Moonlit Retribution

Chapter Nine

My stomach ingests my heart as the cold severity of Mella's voice strikes me.

“I do believe I told you no speaking for a week. Perhaps you’ve hit your head and simply lost track of time, hmm?”

 Fuck.

Mella materializes from our right, flanked by two armed men and a very pissed-off Andy. Who is also armed. And an armed and angry Andy is not a good combination. He pushes his way to the front, and in that gravelly voice of his that sounds like he gargles granite, he barks out, “Ríjez, Hart. I could have sworn I assigned a fifteen hour job, max. And where’s Sloan?” He levels a chilling look at us. I’m suddenly longing to be back with the snake-eyed freaks.

“Dead,” Ríjez deadpans. Andy’s jaw clenches, and his glare hardens to the consistency of diamond.

“Rigs,” he growls tonelessly. Ríjez nods once, then turns to Mella.

“They had some kind of acid trap. Got my leg,” he says, nodding towards the injured appendage. “Think you can do anything about it?”

Mella squints inquisitively, bending down to study his leg. After poking and prodding at the pocked, swollen flesh, she tsks. “It’s hardly more than a flesh wound. We’ll get you something to ward off infection, but don’t think this will get you out of watch duty.”

“Hadn’t crossed my mind.”

Nodding, the medic turns to me as Andy and the two other guys spread farther away from us. “You,” she barks, one hand on her hip and the other crooked behind her back. I worry that this is because she’s hiding a needle filled with God-knows-what in it, “are not leaving my sight. Ever.”

I shrug nonchalantly in acceptance. That’s not much worse than my previous sentence. Her jaw snaps audibly with the force of her clenched teeth. Oooh, did I strike a nerve?

Once again, Andy butts his way between us before something can break out among us uncivilized brutes. “Save the reunion for inside. I got bad vibes comin’ from this place.”

Ríjez swallows loudly and draws in a breath. “Actually, Andy, we’ve--” The rest of whatever’s on his mind is grunted out in an oof when I elbow him in the gut. Andy turns back to us, cocking a bushy, gray brow.

“What, boy?”

Sighing, Ríjez mumbles, “We left Dev’s body in the pit.”

Andy soaks this in stoically, then nods, shouldering his gun and walking off. “I’ll send someone out to get rid of it tomorrow.” One of the men trails Andy immediately, the other staying with us and Mella. Realizing that Mella’s waiting for me to precede her, I roll my eyes and continue on. I make a mental note to thank Ríjez for the save.

As we reenter the compound through the cellar door (the front’s been barred since the beginning of this mess), I’m struck by how absurd this situation is. We’re in the middle of a zombie apocalypse that most certainly has aliens tied in to it somehow, humanity probably won’t last much longer than a year if we don’t find some way to rebuild and outlive the desolation of the land; and here we are, hobbling into our safe house with injuries created by other humans. Of all the things we have to fear being killed or otherwise harmed by, it seems ridiculous that our fellow humans have actually done the most damage. It irritates the crap out of me.

Once inside, Andy, grumbling something unintelligible, drags his men away for who-knows-what, while Mella snatches me and Ríjez and hauls us to her medical rooms down the hall. Of course, the unsympathetic wench doesn’t slow her pace even though Rí jez is hissing in pain. She probably can’t hear them over her inane grumbling, though. “Can’t believe all you idiots…outside without masks…one big tumor by now!” On and on and on. Where I would usually be submissive and just go with her bad mood, my blood managed to dredge up the same kind of heat it’d had from that random girl-thing’s attack.

“It doesn’t even matter, Mella! We’re all going to die anyway. Frankly, I’d rather die by radiation than be killed by those things out there.”

Ríjez sucks in a sharp breath at my side, tensing up.

The crack registers in my brain, but it takes awhile for the harsh stinging on my cheek to become apparent. Mella’s face, leveled with mine, is absolutely livid. “Don’t you start with that kind of talk, you stupid--ugh!” She whips around with a flip of her hair, continuing to drag us along while I’m still trying to process her completely uncalled-for reaction.

I toss my own hair, snorting derogatively. “Is it not the truth?” I ask the man at my side. His jaw clenches, but he keeps his gaze stubbornly straight. A few moments go by in silence while we continue hobbling behind Mella.

“Exactly,” he finally says, passionate conviction in his voice. I didn’t know my motivation skills had improved so much.

We reach the bland room and plop ourselves onto the one mattress that serves as the hospital cot. There are no bedrails as a typical hospital bed would have. There’s no frame, and it’s sitting right on the ground, which I’m actually quite grateful for. I toss and turn a lot in my sleep, so it’s nice to know that I won’t be falling from a high elevation.

Good lord, what is up with my head?