Raid

by K. S. Merbeth

  “You literally burn people inside their homes if they disagree with you,” I say, my hands clenching into fists. “We’re nothing alike.”

  “Okay, so, a minor disagreement about methods.”

  “And you think tyranny is the way to make the world a better place.”

  He frowns at that.

  “I just don’t get it,” he says. “The towns under my care have rules. And protection. And of course I demand a little something in return, but I think that’s really quite reasonable.”

  “Reasonable,” I repeat flatly.

  “I’m not a cruel man. I just do what I have to do. The same as you, Clementine.”

  He says it so calmly, so casually, as if it’s not even in question. As if the things he’s done are truly reasonable—things like burning Old Creek to the ground. Rage rises inside me, and I barely keep myself from wrapping my hands around his throat. The only thing that stops me is the knowledge that he surely has someone outside, waiting to intervene if he’s in trouble. When I decide to kill Jedediah, I want to make sure I succeed.

  “You’re fucking insane,” I tell him. “And I’m going to kill you when I get a chance.”

  Jedediah stares at me for a moment, and then throws back his head and laughs. He keeps laughing as he stands up and moves toward the door. When he’s almost there, he finally stops and looks back at me, shaking his head.

  “You’re not going to kill me,” he says, still smiling. He says it with such confidence that I don’t know how to react other than with an incredulous stare. “Anyway, I suppose it doesn’t really matter if you agree or not. I don’t need your help. I’ve already won.”

  I stay silent as he walks to the door, steps outside, and locks it.

  “We’ll see,” I whisper to myself in the darkness of my cell.

  The next morning, Jedediah’s crew stomps around and shouts to one another outside. The words are indecipherable, but they sound busy. I sit and listen carefully, even walk up to the door and press my ear against it in an attempt to hear better, but I gather nothing other than the fact that a lot of movement and noise is happening. After a few minutes, I retreat back to the basement floor to wait. There’s nothing else I can do.

  Soon the door opens, and Tiny walks down the stairs. A rope hangs from his hands. I stand and back against the wall, my hands curling into fists. I don’t give a damn that Tiny is twice my size, and that he’ll undoubtedly beat the shit out of me. Whatever he wants to do to me with that rope, there’s no way I’m letting it happen without a fight.

  The raider descends to the bottom of the stairs, where he stops, rope dangling from his hands. We stare each other down, and he wraps an end of the rope around one massive hand.

  “Wrists,” he says, and demonstrates holding them out. I shake my head—that’s better than a noose, but not much better. He steps forward, and I step to the side. He sighs, and raises his free hand to rub at his forehead.

  “I’m guessing you have orders not to hurt me,” I say, and spit at his feet. “Good luck with that.”

  He looks down at his spittle-covered boot impassively, sighs again, and walks back up the stairs without further argument. I stay where I am, bracing myself for whatever comes next.

  A few minutes later, Tiny returns with Jedediah behind him. The bastard’s usual blasé demeanor is gone for once. He moves quickly down the stairs and stops there, staring at me and tapping one foot against the floor. I set my jaw and glare at him.

  “Okay, what’s the issue here?” he asks, running a hand through his hair. Tiny stands behind him with the rope in hand, waiting silently. Jedediah looks at him, and at me. When nobody says anything, he throws his hands up with a groan. “Both of you seriously need to work on your verbal communication skills,” he mutters, and focuses on me. “Okay, Clem, so here’s the deal. I like you, I respect you, and all of that jazz, but I’m afraid I simply must insist on tying you up for the journey.”

  A journey. So that’s what this all the noise is about. I want to ask where we’re going, but I won’t trust whatever answer he gives anyway.

  “Not gonna happen,” I say.

  “This is really unfair,” he says, in a voice like he’s scolding me. “You dragged me around in ropes for days, Clementine. Days. It’s really uncomfortable, you know. And I’m just asking for a few hours in return.” I merely glare at him in response. After a moment, he turns and grabs the rope out of Tiny’s hands. “Would it make you feel better if I did it myself?” he asks, taking a step toward me. I don’t move, which he seems to take as encouragement, moving forward and raising the ropes.

