“I see,” I say, my voice deadly calm. “So you’re not going to kill me, you’re just going to leave me to die.”
“Bingo!” Bird says.
My eyes flick to Jed, who has been absolutely silent this entire time. He’s staring at me, his eyes wide and troubled, and hasn’t moved an inch from his original position. There’s only one other card I can pull here—the fact that Jed isn’t who I thought he was, and who they still think he is. I could tell them that taking him is useless, because there’s no bounty to claim. Maybe they’d just leave us both here to rot, then … or maybe they’d shoot him in the head for causing all this trouble. Considering how vindictive these two seem, I’d guess the latter.
And I find, to my immense surprise and puzzlement, that I’d rather Jed stay alive. So I say nothing.
“Okay, well, I think we’re done here,” Cat says. “You’re going to stay right here, and not lift a single finger, or we’re going to shoot you. Got it?”
I stay still and silent as Cat grabs Jed and drags him along, Bird walks away with my weapons, and the three of them head to their truck. Jed looks back at me twice, as if waiting for me to do something, but I stand and watch and do nothing. The truck starts up with a roar and takes off, leaving me alone in the wastes.
I take a deep breath, and then another one, trying to force back the tightness in my chest and the panic buzzing in my ears. Now is not the time for panic. Now is the time to figure out how to survive.
First things first: I take stock of what I have, searching myself just in case Bird missed one of the weapons hidden on my body. She didn’t. Nor was I smart enough to store any food or water somewhere clever in case I got myself into a situation like this. So, in short, I have absolutely fucking nothing other than the clothes on my back and the boots on my feet. I suppose they could have taken the latter if they were really feeling cruel, so maybe I should be grateful, but mostly I’m just feeling thoroughly, utterly fucked. I don’t even have my map, though I’ve looked at it enough times that I have a shaky sketch of it in my head, just enough to know that there are zero towns close enough for me to reach without any rations.
Still, I’m not the type to sit and accept my fate. I’m not going to wait for raiders to catch up to me, or for the thirst to take me. I force my feet to start moving, walking in the direction that I saw the poachers take Jed, because I have no other goal to aim for.
It’s almost strange, being alone now. I was used to it before, but over the days with Jed, I must’ve gotten accustomed to his constant chatter and inane questions. He always had something to say, questions to ask. I found it … interesting, if I’m being honest. If nothing else, it kept me distracted. Now there’s nothing to keep my mind off the tired aches of my body and the reality of this awful situation. At one point I catch myself humming under my breath to fill the silence and stop myself.
The wastelands are silent, hot, and utterly unhelpful, stretching out all around me with nothing to break the monotony. Perhaps I should be grateful that there’s nothing to see, because whatever it is would probably try to kill me. But a slow, passive death is much worse. At this point, there’s nothing I can do except keep walking. And walking. And walking.
After a while, my brain shuts down.
One by one, I tune things out: the sun bearing down from overheard, the blisters forming on my feet, the sense that I can feel my skin frying. Soon, all that’s left is walking.
One foot forward, then the other, then the first again. I do it mechanically, unthinkingly, because that’s the only way I can keep going. I’m especially careful to tune out any thoughts about how long I’ve been walking, or how much farther I have to go, or how long I can possibly go on like this.
I stop when it gets dark, sleep curled up in the dirt with shivers racking my body. When the sun rises, I walk again. More tired, more thirsty, more hopeless than yesterday, but I walk, because the only other option is to stop and wait to die.
I tell myself lies to keep going. I’ve only been walking for an hour. I only have another hour until I’m done. I know where I am going. There is someone waiting for me there.
When driving, I sometimes forget just how huge the wastes are. In a car, with a destination in mind, the flat expanse of wasteland is just something to tolerate for a brief while. But out here, on foot, alone, not knowing where I’m headed, the wastes are everything: vast, empty, and unchanging. I travel all day, and see nothing but sand. Then suddenly, just before sunset, I do find something: a broken-down truck.
