"Careful," I warn, trying not to cringe as I pick up a mangled body part. "These parts have been chewed by Raiders, so their saliva's all over it. Don't want to get infected."
"I know. I know," Eight-ball says as he rolls his eyes. "That's why we've got the gloves. Can't believe Bridge sent us out to do this, especially after we just killed those Raiders."
Bridge told us to go back to the Raider camp, where the bodies of the people that were ambushed by said Raiders lay. She gave us orders to fill up a bag with as many body parts as we could, although she didn't exactly tell us why. I know she's devising some type of plan, and we left that stranger with her before we left. I think he's getting treatment now, since even if he is our enemy, Bad Brain Disease isn't something we want spreading.
He can't spread it until that shift in the stage from human to Raider, which is one of the final stages, but that can happen quickly, and the last thing we need is an outbreak. And while he would come back human again, we'd have to make sure he had enough resolve to come back. And purposely putting someone through Mortis Amaranthine is worse than torture. It's just plain cruel.
We may be mercenaries, but we're not monsters.
"Human body parts sink fast into the ground, even when they're not going to be coming back through Mortis Amaranthine. I know they don't sink as fast as Raiders do, but we can't exactly waste too much time. They'd be gone within twenty-four hours."
He huffs. "Yeah, yeah." A small smile twitches across his face. "Good thing is we get first dibs on any of the clothing the Raiders took from the people they ambushed."
"After we bag the parts," I remind him, and he frowns at me.
"Since when have you been all for the work first?"
"Since I had to worry about getting some of these bits which are decaying quickly. If they sink, we can't dig them up. Whatever consciousness that might be left within these bodies will feel it, I think. Going through Mortis Amaranthine without being able to come back is already jarring enough. Pulling it out like this could be even worse to whatever consciousness is left."
Eight quirks a brow at me. "You know this from experience?"
I shake my head. "No, but I've heard stories. If it's as scary as I've heard it to be, I wouldn't wish this on anyone, even the people who tried to take away our payday."
"You're a saint, Princess, and a lot nicer than I am," He says, and I giggle.
"And you're a lot more dramatic than I am."
"Me? Never."
I giggle again, but it fades as I change the subject. "What do you think Del Phia is like?"
Eight stops for a moment. "Not sure. I've been there, yeah, but it's always been a straight shot through."
"Oh. I wonder what other communities and towns there will be. 'S been a while since we've went through a town. Like, what, a month?"
"I lost track a while ago," He states honestly. "Wasn't much in the last town that caught my attention."
I laugh. "Maybe, but if I remember correctly, you caught a lot of attention from the people there. And surprisingly, it was mostly good attention."
"You're hilarious, truly. And if I remember correctly, I got a lot of good attention because I was funny and I'm good looking. The only attention you got was when you fell out of a window and nearly gave the entire crew a heart attack."
"You included?"
"Me included."
"Well, just so you know, I didn't just fall. I was pushed," I correct, and Eight-ball snaps his head towards me so quickly I think he might get whiplash.
"You were what?"
The laughter that hits the air is half nervous, half genuine. "Yeah. I didn't tell you guys because I was afraid Bridge would either get onto me in front of everyone or send you and Wires up there to skin the guy who did it." I kick a pebble on the ground, slightly embarrassed as I continue. "But uh, yeah, I may have been taken up to that bedroom by a Tainted gentlemen who got fed up that I wouldn't shut up about how excited I was to be traveling and how everything was so amazing... and I may have spouted off a couple facts about how some of the stuff in that town dated back to pre-Fall and its significance.
"And then I mentioned something about the team, and I think he got mad and jealous when I mentioned your name... and so he pushed me out a window on the second floor of that hotel. Great thing there was that truck with a mattress tied down on the trailer."
Eight is stunned to silence, his brain taking a few seconds to process what I've said. Once he's done so, I can see him trying not to growl in frustration. "You're right that if you'd admitted you'd been pushed out a window, I would've skinned the guy, but I reckon we'd all have yelled at you for going somewhere alone with a Tainted! They have permanent stage 2 Bad Brain Disease!"
"It's not like he could have infected me. You don't turn to a Raider until stage like, five... or is it four? Something like that. Tainteds never progress."
"They still can become very irritable and have random violent outbursts! What were you..." He pauses, and I can practically see the gears turning in his head. "You went into a bedroom with him?"
I raise a hand. "Hold those racing thoughts. It's not what you think. He may have thought that, but I only went up there because he said he had wine. I was gonna have a glass or two and then dip, and I kept talking hoping he would get aggravated and get me a glass to shut me up. But he just ended up pushing me out a window."
