Never Far Gone, page 25
“For every subsequent question you fail to answer, I’ll take something from you,” the stranger says as he leans forward.
“What the fuck do you-“ I holler out before being interrupted again.
“The leader of the Thrivers was said to have been wearing a dark green bulletproof vest when he departed from the city, yet none of you fit that description. I suspect it’s you, but I want to hear it from your mouth. So I must ask, who is the commander of the Thrivers?” the man asks sternly.
He doesn’t know…
“You tell me! You’re the one who cut out his fuckin’ eye…” I say in an attempt to deflect any suspicion surrounding me.
“Oh, Mr. Montero was many things, but a leader? No, his temperament would be nothing short of detrimental to an organization of any magnitude,” says the stranger as he begins bending over to grab the metal shiv from the ground. As he does, the smell of his citrus cologne makes me more nauseous than the smell of the blood pooling around my feet.
“You need to learn that there are consequences for every action… and inaction,” says the stranger as he circles the chair and grabs my injured hand before bringing the shiv down on my left ring finger. My shouts don’t even seem to phase the stranger as he casually sits back down in his chair as if he just returned from a restroom break. I start to feel lightheaded, most likely from the blood loss, and before feeling a few light slaps on my cheek as I begin to doze in and out of consciousness.
“Stay with me now…” the stranger says. “Who is the leader of the Thrivers?” he repeats.
“The boss… he- he chose not to come with us,” I let out in between breaths.
“You’re lying,” the man says as he begins to stand again.
“No! No, Montero volunteered to take his place instead. The boss, he… he said he’d use that time to get in touch with different outposts around the city,” I falsely confess, hoping the alibi doesn’t conflict with anything Jorge told him.
“Give me a name…” the stranger growls, clearly losing patience as I deflect his questioning.
“Xavier Stern,” I confess. There’s no one on the roster by that name, but he doesn’t need to know that. The suited man examines my expression intently. Here I am, unable to defend myself, lying to the man whose willingness to kill and dismember should terrify me, but he seems to buy my story as he sits back down in his seat.
“Interestingly enough, all of the supplies mentioned over the air, none of which you had when my guys found you, were said to have gone with the group that departed from the… Consulate? Yet, miraculously, you were still able to wipe out an entire group of armed combatants,” says the stranger as he leans his head back slightly. “How is that, exactly?” he asks.
Silence.
After staring me down for a minute, the man stands and unbuttons his stained suit. By the look of satisfaction on his face, I can tell he’s had enough. That assumption is confirmed when he begins walking toward the door he had initially come from before turning to face me while grabbing the bronze knob.
“When you return, be sure to tell Sandman he’s got a deal. I suspect my men will not be returning from this voyage alive, so I leave this message for you,” the stranger says as he lets off a sinister smile before walking out of the room and ushering the men waiting outside to head in.
Sandman?
A man I had not seen before enters the room first with a mop and a bucket of liquid that smells like Pine-Sol and bleach. The men that follow, all of whom look and smell nothing like the man I was talking to, pay no mind to the blood they’re stepping in as they approach. They cut the restraints at my feet and lift me to my feet with ease, leaving my hands tied in the process. Given my weakened state, I don’t resist. They drag me downstairs and through the building until I’m hit by the light outside breeze.
As I’m being dragged to an older Tacoma humming idly on the paved asphalt in front of me, I notice just how massive this area is, with various structures and settlements in every direction, and how many Ravelers there really are: dozens are roaming the streets. The tormented screams that were slightly muffled before are audible now. I look ahead to the truck and notice Derrick in the backseat, motionless and bleeding. Before I can call out, the rear passenger side door is flung open, and a dirty-smelling nylon bag is placed over my head. Without so much as a warning, I am thrown into the backseat with little care.
With my hands restrained and vision limited, I wiggle my body closer to Derrick’s to get in whispering range. I can hear him breathing faintly. As my left arm presses against his body, I can feel his chest rising with every breath he takes.
He’s alive.
“D, can you hear me?” I whisper without trying to alert the goons who just entered the vehicle in the front. He groans in pain, but the guards don’t acknowledge him. I can feel his body contorting to face my direction.
“Boss…?” he asks in a nearly inaudible tone. I can feel his agony just from the question alone.
“They killed Montero…” I quietly confess as Derrick lets out a small whimper.
“We shouldn’t have brought them, Miles,” Derrick whispers as he tries to clear his throat discreetly. I try to get a better look at my surroundings through the hood over my head, to no avail, so I shift my attention back to my companion.
“Are you alright?” I ask with concern.
“The asshole in the suit… he shot me in the fuckin’ knee just to prove a point. I- I can barely breathe with this thing. These assholes might’ve broken a rib or two, man,” Derrick says in a louder tone than before.
“It’ll be alright. We’ll get you patched up, don’t worry about it…” I reassure as I pause briefly to listen to the guards.
“What the fuck are you talking about, prick? Damien said it’s in the North Bronx, not South,” I hear the man in the passenger seat say to the driver.
Damien? Is that our guy?
The men up front are still arguing about directions, so I lean into Derrick and continue speaking once I notice they’re preoccupied.
