Facing south the drifts.., p.1
Facing South (The Drifts, #2), page 1
THE DRIFTS
PART 2: FACING SOUTH
EMILY V. WEBSTER
Copyright © 2021 by Emily V. Webster
All rights reserved.
This book is a work of fiction. Any similarity to real people, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the author.
Edited by Cassandra Chaput & Jenny Howard
Formatted by Nicole Scarano
Cover designed by MiblArt
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Acknowledgments
About the Author
1
The gunshot reverberates in my ears. Maybe it’s an echo or maybe it’s the surprise of it all. I wasn’t looking at Brenden when the bullet left Dalton’s gun, but I can imagine the impact. A hole where a face used to be.
Dalton left out the barred cell door with his guards after his lesson. Two of the guards picked Brenden’s body off the floor and took him out with them, locking the door behind them, leaving a large, messy, red spot in the middle of the floor. I finally brought myself to look, allowing myself to witness what these people are capable of. It isn’t much different than out there in the wilderness. People do what they want. They take what they want. And they kill who they want. For some reason, I thought maybe the Alliance would treat their recruits at least okay. They already captured us and are forcing us to do their dirty work. But I’m afraid more so for my sister. The Supremacy is supposed to be worse than these guys. What has she seen? What has happened to her? I make a fist, not realizing how strong I’m gripping until I feel my fingernails press into my palm, and then I release. I can’t stop anything at this moment. I’ll have to be patient. More patient than ever. But when the time is right, I’m getting out. It doesn’t matter what that guy, Kellen, told me about these bands around our wrists or about a spy or two in camp. I can’t let anything stop me from my self-given mission.
As soon as the guards and Dalton turn their backs and walk away from the door, it becomes the Wild Kingdom in here. Everyone jumps from their seats, charging the two boxes on the floor. I notice Lisa is still staring in awe at the spot on the floor beside me. Her eyes are wide and her face is pale.
I give my attention to the boxes in front of me, reaching them before the other prisoners. I doubt he meant to, but Dalton gave the two of us a head start, even though Lisa isn’t taking advantage of it. I grab a bottle of water first. It’s more important. Then I reach in for a mystery can. The paper is torn off, but I wouldn’t waste time picking out my favorite meal either way. I pull the can out as soon as fifteen hands begin snatching soup and vegetable cans. Some people are taking more than one, and I wonder if I should, too. How often is grub time? What if it’s only once a week?
Extending my arm again, I pull out another can, fighting the aggressive hands inside. I can be aggressive, too. I move for the water bottles again. I grab two by the cap and yank them out past the eager hands inside.
I turn around, holding my winnings close to my chest. I want to get away from this horde before they decide to attack me as the newcomer taking what might be more than her share. But as I’m walking back to my bunk, I see Lisa, still staring at the spot on the floor – the spot everyone else ignored. There’s even a shoeprint in it.
“You’ve got to get food,” I tell her. She either ignores me or is too focused on what remains of Brenden to look at me. “They’re going to take it all,” I try again, but she does nothing, says nothing. “Hey,” I knock my elbow into her arm while I’m cradling two cans and three water bottles.
Lisa jumps, her lip quivering when she finally faces me. I wonder how she survived all this time when she’s freaking out at the sight of death. Maybe I should have listened to her story like most of the others around the table earlier.
“You need to get food . . .” I say, nodding toward the boxes. The boxes everyone has now left. The boxes that are now empty. “. . . before it’s all gone . . .” I trail off. Something builds inside me. Anger? She let this happen to herself. Let herself miss out on nourishment because she’s scared. We’re all scared, but at least we haven’t let it get to us so much that we miss out on an opportunity to acquire what our bodies need.
Lisa looks even more frightened now. “I’m going to starve,” she whispers.
I look around. Some people have one of each – a can and a bottle. Others have a couple of each. It varies.
Kellen passes me. I stop the boy with dark, shaggy hair down to his shoulders. He’s carrying three cans and three bottles.
“Kellen,” I say. He looks at me, his grip tightening around his items. “When’s the next time food and water come?”
He shrugs. “There’s no set schedule. They bring it when they feel like it,” he replies. “The longest I’ve waited has been . . .” He’s thinking. “. . . probably half a week. But we didn’t have a battle or anything for that week, so they must’ve figured we didn’t need the strength. Heh. What do they know? Living lavishly and all that crap.” He walks off toward the table.
“Half a week?” Lisa trembles. She looks toward me, but her eyes aren’t focused. “I’m not used to this. I’m not.” I can’t tell if she’s talking to me or just talking. “I was with a group. I fell behind when we were moving from place to place. I got lost and they took me.”
