The Survivors

Colorado

January 29th

1

“Not again.” Rick moved toward the center of the large, reeking camp as he fought against the sharp Colorado wind. “I won’t do it.”

He knew why he’d been called to the boss’s tent. Trinidad, Colorado was big. The survivors had the town barricaded with machine guns that were constantly manned. The evil troll wanted him to be a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Again.

Rick kept to himself as he walked through the camp, pretending not to understand the insults from those he passed. The faint noise of crying and begging was overshadowed by the lustful shouts of men and the excited yapping of fighting dogs.

Rick’s pale skin was out of place; his life was constantly in danger here. Rick liked it. The female slaves didn’t feel the same. The few being allowed to sit in the open air were chained to their masters. They watched Rick go by with open contempt on their battered faces. These were the favorite girls, the ones whose bodies would be left on the side of the highway in a week or a month, instead of tonight or tomorrow.

Rick stopped in front of the crooked center tent and tapped on the flap before shoving his cold hands into the pockets of his dirty jeans. Most of Cesar’s men were drunk and in a good mood. The church they’d desecrated in Santa Fe four days ago had been full of women and kids who’d gone there for sanctuary, but it wasn’t a friendly mood. The tremors in Rick’s stomach doubled as the first flakes of black snow began to fall. What did these brutal invaders know that he didn’t?

Gunshots echoed from the other end of the sprawled camp, followed by a scream. The wind gusted smoke from neglected campfires as men hit, women bled, and snow clouds rolled over the dark landscape. South was where they’d been. North was where they were going. The firelight of Trinidad was a tempting glow through the distant trees.

“Wait there.” The Mexican leader’s cold tone carried.

Rick saw the widening grins of the two dozen men watching him. They dressed like bandits, with crisscrossed belts and wide brimmed sombreros. They also acted like them, enjoying any chance to make him squirm. They wanted him to know only Cesar’s orders kept him from the fate of all the other males they’d found. Only Mexicans were spared, and then only if they agreed to join up for the conquest of America.

Rick watched them right back. He might be an outsider, but he was also Cesar’s private property and the short, stocky leader would kill anyone who touched what was his. It kept Rick from the horrible death that was often threatened; it didn’t stop him from being beaten.

The freed inmate wasn’t exactly sure what kept him here. There had been chances to escape, but Rick hadn’t tried. Maybe it was the lack of rules, or how he felt more alive than he ever had before as he lived among these violent killers, keeping his life where no other white men had so far.

Rick turned from an icy blast of wind. Maybe I have a death wish. He was sure he would be eliminated eventually, but for now, he was surviving where no one else could. He straightened his shoulders. They can only kill me once.

He swept lumps in the darkness, seeing jackrabbits, bats, larks, people. Hell, a quick bullet to the temple or knife to the throat might be easier than what the rest of the world is suffering.

“Come in, Reechard.”

Rick’s attention snapped back to why he had been called. A battle waged in his mind as he entered. He was vaguely glad to be out of sight of the unshaven, dirty slavers camped on the dark lanes of US 25 as if they owned it.

Rick saw the inside of the tent was the same. Only the bait was different. The first time Cesar called him here, Rick had been so relieved to be spared that he’d agreed without thinking. Salem. Time slowed as he remembered…

Rick tightened his grip on the struggling, naked female under him, smelling Cesar’s cigar as he leaned in and pinched the girl’s nose shut.

“You wish to live, yes?”

Rick couldn’t stop; he jerked forward, wincing at her muffled scream as he buried his hard flesh in the struggling body under him.

“I know, Americano, and you will.” The slaver’s blade went against his throat, sharp knife pricking the skin with each stroke.

Rick moaned, scared, but on fire.

“If you do what I want.”

Rick nodded carefully, struggling not to slit his own throat as he raped the woman Cesar had thrown into his arms. His hand slid around her neck to get a better grip. “W-whatever you want!”

“Squeeze harder.” Cesar motioned, glowing cigar lowering to her bare hip. “She breathes too easy.”

That had been in the heat of fear. Now, it would be a conscious decision. Rick wasn’t sure which way he would fall, only that he would.

Cesar was sitting on the bed, rolling a thick line of white powder into a blunt paper, something Rick had never seen anyone do before. He waited inside the awful smelling mess, shifty green eyes going over the man in the dirty gray robe who claimed to be the bastard son of Fidel Castro. Rick knew better than to stare at the naked slave kneeling by his boots. His gaze swept filthy clothes, a blanket, scraps of food. Her dog collar and chain prevented the shivering girl from reaching any of those items. Rick had time to think he liked the look of the heavy metal on her and then reality crashed in.

“Reechard. It is time to pay for the second month of life I have decided to give you.”

The Mexican accent was thick, but understandable. Rick’s stomach dropped the rest of the way. He rubbed his damp palms down dirty jeans. “What do you want me to do?”

Distracted, as he was meant to be, Rick tried hard to ignore the naked teenager. He could see tears falling, but not the face covered by shiny brown curls.

“Trinidad, Colorado.” Cesar sneered, making it ugly. “We will be there in a few days. You go with la salida del sol.”

Rick said nothing, knowing not to tell the ruthless slaver he wouldn’t leave at sunrise.

Cesar glared at him in warning. The Mexican’s left hand clenched into half a fist; two fingers were missing. “Sí?”

Rick dropped his eyes. “I can’t.”

The former janitor’s low, apologetic voice made his 5’11”, 190lb frame appear much smaller as he stood in the flickering shadows. “I’m sorry. You’ll have to kill me, I guess.”

Cesar smiled, gold front tooth flashing in the dim lantern light of the drafty tent. “All in good time, Reechard.” Cesar waved a ringed finger. “Girl.”

Jennifer climbed onto the large pile of blankets behind the ruthless man. She was terrified, shaking.

Rick felt a small measure of pity, but it was drowned out by the jealousy that Cesar was getting her all to himself while Rick hadn’t had a woman since they’d left the prison and taken the first town. Salem, where I helped kill them all.

For a few seconds, Rick’s attention was captured by the outside noises. He thought of how bad it was here and had been in Arizona and New Mexico. He heard gunshots, a scream, a louder scream, a bigger gunshot… A fading scream. Then everything settled back to the dim quiet of the bait girl’s shallow, fearful breathing and the sound of the storm starting.

“Reechard.”

It was an ugly tone, hinting at the slight insanity most of Cesar’s men suspected and respected.

“I can’t. They’re my people.”

The Mexican’s eyes narrowed; a blue vein began to stand out on his forehead. He pointed with his deformed hand. “Me salvó la vida! I spared your life! You will give me what I want!”

Rick kept his mouth shut and waited for the bribe, sure there would be one. Why else had he been allowed to live, except to serve? He was a slave, like the women, but in a harder way.

His gaze crawled over the washed teenager even though he knew it might get him in trouble. He’d never had one so young. I wish she was blonde...

Cesar, whose nickname was Hijo de la Muerte, Son of Death, waved a hand. “Arrodillarse.”

Jennifer rolled over and pushed herself up, trembling as her breasts hung low.

Rick’s mouth went dry, body twitching.

“You want her, sí?”

Rick nodded once, carefully. This female, and all the leader’s harem was off-limits to everyone, with no exceptions.

“You will have her for doing what I want.”

Rick fell.

Jennifer was relieved, though she didn’t change her terrified demeanor. Anyone was better than Cesar. He uses my body against me to hurt my mind, though I try to fight that. What I can’t take is him hurting the kids this way. He’s beyond evil. If he ever finds out I have gifts, no one left in this country will be safe.