Death Riders

Chapter 12. Snitch

The oppressed must stick together. Only then are we able to have a chance to make it out alive and apply a change to our system. Alone, we'd be discarded on the streets.

Mine and Stephen's bond grew stronger. It's because we understood each other. We strived to be ourselves in society and not get lynched first before we properly represented our community. However, we get alienated as if we didn't have the same blood and bone in our bodies.

"How about that?" Stephen pointed to a bearded man who was chugging down his alcoholic beverage at nine in the morning, looking really unstable on his feet.

"No, just no." I crossed my arms. We were currently picking out men who would fit the description of 'my taste'. I had recommended we involve those who might pique Stephen's interest but he was tremendously loyal to his partner.

It was cold and dry in Greater Manchester. The streets were cleaner and the houses were bigger. This was a rich metropolitan area that looked like it hired the best architectures in the world to create such masterpiece. Cars and trams flooded the area, providing a lively feel to it. Just like automotive, Manchester wouldn't be complete with its people coming from different backgrounds. It was a reservoir of talented people, artists, sculptors, anyone who had a knack for creativity.

Walking through the streets was like a breath of fresh air. It felt good that some parts of England has progressed flawlessly into the twentieth century. As the saying goes, 'what Manchester does today, the world does tomorrow.'

We walked through the streets of metropolitan Manchester with Deckard leading the way and Stephen and I following behind him just like a pair of ducks following their mama.

"You will die a virgin, Emma." Stephen scoffed beside me. "No one will ever interest you with your standards."

"As if that's a bad thing." I rubbed my hands together to pacify the pain that started to prick my fingertips. "It's cold here, huh?"

"Here." With hands markedly larger than mine, he safely tucked mine in his and rubbed it together to generate heat.

"Why, thank you, kind sir." I bowed my head down at him.

"For hands as small as yours, you have long fingers, Em." He exclaimed and studied my hands like a fossil.

I was about to respond but Deckard beat me to it. "Stop playing around. We have a snitch to catch." He had unexpectedly raised his voice as he talked over his shoulder.

"Who's arse did he kiss to get so worked up?" I asked, annoyed.

A light laugh escaped his lips. "Don't pin it against him. He was much better before the war."

"Did you serve in the same division?" I asked, interest piqued.

"Infantry. I was a private and he was sergeant major." Releasing my sufficiently warmed hands, I slid closer to Stephen to hear him better. "He made sure we were alive. He thought we had a responsibility because we're younger. But bullets don't care about age, I tried telling him that." He stared into the distance in anger and resentment. "We starved and thirsted together in the battlefield during the hundred day offensive. But Deckard, with so much men under his responsibility dying, he lost a piece of his humanity every day. We all did."

His hand tremoured as he remembered the events of the war. "From the bottom of my heart, I thank you for your services." I raised my hand up and placed it on his shoulder. My eyes fell on Deckard's broad shoulders, itching to give him a hand of reassurance as well. "Both of you. All of you." He had taken out a cigarette box from his pocket and lifted it to his mouth just about the same time Deckard did.