Never Far Gone, page 18
I move in with my gun lowered before swinging the stock at the man’s cheekbone as hard as I can, nearly twisting my ankle in the process, yet I know his pain is much worse. As the man falls to one knee, I aim the weapon at his head, and Corver rushes over to intervene. Jawbreaker stops the attempt in its track as he raises his Glock to Corver with both hands, and I hear him yell out for me to stop.
“You killed my guys…” I say. The sweat is dripping from my eyebrows, but I don’t flinch.
“Boss…” Derick mutters out a few feet behind me.
“Some had kids… And you butchered them like animals…” I say as my weapon’s warm barrel is placed against the man’s smooth temple, which is tainted with the wet blood of his fallen comrade. His stoic demeanor remains steadfast as his eyes lock in with mine, and I can feel the hatred radiating from them as my grip on the gun gets tighter.
“Boss...” Derrick repeats as he extends his hand toward me, cautiously taking a step forward.
“Don’t worry, you’ve earned what’s coming to you…” I say.
“Boss!” Derrick yells out, standing straight and tall.
Control… Bang.
The sound of agony fills the seemingly endless room as Graham’s right hand is penetrated by a bullet from the MPX. The spatter of blood gushing out of his two-inch wound gets over my face as he attempts to stop the bleeding with pressure from his other hand. For the first time, I notice that the crowd behind me doesn’t let out so much as a whimper of remorse. As Corver walks around JB, getting inches away from his face as he does in the process, he stops once he’s in front of me.
“That’s enough,” he says in a quiet manner that does nothing but infuriate me more than I already am. As I turn to my left, tossing my weapon over to Pancho, I use both hands to grab Corver by the collar of his denim jacket before pinning him against a vanity nearby that was set up for display. I can feel something dripping down my forehead, but I can’t distinguish whether it’s sweat or blood.
“He is coming back with us, but let’s get something straight… if anything happens to my men, it’ll be on your hands,” I say in a manner that comes out more like a growl. “And I won’t hesitate to take ‘em from you like I did to him if they’re hurt. Do you understand me?” I ask.
He waits a second or two and takes a hard swallow before responding. “Loud and clear,” Corver reassures as he attempts to recollect his bearings once I force myself off him. He looks around at the other Thrivers nearby, embarrassed but acting as if nothing happened.
“Restrain him. I don’t care about his fucking hand,” I say aloud as those who were in the other two small groups step forward to secure our newest addition to the family. I can see one of them pulling out handcuffs that were checked out of the Armory before we left. I didn’t bring mine because I didn’t plan on using them.
As I make my way over to Derrick, I glance at Graham, who’s slowly rocking himself back and forth on the concrete floor in a desperate attempt to alleviate the pain in his dominant hand. As Graham picks up his head to look at me, he lets out a grunt that sounds like a mix of suppressed agony and aggression. While leaning against the same customer service desk that saved my life earlier, the wood ruined by various minor intrusions along its surface from the shotgun blast, Derrick looks at me without saying a word. I can tell he’s holding back the urge to tell me something.
“Spit out what you gotta say,” I mutter in annoyance over his previous intervention. I cross my arms and lean against the desk next to him, keeping my eyes fixated on Graham as Igor picks him up almost single-handedly.
What the hell does he eat to get that big?
“Dude, you fucked up that guy’s hand,” Derrick says with a chuckle that seems to brighten up the mood a little bit.
“I should’ve gotten both…” I mutter out with a forced chuckle. “I’ve got some questions for him when we get home,” I say. As Derrick digests my previous statement, a look of concern spattered across his face; I can’t help but notice he’s tapping his fingers against the stock of the walnut rifle he has propped up against his chest. He’s holding something back from me, but he begins talking once I reposition myself in front of him.
“Look, I- I need you to be careful,” he says as he looks around for who’s nearby. “You know I’ll be by your side until the end, but we’ve gotta take a step back and think about what we’re becoming. I mean, look, I know what they’ve-“ he lets out before I cut him off.
“You have no idea what they’ve done…” I whisper while pointing toward the middle of the store, not wanting to recall the sight I had accidentally stumbled upon just a few minutes ago. I can tell he’s not trying to argue, as he doesn’t push his point further, yet he continues talking.
“If we don’t draw the line, we will never know when we’ve crossed it…” he says without raising his voice to avoid drawing attention from those around us. “I’m not crying for these assholes, but sooner or later, shit like this is going to get all of us killed,” he warns as he gets closer to me. His sheer size is intimidating, but I don’t move regardless.
Overall, I know that Derrick is a good person, probably one of the most selfless people I’ve ever met, and I know he wants the best for everyone in the family. As he lays the situation out with complete transparency, I can’t help but admire his inclination to prevent future bloodshed. However, I also understand that few within the Consulate have what it takes to do what is necessary to get ahead.
“We’ve done well taking care of each other, but we can only get so far being the nice guys,” I whisper as I point a finger at his chest. I can see that this point of view bothers him, but his facial expression tells me he understands it. “Sometimes the nice guys are forced to do bad things,” I say before shooting him a genuine smile of appreciation and smacking his shoulder joyfully as I head back toward the vehicles.
