Commodity (18 page)

“Don’t move!” I order as Brett takes a step closer.

He hesitates and glances at Caesar.  Caesar nods, and all three of them step forward.

I back up several steps, keeping the gun leveled.  I aim at Caesar since the others seem to be taking direction from him.

“That is one hot little ass.”

I turn quickly, and three more men come at me from the opening in the hedge.  One is an older guy with a bushy grey beard.  The other two are maybe late thirties, clean-shaven, and stocky.  I back up a couple of steps, looking over my shoulder at Caesar and Brett.  They both have their arms outstretched, waiting to grab me.

Sidestepping to the left, I point the gun toward Caesar.

“Don’t come near me!” I yell.  My hands are shaking.  I can’t get a proper grip on the gun as I fumble for the safety.  “I’ll shoot!”

Brett laughs.

“I’ve seen you shoot,” he says.  “Somehow, I don’t think you’ll manage to hit any of us, let alone all of us, baby.”

Breathe, Hannah.  Breathe!

I take a step backward, trying to keep all of them in my vision at once.  I wrap my finger around the trigger and bite down on my lip again.  I want to come back at him with a clever retort of some kind, but my mind is devoid of words.

They start to spread out and move in on me.  I swing the gun from right to left.  I should fire.  I know I should fire, but I just can’t.

What good would it do?

Someone grabs my arm.  The gun goes off.  Caesar and Brett duck out of the way, but the bullet goes nowhere near them.  There’s a sharp pain in my wrist as my hand is wrenched to one side, and the gun falls to the ground.

I scream as another man steps up and grabs my free hand, twisting my arm behind my back.  Caesar appears in front of me, grabbing me by the chin.

“I told you,” he says, “it’s gonna happen.  You might as well get used to the idea.  We’re gonna take you back to Mark’s camp now, and you’re gonna cooperate, you hear me?”

“Fuck you!” I scream in his face, and one of the men behind me grabs a hold of my hair, pulling my head back painfully.

“I don’t give a shit if she cooperates or not,” a gruff voice growls into my ear.  “I’m happy to smack some sense into her as soon as we get back there.”

“I don’t want to wait.”  Brett steps forward and shoulders his way past Caesar.

“What?”  Caesar turns his head to look at Brett.

“I’m gonna teach her a little lesson right now.”

Caesar snickers and grins.

“Suits me.”

I kick and scream as I’m pulled backward and over to the grass next to the sidewalk, but there’s nothing I can do to get my arms out of the tight grip on them.  Brett is in front of me again, reaching out and gripping one of my breasts roughly.

Pushing back against the man behind me, I pull both knees to my chest and kick out, landing my heels firming into Brett’s stomach.  He doubles over, gasping for breath, and the hand holding my hair shakes my head hard enough to rattle my teeth.

Brett stands and catches his breath, glaring at me.  All at once, he steps forward, pulls his fist back, and punches me in the side.  I think I hear one of my ribs actually crack, and I scream again.

“Stupid little bitch.”  Brett reaches down and unfastens his belt.  “Get her down on the ground.”

I’m thrown forward, barely catching myself on my hands as they hit the dirt.  The pain in my ribs is crippling.  I can’t catch my breath.  Brett is on top of me, rolling me to my back.  I try to pull my legs to my chest so I can kick him again, but his hands are on my thighs, and Caesar is pulling my arms up above my head.

I keep screaming and struggling, but there are hands all over me, pinning me to the ground.

“I’m gonna finish what I started, baby,” Brett says with a laugh.

“It’s gonna go easier on you if you relax.”  Caesar’s hand comes around my chin and pulls my head backward painfully.  “Just let it happen, and you won’t get hurt.”

Caesar’s hand presses against my cheek, turning my head to the side and holding it to the ground.  In front of me, there is a single dandelion.  I stare at the tiny seeds clinging to the top of the stalk in a gossamer ball, waiting for the wind to carry them off and start new life somewhere far away.

