"Yeah, you're probably right about that. We could all end up on a spit if we go back empty handed, without the dog. I'm pretty sure I cut him bad earlier when he attacked us; he can't have gone that far. What was the old guy calling him again?"
"Scruff. Or Scruffy. Something like that."
A whistle burst then a coaxing shout. "Scruff. Here boy. Come on Scruffy, we ain't gonna hurt ya."
The dog growls quietly again, and I scratch him even harder. We don't need him barking and giving away our position.
"Oi! You still got the kid's sweater? Wave it around a bit. Maybe the scent will draw him to us."
If the conversation we just overheard isn't proof enough as to the identity of "Scruff's" pursuers, the sight of them as they’re finally illuminated by the moon verifies it. Ravagers. All dressed in their attack skins. Literally. Like olden day hunters who would wear coats and hats made from their prey, ravagers wore the skins of their conquests as well. Layers and layers of human skins, worn about their shoulders like a cloak of honor. Or horror depending on how you looked at it. Some of them even wore necklaces of dismembered ears or fingers, sometimes teeth; whatever appealed to their fucking sick fetishes. The dog shivering beside me is more human than those creatures, of that there’s no doubt.
Question is, what are they doing out here in the middle of nowhere? Ravager’s hunting grounds are usually confined to people trapping in the city. Out here the population’s too sparse. You could go for weeks and not see anything other than leeches. Kind of hard to hunt when there’s no prey. Plus we knew the names of all the ravager leaders in the city. We’d heard enough horror stories from the odd survivor. Gunner is definitely not a name we’ve heard before. Which means these are probably no city ravagers. Trust us to be lucky enough to stumble across the country bumpkin’s version.
We stay silent as they pass by, still yelling to the dog and waving something around in the air. I eyeball Luke to see if we’re going to do anything about the offending pieces of shit, but he shakes his head at me through the gloom. Seriously? I don't agree with his decision, but I don't argue the point. We let them pass by unharmed. Scruff however, has other plans. He lets out a pitiful whine then takes off like a shot, blending into the dark. Gordon's urgent whispers don't do any good. The dog is gone.
We wait for the voices to fade before we climb back onto the road.
"Fuck me, are there no more normal people left in this world?" Kelly questions quietly, as he stares after the ravagers.
"Normal isn't a reality anymore," I whisper back.
"I agree," Dom says, causing me to do a double take. "We should have popped those bastards. A few less flesh eaters to worry about."
"No, they would have been more trouble than they’re worth." Luke responds. "We have a job to do. Let’s just stick with the plan and get it done."
I stare at Luke like I didn't quite hear him right. "You heard what they said, yeah? They have an old guy and a kid they’re planning on roasting tonight. A kid, Luke! We have to find them and help them."
"No, Whitman is right, we can't afford to get involved. We need to get to the warehouse and take care of our own problem." Wentworth interjects, and I turn my glare on him.
"Those ravagers are our problem. We have to do something. Don't you agree?"
I look to the others, hoping for some backup. I get it from the most unexpected source.
"Bixby’s right. We have to help save those people. If we stand by and do nothing, then we’re no better than those cannibals ourselves."
Great. Just what I need. Backup from the bimbo. Better than nothing, I guess.
"Right. What she said. Come on, don't be a bunch of dickheads. You know this is the right thing to do."
"Girl, don't be so fucking stupid. You know it doesn't make sense to get involved. We don't know how many of them there are, how well armed they are. Why tangle with ravagers when we don't have to? Let’s just stay out of their way and continue on with the damn mission."
Wentworth is seriously starting to piss me off. I step closer and stare him in the face.
"Call me 'girl' or 'stupid' again and it won't be just ravagers you'll have to tangle with tonight."
He glares back, lowering his head to mine.
"You threatening me, Bixby?" His rancid breath nearly makes me gag, but I don't back away.
"Okay, that's enough you two. Knock it off."
Luke grabs me by the shoulder, but I shake it off angrily. Taking a deep breath, I force myself to drop my gaze from Wentworth and turn my back to him. We really don't have time for this.
