Cities of Rust

by Ariel Bonin

  Andrew led her to one side of the room, and she smiled as she spotted their three companions.

  "Lindsey!" Zoey exclaimed, jumping up to greet her with a hug.

  Lindsey held her tightly, feeling relief upon seeing that she was safe.

  "Wh- how did you get away from Samuel?" the girl asked in disbelief.

  Lindsey looked to Andrew for an answer, wondering why they hadn't discussed that before coming back. Ana and Charlie would probably figure it out on their own, but it was not something they needed to divulge to Zoey.

  Andrew must have seen Lindsey's tormented glance in his direction, because he immediately stepped in.

  "We, uh, reached an agreement. Everything's been taken care of—Lindsey is here to stay."

  Zoey was likely aware that her dad wasn't giving up any details of this "agreement," but didn't bother to ask questions.

  Charlie and Ana weren't deterred though. The two survivors stared at Andrew and Lindsey with a mix of curiosity and suspicion. Lindsey missed the slight shake of Andrew's head at the matter.

  Ana leaned over and picked up a gray t-shirt from the end of her cot. "Here," she said, offering it to Lindsey.

  "Thank you," Lindsey breathed, taking the plain shirt.

  She slipped it over her head, and even though it was a little big, she didn't care. Yes, she'd just been fully nude in front of some psycho, but she still didn't feel right standing in front of them in only a sports bra.

  "Have you had your fight?" she asked Ana.

  The woman shrugged. "Not yet. I don't think they have anyone for me to go up against—not that I'm complaining."

  "That's good. Let's hope it stays that way."

  While on the subject of being naked, Lindsey thought they all appeared so without their weapons—especially Ana without her bow. She certainly missed the accustomed weight of her own weapon.

  Charlie stepped closer to the small group, lowering his voice. "Yeah, well, we need to start talkin' about how we're gonna get the hell outta here!"

  Andrew nodded. "I've been thinkin' about that. We should lay low, not draw any attention to ourselves. We've got to figure out how things work around here: who's in charge, when they make runs, what the shifts are—where they keep the weapons."

  He met each of their eyes as he talked, marking off each item on his fingers. Lindsey admired him all the while. She loved seeing him in action as the leader he was born to be.

  "Maybe even make some allies—get the inside dirt. Just don't seem too interested, that would defeat the purpose of laying low."

  "The shifts start every morning at seven. We got here last night just in time for lights out. I'd put it around eight," Ana said.

  Andrew glanced at his watch. "That's in a few minutes." He looked to Lindsey now. "What do ya say we try to find something to eat?"

  _____

  After searching all possible areas, they came up empty handed. As it turned out, meals were served at specific times, and if you missed it—you didn't eat.

  Lindsey lay on her cot and stared up at the high ceiling, her stomach grumbling. She thought she would have no desire to eat after their "show" for Samuel, when in fact she'd worked up quite an appetite. She was no stranger to going hungry though. She'd tough it out until morning.

  Rustling and light coughs echoed throughout the large room, preventing her from falling asleep. She missed the ranch, she missed their bedroom, and she missed sleeping next to Andrew.

  It suddenly occurred to her that all was not lost—Andrew was still with her. She turned her head in his direction and, through the darkness, saw him looking back at her. As quietly as possible, she swung her legs over the side of her cot and slipped into his. She burrowed her cheek into his warm shoulder as he wrapped his strong arms around her. With his familiar scent tickling her nose, she finally felt like she could relax. After she exhaled a calming breath, they spoke in quiet whispers.

  "I was hoping you'd come over here," he said with a faint smile.

  Lindsey gradually melted into his embrace. "I couldn't sleep," she mumbled into his shirt. "I cannot wait to get out of this place, Andy."

  "You and me, both," he answered, stroking a calloused hand over her hair. "I'm so sorry, Linds."

  She looked into his glittering eyes and frowned. "Why?"