Feet shuffle around me, and the dandelion is crushed under a boot, the seeds smashed into the ground.  There’s a rock poking my left ass-cheek.  I focus on the slight pain as I close my eyes, trying to ignore the sound of a zipper.

“After what you did to Hudson, and after all this time hunting you,” Caesar murmurs into my ear, “I can’t think of a better way to start up our new enterprise.”

Not again.  Oh, please, God, not again.

Tears pour from my eyes as I focus on the crushed dandelion, trying to tally the seeds.  The little tufts are so jumbled, it’s hard to get an accurate count, but I keep trying.  I keep my attention on the seeds and not the pain.

Oh, Falk.  Where are you?

~End of Part One~

I startle awake.

Trees loom over me, and drops of rain sneak through the branches to land on the mossy ground where I sit with my back against an evergreen.  I glance around through the brush of the old forest, but I see nothing but my khaki backpack.  I cock my head to one side, but there’s no sound other than the dripping of raindrops and the chirping of insects.

Something woke me.

I reach for the gun holstered at my side, withdrawing it and holding it close to me.  The weight feels good in my hand—it always has.  With the opposite hand, I touch each of the four knives at my belt and find their presence there comforting.

Maybe the rain woke me.

I can’t remember when it rained last.  It’s been at least two months since the last real rainfall.  Finding fresh water while on the move is becoming increasingly difficult.  The ground is still fairly dry under the trees, so it hasn’t rained much.

My position against the tree trunk is less than comfortable, and my leg aches as I push myself up from the moss and leaves.  I rub at the spot on my thigh, feeling the rough scar tissue under my jeans.  It never healed quite right.  At the time, I’d been too busy trying to keep from bleeding to death from my abdomen to worry about my leg.  By the time I got to it, I went with the fastest way to sew up the wound, and my stitching has never been pretty.  It kept me alive though.

Wasn’t fast enough.

I shake my head at the thought.  It doesn’t help to dwell on it.

I walk slowly and silently toward the nearby outcropping of rocks that overlook the dry creek bed below.  It’s a good vantage point.  I can see for a couple of miles.  My gaze scans the creek, looking for anything large enough to have made the sound that woke me, but there is nothing to be seen.  There are no foxes or deer in the area.  There aren’t even signs of a raccoon or squirrel.  Many animals have migrated farther north in search of water.

I should do the same, but I won’t.  I won’t leave until I’ve found them—the men that took her.  All these months and there has been no sign at all, but I’m not going anywhere.

I swore to protect her.  I failed.

Across the creek bed and off in the distance, the collapsed tops of skyscrapers are easily seen, but I can’t make out any detail from here.  I haven’t ventured near the city limits in quite some time—it simply isn’t safe there.  However, I’m probably due a supply run.

The crack of a dry twig alerts me, and I turn quickly with my gun raised, but I see nothing through the trees.  My skin tingles, and I’ve learned to rely on my senses.

There’s something there.

I sidestep back to the base of the tree where I had been sleeping, press my shoulder against the trunk, and look farther into the woods.

Movement.

The hair on the back of my neck stands up.  I swallow hard as I creep forward to the next tree and then the next, making my way closer to whomever is out there in the forest.  I hold the gun low, pointed at the ground, and I creep around each tree.  As I get closer, I hear voices.

“Can’t fucking believe it!”

“It’s like findin’ Venus’ tits!”

“Venus wasn’t missin’ her tits, asshole.”

Pressing my back to a large tree, I peer out cautiously.  Less than a hundred feet away, down in a small ravine, six men gather in a lopsided circle, crouching slightly to get a better look at something on the ground.

From this vantage point, I can’t see whatever it is they are gathered around.  I drop low to the ground and move to my left and behind a fallen log.  I listen carefully to make sure I haven’t been heard, then again look down at the group.

They have someone pinned to the ground, face down in the leaves.  I can only make out dirty jeans and a pair of boots.  The figure on the ground struggles fruitlessly, and I catch a glimpse of a soft, curved cheek and full lips within a blur of long, dark hair.

Female?

My heartbeat picks up.