"Thor to the rescue...like always," I hear Dom mutter under his breath to Wentworth and their combined laughter drives me over the edge.
"You know what...fuck you two idiots!" I whirl on them, knives drawn. I'm not sure what I was planning on doing, but I don't anything. An unholy scream of terror cuts through the air, shattering the night's quiet.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The scream freezes us in place for a bit. But we know exactly what it is. The sound of human suffering is unmistakable. The ravagers are preparing their dinner.
"Luke, for Christ's sake," I plead, staring into his eyes. We can't just let this happen.
"Fuck!" he hisses, his internal struggle clearly showing on his face. Another scream rents the air. "Dammit! Okay, stay together," he warns, decision made. He turns and runs in the direction of the screaming, the rest of us close on his heels. I can hear Wentworth and Dom bitching about what a bad idea this is, but they follow just like the rest of us.
The screams die out just as abruptly as they had begun, but it doesn't take us long to find the campsite. We simply follow the increasingly rancid air; a fetid combination of charcoal and burnt meat. The odor scorches my nose and my stomach churns violently. The smell is disgusting, and more than that, it certainly means we’re too late to save one of the captives. I desperately hope it's not the kid we find roasting over the flames. I don't think I could handle that.
We creep silently through the woods, the light of the ravager's camp fire flickering like dancing fireflies through the trees. Thankfully, the morning rain had saturated the mossy floor, preventing the dead giveaway of crunching dried leaves or twigs underfoot. We need all the upper-hand we can get against these wily bastards.
What we finally stumble upon is enough to shock the most hardened of hunters. Ten or twelve ravagers lounging around a wide fire pit in the open field, the spit above the flames hanging heavy with what is unmistakably a human leg. I can hear Gordon's muffled cry of shock and disgust right next to me.
Searching for the poor bastard who had once been attached to the leg, I find the old man lying prone on the ground about four feet from the ring of human monstrosities. An empty space where his leg should have been only enhances the shock value of the bloodied stump at his crotch, wrapped tightly with a rope tourniquet. And just like the earlier ravagers had said, we see a kid as well. Her head is bent over the old mans, a long braid hiding her face from us. Not quite sure if she is praying or offering comfort, but the white knuckled grip she has on the old guy’s shoulders tells me she’s terrified.
"Jesus!" Luke whispers in my right ear, making me start. I didn't realize he was so near.
"About a dozen of them, eight of us. Pretty good odds I think. Let’s just pick 'em off, nice and easy. The old guy is beyond our help but we can at least save the girl."
Yeah. I know I'm suggesting to Luke that we kill them. But it doesn't bother me in the least. The guilt I feel every time at taking out a leech doesn't apply to these...things. The infected have no choice in their fate. These bastards chose to become monsters. They revel in it. They deserve no sympathy as far as I’m concerned.
"Agreed. Bix, you, me, Mike and Wentworth, take the ones on the left. The rest of you take the ones on the right. Gordo, soon as you see it's safe, get in there and scoop up the girl. Got it?"
There's no response from Gordon.
"Gordon?" Luke whispers again, a
nd I crane my neck looking for him. I could have sworn he was right next to me.
"Hello, hello," a voice booms into the night. "Looking for this?"
A beam of light explodes into the darkness, blinding us momentarily. Squinting into the light, my heart drops to my gut as my eyes finally focus on Gordon's terrified face and the knife blade at his throat.
Instinctively I pull my gun.
"Now, now, none of that. Put your weapons down if you don't want the boy to be wearing his own blood necktie."
What the hell? Had we just walked right into a ravager trap? Fucking unbelievable.
None of us do as the voice orders, however. We wait with our weapons drawn. Although we can't see beyond the blinding light, no doubt their weapons are targeting us as well. I glance at Luke for our next move. He glares into the light his face twisted with a palpable anger.
"Well, well, looks like we have ourselves a good ol' fashioned Mexican standoff." The voice behind the light hardens. "I'm not going to say it again. Put down your weapons or else I slice the kid’s throat."
