Page 95 of Juniper Unraveling

I peek into Papa’s office one more time, and the static noise I ignored before draws my feet toward his desk in search of the source. Pulling back the drawer, I lift a military-issued walkie-talkie from inside. As long as I’ve lived here, I’ve never seen it before, and I’ve rifled through damn near every drawer and cupboard in this house. But it looks just like the ones Arty and the other guards carry around.

I push the button, and the fuzz turns to momentary silence until I release it. Lifting the speaker to my face, I press the button again. “Hello?”

No one answers.

Exhaling a sigh, I set the walkie-talkie back inside the drawer and exit Papa’s office.

I don’t even know how long I’m planning to leave for, or if I’ll come back, at all. All I know is, in the three days since Papa passed, this house has grown small and suffocating.

I can’t stand it, anymore.

After tossing my pack, some candy, and two loaves of bread into the truck, I reach for the rolled-up tarp that will serve as a tent, and a heavy blanket for the dip in temperature at night. Behind the seat sits the portable charger and a folded canopy made of flexible solar panels to charge the truck.

The drive through town seems to take forever, and when I reach Arty at the gates, he peers into the truck and frowns. “Going for a couple days, kiddo?”

“Just need to get away for a bit, Arty. I’ll be back.” I muster a sad smile, and he reaches through the window to pat my shoulder.

“Your Pops was a good man. You watch yourself out there. They don’t call ‘em the Deadlands for nothing.”

“I’ll be fine.”

Okay, so I’ll miss a few of the people here, even if they’re ignorant to what’s really going on outside the walls. They’re not evil people. And I suppose the lies are easier to swallow than truth.

Once I’ve breached the wall, I drive through the maze of scattered tents, until an object leaps out from my periphery. Slamming the door of the truck, the familiar man urges me to stop, with all of his sons on his heels.

“What’s going on?” I set my elbow out of the window, eyes scanning for Zahra.

“They’ve taken her! She was playing with her brothers, and they took her!”

“Who?”

“Marauders! They went in that direction!” He points toward the left, where a dust cloud in the distance marks the path of a car speeding off.

“I’m going after her.” I slam the vehicle into drive and lurch forward, breaking immediately when the man rounds the front of the truck, slapping the hood.

He reaches the passenger door, throwing it open, and pushes my supplies toward the middle, ignoring the food and water. “I’m going with you.”

Hammering the gas, I push the truck to top speed, following after the vehicle that keeps about a three-mile distance ahead.

I glance over to Zahra’s father, noticing his trembling hands, and back to the road. “Eat something. You’ll need some energy.”

“I can’t. My stomach feels sick. The things they do to young girls is just …” He shakes his head, and I catch him rubbing his forehead in my periphery. “Please, don’t lose them.”

“I know this desert well. They’re headed toward the mountains. I’m guessing they have a camp there.”

It’s about thirty minutes before we reach the foot of the mountains, where I saw them turn. I slow the truck, pulling off to the side behind a large red rock, hidden from the vehicle parked ahead. Even from this distance, I can see it’s empty. Still, I nab my slingshot from the bag, and the rocks.

Zahra’s father glances down, and his upturned brows tighten with more anxiety. “You plan to fight them with a bunch of rocks? Don’t you have a gun?”

“Nope.” I slide out of the vehicle, pressing myself against the rock where we’ve hidden.

At the top of the mountain, about fifty yards away, is a man patrolling with a gun in his hand. I glance back toward Zahra’s dad, signaling him to approach quietly, and as he gets close, I urge him to move back.

Winding my sling, I wait for the man to change direction, turn his back to us, and the moment he does, I step out from my hiding spot, swing the pouch over my head, and release it.

The rock slams into the back of the man’s head, dropping him to the ground.

Whether he’s dead, or not, I haven’t a clue. I’ve only ever slung rocks at Ragers to know what kind of damage they can do to the human body. A hit like that would’ve knocked a decent sized bird out of the sky for sure.