Clouds covered the sky like a lead sheet, blotting out the sun.
Trent checked his watch. One minute until nine. Almost time.
Anticipation unfurled in his gut. Thanks to the overcast, he could see into the cab of the truck behind him. A wiry soldier stared at him from behind the wheel. Soon he would no longer matter. Keeping a small smile on his lips, Trent glossed over the driver to the other man. In the passenger seat, Ernest Pyle fiddled with the long, black handle of his flashlight, just like he’d been doing since they’d ditched the other two trucks nearly three hours ago.
When the truck headed up another incline, Trent swayed forward then set his hand over his heart.
The signal was sent.
Let the future begin.
Trent savored the sweet victory flooding his mouth and waited.
Ernest raised his flashlight and swung it toward the soldier’s head.
At the last minute, the driver raised his arm to block the move.
Fucker! Trent tightened his grip. Ernest wouldn’t let him down. Not in such a key moment with both their futures at stake.
Ernest hopped on his seat and swung the flashlight again. And again. And again.
Trent’s blood quickened. Go Ernest!
The soldier blocked one swing but another connected and his head snapped back. Letting go of the steering wheel, he raised both hands. The truck careened to the side of the dirt road. Its wheel caught in the ditch and its fender gouged the walls cut out of the hill. The men fell onto the seat, disappearing from view.
No! Trent ground his teeth together. He wanted to watch the fucking soldier die.
The black flashlight arced over and over the dashboard until finally crimson spotted the windshield. A red hand appeared grabbed the wheel and tugged it back to the road.
Trent licked his lips. Had the soldier’s head caved in like a melon, popping out his eye like a ripe grape? Did his bones crunch when they broke? Had his blood coated Ernest’s hands like warm, woolen mittens? His ex-neighbor’s body had done all that and more when he’d pounded on her. Trent’s penis hardened.
Who knew manual labor could be so rewarding?
Ernest’s blood smeared face appeared over the dash then disappeared. The side door popped open and the soldier’s body was shoved out. It landed in a bush, crashed through the branches before getting stuck halfway to the ground.
Pity. Trent shoved down his disappointment. Ah, well, he supposed getting to watch the truck eat up the body was a Hollywood fallacy.
Shutting the door, Ernest gave him a bloody thumbs up then honked his horn.
Perfectly executed. Just as he deserved. Trent sank onto his spot on the bench. Any moment now Ernest’s brother Robert E. would begin his attack on their driver. He too had a heavy-duty metal flashlight, filled with sand to make it a more effective weapon.
The truck jerked to the right.
Trent closed his eyes, imagining the crack of the flashlight against the driver’s skull. How many whacks would it take to render the soldier insensible? Three. Four. Heat flared in his groin. But why stop there? Ten would be better. Twenty and he could peel away the cracked bits like the shell of a boiled egg and peer inside.
The truck bumped over the road. Vegetation slapped the sides of the truck.
He lurched forward but caught the bench seat. Something collided with his ankle. Sighing, he released the remnants of his fantasy.
A high pitched scream pierced the rattle and hum of the truck.
A woman, no doubt. She would need to learn her proper place. All of them would. He might save the task of breaking the females for his own pleasure, but he suspected a few of his faithful followers would enjoy the taste.
And if they enjoyed it, he could use it to control them.
A win-win situation all around.
For him.
Trent planted his feet against the floorboards and locked his arms. What was taking Robert E. so long to take out the garbage? Was he less competent than his twin brother? Trent could have used that information before putting him in charge of the task taking place in his cab. The truck drifted to the other side. Then he heard it. The wonderful hollow thud of a body hitting dirt. Since the vehicle didn’t stop, his side must have won.
He waited a moment.
The horn blared twice.
Victory trilled through him. Tonight, they would celebrate. A couple of MREs and women should keep everyone happy.
The truck swerved to the right. His head banged against the sides of the carrier. Dammit, couldn’t the man drive straight.
Someone else screamed. Another sobbed.
A boy of fifteen asked, “What’s going on? Are we going to crash?”
They needed to learn control. Trent scanned the back until his gaze landed on Gary, faithful minion number four. With his hooked nose and beady eyes, Gary resembled a rat. Ah well, Trent couldn’t afford to be that choosey at the moment. But that homely face was definitely not going to breed. Once Trent had more worthy followers, he would select the new attributes that should carry into the future.
Gary would become extinct.
But for now, he served a purpose.
Gary’s hand disappeared inside his coat.
Trent nodded.
Gary whipped out a shiny silver blade. The six inches of sharpened stainless steel sliced through the air. “Shut your fucking mouths.”
The pathetic masses shrunk away from the swinging blade. Two boys, each with a handful of whiskers on their cheeks, pushed to their feet near the cab. They chorused, “You can’t do this.”
Oh look, they wanted to play hero. Trent chuckled. Didn’t they know they were only here as labor?
“And who’s going to stop me?” Gary lunged at them, slashing with the knife and nicking the boy on the right.
The kid slapped his hand over the bleeding gash on his arm and stumbled back.
His friend kicked out, hitting Gary’s wrist.
Thankfully, his faithful minion didn’t lose his grip on the blade. Gary stabbed the air near the next kid. “You wanna play rough, bitch?”
A woman gasped. “That is quite enough.”
Oh hell, no! A stupid bitch wasn’t going to take credit for bringing peace. That was his part. Trent shoved to his feet and walked to the back. “Gentlemen.”
Gary and the kid parried, lunged, ducked and kicked.
The woman rose from her seat.
The truck hit a bump. Trent used the lurch to shove the bitch back down. His gaze raked her. Damn the slut had twenty pounds too many on her fat hips. Who let the fat cow on his truck?
“I’ll take care of it.” His fingers dug into her shoulder.
She slouched down in her seat and hissed through her teeth.
“Sorry.” Not. He shoved off her and faced Gary.
His minion carved up the air, not close enough to cut the wanna-be heroes but enough to keep them at bay.
Trent stroked his chin. Gary liked the knife. If no one claimed the fat chick, then he could let Gary have fun with her. Hell, maybe Trent would watch. Maybe he’d make them all watch, just so the punishment for disobedience was crystal clear.
And now to inform the rest of them of the change in plans.
He set his hand on Gary’s shoulder and squeezed. “Lower the knife, if you please.”
Gary lowered his knife.
The two boys feinted a lunge at Gary.
Trent raised his free hand. “No. You two. Sit.”
Like obedient dogs, they complied.
He inhaled the sweet smell of power. Damn, he should have taken control sooner. The world would be a much better place with him in charge.
“He started it.” The boy with a cut on his arm glared at Gary.
Trent swallowed a growl. The worthless boys would ruin his victory with their whining. Muscle bunched under his palm. He dug his fingers into Gary until they reached bone. “Patience.”