The land beyond the mountains was less harsh than that behind but the people that dwelt in the communes were a whole lot less friendly. They’d clearly had more run-ins with the Reavers than those in the desert and did not trust weary travellers at all.
They did not easily open their doors to him and the others—even after they’d located a suitable change of clothing—bloodied remains from some lost Rages. They weren’t open to receiving other survivors, they’d said. They were already struggling to feed the mouths they had.
They had attempted their Trojan infiltration attack three times on three separate communes before they finally gave up. With few other choices, they turned to head back to the Mountain’s Peak commune. At least there they would have a full belly of food, water, and a woman to take out their frustrations on.
Currently, the men were entertaining themselves with a pair of Rages, pushing and pulling at them, trying to make them fall over. Simple things pleased simple minds, the Worm supposed. The Rages kept on getting up, as they were wont to do, and tried again to attack the Reavers in their endless pursuit for food. The Worm never took part in such games. It was too risky. He believed in living his life with as little risk as possible.
“Saddle up the men,” the Worm said. “With any luck, we’ll be at the commune within a few hours.”
That was another resource they were quickly running short of. Fuel. They had just about enough to get to their destination. After that, they might well set up shop for good.
One of the Rages caught the Worm’s eye. A tall fellow with a torn face and loose dungarees. There was something in his facial expression that sparked a memory. The squinting eye and gold tooth.
“Hey,” the Worm said, walking down the incline toward the fighting pit. “Hey, I think I know you. From way back when.”
He squinted at the Rage, whose lips were dripping blood from his men’s blows.
“Say, aren’t you the mech who ripped me off right before the Fall?” the Worm said.
The Rage rushed him. The chain around his neck caught and tugged him to the ground.
“Good to see the karma cycle still works, even out here,” the Worm said. “I never did pay you for the work you did. That was the week of the Fall.”
He drew his pistol.
“Consider this a late payment,” he said.
He fired. The bullet struck the Rage in the throat. A high-pitched ting noise, causing the Worm to crease his brow an instant before the charge exploded.
It didn’t kill all the Reavers, but it did sever the chain attached to the second Rage, who charged the screaming maimed men one at a time.
The worm should have known that the greatest risk was always the one you didn’t see coming.
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About the Author
Bestselling author Charlie Dalton writes fun, thrilling, action-packed adventures. His characters are clever and fearless, but in real life, Charlie is afraid of pigeons without a flight plan, dark recesses, and airplanes (just how do they stay up there?). Let’s face it. Charlie wouldn’t last five minutes in one of his books.
After The Fall (Book 2): The City Page 21
