Bite

by K. S. Merbeth

  “’Course we can,” he says finally. He stops and turns to face me, and I see what delayed his answer. He’s breathing hard—really hard, each deep breath punctuated with a wince. Beads of sweat run down his grimy face.

  “Are you okay?” I ask, knowing he’s not.

  “Fucking fantastic.” He clambers up the last stretch of stairs. I frown and follow more slowly. One foot slips on the stair he stopped on. I grab the handrail and look down to see a pool of blood. My gaze drifts up the stairs, following the red trail Wolf’s leaving behind him.

  “Wolf…” I follow him to the top. He leans against the wall, struggling to catch his breath. “You’re hurt.”

  “No shit. I was stabbed by a small, ugly girl about five minutes ago.”

  I feel a twinge of guilt, but it’s easy to see that the wound on his arm isn’t the real problem here.

  “You got shot,” I say. “Where?”

  He looks as if he wants to argue, but stops himself. He lifts up his shirt, wincing as the fabric peels off the wound. Breath hisses through my teeth. It’s a bullet hole all right, and an ugly one, right through the fleshy part just above his hip.

  “That bad?” he asks.

  “Pretty bad.”

  “Well, can’t do nothin’ about it now.” He lowers his shirt and steps closer to the door, resting a hand on the knob. “You coming?”

  I raise my eyes to his face, now recognizing the pain beneath the hard set of his jaw.

  “I think you should stay behind,” I say, the words popping out before I have much time to think about them. He lets out a startled laugh, the sound echoing off the walls of the stairwell.

  “You’re screwing with me, right?”

  “No. I’m serious. You’re hurt.” I bite my lip, struggling to maintain my newfound confidence. “And I can do it on my own.”

  “We don’t even know what’s in there.” Despite the words, he takes his hand off the door handle and turns to face me. My heart jumps—he’s listening. He’s taking me seriously.

  “When have we ever? And we’ve done pretty good up till this point.”

  “That was different.”

  “I can do this,” I say. “On my own. Let me prove it.” He doesn’t look convinced. “Come on, give me a chance to be the hero for once.” I pause. “Or… the villain? I’m still a little confused about where we stand as far as that goes?”

  “Don’t think about it too hard, you’ll hurt yourself,” he says. But he isn’t saying no. He takes a deep breath and wipes the back of one hand across his forehead. “Look, Kid, you don’t have to do this. Me, Tank, Dolly, we wouldn’t make it in a normal world. We ain’t never gonna settle down in some town and live a peaceful life. We’re too fucked-up. That’s why we’re here, see? It’s our way of life at stake here. Good guy, fake good guy, whatever he is, this Saint wants to change the wastes, and that would mean we’re done for. But not you, Kid. You’re different. You can still make it.”

  “And just leave you guys?”

  “Why the hell not?”

  “You still don’t get it, do you?” I ask. “I haven’t had a home in a long time. But you guys, you’re…”

  “Don’t you get all choked up on me,” Wolf says, but without the usual biting tone.

  “Sorry,” I say, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand. “It’s just… I wouldn’t want to live in a world without you or Dolly or Tank, even if it means my life is a whole lot shorter because I’m with you. I know I don’t have to do this, but I want to.” Ignoring the burning feeling behind my eyes, I try to shape my face into a fierce expression. “And I’m one of you now. I got this, Wolf.”

  Wolf scrutinizes me silently. I do my best to hold it together. I know Wolf hates this kind of emotional talk, but I can’t think of any other way to get through to him.

  “Fine,” he says finally. “But it ain’t ’cause of that sappy shit you said. It’s just ’cause I know you’ll charge in like an idiot even if I say no.”

  “Thanks,” I say, smiling despite my best attempt to conceal my emotions. Unable to help myself, I step forward and wrap my arms around Wolf in a hug. He stiffens, but rather than pulling away, pats me awkwardly on the back.

  “Yeah, yeah. Don’t go thanking me yet, you’ll probably get shot up the second you go in there,” he says. I step back and nod, readying myself with my gun again.

  “Time to go kick some ass,” I say cheerfully.

  “Not with that gun,” he says. “Give me that.”