And it’s not just any truck, I realize as I draw closer. It’s the very same truck that was driven by the poachers who took Jed and left me for dead. I’m incredulous at first, certain that I’m hallucinating at this point. I reach out to touch the vehicle, and immediately pull back my finger with a hiss as the hot metal burns me. It’s real. And it’s easy to see why the truck stopped when it did: A tire’s been slashed. Nearby, the cracked earth is splashed with blood. Not too much of it—not a lethal amount—but definitely blood, dried to a muddy red brown. I stare at it for a moment, and then search through the car, every inch, hoping for a forgotten scrap of anything left behind for me. But there’s nothing; the poachers made sure not to leave anything potentially helpful for whomever found this. I wonder if they suspect I’m on their trail.
I spend the night in the backseat. It may not be my own truck, but it’s still a familiar place to sleep, and warmer than the ground. When I wake, my body is more tired than ever, but my mind is invigorated.
I walk briskly now, and with purpose, despite the fact that I can feel my body wasting away.
After a couple hours, I make a new discovery: the sun glinting off metal, which turns out to be a few aluminum cans lying in the dirt. I pick up each one and check for scraps. To my surprise, one still has a few mouthfuls left. Cold beans, mixed with a not-inconsiderable amount of dust, but I scarf them down anyway. Only afterward do I realize it may have been a trap, because what idiot would possibly leave actual, edible food lying out in the wastes?
At least one idiot, it seems, after I’ve walked another couple hours without dying. I think I know exactly who that idiot is … and how this move might not actually be so idiotic, if he knows that I’m following in his footsteps.
Humming under my breath, I keep walking, with a new energy to my steps. The sun may still be hot, my skin still burning, my feet still aching, but that all seems much less important than before. I have it now: a destination. Someone counting on me. Something to aim for.
As I walk, I alternate between thinking of my guns and fantasizing about my hands around the poachers’ throats, slowly squeezing the breath out of both of them in turn. I may have spared them once, but that was before they stole my guns and my bounty and left me to die. Now, it’s personal. I want to hear them beg for their lives.
After another hour of brisk walking and thinking about that begging, I think I’m imagining it when I catch a whisper of voices carried on the wind. I stop and look around. Nothing to see yet, but after another moment, I’m sure I hear a snatch of conversation. My heart jumps as I recognize Jed’s voice—and then Cat’s. My hand moves to my gun, only to grasp at empty air. A good reminder that I need to be cautious, no matter how badly I want to sprint toward the voices and smash my fist into someone’s face until I feel better. I move carefully, crouching low, sweeping my eyes over the wastes around me. There’s nowhere to hide out here, and nowhere to run. It’s very important that I see the poachers before they see me.
But after a few minutes of walking and straining to hear, I have yet to see them or hear more voices. I pick up my pace, frowning, wondering if they managed to lose me somehow or if I really did imagine it. After a couple more minutes and still no sign of them, I walk even more briskly. I should’ve caught up with them by this point, but there’s nothing but the wastes.
Just when I start to panic, I see a lone building ahead. It barely stands, missing its roof and one wall, but it will provide some shelt
er. I half-jog toward it, and to my relief, catch a snippet of voices as I approach. I press myself against one of the walls.
“But I’m tired,” Jed’s distinctive voice complains just on the other side. “Can’t we rest for ten more minutes? And can I get some more water?”
I grin, and a surge of something dangerously close to affection rises inside of me. The truck’s slashed tire, the food left behind, and now this. Jed must have orchestrated it all, giving me the time I needed to catch up to the poachers. I would never have made it without him helping. Thanks to him, both of us have a chance.
“We’ve wasted enough time,” Cat snaps. Judging by the tone, I’m guessing she’s had more than enough of Jed’s shit at this point. “And keep it down. We don’t know who else is out here.”
“Ten more minutes,” Jed insists, followed by the sound of a scuffle.
“No, you—” Cat says. “Don’t lie down! We’re leaving!” A long pause, and then a sigh. “I know you’re not sleeping. Closing your eyes isn’t going to fool me. Get the fuck up.”
