Silo

Chapter 8

"Shit!" I pulled my hand away from the edge of the soup can, dropping the blade I kept in my room for punching holes in the tough, metal lids to the floor. A fine, red line was already appearing on my thumb, much deeper than the slices I accumulated from cleaning out my rifle with frozen fingers and an old, rusted wire brush. I brought the finger to my mouth; let the metallic taste of blood be my warning to calm down.

Grabbing a worn-out t-shirt, I tore off a two-inch wide strip and wrapped it around my finger, tucking the edge under to secure it. I made a mental note to have Evan check it out later, disinfect it to avoid needing a course of antibiotics I didn't have a chance in hell of getting.

I'd expected her to be frightened, to be terrified as I led her into my room. What I hadn't planned for was my own fear, the paralyzing knowledge that I'd quite possibly just ensured death for all of us. I'd violated the personal space of a group of armed men, looted their belongings, and taken their girl with me. At the very least, I'd kicked off a dangerous version of hide and seek.

My eyes traveled the length of her tiny frame. The thin fabric that covered her was completely incapable of stopping her shivering. "You're cold," I said as I grabbed the old quilt Evan had left in my room earlier. I didn't wrap it around her, rather placed it at her feet. I learned pretty damn quick to give her a wide berth of space. My attempts to settle her in had left me with more than a few scratches and a rather impressive bruise on my left arm. She may have been weak and half-starved, but damn that girl could fight.

Keith laughed, made more than one comment about how I was getting my ass kicked by a tiny, broken girl. I half joked that he should give it a try. Much to my surprise, he did.

She was right where I left her, sitting on the cold, concrete floor, her eyes darting furiously around the room. I toyed with telling her to stop, that I'd already cataloged every marking, crack, and water stain in this damn room, would be happy to draw her a detailed map. But I thought better when the small step I took in her direction was met by a quick jerk of her knife.

"You left her armed," Keith said as he yanked his knife from his boot and placed in on the crate next to my bed. "No wonder you're all banged up."

Of course I'd left her armed. That knife she had welded to her hand was the only thing keeping the crazy scale tipped in her favor.

Keith walked right up to her and curled his hand in her direction. I laughed. Did he actually think the girl was going to just give up her weapon, place it in the palm of his hand, leaving her defenseless and unarmed? Idiot.

"Careful," I mocked, and he shot me a warning glare, reached out and wrapped his hands around hers in an attempt to manually disarm her.

Girl was quick. She jerked the knife back, leaving a thin trail of blood staining Keith's hand. He let out a string of profanities and pulled his hand to his mouth, made some weak, anger-tinged promise not to hurt her and went for the knife again. She let him have it this time, actually dropped the blade to the floor by his feet rather than try to fight him off.

Keith looked back over his shoulder, blade in hand, smug grin plastered on his face. "See it ain't so hard, Jake. You just got to be persistent."

I would've fired something back, something equally arrogant and self-serving, but the slight movement behind him stopped me. I knew if I just sat tight, that the girl hunkered down in the corner of my room would take care of Keith for me.

He was still focused on me, didn't see her shifting her body into the wall for leverage as she prepared to lash out. The heel of her foot slammed into Keith's calf, his leg buckling from the blow. My guess is she was going for his balls, but she was too weak to reach that high.