  I hesitantly hand over my pistol. He pushes his sawed-off shotgun into my hands.

  “Much better,” he says, although I feel a bit ridiculous carrying it. “If anything’s gonna get your skinny ass through this, it’ll be that baby. But remember, only two shots, all right? So make ’em count.”

  “Got it,” I say. “Thanks, Wolf.”

  “Go give ’em hell.”

  He opens the door for me and I step through. As the door swings shut behind me, I feel utterly alone.

  The top floor is as silent and empty as the last one. As soon as I step out of the safety of the stairwell, all of my senses are on alert. Blood pumps overzealously through my veins. My hands shake, making the barrel of my gun wobble. Just because I’m willing to die doesn’t mean I particularly want to, and despite my big words I’m scared. This is it: the final showdown. All the fighting, all the struggle, all of it has led up to this. Despite my anxiousness, I don’t let my steps falter. Teeth clenched and gun raised, I swing into the first doorway—and stop. It’s empty.

  I break through another two doors and find both as empty as the first. The floor doesn’t seem to hold anything other than old furniture and cobwebs. It makes me wonder if Saint is even up here. That’s when I notice the room at the end of the hallway. The door is open, and it looks like there’s a light on inside.

  I guess I probably should have checked that one first. There’s a very high possibility that it’s a trap—but what am I supposed to do, back off? No way, not after giving that cheesy speech. I’m not gonna run back to Wolf with my tail between my legs.

  I walk toward the room, barrel pointed at the doorway, and step inside.

  Saint is waiting for me. He’s surrounded with some kind of machinery I’ve never seen in my life, all alive with light and sound. Like I noticed, he even has a light on. Real electricity. I’ve heard some towns have it, but I’ve never seen it before. It’s like magic. I find it hard not to gawk at the sight, but remind myself why I’m here and focus on Saint instead, keeping my gun trained on him.

  To my surprise, he’s unarmed, holding his hands palms out to display his lack of a weapon.

  “You?” he asks, his eyebrows drawing together. “Well, I certainly wasn’t expecting you to walk in here alone,” he says. “But that’s fine. I want to talk. Work out a deal. Decimating each other’s forces doesn’t do any good for either of us. Look: no guards, no guns. Just me, ready to be reasonable.”

  I sweep my eyes around the room, searching for any good hiding spots. I don’t see any.

  “Okay,” I say, not lowering my gun. The situation seems safe for the moment, but I don’t want to let my guard down. “So, say we join you. What exactly does that look like for us?”

  He eyes the gun, looks like he’s considering saying something about it, but then smiles instead. He leans back in his chair, arms folded over his chest, his posture relaxed.

  “You’ll continue working together as your own individual crew,” he says. “Only thing that changes is that Wolf answers to me. I’ll tell you what towns to hit. Sometimes you’ll work alone, sometimes with other groups. You carry out raids like usual, and then give me a percentage of the loot.”

  “A big percentage?”

  “A fair percentage. And you can trade supplies with me or the other crews if you need something.”

  I turn my attention back to his plan, and try to envision the world he proposes. An army of raiders would sweep through the wastelands easily. With the Queen gone,
Saint is the only powerhouse left; maybe he even planned on her dying. The townies won’t stand a chance.

  “So, your army takes over,” I say slowly. “And then you’re in charge of everything.”

  “That’s the plan,” Saint says. “In a way, I really will be bringing peace to the wastelands.”

  “Okay, one last question,” I say. “Is the rest of my crew okay?”

  Saint leans forward, hands on his knees, and smiles broadly.

  “They’re all perfectly intact and alive last I heard. Now, about our deal—”

  Bang.

  Saint’s face slowly changes from surprised to baffled to angry. He looks down at himself as a red stain spreads across his chest. I lower the barrel of my gun.

  “That’s all I needed to know,” I say. “Thanks!”

  His eyes are still wide open and full of hate. He opens his mouth to say something, but the attempt produces nothing more than a bloody gurgle. I wince.

  “Umm, this is awkward. I thought for sure that would kill you.” I raise the gun again, point it right at his extremely pissed-off face this time. “Well, here we go again.”

