The Relict (Book 1): Drawing Blood by Richard Finney, Franklin Guerrero Read Free Book Online Page A

the football had enough manners to come over and apologize for almost causing an injury. “Wow! Almost got you with that one,” said Barrett. “I’m blaming the elbow I injured in high school for that lousy pass…”
    “No problem,” answered Matt.
    Juarez laughed. “Is that the only two words you know?”
    “I also know, ‘where is the john?’ ‘where do we get our food,’ ‘fuck you.’ And ‘leave me the fuck alone‘. And I know all those phrases in eleven different languages.”
    Then, without another word, Matt stepped around Barrett and Juarez to check out the rest of the building.
    “Was it the way I smelled?” asked Barrett as soon as Matt was out of earshot.
    “No, I think it’s the way we all smell,” Juarez shot back.
    “This is the guy I was telling you about. He was working for this private security firm, and just like the company, the guy was a dick.”
    “Looks like he still is a dick,” said Juarez.
    “That’s not fair. Didn’t you think I was a dick when you first met me?” said Barrett.
    “No, I thought you were a pussy,” said Juarez, as he started jogging away. “I’m going long. Hit me…”
    Barrett rolled out with the football, leaving Tyra standing by herself.
    At first she thought that the rough exterior he displayed could have been triggered by the fact she was a woman. But after seeing him deal with Juarez and Cliff, she realized Matt clearly had some personal issues.
    And yet as she watched him moving through the barracks, she had the hope that there was room to navigate between the wall Matt had put up and the personal experiences that might have damaged his psyche along the way.
    But then, Tyra thought to herself, she was probably just fooling herself.
     
    Matt walked slowly and deliberately down the middle aisle of the barracks. Instantly the conditions reminded him of the overcrowded facility in Kabul where they held captured terrorists and the locals they suspected of cooperating with the Taliban.
    Bunk was upon bunk, and just inches apart from the next tower of bunks, starting just ten feet from the main entrance to the farthest wall.
    Though he appeared to keep his eyes staring forward, he caught snatches through his peripheral vision of the other prisoners. His goal was not to learn something about them, but to make sure they didn’t get the wrong impression of who he was. He wanted to look determined, not insecure, as he searched for a bunk vacancy.Everyone around him, now all staring at him… had somehow survived the takeover. He didn’t want to play into any of the factors that might explain why they had all survived while everyone else had died.
    Matt had almost reached the other side of the building when he saw what looked like an empty top bunk. On the bottom bunk was a man reading a book, so Matt couldn’t see his face at first.
    He could see some photos taped to the footlocker below the bunk. Photos of a middle-aged, white guy holding a sniper rifle as if it was a fishing rod. There were also magazine cutouts of Kennedy, King, and Gandhi. Below the montage were the crudely carved words, “Happiness is a cold bullet.”
    “Excuse me... can I help you?”
    “Not unless you plan on putting a mint on my pillow.”
    Matt didn’t wait for a reaction as he leaped up on to the top bunk and reclined like the only thing he was waiting for was a cold beer.
    His new bunkmate was named Lincoln Grouse, and he swung his legs out from his bed and stood up with some urgency. He tried his best not to come off as if he was worried, but there was no doubt that Grouse was bothered by Matt’s sudden intrusion into his space.
    “Who decided this?”
    Matt looked over, but because Grouse wasn’t especially tall, it meant his beady eyes were several inches below the level of the top bunk.
    “You’re looking at him.”
    “Really? Well, then you should know the bed you’re sleeping on comes with some history. The previous occupant was a guy named Mendelsohn, a