Page 7

He grunted. “Not my place to tell you that, ma’am.”

“Who is going to tell me, then?” I shot back, my temper flaring. “Because you just abducted me, so you better have a good reason.”

Another pause, longer this time. “Abducted? Looked like you were camping out in the middle of nowhere.”

“And that gives you the right to just snatch me up, does it?”

Hamilton shrugged. “You really want to live out in the Wasteland, Ainsley? Maybe the retrieval wasn’t ideal, but at least you get to rejoin civilization, unlike most of the brutes out here. You can’t tell me Wastelanders make good company.”

Outrage clawed at my throat, at the way he described my husband and my family, and at the quiet smugness that I only recognized because I’d once unwittingly shared in it. “You think this is a favour you’re doing for me? A kindness?”

“It is,” he replied without heat, then gave a chuckle that was devoid of humour. “And to think they thought you’d be pleased at getting away from this hellhole.”

“Who’s they?” I asked suspiciously.

He clammed up then, and refused to answer any more questions, despite my repeated interrogations and mounting frustration.

“Whatever hangup you’re having about this,” Hamilton finally said, “I suggest you get over it quickly. They’ll have less patience for it than I do, especially because they’re pulling out all the stops for you. Tell them that you’d trade paradise for the Wasteland, and they might just snap.”

By this time, I was practically snarling at him.

“You only think it’s paradise because you’ve never known anything else.”

Hours later, the sky was dark, and the only light was from the truck’s headlights as Hamilton pulled onto an old, decrepit highway. I stilled at the realization. John had always avoided major roadways when we were traveling, because gangs and bandits tended to frequent them. Now, we were driving directly into the danger zone.

I wondered if the Order of Odessa—Jim J’s acolytes—were now one of the menaces that stalked these roads, robbing and pillaging wherever they could. Since they’d attacked the Post a month ago, we knew they were in the area, apparently drawn to it by Asha’s radio calls in her attempts to contact the Delta. While the Delta had never replied to her calls, the Order had followed her directions right to the Post…and to me.

Anger and betrayal still burned in my chest at the thought of Asha, my once-best friend. Some part of me still couldn’t believe that she’d sold me out so completely, that she’d lied for months. But then, she had not been the friend I had known; her eyes were dark and haunted, her demeanour bitter and secretive. Somehow, I still wished I’d have known what ailed her, that she’d given me a real chance to help her.

But that was lost to me now, along with everything else.

“Gangs roam these roads,” I said haltingly, glancing over at Hamilton. “You’d do well to—”

“It’s fine,” he replied dismissively.

“It’s not,” I retorted. “Unless you want to be robbed, I’d pull off now.”

“There’s nothing to worry about.”

I huffed, irritated. He’d never been out here, but he seemed awfully sure of himself. That kind of arrogance got people killed.

Karma, I thought with dark amusement. You were the same. Once.

It had only been John’s kindness—kindness I didn’t deserve at the time—that had saved me. The thought made my chest ache anew, pierced with a longing so painful that it felt like I’d been away from him for weeks rather than hours. I needed to feel his touch again, to know he was safe. I needed to tell him that I loved him.

A flash of movement in the road ahead snapped me back to reality. I swiped at my damp eyes and looked ahead. Out of the darkness, two figures emerged onto the highway ahead of us: a man and a woman, both of whom looked gaunt and hungry. At the sight of the vehicle, they leapt back to the side of the road, out of its way.

Wastelander detected, a disembodied female voice said, and the touchscreen in front of the Major turned red. Engaging threat neutralization process.

My eyes widened as a panel on the hood of the truck opened and a large machine gun ascended. It spun in the direction of the people on the side of the road. The man and woman started at its appearance, and turned to run.

“Wait,” I gasped at Hamilton. “They’re just—”

The sound of machine gun fire drowned out my words. The man and woman dropped like marionettes with their strings cut, their threadbare clothing riddled with bullet holes. Crimson gushed from a dozen wounds on each of them.

All the blood drained from my face at once, and I took a sharp intake of breath as I looked over at Major Hamilton.

His face was made of marble. He kept his eyes on the road, unmoved.