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“Oh.” Grey’s whisper barely hitched above a breath, like he was too stunned to add anything else.
Noel cleared his throat and capped the fuel canister while Grey fumbled to do the same. “I’ll be right back with Cy,” he said, taking the empty jugs back with him into the shop.
He didn’t even wait for any sort of reply like he normally would have, simply driven into autopilot mode for survival—a horrible attempt to detach himself from it all, to ignore the stench of decay closing in, to ignore the fact that he was looting the homes of the dead. But he still replaced the canisters on the shelves instead of dumping them. Closed the grated doors but didn’t lock them. And scrounged around for a notepad at the front desk as Grey dropped to sit on the front steps.
Caution: do not eat or drink. Take only what you need. Safe travels.
36
GREY
Dead, probably.
The loose brick under Grey’s foot wobbled with every backward dip of his heel as he stared down at the jagged edge freeing it from the others. Was this his fault? Did that fair folk come here and poison them all because Grey had found a way for them to escape? Would this have happened if he’d just handed himself over?
Guilt gnawed at him. The loose brick tilted down.
You can’t control what the fair folk do. Up.
Yes, but you didn’t exactly give them much of a reason not to do it. Down.
What about Noel? Up.
It feels like he’s having more regrets by having you around. Down.
You wouldn’t have been around to help Cy though. Up.
An echoing slam somewhere by the open gates smacked the brick back into place, and Grey scrambled to his feet. His heart thrummed in his chest as he craned his neck to peer around the barrier and identify the source. A car? A van? A?—
Something pressed against the back of his head. “Hands up.”
Grey’s mouth went dry as he shakily raised his hands to level with his head. “I- I don’t have much?—”
“We’ll be the judge of that,” came a second, gruffer voice before worn gloves pawed at the sides of his hoodie in a pat-down. More figures emerged at the gate—all covered head to toe in fabric and protective gear like goggles, knee guards, and heavy boots.
Sweat began to break out along the back of his neck while he silently prayed for the man holding the gun to his skull to point it away, especially at the sight of many more rifles and pistols headed toward him in holsters or slung to their sides.
“Please,” Grey whispered, wincing when the muzzle pressed a little harder. He bit down on his tongue, waiting patiently for the gruffer man to finish his inspection.
When he finally came into view, Grey took in the slashes of scarred flesh through stubble and a hardened jaw. Possibly the only parts he could use to identify this guy, outside of his towering height. Amber goggle lenses reflected the buildings behind him, narrowing down to Grey’s scared face.
The man reached for the string around Grey’s neck, his mouth tipped down at the corner as he pulled the iron key free. “Is this it? Where’s your weapon?”
“I- I don’t really have a weapon. Just a pocket knife in my bag for survival.”
He let out a low hum that rang closer to a growl as the rest of his companions neared. Grey yelped when he seized his arm and ripped down the sleeve, his stomach heaving at the sudden reaction, like it’d be quickly followed by the crack of a bullet leaving the chamber.
But instead, the man whistled. “What the fuck is a hemomancer doing up here?”
“Pl- please just let me go. I don’t want to cause any troub—” He flinched as the others reached for their weapons. “I’m not threatening you, I?—”
The barrel of the gun moved, tapping the back of his neck. “On your knees. Hands on your head.”
His vision swayed as the gruff guy let go. That cry for Noel and Cy caught in the back of his throat as he followed their instructions with short, panicked breaths. Knees on the bricks and hands in his hair, his stomach dropped as his arms were seized again, wrists forced together, and the horrible zip of a plastic tie cut through the others’ movement toward the fuel station’s door. A macharomancer prisoner. Again.
“Take him to the car while we clear this building.”
Pressure built in his unseeing eye, recalling that overwhelming pain inflicted over and over again. Every little stinging cut to blossoming bruises and weeping wounds. The still-faceless man who’d restrained him hauled Grey to his feet and moved to drag him forward. Every muscle in his body went taught, fear overwhelming that little voice telling him to cooperate.
