When Nomad and the Scab women arrived at Helena, they all knelt together and put their hands on the girl, who still wasn’t moving.
Krista brought her eyes to Summer. “Still can’t get used to that shit. Just doesn’t seem right.”
“That’s not up to us to decide,” Summer said. “We’ve got a job to do and it needs to get done.”
“Roger that,” Krista said, turning and setting a course in the direction of Dice, who remained down after getting whacked in the neck by the tree branch. She pulled a knife out and held it low as she walked.
“Good riddance,” Summer mumbled, knowing the man with the reddest hair she’d ever seen was about to draw his last breath.
Simms raised an eyebrow at Summer before looking in the direction of Liz for a few moments. Doc was still tending to Horton. Then he brought his eyes back. “What about him?”
“That’s up to Krista. She’s going to handle security from now on, without any interference from me. She knows what she’s doing. In fact, we all do and it’s time we step up and face our destiny.”
“Together.”
“Exactly, like one finely-oiled machine.”
“Especially during the meet with Blackstone.”
“You got that right, Simms. I’m sure they’re starting to wonder if we’re ever going to show up.”
“What do you need me to do, boss?” Watson asked.
The Seeker inside Summer took over her words, filling her bones with confidence. “Search all the bodies. Take the guns, ammo, and whatever we can use. We don’t leave anything of value behind.”
Simms spoke next. “We should think about taking their vehicles, too. They’re faster. Must be around here somewhere.”
“If there’s fuel, then yes. Can’t afford to run out before the Blackstone meet.”
“I’ll take care of it,” Simms said.
“All right, boys, let’s get to it. As soon as Krista finishes her sweep, we are Oscar Mike.”
“I’m sorry, what?” Watson asked.
“It’s something Krista taught me. O. M. It means On the Move,” Summer said, pausing for a few beats. “I just hope these people we’re meeting with are on the up and up. Otherwise, there’s going to be a lot more bloodshed today.”
CHAPTER 43
Destiny took a deep breath and let it out, then slid out of the vehicle when she saw a cloud of dust filtering into the sky about a mile or so down the road. There was no turning back now. “Looks like they’re here. Let’s do this, people, just like we planned.”
Sawtooth hopped out of the driver’s seat with an obvious spring in his step. “I get the whole ‘see them coming’ thing, but I still think it would’ve been better to remain on the pavement in town. Not this old farm that Flipside used to own.”
“Still own it, actually,” Flipside said, scooting out of the rear seat with Shotgun trailing behind. “Just not much need for soybeans anymore.
“Or large-scale farming for that matter,” Destiny added.
Sawtooth steadied a rifle into firing position as the visitors approached downrange.
“I’m starting to get a really bad feeling about this,” Shotgun said, pulling a pistol from a holster on his hip.
Sawtooth looked at him, his rifle wavering a bit off target. “Now you’re starting to sound like Blender.”
“At least she was smart enough to skip this voyage to nowhere.”
Destiny couldn’t stop the words on her tongue from shooting out. “Actually, she wanted to come, but I—”
Flipside interrupted her statement when he laughed and pointed at the visitors approaching in more than one vehicle. “Wow, you don’t see that every day.”
“What the hell are those?” Sawtooth asked.
“Gasifiers,” Destiny said, taking in the trails of smoke from the chimneys she could see. “I read about them once.”
She adjusted her goggles and then the hood on her windbreaker, trying to stop the increasing wind from chilling her even more.
Sawtooth flashed his elbows out and back again, keeping his weapon aimed at the newcomers. “Yep, tree-huggers, all right. To hell with fossil fuels. Let’s burn trash instead. Or bodies, for that matter. Gotta love the insanity.”
“We all have to make do,” Destiny said, appreciating the new group’s resourcefulness.
“They look slow as hell,” Shotgun said, racking the slide on his pistol.
“Easy to outrun then, if we have to,” Flipside added.
“Good point,” Destiny replied as the vehicles with their blacked-out windows swung around to the left, then came back right and pulled in front of them about thirty feet away with their passenger side doors facing her.
“Sure feels like a skirmish line to me,” Flipside said.
“Nah, just being careful. Nothing to be alarmed about,” Destiny said, watching their single file formation take shape.
“Yet,” Flipside added, pausing. “I’d feel a whole lot better about this if we could see inside those trucks.”
Destiny rolled her head around her neck until it popped, just as the gasifiers came to a stop, pulling in a rush of dust behind them.
Once the air cleared, the doors on the far sides of the vehicles opened and all at once, a group of people stepped out. One of them was wearing a mask and a full-length coat.
“Look at this fucking guy,” Sawtooth said. “Who the hell does he think he is? Some kind of wannabe road warrior?”
“Let’s keep the insults out of the equation, shall we?” Destiny said, figuring the masked man had to be at least six foot five. Maybe taller.
When he walked to the front of the lead vehicle and came around the hood, Destiny caught sight of the swords hanging from his side. Plus what looked like blood on them and his outfit. Lots of it.
“That’s not good,” Sawtooth.
“At least they’re not drawn,” Flipside said.
“Yet.”
The masked man continued a few more steps, then stopped with his shoulders square to Destiny and his arms down along his side, as if he were trying to make a statement. Something akin to I’m ready. Go ahead and make your move.
A young girl with frizzy hair joined the masked man, taking position next to him. She, like Destiny, had protective attire on. No doubt to shield her from the wind as well.
The sheer amount of hair whipping about made it hard to see her eyes. Or much of her face, for that matter.
Yet one thing was clear—she wasn’t filling out her clothes with anything resembling an imposing figure. Underweight, obviously. Probably ninety pounds dripping wet, Destiny figured. But the blood on her clothes signaled she was a fighter.
A second later, the exact opposite of Frizzy Girl emerged. A burly woman, with short-cropped hair and the shoulders of an Olympic swimmer. She came around with a pistol in hand and stood next to the masked man.
Destiny’s eyes went to the blood on her clothes and hands, then the look in the woman’s eyes.
A chill rippled across Destiny’s skin and her stomach tightened. Whoever these people were, they’d been through hell. Recently. Probably on the way to this meet. That meant they were determined. Or they were cold-blooded killers—Destiny couldn’t be sure.