Dark Paths: Apocalypse Riders by Britten Thorne Page B

you.”
    He’s been asking for me? Something twisted in her gut. “I can stand,” she said. “What do you want me to do?”
    “Convince him to bring your supplies back,” he said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, as if she would think about her supplies and her guns while her back was on fire.
    “He’ll bring them if I ask,” she said. She winced as she sat up. “Is he here now?”
    “Yes. The stairway doors. I’ll be right there behind you but do not open them.”
    “I won’t.”
    He helped her to her feet, but she shook him off as she walked. No weakness. Not even now.
    She nearly stumbled when she saw his face through the little window. Wedges along the bottom held the door shut tight. Call himself could probably burst in using brute strength, but not before they heard him, not before they had a chance to shoot him. So he remained on the other side and spoke to her through the glass.
    “Shit,” he said, “What did they do to you?” Her stomach twisted with the pain on his face.
    “Good to see you too, Call,” she said with a weak smile. She was conscious of Father Speer listening over her shoulder - it was best to keep this brief. “Can you bring me my pack? And my guns?”
    “Are you serious?” His eyes darted behind her. “You son of a bitch,” he snarled. Father Speer scowled and stepped out of his line of sight. “Lia, please, come with me. Don’t do this.”
    “My stuff, Call. You promised you weren’t going to try to take my things, remember?”
    His faced darkened. “I remember.”
    “You’ll bring them?”
    “Tell me what they did to you.”
    “I’ve been purified,” she said, “I told you about it, once.”
    He grimaced. “Goddammit, Lia.”
    “It was necessary. Now I am cleansed and can be part of the family again.” She said the words, but her whole heart wasn’t in them. She looked at her feet.
    Call slammed his fists on the door. “Goddammit! I should have fucked you as soon as you told me about this bastard. He wouldn’t trap you here then, huh? He’d kick you right the fuck out.” He looked back over her shoulder to where Father Speer had been standing a moment ago. “Wouldn’t you, you sick piece of shit!”
    Tears filled her eyes. “Don’t shout at him, Call. Please. Just bring my things?”
    “We’re having the funeral out in the courtyard tonight,” he said instead, “For Wales. Just thought you’d like to know.”
    “Call, please…” His expression softened when her tears spilled over, but only a little.
    “After the funeral. Someone will bring them by in the morning. Okay?”
    “Okay,” she whispered. Someone. Not him. Maybe that’s a good thing. She wanted to warn him about Father Speers’ violent escape plan, but she bit her tongue. It would be a betrayal, wouldn’t it? I’m not supposed to be having these thoughts. I’ve been cleansed!
    He touched his fingers to the glass and opened his mouth to say more. No words came out. He turned and left.
    “You heard?” she asked the minister, “The morning. If he doesn’t deliver then maybe I can go get them myself.” He frowned. “With you or one of the girls, of course,” she said quickly.
    “We’ll consider it.”
    She wiped sweat from her forehead. “I need to lie down.”
    “Yes,” he said, the smiled gently. “I might have some tea stashed away in my bag. I’ll brew you some. Go on back to the cot.”
    See? she told herself, Family. This is right, this is where I belong. But no matter how she fought it, her mind strayed back to Call. The biker president never made her feel that dread in her belly, never would have made her feel such shame for her sins - heck, they weren’t sins at all according to him. More than anything else, he never would have whipped her. Not for anything. She couldn’t even imagine it. Blasphemy! He’s a devil’s man, he wears it on his vest! Oh, God, what is wrong with me?

 

    She woke with a heaving gasp. I can’t leave it like