I haven’t seen a female in months and then only from a distance.  There are so few left.  I was starting to think I would never see another one.

A female.  A real, live, apparently healthy female.

She continues to thrash on the ground, kicking at her captors, but she’s completely pinned and grossly outnumbered.  The group taunts her.

“You think she’s a breeder?  I bet she’s a breeder.”

“Looks fertile enough to me!”

“Only one way to find out!”

“We gotta take her back to camp.  Gary’s gonna want to see her.”

My ears perk up at his words.  They must have a camp nearby.  It could even be the one I came out here to find.  It’s the perfect opportunity to follow them back and gather more information on the group before I make a move.

“If we have some fun first, we won’t have to wait later.  Won’t have to pay for it, either.”

“Good point, man!  Tie her hands!  Hold her legs!”

I glance away for a moment, silently shoving the rage down as far as it will go, boiling inside of me.  I’m not about to get involved in this—not now.  I need to follow them back.

The woman is rolled to her back and then hoisted up by her armpits until she’s sitting.  They wrench her arms up over her head and tie her wrists together with nylon rope.  She struggles and kicks as her ankles are grabbed and held to the ground.  One of the men starts fumbling at the top of her jeans.

I lick my lips and breathe slowly through my nose.  I need to stay quiet and out of sight so I can follow them back.  I can’t watch what they are going to do to this woman, and I can’t get in the middle of it, either.  That shit doesn’t concern me.  Besides, it would be six against one.  Getting involved in something that isn’t my business is just going to get me killed.  I can’t risk that.  I push myself onto my knees, planning to move a little farther out until they’re finished with her.  I stand slowly before taking a slight step back.

She must see the movement because her eyes suddenly lock with mine.

My stomach clenches as she stares at me.  For my own sake, I should sneak away and pretend I never saw any of this.  It’s the tactical thing to do.  I don’t know these people.  I have no quarrel with them.  I only need to follow them and get my hands on their pack leader.

A woman’s voice echoes in my head as her face flashes through my mind.  If she were here now, she’d want me to do something about it.  She would never let me just stand by while this happens.  She knows what it is like, and I know what it did to her.

This woman isn’t my problem.

Her eyes are still locked on mine, her expression pleading as a dirty hand covers her mouth and muffles her cries.  The rage I’d been shoving into my gut resurfaces.  I can’t do it.  I can’t just leave this woman to her fate.

I raise a single finger to my pursed lips.  The woman’s wide eyes show understanding.  She looks back to the men surrounding her and doesn’t look in my direction again.

I scan each of the men in turn, searching for any weapons.  The only obvious one is the assault rifle strapped around one man’s shoulder.  One of the others has a slight bulge under his arm.  It could be another gun.  The others have knives at their belts but no obvious firepower.

I’ve got nine bullets in the gun.  I don’t want to waste them all, but I need to increase the odds in my favor.  The men are all thin, undernourished, and from the way they speak, uneducated.  They are probably used to using their numbers to overwhelm adversaries and don’t think about tactics.

If I take out three of them with the gun, I can handle the other three melee.

I can’t take any chance of hitting the woman.  I’m a good shot but not perfect, and she’s far more valuable than bullets.  If I aim for the men on the far side of her, I’ll decrease the chances of a stray shot getting near her.  I’ve also got to take out the guy with the AR.  He’s standing closest to me, which puts the woman right behind him.  He needs to go first, and I’ll need to go for the head shot.  The second will be the one with the suspicious bulge under his left arm.  My last distance target will be the one guy who looks like he could give me the most trouble physically.  He’s bulky and taller than the others by several inches.

Flicking my finger over the safety, I raise my arm and take aim.  I breathe deeply, slowly exhale, and pull back on the trigger.

Five of the men in the group startle at the sound.  The man with the AR falls to the ground as the back of his head explodes.  I switch my aim to the right, targeting the guy with the bulge under his arm—he’s reaching into his jacket—and shoot again before the remaining four men begin to scramble.  As they dive for cover, they all look around for a moment before they catch sight of me.

