In His Command (6 page)

“My Leon’s
mal pris
?” She rubbed her hands over the scarred tabletop, resting her fingers near the tips of mine. “Tell me da trut’.”

She earned my admiration with her straight-shooter talk. “It doesn’t look good. He was caught at the Amphitheater. They’re charging him with being an instigator in the rebellion.”

She used her shirtsleeve to dab her eyes. “He got the gumbo, dat boy, but he don’t mean to make the
misère
, eh, Cazpar?”

“I’d like to tell you I’ll do what I can for him.”

A wry smile flew over her lips. “
Mais
, you can’t.”

“No, ma’am.”

She nodded. “Dat I know,
cher
.”

Christ.
Her maternal acceptance wrapped around me like the soft blankets neatly folded at the top of my closet, the ones I never let myself use.

She patted my hand. “It’s g’on be okay.”

This was too close to home, hearth…heartbreak. Thinking,
It won’t be okay
, I got to my feet and left her to believe whatever the hell she needed to.

“You should leave soon with the evac. Find First Lieutenant Grant and follow her orders.”

She was right behind me, with her riotous hair and willfulness. “He be wily, dat boy. Don’ you be worryin’ about him none.”

There is one other thing I can do.

I brought the keys to my bike and the helmet to her. “When Leon makes it out”—my voice got real low—“tell him to take care of my motorcycle for me.” As if by giving him my touchstone, fate would have no choice but to bring him home.

I took off on foot. The riots might not have reached S-5, but shit was alive and well near my building. A skinny rebel bent toward the door of the building, trying to jimmy the keypad. Grabbing him by the scruff of his neck, I hauled him up to meet my fist, splitting four knuckles against his teeth. He didn’t have much to say after that, collapsing in an unconscious pile at my feet.

Then I got really pissed when the message end of a gun muzzle nuzzled up to my ribs. I rolled out from the rebel and took his feet with me, catching his gun when he hit pavement. Swiveling it through my fingers, I took aim dead center on his forehead.

Except it wasn’t a male.

Fear widening the female’s eyes until the irises were surrounded by dinner plates of white, she scrambled back. She searched for a weapon and came up with a jagged hunk of brick.

“Drop it,” I barked.

Instead of taking my advice, she leaped to her feet. She was an agile thing with too much courage for her own good. I counted to five, watching her hesitate and scan the area for an escape route before her resolve firmed. She lifted her arm, preparing to launch the brick at my skull.

I never liked to use weapons on women, but I was forced to cock the gun as I spoke through gritted teeth. If one of us had to die this morning, it would not be me. “I said
drop it.
”

I
gnoring my order, the woman hurled the brick at me. It headed for impact with my face, flying on a fast trajectory until I fired the gun. The brick burst into dust when the bullet hit it midflight

“Get the fuck outta here, or you’re next.”

She grabbed the arm of a fellow rebel coming to her rescue and took off in the opposite direction. More fighting coming every which way, I ducked inside my building, taking the stairs to my rooms. I wasn’t one to hightail it from a brawl, but I needed a few minutes of downtime to make sure I didn’t flake out when I came face-to-face with Blondie again.

The hollowness in my heart reverberated in my gut. At least this was one need I could take care of on my own, because I damn sure wasn’t going to the Corps mess hall for my grub. I fried up some nondescript meat with a couple slices of bread, grabbed an apple that was only half mushy, and found a corner of the counter to eat at.

Throwing the frying pan-cum-plate into the sink, I washed my hands and air dried. A look in the fridge that was no bigger than an old-fashioned cooler and I hit pay dirt. Beer.
Fuck yeah.
I had two hours before rendezvous time, and I needed something, even if it was just one damn drink, to loosen the nut-fuck in my head. I slid onto my cot, back against the cool wall, took a long pull, and shut my eyes. I made a mental list of things not to think about. Liz. Leon. Blondie.

I drank some more, slipping down the wall, and considered the trek ahead. Our destination was almost due north, eight hundred kilometers. Given the fact much of the Wilderness was impassible after the obliteration of the Purge and the subsequent invasion of nature, our route wasn’t a straight shot. It bent west, dipped south, eased northeast, and would bring us to the Outpost bunker in approximately one month, on foot once the Land Cruiser ran out of gas. Seeing as there weren’t any refueling stations on the way.

Four weeks to keep my hands off Blondie when I could hardly keep my mind off him. Four weeks to guard him, keep him safe from Nomads.
Four weeks to figure out how badly he’s gonna screw me.

I backed right up to the Nomads, stunned some of them had broken into Alpha to team up with the rebels. They were a winning combo, packing a wallop against Corps troops so far since they were still on the loose in the streets.

The Nomads were a crude breed one step above animals. They originated from settlers who’d been prepared for the end of days and preferred to stick it out with Mother Nature rather than fall in line with the Company. Left to their own devices for fifty years, they’d fallen back to a way of life called basic at best, downright undeveloped at worst.

