Page 31 of Blood We Steal

Rubin would not intimidate me. I trusted his word that he wouldn’t kill me, not yet anyway. But his promise didn’t matter because I would not let him break me.

I stood a little taller but then remembered I had more than me to think about. My gaze found Aaron where he stood with a group of five or six inmates. He looked at me briefly but didn’t smile or nod. He just looked away.

It didn’t hurt my feelings. I understood that he was at a disadvantage here too. We were both outsiders to this world, circumstances having given us access that no one should have. But we weren’t blood. Never would be. So as much as pride might make me want to throw caution to the wind, I would protect Aaron no matter what.

“Come, Simone. We’re going to the cafeteria. You’ll do inventory.” Rubin walked past me in long strides, clearly done talking to Damian.

“Why not snap your fingers next time?” I muttered.

“If you wish,” he said, even though he shouldn’t have heard me.

Remembering I had more than my ego to think about, I gritted my teeth and followed behind him. I could pretend this was normal. All I needed was my trusty notebook. I’d accompanied Rubin to countless meetings, could remember how he had personally watched me burn every notebook before I was allowed to leave for the day. The only difference now was the occasional scream that punctuated the air, the sound of shots far off in the distance, giving only a hint of whatever hell was happening outside, to say nothing of the hell inside.

As I followed Rubin through the common area and to the hallway, the bodies started to stack up. And not all of them were those dead things. I saw clear evidence of what had to have been brutal fights. Fights with no winner. And then, of course, the mangled bodies. Only day two and the sight of a partially eaten corpse had become de rigueur.

People really were limitless in their ability to adapt.

I’d counted at least thirty corpses so far. But knew that was only a fraction of what I’d eventually see.

As we kept walking, the noise got louder. And this I recognized. It was human. It was haggling.

“That’s mine, motherfucker!” one man yelled.

Next there was a grunt and the unmistakable sound of a fist against flesh. I clenched my fists, wishing I had my clipboard, wishing I had anything to hold onto. I had nothing, but Rubin was in front of me. Then I wished that it didn’t make me feel better.

But it did. Rubin, who’d dangled me over a pit of zombies, threatened to kill me, taken my virginity instead of my life, was the only thing I wanted to lean toward, the only thing that made me believe safety even existed anymore.

He rounded the corner and entered the cafeteria, and I followed a step behind. There were several dozen men, fifty or maybe sixty, but from the noise, it could have been a hundred. Even though the AC blew, the room was almost oppressively hot.

And the room was clearly on the verge of a brawl.

Two large men stood in front of the heavy metal door, which undoubtedly led to the kitchen. Three others flanked them, one with a long butcher knife, the other with a baton that I was sure he’d killed for. The last looked like he didn’t need a weapon at all.

The room was about to erupt.

Rubin was unbothered as he watched. Unease kept my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth, but I tried to mimic Rubin’s posture.

One man swung and was met with a baton to the head, the crack loud enough to be heard over the man’s scream. Two others rushed forward, and the man swung the baton again, though he didn’t make contact.

A mistake because they took the opportunity to tackle him and then blows started to rain down. Rubin watched it all, still unbothered when a tooth clattered down the concrete and came to a stop near his foot.

The man closest to the door lifted his knife.

“Enough!” Rubin’s voice reverberated through the room with all the power of a cannon blast and the air in the room seemed to shift. One man whose face was twisted in rage looked back, and then when he saw Rubin, blinked and then went quiet. So did another and another. Until finally the room was silent.

I’d seen Rubin do this a hundred times before. I had only been in those rooms because no one dared question my presence, not when I was behind him. Most times, he didn’t even have to raise his voice. But whether he did or not, the result was always the same.

“Put down that knife,” Rubin said to one of the men in front of the kitchen door.

He slumped back, resting his elbow on a ten-pound can of peaches, and laid the knife next to it.

Rubin surveyed the room before he spoke. “You all know who I am.”

There was a quiet murmur of agreement.

“You know we’re in a world of shit.”

Another murmur of agreement.