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“Wine, sugar, beans, spices, and I’m sure over five thousand rounds of .22 caliber ammunition.” Marion made a gesture with his hand, and three men walked up toting supplies.
I descended the steps, back straight and refined, chin raised level and strong. I had to look like I wouldn’t think twice about shooting any of the soldiers dead in the street for testing my patience—it was a good thing I wasn’t faking it.
“I can think of a few men better suited for the Overseer position,” someone said from the crowd, but I ignored it and kept my attention on Marion and the stock being set on the concrete in front of me.
After the soldiers popped the lids from the buckets, they stepped away from the supplies. I inspected everything, counting the most valuable items in my head, and when I was satisfied that I’d made a firm mental note of the goods, I waved to an old man who stood nearby waiting to take orders. He stepped up with a spiral notebook in one hand and a pen in the other.
“Make note of the food inventory,” I instructed, “and then have it carried to the warehouse.”
The old man crouched, with difficulty, and moved items to one side as he jotted down the contents.
I motioned to another man with a notebook. “Six thousand two hundred rounds of .22 caliber ammunition, and three hundred rounds of 9mm ammunition,” I told the man—I’d counted the quantities on each box. “I’ll be taking the 9mm rounds with me, so go ahead and make a note of that as well.”
The soldiers grumbled their protest.
“Is there a problem?” I challenged, looking up.
One man smiled and stepped up from the crowd.
“As a matter of fact,” he said boldly, “I don’t think it’s right you take all three hundred rounds for yourself.” His eyes browsed the men around him, seeking their support, and getting it as some heads nodded in agreement.
I stepped right up to the soldier.
“What kind of gun do you carry, Private?” I asked, staring into the soldier’s eyes, unflinching.
A knot moved down the center of his throat; he looked down at the handgun holstered to his right thigh and then back up at me. “A twenty-two-caliber pistol,” he answered with reluctance. It wasn’t considered a man’s gun, but these days one was lucky to have a gun at all.
“And what kind of gun do most of the men in your scouting party carry?”
The soldier’s confidence continued to dwindle; he could hardly look me in the eyes anymore, not because of the gun he carried, but because he realized I was getting around to making a valid point, and a fool out of him in front of everyone.
“Twenty-two-caliber pistols and rifles,” he answered.
I rounded my chin, narrowed my eyes. “Twenty-two-caliber pistols and rifles, what?”
The soldier’s eyebrows drew inward; his gaze veered off to the other men nearby, seeking answers now rather than support. He straightened his back, swallowed again, and corrected himself: “Twenty-two-caliber pistols and rifles, sir.”
Laughter moved through the crowd behind him.
The old man inventorying the food ordered men to scoop up the buckets and follow him down the street toward the building where the food was stored. The crowd thinned out significantly then; the average citizens of Lexington only had an interest in the non-breathing loot brought back from scouting missions.
“And tell me,” I went on, “what sort of gun does Rafe and Overlord Wolf typically carry on their person at all times?”
The soldier’s eyes strayed toward his boots.
“Nine-millimeter pistols, sir.”
I moved my hands around behind me, folded and rested them on my backside.
“Move your stupid ass,” Marion ordered the soldier, grabbed his shoulder and then pushed him to the side. “He’s a fuckin’ idiot,” he told me, and then got on with it. “In addition to all of this, we have bags of smaller items like batteries and jewelry. Found a bug-out bag stocked with a little bit of everything from a sewing kit and veterinary sutures, to water purification tablets and old prescription meds—expired, but you never know.” He jerked his head back once to indicate behind him. “It’s all on the horses.”
I looked over the small crowd at the horses lined on the street. I only glanced at the eight women—I’d known there were eight the moment Marion’s party had gotten close enough for me to count them, but I’d been trying to keep my mind off that aspect of the job.
“And of course, saving the best for last,” Marion said, his smile growing dark, “we have eight new residents of Lexington City.”
That small twinge of insecurity from before came back with a vengeance. I pushed it down, not letting it show on my face. I thought of Evelyn in that moment, and the things she had warned me about that I had always known but tried to ignore. But I could no longer deny the truth, that no matter what I did or what I believed or what morals I possessed, that I would never survive if I didn’t throw it all away, once and for all, and evolve with the rest of the world. Or rather devolve with it.
I gazed across the space that separated me from the women who would be my initiation. And as they were forced to walk toward me, their hands bound, their faces shadowed by fear, I felt what was left of my humanity finally slipping away.
