Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 107619 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107619 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
A little bell rings from inside the dining room.
Is he fucking shitting me? A bell?
But the women in the kitchen jump to action, as if we’re being timed or something. All right, then. I put Azar’s breakfast on a tray and send it out with one of the older ladies, then get to work making a batch of pancakes for the rest of the crew.
My brother comes in a short time later. “Azar says his breakfast was good. You’re in charge of cooking for him from now on.” He looks pleased.
“What if I turn the job down?” I ask, flipping a pancake in the skillet I’m holding over the fire. It’s still smoky in the kitchen despite the fact that I’ve got the windows open, and I have to bite back a cough. “Maybe I don’t want to spend the rest of my life cooking for your little bicijangueo buddies.”
“You’re here because I’m protecting you. Trust me, Emma, you don’t want to get on the bad side of these guys.” He pats my back as if that answers things, and then frowns as he sees the skillet in my hands. “What are you doing?”
“Uh, cooking up more pancakes?” I give him a weird look. “You know, remember the part where you just said I got the job as cook for everyone despite not volunteering?”
He shakes his head, eyes wide. “Fuck, no, Em. I said you cook for Azar. Let these old bitches cook for everyone else.”
I look over at the “old bitches” who are doing the dishes in the kitchen with a few buckets of water, but they don’t seem bothered by his insulting words.
“We can’t eat the same thing Azar gets. His has to be better.” Boyd shoots a nervous look out the door to the kitchen and then grabs the plate of fresh-cooked pancakes and dumps them in the fire.
What the fuck? I swallow my protest and force myself to shrug, even though that’s a mountain of food. Leaders are peculiar, and Azar looks more peculiar than most. If he wants to be the only one eating good food, we don’t have much of a choice. “What if we say I burned these and we eat them anyhow?” I ask, offering Boyd the tongs.
He thinks for a moment and then nods, helping me fish what we can out of the fire.
It’s obvious to me that we’re going to stick around this place for a while when no one makes any effort to prep and leave. That’s the nomad’s way—you find a place, squat on it or steal it from someone else, and then leave when it runs out of supplies. They’re like the locusts of the apocalypse.
Or “we” are like the locusts of the apocalypse, I guess, since I’ve been unofficially dragged in with the nomads. I want to leave, but I’m smart enough to know that it’s not a choice. Being on your own in the After is a death wish for most folks, and I doubt anyone would believe me when I tell them that I’m fine on my own. Boyd won’t want me to leave, either. If I up and leave on my own, they’re going to assume I stole something and come after me anyhow. Like it or not, I’m here until they kill me or kick me out…or until I figure out how to escape without getting myself killed.
So I prepare. While the others lounge around and play cards during the daytime or go hunting for more fuel for their bikes, I dig through the empty hotel rooms. Most of them don’t have anything salvageable, but I do manage to find some clothing and shoes. I score a pocketknife and a few lighters, and tuck those between the mattresses on my bed, because I have no doubt Boyd will take them from me if he finds them. I make sure that I have a weapon on me at all times, I’m covered head to toe with clothing, because I don’t want anyone saying I “invited” the attention of some douchebag nomad rapist, and I wait. I watch and wait, which is one of the most important things you can do when surrounded by the enemy.
I’m not stupid—even with my brother here, these men aren’t my friends. Boyd would sell me out in a heartbeat if he thought it’d get him ahead. He has in the past, after all. To him I’m only valuable as long as I’m useful. As long as I know that, I can be smart and safe about things. I lock my doors every night, barricade it well, and sleep with a knife in my hand. I don’t go anywhere alone and I make it a point not to talk to anyone unless I have to. I can survive this.
I just don’t realize how much shit I’m in until the day I meet Azar.