“Meena,” I scream, still fighting off the guard. It’s a futile attempt, but it doesn’t stop me clawing at his skin, even as he threatens and curses me.
I don’t know how long it goes on for, but eventually Meena’s cries fall to whimpers before they stop, and all that’s left is the heavy panting of the guard still attacking her, and the solid thud of his boot hitting her small body. Blood covers her face, making it impossible to tell if she’s alive or not.
When the guard finally steps away from her, giving me an unobstructed view of her limp form lying lifeless on the mat, I stare pointedly at her chest, waiting on pins and needles to see if it rises or not. When there’s no sign of movement, the last of my energy drains out of me, and I collapse in the guard’s arms, sobbing and crying.
“Let me go,” I cry, pushing against him once again, but he still doesn’t release his hold. The sick, fucking piece of shit guard that killed my best friend lifts his head, searing me with his ice-cold gaze that lacks any ounce of empathy. For every speck of emotion he’s missing, I throw all of the pain and devastation threatening to drown me right back at him. I glower at him as fiercely as he’s scowling at me, and in the clashing of our gazes, I promise him the most excruciating of deaths.
One day, Major Bowen is going to be at my mercy, the way Meena was at his. He’s going to beg me for amnesty; he’s going to pray for it to end. Throughout it all, I’m going to soak up every pained scream and hopeless whimper, and when the light dims in his eyes, he’s going to look up at me and know his death was of his own making.
I can’t tell her brother any of that, though. “She died because she refused to be turned into a monster like the rest of us.” A single tear slips down my face. “She was the best person I have ever known, and she held on to that until the very end.”
He ducks his head, and I glance away, giving him a moment while he sniffs and wipes at his eyes. Tears still shine in them when he looks back at me, but there’s a determined set to his jaw that reminds me so much of Meena, it has a fresh wave of tears threatening to break past my defences.
“We’ve gotta get you out of here. I wasn’t there for Meena when she needed me, but I can at least help you.”
I have no idea what he can do to help, not without putting himself at risk, and I won’t let him do that for me, but he can at least be on alert for when my guys come, which should be any day now, hopefully.
“I have people coming for me,” I tell him, watching as his eyebrows lift in surprise. “I don’t know when, but you might be able to help them when they get here.”
He nods. “Anything I can do, I will.”
Chapter 2
Despite being on the road before the first rays of light graced the horizon, it takes all day to make the drive to Black Creek, and I’m exhausted and disheveled by the time the urban wasteland makes its mark on the surrounding landscape.
Too much coffee and unappealing gas station food has me feeling both buzzed and groggy. The combination leaving me short tempered and impatient as I park the car, throwing up a faint hope to whatever God above that likes to pull on our puppet strings, it will still be there when I come back in a few hours.
Walking the streets of Black Creek feels both familiar and like I’m seeing the place for the first time. It’s been ten years since I was last here. Ten long years. And while the streets look the same, they also appear so much more bleak and dreary than I ever remember. Walking past an alley, the stench of piss hits me like a freight train, and I can hear the telltale signs of homeless people farther down it, most likely scrounging for scraps and huddling together for warmth.
Staying alert, I make my way quickly down the street until I come to the first bar I’ve seen. It’s the last unit at the end of a row, and the rowdy roar of a drunk crowd escapes the bar before I even open the door, which looks like it’s barely hanging on its rusted hinges. The whole thing squeaks dangerously as I yank it open and step into the crowded, sweat-stenched room. As I push my way through the horde of sweaty bodies toward the bar, I scan my eyes around the room. After all these years, I thought I’d feel a sense of coming home when I stepped foot back in this rundown town, but taking in the scruffy riff-raff surrounding me, I have never felt more out of place. If I don’t belong here, and I don’t belong in the overprivileged world of Pacific Prep, where do I belong? A voice at the back of my head whispers with Hadley, and the rightness of those two words calms me. With that reminder of my girl, I push through the throng of people lining the bar with renewed energy.
“What can I getcha?” the bartender asks. He’s an older man, in his fifties, with long gray hair pulled back in a bun. There’s a cigarette sticking out of the corner of his mouth, and as he inhales, the tip glows, ash growing along the end until it falls off, dropping into a glass in his hand.
I keep my features neutral as he exhales and smoke curls out from between his parted lips. The stench of cigarettes permeates the air between us and clings to my clothes.
“Beer. Eh, Bud will do,” I grunt out, figuring something in a bottle is the only safe choice.
Grabbing a bottle, he uncaps and hands it to me. As he slides it across the bar, I lean in toward him. “And I need some information.”
Lifting an eyebrow, he doesn’t say anything, waiting for me to continue.
“I need to know where I can find the Reaper Rejects.”
His eyes widen slightly, and I don’t miss the way his gaze drops, taking in my clean, form-fitting t-shirt and jeans that aren’t hanging off my ass like half the idiots in here. I deliberately dug out an old top and jeans from the back of my dresser, wanting to do my best to fit in here, but regardless of my casual attire, scruffy beard that’s grown out since Hadley disappeared, and tattoos on display, it’s obvious I’m not from around here. I look too put together. I don’t have that mix of vicious hunger and hopelessness in my eyes, or the same haggard look as most of the people that have lived here their whole lives.
“They operate out of a house on River Street,” he responds, his gaze lifting to meet mine.