Free World Apocalypse by T.K. Malone

Author:T.K. Malone [Malone, T.K.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2017-08-28T06:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seven

“Funny thing,” Sticks said, his fork sweeping around to encompass the room. “Not one of these folks in here is from Morton, Aldertown, Sendro or Christmas. Not one comes from within a hundred miles of this place.”

The workers' mess was half full. Half full of grumbling men with arms like tree trunks, women whose chiseled faces told of a life of hard toil, and a smattering of kids that looked dirty, downcast, but determined to fit in with their elders. It was a grim place, but honest, she decided.

“Why?” Teah asked.

Sticks pointed his fork at her, his expression one of victory. “Now, I’m glad you asked me that,” and then his head went down as he scooped up another forkful of mash. He looked up, chewing. “Contracted in. When I was in the Feds, we were fightin’ in some place—Egypt? There a place called that?”

Teah shrugged.

“Anyways,” Sticks carried on. “In Egypt, or whatever it’s called, they got these pointed things, massive—made of stone, called pyramids. Rumor is, they was built like this.”

“Pointed?” Teah asked, a grin curling her lips. She was warming to the soldier fast.

“Na, not pointed. Built with folk who didn’t live near.” He looked up at the mess’s canvas roof. “Or did they kill ‘em? Something like that.”

“So you’re saying,” Teah pointed her own fork. “You’re saying that whoever’s building this place doesn’t want anyone local to know what it’s like inside.”

Sticks smiled, his freckly face lighting up. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

“And you’ve fought overseas?”

He nodded.

“How…? If you don’t mind me asking: how old are you?”

Sticks leant in, looking sideways to check if anyone was listening. “’Tween you ‘n me? Sixteen.”

“Six—”

“—Shush. Was thrown outta the Feds for being underage.”

“What age did you join them?”

He leaned further in. “Thirteen. I looked older.”

Teah highly doubted it; he still looked like a child to her. “So you got thrown out?”

“Yep, ‘n bounced to the SDF. Would say it was part of a master plan, but it weren’t. Fancied seeing the world. Still, suppose you don’t see much, mostly recon ‘n killin’ anyhow.” He scraped his plate clean. “You done much killin’?”

“Me?”

“Don’t see anyone else sittin’ here.”

“Some.”

He nodded, not taking his eyes off her. “That why they torture you?”

Fear raced through her. She glanced straight at him, then away, taking in the room; the sole exit, the route to it, likely hurdles, likely enemies. Sticks’ hand reached out and grasped hers.

“Hey,” he said. “I ain’t prying—ain’t no snitch. If you don’t wanna talk about it, don’t.”

“How did you know?” she stammered.

“Croft told me to look out for it—for the signs. You got ‘em all. You’re always looking about like a rattled rabbit. You ain’t settled once since we’ve sat down. All signs, but mostly coz your eyes are hollow, faraway and hollow.”

She looked down at her plate, somehow ashamed. “They just wanted info on someone I knew.”

“Knew? Is he dead?”

“Why do you think it’s a he?”

Sticks shrugged. “You was shoutin’ a name all last night… Zac? Is it Zac?”

“He ain’t dead.

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