"You did all that for alcohol?"
"What else do you think I'd do it for?" I scoff. "I'm addicted, and unless I can attach myself to something else and get addicted to it, I'll stay addicted to alcohol. I don't need it too often, just a drink or two every couple of weeks to stave off the withdrawals, but it'll always be there. Curse of being a Remnant."
"And you can't do anything to stop it?"
"Nope. I can try to get myself addicted to something else, but I'll always feel like something's missing, like this... hole I need to fill." I grimace, but then shake my head.
"And what about when you can't get alcohol?" He asks, and I grin sharply at him.
"Oh, I'll find a way to get it. Found a way to satiate my needs for the five years I was on my own after leaving Crystal Creek, and I'll find a way to do it with you guys."
"Five years? You've been out here for five years?" He sounds utterly shocked, and I nod.
"Yeah."
"But you've only been with us for a few months."
"Yes?"
"You were pushed out of a window last month! How did you survive on your own?"
I don't know if I should be insulted or amused. "I'm not as helpless as you might think. You're not the only one who has secret stories, although I doubt mine are as exciting as yours. I never got caught up with any other mercenary groups that thought I was dead until we met up again."
Given the deadpan look I receive, he doesn't miss my attempt to switch the subject towards him and the story I've been craving.
"I'm not tellin' you anything."
"You think our stranger won't say anything to Bridge?"
"If he does, Bridge won't say anythin' to you."
I clench my fists in vexation. "I'm not going to stop asking until you tell me. You like talking about all the adventures you've been on with Bridge and the others. Those stories are probably no different than whatever tales you have to tell about you and this guy and whoever else you were with-"
"Oh, it's very different," He replies, tying up our bag and body parts and removing his dirty gloves extremely carefully. I do the same and grab the bucket of hot water and soap we grabbed to wash off with while we handle the clothing. We'll have to do a more thorough cleaning when we get back, but this'll work for now.
I take off the lid, thankful there's still steam coming off of it as Eight rubs his hands with soap. I carefully pour some of the water over his hands, since dunking our hands in it could possibly spread the infection rather than cleanse us from it.
"How is it different?" I ask, soaping up my own hands and wincing when he pours some of the water onto my skin. It hits the dirt with a splat, and I lean away to keep my clothes from getting dirty.
Eight-ball has a gleam in his eye when he looks up at me. "I've said it before, and I'll say it again. I'm not talkin'."
"Oh, come on!" I groan, but he ignores me as he looks over at some of the spare clothing that's been left behind. "I've told you so much about me-"
"But I didn't ask you to."
"Because friends tell friends about each other."
"You don't need to know about what I did when I was travelin' with him or his friends."
"But I want to." I shake my head. "I don't get it. Usually you love to talk, and I love listening to you talk, so why won't you-"
"Princess, why don't you know when to leave well enough alone?" He asks, and there's a bite in his voice instead of teasing playfulness. He's getting irritated.
I huff and look away from him, stomping over to grab a leather jacket that's halfway sticking out of a duffle bag. "Because there's a lot of things in this world that I'll never know, so I need to grab as much information as I can get. And I just... want to know, okay?"
I can't explain it. Normally when it comes to personal stories, I couldn't care less. Usually the only stories I like are about history, or things that I can use for my benefit, but it's different with Eight-ball. With him I just want to know everything. I want to hear his stories, who he is and was. And while I know I talk far too much about facts no one cares about or listens to, I want him to be the one that actually knows about me.
God, I'm pathetic.
I take off my red coat and slip on the leather jacket, humming in disapproval when I find it's about three sizes too big.
"What am I going to do with you?" Eight-ball murmurs to himself, and I shrug.
"You can do whatever you like."
"Don't tempt me." He bites his lip in laughter when he sees me in the jacket. "That looks like it's about to swallow you whole."
"Yeah. Shame. I liked it. M'sure somebody will have good use for it. Oooh!" I pull out a red T-shirt, gasping at the feel of it. "It's so soft!" I pull it close to my chest. "It's mine."
He cocks his head to the side. "That shirt looks almost as big as the jacket-"
"I don't care. It's mine. I'll wear it as a dress." I immediately cringe. I haven't worn dresses since I left Crystal Creek. They're not as easy to run in. "Actually, I'll probably just sleep in it. But the reason we were okay with doing this was because we got first dibs. This shirt is mine."
He raises his hands up in surrender. "Alright, alright. Don't get upset on me."
"'M not upset. I just want a nice, soft shirt to keep me warm at night." I pause. "Do you think any of this belongs to your nameless friend?"
