19. Nomads

Runt.

"Glasses. If you're lying to us, do you know what I'm going to do to you?" Cleo hissed.

She'd been doing a lot of hissing at Jack for a while now. Hissing and swearing. Threats, too. At first I'd protected Jack from the occasional raised hand that Cleo would wave in front of him, but after traveling for a day straight in the ruins of a city that looked like it was once important, I gave up protecting him.

Cleo had pulled off an eye patch from one of the women back at Blue's camp and strapped it over my right eye. She said it was to protect it from the dust and all that, but I saw the way she grimaced whenever she saw it without the patch. I would grimace too, to be very honest. I'd once seen Kira remove her eye. I'd had to help her fix it. It was gross. Really, really gross.

But she can help me when we get back. Maybe I should get a blue one, like Dan had.

Jack pushed his glasses up his sweat covered nose. "I'm sure." He waved a silver tablet in front of Cleo. "I put a tracker in one of 'em."

"And what if the one you put a tracker on is dead?" Cleo asked. "'Cos everyone knows that Nomads don't exactly live for a long time."

The tablet wavered. "I…didn't think about that."

I grabbed Cleo before she could knock him over the head with his tablet. Calm down. We still have a chance that they're not dead.

Jack stared at the tablet and swore.

"What?" Cleo growled. I made a mental note to take her to whoever Kira used to calm her down, because Cleo's temper was a little too erratic for a soldier.

"The dot. It's moving." He swung his leg over the windowsill of the barren room we'd used to shelter from the sun and walked into the open road.

"Hey! Glasses!" Cleo slung her backpack over her shoulder and lunged out the window. I shoulder my pack and followed her through.

The city had been big. Maybe even as big as the Gray. But it was nothing like the Gray. Trees broke the tarmac roads and vines twirled down giant skyscrapers, tangling with rusted metal and grimy plastic. Old posters showed off men in uniform with catchphrases like 'we need you!' and 'fight against the west coast!' plastered crumbling walls. We were really far away from the Gray if the posters leaned towards the east coast's old ideas.

We jogged to catch up to Jack. He wasn't looking at the gnarled road in front of him, his large eyes were glued to the tablet, his lips moving as he muttered to himself, and his fingers danced over the grainy screen. He led us on, answering Cleo's questions with silence or a wave of his hand. It was angering her, but she was keeping a reasonable lid on it. Huh, my sister was growing up. If she kept it up, Hera would give her a promotion. I'd give her one myself, but I'm not high up enough to hand out field promotions.

One day I will be, and I'd be the LC and she'd be my Major. But for now, we'd have to focus on finding the Nomads. And Jack had come to a stop. At the edge of a giant hole. The bottom was pure inky darkness. I kicked a pebble into it, silence for nearly a minute until the faint sound of it dropping into water.

"Glasses." Cleo put a firm hand on his shoulder. "What the-"

He slapped a hand over her mouth. "Shh," he hissed. "Can you hear that?"

"Hear wh-"

"Shh!"

"Don't tell me to-"

I clamped my hand over her mouth. She'd at least listen to me.

The sound of groaning. A man's groan of pain. Coming from somewhere in the old stores surrounding the giant crater. The red flashing dot on Jack's screen was pulsing like crazy, we were where the Nomads were supposed to be. But there was no sign of them. You'd hear before seeing them, but there was dead silence apart from the creaks and groans of the old buildings around us.

And the gut twisting cry of a man calling for help.

Cleo had her rifle in her fists in a flash. I slid my knife out of its hold. I didn't know if the rings still worked a hundred percent, but what better way to test them than right now?

Cleo watched my right, I scanned the buildings on my left. A scatter of sound as Jack moved his feet and pebbles slipped into the crater. Cleo shot him a look and he put up an apologetic hand. We crept towards the first store, the glass crunched under out boots as we entered it. Old racks, empty of food for nearly a decade, sat dusty and rusting. Clear.