  "I was supposed to protect you—at the gas station, when we got here, at the fights—and with what Samuel forced you, us, to do…"

  "Andrew, stop. Don't put this on yourself. I agreed to the deal with Samuel. He could have asked for more…for worse, but he didn't. We made love—so what if the jerk got to watch? What matters is this moment, right now. We're alive and we're together. Please, please do not apologize for anything, because it's not your fault."

  Andrew cupped her cheek and gently placed his mouth over hers, inhaling, as he kissed her breathless.

  "I love you so much," he whispered against her lips. She stared into his dark eyes, and he spoke again with some reluctance. "I do have to say…you act as though you're fine, but I know you're not. I can see it in your eyes, Lindsey."

  She tried to push down her emotions, but it was in her nature to lose it the moment someone noticed that she wasn't okay. Tears tracked down her cheeks and her body shook as she fought to remain silent. Andrew furrowed his brow and pulled her into his chest. She turned inward, attempting to muffle her weeping with his shirt. When she lifted her head, her eyes were wide with grief.

  "I killed that woman, Andrew! She was mourning her husband, and, instead of feeling empathy, I snapped her neck. Who does that? I- I'm turning into a monster," she whimpered, picturing the woman's broken body on the factory floor.

  "You're not a monster, Lindsey. Men like Samuel are the monsters. Don't ever think that you're some sadistic murderer, killing for pleasure—it was purely self-defense. You just got done telling me not to put this on myself. I know it's not easy, but you need to do the same."

  Andrew drove his point home by holding her gaze and refusing to look away until she nodded.

  With a sigh, he said, "I could go for another glass of that whiskey, what about you?"

  Lindsey stifled a weak giggle through her waning tears. It felt wrong to find humor after such a heavy conversation, but she needed it, and Andrew knew it, too.

  "Yeah, that was the good stuff," she said. A beat of silence passed between them. "Can I stay here with you tonight?"

  Andrew gave her a loving smile, and once again enveloped her in his arms. "Of course. Where else would you go?"

  _____

  Hushed voices brought Andrew out of his peaceful slumber, and it took him a moment to remember where he was exactly. The realization came crashing back down onto him, rekindling that worm of anxiety in his gut.

  We have to get out of here, he thought with desperation.

  Lindsey shifted next to him, and he took in the sight of her sleeping face on the other end of his pillow. The room held a few rays of morning light, exposing to him the bruises on her neck. He hadn't noticed them before, but they were hard to miss now. Deep purples and tinges of yellow blossomed across the span of her neck in the shape of handprints. With a scowl, he tenderly dragged his fingertips over the discolored skin.

  How could he let this happen to her?

  The instant that question crossed his mind, Lindsey's voice resounded in his head.

  'Don't put this on yourself—it's not your fault.'

  He wanted to do as she said, but it was proving difficult. He would always place responsibility on himself to take care of her, his children, and the other group members. If something befell them, he instinctively retained the blame—there was no getting around it. Maybe it was purely the damnation of having a moral conscience.

  Samuel had no such thing, which was why he held his current position as leader. That absence of morality made him unpredictable, and people feared him for it. Andrew had never led with fear; any opposition of democracy early on had been deemed unsuccessful.

  Samuel was in
for a rude awakening.

  Andrew jumped as he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned his head to see Charlie standing over him.

  "Gotta get up," the man grumbled in a low voice.

  Andrew gave him a nod and looked back at Lindsey. He dropped a feather-soft kiss onto her battered cheek. Her lashes fluttered apart, focusing her drowsy gaze on his face.

  "Hey," she whispered, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She offered him a feeble smile, and he returned it.

  "Time to get up," Andrew stated as he stroked an affectionate hand over her arm. With a light peck on her forehead, he rose from the cot, stretching and rolling his shoulders. While he'd been perfectly happy sleeping next to Lindsey, the limited space had left him stiff. Not to mention, he was still suffering aches and pains from his fight with Dean.

  It was going to be a long day.

  _____

  Lindsey and the others wandered into, what could only be described as, a dining hall. Long rectangular tables stretched out under fluorescent lights, and a window was open to the left, serving food. A few people looked up from their breakfast, observing the newcomers with unabashed curiosity, whilst most paid them no mind. It was reminiscent of Lindsey's first day at the school, with the watchful eyes and hushed remarks.

