Page 90 of Retrograde

And we’re back to boring. Almost all of them say that.

“There’s not a thing I want to know from you.” I trace the trigger with my finger, the safety already off.

“Not even about your pretty little whore?”

I pause, and whatever hesitation flashes in my eyes, he latches onto it. “You can’t torture something out of me if you don’t know the right questions to ask.”

He’s wrong about that. Torture people just right for long enough, and they’ll start volunteering any information they have, even things they weren’t aware they knew. But it’s hard work that requires a lot of careful planning, a lot of enthusiasm. A drive I don’t currently have, not when tempted with the prospect of getting what I want without any work whatsoever.

“Go on,” I prompt him.

A few weeks ago, I would have encouraged him to tell me everything, only to then make a live tableau out of him regardless. But now I just want to know whatever the fuck he’s talking about.

“There’s a price on Riley’s head. One million. As well as a full pardon for whoever needs it.” Everything inside me freezes at his words. “Volker announced the bounty when he heard she helped you escape. Privately, only select circles know.”

Which means he’s after private revenge. He took her helping me personally.

Everyone will be after her. Raiders, mustards, everyone. Fuck, I wouldn’t even put it past some of the Retrogrades to exchange her for a life of safety and luxury. The more I think about it, the harder it is to breathe. At the thought of Volker getting his filthy fucking hands on her, my veins flood with acid.

He doesn’t get to have her again. I will not let her be punished for helping me escape. I will die fighting before I let anyone else have her pain. She is mine, and mine alone to hurt, in ways I see fit and no others.

I’ve become a man torn apart by two opposing forces. My belief that she deserves to pay for what she’s done, my need to break her the way she broke us—the way she broke me—so jarringly at odds with the urge to protect her from everyone else.

“How did Volker find out?”

The rodent closes his eyes and takes a deep breath that does nothing to stop him from turning a nasty shade of green.

“I told him. I noticed her there and put two and two together when we found you gone. Cameras confirmed it.” His voice stays strong and steady regardless of his colour, and my reluctant admiration for him rises. “End it now. You’ve got bigger things to worry about than teaching me a lesson I’ve already learnt a long time ago.”

He’s got a point there. In a split-second decision, I pull the trigger before the sound of his voice dies down. He crumples to the ground.

Alex and Corrado help me drag the corpses to the reservoir, kicking dirt over the trails of blood. We put our protective gear on and stand between the trees. Alex pulls out his transmitter and mumbles something into it before brandishing a Geiger counter, flicking the switch. All manufacturers have adjusted their “normal” thresholds after Rift Day, but still, the device starts clicking faintly, the sound punctuated by rhythmic silence, like an ominous heartbeat.

Once the rumble of an approaching truck fills the air, the clicking gets more frequent.

“Do we need to have this thing on?” Corrado jerks his head towards the device, stepping from foot to foot.

“Yes,” I bark at him, unable to tear my thoughts away from the bounty on Riley’s head.

I need to get back to her right the fuck now.

Too much time passes before the truck finally comes into view on the opposite bank. It disturbs dust on the road as it approaches the reservoir in reverse, its cargo bed overflowing with dirt, scree and debris.

The clicking gets faster.

“Fucking hell.” The vicious smile in my voice is unmistakable.

The back of the truck bed pops open.

“Should we even be here right now?” Corrado demands, fidgeting with his suit.

“No one should be here at any time.”

In agonisingly slow motion and with a screech of metal against metal, the cargo box rises on hydraulic rams, tipping its contents into the reservoir, disturbing the calm water surface.

The clicking stays steady and satisfyingly sinister.

Once it’s done, the cabin door on our side opens, and a man in bright yellow protective clothing and a gas mask nods curtly in our direction. I nod back, just once, and the truck is already rolling away before he even slams the door shut.