The picture spun in the air, hovered there for a moment, and in a sudden, efficient movement, Cory snatched it between his fingers before it fell more than a few inches.
“Impressive,” Jax said. He stepped back and stuck the cigarette in his mouth, letting it hang on his bottom lip. His grin widened.
“We all done here, boys?”
Getting a series of nods from his men, he returned to stand before Jesse. He blew out a cloud of smoke. Jesse coughed and turned away.
“Zeb, you all done searching that car?” Jax asked from the corner of his mouth.
“Yeah. Dibs. I call dibs.”
“Dibs? What are you, five?”
“No, I just want—”
“You'll get what I say you get. And that's final,” Jax said.
He stuck his finger on Jesse's chest. “Now back in the car with you. When we leave, you follow. You stray even a little we will gut-shot you and leave you on the side of the road for the raptors. Hear me?”
Nodding slowly, Jesse pointed at Cory, then the car.
“Yeah, vampire-boy can ride with you. Just don't forget. You screw up, you die. Got it?”
Jesse remained silent.
“Wait,” one of Jax's men said. “We gonna add them? No one knows 'em yet, and they look like they can run and fight.”
“Maybe,” Jax said. He stroked his beard and headed for the lead car.
Jesse and Cory climbed into the GTO while the other men jumped into the truck. One guy leapt over the truck's rear gate and squatted in the load bed. He leveled his rifle at Jesse and smiled. Then he spat over the side. Jax left the side of the truck, tossing away his cigarette butt upon reaching the sedan. He got in and stuck an arm out the window, waving for everyone to follow.
“You knew this would happen,” Cory said when no one else could overhear.
“No, no, I didn't,” Jesse replied. He was telling the truth, just not the entire truth.
“Bullshit,” Cory said, carefully folding the picture in his hand. He stuffed it away inside his jacket. “The piles? They were bait, right? You were following them looking for these guys.”
Jesse wanted to nod, but didn't. He was certain the corpses were being used as bait, just as he had told Cory earlier. This group appeared to be luring the raptors somewhere—perhaps to be slaughtered—an idea he could easily get behind. Yes, he'd lied to Cory a little, but it was for a good reason.
The truck pulled away. Jesse started the car and followed. The man in the truck's load bed kept his rifle pointed at the GTO's windshield, but moved to sit on a box and rested his back against the cab. Jesse followed the truck, driving through a series of destroyed structures until coming to another split in the road. He checked on Cory, knowing he needed to smooth things over with him.
“That's the road we'll take to get to your bunker when we're done with this. I promise you, once we have Eve and Kate back, I'll take you there personally. In fact, I promise you I'll do it, swear it. Deal?”
Cory did not respond and continued to stare forward. Jesse twisted his hands on the steering wheel, feeling the smoothness of the old plastic on his palms and the rounded, teeth-like bumps under his fingers. He would help Cory as he'd promised, but getting to Kate and Eve took precedence over everything else.
They drove on for another two hours, passing hundreds of abandoned cars along the way. Most of the road had been cleared and the wrecks pushed aside. At a small turnoff to a gas station, the men in the truck stopped to dump another, smaller pile of raptor corpses alongside the road. During the entire drive, Cory did not utter a single word. He was obviously pissed, but he was trapped, which was right where Jesse wanted him.
Eventually, they came to a steel gate flanked by a yellow school bus on one side and a former Greyhound bus on the other. Men with assault rifles stood on top of the two buses. Off to the left and right were twenty-foot tall walls made from heavy-gauge steel panels. A spiraling coil of razor wire ran along the top edge with lights every thirty or so feet. The front gate had metal spikes welded to it that went up to the height of a man. Above the gate, on a billboard sign, was the familiar rising sun logo painted in yellow on a black background.
“This is it,” Jesse said. “You with me?”
Cory did not respond.
“Okay, fine, then plan on getting killed. I'm going to get them out of here whether you are with me or not.”
