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Authors: Rachel Aukes
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in the backseat and was in the front seat by the time he revved the engine. He tore out of the parking lot and turned in the direction of the farm.
The tension was palpable in the cab.
“She dropped down from the top shelf. She must’ve hidden up there to get away when she was attacked, and stayed until I walked by—”
The steering wheel creaked under Clutch’s grip. I didn’t speak another word the rest of the way back to the farm. Unease roiled through me as he pulled up to the house and slammed on the brakes. I grabbed the baskets, tossing in bottles and boxes that had spilled out on the rough ride back. Once outside, I closed the door and stood for a moment. When I turned and looked at Clutch, he was looking straight ahead, both hands on the wheel.
I knocked on the window.
He moved, and the window rolled down.
“I messed up,” I said. “You told me to be careful and I wasn’t. You told me to run, and I didn’t. I should’ve been ready.”
“No, Cash,” Clutch graveled out. “I was the one who messed up. I knew you weren’t ready, but I let you come along. You’re not ready, and you’ll never be ready.”
And then he drove off, leaving me standing under quiet, gray clouds.
LUST
The Second Circle of Hell
Chapter V
Clutch didn’t return to the farm.
I paced the yard for over an hour, checking traps and alarms, waiting for him. At first, I’d been afraid that he’d send me packing and I’d be on my own. But then my fear morphed into something much more useful.
Anger.
I wasn’t mad at Clutch.
He’d been right all along.
I was mad at myself for not being stronger, for not being prepared. Even if he let me stay, I had to be able to depend on myself to get out of trouble, and right now I couldn’t.
I headed straight back to the house, grabbed the kitchen shears, and walked upstairs. I put the garbage can in the bathroom sink. I stared in the mirror for a long second. Then I sucked in a deep breath, lifted the shears, and chopped off a twenty-four-inch chunk of hair.
Then, I cut a second chunk.
I cut until there was nothing left to cut.
It had taken me years to grow my hair to the length it’d been. I’d always considered it my best feature. Yet, now, without all that hair, my head felt light and free. Empowering . After running a hand through the dark stubble, I nodded to myself and headed back outside.
I marched to the smallest tin shed for supplies before picking out a solid tree in the middle of the open backyard and sprayed the outline of a zed on its trunk. Then I hammered the sandbag I’d stuffed with rags about where a head would go.
I took out my knife and put everything I had in my swing, completely missing the bag and impaling the tree instead.
“Damn it,” I muttered, examining the tanto blade to make sure I hadn’t damaged it. Taking a deep breath, I focused on the bag and swung very slowly, this time hitting the bag nearly dead center.
I’d never had any kind of training with weapons except for pepper spray, so it was improv based on what I’d seen on TV and what I knew about zeds. Slashing would be a waste of energy since to kill a zed its brain had to be destroyed. I knew better than to throw the knife because, if I threw my knife, I’d no longer have it to take down the next zed lurking around the corner. I had neither the strength nor the weapon to decapitate. And so I focused on stabbing.
I spent the next five hours trying to figure out how to kill a zed using nothing but my knife. I grunted as I thrust and stabbed at the bag, the entire time Clutch’s words you’re not ready echoed in my ears. But he was wrong about one thing.
“I will be ready.” I said out loud before every strike.
The poor tree suffered. I missed the bag as often as I hit it. I almost sliced myself wide open once. After that, I became more conscious of every movement. With short breaks to rehydrate, another two hours of stabbing, with sweat drenching my skin, I
The tension was palpable in the cab.
“She dropped down from the top shelf. She must’ve hidden up there to get away when she was attacked, and stayed until I walked by—”
The steering wheel creaked under Clutch’s grip. I didn’t speak another word the rest of the way back to the farm. Unease roiled through me as he pulled up to the house and slammed on the brakes. I grabbed the baskets, tossing in bottles and boxes that had spilled out on the rough ride back. Once outside, I closed the door and stood for a moment. When I turned and looked at Clutch, he was looking straight ahead, both hands on the wheel.
I knocked on the window.
He moved, and the window rolled down.
“I messed up,” I said. “You told me to be careful and I wasn’t. You told me to run, and I didn’t. I should’ve been ready.”
“No, Cash,” Clutch graveled out. “I was the one who messed up. I knew you weren’t ready, but I let you come along. You’re not ready, and you’ll never be ready.”
And then he drove off, leaving me standing under quiet, gray clouds.
LUST
The Second Circle of Hell
Chapter V
Clutch didn’t return to the farm.
I paced the yard for over an hour, checking traps and alarms, waiting for him. At first, I’d been afraid that he’d send me packing and I’d be on my own. But then my fear morphed into something much more useful.
Anger.
I wasn’t mad at Clutch.
He’d been right all along.
I was mad at myself for not being stronger, for not being prepared. Even if he let me stay, I had to be able to depend on myself to get out of trouble, and right now I couldn’t.
I headed straight back to the house, grabbed the kitchen shears, and walked upstairs. I put the garbage can in the bathroom sink. I stared in the mirror for a long second. Then I sucked in a deep breath, lifted the shears, and chopped off a twenty-four-inch chunk of hair.
Then, I cut a second chunk.
I cut until there was nothing left to cut.
It had taken me years to grow my hair to the length it’d been. I’d always considered it my best feature. Yet, now, without all that hair, my head felt light and free. Empowering . After running a hand through the dark stubble, I nodded to myself and headed back outside.
I marched to the smallest tin shed for supplies before picking out a solid tree in the middle of the open backyard and sprayed the outline of a zed on its trunk. Then I hammered the sandbag I’d stuffed with rags about where a head would go.
I took out my knife and put everything I had in my swing, completely missing the bag and impaling the tree instead.
“Damn it,” I muttered, examining the tanto blade to make sure I hadn’t damaged it. Taking a deep breath, I focused on the bag and swung very slowly, this time hitting the bag nearly dead center.
I’d never had any kind of training with weapons except for pepper spray, so it was improv based on what I’d seen on TV and what I knew about zeds. Slashing would be a waste of energy since to kill a zed its brain had to be destroyed. I knew better than to throw the knife because, if I threw my knife, I’d no longer have it to take down the next zed lurking around the corner. I had neither the strength nor the weapon to decapitate. And so I focused on stabbing.
I spent the next five hours trying to figure out how to kill a zed using nothing but my knife. I grunted as I thrust and stabbed at the bag, the entire time Clutch’s words you’re not ready echoed in my ears. But he was wrong about one thing.
“I will be ready.” I said out loud before every strike.
The poor tree suffered. I missed the bag as often as I hit it. I almost sliced myself wide open once. After that, I became more conscious of every movement. With short breaks to rehydrate, another two hours of stabbing, with sweat drenching my skin, I
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