It’s far too easy to imagine the irritated look on Cat’s face, listening to her exasperated groans as she presumably tries to get Jed off the ground. No wonder I was able to catch up to them, if he’s being this difficult. He may be completely out of his mind, and damn lucky that the poachers haven’t given up and shot him, but I have to admit I’m impressed.
“Fucking hell,” Cat says finally. “We’re going to have to drag him.”
The sound of more scuffling comes toward me. I duck to the side and crouch down. After a few moments, the trio emerges. The poachers are dragging Jed along the ground behind them, each holding one of his arms. He’s lying completely limp with his eyes shut, making it as difficult as possible for them.
I follow from a distance. I have to stay quite a ways back in order to stay hidden. Luckily, they make it easy enough to follow. Jed’s dragging body leaves distinct marks in the dirt, and he complains loudly every few minutes, his voice carrying across the empty wastes. Honestly, I’m surprised they haven’t attracted more attention than just me. The raiders must have stayed in the Nameless Town for a little while, like Cat guessed they would, but they can’t be too far behind.
As I follow the poachers, my brain works to come up with a plan. Finding them was the easy part. Now I have to take them out and get my guns back. If I had even a single weapon, it’d be easy. But without one, I can’t stand up against two armed hunters. Maybe I can sneak into their camp at night … but even then, it’s risky.
I keep following, turning the situation over in my mind. No matter which angle I approach it from, I can’t see a way to win this fight, even if I have Jed on my side. He’s tied up, I’m running on fumes, and we have zero weapons between us. The only advantage I have is the element of surprise, since they don’t even know I’m still alive, but that can only do so much.
My excitement over stumbling upon the group gradually fades. I can follow them all I want, and Jed can do his damnedest to slow them down, but there’s not much either of us can do aside from that. Even with the scraps of food that Jed left for me, my body is running down, each step harder than the last. I’m weak, definitely not in any state to fight. While there may be a goal in sight, it’s starting to seem like an unobtainable one, and I’m not sure how much longer I can carry on like this.
I find myself lagging farther and farther behind the poachers and Jed. Maybe this is foolish, I think. Maybe I should give up on this chase and try to find a town to resupply in. Cut my losses, focus on staying alive. Jed’s efforts could be enough to help me survive the journey, and maybe that’s the best I can hope for.
When I first hear the voices, I’m too distracted to process them. I’m used to catching snippets of conversation from the poachers. But eventually, it dawns on me that the voices I’m hearing are not familiar ones, nor are they coming from ahead. I stop, turn, and squint at the wastes behind me. I can’t see anyone—but there, again, voices. The words are unintelligible, but they’re definitely men’s voices, coming from behind me.
My fingers once again grasp at the air where my gun should be. My pulse quickens. I force myself to take a deep breath, let it out, and resume walking. I’m in a delicate situation now; I can’t walk too slowly and let whomever is following catch up, and I can’t walk too quickly and stumble into the poachers. At this point, I have to assume that running into either party will result in a bullet in my brain. As I keep walking, with nothing but empty wastes all around, panic creeps up on me. How long can I keep this up? How long until I get too tired to continue, or at least too tired to keep this pace? How long until one of them realizes I’m here? So many ways this could all go to shit.
But soon comes a reprieve in the form of a small cluster of buildings. It’s not a town; these buildings are falling apart, long abandoned. There are no signs that anyone tried to make the place livable, not even any attempts at patching up the holes in the walls. Still, the buildings provide shelter, and I gratefully duck into the closest one. Using crumbling walls and narrow alleys to stay hidden, I can relax my pace. The poachers and Jed are up ahead, still noisy and easy to follow. If I’m bold enough, I realize, I can even wait and see who’s behind me.
And with swiftly waning strength and no end to this journey in sight, I don’t have much to lose. I find a perch atop a wall, with a good view of the streets between buildings. It’s a risky move, but I can’t resist the urge to get a look at whomever is coming. If I’m lucky, it could be a group of townies, fleeing the onslaught of raiders; possibly even a group I could join up with.
