He thought he’d made the only choice he could by bringing them to this complex, but now it was clear he’d made the biggest mistake of all.
Maybe the two men in the room with him would storm the weapon on the ledge above him, then aim it at his head. He didn’t care anymore. He wanted them to do it. Pull the trigger. End the misery.
He closed his eyes and slumped forward, just wanting it all to end.
* * *
Nomad wasn’t sure how long he had been sitting on his knees, wallowing inside his own emotions. Might have been only minutes or an hour. Not that he cared. When you invite the Reaper in, time doesn’t matter. It’s about inevitability.
Just then a pair of hands swept under his armpits and leveraged his weight up.
The sudden touch of another person snapped him out of his funk.
“Come on. We’ve got work to do,” Watson said, grunting as he pulled Nomad to his feet. “This isn’t the end.”
Nomad found his balance, then turned to the man who’d just come to his aid.
Allison was there, too. On the right, with the cloth mask in his hand. “Here. This belongs to you.”
Watson stepped forward and snatched the pistol from the cement ledge, then turned it around and held it out, grip first. “So does this.”
Nomad took both items and held them still, hovering only an inch from the hands that had returned the items.
He wasn’t sure what to think anymore. He’d treated these men with nothing but disdain, and yet they’d just passed up the one chance they had to take him out and regain control, securing their freedom.
“There’s something I want to show you,” Watson said, leading Nomad back to the control station.
Nomad slung the mask on as Watson pointed at the left-most monitor, which showed a video stream labeled SC-4.
There were four naked women being led down a hallway at gunpoint by two men, though the gunman were almost off screen.
“Those are yours, right?” Watson asked.
The energy in Nomad’s body returned, swelling like a tsunami. He straightened his back and tightened his shoulders. “Yes. They are.”
“Wait, there’s more,” Watson said, playing with the controls again.
Another screen flickered as the video changed, this time showing a stairwell leading to what Nomad believed to be the entrance to the surface.
A second later, the four women walked into frame, followed by a pair of men without sleeves. Nomad assumed it was the same two guards as seen on the other recording.
“It was Fletcher,” Allison said, pointing at a neck tattoo on one of the men—a burly black man with no hair. “He’s still alive.”
Allison then directed everyone’s attention to the other guard walking with Fletcher, who had long red hair. “That’s got to be Dice. Met him once at a monthly meet.”
“They took your women with them,” Watson said. “That means they’re still alive.”
Nomad found his voice. “When was this?”
“Few hours ago, if you want to believe the timestamps.”
Nomad’s mind flashed an image of Seven. “There was a younger one, too.”
“I checked the other recordings and didn’t see her. But I did find this,” Watson said, bringing up a new feed. He pointed a finger at the people it showed walking inside the barn and getting into an old truck. “That’s Summer, Krista, and the dog they call Sergeant Barkley. Plus that asshole Lipton that everyone hates.”
Allison joined in. “Those other guys, they’re from my security force. What’s left of it, anyway.”
Nomad watched the vehicle move forward, then another vehicle rolled in behind it and followed. “Was that before or after Fletcher?”
“Before,” Allison said. “Wasn’t long after we went back to your cave.”
“She might be with them,” Watson said. “The younger one.”
Allison nodded. “Assuming they decided to take her.”
Nomad blew out an extended breath and reclaimed his focus. “Then it’s time to go after them. Now.”
“What about your clothes and swords?” Watson asked. “I know where they’re at.”
“Take me.”
CHAPTER 35
“How much?” Watson asked Nomad, holding a box wrench in his hand.
“Everything but the bare essentials,” Nomad answered before ripping a door panel off the inside of the truck using only his bare hands. The man then stood upright and flung it across the barn, spinning around like a master shotput champion in the process.
“Easy there, cowboy,” Watson said from the driver’s side as the panel smashed into the wooden slats of the closest wall. He held up the wrench in his hand. “That’s what these are for.”
“Too slow,” Nomad said, stopping what he was doing and peering across the truck’s interior, his face covered in its original mask. He was also back to wearing his leather and armor—the same outfit that had given the man his Frozen World legend.
Watson let out a fake laugh. Well, more of a snort. The kind that’s full of air. Short and noticeable, almost too fake. “I still can’t believe your stuff was right where I left it. I guess nobody decided to check the lockers.”
Watson swung his head around and looked at Allison, who was peering back at him, each of them holding their stare for a few beats before exchanging shrugs.
Watson continued, directing his words at Nomad. “I’m thinking that maybe the old refueling suits scared them off? I know those things gave me the creeps when I first signed on here.”
Nomad said nothing in response as his hands worked with fury, cutting a seatbelt free with the blade of a sword.
Watson understood the reason for the man’s whole silent type thing, but it still didn’t change the fact that it would’ve been nice to have been given a quick thank you, or a slap on the back for finding the man’s clothes and weapons.
Before the next thought came to Watson’s mind, Nomad brought his focus up and flung the seatbelt strap away. Then he gave Watson a brushing-off motion. “You can lose the seats, too.”
Watson heard the words but wasn’t sure if he should respond or not. Not after finally getting Nomad to see him as something other than some Nirvana leftover. Or a marginal threat.
The last thing he wanted to do was open his mouth and say something that would backstep their new alliance. But right then, without warning, the words came out of his trap anyway, before he could stop them. “Okay, but where are we going to sit?”
“Find me a crate, or a box, or a pile of pillows for all I care. But we’re shedding every last pound. It’s the only way to catch up. That means I need to get light and fast.”
Watson sucked in a sudden breath as a pressure squeezed his chest. “Shit. You’re not taking us with you, are you?”
“No. That’s three hundred pounds I can’t afford.”
“More like four hundred,” Allison said from the rear of the truck, removing the tailgate and putting it on the ground.
“But you’re going to need backup,” Watson replied in a firm tone, wondering how one man was going to take on Fletcher and his band of ruthless killers.