  Andrew took initiative, leading the way to pick up a tray for food. Lindsey experienced a zing of disdain when she saw that they were being served plain oatmeal and a bottle of water.

  Is that the last food left on the planet?

  At least it reminded her of mornings in better places. She would have appreciated some form of caffeine, though. She'd slept soundly in Andrew's arms, but the morning had come too soon. That and the combination of alcohol on an empty stomach the previous evening had left her with a headache that wouldn't quit.

  As they claimed an empty table in the corner, Lindsey viewed the room, searching for anyone or anything that stood out to her as useful. Nothing immediately caught her eye, so she began to take small, unenthusiastic bites of her meal. At one point, Andrew surprised her by resting his hand on her thigh underneath the table. It was an uplifting gesture, but when Lindsey glanced up into his soulful eyes, she was taken back to the night before. She pictured his handsome face over her while his hands touched her in the most intimate ways.

  Lindsey shook the image from her mind and rested her hand on his. They'd experienced something potentially traumatic, but had come out stronger, their bond more unbreakable than ever. She stroked her thumb over his rough skin and saw the love in his gaze—no words were necessary.

  After breakfast, a scrawny young man approached the group. Lindsey took a quick look at him and wondered how the heck this guy had been the victor in one of Samuel's fights; he probably weighed a buck forty soaking wet. With protruding ears and beady eyes, he reminded Lindsey of a mouse. When he spoke, even his voice was tiny.

  "Hi there. I know you're new around here. I'm kind of the designated greeter—I can show you around. Name's Henry, but everyone calls me Mickey," he said with a friendly smile as he extended his hand to Andrew.

  Andrew returned the handshake, but Charlie interrupted. "Why do they call ya Mickey?"

  He shrugged. "I guess some people think I resemble a mouse. There's another Henry here, so Mickey stuck."

  Lindsey smothered a grin, as her assessment of his appearance had been quite accurate.

  "It's nice to meet you, Mickey. We'd appreciate any assistance you can give us," Andrew said, and Lindsey sensed his underlying intentions.

  "Right this way!" Mickey replied with the sweep of his arm.

  Ana and Charlie moved forward, but Lindsey noticed that Andrew was hanging back to stay close to her and Zoey. Mickey brought them onto the factory floor and pointed to each machine as he spoke.

  "This is where we melt down the scrap. Because we're limited on fuel and other resources, all of our bullets are hand-cast. We're used to firing jacketed bullets—cartridges—from our weapons, but without the use of computer-operated equipment, it's just more practical to cast our own out of scrap that we find."

  Andrew eyed him skeptically. "And they're safe to fire?"

  Mickey nodded. "It took us a little bit to get the recipe right, but we settled on ten parts lead to one part each of tin and antimony. It creates a harder, sharper bullet. We've definitely had a higher success rate since we changed to that combination."

  "How much ammo is produced on a daily basis?" Lindsey asked.

  "Depends on how much scrap the guys come up with. It's hard to estimate. To put things into perspective, ten pounds of scrap can produce 300-400 bullets, depending on the mold we're using. On a good day, they've been known to bring in up to two hundred pounds of metal. It doesn't necessarily mean we're able to process it all that day, though," Mickey explained, stopping by a conveyor belt littered with bullets.

  Andrew casually took a step toward the young man and lowered his voice. "Who's they—'the guys'?"

  Mickey gave the impression that he was somewhat intimidated by Andrew's close proximity, but showed no sign of suspicion at the older man's question. "I was referring to Samuel's men. They go out looking for fuel and scrap every other day."

  Lindsey watched Andrew absorb this information. "And what of Samuel's plan? Do they carry that out for him?" he probed.

  "You mean, eradicating all the deadheads? Well, sure. His men use the bullets on their runs, but no formal actions have been established. Samuel keeps saying that we're not ready yet…" Mickey said in slight confusion.