There was talk about exiles sent outside Territory walls being sacrificed to a malevolent earth goddess. There were also rumors that Nomad communes were free-thinking, well-established colonies and escapees were welcomed with open arms.

I was more likely to believe they were violent mongrels in need of training.

Since they didn’t subjugate themselves to CO authority, they were classified as the enemy, and the war in the Wilderness was always raging. I’d been on the front lines against them before, so I had firsthand experience with their guerilla tactics, which amounted to ambushes and dirty fighting. They were savages whose people were to be put down. That pretty much summed them up per the publicity, and this was one time I thought the CO got it right.

Plan A had always been to keep myself alive, get my kicks off when I could. Keep an eye on Liz and my troops. Hell, I was all about order, structure, and rules. In that one way, I had something in common with the Company ethos, but now I wasn’t so sure this keeping-the-peace plan was worth the sacrifice of my soul.

I must’ve fallen asleep because I snapped alert fifteen minutes later to the building shaking in its foundations. Checking outside, I got confirmation of the scatter bomb just let off. I was fresh as a fucking bunny and grateful I’d dozed off during my woe-is-me moment. It was the perfect time for a getaway.

My booted feet hit the floor, and I found my backpack in the closet. Time for rations and munitions. I wasn’t so much into food as getting my fight on. My SIGS, my Glocks, and for the really good times, I was bringing along a modified M4. A piece of perfection with its shortened barrel, collapsible stock, and full auto capabilities, it was the badass big brother to my others. Adding my KA-BAR for a little carving practice, I completed my armaments with a pair of pretty polished brass knuckles I’d gotten off a dealer.

My D-P with downloaded maps, sat reception strong. I input Blondie’s contact information, made sure Liz had checked in, and zoomed in on Mrs. Cheramie’s house just to see those flowers, and my bike, one more time.

Pulling my fingers over my jaw, I glanced at the stand beside the cot.
Do not even go there
. The box was three quarters full, the bottle brand new. Cock covers and glide. My fingers balled into fists. Reaching for the fuck supplies, I stowed them at the bottom of my pack, out of sight. This kind of wishful thinking was gonna get me compromised or killed.

There was no time for a jerk-off session, although that might have been a mistake. The mere idea of weeks alone with Blondie was enough to start up my hard-on. His soft wet tongue, the scrape of his stubble burning my stomach before he looked up and pointed his tongue into the dripping slit of my cock. I should have fucked him, gotten the forbidden fruit out of my system. I wished for a moment I had a damn dog or, hell, even robo-fish to complain to. Something alive but mute, who would listen to me but never tell a soul.

Yeah, sissy pants, time to shove out of this shithole.

I scoped the surrounds outside, glad to see the scatter bomb had done its job. It was still eerily quiet and gloomy as fuck. Nevertheless, on the way to S-1, fire escapes were my friends. Back alleys too. The new mountains of rubble made excellent leaping-off points so long as I didn’t consider the mangled body parts and brain matter decorating the whole mess.

Nearing the Quad, things got a little dicey. The explosions continued, but they were littered with resounding silence. I kept a close eye on the rebels being strong-armed to the tarmac. I made sure to circle around the infantry caught up in one massive wave of Nomads pressing to get into the Quad.

At Commissions, I picked up the Land Cruiser. A quick survey found gasoline cans lined up in the back to augment the hydra-charger and see us a little farther down the road. Jumping into the driver’s seat, I sneered at the preprogrammed D-P guidance system and coms link. This tin can was gonna be recycling material in roughly seven days.

Chauffeuring to Rice’s digs, I leaped the sandbags surrounding the obelisk tower of glittering glass. The elevator was on standby, so I took the stairs two at a time for fifteen floors; then I leaned against the buzzer and waited.

The door opened and I swung inside as if I owned the place. It was plush with furnishings, paintings, and mirrors. He even had fresh flowers, a vase of glossy white blooms unfurling on a stand next to me. I bent over to sniff the soft lemony scent, jumping back at Blondie’s admonishment. “You’re impatient.”

“What? No servants?”

He sent his tongue along his bottom lip. “Just me.”

“Hmph.”

“But c’mon in. You want a drink?”

Damn southerners and their bullshit charm.

“I wanna bug-out before this whole fricking place implodes.” I wouldn’t have minded a minute or two to turn the place upside down and find out all his secrets.

“That right?”

“Yep.”

Then I did the dumbass thing and checked him out. He was in drab cammies accentuating his built body and dark blond hair, which slanted down to his chin. Blondie was armed with a good-looking Glock 5 on his right hip and a sheath showing a well-used knife grip. Dressed down and well armed, he sported my favorite look in a man.

Turn it off, Cannon.
End-of-world crisis, so cuff your crap and get your guard up.

Blondie caught me lingering over his hair and holsters. “Weapons make you hot?”

I grunted in approval, grabbed one of his knapsacks, and headed to the hallway.

“Always did want a male escort.” He hefted the last two backpacks with no visible strain.

That made me hot too.

I gritted my teeth. “Bet you got enough Company scrip if that’s all you wanted. Be a much easier way to get laid than this head trip.”

