Bombtrack (Road To Babylon, Book 2) Page 9

  The woman put the tray down, then left the stall and came back seconds later with an aluminum bucket that she placed in front of Gaby. She picked up the tray and placed it on the bucket before bringing over the same stool Buck had used to sit on earlier. The woman then fished out a small plastic spork that looked as if it had been used (a lot of times) before.

  Gaby sighed, realizing what was going to happen. “Is this really necessary? I’m not an infant.”

  “Orders are orders,” the woman said.

  She was in her thirties, pretty in a girl-next-door type, and slim. She was shorter than Gaby by a few inches, but made up for it with a bigger chest. If not for the grimy clothes and the stained Hello Kitty apron, she would have been nice to look at. And maybe she still was, if one of the guard’s lewd comments was any indication.

  “Where am I?” Gaby asked.

  The woman ignored her question and took out an equally dirty plastic knife from her apron and began cutting off a piece of meat.

  Ugh. Definitely not very appetizing.

  “My name’s Maggie,” Gaby said.

  The woman sporked the piece of cut meat and held it up. “Say ah.”

  Gaby didn’t obey.

  “You have to eat,” the woman said. “I know you’re hungry. I can tell. And this is the only way you’re going to eat today.”

  Gaby sighed, then did her best to shut out the smell of the stables before opening her mouth. The piece of meat was cold and tough, but it was still protein that she needed, and she forced herself to swallow it down without bothering to taste it.

  “There you go,” the woman said.

  What am I, your toddler? Gaby thought, but she said again, “I’m Maggie.”

  “Cherise,” the woman said as she sawed off another piece of the steak. “Are you thirsty?”

  “God, yes.”

  Cherise put the spork and knife down and took out a small bottle from another apron pocket. She twisted open the cap, stuck a straw into it, and held it up to Gaby’s mouth.

  Gaby sucked greedily and didn’t stop until Cherise took it away. “This is all the water you’re going to get for today, so you should try to make it last.”

  “Thank you,” Gaby said, and smiled.

  The older woman returned it. It looked, Gaby thought, pretty genuine, as did Cherise’s “You’re welcome.”

  “Where am I, Cherise?” Gaby asked.

  Cherise didn’t answer, and instead went back to work on the steak.

  “I don’t think it matters if you tell me where we are,” Gaby said. “It’s not like I’m going anywhere. Or going to do anything about it. Not tied up like this.”

  The other woman paused her cutting and seemed to think about it. Finally, she turned her attention back to the meat and managed to cut free a big chunk. She held it up and Gaby swallowed it, this time without bothering to waste time chewing. She almost choked on it but managed to get it down anyway.

  That seemed to please Cherise, and the woman finally said, “Fenton. You’re in a city called Fenton.”

  Nine

  Fenton, Texas.

  The name didn’t ring any bells, but there were a lot of towns and cities in Texas, not to mention the rest of the world, that no one had ever heard of until the ghouls settled them with survivors of The Purge. Some were built from the ground up and others were repurposed from existing places. Since The Battle of Houston, Black Tide had been struggling to piece together where everyone was; they still were, five years later. Instead of shrinking, the map only got bigger every year.

  “Where are we exactly?” Gaby had asked Cherise, but the woman refused to answer any more questions.

  Gaby tried again a couple of times and even switched to more innocent topics before returning, but Cherise wouldn’t budge. When the tray was finally empty, the older woman left without a word, leaving Gaby in the stables by herself again.

  Not quite alone. There were the horses around her. The animals had become the new preferable mode of transportation with gasoline becoming so rare, though Gaby wouldn’t know that by all the vehicles Buck’s men had at their disposal.

  Where are they getting all the fuel?

  It was one of many questions she kept asking herself.

  The others were: Where the hell is Fenton? Why are they sending out raiding parties?

  But maybe the most disturbing question remained: Why are they only taking the women and the children? What are they doing with them?

  The old Gaby would have been hesitant to seek out the answers (especially to that last question), but the new her was already envisioning all the sick possibilities. She’d seen men do some terrible things since The Purge, and still did, now, even after everything she and her friends had sacrificed to give the world a second chance.

  You gave everything for this, Will, but in the end, men are still men, and they always will be.

  Gaby leaned back in the chair and took stock of her situation.

  It was shit. There was no getting around it. Not just in the form of horse manure around her, but everything else, too. The only bright spot that she could cling onto was that she felt better after the meal. As cold and chewy as the food had been, it was still much-needed nutrients that kept her body from shutting down. The water was even more welcomed, even if Cherise did feed it to her like she was a helpless child.

  Not far from the truth, I guess.

  At least, not while strapped to the chair. This hard metal chair that was like sitting on bricks. It was also cold, which didn’t help. There was no way she was going to break free of it. Not with her wrists tied and arms fastened to the backrest. She couldn’t even move her legs with the duct tape wrapping them so tight against the chair’s two front legs.

  Helplessness was a feeling she didn’t enjoy. Not one bit. But there was nothing she could do except sit there and wait…for what, exactly, she wasn’t sure.

  “Stay alive. That’s your job. Dead men can’t do anything or help anyone.”