"He's not my friend, and if it does, too bad. He's not gettin' any of it back." He grabs the duffle bag I found the leather jacket in and shoves a few pieces of clothing inside before tossing it to me. "I'll let you take the better option and hold this while I carry the bag of body parts."
I nod, slinging the bag over my shoulder and starting to walk. "Do you wish we would have left him to the Raiders?"
He has to think about it for a second, but the blond nods. "Little bit, yeah. But he's more useful to us alive. And we needed to clear out those Raiders anyway so unless we would've killed him, it would've come out just as it is now."
"Suppose that's true," I sigh. "Hopefully we'll get somethin' out of him. I don't want to have to keep worrying about being attacked."
"Well, from the looks of those papers, they were gettin' paid pretty decently. Whoever hired 'em must have the means to do it."
"You think they'll send more people?"
He shrugs, and my chest tightens at that. The danger honestly worries me a lot less than the question of why we're being attacked so much in the first place.
"If they do send more people, we'll deal with 'em," Eight-ball says, having taken a few moments to think of an answer. He looks over at me. "You've been doin' well so far, Princess, and from what you've told me, you're a lot more interesting than I thought. I want to see what else you can do."
I hum fondly, looking down at my feet as we keep moving. "Guess we'll just have to wait and see."
•
I look down at the food on my plate, not commenting on how the meat looks a bit too crispy around the edges, or how sad the vegetables look. Instead, I just send a single prayer that it doesn't taste as bad as it smells before taking a bite.
After what happened today, I'm sure even if the food was as terrible as I originally thought it would be, I'd still eat it. Fatigue clings to my muscles almost as badly as the sweat and rotten smell clung to my skin. It took minutes of desperate scrubbing with soap made from animal fat, lye and lemongrass to even partially get rid of the stench. I learned how to make the soap, among other things, during my few years of traveling alone, since I needed to find some way to survive while going from community to community.
I think I used half a bar trying to rid myself of the stench of blood and death, and I'll probably have to spend just as much time washing my clothing as I did my body.
But with that effort, along with today's events, I'm left feeling exhausted and hungry.
And thirsty.
It's been about a week since I've had alcohol, and I find myself craving it again. As much as I would love to give into my addiction, I know doing so would be a bad idea. We don't exactly have a large stash with us, since this is a job, after all. It's best I wait a few days longer, take what I need, keep it at arm's length so I don't get to the point that I'd do anything to get it but don't recklessly overindulge either.
I find myself thankful my addiction isn't the same as those who were addicted to alcohol pre-Fall. They needed to drink daily, or multiple times a week. I only need a few drinks every few weeks, although my addiction will never leave, no matter if I stave myself from it or not. Humans before could be free of any chains holding them back.
I look over at some of the others sitting a few feet away. Eight-ball is talking to Bridge and one of the other members of the crew, Foxfire. I figured I've already bothered him enough for one day and might as well leave him in peace for the evening.
Unfortunately, he is the one I talk to the most, since I'm usually put with him when it comes to tasks, so I find myself sitting alone. Of course, just about every crew member would let me sit and talk with them if I asked, but it feels like they're nice because I'm the newbie and not because they actually like me.
Which is understandable.
I talk to Mia sometimes too. She's the complete opposite of Eight, all serious in her belief and dedication to the Sainthood of Ashes, but she's nice to talk to. We both have odd physical features, with her blue eyes having an unearthly glow to them, and my teeth being sharp as knives. And I need seriousness sometimes. I come to her when I find myself missing home, something I hate to admit. I find her structured demeanor comforting, a reminder of some of the people I once knew.
Plus, she helps me when I make soaps and other hygienic products. We've discussed several different things while melting fat or burning wood to make ash that will be turned to lye. We've discussed history about pre-Fall a lot, something that's very clearly my specialty. We talk about what it was like, conspiring and guessing in hopes to fill in the gaps left in history, and what we think might be different if this had never happened, if humans had never changed and Infection never became a part of everything.
But she's not here. I think she's the one interrogating our nameless stranger at the moment. I hope Bridge remembers to bring her some food. And speaking of food, mine is getting cold.
I take a bite of my food, and a sharp pain slices up my upper gums and the inside of my left cheek. I wince, slapping my hand over my mouth as I force myself to swallow. A thick metallic taste hits my tongue as everyone near me turns their gaze.
Looks like I won't be able to wait a few days for that drink.
"Meat hit a sensitive tooth, Rookie?" Bridge asks, and I shake my head, tears burning my eyes as more blood hits my tongue from the deep cuts.
