E j deen, p.3
E. J. Deen, page 3
And he was right smack in the middle of it all. Not by choice, certainly not by choice, but because he had that survival instinct. He was one of the strong ones, one of the few who were driven to survive. He couldn’t stop. He went on like some sort of automaton. It was that very mechanism, the innate cunning, the sheer strength of will that had gotten him through some hellacious times, times that would have crushed a weaker man.
Yet, it wasn’t enough to just survive anymore. One had to be angry, ready to kill at the drop of a hat. No remorse. This knowledge, this enforced code, was what had molded Zach and made him into the
ruthless man he had come to despise so much.
Once, so long ago that he could barely recall it, he had been a gentleman. A Harvard graduate, a young up-and-coming attorney. One of the brightest. How many years ago had it been? He couldn’t
remember. He couldn’t even remember how old he was. Thirty-eight? Thirty-nine? Or was he already forty? The past several years had wearied him to the point where he no longer cared.
Too much had happened to blot out the memories of those glory days. He’d thought it was such a struggle then. In retrospect, it seemed ridiculous. Those hardships were nothing compared to the hardships he now endured every day of his miserable existence. He would give anything to have those days back. But they had all become part of some far distant fantasy, a memory he used as a retreat when he felt he couldn’t handle the strain, the desperation, the terrible loneliness.
Only occasionally did he feel the need to seek out those who were like him, human, but those occasions were rare. He preferred to be left alone. Even when he helped people, he never got involved. He came into their lives, did what he could, and then disappeared again.
Who would have ever thought the world would come to this, this fucking hellhole that was nearly impossible to live in? He remembered when he’d worn the most expensive, impeccably pressed suits.
He’d driven the finest cars. Had lived in a nice, upper-class neighborhood. Now he lived in a cave. He ate whatever he could kill with the bow and arrows he fashioned with his own hands. He wore stolen camouflage, and sported a scraggly beard and long jet-black hair that hadn’t been combed in years. He didn’t give a rat’s ass about manicured nails, shoes that were fashioned from the best leather, or that he would have to go for days sometimes without a bath. Not anymore. Nothing mattered to him anymore.
Like it or not, he had become a part of the new society.
Goddamn, he hated it! He was angry that his life, the life he’d worked so hard to achieve, had been snatched from him. He loathed what he’d been forced to become. Yet he kept going. It was that
damnable paradigm inside his head. It wouldn’t let him rest. He couldn’t find peace.
Peace. It was there, just a breath away, but he couldn’t quite touch it. It teased him, tormented him, lured him. He coveted it, wanted it like he’d never wanted anything else in his life. But it wasn’t to be.
Or, at least, not yet. Perhaps not ever.
There was an image he sometimes clung to in times of utter desperation. He wasn’t certain if it was a memory or just a fantasy, but sometimes he could almost remember what it was like to rest his head against his mother’s bosom as a child and find the most complete, utter peace.
Strange to think it now, but he’d had a mother once. He had been born of a woman. Dimly, he was aware that she had named him Zachary. Did he even have a last name? He couldn’t recall. A few
people, those loyal few he had allowed to get close to him, simply called him Zach. There was no point in anyone else knowing his name. No one else cared, anyway. They’d just as soon kill him and leave him to rot as know him personally.
His mother was dead, of course. She’d been killed in the revolt long ago. He didn’t mourn. He never had. There was no time for it. Ever since the day she’d fallen in that bloody heap, gunned down in the streets of Washington, he’d been running, constantly on the move. Rarely resting unless he could find a safe place to do. And always he was searching.
Somehow, he had managed to endure it all. He was still intact by some divine will, although his body displayed dozens of battle scars and he was missing the pinky finger from his right hand. He’d lost it in a skirmish in the Everglades. That had been a long time ago. How long he couldn’t exactly remember.
He couldn’t even remember what year it was anymore. Calendars, like everything else, had ceased to be important. There was only one worry now. Just one.
