Simon rolled off of the couch with a snort. His arms flailed as he tried to right himself and he came up ready to fight. He quickly closed his eyes and held his head in his hands.
“Feeling a bit hungover?”
Simon found the couch again and sat down hard. He shook his head slightly. “Nothing a little hair of the dog won’t fix.”
Stinky sat up and scooted to the edge of the chair. “Tell me something, Simon. Are you ever sober?”
Simon snorted and shook his head. “Not if I can avoid it.”
Stinky pulled himself closer to the seat’s edge. “Why would anybody follow a drunk?”
Simon stopped rubbing his temples and looked up at the man, pure hatred in his eyes. “What did you say?”
“You heard me plenty good.” Stinky glared back at him. “You’re a drunk.”
Simon came to his feet, his fists hanging at his sides. “Say it again.”
Stinky snorted and sat back, his eyes boring a hole into Simon’s. “Drunks get people killed. They used to before and they still do today.”
“Your mouth is about to get you killed.” He took a step toward the man and Stinky came to his feet. “Go ahead. You’re gonna get me killed one way or the other.” He stepped past the man and went into the dining room. “You damn near got Sinner killed.”
“You don’t give two shits about that ex-con.”
Stinky shook his head and glared at Simon. “Maybe not at first. But he’s part of this…whatever the hell this is. And when he was shot and bleeding out, you wouldn’t even hold something over the wound. Like you didn’t want to get blood on your hands.”
Simon glared at him questioningly then looked to Sinner. “I…I thought he was milking it.”
“Milking it?” Stinky stepped forward and pointed at him. “Have you ever been shot, Simon?” Simon didn’t respond so Stinky pushed his luck. “Have you ever been cut? No? ‘Cus you damn sure cut Savage. Nearly gutted the man. And for what? To see if he was loyal?” He shook his head and snorted a laugh. “Loyal to what? A drunk?”
Simon nodded, his lips pursing. “Okay. That’s it. I ain’t gonna stand here and be talked to like that from the likes of you.” He reached behind him and gripped his pistol. He swung it around and leveled the barrel on Stinky. “Say goodbye and prepare to meet your dear and fluffy lord.”
Stinky stepped forward, closing the distance. “Go ahead. Then you’ll be one man shorter in your holy crusade to kill the locals. Sinner may well die if I’m not here to try and keep him breathing. That leaves the deserter.” Stinky stepped forward until the barrel was pressed to his chest. “How long do you think Shooter will stick around when he finds out you killed me? Especially after you refused to help Sinner?” He shook his head at him. “You’ll be alone, Simon. Is that what you really want?”
“It beats sitting here and listening to you whine like a bitch.”
“Whine?” Stinky threw his hands into the air. “You might as well pull the damned trigger. If you don’t kill me here, your drunkenness will get me killed out there. Better to die here on my feet then out there as a midnight snack for a Rager.”
“You’re a crass son of a—”
“Shoot me!” Stinky yelled. He turned back around and grabbed the pistol, holding it to his chest. “Just do it and get it over with.”
Simon ground his teeth and pulled the trigger.
Chapter 4
Hatcher rubbed at his eyes as people loaded every kind of transport they could find. Boxes of equipment, supplies, personal goods, anything of real value was stacked as best they could. He pulled his sunglasses from his pocket and slid them on, praying the shade would lessen the headache he suffered from.
“Here.” Vicky held her hand out.
“What is it?” Hatcher reached for it, knowing she only had his best in mind.
“I know you didn’t sleep. That headache is from too much adrenaline from last night and no sleep to burn it off. This is a mixture of aspirin, acetaminophen, and caffeine.” She handed him a coffee to wash the pills down with. “Basically an over the counter treatment for mild migraines.”
Hatcher chewed the tablets to get them into his system faster and soon regretted it. “They taste horrible.”
“What doesn’t kill you, dear brother.” She patted his shoulder. “How is everything going?”
He shook his head. “I honestly have no idea. I’m standing here watching people pack up their lives into worn out boxes and milk crates so I can drag them off to some promised land of milk and honey, only the milk’s sour and the honey comes with beestings.” He tilted the lukewarm coffee, draining the cup. “I can’t help but second guess my every action since the attack.”
“There’s nothing you could have done, Daniel.”
He snorted and handed her back the cup. “If I’d had the foresight to put a guard on the other side of the damned roof.” He sighed and rubbed at his temples. “Stupid me, I thought a roving patrol was enough to that end, since there weren’t any doors.”
“Nobody would imagine that somebody, especially a burnt-out biker, would weaponized the Zulus.” She turned him to look at her. “Only a psycho thinks of something like that.”
“Well, it worked. Crazy or not, he pulled it off.”
“Now you can tell yourself ‘lesson learned.’ Don’t let him get the drop on us again.”
Hatcher sighed and turned away from the stream of people. He lowered his voice as he shared his fears. “Vic, I don’t know if this move is the right thing.” He looked away and back at his sister. “We have to have water, that’s a given.”
She nodded. “Especially in this environment.”
“And the individual units are nice. Like, nearly new. There’s a nurse’s station and medical supplies still there.”
“But?”
“But the wall is just adobe. It was a pretty way to