We entered the next store. This store smelt worse. Like something was rotting inside here. A chocolate wrapper crinkled as we crept deeper into the darkness of the store. Cleo's breathing was steady, but she was flexing her trigger finger and clenching her jaw. Eyes just as sharp as Hera's. Clear. The smell was coming from a dead dog, rats scurried around its corpse, one of them wriggling through its eye socket and disappearing into a small hole in the wall.

The final store before we crossed the street, and this one smelt even worse. Rancid and sour. Burning the back of my throat raw as we stepped over old plastic carvings of people with no faces. Why would the old generation have plastic people in stores?

The groan from earlier rung through the small store. From the back. I drew my fist down and Cleo took lead. She stuck the rifles end around the corner, waved her fist down, and I followed. We weaved between old racks and small rooms with cracked mirrors. Until we reached the back of the store – where the groaning was the loudest.

Cleo's knuckles were a stark white in the darkness as she clutched her gun. She was afraid of the dark. Ever since Hera's Judgment Day, she slept with the light on, or when she couldn't because we were in the field, she'd clutch onto her pistol or rifle the way a child would cradle a teddy bear. I tapped her shoulder and twisted my fingers – switch positions – she was reluctant, but she finally relented. I took lead and we crossed over a small crater in the floor. A grenade had gone off here a long time ago, the floor was cracked and spider webbed all the way to the far wall.

The smell was disgusting. My boots squelched in something. I paused and crouched, gently running my fingers in the liquid. It was dark and thick. I smelt it – blood. I stood up from my crouch and gripped onto the knife, this was either a trap, or someone was injured. But someone so injured wouldn't have crawled all the way in here. They'd have died out in the road if they'd bled this much.

A metal rack crashed behind us.

Cleo swung round. She was about to press the trigger, but I pushed her hand down. It was just Jack, the red dot on his tablet bloomed in the darkness. He'd be a terrible soldier.

We ignored him and turned the final corner. The smell was gut twistingly mangy. Like meat that had been left out in the desert. I fought down a gag as I crouched the source of the smell. Jack clicked on a small light from the tablet.

A small speaker was the source of the groaning. But that wasn't the source of the flashing red light. It was an arm. Cut at the bicep. Bad and gristly work, the skin was choppy and the bone was jagged. I touched the forearm. It was still warm. Shit.

A banshee's scream split the silent air next to me. A wiry woman in rags waved around a machete. Cleo's gun raged and the woman collapsed. But more wails were coming from outside now, filling the dark store.

"Go, go, go!" Cleo barked, pushing Jack to the left. There was a small door, rusted and hanging on its hinges. She squeezed the trigger, a few of the bullets whizzed into the darkness and sparked as they hit metal. Others gave birth to a spray of darker liquid than the shadows around us.

I put a hand on her back and led her through the door as she finished the clip. There was no point trying to conserve the few clips she had, if these were the Nomads, then all you could do was hope that your gun didn't jam.

Her gun jammed. The sharp click and the jarring silence was almost as disgusting as the severed arm. I switched positions as we squeezed through the door's small space. She sprinted into the small corridor, Jack was at the end, waving his light as he tried to pry a window open. Cleo was swearing and slamming her palm against the gun's barrel. I pushed the door shut, the metal forcing against me and fighting against my force. I groaned as the heavy door creaked into its frame, but bodies slammed against it and made me take a step back.

I glanced at the window. Cleo was there, she hefted the rifle and slammed its butt into the glass. It shattered. She grabbed Jack's collar and pushed him over the shards of glass on the window's ledge. She spun round and brought her rifle up at me. She was trying to unjam it: tugging out the clip, shaking the rifle to remove the shell, locking the bolt into place and forcing it out. The stuck shell clicked onto the floor and she slammed the clip back into the door.

"Now!" she raged. I didn't need any other invitation.

I let go of the door and tumbled backwards. A tsunami of bodies and sharp metal crashed through the door. I scampered onto my feet and sprinted towards her – staying low as she opened up at the hoard. My boots slapped against the dusty concrete corridor as I dived out of the window, pulling Cleo along with me. She slung it over her back and we sprinted out of the bush covered alley and into the street.

The Nomads were already there. Which was a positive, but a negative was that a meaty man with a long scar down his chest had Jack in his fist.

