When We Shed Civilization

Chapter 7

The gater's momentum made Leo lose his balance. He landed on his back, with his head hitting the ground.

Dizzy from the impact, he didn't see the fist coming. It barreled into his jaw, and moments later, the man was on top of him, trying to pry the gun from his fingers.

Leo brought his knee up, kicking his adversary between his legs.

As the lad cried out in pain, Rock appeared from behind, pulled him back, and secured him in a headlock.

Nursing his hurting head with one hand, Leo got up and leaned against the car to steady himself.

"What the fuck was this?" Anger made his hand shake as he aimed the gun at the gater. He took a breath to steady himself. "Rock, let that jerk go and step away from him."

Rock hesitated. "Are you sure about this, boss?"

"Absolutely."

Rock released the captive and moved away.

The lad just stood there, slightly stooped, his hands on his groin. A grimace of pain and a blush on his whitish skin had replaced the challenge in his face.

Revenge was but a pulled trigger away.

Spike stepped up next to Leo. "Go on, shoot the bastard. We've still got the girl. She's enough to strike a deal with their folks."

His wife Rose once had told Leo that mercy had died with the age of tech. That everyone was on their own now. That's why the world needed hope.

Hope. The name they had given to their daughter.

The daughter who didn't have a mother now.

He lifted the gun at the boy's face. But before he could pull the trigger, the gater woman moved, placing herself between Leo and her companion.

She didn't say a word. She didn't even look at Leo but stared a hole into his chest, her mouth a thin line.

For a moment, Leo lacked words. She just stood there—pale, scrawny, and unmoving like a dead tree.

"Step aside," he finally said.

She shook her head but kept her blank gaze on his chest. Her grim face was framed by knotted or braided hair. It was as out of place as the short, black dress she wore. Like one of these figures on faded, ancient photographs, from the old world.

A head taller than her, Leo could probably just brush her aside—her skinny arms and legs wouldn't be able to resist him.

But she had goaded his curiosity.

"What do you want?" he asked.

She looked up, her brown-eyed gaze meeting his. "What do I want, you ask?" A tinge of red flushed her pale cheeks. "What is it you want, that's the question begging a reply. Are you destroying for the sheer pleasure of it? Killing because you can? Waylaying strangers to colorize your drab days?" She gestured at the car and the dead man inside.

He took a step back, his aching head trying to come to grips with her flood of words.

It finally did.

"Destroying for sheer pleasure, you say? Killing because we can?" Leo gripped the weapon tight. "We're not the ones hoarding all the water. We're not the ones shooting without reason. We're not the ones with guns."

Taking a step forward, she maintained the distance between them. One of her eyebrows twitched upwards, but not with humor—with mockery, maybe. "You are not the ones with guns, you say?" She pointed at the weapon he held. "So what, good sir, is that implement you hold? And you are not the ones shooting without reason, you say? So what, good sir, would be..." She swallowed. "What would be reason or rhyme for that arrow in my uncle's neck?" She pointed at the van but kept her gaze locked on him. "Or for the shooting that your malicious mind is bent upon right now?"

He glanced at the gun—his gun now—then back at the woman talking in all these gater words. "That kid hiding behind your back attacked me. And before that, it was you people shooting at us."

"And this, of course, gives you the right to kill, doesn't it? It is survival of the fittest out here, right? It is all about killing or being killed, correct? So you kill one of us, and when another one of us attacks you for it in anger, you can kill him, too. And you feel righteous about it. Pride is your bible, and murder is your crucifix."

She was breathing heavily now, and Leo wondered if he should take another step back in case she tried to jump his throat.

But she was nothing but a girl full of strange words, so he stood firm.

Her people had shot his wife. Was this woman even aware of that? No, she wasn't.

He took a breath, preparing for the justification piling up in his chest. But the slitted eyes and the hard line of her mouth told him she wouldn't give a damn about anything he'd say. She'd close her mind to it. Plain speech without flowery phrases would never touch her—at best, it would trigger yet another flood of talk.

And she wouldn't see reason anyway—she probably was the blond guy's wife or lover, trying to protect him, not seeing him for the soft rubbish he was.

Leo glanced at Spike, who had a smirk on his face, clearly enjoying the show. "Take her away. We've got no time for this nonsense."

Spike grabbed her by her arm. "Come, girl."

She gave Leo another withering look. "Humanity has gone backward since we were apes, swinging on lianas through—"

Her words ended as Spike dragged her out of the way.

The lad stood before him once more, cringing. 

He didn't deserve that woman's fire — what a waste of passion.

It would be so easy to pull the trigger.

But the anger that had driven Leo only moments ago had ebbed away, replaced by fatigue that made it hard to think and move.

Still, thinking and moving were what he had to do now.

"Rock," he said. "Bind this guy's hands. Hawk and Bolt, let's search their bloody car for anything useful. Then we've gotta get going."

He put the weapon away, pushing it under his belt. It was time to move Flora back to the headquarters and then to find Doc Faith.