Page 11 of Worth the Ruin
“What part of Louisiana are you from?”
I cross my arms, annoyed that I still have this ridiculous blindfold on and that he’s figured out even this small detail about me. Telling Wynn was one thing, but I don’t want Traegerknowing a damn thing about me. I’d learned long ago to hide my accent for work, and eventually, it all but disappeared. I still have a faint drawl these days, but bits of my home accent and diction sometimes creep in without me realizing it now that I don’thaveto hide it, usually when I’m drunk or pissed.Well, that explains why I’ve slipped with him twice already,I think. Traeger seems to have knack for pissing me off.
I should probably watch my tongue, but I really don’t care. I go ahead and let the full Cajun in me come right on out when I snap back at him.
“It’s a small town called None of Your Fucking Business, bout twenty clicks south of Go Fuck Yourself. Ever heard of it?”
To my surprise, he chuckles, and I know he’s filed something else about me away in his mind.
“Fair enough.For now,” he adds, that authority seeping back into his deep voice again. Not quite a warning, more of a promise. After that we go back to letting the radio do all the talking. I feel like he’s watching me, so I try not to fidget. I want him to know that he has no effect on me whatsoever.
Eventually theall clearcomes through the walkie and we start up again. Several more hours of driving pass before we finally turn off onto a rough, bumpy road before stopping again.
“You can take that off now,” he tells me. I yank the damn bandana off and blink several times as my eyes adjust. It’s still light out, but the sun will be setting soon. “We’re stopping for the night.”
He hops out of the truck and stretches his arms.
“Goodie,” I mutter dryly as I open my door and get out. I stretch too, moaning quietly as my muscles unknot. I glance around and realize why the blindfold wasn’t necessary for the night: we’re in a small clearing completely surrounded by trees, no distinguishing landmarks to be seen. The vehicles have been pulled around to form a barrier between the tree line and thecenter of the clearing. Some of the men are unpacking sleeping bags and bedrolls, even a few tents, while others start a couple of fires.They’ve done this before. So, this must be a typical stopping point for them along the way then, and I’ll admit, defensively, between the trees and the vehicles creating barriers, it’s a good one.
“You can take care of anything that may be pressing that way,” Traeger says, nodding towards a small path between two black SUVs.
“Privately?” I ask with an arched brow.
“Semi-privately.”
He beckons to Wynn with two fingers. Well, if I have to be escorted to pee, I suppose Wynn is a better option than Jett. He’s still throwing murderous looks my way, and it makes my skin prickle. Not in fear, but in anticipation. He’ll make a move, I know it. Not tonight, but one day, hewillcome for me—and he won’t be ready for what happens when he does. I suppress a smile at the thought, telling that dark, twisted part of me to quiet down.
“Don’t suppose I get a weapon to protect myself?”
Traeger smiles at me, and I hate how attractive it is.
“The area has been thoroughly swept, no weapons needed, I promise.” His smile fades and his features grow serious. “You’re smart, Melody. I’m assuming I don’t need to tell you how bad of an idea it would be for you to try to run?”
I nod, telling him I won’t do anything stupid, and his smile returns. He jerks his chin, telling me to get on with it then, so I sigh and waltz towards the opening with my shoulders back and my hair swishing behind me. I never leave the safety of the walls with it loose like this, but I hadn’t exactly been in the best state of mind when we left The Cove. I’d been too focused on not falling apart and saying goodbye to the only people I love in this world.
I may be a prisoner for all intents and purposes, but I won’t act like one. I won’t cower and I make it clear with every line of my body that if they want to break me, they better come ready for a long, long fucking fight. Some of the group give me inquisitive glances or incline their heads in greeting. Some glare at me. A handful give me unmistakable looks of wanting. Those are the ones I’ll keep in my sights.
“Sorry about this,” Wynn says quietly as we make our way out of the circle of vehicles and walk a short distance into the tree line. There’s a thick group of bushes a few yards away that will provide a little bit of privacy. He hands me one of the flashlights and a roll of toilet paper.
“Not much room for modesty in the apocalypse,” I say as I take the offerings and throw him a mock salute that makes him laugh. I wind my way around the bushes, trying not to get snagged on the prickers. I don’t tell Wynn that my modesty had been long gone before the end of the world. I’d been collecting beads at Mardi Gras since I was sixteen and had grown up hunting and camping with my cousins—no ladies rooms out in the backwoods.
Wynn continually makes noises while he waits—coughing, rustling leaves with his feet, talking about football. I actually grin. I can’t understand why someone who seems sogoodis working for Traeger. Maybe his family is being held at FOS and he has to work to keep them safe?
When things are all taken care of, we make our way back to the campsite, and Traeger is waiting for us by the truck.
“You’ll sleep in here,” he says, nodding to the back of the truck. Do I imagine the quick glance he shoots at Jett across the clearing? I spy over the edge and see that a sleeping bag had been laid out inside the bed of the truck. I shrug, grab my pack from the cab, and hop up onto the tailgate. Wynn stands nearby as Traeger makes his rounds to speak to some of themen, probably planning for the rest of the trip. I wonder how much longer we have before we get to FOS. I can’t deny that I’m intensely curious about the place, despite the fact that I wish with everything in me that I wasn’t going there. It’s like getting a chance to check out Area 51 or something. Who wouldn’t be a little excited for that?
Food starts being doled out and, to my surprise, I’m handed a can of green beans and some sort of jerky by a short, stocky guy with a long, bushy orange mustache. I take it with a nod of thanks and he bustles along without a word.
“You look surprised,” Traeger says as he walks back over to the truck.
“Figured starvation was part of the Hostage Package at FOS.”
He gives me one of those inscrutable looks again, studying me in a way that makes me uneasy, but then his lips curl up at the corners as he leans his elbows on the edge of the truck bed.
“You have a lot to learn about me.”
“I know everything I need to.”
