Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 86059 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 430(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86059 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 430(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
I hate Brady, so, so much.
He approaches me, all swagger, his hand on his gun belt. “You ready to head out, Scarface?”
Hot loathing rushes through me. “You know my name.”
“I do.” Brady leans forward. “But would you rather me call you Stumpy or Scarface? Because we can go with Stumpy.”
“Funny, I thought that was your nickname,” I say sweetly. “And no, I’m not ready. I need to get my shoes.”
“Make it fast, then, Scarface. We don’t have all day. I’ll meet you out by the bikes.”
I grit my teeth and walk back to my quarters. I can put up with this. I can. The men are on rotation, and it’s just bad luck that I got stuck with Brady today. I won’t have him tomorrow. It’s just another shitty day out of many. I can endure it. I put my shoes on, lace them up, and then head outside, where the militia’s bikes are kept.
“So can I ask you a question, Scarface?” Brady asks when I return, a glare on my face.
“No,” I say flatly.
“How’s a stump-armed girl like you lace your shoes up?”
“Fuck you. Are we going or not?”
“You pay someone to do it for you?”
I hate him. I hate him so much. I ignore his words, because I lace my shoes just like anyone else. I’m missing a hand, that’s it. I’m not useless like he pretends I am. I do everything he does.
Well, maybe not everything, I think with a sneer. He probably jerks off a lot.
“Are we going or not?” I grab the bicycle I normally use for the daily excursions and swing my leg over the seat, hiking my potato-sack skirts up so I can pedal. It was probably a kid’s bike at some point, but it’s been rigged with satchels along the back and sides so it can carry stuff, and there’s a basket at the handlebars. Without gasoline to power cars, bicycles have become pretty important for travel, and I have to admit that I like riding one.
Some days, I think about just riding off into the sunset and never coming back…except there’s nowhere to go.
Brady pulls on his thick gloves before he approaches his own bike. “You need me to hold your handlebars for you, Scarface?”
“Fuck you,” I say calmly again. He knows I don’t. I lean forward and steer with my stump when my right side needs to guide the bike. “Are you going to keep talking or are we leaving?”
“So feisty. That how you got your scar?”
I grit my teeth and kick the kickstand up, riding forward without him.
He just laughs and follows behind me.
2
RACHEL
While I might not like a lot of the aspects of the program, I love being able to go outside the walls. I’ve spent the last seven years trapped in the stinking slums of Fort Dallas, so any excuse to go outside the walls is a wonderful one for me. Initially, the streets leading up to the fort are full of mud and filth, trash that no one’s around to pick up and the bodies of dead animals and the remains of old garbage bags and discarded containers. It’s a disgusting muck that looks foul and smells worse. Lording over the barrier are a half-dozen blank-eyed golden dragons, and I shiver uneasily as we ride under them. For some reason, Azar has control over them. I don’t know how or why, just that their presence has stopped the dragon attacks. After a few days of terror, everyone just kinda got used to them being around again.
We adapt quickly, I guess.
As I ride farther away from Fort Dallas, it gets progressively cleaner. The streets are broken and uneven, chunks of concrete pushed up by the roots of sprouting trees or insistent weeds. The air is fresh, the breeze is getting cooler by the day as the Texas summer turns toward autumn, and there are birds flying overhead. As we go farther out, I see more wildlife—squirrels, the occasional coyote, rabbits, and even a few wild chickens that dart in and out of broken buildings. We bike farther, weaving between the broken cars on an overpass as we head toward our destination. There are certain areas that are designated as “safe” zones and we go to the same ones every time.
I don’t understand it. After all, if we’re being sent on scavenging runs, wouldn’t it make more sense to have us go to new areas instead of the same ones over and over again? But the soldiers say that Lord Azar’s rules are clear.
Me, I don’t think a lot of the rules of this program are clear, but I go along with it anyhow.
By the time we’ve ridden to our destination, I’m sweaty and my legs are aching from the ride. I stop my bike, panting, and eye my surroundings.