I look down at my food. From what I’m seeing, chances are that she won’t make it. She might not come back to camp tomorrow after our mission – whatever it is. But turning away, taking my extra food and water back to my bunk, it feels wrong. Mom taught me to keep myself alive by making decisions best for myself and Natalie, but she also didn’t want me to become one of the bad guys. I don’t need this much food to survive. I’ve done without for a longer period. It felt like hell, but I made it through. I’m not so sure this girl can, though, especially if she’s used to relying on a group. My stomach churns, begging me to keep everything I have and take it back to my bunk. But when I look at the girl, all I see are Natalie’s teary eyes. Stuck in a place like this, away from anyone she knows, the odds against her . . .. I blink and the girl with the stringy, blonde hair reappears.
“Here.” I offer her a bottle of water. She looks at it and snatches it. “Don’t freak yourself out too much,” I give her some advice, and then hand her my extra can of soup.
“How?” Lisa takes the can easily.
I shrug. I’m not so sure what to say, so I say the first cheesy line that comes to mind, “Believe in yourself, I guess.”
She shakes her head. “I don’t think I’m going to make it tomorrow.”
“What do you mean?” I think I know.
“Killing others like us? Surviving through it?”
“Keep that information to yourself.” I eye the red spot on the floor. “You saw where it got Brenden.”
“It’s just us. The guards are gone.”
I look around the room of people. The youngest looks sixteen. The oldest looks late thirties. Everyone has some sort of different look in their eyes – like if you stare deep enough into them, you’ll see their entire past . . . the good and the bad . . . things they’re proud of . . . things they’re ashamed of. “You can’t trust everyone,” I reply, regaining eye contact. “I don’t know what type of group you were in before, but this is every man for himself.”
She looks down at the mystery can and bottle of water. “Apparently not,” she says hopeful, looking back up at me.
“This is a one-time thing,” I tell her, making sure to sound as serious as possible. I can only be responsible for one other person besides myself and she’s not it. “Next time you don’t get food, you won’t eat.” I turn my back to her and head toward my bunk. I hate telling her that. I hate sounding like that. But it’s in my best interest. It’s in her best interest, too. It seems she needs to begin relying on herself – something I wish I taught Natalie to do more of. Thinking I’d always be with my sister hinders her now. She’s smart, though, . . . capable. She’ll make it long enough for me to get to her.
I get to my bunk, but before I’m able to sit down, some guy with one of those long sleeve T-shirts that looks like a tux moves in front of me. He stands there like a large barrier. He’s got to be at least five years older than me, and clearly works out as much as he can. Maybe he finds things in here to use as weights. Or maybe he does plenty of pushups and pullups.
“Move,” I tell him. The worst thing for me to do is show fear. He can break me in pieces if he wants to. No doubt. But I’m going to make him second-guess that knowledge for himself.
“Hand over your stuff,” he tells me, crossing his beefy arms.
“Didn’t y
“Yeah. And now I’m taking yours.”
I laugh, concealing a shiver of fear. Is this what it’s going to be like? Each time we’re fed, will I be bullied into giving my food away? I look over his shoulder. Lisa has already made it back to her bunk and opened her food and water. Good. I didn’t give it up for this guy to go and steal it from her.
He reaches out an arm, but I can’t dodge it in time. He grips my letterman collar, twisting it. “You wanna trade for it?” he asks menacingly. “I’ll give you a broken nose for it.”
Usually in situations like this, I have my Colt .45 in my hand or a knife at my side. I won’t go the lethal route even if I could against him. Either everyone in here would fear me enough not to mess with me, or they’d all attack me.
I bring up my knee faster than he grabbed me, and knock him in the groin. He lets go, reeling over after a groan of pain. I take my can of food and slam it down hard on his head. It isn’t enough to knock him out, but he does have to catch himself on the closest bunk post. I debate whether to hit him again, but I don’t. Another strike might start an all-out fight between the two of us, and I have a feeling I’d lose.
The large guy in front of me looks up, glaring at me. He stands up straight, acting like he’s not still hurting even though I can tell by the way he’s supporting himself that he is. “One last chance,” he growls. He’s already made a fist at his side.
“John, would you stop?” Kellen says casually. He’s walked beside the two of us. “There’s not enough food here to fill you up.”
“Watch it,” the guy in the tuxedo shirt tells him.
Kellen raises an eyebrow. “Are you going to hit me?” he asks like he’s sure he won’t.
“If you weren’t protected, I would.”
“Well, if you keep trying to steal from all the new recruits, I’m gonna have to stop it one day. Then you’ll have to hit me. Then you’ll have to get some lashes to match the ones you already have.”
John scowls. He looks at me and points a finger in my face. “You’re lucky.” He walks away, and I try not to let my sigh of relief be too obvious.
I see Kellen smirking. He does that a lot, it seems. Always proud of himself or something. “Protected?” I ask what John meant – why John was afraid to hit him.
