Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 107619 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107619 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
After that, we wandered on our own for a while and then eventually found Jack. I don’t think that was his real name, but he referred to himself as “Jack of All Trades” and so we just called him Jack after a while. He was a tiny guy with pale skin, glasses, a wiry build, and a bald head. He was a prepper, and that was why he was surviving so well in the apocalypse. He felt bad for me and Boyd and took us in. That went great for a few months, until Boyd got bored, robbed Jack blind, and left in the night with most of our stuff, including Jack’s valuable guns. I hadn’t seen my brother since, and that was years ago.
Jack’s been gone these last eighteen months or so and I’m alone, and somehow I’ve managed to get stuck with my shitty, no good brother once more. Damn.
After they’ve confirmed that I’m telling them the truth and the gas station is indeed dry, the fleet of bikes heads off, and I have no choice but to go with them. Boyd makes the guy sitting behind him give me his spot, and so I ride behind my brother while he shouts into the wind, telling me what he’s been up to.
Apparently he got kicked out of another fort in between now and the time he left me and Jack. He doesn’t tell me the name of the fort, of course. My brother likes to keep his secrets, and I imagine whatever he did to get kicked out was pretty freaking bad. I don’t ask for more details. After he got booted, he hooked up with his current crew of nomads. Azar’s gang, he calls them.
“Who’s Azar?” I ask. Weird freaking name. “He foreign?”
My brother just laughs. “He’s some weird fuckin’ albino, but he’s a tough son of a bitch. You don’t mess with him. I’ll introduce you later.”
Great. I can hardly wait.
One of the bikes starts to sputter, low on fuel, so the bikes all pull into the parking lot of an old chain hotel. I get a funny feeling in my gut because the place looks relatively clean and neat, and there’s a cardboard sign on the door that reads “Keep Out – No Trespassers.” I smother my objections when a few of the thugs go into the hotel, guns in hand. What can I do? Get shot in the head, too?
Luckily, the people inside—three old men, an old woman and a couple of kids—give up their home without a fight. They’re chased, sobbing, into the night, and I have to harden my heart against them. They’ll find protection somewhere else. Hopefully. It’s at least a day or so from the next dragon attack.
Again, hopefully.
I focus on watching the others in the nomad band. I don’t see many women with this group. In fact, I only see two, and both are twice my age and could be someone’s mom if it weren’t for the slutty tops they’re wearing and the way they’re hanging on the men. That’s all right. A girl’s gotta get her safety in the After any way she can. No judging. But this could be dangerous for me, considering that I’m the only young female in the group. Maybe the fact that I’m Boyd’s sister will keep me safe.
Ha.
I keep a hand on my knife belt and think longingly of my baseball bat that I had to leave behind. These thugs look like any other nomad bunch in the After. Dirty, ruthless and brutal. I’ve no doubt they’ve murdered and pillaged their way here, because I’ve dealt with their kind a dozen times before.
The thing I can’t figure out is this Azar guy.
The leader of most nomads is usually the most savage one of the bunch, the most bloodthirsty. He’ll be the first one to use his gun and the last one to put it away. So I’m a little confused when Azar stays inside the van while the others go raiding the hotel. It’s not until the place is cleared that one of the nomads heads back to the van and knocks on the back window that he emerges.
And then I try not to stare. Boyd said Azar was an albino. Maybe he is, but there’s something about the way he moves that’s a little too creepily familiar. I’ve seen those strange, fluid movements before, I just don’t know where. He’s covered in fabric from head to toe, like a post-apocalyptic Berber of some kind, and he’s wearing sunglasses. For all his weirdness, though, the others are deferential to him, opening the door so he can go inside, and then rushing after him, as if this guy’s approval is all they want in their lives.
So stinking strange.
Boyd bounds up to me and gestures at the hotel. “Come on, we’re staying here for a while. Looks like pretty sweet digs. Nicely stocked food pantry and everything.”