  Bang.

  “And that’s it?” Wolf asks as we head down the stairs. His wound slows him down, and I walk ahead of him with a bounce in my step.

  “Well, yeah. Then I banged up the radio equipment as best I could and left. I thought about using the explosives, but it looked pretty broken already.” I grin and whirl to look at him. “Seriously, though, you should’ve seen the look on Saint’s face.”

  “No epic speech, no nothing?” Wolf asks, frowning. I sigh, disappointed by his lack of enthusiasm.

  “Nah, I already got the speech out of my system. Figured I should just end it quickly.”

  “Honestly, I’m kind of disappointed.” He shakes his head. “All of that buildup for nothing.”

  I sigh as we reach the bottom of the stairwell. Regardless of what Wolf thinks, I think I did a damn good job. I reach for the door, pull it open—and nearly jump out of my skin as a burst of gunfire comes from the other side. I slam the door shut, pressing my body against it to hold it closed.

  “Oh shit,” I say, my eyes wide. “I kind of forgot there’s still the whole ‘army of raiders’ issue.”

  “Yep,” Wolf says, looking more resigned than startled. “I don’t really have a plan for this part.” After a moment’s consideration, he yanks his shotgun out of my hands, hands me my pistol, and leans against the wall beside the doorway.

  “Saint said Dolly and Tank are fine, so maybe if we meet up with them…” I trail off, realizing it still seems unlikely that this turns out well for us. Even with Saint gone, there are so many raiders remaining. My gut twists. Could this really be the end of the line? After we came all this way, took care of Saint and his radio, did the job we came here to do—are we just gonna die like this?

  “Well,” Wolf says. “At least we’ll go out with a bang.” He faces the door with his shotgun. “On the count of three, you open it and we go in, guns blazing. Got it?”

  “Got it.” I swallow back nerves and grab the door handle with one hand, my gun in the other. I look at Wolf.

  “One,” he says. “T—”

  “Wait, on three or after three?” I blurt out. Wolf sighs, lowering his gun.

  “On three, dumbass. C’mon, you’re killing my adrenaline rush here.”

  “Okay. On three. Right.”

  “One… two… th—”

  The door slams open from the other side, smacking me in the face and sending me stumbling backward. I hit the floor on my ass. The door separates me from Wolf for a moment, and when it closes again I see three of Saint’s raiders on him.

  Cursing, I scramble to my feet and throw myself at the only one with a gun, sending both of us crashing to the floor in a heap. I end up on top of him—and my pistol skitters across the floor, out of reach. Shit. I grapple with him for his gun, struggling to keep the barrel aimed away from me. When it becomes clear I’m never going to overpower him, I free one hand and jab him in the eye with a finger. He howls in pain, and I successfully yank the gun out of his grip and turn it on him.

  An arm wraps around my neck from behind. My captor lifts me up, away from the man beneath me. I struggle to break free, my feet barely scraping the ground as he pulls me off my feet, and fire the gun wildly in an attempt to hit whoever’s holding me. He lets out a grunt of pain, but the arm around my neck only pulls tighter. My breath is cut off; stars dance in my vision. Desperate, I aim at the man still on the floor below us. If I can at least take out one of them, then maybe—

  “Hold up!” Wolf shouts, and I stop, my finger freezing where it was about to pull the trigger. I can’t move my head, but I shift my eyes to the side to get a glimpse of Wolf. He’s face-to-face with the third raider. I now recognize her as the woman who captured me before, the one with the Mohawk and meat cleaver—which is currently raised above her head like she was just about to strike. Wolf is staring at her intently; she’s staring at the shotgun in his hands, currently pointed right at her face. “Aren’t you Betty?” he asks. “From Big Ben’s crew?”

  The woman starts, raising her eyes to Wolf’s face and squinting.

  “Wolf?” She pauses for a moment before grinning toothily and lowering her weapon. “Ahh, I remember you. So you’re the asshole crazy enough to attack Saint’s headquarters. I should’ve guessed.”

