Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
MELODY
Eventually, all of the vehicles pull off into the parking lot of an old fruit stand.
My tears have long since stopped and I’ve come to terms with the situation as best as I can for now, but even after I was done crying, neither of us said a word.
A little over an hour of complete silence next to a possible psycho who gets off on violence and pain.
I should have used that time to study him without any distractions or a way for him to stop me, but I hadn’t had the energy.
Instead, I’d just stared out the window with my arms crossed.
At least I know that FOS is northeast of The Cove, so that’s more than I knew yesterday. Silver lining.
Now, he turns to me.
“If you need to go, now’s the time.” I shake my head, still not speaking, and he nods his in return. “Alright. I’ll be back.”
He exits the truck and I go back to staring out the window.
Part of my mind catalogues everything, as it had been trained to do all those years ago, but that’s second nature.
I barely even register that I’m doing it and don’t have to put much energy into it.
Without thought, I count the men standing outside in loose circles, noting which ones go out behind the wooden building to take a piss and the exact amount of time each of them is gone, and the number of weapons each of them have strapped to their bodies.
I map out plans of attack in my head, who I would take out first and how.
I can see it so clearly in my mind it’s like playing with action figures.
Of course, I won’t actually do any of it, but my mind prepares my body just in case.
I open my door and slide out to stand beside the truck, figuring I might as well stretch my legs. I have no idea how long this trip is going to take, so I better take the break while I can. I twist this way and that and stretch my arms over my head before pacing back and forth.
The familiar man approaches me. A guard? I sigh and stop my pacing to lean against the side of the truck.
“Does he really think I’m going to make a break for it already?” I ask.
The man laughs. “Just protocol, that’s all.
And you look like maybe you could use a friend,” he adds softly.
A friend? Here, among Traeger’s men? Impossible.
But as I eye him, I sense such sincerity from him, that I can’t find it in me to turn him away or be a bitch like I would have done to almost anyone else in this moment.
I tilt my head, studying him and trying to figure out why the hell he looks so damn familiar.
Not in this world, but in the old one. I didn’t know him personally, I know that much but…
maybe he was a weatherman or something? I feel like I’ve seen him on television…
And finally, a lightbulb goes off.
I narrow my eyes and ask, “What’s your name?”
“Wynn,” he answers easily and my eyes widen.
I fucking knew that I knew him! Wynn Landry.
I want to smile, but I’m not sure when I’ll be able to do that again.
Maybe never. Even so, something about seeing this man here makes something inside me relax a fraction.
It’s like having a piece of my old life back again somehow, as strange as it sounds.
It’s not like we were friends or anything, but still. He’s a part of home in a way.
“You were one hell of a running back, Wynn Landry,” I say a bit smugly. I cast him a sidelong look and my lips actually do tilt up slightly when he jerks in surprise.
“How…”
“I’m originally from Houma, and I graduated a few years ahead of you at LSU. Go Tigers,” I add with a wink. He grins at that, the wide smile splitting his face and making his brown eyes sparkle. He’s a handsome guy, that’s for sure.
“Christ, it’s been a long time since I’ve heard that,” he says with a laugh, running his hand over his short hair. He eyes me. “Not much of an accent being from Houma.” His own accent is still fairly thick and it makes a pang of homesickness go through me that I haven’t felt in decades.
“That is a long story,” I huff out. He doesn’t press for more, just nods, as if he knows I’ll tell him at some point, like he knows we’re going to be friends or something.
Hell, maybe it could happen. If I’m stuck in hell, at least I’ll have a fellow Tiger there with me.
We talk football for a bit, reliving the glory days of Saban and Miles.
“You were about to start playing for the Saints when the world went to shit, weren’t you?” I remembered the news of his trade being big excitement for everyone in Louisiana, a very small town hero coming home kind of vibe.
“Yep. I was actually there house hunting when…when everything happened,” he finishes quietly.
I can tell by the flash of pain in his eyes that he lost people in those early days.
I vaguely remember him being married, I think a cheerleader maybe?
It was a really cute story…She must not have made it.
