Page 9

His Protector

C rouching on the hill, I watch the house in the valley down below.

Usually I would just camp outside, but with this many of us it will attract too many eyes.

It doesn’t help that there have been more and more rumours of raids and the only clan brave enough to do that are The Berserkers. So, the house it is.

Tilting my head, I consider our options.

I know the layout of the house below from passing through before and I don’t see any bikes outside.

That doesn’t mean there is no one there, it just means they are either smart enough to hide their bikes or they are on foot.

I eye the house again still hesitating, it’s an old run-down shack.

Only enough to keep the elements out, but scavs and roadies tend to use it on the way to The Ring or when heading back to The Rim.

I hear a howl in the distance and wait to see if more follows.

If they do, we are out of here. One feral I can handle, but a pack?

Not even I like those odds. I watch for another ten minutes, not seeing any movement inside.

Maybe we got lucky. I snort and stand. The men are sitting on their bikes behind me.

Thorn looks confused, the twins look bored and Maxen looks blank.

I glance at the sky one last time; the night is close and we need to get to shelter before then.

“Looks empty, but that doesn’t mean it is.

Someone needs to stay up here with the bikes while the rest come with me.

Draw your weapons, make sure you stay behind me, and only attack if I say so,” I turn away, drawing my sword as I go.

“Don’t need to start a war.” I mutter. I don’t look back to see if they follow me, either they do or they don’t.

Sliding down the hill on my side, I crouch at the bottom, the sound of the men following me making me smile.

With a quick look, I see both twins and Maxen. Guess Thorn gets bike duty.

I know there’s no back door to this place, it was sealed shut long ago, so front door it is.

I crouch walk over the remaining distance and perch under the window next to the door.

The two windows on either side are opaque with dirt, so no help there.

I crouch walk to the other side of the door and hold my hand up for them to stop on that side.

They watch me, waiting for whatever I decide.

Tilting my head listening, I frown when I hear nothing.

Maybe it is empty. I hold my hand up, all four fingers pointed up.

I drop down to three and they nod in understanding.

I’m just dropping another finger down when the front door creaks open.

Springing up, and before whoever it is can decide if they are going to attack or not, I use the hilt of my sword to smash it into the guy’s startled face.

He howls and falls back into the house, me following him in.

Fuck, there are four of them. I have to trust the guys to handle the other three for now.

The man I attacked is holding his nose where it burst like a ripe grape.

“You bitch!”

I zone out the sounds of fighting behind me and concentrate on this man.

He comes running at me, no thought or planning in his attack.

He’s relying on brute strength. I keep on the balls of my feet, knowing my speed is the reason I’m alive.

Men tend to swing first and ask questions later, no finesse and planning to their moves.

I move like silk, easily sidestepping his attack.

He swivels, and with a roar, comes at me again.

I slide past him, this time cutting his side as I go.

The blood starts to soak through his shirt and it only enrages him and makes him sloppy.

He rushes me again. I feint left and then spin right, cutting him again as I go.

A noise draws my attention to the other fight and that split second is enough.

The punch snaps my head to the side, and I spit out blood.

He doesn’t hesitate and punches my stomach, knocking the wind out of me.

He yanks his arm back for another punch.

It leaves his midriff open, and from my bent over position where I’m shielding my sore stomach, it’s the perfect angle.

I push forward and bury my knife, to the hilt, into his stomach.

He makes a high pitched keening noise and I skip back.

He’s still standing. He’s tough I’ll give him that.

Maxen ghosts up behind him, looking like some avenging angel.

Yanking the man's head back, he cuts his throat, eyes locked on me.

Quickly, I retrieve my knife before he falls. I turn to the other fight while Maxen is still behind me with the dead scav. One of the twins is fighting hand to hand with two scavs. With a frown, I glance near the door.

Gripping my sword, the blood dripping to the floor, I notice the other twin is pinned beneath a scav.