  At least she had that, if nothing else. She was still alive.

  Small slivers of sunlight penetrated the wooden panels around her, so it was still late afternoon. Maybe evening. Five, maybe six o’clock, even though she could sense the coming darkness. It was a sixth sense nurtured and honed in the over-year-long nightmare that followed The Purge.

  But it wasn’t ghouls she was worried about now. There would be no need for that in a place like Fenton, with the kind of army (and weapons) Buck and Redman clearly had at their disposal. Men who could afford to send small armies to take towns like Kohl’s Port many miles away wouldn’t have any issues dealing with ghouls.

  No. The more pressing threat to her right now walked on two legs and wore clothes, and smelled of bad cologne—

  Cologne?

  Someone had come into the stables.

  How? When? Did I fall asleep and didn’t realize it?

  No, she hadn’t nodded off. She would have known if she had.

  So how did Mr. Cologne (and it had to be a man, she was almost 100 percent certain of that) sneak his way into the building without her hearing the door opening or closing?

  Gaby’s body tensed as she stared forward at the faded and scarred brown wall in front of her, and waited. She listened to the sound of boots pressing on the slightly damp ground, occasionally snapping a piece of dry hay that had gotten loose from their piles.

  Any minute now, buddy.

  It took him over ten seconds after she (smelled) noticed his presence before the man jiggled the deadbolt open. He swung the door wide, looked into the stall, and smiled at her. She had never seen him before, but she recognized the voice.

  “Look at you. All hog-tied and nowhere to go,” the man said. He was the same person who had made the lewd remark to Cherise earlier.

  She slowly looked over at him, forcing her face to be as placid as possible. He was leaning against the open doorframe, watching her back.

  The man wore all black—cargo pants, a long-sleeve thermal shirt
, and the now-familiar assault vest with the circled M. She didn’t see a rifle on him, but he wore a gun belt that hung low on his right hip in some kind of gunfighter’s rig. A SIG Sauer jutted out of the holster in a dangerously unsafe fashion.

  He was peeling a bright red apple with a switchblade, but unlike Buck earlier, Cologne didn’t have the skills to do it in one smooth, unbroken motion. Instead, he was slicing off the peel strip by strip and dropping them to the ground around his feet. He wasn’t exactly an ugly man—she might have even thought of him as handsome—but the sneer on his face and the shiny presence of grease in his hair ruined it.

  “Where’s Buck?” Gaby asked.

  “Buck’s busy,” Cologne said. He picked off a piece of apple and stuck it into his mouth, but instead of chewing or swallowing, he sucked on the juices. He did it slowly and with a lot of tongue.

  Red apples must literally grow on trees around Fenton, Gaby thought, before saying, “So what do you want?”

  “I just wanted to see what all the fuss was about,” Cologne said. “Buck doesn’t usually talk to the prisoners in person. That’s what lackeys like Sloan and Redman are for.”

  “So this is just a social call?”

  “You want it to be?”

  She sniffed the air. “Not unless you’re willing to take a shower first.”

  Cologne chuckled, but it was clearly all for her benefit. “Buck won’t be coming to see you again until tomorrow. He’s got other things on his plate today.”

  “Like what?”

  “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

  Gaby stared at him and wondered if he knew.

  Probably not. Looks like a stooge. Like Redman, but even lower on Buck’s totem pole. He just wants me to think otherwise.

  “Perry told me you were a real looker when they brought you in,” the possible stooge said. “I didn’t believe him, but damn, girl.” He made a great point of looking her up and down even as he sucked on another piece of apple.

  She knew what he was trying to do; more importantly, what he wanted from her in terms of a reaction.

  So give the man what he wants, she thought, and made a slightly uncomfortable face (and made sure he saw it) before turning her head away.

  He chuckled (So predictable, she thought), before stepping into the stall and crouched in front of her so they were almost at eye level. “Want some?”

  She peered back at him out of the corner of her eyes. He was holding up a slice of apple with that shiny blade of his knife.

  “No,” she said.

  “Liar.”

  “I don’t care what you think.”

  “Yeah, you do. You know what I think? I think you want it. When’s the last time you had a nice, juicy red apple like this?”

  She didn’t answer. Instead, Gaby worked some moisture around her mouth and swallowed slowly but not too obviously. Just enough to make him think she was fighting it, and losing.

  Give the man what he wants, she thought again.

  He smiled and plucked the piece of apple from the knife and held it with his fingers. There was dirt on both the forefinger and the thumb he was using to pinch the fruit with; the fingerless gloves he had on both hands were equally speckled with…something.

  “Go on,” he said.

  She didn’t turn her head.

  “You know you want it,” he said, and shoved it against her mouth. It ground against her lips and she grudgingly opened them and let him push the fruit through.

  Jesus Christ, I’m going to throw up.

  There was a split second while he was trying to force feed her the apple that she thought about biting off his finger (or fingers), but there was no benefit to that. Cologne wasn’t here to offer her apples, but she knew exactly what he was here for.

  This was just foreplay, his attempt to gauge her interest—or maybe her pliability.