The approaching voices get louder and louder, and I fight with the urge to run. Finally, the group comes into sight as they walk between two buildings on the edge of town.
Raiders. It’s obvious at a glance. They’re big and bulky, wielding rusty, bloodstained weapons. I don’t see any guns, but their shitty pipes and knives are still more than I have. They’re a small group, only six of them. They must have split off from the rest of the army. Either they fell behind those who went ahead in vehicles, or they pulled ahead of the mob behind, leaving them isolated. I could probably handle them myself, if I had my guns. Since I don’t, I jump down to the ground and quickly, quietly move to the edge of the ghost town, taking great care not to be spotted.
Defenseless or not, I think I know a way to deal with those raiders. Slowly, carefully, I begin to construct a plan.
When night falls, I’m ready. I follow the poachers until they make camp. They’re smart enough to go without a fire now, and stay quiet in the darkness, but I make sure I know exactly where they are.
I leave them and head for the raider camp. Contrary to the poachers, the raiders are loud and rowdy, with a crackling fire much larger than necessary. They have no fear of the wastes surrounding them—and why should they? They’re bigger and meaner than anyone in the area, myself included. Well, they’re bigger at least, and I’m not much of a threat without my guns.
Yet here I am, creeping closer to their camp, using darkness as my cover. Clutched in my hand is a tin can—left behind by Jed, licked clean by me, and now the only weapon I have.
My heart pounds as I approach, but I won’t let myself panic. I have a plan, I tell myself. This isn’t suicide.
The raiders don’t even check the surrounding area for threats. They’re drowning in overconfidence, and currently wrapped up in a meal: meat, judging by the smell. They eat and talk among themselves, completely at ease.
I get as close as I dare, and push myself to get even closer, so close that my mouth waters at the smell of meat and I can hear one of them chewing with his mouth open. Close enough that, if he were quick enough, one could grab me if he noticed me—but lucky for me, none of them do. I take a deep breath and slowly stand. Still, no one notices me in the darkness. I wind back my arm, and send the can flying.
It smacks right into the side of a man’s head. He grunts and drops his hunk of meat in the dirt.
“What
the fuck?!” the raider shouts, rising to his feet. He turns to glower at his companions. “Which one of you idiots did that?” The others match his confusion, staring at the can on the ground. After a few moments something clicks, and the man’s gaze travels from the fallen can, to the edge of camp, to me, probably barely visible by their fire. The raider’s eyes widen. “Who the hell are you?”
I run. Shouts and footsteps follow me. Good. If they were a little smarter, they might be more wary about following a lone stranger into the darkness. Then again, they probably think I’m just a desperate scavenger trying to steal some food. Either way, their pride won’t let them sit back and wait for me to escape. So, they follow.
I run as hard as I can, but my body is weak from lack of food and water, and soon I’m stumbling and panting for breath. If any of the raiders had guns, I’d be dead right now, but luckily they don’t. I just have to stay a few paces ahead, far enough that they can’t reach me with their fists or weapons. I force my shaking legs to keep moving—just a little farther. A little farther. I’m almost there.
As I see my target I gain a final burst of adrenaline, and hurtle right into the heart of the poachers’ camp.
They turn their guns on me in an instant. Cat bares her teeth in a snarl. Bird turns her head one way and another, scrutinizing me through her goggles like she doesn’t quite believe what she’s seeing. Jed, tied up on the ground and looking like he just woke up from a nap, smiles.
“Clementine!” he says cheerfully, apparently unconcerned by the fact I now have two very big guns pointed at me.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Cat shouts, while I pant for breath. “Guess you really do have a death wish. And I’m more than happy to—”
She cuts off as a half dozen raiders charge in behind me.
For a moment there’s a pause—a long pause, as the raiders and the poachers stare at one another across the camp, mirroring the others’ bewilderment. As they stare, I drop to the ground. A moment later, the shooting begins.
Raid Page 11
