Chapter 31 Chapter31: Setting Out
“Why you slow dancin’?” Max’s voice cut through my concentration. He stood there, leaning on his crutch, a smirk plastered on his face.
I stopped mid-motion, my hands slowly lowering to my sides as I steadied my breathing. “Hey, Max. I see you’re ready too.”
With childish glee, he waved his sawed-off shotgun. “Damn right! You can trust ol’ Max. And I don’t make a song and dance outta it-hee-hee!”
I ignored the jab, the peace of the Qigong shattered. I grabbed my gear and nodded toward the gate. “Let’s go.”
The morning air was still but fresh, carrying the scent of damp earth and the distant, acrid tang of the city’s smouldering refuse piles. The sky was painted in soft pinks and purples, a beautiful lie masking the day’s danger. As we walked, the steady clop of hooves and the creak of wood announced Mr. Jacks’s arrival from the English Sector, driving a covered, horse-drawn cart.
Then they appeared. A heavily armed man in full, scarred body armour, his face hidden behind mirrored shades and the broad brim of a cowboy hat, strode toward me. His waxed moustache twitched slightly above a cruel mouth. Two equally armoured and armed men flanked him, their movements synchronised and predatory. He extended a gloved hand.
“Miss, I’m Captain Sike. You can call me Capt,” he said in a voice like gravel grinding under boot heels.
I shook his hand firmly, feeling the reinforced knuckles of his glove. “Tilly. Just Tilly. And you already know Max.” I nodded toward Max, who stood nearby with his usual defensive scowl.
Capt.’s grin was a thin, bloodless line that didn’t reach the eyes hidden behind his shades. “Well, if you do as we say, everything’ll be just dandy.” He turned to his men, barking orders. “Billy, you got the VIP. Don’t let her outta your sight. Jones, take the cart, the driver, and the cripple.”
Max bristled. “Less of the crip-”
Capt. cut him off with a glare sharp enough to slit throats. “You’ll address me as Capt or Captain and only speak when spoken to.” The threat hung in the air, absolute.
The cart rolled up, and Mr. Jacks gave a silent, wary nod. Max hauled himself up beside him, muttering a stream of creative curses under his breath.
Just then, Ida rounded the corner, a vision of lethal efficiency. Her pink hair was tied back in a severe ponytail, a modern compound bow and quiver slung across her shoulders, a long, wicked blade at her hip. She moved with a predator’s grace, looking like she could carve through an army without breaking a sweat.
“Hey, Tilly. Hope I’m not late.”
Capt.’s head snapped toward her, his whole-body radiating displeasure. “Who the fuck is this? She wasn’t part of the deal!”
I already hated these mercenary thugs. My fingers twitched, itching to draw my knife and knock that smug, waxed moustache right off his face. But I kept my voice calm, level. “She’s coming with us, or the deal’s off. Simple as that.”
His jaw tightened, the muscle bulging beneath the skin. “She. Wasn’t. Part. Of. The. Deal.”
I didn’t argue. I simply grabbed Ida’s hand and turned to leave.
“Wait, where the hell are you going?” he barked, his authority challenged.
I didn’t stop walking. “Thought you said the deal was off.”
He lunged after me, his armoured boots heavy on the ground. He grabbed my shoulder, spinning me halfway around. I was this close to dropping him where he stood, my hand a hair’s breadth from my blade, but I forced myself to stay still. Good. This was working. He needed the money more than he needed to be in charge.
“Fine,” he spat, the word tasting like poison. “She can come. But I don’t like last-minute changes. Anything else I should know before we move out?” he sneered.
I flashed him a sweet, dangerous smile. “Nope. Let’s go, Capt.”
We must have been quite the sight as we approached the towering main gate: a rickety gypsy wagon, an old man, a cripple waving a shotgun, an Amazon-like warrior with a bow, three tin-plated mercenaries, and me. But at this early hour, few witnessed our bizarre departure. After I flashed my forged permit, the guards barely glanced at us before lazily waving us through into the vast, silent openness of the Wasteland.
Captain and Billy flanked me on foot, the slow-moving wagon creaking and groaning behind us while Jones brought up the rear. Ida, ever the ghost, scouted ahead in wide, looping arcs, her form disappearing into the scrub and then reappearing minutes later, never straying more than a few hundred metres. I’d run countless missions in my time, but this escort was solid, maybe even overkill for a journey that should’ve taken an hour and a half, if not for the wagon’s sluggish pace. We moved in near silence, save for Mr. Jacks’s, low murmurs to the horses and Max’s endless, nervous chatter, which the rest of us pointedly ignored.
About thirty minutes out from the city’s fading skyline, Ida slipped back into formation, her expression grim. “Don’t look up,” she warned, her voice a low whisper meant only for me and the Capt. “But we’ve got a pack of ferals trailing us along the eastern ridge. I’ve counted three distinct shapes, but the tracks are messy, there could be more weaving through the rocks.”
The Capt. adjusted his sidearm and spat into the dust. “They won’t try us. Local ferals know my men. A few hot rounds up the ass taught ’em manners last season.”
I tried to spot the figures in the jagged shadows of the ridge without making it obvious, but the sun’s rising glare blurred my vision, turning everything into a shimmering mirage. “Ida, stay close but keep tracking them,” I said, my instincts screaming. “I don’t want any surprises.”
The Capt. shot me a look of pure disdain. “My men have it handled. We don’t need your scout stirring up ghosts.” He dismissed her with a wave of his glove.
We never saw them again, not clearly, but for the rest of the journey, I felt their eyes on us, a predatory pressure tracking our every slow, plodding move as we inched closer to our destination.
It didn’t take long before the landscape began to itch at my memory. I’d camped here for days before the incident with Nate and his crew, memorising every rock and twisted tree. Now I was back, this time exposed, vulnerable, a target on a plate. I saw danger in every bush, every shadow, every boulder. But we finally arrived at the coordinates burned into my mind.
“Cap’, we’re here.”
He looked down his nose at me, surveying the barren patch of ground. “Don’t look like much. Waste of time and money, if you ask me.”
I forced a convincing innocence into my voice. “This was my old camp. I’ve got supplies buried here worthless to most, but personal to me.”
He shook his head in disgust. “Great. So, we’re riskin’ our arses for family heirlooms and sentimental junk?”
I gritted my teeth, biting back the truth. “No. You’re out here because I’m paying you a small fortune.”
His expression darkened, the condescension shifting to a more active threat. “Don’t get smart, girl. Now where’s this junk of yours?”
Swallowing my pride, I pointed to a specific pile of rubble near the crumbling wall of a pre-Fall ruin. “Just over there, by the foundation. Stop the wagon, and we can start digging.”
He laughed, a harsh, ugly sound. “Me and my men don’t dig. We’ll hold point. You and Pocahontas can handle the shovel work.”
I was ready to explode, to put a bullet between his eyes, but Ida grabbed my arm, her grip firm. She saluted the Captain with a mocking, bright grin. “You got it, Cap’! Us girls’ll do the work while you boys play with your pistols.” She flashed me a hidden, crude gesture behind his back, and the tension broke just enough for me to breathe.
The sun beat down mercilessly as we dug, hot, gruelling, back-breaking work. The air filled with the sound of scraping metal and our laboured breaths. At least I hadn’t buried the supplies too deep; The Sisters’ training always emphasised efficiency.
The first two crates, one of ammo, one of medical supplies, went onto the wagon without a hitch. But as we strained to lift the third, the heavy crate containing the rifle and the bulk of the Stims, the Captain’s voice cracked like a whip.
“Time to earn your worth, cripple! Make yourself useful!”
Then, all hell broke loose.