"No, I think I've lost my appetite," I say, standing, wishing my voice wasn't wavering so much. This has happened dozens of times before. You would think I'd be less of a baby about it.
But Bridge and Eight-ball both notice it, along with the fact that my hand hasn't left my mouth. I should have kept better track. I haven't had to do this since I joined with the group. I should have known this was bound to happen eventually.
"Princess, are you okay?" Eight-ball says, and I nod, despite the fact that my mouth hurts like hell.
"I'm fine. I need a pot. I need to warm some water up." I grab one of the clean pots and set it up over the fire and pour some water from one of our jugs into it, just enough for a glass or so. "Eight, can you get me some salt?"
He gives me an odd look, but nods. As he stands, I head towards one of the areas where we keep our supplies, ignoring Bridge as she follows me.
"What's wrong, Rookie? What's going on with your mouth?"
"'M fine," I say, lowering my hand and swallow down some bloody saliva as I fish out a bottle of rum from one of the packs. I wish she would just believe me. This won't be a pleasant experience for me to go through or for her to see.
"What are you-" She stops when I open it and drink down three gulps, not taking any moment to savor the taste. It's strong, and since I've barely eaten, it may take effect quickly and numb the pain receptors.
"You can take it out of my pay," I tell her, not putting the bottle down as I trudge back. I take another swig as I wait for my water to heat up, and once it's simmering, I take my tin cup and fill it up. I hand the rum to Bridge, take the salt from Eight, then put a little bit in the water.
And then I walk off, towards one of the tents we have set up near the edge of camp. It'll have exactly what I need.
"Rookie, what are you doing?" Bridge asks, and I can feel the curious eyes of the other members of our crew. I ignore them.
I enter the tent when I reach it, and Mia spins around at the intrusion. The stranger that's tied to a chair seems equally as intrigued as the woman standing.
"Captain," She says, "is something wrong?"
"Nothin' is wrong. Just need somethin' from ya," I say before Bridge can answer, my voice already slurring. "They followed because... I don't know."
The stranger cocks his head when he sees me, looking both confused and amused.
"Hey there, Princess," He says, and I sigh.
"Hello, Stranger. And don't call me that."
"Yeah," Eight says, crossing his arms. "Don't call her that."
I send him a dry look before heading over to the table and grabbing the pliers off them. "I need these. I'll bring 'em right back when I'm done-er, wait. How clean are these?"
Mia looks at me with confusion. "What? What do you-is that blood on your lips?"
"Probably. Now how clean are these? Do I need to clean them? Is there anythin' on them?"
"N-No, they're clean. I don't... Captain, why does she need the pliers?"
"Beats me. Why don't you answer her questions, Rookie?"
"Because you don't want to know," I reply, and I'm wondering how much longer I have until I'm flat out drunk because damn, that stuff was stronger than I realized.
Eight-ball gives me a raised brow. "I do."
"So do I," The stranger says, and Eight glares at him.
"Shut up."
It hurts each time I move my mouth to speak, with the sharp edge of bone cutting deeper into my gums. I'm feeling a bit-well, very tipsy, so the pain isn't as bad as it could be. I need to get this over with.
"If you want, I'll go and once I'm done-"
"Tell us what you're doing now, Rookie," Bridge says with a stern voice. "That's an order."
I scoff in shock, wondering why the hell she's got her panties in a knot over something so small. But I then roll my eyes and set down my tin cup. "I don't have time for this."
I open my mouth and let my fingers roam, trying to track the tooth that caused the cut. When I find it, I push my tongue against it, so I won't lose place of it. Then I grab the pliers and shove them in my mouth, grimacing at the pain at the corners of my mouth being pushed and split due to slightly chapped lips. I grab ahold of the tooth and-
There's a sharp, painful sound that hits the air as I rip it out of my mouth, and I groan as I set the pliers back on the table, along with a bloody tooth that's far too long to be normal. I grab my tin cup and drink, swishing the salt water around my mouth before spitting on the ground. When I still taste a bit of metal in my mouth, I rinse and spit again, ignoring how my jaw and gums throb. The pain sobers me up instantly.
I look back at everyone, who's all looking at me in shock. I probably look terrible, with my lips now split and bleeding, and the lower left side of my face swelling.
"Told ya you wouldn't like it."
"Rookie, what the hell?!" Bridge shouts. "We have a medic-"
"The doc would have had done the same thing I did. Just best if I do it. Less of a fuss," I reply, grabbing the tooth and slipping it into my pocket. No use in leaving it here. "I'll explain outside."
As we walk towards the tent's exit, with Mia still looking at me in complete shock, I look at the stranger.
