Cruel World(138)

“Remember what he said. He’s interested in him, so don’t kill him,” Murray called as he unbolted the door and swung it wide. He stepped outside and yelled something Quinn didn’t understand. The fog was slowly lifting from the ground, but it was growing in his head. Hot wetness drenched the side of his face and pooled near his collar. He sat up and tried to climb to his hands and knees, but Thomas pushed him over with a boot.

“Stay the f*ck down or I’ll put a round through that f*cked up face of yours.”

Murray returned from outside the wall, and Quinn wiped at the blood that was beginning to run in his eye. There was someone with Murray, many someones. People streamed through the door, their clothing dirty and torn, faces grimy, hair greased. Most were men, but a few women mingled with them, their eyes cold and narrowed as they spotted him lying on the ground. He counted twenty of them before they split into two groups, making room for a solitary figure that strode through the doorway, stopping several paces from where Quinn lay.

The man was bald, with a healing gouge along the top of his scalp. He wore a blond goatee, and it rippled around his mouth as he smiled revealing the empty space where his upper teeth should’ve been. He sauntered closer and knelt beside Quinn, bringing his face close to his.

“You sure have one of those unforgettable faces,” the man said. His voice was like gravel sliding on concrete. A wave of chuckling rolled through the mass of people behind him, but he didn’t stop looking at Quinn. “You believe in serendipity, my friend? Because finding you here is nothing less than a miracle.” The man stroked his goatee with his left hand, and Quinn saw the clotted stumps sewn shut where his ring and pinkie fingers were missing. “Left me to die in that ditch and stole my bitch.” Laughter again from the group. He stood and drew out an automatic pistol, turning to where Thomas watched.

“You Thomas?” the man said. Thomas nodded, stepping forward to hold out a hand.

“And you’re Bracken.” They shook.

“So this is Murray?” Bracken said, pointing at the other soldier.

“That’s me,” Murray said.

Bracken raised the pistol and shot Murray through the forehead. Brain matter flew in streamers out the back of the man’s skull, and his eyes crossed before falling to his knees then his face. Bracken turned the pistol on Thomas whose mouth hung wide, his hands open at his sides.

“Don’t shoot me! Don’t, please!” Thomas yelled, holding his palms out.

“Tell me why I shouldn’t,” Bracken said, tilting his head to one side.

“Because I got you in. I guided you here. We have a deal. Please. I can fight. I know my way around the camp better than anyone.”

“We’ll see about that,” Bracken said after studying the soldier for a time. “Vince, relieve this jarhead of his weapons.”

Quinn searched the area for a way out, but feet were filling up his vision, encircling him as he turned. He wiped at his eye again, clearing it of blood, and gazed up at Bracken who stood over him. The man looked a thousand feet tall, taller than any stilt.

“What’d you do with my property, friend? You keep her for yourself? Kill her when you were through?”

“She turned,” Quinn said, spitting coppery saliva onto the ground. “She’d never been exposed to the virus.”

Bracken seemed to consider this. “That makes sense. Her and her husband and boy were holed up in a cabin way off in the boondocks. It’s a shame. She was sumptuous.”

“What do you want?” Quinn asked, shooting a look toward the far end of the compound. The rain fell in light curtains, and the wind tugged at the tents. There was no help coming.

“To carve out a life in this new and exciting world, that’s all.” Bracken cocked his head. “And you, you tried to take that from me. Do you know how much pain I endured recently?”

“Not enough,” Quinn said.

Bracken kicked him in the shoulder sending him back to the ground. Spangles of light spun at the edges of his vision, and he gasped with the agony that flooded the place where the man’s boot had landed.

“Plenty,” Bracken said. “But I’m not a cruel man. I won’t leave you to die in some ditch drowning in your own blood. I’m not like that. This world needs a new God since the old one is dead.” He lifted the pistol and centered it on Quinn’s head. “And I plan to be merciful.”

Quinn spun on the ground and threw a kick at Bracken’s leg. It connected, sending the man off balance. The gun fired, mud kicking up beside Quinn’s elbow. He made to launch himself to his feet when several fists pummeled his head and back. He curled in on himself as a kick caught him in the thigh dropping him to the wet ground.