“What did you give him?” I ask.
“I- I gave him the abandoned armory across the street from the Consulate… told him that’s where we were holed up. He had a revolver to my head, boss…” he recalls. “I’d never sell out the family,” Derrick proclaims.
“I know, buddy. I know…” I whisper as I place my head against the rear passenger window.
This is not good…
With the sun high in the sky, I can make out bits and pieces of my surroundings through the nylon hood. I also notice that the two men in the front of the vehicle are armed, and one of them keeps shifting his long gun around whenever he squirms in his seat. I also notice that the barrage of green outside the window is starting to simmer down, meaning we’re closing in on the city. With each bump the Tacoma rolls over, my anxiety increases ever so slightly. It is only when the car comes to a sudden halt that I fear for the worst.
“Get ‘em out the back!” I hear someone yell from outside. It’s not a voice I recognize. A strong gust of wind ushers past me as my door flings open, and I can’t help but shut my eyes once the hood is pulled off my head. The sun is beaming down on us, and once my eyes adjust to the natural brightness radiating from the horizon, I notice where we are: we’re at the Consulate.
The woman who pulled me out of the Tacoma came out of a sedan that had been tailing us, presumably from the start. As she extends her hand in my direction, signaling for me to stay put, I notice the same branded symbol carved into her palm as the others: the letter “C” carved within what I can only assume is the outline of a tent. I look around discreetly to avoid giving away the position of the Thrivers taking their positions in the Overwatch Convoy down the block. As the Ravelers walk around the vehicle to retrieve Derrick from his seat, I see five goons, most of whom are aiming their rifles at the front entrance of the abandoned armory.
“Stand him up!” the driver of the vehicle we were in shouts as he slams the door behind him after exiting the truck. I can see Derrick react to the sunlight the same way I did once his bag is removed. I didn’t even hear them put one on him before we left.
While facing the armory, I turn my body slightly to the right as if to glance up the block and turn my attention to the roof of the Consulate. Even at this distance, I can see Corver’s distinctive features as he and a few other guys duck behind the roof’s edge with rifles in hand.
There we go…
With two of the Ravelers moving up toward the entrance of the abandoned armory, it is only a matter of time before one of them collapses after a single shot was fired from the roof of the Consulate behind us. I jump at the sound, and the woman who dragged me out of the car grabs me by the collar of my shirt and forcibly turns me around to face the group of Thrivers running through the now-opened gate leading into the rear courtyard. The sound of the gate scrapping against the sidewalk as more and more men and women, all of whom are armed, come to our aid is incredibly relieving. That relief, however, is short-lived when the woman brings a handgun up to my right temple.
“Stay the fuck back!” the woman yells as the gun pushes my head sideways slightly. She’s standing somewhat taller than me, yet her slimmer demeanor would make me a ferocious adversary if I were to attack her head-on. “Where is Xavier Stern? We will only heed to your commander,” she yells out.
The Thrivers seem to listen to her initial command, refraining from moving closer but using what obstacles they can as cover. The various looks of confusion displayed on the faces of the men and women before me, no doubt trying to understand the question that the woman had just asked, only enhances the sense of dread lingering in the air. From my peripherals, I notice the Ravelers beside me doing the same. I extend my bloodied hands forward in an attempt to maintain a ceasefire.
“Whoa, hey! Stand down… stand down!” I shout as the small group of Thrivers in front of me and on the roof, the unease radiating from their faces as they look at Derrick and me with terror, remain idle but alert. Both groups are at a standstill, so I use that as an opportunity to calm things down.
“Everybody-“ I say.
“Shut up!” the woman says as she presses the handgun closer to my temple.
Well, so much for that…
With my hands still up, I see Corver push through the small group of about a dozen Thrivers and stop about ten yards in front of me. I look up to see Vito peering down from one of the windows in the third-floor gym. He jumps frantically before shouting something I can’t hear and disappearing from view.
“I didn’t miss the first time, so I sure as hell won’t miss the next one…” Corver yells as his walnut .308 rifle remains pointed at the guard standing behind Derrick.
The four remaining Ravelers become antsy when they hear the threat, which only makes me more nervous. When Corver notices my severed fingers, his face is filled with red as he transitions his aim toward the female using me as a human shield. I let out a whistle to get Corver’s attention, and when he glances at me, rifle still in the air, I use my eyes to signal to my left. At this point, Corver takes a second before realigning his aim with his initial target.
“Think about the families we have waiting for us at home…” I holler as my voice echoes throughout the seemingly desolate street. The woman, albeit shaking slightly, doesn’t interrupt me again as I continue speaking. “This is our chance to let bygones be bygones. This is our chance to put aside our hatred for one another…” I say as I slowly turn my right hand.
“This… is for the continuation of a good thing,” I say as I swiftly close my right hand and make a fist in the air.
Within a moment’s notice, the back of my head is covered in blood as my female captor slumps to my left and drops to the floor. The gunshot emanating from the Overwatch Convoy is enough to cause Corver to fire his rifle at the middle-aged man holding a shotgun to Derrick’s back. Without acknowledging their presence, I slowly lower my hands as I hear the two male Ravelers to my left drop their weapons on the concrete.