An engine started up behind the walls, puffing black smoke. The steel gate slowly creaked open. Jesse let off the brake and followed the car and truck through the gap. As they got deeper inside the compound, a crowd started to form around the car. Soon it grew into more people than he had seen in any one place since leaving the refugee camp in Texas behind. His pulse raced, and he felt the first tingles of sweat forming on his face, but as he reworked his grip on the steering wheel, he knew he could do it.
He'd get them back.
If they were still alive.
The crowd shifted and pulled away from the GTO. A man and his two companions stepped past the ringed horde. The man was familiar somehow. Strangely familiar. Jesse couldn't place it, though. Something about the way the man walked. His face was half melted, almost like plastic set too near to a flame. The entire right side was covered in shiny white scar tissue, and the other side was splotched with pink and brown marks. The eye on the scared side was milky-white, just like a hard-boiled egg. The man stopped at the head of the crowd and folded his arms across his chest.
Jesse got out of the car. He put his arm out to shake the man's hand, wanting to appear friendly and open.
“Who the hell are you?” the man asked.
Jesse paused a beat. He smiled. “Hey there,” he said. “I'm a… Jesse, this is Cory. We're from California. We come in peace, man.”
The scarred man did not shake. Instead, he held his hand up, palm forward, and squinted his one good eye in suspicion.
Jesse picked up where he left off, ignoring the rejection. “We were told you guys knew how to party. We're all about that. They said you had women and booze here.”
“So, what's it to you?” the scar-faced man said.
“Well,” Jesse said, spreading his arms wide and twisting left and right, “we're here to bang bitches and kill raptors.”
“What about him?”
“Who, him? That him? That's Cory. He's the silent type. But he's one bad-assed mother. Took out thirty raptors once. All by himself. You should see—”
“Shut up.”
Jesse clamped his mouth shut, feigning shock. His heart was pounding so hard in his throat, he worried the scarred man might notice.
Play it cool, Jesse, play it cool.
“So what's your name, friend?” he asked.
The scarred man stared at him.
Jax came over to join them. He grunted and said, “Found these strays out on the highway, Mr. David, sir. One had a shotgun, the other a crowbar, and we found a nice rifle in the trunk, but no other guns or ammo. No good food to speak of, either.” He hesitated, swallowed. “I claim First Rights on them.”
David seemed mildly surprised, which was a strange expression for a man with half a face to make. He said, “You do?”
“Hey,” Jesse said. “I want my stuff back. He's got a pistol of mine he failed to mention.”
Jesse figured that if he could drive a wedge between them—create a small crack of distrust—he could pry at it and work things to his advantage.
“Oh, he does?” David said. “You neglected to mention that one, Jackson.”
“Sorry, Mr. David,” Jax said. He withdrew the pistol from the waistband of his tan fatigues. “Here you go.”
David took the M9.
“He also stole cigarettes from my friend,” Jesse said.
The scar-faced man stuck his hand out. Jax pulled a pack of cigarettes and a Zippo lighter and set them in David's palm. David then pocketed the cigarettes and lighter then stuck the M9 in his waistband.
“Hey,” Jesse said. “That's min
e. I want that back.”
“What back?” David asked menacingly. “Jackson. Take these men to processing.”
“Mr. David, sir, we need a couple of pullers,” Jax said. “We are down. I figured—”
The scar-faced man interrupted. “You don't get to figure, Jackson.” He stepped over to the GTO and slid his hand along the front fender.
“Nice car,” he said.
“Yes,” Jackson replied, also putting his own hand on the car. “How about you keep the car, Mr. David? Consider it a gift from us.”
“Why would it be a gift?” David asked. “It's community property now. It will be locked up and well cared for. I'm sure Cyrus will want to see it.”
Jesse made a fist. He marked David, knowing that he'd get his M9 back from him one way or another.
“So, okay, take the car,” he said. “My guns, too. They're not important. We okay staying here then? We okay to join you guys?”
“Depends.”
