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CHAPTER
41
FROM THE CAB of the truck, Khaleesi growled low in her throat.
“Whose mutt is that?”
Mercury ignored his question. “We were just leaving. And we don’t want any trouble.”
Al laughed humorlessly. “Guess you shoulda thought about that when you drove off and left me stranded in the middle of the highway the day all hell broke loose. Oh, and again when you broke the knee of one of my men, killed another, and tried to fucking kill me!” His sallow face flushed red as his anger boiled over. “It’s way too late for you to pretend to be all sweet and innocent. I know the truth about you bitches.”
Mercury studied Al as he spoke. His resemblance to the handsome, entitled man who had tried to commandeer their truck six days before was so slight that had he not spoken, she wouldn’t have recognized him. Even a few days before, when he’d chased them through the blizzard, she didn’t think he’d looked this terrible. He was gaunt—emaciated actually. Dark circles bruised the skin under his bloodshot blue eyes. His skin had a sickly, jaundiced tinge. The red-stained stubble under his nose had turned into a scarlet mustache. The front of the orange hunter’s coat he wore was rust from the blood that ceaselessly dribbled from his nose.
“We didn’t strand you,” Stella said.
“And you and your men attacked us,” Mercury added. “We were only defending ourselves. We didn’t want any trouble then—we still don’t want any trouble.”
“You cunts don’t know what you want,” Rutledge snarled at them.
“Hey, there’s no reason for name-calling.” Ford took a step forward and positioned himself between Stella and Rutland.
Al’s eyes narrowed as his expression turned sly. “So, I guess the girls weren’t too good for you, huh? Why’s that? What’s so great about you?” His sarcastic laughter echoed in the dead town. “Other than the fact that some bitches prefer dark meat to white.”
Ford’s body went very still. “What is it you want?”
“Same thing I wanted the day the world went to shit. That truck. Only now I think I’d also like a taste of your girls. I’ve found that an apocalypse makes women act different. Some are just not as accommodating as they used to be. Tell ya what—what’s your name?”
“Oxford Xavier Diaz,” Ford spoke in an emotionless voice.
“Ooh, fancy. Tell ya what, Señor Diaz,” Rutledge added a bad Mexican accent to Ford’s name. “I’ll share with you. My men and I have taken over a town off 216—made it a damn fine place to build a new world. Help me tie these girls up and shove them in the back, and then we can take this truck, that’s already been loaded for me, cross country to where my men are sucking the gas out of stalled vehicles for our motorcycles. It’s genius that we snagged a bunch of Harleys from some dead assholes. Makes it easy to cut cross-country to see what else we can forage. Damn convenient that my bike blew a tire just down the road from here, or you and the girls woulda heard me coming. What do you say?”
Ford’s posture changed. He slouched and shrugged. “Sure.” As he spoke, he turned his head so that he could meet Mercury’s gaze—and winked at her.
Had she not been terrified and so fucking angry she could hardly see straight, Mercury would’ve laughed. Ford hadn’t needed to wink. Mercury didn’t doubt him for a moment. He was playing a part with an end game that would somehow get them away from Al Rutland.
Mercury would play her part too, but as she did, the green fog drifted ever closer to them.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Mercury shouted at Ford.
“That one’s feisty. And a pretty decent shot for a girl.” Rutledge chuckled.
“Yeah, well, I just met these women yesterday.” Ford waved dismissively at Mercury. “They’ve basically been using me as a pack mule ever since, and I haven’t gotten much in return except a meal and a cold bed.”
“Let’s change that then.” Rutland smiled, showing rusty blood crusted between his white teeth. “There’s gotta be some duct tape in that store there.” He jerked his head toward the Trading Company. “My AK and I’ll keep an eye on the girls while you go get us some.”
“I don’t need to go in there.” Ford smiled and started to move across the front of the truck toward Mercury. “They’ve got some duct tape right there in the glove box.”
Rutland raised the assault rifle and pointed it at Ford. “Do you think I’m stupid?”
Ford lifted his hands and froze. “No. I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to. I know what’s in that glove box. That little bitch right there used it to threaten to shoot out my knees the first time we met.” Rutland took a couple steps closer to the truck. “I think you’re being disingenuous with me, señor.” He sneered the word. “And that’s a shame because there aren’t a lot of men left. But, change in plans. Say goodbye, señor.”
“Wait!” Mercury raised her hands and stepped forward. “There’s no reason anyone has to get hurt. We’ll go with you.”
“Now that’s touching. She’s your girl, isn’t she?” Rutland asked Ford, though he kept speaking without giving him a chance to respond. “Which means she will be a fucking burr in my side after I shoot you, and if I don’t shoot you and just take her with me, you’ll come looking for her, which will also be a burr in my side.” He breathed out a long-suffering sigh. “So, I’m gonna take care of both of you, which leaves me with the old girl there.” Rutland shrugged and lifted his lip at Stella. “And that’s a shame because I like young hens better than old, tough ones. Anyway, I’m tired of talking now so—” He turned the AK-47 on Mercury.
“You say women are different since the bombs. Have you noticed that the green fog has literally changed some of us?” Stella’s voice sounded calm, like she was asking Al about the weather.