  I stay completely still until he’s just a step away. As soon as he’s close enough, I smash my fist into his jaw. His head jolts to the side, and he swears, stumbling back. I lunge forward again—and a goddamn truck slams into me.

  That’s what it feels like, at least. I’m smashed facedown on the floor, breath forced out of my chest. I try to struggle, but my arms are pinned down by an ironlike grip. I can barely move, barely breathe with my face pressed against the concrete.

  “Careful with her,” Jedediah says from somewhere above me. “She barely got me. I’m fine.”

  Barely got him, my ass. It may not have been my best punch—didn’t knock him out this time, after all—but I’m sure he’ll have a bruise to show for it. When Tiny loosens his hold on me just a bit, I take full advantage of it by resuming my struggles. He’s no longer crushing me against the floor, but he keeps my arms tightly pinned. With all of my struggling, I barely manage to lift my face off the concrete, which just gives me a better view of Jedediah crouched in front of me. He holds one hand against his face, but he doesn’t look angry, just vaguely frustrated. The rope dangles loosely from his grip.

  “Oh, Clementine,” he says, rubbing his jaw. “You really do like to make things difficult, huh?” When I say nothing, he raises his eyes to Tiny and nods. “Okay, hold her.”

  I struggle the entire time they spend tying me, though it does nothing, especially since I’m starting to lose the feeling in my hands due to Tiny’s grip. When he finally releases me, I drop to the floor, breathing hard. I wriggle my hands, testing the binds, and can barely move my fingers.

  “Good work,” Jedediah says, fist-bumping Tiny. He smiles at me. “Hold tight, I’ll be back soon.”

  They leave me tied on the floor, simmering in my anger, for five minutes. Finally, Tiny returns to retrieve me. I guess I should consider it a compliment, that Jedediah would dedicate his biggest crew member to personally escort me. Despite my boiling frustration, I know better than to fuck with him, especially after that display of strength before. He’s a bit rougher with me after witnessing me punch his boss in the face, dragging me along by one arm with a grip that will leave bruises, but I keep my mouth shut and my face blank.

  Outside, I wince at the brightness of the sun. A couple days in a basement was almost enough to make me forget about the intense light and heat, already at a sweltering level at this point of the day. A bead of sweat trickles down my forehead. Never thought I would miss being cooped up in that basement, but this is a reminder that the wastes are just as shitty.

  Tiny drags me through the eerily quiet town. The crew has cleaned out the bodies from the last fight, leaving behind nothing but dust and useless junk. While other raiders might leave a mess, Jedediah’s crew is thorough and efficient, leaving an empty ghost town in its wake.

  The crew waits on the edge of town, lounging around the vehicles. Some are seated on the hoods or leaning against the sides of their cars, others sitting on the ground or standing around in clumps, most of them talking among themselves and roughhousing. There’s an atmosphere of thinly veiled energy and excitement—whatever Jedediah has planned, they seem pretty thrilled about it. I listen as we approach, straining for a hint about where we’re headed. Are we going “home,” to the eastern wastes? Or somewhere else entirely? I hear nothing that helps me guess.

  As Jedediah approaches, the crew snaps to at
tention instantaneously. Their conversations die, their postures straighten, and anyone seated scrambles to their feet. The friendly banter and play fighting dies down, and their eyes all move to watch him. They stand, and listen, and wait for instruction. The immediate shift is almost absurd, and all at the approach of a single, rather scrawny man who is humming cheerfully to himself as he walks.

  I have to marvel at the hold Jedediah has over his crew, the seemingly effortless authority he exudes. These men and women are all hardened raiders. Every one of them is bigger than him, older than him, or at the very least tougher than him. Most look like they could snap their leader in half with one arm tied behind their back. And yet, they all look at him with such deep respect—perhaps even awe. They look at him like he’s more than a crew leader. I can see why they call him a king.

  “All right, boys and girls, we all good here?” Jedediah asks, looking around. Despite my surprise about his crew’s behavior, he acts completely casual. I suppose he’s grown to expect it at this point. “All buildings cleared out, all bodies searched, all crew members accounted for?” Several crew members mutter assent, some variations of “yes boss” and “all covered,” and Jedediah nods with a satisfied grin. “Great. Let’s move out.” He swirls a finger in the air, and they move to obey.