I count four flashlights pointing our way. Four. We can take them, I think. Don't do it, Luke. I try to force my thoughts into his head telepathically as my finger tenses on the trigger. The flashlights are blinding us on purpose and keeping our attackers in shadow, but I know we can take them. What’s Luke waiting for?
Our hesitation must piss the ravager off because he takes it out on the kid. The knife digs into Gordon's neck, and a bead of blood slowly starts forming at the contact point. I know he doesn't mean to do it, but a tiny whimper escapes him and it rips at my heart. FUCK! So stupid. How did we let this happen?
Luke hears it too.
"Let the kid go now, or we blow your fucking heads off." Luke's voice is cold steel, his gun rock steady in his hand. I’m not the least bit afraid he’ll miss his target and hit Gordon by accident. He's too good for that. I actually grin to myself in the dark. That ravager is so fucking toast. I take careful aim on the next beam, knowing every shot has to count.
The muzzle pressing on the back of my head changes everything.
"Put your weapons down nice and slow, or I'll pop her head like a balloon."
Every fiber of my being is yelling at me to drop the bastard at my back. Every instinct to fight back. Luke's eyes switch from Gordon, to the gun at my head. I can see the panic in his face even though he quickly tries to hide it.
No, no, no, no, I scream at him in my head. Don't you dare! Do not let them get the upper hand.
"Don't do it," I hiss at Luke, but the look of terror in his eyes tells me he's wrestling with his choices.
"I mean it. Drop the damn guns, or she's dead. Her and the boy."
"For Christ's sakes Luke, do as they say," Mike's anguished voice floats out of the gloom. He can't take seeing his kid brother at the mercy of that ravager any longer.
Luke's eyes lock onto mine. I drop, you take him out. I can see the indecisiveness flit across his face. Yes! It worked. He's going to do it. I get ready to drop.
The gun clicks at my neck.
"Okay! Okay. Don't hurt them."
No, dammit. He's caving. We could’ve taken them.
Complying, he drops his gun and steps back, hands in the air. I do not. Unlike the rest of my crew, my weapon stays tight in my hand. The gun presses harder against the base of my neck.
"Throw it down, bitch." The voice growls at me.
"Why don't you go fuck yourself, asshat," I grunt back, pissed that Luke had given in so easily. "Or is your dick too small to even please yourself?"
I don't think the ravager shares my sense of humor. The whack to the back of my head is enough to send me to my knees. The gun falls from my grip as I use my hands to brace myself from face-planting the ground.
I'm not sure what happens next. The scuffling and shouting is muddled in my brain as I shake my head, trying to clear away the wooziness. Screams pierce my ears as Doc Blondie gets dragged past me, kicking and screaming for all she’s worth. The backpack is ripped from my back, nearly tearing my arm out of joint. Then, excruciating pain as I'm grabbed by the hair of my head and literally dragged out of the trees and through the field.
I'm thrown so close to the fire, I can feel its heat scorch my arm. My stomach rolls violently; not sure if it's to do with the overwhelming smell of the roasting leg or the blow to the head. On my hands and knees, a pair of filthy hiking boots walks into my line of vision. They stop right at my head.
"Hmm, what do we have here? Stand up," the voice commands.
"Fuck you," I whisper, still fighting the urge to keep my stomach contents from spilling all over the ground. Not that it would have bothered me in the least to puke all over his damn boots, but I don't want to show them any sign of weakness.
"Pick her up," the voice orders, and I'm grabbed on either side and yanked upright. Invasive hands run over my body, poking and prodding far too long at my lady parts.
"Enjoying yourself, Jerkoff?" I sneer at the double vision in front of me. This only results in slowing down the exploratory process. Smart move, Brainiac, I scold myself as I grit my teeth and endure the humiliating procedure. Obviously these monsters liked to play with their food. Finding and confiscating the knives at my back, the hands finally leave me be.
My sense of equilibrium is way off balance. If it weren't for Thing One and Thing Two on either side holding me up, I would probably have fallen already. The world around me spins dizzyingly. I shake my head a bit more and blink my eyes until the multiple visions finally merge into one entity.
What the hell? Despite my precarious position, the sight of the little twat in front of me makes me giggle-snort like some schoolkid.