I get one more shot off, but the tall man moves too quickly.  I hear his scream and know I’ve hit him but only to wound.  I fire again, and the shot goes wide to his right.

“Fuck,” I mutter.

I aim again, following his movement in the sparse undergrowth.  One more shot and I see his body drop to the ground.  I only have four bullets left.  I’ve wasted more ammo than I can afford.  I shove the gun back in its holster and rush down the hill, drawing one of my knives.

I tackle the nearest adversary immediately, shoving the knife into his side and shoving him to the ground.  He screams in pain as the other two take position, trying to flank me.

“I don’t know what your problem is, bro,” one of them says.  “We ain’t got no fight with you.”

I don’t reply.  I stand at the ready, waiting for either of them to make a move.

“Hell, we can even share a little, if that’s whatcha want.”  He motions to the woman on her back.  She’s pulled her hands up in front of her face and is trying to get her ropes untied.  “We got other breeders, too.  We got a whole camp nearby.”

“Where?”  I keep my eyes on both of them as I utter the single word.

“Not far.  I kin show ya.”  His eyes widen just a little.  He has no intention of showing me anything.  There’s a hint of fear, but it’s not exclusively because of me.  He glances up the side of the hill and then quickly back to me.

At least I know in what direction to begin my search.

I stand up a little straighter and move my hand to sheath my knife.  I watch his muscles relax as he glances at the man beside him.

With one quick movement, I switch the knife to my other hand and draw out a shorter throwing knife.  I flick my wrist, and it slams into his neck.

He drops to his knees, gurgling.

The younger man to his side stares open-mouthed for a moment.  When the body drops the rest of the way to the ground, the young man takes off, running up the side of the ravine in the same direction the older man had indicated with his eyes.

“Don’t move.”  I glare at the woman on the ground but don’t wait for her to answer before I head off after the runner.  They mentioned others, and I can’t risk him getting back to his camp and warning them about me.  I also can’t risk anyone else knowing about the woman they found.

My thighs burn as I propel myself up the hill.  The runner isn’t coordinated enough to navigate the forest floor, and once I get to flat ground, I catch up with him quickly.  I leap forward and grab him around his waist, sending us both into a patch of mayapples.

With a quick thrust, I jam my knife into his kidney.  He screams and thrashes on the ground, but I press my weight into his shoulders and stab him again.  Withdrawing the knife from his side, I grab hold of his hair and pull his head backwards to slit his throat, ending his cries.

As his head drops to the ground, his profile is clearly visible.  My chest clenches slightly.  He can’t have been more than eighteen or nineteen.  I exhale sharply out my nose, push off the boy’s body, and head back to the ravine.

As I get to the edge and look down, the guy I had stabbed first is stumbling over to the woman on the ground.  She’s trying to simultaneously push herself away from him and tug at the knotted rope around her wrists.

One target left.

Turning my feet perpendicular to the downslope of the hill, I shuffle down as quickly as I can.  The wounded man holds his side as he tries to keep his footing and lurches for the woman on the ground.  I don’t know what he thinks he’s going to do; he’s in no condition to haul her off somewhere.

I stride quickly to him, and he turns at the sound of my footsteps.  He reaches for his belt and pulls out a long hunting knife.  He crouches slightly, defensively, and grimaces against the pain.

“You think you can take me, you piece of shit?”  His taunting has no effect on me.

I don’t respond.  I’ve been in this position far too many times, especially in the beginning.  I discovered early on that my silence is more unnerving than any clever, threatening retort.

He tosses his knife from one hand to the other.  I watch, still and silent.  I’m not sure if he thinks his display makes him look more skilled with the weapon or if he’s trying to make me think he has equal skill with either hand.  If the latter is his intent, it doesn’t work.  I can tell by the way that he grips the knife that he’s predominantly right-handed.

He lunges, but the wound affects his balance.  I sidestep easily, catching his ankle with my boot.  When he stumbles, I dive on top of him.  We roll twice, and he knees me in the side, trying to gain the advantage.  For a moment, he’s on top of me, and he slams his elbow into my face.