Surviving.
But Zach did more than just survive. He was a bounty hunter of sorts. He searched for family members, children, or the elderly. Any innocent person who had become lost in the many war-like skirmishes that took place amongst the citizens of the new society every single day. Sometimes he looked for certain commodities a particular individual felt was needed. But not often. It wasn’t worth the risk.
He wasn’t a hero. Not really. He used people as much as they used him. It was the way of things now. It was an integral part of his survival, or that’s how he saw it, anyway. A long time ago, he’d thought he wanted to change the world. Now he just wanted to live through another day.
Some people called him a hero, but he didn’t feel particularly heroic. He didn’t look like any sort of hero, either. In fact, he resembled one of the Pirates, those malignant tumors that everyone avoided. He liked it that way. It made people stay away from him. His looks commanded the only sort of respect that was recognized in this world anymore. Fear. And he wanted to keep it that way.
He was an intimidating sight. Six feet four inches of power-packed muscle, in the prime of health, with a fiery blue gaze and a set to his strong jaw. He could strike terror into some of the bravest. The anger in his gaze coupled with his long, unkempt hair only added to his wild appearance, making him look like a man who would try anything once. Like a man who wouldn’t hesitate to maim, or kill.
He was a soldier. Hard in every way. He had learned to be ruthless, cruel, cold. His emotions had long since been detached from any part of his existence. He’d been tempered by hardship, and the
experience had given him an edge. The very edge that allowed him to be who he was, to do what he did. To help the people who needed him. God knew he needed them, much as he hated to admit it. He needed them to help him keep going. Not through what they could give him in any material way, but because they gave him something much more important. A purpose. And that was perhaps of the most valuable to him. Without it, he would come apart at the seams.
3
Hunched beside a slowly dying fire, Zach stared into the gloom. He’d carefully chosen a small clearing in the woods that was concealed by the dense vegetation surrounding it, but he wasn’t satisfied that they were safe. He was never quite satisfied of that.
The girl watched him, still wide-eyed and wary. She hadn’t said a word since she’d regained
consciousness. Not that his rescue had gone without a hitch. She’d given him a little trouble back at the site of the bombed-out shanty. The second she opened her eyes, she’d started screaming. The sound had reverberated around the forest like a tornado siren. He’d just dug up the damn fuel tank and was cursing over how small the thing was when he heard the earsplitting wails coming from the Hummer.
He rounded the burning shack just in time to see her climbing out of the vehicle and running toward the woods. It hadn’t taken him more than a few seconds to catch up to her, and restraining her had been as simple as grabbing her by the waist and hauling her back to the clearing. Shutting her up proved more difficult.
She fought him like a wild animal caught in a trap, all the while screaming so loud that he grew fearful that the sound would attract attention. Lucky for him, no one had bothered to investigate the explosion that had splintered the shanty into a thousand pieces. Maybe the shack was too far out in the woods. Or maybe no one cared to get involved. Either way, he had taken advantage of his good fortune. But he wasn’t crazy enough to think it could last, and the girl’s screams made him nervous.
He tried shushing her to no avail. When she wouldn’t stop, he lost patience and became a little rough with her, clamping a hand tightly over her mouth as he forcefully hauled her back to the Hummer with him.
Once there, he set her on her feet, but he didn’t remove his hand from her mouth. She continued to struggle, still making muted attempts to scream. Annoyed, he pressed her backwards against the body of the vehicle and glared down at her. One look into her terrified eyes reminded him that she was only a child, and he made a rather awkward effort not to look so hostile. But it wasn’t easy. He still had to find a way to get that fuel tank into the Hummer, and he was angered by the fact that she was jeopardizing such a precious find. Small as it was, the tank was still worthy of his interest.
As he watched, a single tear streaked down her dirty face. Her eyes were riveted on the deep scar that started at his left temple, curved around under his eye, crossed his nose, and ended below his right ear.