"You're the one who put the tracker in one of our own?" he screamed, spit flew out of his mouth and covered Jack's glasses.

Jack whimpered.

"Hey!" Cleo shouted, drawing jumpy attention from the group of Nomads circling the man. "Put him down before I blow your damn head off of your shoulders."

The rifle was empty, and it didn't take a soldier to guess that. A few of the Nomads laughed, hysterical and cackling as they took shorts steps towards us. I didn't miss talking, but sometimes I wished I could in times like this. We needed their help, not to make more enemies for Hera.

I tapped Cleo's shoulder. We need them, remember?

She flexed her jaw but put the rifle back onto her back. "We need your help."

The man roared a laugh, the others mimicked it. "Two little girls need the help of the Nomads? We do not pick flowers for children."

I glanced at Cleo, but she just flexed her fist and continued, "We're from the Gray. Hera sent us, requesting your help."

Jack had gone limp in the man's thick fist. He was weakly trying to claw at the man's fingers. He'd die at that rate. I discreetly slid my knife out of its hold, the black ring on my thumb pulsed. Cleo side eyed me, hers had probably pulsed, too. I gently jerked my head towards Jack and she gave me a slight nod.

"We do not work for that she demon."

His guard had lowered, as well as his arm. It was behind another man, wiry and tanned so much he looked like the desert's orange sand. There was a small gap, between the man's neck and another woman's neck – a straight path to the man's hand. I'd have to get closer to grab Jack as he fell from the man's hand, but the Nomads would be on me in a second. But that's why I have a sister.

"She's prepared to offer you resources in exchange for help." Cleo's hand was slowly drawing to the pistol at her back. The Nomads were getting jumpy as well, none of them stood still, they all whispered or shattered amongst themselves, tapping machetes or spears against the ground and swaying.

I flipped and threw the black knife. It cut through the air, whistling as it sliced past the two necks and dug into the man's hand. He roared and drew back. I pulled my fist back before he could pull out the knife, it was gristly and disgusting, but the knife came free – pulling bone and vein with it. I caught it in my sprint towards Jack. Cleo's pistol barked and the two Nomads in front of me dropped, holes peppered their bony chests. I pulled Jack out of the wave of Nomads heading my way, but a few had already broken rank and gone after Cleo.

Jack was going to be useful in the Gray. Mei and Ceejay could use more hands. The Nomads would listen if we flashed enough of an offer of food and weapons in front of their sunken eyes. But for now, I was sprinting back to Cleo with Jack shaky by my side.

A hand wrapped around the back of my neck and I was yanked backwards. It squeezed, I fought for air as the giant of a man brought me to his weathered face. "We'll bring both your bodies back to the Gray to teach Hera a lesson not to try and use us."

Cleo was wiping out a lot of them, but she was running out of bullets and taking cover behind a small wall. Jack had stumbled his way next to her, but she wouldn't last long. I brought my knife out and swung, catching the bridge of his nose. Blood splattered his neck and ran down into his mouth, but he didn't let go.

He brought me down onto the tarmac. My head smacked into the concrete and my body jerked into numbness. He raised a large machete over his head and smiled a twisted smile.

His head exploded.

His heavy body slumped to the left and sagged into the concrete. I fought down a gag of vomit. I'd seen terrible things, but staring down into an open neck was by far the worst. I looked back at Cleo to give her a thumbs up, but she was staring at something else, her gun down and by her side. The Nomads in front of her had gone stoic, all of them with their rag covered backs to her and staring at what she was.

I stood up. My legs shaky, my stomach trying to lurch into my throat at the haze of rot tinging the air. I put a hand up to look at what Nomad and Cleo were staring at, the sun was behind the figure. A person, no, a woman was standing on top of a short building. She had the Nomad's red patch around her bicep. Black trousers and boots, with a brown scarf covering her mouth and nose.

Hair darker than the night sky, with blue eyes brighter than the sky above us. No, not eyes, eye. An eye patch covered her right eye.

She shouldered her sniper rifle. "You said Hera sent you?"