“Depends on what?” Jesse asked. He shifted on his feet and stroked his elbow with his open palm, imitating what he'd seen Wilson do at Rose's, wanting to let David think he was weak and not a threat to him or anyone else here.
“Depends on how well you do tomorrow.”
Jesse crossed his arms, massaging his forearms with his thumbs. “What's happening tomorrow?”
The scar-faced man smiled an oddly familiar smile. Jesse could swear he knew the guy from somewhere, but right now, he just couldn't place it.
-29-
INTO THE ARENA
EVE FOLLOWED CYRUS out of the monstrous Humvee and up a sloped wooden ramp to the top of a cargo trailer. They emerged to a bevy of cheers. Dozens of semi-truck trailers encircled an area as large as a football field. Overlapping plywood panels affixed to the inward sides of the trailers created an enormous walled-in arena. No two panels were the same shade, which gave the arena a random, tiled appearance. At the far end—offset to her left—was a thick, crudely constructed timber gate, and mounted above the gateposts were two giant skulls made of dark metal. Flickering blue-orange fires burned inside each skull, and black smoke curled up from the eyeholes and swirled into the night sky.
It was as if she had stepped into a bad dream.
She was awed by the size of the audience. This was the first time she had seen everyone in the complex assembled in one place. More people were here than she had seen since before the raptors had come. Cyrus also looked like he belonged in this freakish nightmare. She hadn't seen him in a few hours, and his transformation into whatever he was now added to her unease. He was wearing a full-length black cape with purple and white accents sewn into the hems. The cape was tied off with a silver sash covered with sequins. On each of his fingers were gold and silver rings, some so large they concealed his knuckles, and dangling from his earlobes were twin earrings, each filled with real diamonds. His face was painted, too, exaggerated to look more sinister than his hairless appearance alone.
“So, my dear, how do you like our little arena?” he asked, waving his hand across the view.
For a long second, she didn't know what to say. “Impressive,” she finally said.
He watched her closely, picking apart the truth of her statement. Then he smiled, showing his teeth. Combined with his eyes ringed in jet-black makeup, he looked like a madman. Tonight, she realized, she was dealing with an animal, a very dangerous animal. This side of him truly frightened her. He could be so tender and loving one moment and transform into a beast the next. But she was not afraid. Not at all, or at least that was what she kept telling herself. Noah had been much the same, as had a long string of boyfriends before him.
She wandered over and looked down into the arena. Below her was gray asphalt that had been swept clean. Parallel white lines were still visible where cars had once parked, and dappled areas of blackness darkened the asphalt, looking much like spilled paint, or black oil. Chairs had been arranged on the platform overlooking the arena. One chair in particular was set on a raised box painted burgundy red. The chair was neither fancy nor special, but it sat higher than any other did. Hundreds of men rimmed the area. Their faces were made orange and black by dozens of flickering torches mounted around the arena. When she visually measured the distance to the ground, she again saw her friend Adam's death repeated, his shock and growing terror, his arms wind-milling, his mouth agape. She also remembered the horrible feeling of being unable to change the outcome, even in the tiniest of ways.
She backed away from the edge with a knot growing in her stomach.
Cyrus moved to take his seat. Applause and cheers followed him. He seemed to bask in the devoted adoration, but Eve knew better. She had been with him long enough to know what he really thought of those beneath him.
He loathed them.
On the opposite side of the arena were three flags flying on thin metal poles. Nearest to the gate was a white flag, then a silver flag, followed by a gold flag. The men standing under the white flag were equipped with a variety of makeshift weapons: studded baseball bats, pitchforks, barbed spears, axes, and hooked metal poles. Those under the gold and silver flags were much better equipped. Many wore thick jackets, or armor with riot helmets and shields. Some even had swords. Still others held shiny metal pipes and frightening scythe-like weapons she could not name but understood their collective purpose.
