Wolves by D. J. Molles Read Free Book Online Page A

away when he seems to realize that Huxley and Jay are standing there in the road. He stops and they can see his arms flopping about as though he is caught in some great indecision. Finally, rather than retreat or continue forward, he plops down in the middle of the road, in the bare sunshine, and crosses his legs underneath him, his wrists resting upon his thighs. Almost like he’s meditating.
    â€œThree is stronger than two,” Huxley says.
    â€œM-hm,” Jay nods. “And harder to feed and find water for. Harder to hide.”
    Huxley cocks his head at his companion, squinting against the sun. “We’re not hiding, Jay. We’re not running. We’re heading east. To find out where all those slavers are going and to make them bleed.”
    Jay flicks his fingernails. “Seemed like we were hiding last night.”
    â€œWe were biding our time,” Huxley corrects. “We were being smart. But imagine if we had more people, Jay? Even if we had five? Ten? We could’ve hit those slavers last night. Might even have hit them on the road when they first crossed our paths. We could’ve ambushed them, and they would never have massacred those caravanners.”
    â€œThree ain’t ten.”
    â€œNo, but it’s a start.”
    Jay grumbles and looks at him. “I think you feel bad for him.”
    Huxley considers it. He looks into himself to see if Jay has spoken truth or not. What do I feel? But right now, the inside of him is as barren as the Wastelands themselves.
    Finally, he shakes his head. “No. I don’t feel anything for him. But I’d wager his feet are moving for the same reason as ours. He watched his whole family slaughtered. Probably watched sisters and daughters and sons, nephews, nieces … rounded up and piled into the slavers’ wagon with their family member’s jaws rotting over their heads.” Huxley tilts his head toward the distant figure. “He wants what we want.”
    â€œWell,” Jay says. “If you’re not gonna kill him, you might as well let him help. We’ll see what his motivations are. But I’m keeping an eye on him.”
    Huxley watches the caravanner for another few seconds, then raises both arms up over his head and waves them twice. Far away, the other man perks up a bit. Huxley waves with one arm now, a beckoning gesture.
    Cautiously at first, the man stands and begins to approach them again.
    Jay gives it a minute or two. “We’ll be waiting all day if he walks that slow.”
    Huxley waves again, more exasperated.
    The man picks up the pace, but only slightly. Huxley can see him looking around. His pace slowing every so often as he tries to make sense of the situation. Why these two men are calling for him to get closer. Maybe they want to rid themselves of him. Maybe it’s a trap.
    That’s the way you have to think in the Wastelands.
    â€œMaybe that old man was his father,” Jay says. “Grandfather. Uncle. Doesn’t matter. Maybe he saw us let the old man die. Maybe he’s just waiting to slit our throats tonight.”
    â€œHe had that opportunity last night.”
    Almost begrudgingly, Jay says, “I’m still keeping an eye on him.”
    The caravanner stops about a hundred yards from them. The wind gusts again, flapping his over-large clothing around him. He stares at Huxley as he stands in the road. Huxley takes note of the man, the way his hands are empty and open and hanging at his side. He is not favoring anything, or holding anything. Huxley wonders if the man is even armed. He has a satchel on his back, it looks like, but that is about it.
    â€œOye,” the caravanner calls out.
    Huxley just stands there, watching.
    The caravanner shifts his weight. “Amigos?”
    Huxley doesn’t respond, because they aren’t amigos . They’re just two people with shared interests. Maybe.
    Huxley waves the man forward again.