He came back with a quiet murmur that rocked me sideways. “What if I just want you?”

My stomach lurched with something deeper than hunger and so long unsatisfied, a piercing pain and pleasurable rush collided inside me. I pounded down the stairwell ahead of him. “You’ve packed heavy.”

“Well, I’m sure I’ll lose something along the way.” He winked.

Cursing, I pushed outside and came to a complete stop. Apart from a few stragglers, the street was dead. “Where the hell is everyone?”

“Tryin’ to get out.”

A pair of wounded rebels rounded the corner, their wobbly walk turning into an all-out run in our direction. I dropped the bag and took out my gun. Only Blondie’s hand on my wrist stopped me from doing the deed this time.

He waved something in their faces. His keycard. “Take it. Sell the stuff; eat the food—just get off the streets while y’all can.”

Wary gray eyes narrowed in a soot-covered face. The man snatched the card and spat a filthy stream of juice toward Blondie’s face. They backed into the building, their eyes on us the entire time.

While I wondered at his game, he wiped his face, stowed his shit, and made for the driver’s seat. “Gonna get in?”

“Roger that.” I leaped across the hood. “But I’m not taking the passenger side.”

My trigger ready to fire off, I jammed my hips against his until he hit the door.

Blondie rotated his groin against mine. “You want to drive, I take it.”

I put my hand next to his shoulder on the door frame, not touching, but real close. “Look, Blondie. I’m not asking you to bottom, just to fucking navigate.”

His laughter tapped down to my belly and he slid inside, hopping his ass over the console to the passenger side. Maybe he was undercover. Maybe he was a fake. Maybe he was gonna be the cause of my death. Didn’t matter. For once a warm fire was lit inside me, all because I’d made him laugh.

It took only a mile to erase all the happy I was feeling. A pack of bewildered civilians were being herded away from the gates, looking around with wide eyes and the confusion of children when their world dissolved. Because it had. With no solution to the water problem, the situation was gonna get even uglier. Sewage would back up, bacteria would breed, and illness would spread. The civilians could forget about plain old dying of thirst.

As we approached the monstrous gates decked out with sniper towers and rows upon rows of razor wire, hundreds more milled around the hot zone. We were recognized by the mixed bag of mobbers, one shout becoming a loud chorus from an army of angry residents bearing down on us. Marauders swarmed the Land Cruiser, rocking it from side to side.

“It’s the commander!”

“And that CEO boy. Rice! Rice!”

I eased my foot on the gas, maneuvering through the melee until the back window was smashed out, showering glass inside. It snipped my face, neck, and hands as I went for my rifle. Taking out my window, I used the M4 to butt the face directly beside me, then the next and the next.

Blondie was hanging half outside his window, firing into the air.

A young mother ran through the path I’d cleared beside the vehicle, tears tracking down her dirty face, the baby in her arms squalling.

She pushed the bundle toward me, screaming, “Take him. Take my Wyatt!”

“Ma’am.” I laid the rifle aside, holding up empty hands. “I can’t do that.”

“We’ll die in here. Take my boy!”

“It’s not safe out there either.”

Blondie dropped inside to urge, “Drive, Cannon,” his face hard, voice emotionless.

Sending the Cruiser forward, I checked the mirror, then wished I hadn’t. Clutching the baby, the woman stumbled to her knees behind us, care of a soldier’s fist to her face.

“Fuck this,” I growled, ready to go back for her.

Just then, the tide of renegades turned. All the terror, all the vindictiveness the renegades had unleashed on us was directed on the slap-happy soldier.

I hit the gas hard, slamming us forward. Troops formed a human barrier between us and any other would-be evacuees while the thick fortress of Alpha Territory peeled back like the lid of a can, opening to the Wilderness.

In the rearview, I saw the razed city and watched mortars light the sky. White knuckling the steering wheel, I gunned over the iron grid and kept going.

No more looking back.

At times like this, I was usually flying solo or with Liz. We didn’t so much talk it out as trudge through it. I didn’t know what to make of Blondie, but I knew one thing. “That’s wrong, man. What they’re doing, what we’re part of, it’s not right.”

Beside me, he shielded his eyes. “I know.”

His elbow was on the armrest, his hand laid almost on top of mine as I handled the gearshift. A pothole in the dirt road jostled him sideways, against my arm. I wanted to pull him closer. He righted himself to the opposite side of his seat, forming the division I should have. He’d felt good during that brief contact. It would’ve been natural to stretch my arm across his shoulders.

No matter how much I wanted the fleeting feeling of belonging with someone, especially after what had just gone down, I didn’t move a single muscle toward him.

Eventually, after watching me for an hour’s worth of dusty miles, he sent me a slight smile. “So, that it? You gonna be the strong silent type the rest of the way?”

It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make me take my eyes off the track to tease, “Well, I’m not sucking your cock again, if that’s what you’re after.”

The sudden quirk of his lips said,
We’ll just see about that.
And then his smile grew when he joked, “Jesus, Caspar. I’m not askin’ you to top me, just to talk.”