Hunter: A Post-Apocalyptic Survival Series (Wasteland Book 1) by Devon C. Ford

Author:Devon C. Ford [Ford, Devon C.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Aethon Books
Published: 2021-09-27T16:00:00+00:00

36

Forging Your Own Path

Rivera

“Leave him be, honey, it’s just a phase. He’ll come back when it’s out of his system.”

My mother’s words made me pause, mostly to gather myself so I didn’t turn and say something that would upset her. She was delicate, and if she’d seen even a tenth of the things I had in the last week, she’d likely never recover.

“No,” my father told her, “he wants to make a point, let him make it. Let’s see how he gets along without everything I’ve provided for him, like money.”

“I’ll get by on my salary like everyone else does,” I answered sullenly, still stuffing clothes into a bag along with the basic toiletries I’d need. Finding a place to stay wasn’t hard, especially if you didn’t mind which side of ten you lived on, and if I was being honest, I was punishing myself by picking something a little below what my budget allowed.

“On your sergeant’s wages,” he scoffed. My mother started to cry, which had no effect on my father other than to elicit a disgusted sneer, confirming my suspicions that he was a heartless bastard who cared only for his own reputation and profits. I’d heard whispers of him only marrying my mother to further his connections through family, and for years now I hadn’t doubted it.

“Yes. On the money I earn doing my job.”

“Your job? Your job was to serve for five years, make rank and retire to move up. But no, you have to go playing crusades and poking your nose in places where your betters had told you to leave well alone.”

“My betters?” I asked.

“Your betters. The people who know more about how the city works than you do. The people sensible enough not to go out there looking to get killed.”

“I wasn’t looking to get killed,” I answered stiffly, guilt about Quinn’s fate stabbing at me.

“The deputy director didn’t expect you to come back. I heard her tell the president as much.”

That one stung me, and I wasn’t entirely sure why. I snatched up my bag, stuffed with the bare minimum I’d need, and bent to kiss my mother on her tear-streaked cheek. She just cried, saying nothing like she always did when my father started shouting. I walked for the door, but he moved to block my way.

“You walk out now an—”

“And what?” I asked, looking him hard in the eye. “Is this the part where you cut me off? Threaten to sever my access to the bank? Save your breath. I know you’ve already done that.”

He grimaced, face contorting in barely suppressed rage.

“You walk out now,” he snarled, “and you’ll break your mother’s heart.”

Manipulative bastard, I thought, looking back at the woman I suspect he’d broken years before but who still wore a winning smile with nothing behind her eyes whenever they went out in public. I turned back to him.

“You did that years ago,” I said, and left.

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