As the boy Raider died on Ruin’s knife, Charity wasted no time bringing her gun up on the shadow rushing in from the right. A bite of cordite followed the caress of the trigger, and the shadow stumbled and fell.
The stinging slice of fire across the top of her injured shoulder coincided with the harsh echoing cough of a rifle. Hissing in pain, a flurry of curses ringing through her skull, she dove behind the nearest tree stump. Unfortunately, it only stood about four feet high, which meant she was hugging the dirt. Shifting around the broad base to see, she scanned the night for the rifleman. She started with the cabin, where flickering light crept from the open door, but there were no more man-sized shadows. If she continued to stare at the light, she’d be left night blind, so her gaze slid past and began quartering the surrounding trees.
From somewhere to her right an enraged bellow erupted, bringing her attention back to Ruin. The Vulture was currently engaged in exchanging hits with a bear. Or that was her impression, thanks to the Raider’s bulk. Watching Ruin score three lightning fast cuts reassured her he’d be just fine on his own. She went back to her hunt.
Clearing her mind with a silent exhale, she ignored the sounds of fighting as her body and instincts settled into a well-honed stillness. Her gaze was the only thing to move. Remaining still for hours wasn’t a hardship, but she doubted she’d be waiting that long tonight. Raiders weren’t known for their patience. Sure enough, when the ground shook as the bigger Raider dropped, a piece of darkness shifted against the tree line. Moonlight glinted off the rifle’s barrel, giving her a target.
Inch by inch, she adjusted her aim, targeting just to the right of the creeping shadow. When a scream escaped from the cabin, the shadow jerked, and the rifle’s barrel began to swing around. Taking advantage of the distraction, she pulled the trigger. Without pausing, she added two more shots in close succession. Better safe than sorry. With the first bullet, the shadow took a step back, then when the next two projectiles hit, performed a jerky dance. The rifle gave one last cough, its bullet disappearing into the night, and then went mute. Movement registered on her periphery as Ruin raced towards the cabin. Charity was on her feet and in pursuit before the shadow dropped to the ground.
Dammit, Ruin was going to run right into death’s eager arms. The Vultures wouldn’t forgive her if one of theirs got hurt. Even as her feet pounded in his wake, she scanned their surroundings, on guard in case another Raider decided to pop up and join the party. Ruin wasn’t thinking clearly, too focused on his friend, which left it up to her to keep the vermin off their backs. Hard-earned instinct urged her to push harder until she was on his heels.
As they closed in on the cabin, she dared to reach out and grab the back of his t-shirt. Her injured shoulder protested as she pulled him up short with her free hand, yanking him off course with the door. He skidded to a halt and spun around with a furious growl, slamming out an arm and dislodging her hold. Undeterred by his ferocious anger, or the painful hit, she stepped in close and shoved her other hand, gun clutched in her fist, against his chest, hard, forcing him to the side and away from the door. When she had him trapped against the wall, she hissed in sotto voce, ‘Think, Ruin!’
He ran a hand through his hair, tugging viciously when his fingers tangled in the matted strands. Somewhere behind them his baseball cap and saddle blanket lay discarded. He glared, but she was relieved to see rationale replace his single-minded focus. His spine stayed against the cabin’s exterior wall, keeping clear of the window.
She rose on tiptoe to put her lips close to his ear. ‘Let me clear the cabin.’ Dropping back down, she flattened her empty palm against his chest for balance but didn’t dare break eye contact. Finally, he gave her a tiny nod, and she let loose a soft sigh of relief and stepped back. When she became the voice of reason, it was time to worry. Bracing the gun in her right hand with her left, she inched towards the opening. As quietly as possible, she slid down the wall until she was in a crouch. Blowing out a breath, she went in low and to the right, leading with her gun. It proved to be a solid decision because a deafening blast erupted from the direction of the window. If she’d been standing, she’d be sporting a gory hole about chest height. She spun and returned fire, automatically adjusting her aim based on the bullet’s trajectory.