“Take point on their truck. We’ve still got some work to do,” I yell out to close the distance between us as I turn and begin walking backward.
“Yes sir…” he mutters under his breath before picking up the deceased group’s gear and throwing it into the back of their truck before closing the rear shutter door.
Slam.
8
Ledger
Vito Caruso Renata Caruso
Hope Starcov Charlotte Kennedy
Pancho Ruiz Simon Adams
Derrick Simmons Jayden Walker
(There are 75 additional names on the list)
Journal Entry: Seven. That’s how many people were taken from us yesterday. For what? Some fucking wood and tools? It wasn’t the first time I executed someone in cold blood, yet I find it becoming easier the more I’m exposed to the cruelty of the people in this city (and out of it). It’s getting harder to look in the mirror whenever I have to shower, as if the blood I’m constantly rinsing off my body is seeping into my pores and tainting who I am inside. I am not a bad guy… right? Derrick is right… no more killing. But first, there is one more thing I need to do.
It’s still dark outside, yet the sky is glowing bright orange as if announcing its inevitable arrival over the city. I throw the pen I’m writing with on the desk and sit back in my office chair, which makes an abrupt creak the farther my body leans back. As my forearms lay on the peeling leather cushions separating my skin from the bare metal beneath, I can’t help but reminisce about the horrors I have seen over the past few months.
For what…?
The chair rolls back, nearly hitting the cot behind me as I stand up and grab the 1911 from the duty belt I have propped up on the coat rack near the office door. I check the slightly scuffed stainless steel magazine, which is packed to the brim, before forcefully reinserting it and tucking the weapon into the front of my waistband. With the MPX standing upright on one of the chairs in front of my desk and my scouting backpack sitting against it, I grab a brass key from my pocket to lock the door behind me as I exit.
As I enter the hallway, I nearly bump into Renata, who is attempting to enter the same room I had just left. Her eyes shoot up and connect with mine as she tries to stop mid-step to avoid an accidental collision. Judging from how much stronger it is than I have noticed before, I can tell she just put on a fresh spray of perfume before coming here.
“I- I’m sorry,” I say with an embarrassed laugh that seems to make her look down to the floor and smile awkwardly.
“It’s quite alright…” Renata says before she wraps her arms around my neck, tippy-toeing in the process. She lays her cheek against mine as she inches closer to my ear. “I’m so sorry. I mean, what you saw… I can’t-” she says as her voice cracks.
Forced to do…? What did she hear?
Without much context regarding what she knows or, better yet, how she knows, I assume that she heard Derrick and me talking with the adult family members of those who were a part of the Route 87 Crew earlier in the auditorium. She can’t see my face yet, but I can feel my eyes starting to water: Guilt. She pulls herself off of me, to my dismay, and grabs my face with both of her hands. Her lips are slightly apart as she examines me, and I can see a few nearly transparent strands of saliva in between.
“Don’t worry about-“I say before looking down to conceal my degrading mental state. I can’t seem to understand what the families are going through now that they know where their loved ones are, but I try not to show I am sharing that pain as the urge to cry looms over me. Hearing her sniffling as she turns her head away from me toward the main stairwell seems to make the effort that much more difficult. “I uh- I have something I need to handle,” I say as I begin to compose myself by clearing my throat. “Do you want to have dinner with me? Later?” I ask.
She looks just as caught off guard as I felt when I asked. I start to feel dumb as I realize no one has even had breakfast yet, let alone that the sun hasn’t fully risen either. She folds her hands together and looks down with a more genuine smile than she had just moments ago; something about her body posture tells me she had been expecting that question.
“Only if we’re not having the mozzarella sticks,” she exclaims with a giggle that nearly wipes my memories of the previous 24 hours.
Funny girl…
“What’s wrong with mozzarella sticks?” I ask as I put my hands on my waist, exposing the .45 caliber handgun sitting idly behind the black buckle of my gun belt. Feeling my smile return after dealing with so much turmoil makes me wish I could talk with her forever. I open my arms to provide another warm embrace, with her forehead against my neck as she steps forward. I don’t know how long we stood there.
“I’ll meet you tonight in the Library whenever you’re done with what it is you have to do,” Renata says as she remains pressed against me, this time not pulling away so suddenly. As I lift my head and step back, I hear JB calling out from behind me as he reaches the bottom of the stairs leading to the third-floor gym.
“Miles, we need you to come with us,” he mutters as he and Nicolas, one of the few Thrivers accompanying us in Yonkers, stop a few feet from where I am standing with Renata. I quickly glance down and see Pancho attempting to use his left hand to cover up his right; his knuckles are shaded with red, clearly bleeding. After turning around and realizing that Renata hadn’t noticed, I nod at the young woman in front of me, her blonde hair glowing even as the sun begins to show its face along the side of the building before slowly backing up toward the men behind me.
“Sundown,” I whisper as I give her two thumbs up before watching her turn around and nearly skip toward the library. I look over to the duo standing at my side before giving them a nod. “Let’s go,” I mutter as we collectively make our way upstairs and toward the fifth-floor gym.