She was terrified of him. There was no doubt about that. He knew he wasn’t a pretty sight, but he couldn’t stand there and molly-coddle her until she decided he was safe. Patience was no longer an aspect of his personality, and there was no time to waste. Every second that he lingered brought inevitable danger all that much closer. She would have to trust him. She had no other choice.
“Serena, listen to me!” he insisted.
His voice had a characteristic rough quality that only lent to his rather malevolent appearance, but he didn’t bother to try and soften it. The girl would just have to get used to it. He couldn’t change what nature had given him.
“Your mother sent me to find you, and I’m going to take you back to her. But there’s something I have to do first. If you want to get back to your family, I need fuel for the Hummer. Understand?”
She stared up at him, another tear following the one before it, a whimper squeezing out from around the massive hand that nearly covered her entire face.
“Do you understand?” He shook her a little then, although he hadn’t intended to do so. He was just so frustrated.
More tears.
“Serena, if I wanted to hurt you, I would have already done it. I’m not here to hurt you. I’m here to help.”
His pledge seemed to elicit a response in her because she stopped her whimpering.
“Do you understand?” he asked in earnest.
After a long moment, she tried to nod, but the hand he held over her mouth made the movement
difficult for her. Still, it was enough to let him know that she got the picture.
“Good. I’m gonna take my hand away now, and I don’t want you to make any noise. No screaming,
understand?”
She nodded again.
Slowly, he eased his hand away from her face. As promised, she didn’t utter a sound. Her obedience came as a surprise. She seemed so afraid of him.
“Be a good girl and get into the Hummer. And don’t get out again unless I tell you to.”
Her eyes downcast, she fearfully eased away from him and climbed back into the Hummer. Certain that she would stay put now, Zach quickly surveyed the forest that bordered the clearing. Satisfied they weren’t being watched, he went back to the fuel tank. It was damn heavy, and he had to harness it with a rope and drag it behind him in order to get it back to the Hummer. The task was taking longer than he had expected, and he was anxious to get the hell out of there. But he was just as determined to have the fuel, even if it meant putting himself in danger.
A few yards from the Hummer, he accidentally kicked something with the edge of his boot. Curious, he looked down and saw a bloody, mangled hand lying in the dirt. Part of a victim from the explosion. If the girl saw it…. He glanced in her direction. She sat huddled in the Hummer, her shoulders bent and her head bowed. He relaxed somewhat. She hadn’t seen the hand. He kicked some dirt over it and went back to work.
Once he’d secured the fuel tank in the back of the Hummer, Zach made a beeline for the open country.
He wanted to get away from that shack as fast as possible. Serena rocked and bucked beside him, clinging tenaciously when his rough driving threatened to unseat her. Silent tears streamed unchecked down her face. It irritated him that she was still crying. He had no finesse when it came to weepy females, so he simply drove on in grim silence, keeping his eyes trained on the terrain ahead so that he wouldn’t have to see her tears. He didn’t stop driving until the sun began to set.
Their journey had been a long, silent one, and now he was tired, weary to the bone. He wanted nothing more than a good meal and a decent sleep. Untroubled sleep was a rare occurrence, but he continued to pray for it nonetheless. Someone had once told him that prayer worked. Zach didn’t exactly know how to pray, but if those brief, silent pleas for God’s help was what had kept him alive all these years, then he supposed it really did work. Who was he to say for sure?
Never uttering a sound, the girl watched every move he made. Her scrutiny was nerve-wracking. He didn’t like to be stared at. In fact, he didn’t like much interaction with people at all these days. He had long since grown disenchanted with such human failings.
There was a question in her eyes, a need that she obviously wanted him to fill for her. He knew what that need was. She wanted to be comforted, reassured. He had no intention of obliging her. He didn’t feel like being nice right now. He felt more like ripping someone limb from limb with his bare hands.