The pained grunt indicating a hit penetrated the ringing of her ears. Dammit, gunfire in enclosed spaces not only sucked but left her hearing dulled. Her grip remained rock solid as she rose and began to move through the cabin.
There wasn’t much to it. The front room shared space with the kitchen and was decorated in empty bottles, trash, and haphazard furniture. Slumped in the far corner by the window was a moaning Raider, his gun lying on the floor within reach. She didn’t worry about him making a move towards it, he was too busy bleeding out. And not just from the chest wound she inflicted. There was a poorly bandaged gut wound as well. Probably from his run-in with Crane’s people.
Leaving him to Ruin, she continued down the short hall. She cleared the noxious bathroom, shoved open a warped door leading into what once was a bedroom, but was now missing parts of one log wall. Backing out, a soft groan drew her down the hall to the last partially closed door. Dread clutched at her, but she nudged the door open with the gun’s barrel.
‘Oh dear god,’ she breathed trying to make sense of the scene before her. A stone fireplace dominated one wall, but it was what hung on the opposite side highlighted by a couple of lanterns that had her yelling for Ruin. She tucked her gun in her waistband and rushed to the bloody man nailed to the heavy wooden beams.
Coarse rope wound around the man’s wrists and ankles. His neck was circled by a thick strand that looped over another, higher beam. A couple of cement bricks on the floor held the longer end in place, its intended usage clear. A makeshift hangman’s noose.
Gently pushing his chin aside, she could see the layered rope burns and cuts on his neck, indicators of repeated hanging. The faint brush of breath against her hand had her yanking her blade free. Since she couldn’t reach the rope above his lowered head, she began sawing through the tail end of it.
Dear god, how the hell was he still alive? But that wasn’t the worst of it. Thick nails ran in a haphazard line from palm to shoulder and foot to hip, impaling the tortured and nude body. One final hack and the rope split, the tail dropping to curl on the floor. Breath coming hard and fast, she turned back to the poor man and wrapped her shaking hand around the slick, blood-coated nail driven deep into his upper thigh. Hopefully, it wasn’t near anything vital. With her first tug, she realised it was deeply embedded in the wooden wall.
The hard thump of running feet had her turning, an ugly and unfamiliar sense of uselessness tearing through her. ‘I can’t get him down.’
In the doorway, Ruin rocked to a halt, his hands going bloodless as he gripped the doorframe. A mix of fury and horror paled his olive skin. ‘What the fuck?’
Ignoring him, because there was no answer she could give, Charity turned back and began searching for something to help get the man down. When she took a step, she stumbled over a pile of thick nails and a discarded nail gun, the grip of the long barrel smeared with blood. Kicking it out of the way, she kept searching. Shoved into one of the corners was a ratty mattress and a stained canvas bag.
Dashing to the corner, she dropped to her knees, hands frantically pawing through the bag’s contents. Knives, in all shapes and sizes, a couple of guns, a frickin’ blow torch, hammers, rope, and finally, at the bottom, a pair of heavy duty pliers, the kind that just might cut through nails. The ends were deeply stained, and her stomach clenched at the whisper of evil as she finished digging through the Raiders’ torture bag.
Swallowing against her rising gorge, she clutched the heavy duty pliers, pushed to her feet and turned back. Ruin now stood next to the man, his voice low, soothing. The only sign of his carefully contained rage was the unearthly light in his eyes. Unable to hold his gaze, she handed him the pliers. ‘It’s the only thing that will work.’
Ruin didn’t say a thing as he took them. Instead, he moved in closer, cradling the man’s face with his free hand and whispered something in his ear. When he lifted his head, his gaze zeroed in on Charity. ‘Find something to use as bandages before we do this.’ This being the brutal task of cutting the nails from the walls because there was no way to pry each one out.
It was a relief to rush out of the room, but the image of what hung there would haunt her nightmares. She didn’t want to think about how long it would take to cut through each of those nails, or what it would mean to the barely breathing man. Or to the one determined to save him.