  I still have no clue where we’re going, but apparently everyone else does, because there are no questions asked as everyone piles into the vehicles. One by one, the roars of the engines start up. Tiny, Jedediah, and I are the last to pile in, squished up against one another in the backseat of a car. I’m forced to sit in the middle.

  Tiny sits on one side, stoic as usual and keeping his eyes fixed on me like he’s expecting me to try something even with my wrists tied. He takes up so much space that he practically fills two seats, forcing me to squish up against Jedediah in the seat and a half left over. I try to wriggle away, but there’s nowhere to go. At odds with Tiny’s seriousness, Jedediah bounces in his seat, alternating between staring out the window and shooting me grins. He seems to expect me to share in whatever he’s pleased about, though I’m far from happy and haven’t a fucking clue what’s going on.

  The ride is completely silent, with the exception of Jedediah occasionally asking a question—usually some variation of “How much longer?” or “Are we almost there?” The two raiders sitting up front repeatedly remind him we’ll be there tomorrow. Jedediah keeps looking at me, practically begging me to show some curiosity, but I don’t give him the satisfaction. It’s not like I can change where we’re headed, or that the knowledge will do me any good. No matter where we go, my goal is the same: to kill this madman before his bullshit plan gets any further. Wherever we go, I’ll find a way. So, I’m perfectly content to stay silent, especially if there’s any chance that it will upset Jedediah.

  We travel all day. I steal an occasional glance out the window, careful not to seem too interested, but never see anything other than empty wastes. It’s impossible for me to tell where we’re going, and nobody drops any hints. Even Jedediah quiets down after a while, and then dozes off. Tiny, as usual, remains silent.

  When we stop for the night, they move me to the trunk. I fight and kick, scuffling with Tiny as he drags me out of my seat. But in the end, the fight drains out of me, and Tiny carries me and dumps me in the trunk without much effort. Jedediah stands beside him, looking down at me. I glare at him, trying to channel as much hate as I can into my gaze.

  “Sorry about this,” Jedediah says. His expression makes a good show of genuine regret, though I know better than to believe anything he says or does at this point. “But, well … you know how it is.” He blows me a kiss, and Tiny slams the trunk shut.

  In the darkness, I will myself not to break down. It’s cramped in here, and uncomfortable, and the air tastes stale … but the physical discomfort is nothing in comparison to the overwhelming sense of humiliation. It’s been a long time since I’ve been made to feel like a helpless child, and the feeling claws and chews at my insides. My chest feels tight, and my eyes burn. I shut them, forcing back any hint of tears. Like hell am I going to give Jedediah the satisfaction of knowing he’s gotten to me. I just need to be patient. Bide my time. And when the opportunity comes, I’ll fucking kill him for doing this to me.

  In the morning, I’m more sore than ever, my old lingering injuries added to the fresh bruising from my scuffle with Tiny. I inadvertently wince as the huge man drags me out of the trunk, but cover it with a scowl. I put up a struggle, though it’s an admittedly pathetic one. Once I’m planted back in my seat, though, exhaustion takes hold. Despite my intentions of being difficult, I soon doze off.

  “We’re here!”

  Jed’s cheerful announcement jolts me awake. I raise my head and look around, trying to gather my wits in preparation for whatever is in store. But nothing could prepare me for what I see when I’m half-dragged out of the vehicle. I stand there, blinking in the sunlight and staring up at what is apparently our destination.

  “What the fuck is this?” I ask. The building is a fucking mansion, huge and imposing and absurdly luxurious for the wastes … especially the western wastes. I didn’t know a place like this could survive in this violent cluster-fuck of a region. I’ve never seen anything like it before. The only thing that comes close is Jedediah’s home in Wormwood, but even that pales in comparison to whatever the hell this place is. At least Jedediah’s place is functional, practical, more of a fortress than anything. This place is a goddamn palace. There’s nothing functional about it—no fence, no guard towers, no gates. It’s like whoever set this place up was so cocky they thought they’d never have to worry about defending it.