The scav is perched on his knees and has a two-handed grip on a knife, which is slowly descending towards who I now realise is Jax’s throat.

Sweat coats his forehead from the effort in his arms as he desperately grabs onto the knife trying to stop the killing blow.

I blow out my cheeks and palm a knife from my side.

Tossing it up and down a view times in my palm, I swing my arm back and let it lose.

The thud and squelch let me know it hit its intended target.

The body of the scav slumps, his hands loosening on the blade.

Jax quickly pushes him off to the side, where he flops down; dead.

Jax snaps his gaze to me while still laying on the floor, chest heaving.

I look around in time to see the two remaining scavs sprint out the front door.

I don’t go after them, there’s no point. Instead, I look back to Jax.

Not bothering to speak, I simply walk towards him, offering him my hand.

He stares at me for a second, obviously realising now there is a reason I’m comfortable out here.

For a moment, I think he will bat my hand away; I see the inner battle in his eyes.

Blood slowly makes its way down his head and there’s a small cut at his throat where the blade had obviously gotten close.

He gently puts his hand in mine, his decision to trust me clear in his stormy eyes.

I brace and pull him up; he uses his other arm to help.

Still not saying anything, I walk around him to the body.

I kick it to be sure and when it doesn’t move or make a noise, I use the toe of my boot to kick him so he rolls over face up.

I ignore the emptiness in his eyes and the blood pooling around his head.

Crouching down, I grab the handle of my knife where it’s embedded in the side of his neck.

With a tug, I manage to slide it free. It does get caught on the way out, but the blood allows it to slide easily enough.

I wipe the blood coated blade on the dead scavs’ shirt.

It’s not like he will care. Standing back up, I face the guys.

I don’t bother trying to read their expressions.

“We need to move the bodies, or it will start to smell. Then, we bed down for the night. Someone signal Thorn.” With that, I turn and grab the feet of the dead man closest to me.

I start to tug, grunting at the effort; the man is big, so he’s hardly budging.

I look up in time to see Jax grab his head; he nods at me, and together, we lift him.

We toss the two bodies out back. I don’t care about them out here.

If the ferals don’t eat them, they will start to smell and rot but we will be long gone by then.

I use the canteen I brought out to wash the blood and smell of death from my hands.

I silently hand it over to Jax, who doesn’t bother to speak.

Fine by me. I like quiet. He grabs it and copies my movements before passing it back.

I spin, and head back inside to where Maxen and Drax are setting up our stuff in the opposite corner of the room from the blood.

I hear the rumble of Thorn’s bike and turn as he swings his leg off. He whistles at the sight of the bodies.

“Trouble?” He asks us.

“Not anymore,” I make my way up the hill, letting the adrenaline still drive my body, and mount my bike.

Riding it down to the house, I park it around the side.

The others watch me, and then go to do the same.

Smiling slightly, I head inside to get some rest. At least I don’t have to worry about the other two scavs heading back.

They know they are outnumbered, and by the time they reach anyone for backup, we will be long gone.

“Is this some sort of bandit safe house?” Thorn asks around a mouth full of canned beans. The laughter makes its way up my chest and bursts out of me into the quiet room. They all stop what they are doing and stare. I slowly let my chuckles die off, embarrassed by their shocked expressions.

“Bandits?” I can hear the smile in my voice. Thorn looks at me in confusion.

“Yes?” He draws the word out, obviously confused as to why I’m laughing.

Leaning back on my arms, done with eating, I stare at him. We are sitting on our makeshift beds for the night. Mine in between of Thorn and Maxen’s; the twins make up the rest of the semi-circle we are sitting in.

“What do you call them?” Drax asks with a smile on his face.

“Roadies and Scavs,” I say conversationally. The food and good fight have put me in a better mood. What can I say, I’m a little crazy.

“Why two names?” Jax has been throwing me looks ever since I helped him, so I don’t bother looking at him now.

“They are different types,” I shrug. It’s easy to forget they aren’t from around here until they start asking questions.