"Just think, if I'm a rookie and I do this to myself for fun, just imagine what we'll do to you if you don't tell us what we want."
I have just enough time to watch him shrink back in horror as I leave the tent.
•
"So, what do you wanna know?"
"Telling us why you pulled your own damn tooth out of your head would be a start!" Eight-ball exclaims, and I flinch back. I don't care for his tone, although I do answer his question.
"Simple. That tooth was cutting me."
He stares, mouth partly open. "Don't know if you've realized this, Princess, but your teeth are really sharp! You're gonna cut your mouth sometimes."
I shake my head. "No, I..." I sigh. "It was getting too long. My teeth being sharp isn't the only part of my mutation. My teeth are like-like uh, Beaver-pines' teeth. They don't stop growing. I have to pull them out when they get too long. They always grow back."
They look horrified. I'm used to that.
"Were you ever going to tell us this?" Bridge asks, and I make a face.
"I'm sorry. I didn't think it was exactly relevant since it doesn't affect my performance." I shrug. "It's no big deal. It's something I just have to live with. Every kid in my family has one of the more... gruesome mutations."
I think of my siblings, how Katie-Glow has nerve damage in her hands so she can't use them without experiencing burning pain; how Adamston has broken irises and is completely blind; how his twin, Jacobson, has no ears and is deaf.
A part of me can never forgive my parents for seeing me, my mutation, and deciding to still have more children. I love my siblings and am glad they are alive and were a part of my life, but their suffering was caused solely by my parents' decisions.
My suffering was the test run, with there being times I've had to have so many teeth pulled I couldn't speak... What was it my dad said about it being a cruel joke on the four of us?
"It's like a sick, twisted play on the three wise monkeys and the lesser known fourth," He'd said. "See no evil; hear no evil; speak no evil; do no evil."
"Anything else?" I ask, wanting nothing more than to pass out before the alcohol gets out of my blood and the pain starts to set in.
"I..." Bridge trails off for a moment, seeming hesitant. "How often do you have to do... that?"
I shrug. "Depends on how fast my teeth grow. Sometimes I have to pull two or three over a couple of weeks and sometimes I won't have to pull any for months. I'm used to it. I mean, it's either this or my teeth grow until they go through my head, which I doubt would be a pleasant way to die."
"There's nothing else you can do?"
"Not really. We tried filing them down before, but it just made my teeth sensitive to the point I couldn't eat or drink without feeling intense pain, so I had to pull them all out." I glance down at my feet. "My face looked so odd without the bones to fill them out. I wore a mask everywhere I went for months, and I had to learn to talk with my hands so people could understand me."
Neither of them speak, processing it all. I understand that. It's not often a Remnant's mutation is this much of an inconvenience. Most Remnant mutations are cosmetic, sometimes even helpful. I wasn't so lucky, and neither were my siblings.
I sigh. "I-"
"Captain," Mia interrupts as she walks over to us. "I have gotten some information from our captive that I believe to be useful. We can discuss it in private." She thrust out a tin cup into my hand. "I got this from Dr. Lobatse. It will help with the pain."
"Oh," I say in surprise. "Uh, thanks."
"Rookie, we can talk more later," Bridge says, starting to follow after Mia. "Eight-ball, watch the Rookie and make sure she gets to bed."
I frown at her. "I don't need a babysitter-"
"Sure thing, Cap," Eight interrupts, placing his arm around my shoulders. He glances at me. "You may not need a babysitter, but I don't think I'd be okay with leavin' you alone tonight after you had to do that to yourself."
"I've done it multiples times alone."
"Yeah, well, you weren't with us then. Also I'm sure whatever the doc gave you will end up making you loopy as shit, and I don't want you wandering off and falling down a hole like you did two months ago. We only found you because we heard you apologizing to the hole for falling into it-"
"We agreed to never talk about that." I glare at him.
"There's a lot of things I agreed to never talk about, like... why the guy Mia talked to thought I was dead."
I perk up. "Wait. Are you-"
"If you can keep it to yourself, I'll tell you what happened, for the most part. And you have to promise not to ask follow-up questions, alright?"
I gasp, my eyes lighting up as I nod. "Yes. Promise. Will never tell a soul. Takin' it to the grave."
"Good," He says with a nod. "Let's get you off to bed then. Now drink up. It'll probably taste like shit, but at least it'll make you feel better."
A certain warmth spreads throughout my chest as we start walking. I don't tell him this, but I'm feeling better even before I take this medicine.
A/N: Here you go, guys! Hope you enjoyed this chapter! Please be sure to vote and comment! Thank you and have a blessed day and Merry Christmas Eve!