Page 22 of Savagely Yours
Larke slipped inside.
I followed her into the compartment and then turned to close them again. A second pair of arms joined my efforts. Then, a third jumped in. The three of us managed to get the doors closeenough for a fourth person to jam a broken handrail between the rubber seals, creating a makeshift locking mechanism.
Exhausted, I stumbled backward.
“I’ve got you,” Larke said, her hand gracing my lower back.
At least a dozen people were onboard, hunkered down and either wrapped around each other, trembling alone in a corner where seating used to be, or clutching children against their midsections.
“We’re not sick,” I reassured them, arms raised. “But we need to get out of here. Does anybody know if the train’s opera?—”
My NODs shorted out and died.
Fuck.
It had to be an EMP burst.
Military suppression tech was yet another thing I hadn’t accounted for when this was supposed to be my wheelhouse. I was supposed to know how these guys operated. However, from every direction, they beat me into the ground, using my mistakes as an integral part of their arsenal.
One of the children vomited.
Another child, younger, swiped at their eyes.
“Dez?” Larke, wobbling, reached for me, but her fingertips scraped my palm. “Dez, something’s wrong.”
I grabbed her and held her against me just as light blasted in our faces. Uniformed military personnel collected in front of the doors. Some stood with their guns held against them, while others opened fire on the civilian mob. Larke was neither a child nor innocent to some of the horrors the world could produce, but I turned her away from the carnage anyhow.
A voice crackled through the overhead speakers:
Please be seated.
Remain calm.
Transport to Safe Zone in progress.
Please be seated.
Remain calm.
Transport to Safe Zone in progress.
CHAPTER FIVE
LARKE
Although I was once a federal employee, I had very little trust and faith in government, whether local, state, or higher. It was why, no matter how often the overhead speakers repeated the words “safe zone,” I didn’t put any stock in them.
Prior to departing, all the train windows were covered with black paint. Roughly half of the soldiers guarding the doors entered the compartment while the remaining half continued their slaughter on the other side. The small box smelled like sweat-stained bodies, urine, and vomit, the scent emphasized by the lack of air circulation. The pungent, industrial odor of fresh paint only added to the oppressive stench, leaving behind an almost gasoline-like aftertaste.
No one spoke.
Gazes connected and shared expressions of fright and uncertainty were exchanged, but no one said a peep. Not even the single toddler in our group uttered a babble, his mother clutching his denim jumper until it pulled taut at his hip.
There was the occasional cough, which drew everyone’s sharp attention, and the uneven cadence of shallow, panicked breaths. The soldiers remained on their feet, weapons drawn and a few covered in streaks and splotches of black. Their eyesdarted in Dez’s direction every so often as if expecting him to unload Bethany’s clip at any given moment. However, none of the soldiers tried to confiscate the gun.
We went from the Red Line to the Green Line.
Dez and I sat next to one another on the floor, and like the soldiers who kept an eye on him, he rarely took his eyes off them. One in particular only looked in Dez’s direction when Dez looked away. Something in my gut told me either he knew Dez or he was afraid that Dez might know who he was.