As the gym’s wooden door swings open with a little force, I embrace the sunlight peering in from behind the gated walls near the sides of the room. I stretch my arms to my side as far as possible and overemphasize my inhale as the cold wind jolts through the partially open windows. It’s invigorating, yet I can tell Graham, handcuffed to a metal chair in the middle of the gym, isn’t enjoying this as much as I am; his bare body is bruised, and his mouth is covered in blood.
I can only guess who did that to him…
As the men who brought me here usher past me and bring one of the foldable metal chairs leaning against the stone wall near the gym’s supply closet, I position it directly in front of Graham and slam it down dramatically to get his attention. With Graham’s eyes still glued to the wooden floor below, he refuses to acknowledge my presence even as his brother, Corver, is leaning against the wall with his arms crossed only a dozen feet away from him. Corver’s slight head shake tells me he disagrees with what we’re doing to his brother, but his reluctance to intervene tells me he understands why it’s necessary. I turn the seat around so the cushion faces me, and I sit down as I face Graham, with my arms leaning against the metal backrest.
“Good morning, Mr. Whitlock…” I mutter sarcastically, clearly displaying my lack of empathy toward the man. I don’t care how shitty his morning is. “It’s come to my attention that you haven’t been too cooperative with my men here,” I say as I lean further into the chair. Graham’s upper body lifts slightly as he lets out a soft chuckle, still looking at the floor.
Does he think I’m joking?
“Let’s start with an easy one…” I say as he begins to pick up his head. The bags under his eyes tell me that last night was not the only hardship he’s faced recently. Without so much as a second thought, I continued speaking. “Who are you?” I ask sternly.
“I’ll tell you what, asshole… why don’t we just skip the dumb-ass questions and get to the real ones, eh?” Graham says aloud for everyone around us to hear. I glare over at Pancho, who takes a step forward but keeps his distance when I abruptly put up my hand for him to stay where he is. Corver rubs his eyebrows with his fingers in such a way that resembles a student who just got back a failing test grade.
I wait a few seconds, analyzing Graham’s ragged body posture, before slowly standing up and walking around the chair separating us. I only take a step or two before I swing my right fist into Graham’s cheek, causing his chair to stumble slightly. He almost seems unfazed by the impact.
“Wow… you don’t do this much, do you-“ he asks before I react with another, more violent swing using my non-dominant fist. With blood now on my left knuckles, I casually shake it in the air in an attempt to mitigate the pain I felt after the last strike. He takes a second to realign himself before letting out a laugh. I can’t tell whether it’s genuine laughter or merely a way for him to preserve his ego, but it throws me over the rail, nevertheless.
Grabbing the bottom of his chair by the small bar welded near his ankles, secured with zip ties to each chair leg, I flip him over onto his back. With Graham landing on his injured hand, he lets out a blood-curdling scream that is quickly overshadowed by the noise being generated from the Consulate’s ongoing exterior fortifications. As the white cloth around his dominant hand slowly becomes a dark shade of red, I use my fingers to point to the windows around us: what happens in here stays in here.
“You must think you have a goddamn choice!” I yell out as I step down on his shoulder, which increases the volume of his screams as the weight of his own body continues to rest on top of his bleeding hand. Derrick, who’s staring at me with a blank expression, notices my reluctance to resort to violence immediately and gives me a nod of approval to proceed with the direction I was heading.
“Who are you?!” I shout as my black combat boot presses slightly harder on his shoulder.
“Ah! Fuc- Graham…” he screams out as the handcuffs keeping his hands in place jingle with every movement he makes.
“No! Who are you?!” I yell.
“I just fucking told you, you piece of sh-“ Graham lets out before I use my other foot to stomp on the middle of his chest, causing him to yelp in agony before I drop down to one knee and ferociously cover his mouth with my hand.
“No. I want to know who you were with… I want to know what group butchered our people like fuckin’ livestock?” I ask as Graham’s attempts to inhale are restricted by the lack of air traversing from in between my fingers. I let go and stand back up right before he spits to the side and begins coughing up more blood. I take a step or two back to avoid the spatter.
“I’ve only ever heard them calling themselves Colonists,” he says as his breathing becomes more concentrated. He begins to cough a little more violently when he accidentally inhales small amounts of blood through his nose, but I move in for confirmation of what he said.
“Colonists? You think this a fucking joke?” I ask, acknowledging how repetitive my question sounds.
“Oh, screw you, alright? Believe what you want to believe, you prick,“ Graham says with frustration as I interrupt him. With his eyebrows furrowed, his bare chest rises as his temperament does the same.
“Alright, I’ll bite. Now I want to know where they are,” I declare as I impatiently pace back and forth in front of him. Graham begins to cough once he moves his head too far to the right in an attempt to follow me with his eyes. Corver, who I can see is no longer leaning against the wall, looks at his brother and begins speaking as Graham regains his composure.
“This is all he wants to know…” says Corver as he puts his hands in his pocket.
“Oh, no, I’m nowhere near the end of this conversation…” I say as I bend down to prop Graham in an upright position. Choosing to ignore his hand dripping crimson liquid onto the wood floor below, I can tell Corver isn’t happy with my recent declaration.