  They grin at each other, shotgun and meat cleaver both lowering. I let out a choked gurgle, since they seem to have forgotten I’m still being strangled over here. Betty glances over and jerks a hand. The pressure eases up as the man releases me. I take a deep gulp of air and glance at the guy, satisfied to see that my wildly fired bullet has taken a chunk out of his ear. I shoot one last glare at him and grab my pistol from the floor before moving over to Wolf’s side.

  “So,” Betty says. “I’m hoping you guys have realized that Saint’s not really Mr. Law-and-Order?”

  “Yeah, we got that much,” Wolf says.

  “We’ve been trying to tell that red-haired one that Saint just wants to recruit you guys,” the man I shot says, holding one hand to his ear and speaking a little too loudly. “But she kills anyone who comes near her.”

  “Sounds about right,” Wolf says with a grin.

  “So what do you say?” Betty asks. “Your crew gonna join up with him?”

  Wolf and I exchange a glance.

  “Well,” he says. “We—”

  “Saint’s dead,” I say bluntly. “I killed him.”

  All eyes are on me the moment the words leave my mouth. I look back and forth between Wolf and Betty. The former looks a little concerned, his eyes flashing at the other raiders and his grip on his gun tightening once again. My own fingers twitch on the trigger of my pistol, ready in case this turns into another gunfight.

  But Betty laughs, giving me a look that seems almost impressed.

  “Well,” she says. “That’s that, I guess. Time to pack it up and head out, boys.” She glances at Wolf. “You seen Ben around?”

  “Nope,” he says quickly, shooting me a sharp look that I assume means to keep my mouth shut. I bite back a smile.

  The other raiders grumble a bit as Betty barks orders at them to prepare to leave, and soon they trickle out of the room and leave Wolf and me behind. Outside, I hear Betty shouting the news about Saint’s death to the other raiders. A chorus of groans and complaints answers her, but overall no one seems overly upset—or surprised—by the news.

  Once it’s clear no one is planning on hunting us down and shooting us for taking down Saint, Wolf and I walk out of the stairwell and over to the main lobby. None of the raiders we pass pay much attention to us, all prepping to head out, a rowdy mess of them taking anything they can find in the building and separating into individual crews again. There are a few tussles over weapons and other supplies, but we stay out of the fighting for once, searching for the rest of our crew instead.

  We find Tank laughing an
d joking with a group of strangers, showing off a few new wounds he must’ve earned in the fighting. The moment he sees us, he lets out a whoop of joy and sweeps me up in a bone-crushing bear hug, spinning me around. I’m breathless and dizzy by the time he sets me down.

  “Goddamn,” he says, grinning from ear to ear. “I can’t believe we actually pulled this off.”

  “I knew it would work out the whole time,” Wolf says with a dismissive wave of his hand. “The plan was foolproof.”

  “Pretty sure it was mostly dumb luck,” Tank says. “Plus the fact that hardly any of these raiders were actually loyal to Saint. A bunch of ’em took off the second trouble started, and a bunch of the others decided to start looting the place since Saint was busy trying to deal with us.”

  Wolf lets out a snort of laughter.

  “’Course they did,” he says. “Don’t know why assholes like him think they’d ever be able to control us wastelanders.” He grins, fierce and proud. “Ain’t nobody gonna tame these wastes.”

  We find Dolly waiting for us near the wreckage of our truck, bodies strewn across the floor around her. She’s covered in an astounding amount of blood, none of which seems to be hers, and is carrying more weapons than seems like should be humanly possible.

  Her face reveals no surprise whatsoever at seeing us, but she does smile—and I smile back as she squeezes my arm, and ignore the fact that it leaves behind a smear of half-dried blood. When Wolf explains the Saint situation and his death, she merely shrugs, as if it doesn’t really matter to her either way.

  We leave Saint’s former headquarters battered, bruised, and bleeding, but pretty damn pleased with ourselves. I can’t stop smiling and feeling like a big damn hero. It doesn’t last long, though. Exhaustion comes creeping up fast once the nervous energy drains out of me. Soon I can feel every little scrape and bruise and find myself wishing more than anything for a comfortable bed to sleep in for a few weeks or so. The others are quiet aside from the occasional groan or muttered curse, so I assume they’re feeling much the same.