The entrance had taken its share of abuse the past decade, evidenced by the avalanche of rock and dirt littering the ground outside. He figured The Event, and the havoc it wreaked, had managed to widen the access point through erosion and other means. He wasn’t sure how long it took for all that to happen, but he was thankful it did.
It never ceased to amaze him how the calcium deposits seemed to reach up with precision, aiming to lock tips with the opposite formations dangling from the ceiling. It was a symbiotic relationship of sorts, one that had started eons before he visited this place as a kid with his family.
Everywhere he looked, colors reflected with the help of his headlights, dancing between the rays as if they were alive. Every shade of gray, green, orange, and even a few browns could be seen, dazzling his vision for the briefest of moments. All of the colors unique. All of them memorable.
An equal number of shadows stood beyond the formations, displaying their own shapes and sizes, reminding him of how many acres had been consumed by this subterranean wonderland.
If he let his mind wander, some of the shadows would morph themselves into a subtle feline or Big Bird from Sesame Street. There was even an outline of a witch, pointing the way out of the labyrinth with her nose.
He wasn’t an expert by any means, but he did appreciate the tapestry before him. It was a primal mix of flowstone, boxwork, and helictites, plus a litany of other rarities that held no known reference in his mind.
Somewhere inside the almost endless expanse was his clan, waiting for his return, probably worried that this latest trip would be his last. He honked once, using the shortest blast he could muster, then flashed his lights three times.
That’s when he saw them—five of the six—climbing out from the recesses beyond the reach of the headlamps, their scrawny arms and legs traversing the rocks in their path. He couldn’t help but smile, watching their anticipation fuel their climbing speed.
They must have missed him, an emotion he didn’t think they knew, not after their prolonged captivity at the hands of the one-eyed pirate known as Craven. So much pain. So much oppression. Few could have held up after what they’d gone through.
He turned off the engine, but not the lights, then hopped out of the truck, meeting his new family just beyond the front bumper with his arms wide.
They wrapped their arms around him in kind, while the success of the most recent mission soaked into his thoughts. He’d pulled off the impossible, leaving nobody the wiser, not even the plethora of women squeezing him tight.
“All right, that’s enough,” he said, prying their arms loose from his leather armor. They obeyed, letting him stand alone. “Where’s Two?”
The women looked at each other for a moment, then the shortest turned and pointed at the deepest part of the cave. He assumed the missing member of his cabal was sleeping, or busy with one of their mundane chores.
Nomad made a mental note to look in on her later. He turned and walked back to the entrance, taking a few minutes to reset the natural camouflage concealing their location.
The eldest of his group approached him, her mouth remaining silent. It was an odd occurrence to be sure, her lips normally flapping with another round of guttural sounds.
The Nomad waited for their eyes to meet. “You’re unusually quiet today, Four. Even for you.”
Four flashed a wide-eyed look at him.
He nodded. “You’re worried about Seven, aren’t you?”
She twisted a lip, but held her grunts.
“She’ll be okay. I promise. I would never have sent her back in if I didn’t think she’d be okay.”
Four came a step closer and grabbed his fingers with her palm. She pulled his glove off and turned his hand over.
Her eyes went down, just as she began tracing her thumb across the creases in his palm. The path she made did not match the impressions in his skin.
Nomad recognized the pattern as she drew it over and over. It belonged to the lines in the hand of Seven. “I know you miss her, but she needs to do this. We all do. Otherwise nobody survives. Not me. Not you. Not your sisters. And certainly not your daughter.”
Four stopped the rubbing, then turned and led him deeper into the cave. The others had scattered into the myriad of cracks, passageways, and other crevasses, leaving the two of them to walk alone.
He broke free of her escort as they approached the rear of the truck. “I need to unload first.”
She grunted once, then pointed in the direction of a ladder leading down to his chambers. “In a bit. Gotta get this done. The truck needs fuel.”
She pointed again, this time grunting louder and with spit flying from her lips.
“Remember what I taught you—always be prepared. No matter how tired or how much someone misses you. The job comes first. It’s how we keep everyone safe.”
Her head dropped, making her look like a lost puppy—a puppy without a nose or much of a figure, her skin hanging on her bones.
“It’ll only take a few minutes, then we can eat and rest,” he told her, lowering the tailgate on the truck.
The Nomad climbed in and unhooked the tiedowns that Fletcher’s men had used to secure the drum. He rocked the container back and forth, using leverage to maneuver it to one end of the horizontal tailgate.
Once it was in position, he moved to the inside of the drum and gave it a firm yank along the top, sliding his feet out of the way in the process.
The steel container toppled sideways in a loud clang, then rolled off the truck and landed in the dirt.
The Nomad jumped down and stood the drum upright to gain access to its opening—a twist lock offset to one side. He retrieved a heavy duty, long-bladed screwdriver from the truck’s toolset and wedged it in sideways to work the cap loose in a spin. It would have been quicker if he had the proper bung wrench, but the screwdriver would suffice with the jury-rigging.
Four brought him the battery-powered fuel pump he’d acquired at the Trading Post earlier in the year and put it on the back of the tailgate.
He took the apparatus and stuck the syphoning end of its hose into the drum before walking to the side of the truck. He twisted the fuel cap off, then slid the pour spout of the hose inside the tank, making sure it was seated properly to avoid any spillage.
When he looked back, he noticed Four bending low over the drum, her face close to the hose penetrating the cap.
The Nomad wasn’t surprised. She was a curious woman, but one he’d learned to appreciate during all the grooming he’d done to make her his sidekick. She’d also become his confidant, even though she couldn’t speak or offer much in the way of feedback. Not in the traditional sense.
There was tactical value in having a team of mutes at his side—those that couldn’t read or write. They allowed him to share top secret facts without worrying about information leaks or betrayals, maintaining the shroud of secrecy. That veil of silence was more than just important. It was mission critical if he had any hope of completing his plan.
The Nomad scoffed as more memories replayed in his mind. Memories from his past. Memories that carried endless pain mixed with periods of joy. He had no idea how his life would change once he returned home a beaten, broken, and burned soldier. Cannibals or not, his little cabal had become his family. They were the reason he did what he did.
He popped the hood of the truck, then located the batteries. There were two—one on each side of the engine compartment. He moved to the closest battery with a pair of power leads in hand. They were color-coded red and black, much like a set of jumper cables used to start a dead vehicle.
He knew from experience that as soon as he connected them to the battery terminals, matching red to red and black to black, the fuel pump would energize and begin transferring diesel at eight gallons a minute.