The shouting coming from the Thrivers, who are all quickly approaching the surrendering duo, seems to become background noise to me as I pick up the handgun from the floor. As the men are pinned to the ground, I don’t say a word, even as the Thrivers clear a path for me while I approach the duo. I don’t say a word as I stand over the two men, who are glancing at me with their faces pinned to the ground. I don’t say a word as I bring the handgun up to one of their heads.
“Dad!” I hear someone yell from behind me. With the handgun still extended, I turn my head to see Vito shoving the people trying to hold him back and making a run for it in my direction.
Dad?
“Vito?” the disheveled white man pinned on the ground lets out as his eyes are locked onto Vito. His scruffy beard, tainted with various stands of white hair, is held against the concrete as he resists the pressure on his upper back by Corver. I quickly retract the handgun as Vito nearly throws himself onto the floor to embrace the man I’m standing over.
That’s impossible… He-
“It’s alright, baby. Oh my god, I… oh my god…” the man says as he starts to cry. I look at Corver, who looks just as confused as I am before I hesitantly give him a nod. With that, Corver retracts his knee from the man’s lower back and pulls his weight off him; instead, Corver comes around and aims his rifle at the man’s chest so as not to hit Vito should he have to fire his weapon. In my state of bewilderment, I don’t immediately acknowledge the Thrivers coming to check on me, even as they attempt to wipe the blood from my head.
“I’m fine…” I say as I politely usher them off me.
In the heat of the moment, I glance over to see Derrick angrily shuffling toward Corver, as best as he can, given his injured state, before cocking back his fist and swinging it once he’s close enough. As he stumbles, Corver doesn’t even have time to completely recover before Derrick strikes him again in the mouth. Corver drops his rifle on the ground before lunging at Derrick’s lower abdomen, causing the two to get into a messy scrape on the concrete below. Half of the people standing around keep shifting their looks between one another as if debating whether they should intervene.
“You piece of shi-” Derrick lets out, accompanied by a grunt of pain, given the pressure Corver’s body weight was putting on his possibly broken ribs. “Fucking traitor!” he yells before grabbing a fistful of Corver’s hair and pulling his head as far back as possible in preparation for another swing. This time, Corver uses his forearm to block Derrick’s attack, following up with an elbow strike on the latter’s forehead. As Derrick remains on the ground, trying to recover from the sudden concussion, Corver throws himself off of the man just as some of the on-lookers attempt to hold him back.
“Are you crazy?!” Corver yells at Derrick, who begins coughing as he lifts himself onto his feet. His knee gives out in the process, forcing him back to the ground. Without hesitation, I start walking to the only other survivor of our northern commute.
“Alight, we’re done here-” I say as I extend my uninjured hand to Derrick, who slaps it away as he musters all the strength he can from his upper body to fling him onto his feet.
“You killed David and Jorge! You! How else did they know about us goin’ up there, huh? They only knew your name, motherfucker! You tried to have us killed!” Derrick shouts as he attempts to close the distance between him and Corver.
“I just saved your life!” Corver retaliates as more and more people step forward to hold them back.
“I said we’re done! We’re done!” I say as I turn and extend my pointing finger in Corver’s face. With all the noise accompanying the chaos nearby, including the occasional gunshots let out to suppress the wandering Specs and the conversations between the Thrivers, Corver doesn’t even acknowledge my voice.
“No, fuck that! He put his hands on me!” Corver shouts as his eyes remain on Derrick.
“What goes around, comes around, motherfucker-” Derrick retaliates.
“Shut up!” I declare while simultaneously firing the handgun into the air. Even with all the commotion surrounding us, it becomes quiet enough to hear the ejected brass bounce off the concrete. I step forward and grab Corver’s face to address him directly as nearly half a dozen Thrivers are holding him back. This time, his eyes are staring into mine with a burning rage that can seemingly melt steel with a single glance. “We’re done, you hear me? We’ll get to the bottom of it, but right now, I need you to walk it the fuck off, got it?” I ask in a manner that is more of a demand than a suggestion.
“Whatever you say…” Corver says as he shrugs his shoulder hard enough to break free from his concerned companions. He smacks my injured hand away, which causes a jolt of pain to spread throughout my entire arm that I choose not to acknowledge, given my attempt to remain as stoic as possible. “Boss…” he says before side-eyeing Derrick and storming toward the rear courtyard.
As my eyes follow Corver, I glance at the entrance to the rear courtyard and see Graham walking out with his arms in the air as if someone had just taken his parking spot. Graham and I had switched roles; I am covered in blood and filth, while he looks cleaner than when I last saw him. To my dismay, Graham walks toward me and the remainder of the ever-growing crowd gathering on the street.
“What the fuck is going on out here? Where’s the other two?” Graham hollers out as Corver aggressively brushes past him without acknowledging his presence. After briefly looking back at his brother, Graham comes to a halt next to me, staring indifferently at Derrick, then at our newest arrivals, then at Vito. “The hell is this?” Graham asks as his face contorts once he puts the pieces together. Without paying Graham much mind, I graciously walk back to Vito while placing the pistol behind my belt and kneeling beside him.