  She finally turned her head to look at him as she chewed on the apple for a bit. It was salty, a combination of the dirt and grease that covered Cologne’s fingers. She finally swallowed and forced back her gag reflex.

  He sat back on his haunches and watched her for a moment before cutting off another slice and offering it to her, this time using the switchblade. She grudgingly leaned forward and took it off the knife with her mouth, and repeated the process of swallowing. It was a lot easier not to gag at the taste without his hand first touching it.

  “Hey, Mikey, I think she likes it!” Cologne said, and grinned at her.

  “What time is it?” Gaby asked. “I can’t see my watch, and I don’t know how long I’ve been in here.”

  “Six or so.”

  “It’s almost night…”

  “So? You scared of the night?”

  “Aren’t you?”

  Cologne shook his head and fed her another piece, then watched her closely as she chewed and swallowed. She barely tasted anything that time.

  Yeah, keep telling yourself that…

  “This is Fenton,” he said. “We haven’t been afraid of the night since The Walk Out. You know about that?”

  Know about it? I was there, in person, Gaby thought, but she said, “Yeah. Everyone does.”

  “Don’t worry your pretty little head off,” Cologne said. “Nothing’s going to happen to you in here.”

  “That makes me feel better.”

  “Does it?”

  “Yeah, it does.”

  She opened her mouth and leaned forward even before he had cut off another piece. His eyebrows arched in surprise, but it quickly gave way to a smug smirk as he fed her again.

  They repeated the process two more times before he finally reached the core.

  “All gone,” he said, and tossed the remains outside the open door. Cologne stood up and wiped his wet hands on his pant legs. “You’re a pretty healthy eater.” He paused to look her up and down again. “A pretty healthy…everything.”

  Fuck off, she wanted to shout at him, but didn’t. Instead, she injected just the right amount of hesitation when she said, “Thanks. I guess.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  He was standing directly in front of her, and she didn’t miss the slight bulge in his pants. She had no doubts that he knew she could see it, and probably wanted her to. Again, to gauge her response.

  Gaby craned her neck to look up at him. She wished she still had long hair to better sell the look she was going for, but it was cut short these days, and the best she could manage was to shake a few strands loose over her forehead.

  “What are you doing?” Cologne asked.

  “What?”

  “I said, what are you doing?”

  “I’m not doing anything.”

  “Aren’t you?”

  She shook her head. “Can I have another apple? Cherise didn’t really bring me that much earlier.”

  “You still hungry?”

  “Yeah, I am.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Thanks.” Then, with just a bit of a reluctant smile, “I’m Maggie.”

  “Bruce,” the man said.

  “Thanks, Bruce.”

  “Sure thing, Maggie.”

  He reached out and tentatively put a hand on her shoulder, almost as if he were afraid of being electrocuted if he touched her too forcefully. She didn’t move when he did it and maintained eye contact the entire time.

  Bruce smiled. “I thought you were supposed to be tough.”

  “Who said that?”

  He shrugged, then slid his hand up the length of her shoulder and to the side of her neck, caressing her flesh with his fingers as he did so. He moved on to her cheek and didn’t stop until he had two fingers pressing against her lower lip.

  She flashed a look of mock surprise. “What are you doing?”

  “What?”

  “I said, what are you doing?”

  “What do you think I’m doing?”

  “What would Buck say?”

  “Buck’s not here. Buck won’t be back until tomorrow.”

>   “Where did he go?”

  “How the hell should I know.”

  Just a stooge it is, then.

  Before she could ask another question, Bruce grabbed her with both hands and pulled her forward so hard that she strained painfully against the chair and her restraints. She let out a (real, this time) gasp of surprise, but that only opened her lips for him to crush them with his own.

  He reeked of dirt and oil and gas, and his cologne was even more overwhelming up close. There was absolutely nothing sensual about the way his mouth grinded against hers, or the motions of his tongue as they slithered against her own and probed her mouth like a snake. She thought she was going to throw up right down his throat, and she was glad he had both eyes closed or he would have seen the horrified look on her face.

  No, no, no, NO.

  But she didn’t pull away or try to resist him, and after a while she began kissing him back. That, more than anything, shocked him, and Bruce quickly released his grip on her head and took a step back.

  Thank God, she thought as she sagged back against the chair. Every part of her body, from her face to her mouth to her legs, ached from being strained forward against Bruce’s idea of a “kiss.”

  He licked his lips like he could still taste her on his mouth and grinned at her. “I know what you’re doing.”

  “What am I doing?”

  “You’re trying to seduce me.”

  She let out a short chuckle. “Me?”

  “Yeah, you.” He ran his hands through his hair, like a flustered girl trying to “fix” herself up. “I’m not an idiot.”

  “You kissed me first.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Can I get another apple?”

  His eyebrows arched again. “That’s all you want?”

  “What else do you have?”

  He chuckled, before smiling like he had finally figured her out.

  You don’t have a clue, asshole.

  “The real question isn’t what I got, but what are you willing to do for them?” he asked.

  “I just want an apple.”

  “How about an apple pie?”

  “You have pies?”

  “We got plenty of pies. Got all sorts of pies, in fact. This is Fenton. We got everything you need.”