Page 37 of The Warlord’s Princess (Warlords of Tempest #3)

REMI

Negotiate? What the hell does he mean by that?

It means he needs medical supplies, idiot!

My hands shake as I hold the receiver, wondering what I should say back.

If only the voice had belonged to a woman. It’s not that women can’t also be dangerous, but I’d be more likely to be a physical match to them if it came down to it.

Though the thought of me being in a fight is absurd.

What kind of name is Gage? Eastern European? Asian? The voice sounded thick and husky. Aggressively manly, which is terrifying.

Gage: Are you there, Remi?

God, can’t he give a girl time to think? But then again, what is there to think about? I’m out of food.

Sure, I can rummage through the building, but from the diagram posted in the closet, this is an office building, not an apartment complex. How much food can I expect to find?

Some is better than none, and will perhaps keep me going another week, but after it runs out, I’ll need a plan.

Gage: I know you’re probably scared, Remi. Terrified. You should be. It’s a mess outside. You need allies.

I look over at the bare shelves and know what he’s saying is true.

I can’t live in this world alone, and even if I can’t trust whoever is speaking to me, maybe I can get valuable information from him.

Remi: Are you offering to be my ally?

Gage: No. I offered to negotiate.

Of course he has to play with words, jumbling them and confusing me.

Remi: Do you have food?

Gage: I have every necessity, in excess.

Remi: Then what do you want from me?

Gage: Something in high demand during times like these.

I rack my brain, trying to figure out what that could be, but draw a blank. He has every necessity but still needs something.

Remi: Cigarettes?

A rumbling laughter sounds through the receiver.

Gage: No, not cigarettes. They’ll wreck your lungs.

Remi: Then what?

Gage: I’d like to talk first. Is that okay with you?

Remi: Um, sure…

Gage: Where were you during the invasion?

Remi: Invasion?

Gage: When the dead came.

Remi: I was asleep in bed. I woke to screams and sirens. My mom was looking out the window, her face as white as newly fallen snow.

Gage: You lived with your parents?

Remi: Shit started to go sideways when I was applying to colleges. Then high school stopped altogether. For months, they kept talking about global warming and supply chain issues. It was all lies.

Gage: They didn’t want to incite panic.

Remi: That didn’t work out so well for them, did it?

Gage: How have you survived this long alone?

Remi: I hid in a closet that someone had been using to store supplies.

Gage: Looks like luck was on your side.

Remi: Was luck on anyone’s side?

Gage: You’re alive, aren’t you? That’s lucky.

Remi: What about you? Were you lucky?

Gage: Luck has nothing to do with me. I was made for this.

What the fuck is that supposed to mean?

Remi: You know, I think I’ll just scavenge, but thanks.

Gage: And when the bombs come, what will you do then?

That gets my attention, straightening my spine and making my hairs stand on end.

Remi: Bombs?

Gage: If you turn your radio to 100.9, you’ll hear a message playing on repeat. It’s a warning to the people still inhabiting the city, saying that they’re going to carpet bomb the area in just thirty days. That message started playing ten days ago, so you have twenty.

My mouth falls open as a rush of adrenaline courses through me.

I twist the dial until I reach the channel and listen to the weak voice streaming from the speaker. It’s hard to understand, and I’m only able to make out jumbled phrases.

…from the office off…districts…hot zone…air strike…leave the city…seek shelter underground…may God have mercy on us all…

Fuck...

I pace in a small circle in the closet, wondering what the hell I’m going to do. How I’m going to make it out alive.

Do I stay in the city? Or leave? What did they mean by underground shelter? How the hell am I supposed to get there? Do they mean the sewer?

I look back at the radio, at my only hope.

Perhaps Gage isn’t so bad. If he truly does have enough supplies, there’s less reason for him to be aggressive.

Unless he’s lying and is just as fucked as you are.

I shake the thought from my head because there’s no use worrying over something when I have so little control and desperately need help.

Swallowing hard, I try like hell to muster my last shred of courage as I pick up the receiver and press TALK .

Remi: I’d like to negotiate.