Page 101 of Juniper Unraveling

He fires up the bike, giving one obnoxious rev of the engine, and we’re off.

Chapter 29

The sun sits low in the sky, when we approach a wide blue building that’s spattered with graffiti. Turn back is written above The hills have eyes. And mixed in with other more colorful phrases are skulls. Lots of skulls.

The stranger I’ve come to know as Rigs pulls into the building and parks his bike in a line of at least twenty others that fill the innards of the warehouse. I’ve never seen so many motorcycles in one place. Alongside those are three trucks, with the familiar green tarp, like the ones from Calico.

If I can fire one up, I can get away.

As if sensing my thoughts, he quickly hops off the bike and removes his gloves, tucking them into one of the saddlebags at the side. Curling his fingers around my arm, he lifts me from the seat. “Out here, the Ragers are thick, along with mountain lions and coyotes. No sense taking off.”

“Natural predators don’t scare me.”

“Ain’t nothing natural about a Rager,” he says, tugging me along as he exits the building.

“How do you even drive those things? Where do you get the gas?”

“Every one of these babies runs on ethanol. Got a corn farmer that converts it to fuel.”

“And what do you sell him, women?”

He glances back with a grin. “Only one. Made her his wife.”

“Lucky her.” I crane my neck toward the warehouse that we’re walking away from. “Aren’t you afraid someone’s going to steal all your vehicles and leave you stranded?”

“Nuh-uh.” He points to the mountainous rock ahead of us, where, pacing atop a plateau, is a man with an arsenal strapped to his body. “Hawkeye will shoot anything that don’t have a patch, or a pussy.”

Lovely. “What is this?”

“Abandoned ore mine. Place is over a hundred years old.”

We approach an opening, framed in rickety wood that looks as if it might collapse at any moment.

“It doesn’t look safe.”

The hole in the mountain swallows the light, and Rigs shakes a slender object in his hand, before flipping on a flashlight. The bright LED halo illuminates the path ahead, leading us deeper into the rabbit hole.

“Figure it’s been here longer than anything else. Survived the bombs and the whole world falling to shit. I’d say it’s as safe as you’re gonna get, for now. Used to be a pretty wild hotel. Tourists came from all over the world to stay here. ‘Sgot about ten rooms and a common area.” He prattles on like a tour guide. “A bit gothic, but it stays cool out here, where the sun will, otherwise, fry your ass.”

The farther we venture, the more my nerves begin to rattle, and a tightness radiates across my chest. The rocks and rubble become an annoying distraction, tripping me up, as the walls close in on me from all angles. I twist my wrist to escape Rig’s grasp, and he turns around.

“I told ya, don’t bother to escape. This mine is the only thing there is for miles. And if the cats don’t get ya, the Ragers will.”

“I’m not feeling good. Can’t breathe.”

“Claustrophobic? You’ll get used to that. C’mon. Gets better up ahead.” Instead of tugging me again, he hoists me up over his shoulder, and for the second time today, I’m dangling in front of his ass. Only this time, my stomach goes light, and I have to push against his cheeks to lift my head enough not to throw up.

Voices echo from ahead, and the narrow cave opens to bright light. Twisting myself, I scan over the thirty-some odd people congregated inside the open space. Men. Women. Children. All of them performing some kind of work, washing clothes in buckets, preparing food, and none of whom seem the least bit concerned that I’m being carted through by some caveman biker.

Slaves?

The source of the light is a hole in the rock, where the last remnants of sun blast through, illuminating the cavern. Aside from that, the room has about a dozen sconces drilled into the stone, each holding a candle. Rickety wooden chairs sit closest to the walls, and a crater in the center of the room, lined with stones, appears to be a bonfire pit. It looks like a mine, but it’s definitely been modified. Sleeping bags and blankets lay strewn about the floor, which Rigs strides across, while others are rolled and stacked.

The biker keeps on, and at a T-crossing, he turns right, to where the long rock corridors hold more sconces lit by flames. “These are the rooms. Aside from a few dead bodies we had to clear out, whole place was vacant.”

He comes to a stop, and again I twist myself around his body to see what’s going on.

“Got a gift for Rhys.” The slap to my ass grinds my teeth, and two men, including Rigs, chuckle. “This one’s a feisty shit. Think she’ll make for some entertainment.”