  Quickly, he wiped the expression from his face and pointed to the conveyor belt behind him.

  "This is the final stage. After all the bullets have been poured, pressed, and removed from the molds, we inspect each and every one. As a whole it's not a flawless procedure, so this step is important."

  Lindsey noticed it was mainly women working in this section of the factory. "Are there certain job assignments, or do we start wherever we want?"

  "The belt isn't very labor intensive, just tedious. Women tend to do better there than the men. The casting itself is really strenuous. Generally, we don't allow women to work in that area," Mickey said with an apologetic shrug. He gestured to Lindsey, Ana, and Zoey. "So, if you three would like to get started, you're welcome to jump right in. Andrew and…?"

  "Charlie," the rancher supplied.

  Mickey thanked him with a hasty nod. "Andrew and Charlie, come this way and I'll help you with the molds."

  Lindsey wasn't okay with the idea of being separated from Andrew again, but there didn't seem to be a way around it. He glanced at her and Zoey, his jaw tight.

  "We'll be okay," she whispered.

  Andrew sighed, and then allowed his face to relax with a half-hearted smile. "I'll see you in a little while," he said, beginning to follow Mickey and Charlie. "Zoey! You listen to Lindsey and do as the ladies say, all right?"

  In a subdued manner, Zoey agreed.

  Lindsey pitied the poor kid. It was bad enough that Zoey had to struggle to survive in this hell on earth, but adding child labor to the mix was just too much. She was at the age where she should be texting or hanging out with her girlfriends, not working in a damn factory. When they made it out of here, Lindsey had every intention of giving Zoey at least one day where she could be a normal kid. She truly hoped they'd get the chance, not just for Zoey's sake, but all of theirs.

  When she, Ana, and Zoey stepped up to the conveyor belt, a woman explained what they needed to look for on each bullet, and let them get to it. Mickey had been right—it wasn't a super difficult job, but it got old fast.

  At one point during the day, movement on the second-floor catwalk caught Lindsey's attention. Samuel stood with his hands on the railing, his icy gaze scanning the work taking place below. Before she could look away, the two locked eyes, and Samuel gave her a wink. In the light of day, she suddenly felt naked again, but didn't have the luxury of whiskey to take the edge off. A shudder moved down her spine as she quickly redirected her eyes to the sea
of bullets in front of her.

  Other than the kitchen incident with Dean, Lindsey never considered herself a vengeful person. She understood the value of a human life. Every person had been carried in their mother's womb—someone had loved them at one time or another. Samuel, on the other hand, was completely out of touch with what it was to be human. Clearly, some kind of abuse had taken place during his life, molding him into the monster he was now. She would normally feel sympathy for people who had endured such horrors, but Samuel was the exception. Never before had she wanted a person dead with every fiber of her being. She sought to ensure that he would never hurt another person again, even if it was the last thing she did.

  Right before they called it a day, Lindsey's interest was drawn to a woman standing at the other end of the belt. Although she had a young face, the gray streaks in her chestnut hair hinted at her older age. One of the other workers was talking to her in such a way that it implied to Lindsey that this woman held a position of authority. With a pleasant smile, it also suggested that this woman did not hold said position under Samuel's command. There was something so casual about her actions, but upon further observation, Lindsey could tell they were carefully enacted.

  She planned to tell Andrew about the woman when they met up at the end of the day, but her first sight of the two men caught her off guard. The white t-shirt Andrew had put on in the morning was now black, as were his face and arms. A heavy sheen of sweat covered both men, their weary faces completing the worn package. Lindsey touched Andrew's shoulder, feeling the heat radiating from under his shirt sleeve. He barely reacted. In the entire span of time that she'd known him, she had never seen him look so drained.

  Zoey and Ana were also noticeably taken aback by the guys' appearance, but kept their mouths shut. Andrew squeezed his daughter's shoulder and asked in a tired voice, "How're you doin'? Did you do as you were told?"

  "I'm fine," Zoey answered, the words hollow. It sounded like she was shocked that her father would ask such a question while standing before her in his current state of disarray.