“I’m one of the best here,” Kellen tells me, again pleased with himself. “The guards don’t care about anyone here, in case you haven’t noticed. What they do care about is skill, which I happen to have. They don’t want to lose their best fighters, unless of course we die in battle. But to have one of their best injured or killed by another recruit that isn’t quite as good? That’s a no-no.” He shakes a finger.
“Is that why John has those other lashes you mentioned?”
Kellen shakes his head. “He got those for attacking a soldier. He should be glad that’s all he got,” he replies. “Some people think they’re going to kill a soldier they don’t like on the battlefield. Most of the time there’s an eyewitness – another soldier or a recruit. Recruits get rewarded for snitching. You kill a guard or a soldier, you get killed, too . . . most of the time.”
“How does Dalton know if the recruit is telling the truth?” I figure anyone could lie – say someone killed a soldier or guard just because they don’t get along.
“See? That’s a problem. I would say don’t get on anyone’s bad side, but it looks a little late for you.”
I look through several bunks to John sitting on a bottom mattress with a bunch of cans and bottles. Kellen must’ve noticed me eying him because he adds, “Most people have a problem with John. Chances are, if he says you killed a soldier, no one is going to believe him. Truth is, I can’t stand him.”
“I guess you just have to ignore him? Or try?”
I expect Kellen to say something, but he doesn’t. He just laughs.
Changing the subject, I ask him something that has been on my mind since I found out where I am – Camp Delta, which is located somewhere between Pennsylvania and New York. “Why bring me all the way up here? Aren’t there camps all over Alliance territory?”
Kellen shrugs. “Yeah, but it doesn’t surprise me. I wasn’t this far north when I got taken, either. We stopped a couple times on the engine. I assume they were dropping new recruits off at other camps, too,” he explains. “I figure they put us where they need us. Might be delivering food on those engines, or more soldiers along with us. Who knows? But I’m here now, so I don’t really care.”
I know the feeling all too well. I should use this opportunity to get details about this mission. Maybe he knows something. Do recruits get briefed? Maybe I can plan an escape while we’re out.
Then, as if he can read my mind, Kellen says, “Oh, since you’re new, you might be planning your way out like you were talking about – we all planned one . . .. Us smart ones scrapped the plan before carrying it out. Don’t try to get away. It’s like newbies have a million eyes on them. Everyone is going to be watching you tomorrow. I’d advise just finishing the mission.”
“What is the mission?” If as many people are watching as he claims, I won’t get a foot before I’m pulled back from my escape, and then I’ll have the scars to remind me of my failure. Best thing I can do is lay low for a while, make a foolproof plan, and then try it.
“Don’t know.”
“Do we train for it?”
“They’ll tell whoever goes on the assignment, but that’s about it,” Kellen tells me. “There’s no scheduled training here. They expect you to know how to survive. You’ve done it this long? You should be able to do as well as if you had training. That’s how they see it.”
I feel confident enough. After all I’ve been through, I’m more afraid of having to take a life I don’t want to take than having mine taken. “Brenden got killed for voicing his opinion about not wanting to kill for them. How do they know whether or not you kill?”
“They’ll be able to tell. The look in your eyes when you return. The blood on you. Witnesses. Trust me. They’ll know.”
I’ll take his information, but trust him? No. While putting my escape on a short hold, I’ll plan for how not to kill people I don’t want to while looking like I am. One of the other prisoners, Casper, said something. He goes after the soldiers from the Supremacy instead of the Pressed – other slave fighters. What about when he fights rebels? “Thanks,” I tell Kellen, and I sit down on my bunk with my can and two bottles as he gives a nod and leaves.
I take a sip from one of the reused bottles, hoping Dalton didn’t poison any like some sick game. It tastes fine. If I don’t die in the next twenty-four hours, I’ll figure that it’s only pure water.
As if on cue, when I cap the bottle and drop it beside me with the other two items I took, Casper comes walking over to me. He doesn’t have anything in his hands. “You made out okay,” he tells me, gesturing toward what I got from the boxes. “I’m glad you got to keep them.”
He must’ve seen my altercation with John. “He wasn’t going to take them without a fight,” I say.
“Clearly. I’m surprised you didn’t hit him over the head a second time.”
I don’t say anything. I would’ve been fine with hitting him three times.
“How do you plan to save your sister?” Casper asks. “You really think there’s a chance–”
“This Dalton guy,” I cut him off, “he seems a little young to be in charge.” I can tell he’s older than me. Older than at least half of everyone in here, but to be in charge of a whole camp? I’d assume they’d have some ex-war general in charge. It’s the first alternate conversation topic that comes to mind. I don’t need anyone putting doubt about Natalie into my head. I do it enough myself. I’ve just gotten good at ignoring it.