He’s so short! At least three inches shorter than me, and sporting a shaved head with a green Mohawk, of all damned things. The stupid thing has to be at least 4 inches high; trying to add to his sense of height maybe? His face is painted with different colors, like Indians in war paint from those old Saturday morning Western movies. His nose, lips, and ears are pierced with silver rings, attached by two chains on either side. Around his shoulders, he wears a mottled fur jacket of some kind, bare patches showing through where the fur had worn away. Gold chains around his neck and gaudy knuckle rings on both hands, adds to the garish image. To top it off, he leans casually against a gold tipped cane, legs crossed like he’s about to burst into a tap dance. He looks like some mad cross between a crazy-ass pimp and a bad 80's rapper.
I can't help it. Maybe it’s the blow to the head, but the laughter spews out of me like the vomit threatened to do earlier.
He watches me, tapping his fingers rhythmically on the cane, until my laughter subsides.
"Something amuses you?" he asks quietly, eyes narrowed.
I nod. "Yeah you, Pipsqueak. I didn't know they were holding auditions today for Mad Max extras."
A loud groan from my left pulls my attention to the rest of my crew. Luke, Gordon, Kelly, Wentworth, Mike, and Dom. All forced on their knees, hands zipped tied in front. These bastards didn't waste any time. A line of ravagers stand behind them, guns at their backs. Oh shit.
The groan had come from Luke. He stares at me now with wide eyes, shaking his head. I know what he’s trying to tell me. Don't be stupid. Keep your mouth shut! Too late.
About to turn my attention back to pimp-daddy I do a double take over my crew, and a little spark of hope starts to ignite in my chest. Kingsley isn't among them! Had he managed to escape their notice? Is he somewhere in those trees right now planning our rescue?
Doc Blondie stands beside me and my captors, her eyes glazed over with fear and whimpering like a lost child. Why are we being kept separated from the boys? I have a bad feeling in my gut that this is not a good thing.
"She's funny." Mad Max/pimp guy says as he looks around exaggeratedly at his men, pointing my way. "Isn't she funny?"
They rest of them start braying like a pack of hound dogs at his question. He steps closer, still smiling at me. I expect
to see a grill covering his teeth. I mean no self-respecting, pimp-daddy rapper would be seen without one, right? But all I see is his black teeth and bleeding gums. Ewwww.
"You're funny," he breathes on me, a rancid wave of rotting meat and I want to vomit all over again. Then just like that, the smile drops from his face. The hyena laughter around me stops as abruptly as it begun. Uh-oh. I try to back up, but the two holding my arms keep me locked in place.
"You know what else is funny?" He pulls a wickedly serrated knife from inside his pimp coat and holds it up, examining it in the glow of the fire. I feel my knees go weak just at the sight of it. Then slowly he pulls open my coat, hooking the top of the knife into the neck of my t-shirt. "Watching smart mouthed bitches like you, scream and cry like little girls as I flay them alive."
With a vicious yank he slices my tee and tank top underneath, straight down to my belly button. The cold air on my breasts and stomach is as shocking to my system as being dipped in ice water. But the cold has no effect on the raging inferno of hate building in my stomach.
I hear a shout from Luke, followed by a sickening thunk and the ravagers yell of "Stay down!" I glance over. Luke is struggling back to his knees as best as he can with his tied hands, a river of blood flowing down his cheek. The stupid bastard had obviously tried to come to my rescue and had gotten himself cold-cocked for his effort. His worried eyes stare into mine as his guard yanks his head back by his hair. Oh, you are so going to pay for that, ravager!
Pimp-daddy stares over at him, a smirk showing his enjoyment of the situation all too well.
"What's the matter, Gigantor? Is this bothering you? Is she your woman?" He throws his head back and laughs, like he finds this all so amusing.
"I'm no man's 'woman', dickwad!" I say to him, hoping desperately Luke doesn't do anything else stupid.
Pimp-daddy looks back at me, one bushy eyebrow cocked. "No? Then I guess it won't bother him in the least if I do this?"
Strain of Resistance (Book 1) Page 15