  “This,” Jedediah says, grinning up at the building and radiating pride, “is the former dwelling of the former Queen of the Wastes, or so they say. Supposedly, she was the big boss in the west before Saint came along and shook things up.” He looks over his shoulder at me and his crew, who are exiting their vehicles and joining me in staring. They may have known where they were headed, but judging by the looks and whispers, they weren’t prepared for this either. Jedediah is nothing but pleased, throwing his arms wide as if to embrace the sprawling palace. “And now, it’s mine.”

  A rather unimpressed silence follows the announcement.

  “Never heard of this so-called queen,” I say. Jedediah turns to frown at me, and then at his men who seem similarly lost. He lowers his arms and sighs.

  “Seriously?” he asks. “The fucking Queen, guys! She was a huge deal! People said all roads lead to her palace, she was stunningly beautiful and widely beloved, etcetera? She disappeared a short while ago and nobody knows why? None of this ringing any bells?”

  He looks around at his men, who shrug and shift uncomfortably. Finally, though, Eyepatch brightens up.

  “Oh, oh, is she the one who bathed in blood to stay beautiful forever?” he asks.

  “Y’know, I have heard that,” Jedediah says, nodding. “And that she had some way of purifying water, but that one’s gotta be bullshit. You know how these things get twisted up.” He shrugs, and turns back to the huge palace. “Anyway,” he says, “the point is, this place is fucking awesome. It’s the perfect home for the new ruler of the western wastes.”

  XXV

  The New King

  This place may be impressive on the outside, but the inside is like something out of a horrifying fever dream. The Queen’s former abode was clearly once luxurious, but apparently the Queen losing her throne was not a peaceful matter. Now the place reeks of death and fear. The front doors are ripped off their hinges. The entrance room is coated in blood, the paintings on the wall splattered with it, the tile’s color indistinguishable between the bloodstains and the dust blown through the open doors. A toppled statue rests in the middle of the room, riddled with bullet holes. And of course, there are the bodies, decomposing in the heat. The place reeks of rotting flesh, so thick that I choke on it.

  Jedediah’s crew is quiet and grim as they enter th
e building, guns at the ready, expecting trouble. But Jedediah strolls ahead, humming loudly as he walks through the carnage. Tiny drags me along just behind his leader, following as Jedediah walks right over the grisly scene at the entrance and through a set of ripped-apart double doors on the other side.

  Through those doors is the throne room. I recognize it only by the huge painting on the wall, depicting a gorgeous woman seated on a dignified chair. The Queen and her throne, I presume. Now, though, the room is less defined by the throne than by the piles of bodies.

  Whatever happened in here, it must’ve been huge and wild and vicious, and of course there was no one left to clean any of it up afterward. There are bodies everywhere, some evidently raiders and others wearing a crown emblem, along with other unidentifiable wastelanders. Jedediah picks his way among the half-decomposed bodies, making his way to the center of the room, where he stops abruptly. He turns in a circle, surveying the room, and stops facing us. He spreads his hands wide once more.

  “Ta-da!” he says. “Our new headquarters.”

  His words echo around the room, emphasizing just how silent and dead this place is. His crew shifts uneasily, much more disturbed by the carnage than their leader is. Jedediah’s smile fades, and he lowers his hands.

  “Don’t you love it?” he asks, puzzled.

  “Er, yeah, it’s great, boss,” Eyepatch says. He clears his throat. “It’s just … a bit messy.”

  “We’re going to clean it up, of course. The place stinks,” Jedediah says with a roll of his eyes. “Well, rather, you guys are going to clean it up. I have other important things to do. Plan-making for conquering and such.” He turns his back to us and finishes his stroll across the room, where he plops down onto a dilapidated wooden chair. After a moment, I realize that must be the throne, though it looks absolutely nothing like the portrait on the wall behind it. It’s just a shoddy wooden thing, one leg half-broken so the whole thing slants forward, and clearly has never been as grand as the throne in the picture. Jedediah leans back in the chair, placing his hands on the armrests and crossing his legs at the ankle. He looks very, very pleased with himself. “See? It’s perfect.”