I want to tell him that I understand, that I’m sorry, but before I can say anything in response, some signal I don’t see has all of the men returning to their cars and Traeger heading back our way.
Wynn leans in and says in a low voice, “It isn’t as a bad as you’re thinking, I promise. Everything will be alright.” I arch a brow at that, but Wynn just gives me a smile and nods to Traeger as he walks away. Traeger inclines his head in return and approaches the truck.
“Ready to go?” he asks, holding out a red bandana folded in the shape of a…
I straighten and narrow my eyes at him.
“Oh you’ve got to be shitting me.”
“Standard procedure I’m afraid. I like my secret hideout to remain secret.” I glare at his outstretched hand. I could argue, but since I’ll know where we’re going even without sight, I decide to let it go. Act like I’m behaving and all that. I still don’t like it, but I can deal with it.
“Whatever,” I mutter. Traeger takes a step towards me and I inhale sharply as he leans close to tie the bandana into a knot at the back of my head, his big body practically surrounding mine.
I drop my arms to my sides and clench my hands into fists while he works.
It’s unnerving having him so close, in an almost intimate position.
He tenses for a moment, but quickly finishes and steps away.
“There we go,” he says. I grit my teeth but let him guide me to the passenger seat by my elbow.
“Think I can manage from here, thanks,” I spit before the asshole tries to help me up into the cab, most likely with a grip on my ass.
He chuckles lightly which only makes me grind my teeth harder.
My jaw is already sore from it and I have to force myself to relax.
I climb in and he closes my door. A few seconds later he slides into the driver’s side.
“Can we just get this show on the road already?”
“As you wish,” he says and I can hear the smile in his voice. That bastard better not be quoting my favorite movie, I think. Better just be a coincidence.
We drive, and drive…and just for a change of pace, we drive some more.
I know for a fact that we’ve doubled back at least three times and seem to be taking as many detours as possible.
Shit. Traeger isn’t messing around with the whole secret location thing.
By the third hour, I have no hope of being able to backtrack or tell you how far we’ve actually traveled or even in which direction.
Traeger thankfully doesn’t try to make small talk, and instead just puts on music and quietly hums along. His taste in music is eclectic but actually mirrors my own, so at least I have that going for me. Just as Johnny Cash fades into Breaking Benjamin, a voice crackles through Traeger’s walkie.
“Sir, we have Bloodies ahead near checkpoint Echo Fourteen.”
“Take care of them,” he says, that cool authority in his voice.
Echo Fourteen? I’m burning with questions about his checkpoint system, how they’re manned, how they’re kept so hidden, all of the security measures in place, but of course I don’t let a single one of them past my lips.
Not like he would actually answer any of them anyway.
“Of course sir. I’ll let you know once it’s clear.”
Traeger slows, puts the truck in park, and then, we wait. After a few minutes of silence, he says quietly, “I’m sorry.”
“Save it,” I spit, and he exhales roughly.
“You’ll come to understand.”
I huff out a humorless laugh. “Fat fucking chance, couyon.”
“What part of Louisiana are you from?”
I cross my arms, annoyed that I still have this ridiculous blindfold on and that he’s figured out even this small detail about me.
Telling Wynn was one thing, but I don’t want Traeger knowing a damn thing about me.
I’d learned long ago to hide my accent for work, and eventually, it all but disappeared.
I still have a faint drawl these days, but bits of my home accent and diction sometimes creep in without me realizing it now that I don’t have to hide it, usually when I’m drunk or pissed.
Well, that explains why I’ve slipped with him twice already, I think.
Traeger seems to have knack for pissing me off.
I should probably watch my tongue, but I really don’t care. I go ahead and let the full Cajun in me come right on out when I snap back at him.
“It’s a small town called None of Your Fucking Business, bout twenty clicks south of Go Fuck Yourself. Ever heard of it?”
To my surprise, he chuckles, and I know he’s filed something else about me away in his mind.
“Fair enough. For now,” he adds, that authority seeping back into his deep voice again.
Not quite a warning, more of a promise. After that we go back to letting the radio do all the talking.
I feel like he’s watching me, so I try not to fidget.
I want him to know that he has no effect on me whatsoever.