Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
The Hound
Atlas growls before pushing Zeke aside. “Leon, man. C’mon, don’t.”
“No, it’s okay,” he says. “We already broke the code when we took this job. We should make our own rules on this one.”
Atlas rubs the scruff of his chin, shaking his head disapprovingly before slumping on the couch, causing an already seated Zeke to bounce.
I wrap myself in the leather jacket as I sit in the armchair wedged into the corner, while Leon hooks mug handles across four fingers, clanking them together as he joins us with his coffee pot.
He offers a mug to me and pours, and I don’t realise how cold I am until the heat of the coffee penetrates my numb palms. I inhale the vivid, earthy scent, feeling energised from the vapours alone.
“So, let’s get you up to speed. Then, from here on out, your plan will include you.
” Leon sits on the couch next to me, taking off his cap and combing his fingers through his hair to loosen the imprint of his hat.
“Basically … we’re bounty hunters. We get contracted to do jobs all over the country, locating people, materials, items, and then we get paid for our services.
” I nod slowly. “Our usual assets are criminals or people who have been taken. We’re hired by communities within the Wilds to bring them in.
But…” He pauses and points at me with a curl of his lip. “You’re our first female rescue.”
My jaw drops as I look between them all, while Zeke hosts a proud smirk.
“So … okay. Does this not happen often, then?” I ask, holding the cup to my lips and letting the rising steam dance across my face.
“It’s against the code,” Atlas says, slouching forward. His tattooed arms rest on his knees while he slurps his coffee, which is still too hot for anyone else to drink.
“So, yeah,” Leon says, “that’s the other thing. Although we’re nomads, we’re still tied to a community, and with that community comes a code. We knew this job would break that code, and we voted—unanimously—to take the job anyway.”
I lean in, perched on the armchair’s edge. “So, what broke the code, exactly?”
“Well, the government doesn’t have many qualms with Wilder scumbags being pulled out of their cities—but women… You’re a high-risk commodity. The balance between the government and the communities of the Wilds is fragile. So, anything that brings heat from the state is pretty much banned.”
I raise my brow. “So, why would you take this job? Who hired you?”
He winces at the question, waving his animated hands.
“I swear, we don’t know our employer, but they knew all about us.
We got a call to see if we were interested in a job, and before we knew it, someone came by, delivering us cash and a satellite phone.
They called, explaining that they needed to get you out urgently, since you were in danger. ”
Zeke says, “Now the city will be reporting you as abducted. Your description and face have been posted to all the rangers and checkpoints.” He sips his coffee. “That’s why we need to stay off the road. It usually dies down after two weeks.”
“And we don’t know where we’re going?” I ask. “Where I’m being taken to?”
“No. Not yet. I need to relay a message to the employer, updating them on your extraction. They will let us know where we need to move to, but we have a few safe houses all over, so we’ll never be on the road for long.
The prime objective is to keep you safe and get you home … I suppose?” he says, sounding unsure.
His words give me no clue as to who hired them.
Joey? Joey’s family? My fathers? Or could it be more sinister—the same people my fathers are hunted by, who we spent my lifetime evading?
Maybe they have figured out my location, taking me to bait my fathers.
But having a better understanding of my plans brings some comfort.
I sit with these strangers, still unsure why they chose to do the job, but I know one thing: they are not the bad guys.
A calm voice stirs me. “Hey, Everlee… Wakey, wakey.”
My eyes jolt open, my knife gripped above my chest as I stare at the metal coils of the bedframe above me. I turn to where the voice came from, and Zeke lies chest-down on the floorboards, defensively surrendering his palms.
“Why are you under the bed?” he asks. “I thought we’d lost you!”
I yawn, stretching out my back. “Mmmm… It’s the only way I sleep. It gives me a few seconds to prepare if someone breaks in.”
With an impressed smirk, he nods, resting his head on his crossed arms. “Well, you didn’t hear me come in.”
“That’s because you’re freakishly quiet. You should wear a bell!” I say while rubbing my face.
He laughs, and with a strong press from his arms, he jumps onto his feet in a single motion while I slide from under the bed.
He has a hurtling enthusiasm. When he speaks passionately about the littlest of things, he reminds me of Joey, but Zeke’s energy is on another level.
It’s contagious. I could be on the cusp of sleep, and he would invigorate a conversation, thwarting any lull.
In fact, he reminds me of a puppy: spritely, lovable, bounding, requiring only naps to recharge.
It’s been a few days at the cabin, and I feel guilty having this room to myself while the men have been sleeping between the couches and armchairs.
Atlas is draped over one of the sofas, and it’s difficult to tell whether his hardened face is causing him pain, or if pain is causing his hardened face.
His stare is so intense, it’s as if, with a simple huff, he could puff smoke from his nostrils, or with the opening of his mouth, he could breathe fire with an almighty roar—and that’s why he keeps his mouth closed and words minimal, for fear of scorching his friends.
But I’m not so confident he would be as eager to spare me.
He constantly listens to a pirate radio station, reporting ranger activity and people’s descriptions of ranger searches.
It is apparent he is not to be spoken to while he grips the radio like the decapitated head of his enemy.
Lee Quinn, abducted young redheaded female in the northeast region, is still on their agenda, keeping us off the roads a little longer.
The employer has been informed of my rescue, but we have yet to hear of my destination, so today we’re venturing from the cabin to forage for anything to add flavour to our bland rice stocks.
It’s always a welcome relief to step into the warm sunlight, inhaling the fresh pine-scented zephyrs.
Over time, I must have become accustomed to the city’s muggy atmosphere, but being back out here in the Wilds with flora-filled air is exhilarating, and basking in the unobstructed sunlight is another freeing sensation.
With the slow healing of my face comes a slight of healing on the inside.
It’s been weeks since I lost Joey, and my dreams still haunt me with ruthless recollections.
I wake, and he is unfailingly my first thought—except yesterday, he wasn’t.
I remember distinctly thinking about how sore my muscles were, and just like that, Joey became a second thought.
It was enough to kill my appetite while I felt physically ill with his loss.
There have been better days as the guys lured me into conversations, causing a smile or a slight chuckle, but I hate it as soon as it happens, feeling like it’s too soon to be okay, which only adds to the avalanche of guilt.
As I look up at the trees, the morning breeze strikes my face as the rays of light pierce through the branches to warm my pale skin.
“You had any breakfast?” Leon asks with his mouth full of food, coming to join me outside.
“No thanks. I’m not hungry.”
He offers me a bowl of porridge, holding it so close under my nose that I am in danger of wearing it. “You know, you’re going to have to start eating, kid. Especially today. You’ve got to look after yourself.”
I snatch the bowl from him. “I’m not that kind of girl. I can look after myself.”
“It’s not that you’re a girl. You’re heartbroken.
I get it. I’m just worried about you.” He pulls out the little tobacco tin from his jacket and nimbly manipulates the paper and dried leaves between his fingers, rolling a thin cigarette.
Despite my grumpiness, I am oddly comfortable with Leon.
After he disclosed how they are employed, I’ve felt he has nothing to hide, and I can see he is the unofficial leader of the three.
But while he has this friendly demeanour, there is often a tortured silence about him when he’s in his head, which he often is while smoking.
His eyes flit as he scans his mind, reminiscing, thinking, and planning.
I slowly spoon a mouthful, trying to stomach the thin, tasteless porridge.
I can’t tell if I like this more than the chewable version they tried to present me with yesterday.
“You know, smoking’s bad for you. You’ve got to start looking after yourself,” I tease, causing him to smile as smoke pours from his grin.
I walk back into the cabin, childishly mimicking him as I leave: “I’m just worried about you too. ”