She noticed David moving to take a position on the trailer top to her right. She caught him glancing at Cyrus and did not like what she saw. She noted it and would decide later if she should tell him about it. She'd seen the same look from David before, and the last time she had told Cyrus, he had discounted it and was offended by the remark. She glared at the scar-faced man, hoping he would leave her alone. He returned the stare, remaining expressionless, and then went to stand near several scantily clad women. Eve had not yet met these women before, but she was well aware of who they were, and what they represented. One turned to face her. She watched the woman for a few seconds while her mind worked out conflicting thoughts. The woman was hunched over, looking old and tired, but on closer inspection, she was no more than a teenager. She was missing most of her teeth and had a pockmarked face. Her arms were bone thin and one was crooked, as if it had been broken and not properly set. Her only article of clothing was a black thong barely large enough to cover her sex, and her tiny breasts had been pierced with rings and tied together by a drooping silver chain that hung down over her distended belly.
Eve had to look away.
Fear swelled inside her. She knew that could be her if she were not careful. She also felt a certain frustration, a tingling sense of anger, of injustice. But when she turned back to Cyrus, she smiled at him and brushed her hair over one ear, knowing how much he liked to see her face. She buried her distressing thoughts and moved to take a chair on the platform beside him.
She could do nothing for the girl.
Nothing at all.
The disorganized rumble of a hundred people all talking at once blended into the general white background noise. Spectators on top of the trailers continued to jostle each other, searching for the best spot from which to view the arena floor. When they began to still, Cyrus rose to his feet.
A man struck a metal gong, and a deep sonorous note buried the sounds of dying conversations. All eyes turned to Cyrus. He held a megaphone to his lips and depressed the button to talk. The amplified sound crackled and squeaked.
“Tonight…my brothers…we hunt!”
Cheers went up for him along with fists pumped into the air. A rattling began, which grew to a pounding. Soon, thousands of feet were stomping against the boards supporting them, creating a swelling wall of sound. Under the gold, silver, and white flags, armed men raised their weapons in salute. Cyrus raised his arms as if he wanted to embrace each and everyone in the crowd personally.
Prickly bumps erupted along Eve's arms and the hairs stood on end.
Cyrus said into the megaphone, “Are you ready?” The sound of his voice, scratchy from
the amplification, was not enough to fill the arena and overcome the roar of the crowd, so he repeated himself. Then did so once again. Whether or not the audience had understood him, it didn't matter. A massive cheer still greeted his words.
“Then—” He paused until there was a lull in the din, “—let the games begin!”
While the crowd howled, he returned to his seat, whipping his cape out behind him dramatically before sitting. Eve watched him nervously. She did everything she could not to show her fear. She feigned a casual glance, hoping to see Kate somewhere among the men, maybe even Andrea. She had not seen either of them in days, but a full search from her seated position did not reveal them anywhere.
“You'll enjoy this,” Cyrus said, leaning closer to her chair.
She had to raise her voice so she knew she'd be heard. “What is this all about? It is quite a surprise.”
“This? This is the games, my dear,” he said. “This is but the first of the year. Gives men purpose.”
“But…all this doesn't make sense. Why the—?”
The look he returned made her skip her question. Instead, she sat upright in her chair, smiled, and nodded. His heavy gaze left her. Perhaps it was the way he looked now. Perhaps it was something else. But it caused her to sit up straighter, willing herself to remain calm and passive. She would accept and watch whatever came next with poise and grace.
With a wave of his hand, Cyrus signaled to David.
David moved to the front edge of the trailer and spoke through a megaphone. “White team, make us proud. Show your brothers that you are worthy.”
The men huddling around the white flag raised their weapons in another salute. An aluminum ladder was lowered into the arena in front of their position, and one by one, the men climbed down and stepped onto the pavement.
Eve dared another question. “What now?”
Cyrus turned to her, flicking his hand palm side up and spreading his fingers. “Wait…and watch.”
Eve leaned forward in her chair and squinted to see in the dim torchlight. Each of the men had white ribbons tied around their right arms. One man, who stood apart from the group, had a red stripe on his.
Red Asphalt: Raptor Apocalypse Book 2 Page 24