His tolerance had run dangerously low. He was past due for a little rejuvenation, and he couldn’t wait to get the girl off his hands so he could go back to the mountains. He needed to be alone. But there was still one leg of his journey yet to be accomplished. That of getting her back to the go-between so she could be returned to her family.
Damn, but he was weary.
He stared grimly at the rabbit that was roasting over the makeshift spit he’d fashioned. He’d caught the hare earlier in the evening, just before nightfall. A lucky find. He’d expected to go hungry tonight, but now he had a meal to look forward to. He considered it a good sign.
While the rabbit cooked, he took out his solar-powered energy pack and checked it. It was the same energy source he’d used to power the detonator and the receiver in the bombs he’d used back at the shanty. Since he was extremely fortunate to have it, he took considerable care of it, along with everything else in his possession. He was very protective of his gear. Many of his belongings were irreplaceable. Even years ago they’d been difficult to find. Nowadays it would be next to impossible.
Unless, of course, he wanted to deal with the Pirates. Considering that he frequently inhibited their trade, they’d just as soon kill him than sell him anything of value.
When he’d finished checking his equipment and weapons, he glanced over at the girl. She lay huddled in a dirty mass on the other side of the small fire, looking scared and uncertain. He almost felt sorry for her, but the sentiment didn’t last. He didn’t want to feel anything for her, not even pity. Emotions only complicated life. Experience had taught him that much.
“I need to take another look around,” he told her. “Stay near the fire and you’ll be safe.”
She stared back at him, unblinking. He got to his feet and silently walked into the darkened woods beyond the tiny campsite. He took a moment to relieve his bladder, and then made a quick survey of the surrounding area. After a second check, he returned to the clearing, satisfied that no danger lurked nearby. He’d half expected the girl to run off in his absence, but she hadn’t moved. She was still curled into a little ball near the fire, one of his old army blankets pulled around her shoulders like a shield, a cocoon of safety.
“Do you need to go to the bathroom?” he asked, his voice carefully muted. Perhaps too muted. She didn’t even seem to hear him.
When she didn’t respond, he crossed the little clearing and turned the rabbit on the spit so the other side could brown. His ears carefully attuned to the sounds of the woods around them, he went to the Hummer and rummaged around in the back for a jug of water. Precious stuff as it was, he hated to have to use it, to virtually waste it, but he couldn’t stand to look at the girl’s dirt-streaked face for another minute.
Serena lifted her head and peered warily at him as he approached. Without a word, he knelt down in front of her and lifted a damp rag to her face, intending to wipe away some of the grime. His action seemed to scare her. Before he’d even touched her, she drew in a sharp gasp and scooted out of reach.
A little angry and a hell of a lot frustrated, Zach let his hand drop back down to his side.
“Look, I don’t intend to waste this water for nothing.”
She stared back at him, the blanket pulled up under her chin.
Zach set the water jug down in front of her and draped the cloth over the top. He had found a t-shirt for her to wear, but he didn’t exactly know how to give it to her. She didn’t seem comfortable with his presence. Annoyed, he tossed the shirt onto the ground nearby and then stood up, deliberately turning his back on her.
“If you know how to wash, I suggest you do so. There’s a little clump of bushes a few yards out, just to the left. Do what you need to do and be quick about it. I’m tired, and I’m running out of patience. So help me God, if you run off, it will be on your own head. I won’t come after you, and you’ll probably never see your mother again,” he coldly informed her. “I don’t have time to chase a child around the forest all night long. I’ve done my part. Now it’s time for you to take a little of the responsibility for yourself.”
After what seemed like an interminable length of time, he heard the girl get to her feet and move off away from the fire. Feeling even wearier, he went back to the spit. The rabbit smelled so good it made his mouth water, and he couldn’t wait to eat. He stared at the meager meal, willing it to cook faster, all the while keeping one ear trained on the activity nearby. He wondered if the girl would heed his warning or if she would make a run for it. If she did run, he would keep his word. He would not go after her.
