed animal—but before he can run at us, something falls from the sky and lands right in front of him. His howl cuts off abruptly as he looks down at it.
A grenade.
I yank Jed backward, sending both of us crashing to the end of the alleyway in a heap, just half a moment before the explosion. I press myself against the ground so hard I choke on dust. I wait a couple moments, and cautiously raise my head. Jed is coughing, his eyes watering, but he looks unharmed.
The Wastelanders Page 46
