Chapter 91: Taran

We leave the church immediately after the attack, gathering up our things and flinging them into the back of the jeep before piling in. I sit in between Diogo and Stryker. The tense silence in the car is building nearly to breaking point and I don't know why. Diogo is probably being vigilant, worried about another attack, a legitimate concern considering we're about to fuel up, something I'd learned from Talon is one of the most dangerous things survivors can do when traveling between cities.
It's Stryker's quiet tension that concerns me. From what I've seen of the man, he's usually relaxed and easy-going, no matter what's happening around him. He knows I was bitten, and he protected our backs while Diogo tended to me. But what does he think? Is he worried I'll still turn?
Or perhaps he's not even thinking about my immunity to the Death Kiss. Diogo trains his men to observe and react, but not to state their opinions unless asked for. Maybe Stryker's deliberating the best plan of execution for refuelling. I myself am pondering the same problem. There's almost no chance that the Primitives that hit the church were the only ones in the area. Yet, we can't wait to gas up. This is the only town with a working fuel station for at least 300 square miles.
He confirms my thoughts when he says, "I'm closer to the tank. I'll fuel while you cover. Your woman ain't half bad with that sidearm of yours, give her the gun and let her cover that window."
I want to protest but they both nod their agreement. Stryker takes Diogo's sidearm and fills the chamber with bullets. I want to tell them that I'm not a good enough shot to be given such an important job. Bullets are a commodity, one that isn't always easy to come across, but I swallow my protests. They need every person to take part. I'm protecting the man I love. With that thought I feel better about taking the weapon from Stryker and calmly holding it as we approach the fuel station.
Two Primitives throw themselves at the vehicle, one jumping onto the hood and smashing his hands against the windshield, while the other races toward Diogo's side of the car. Diogo places his rifle in the open window and pulls the trigger. I look away before I have to see the Primitive lose its head, the boom of the shot echoing through the car and against the surrounding buildings.
Stryker kills the one on the windshield and reaches out to grip the creature by a leg, dragging him off our vehicle and dumping him in the dirt. I will never get used to the casual acceptance of death. The immediate forgetting of the person that's been killed. No matter how many times I'm attacked, no matter how many Primitives are destroyed, I will never forget that they were people once.
I grip my arm, just over the fresh wound. Twice now I've been bitten. I could too easily be among their ranks. If I were to die a Primitive, I'd want someone to mourn. At least mourn the person I once was. I wouldn't want to be a forgotten corpse, left in the dirt, the exhaust fumes of a vehicle passing over me, the people inside forgetting my existence in the time it takes to blink an eye.
Moments later, we're at the fuel station, Primitives still lurching after us.
"Go," Diogo says grimly, hitting the brakes so hard that I have to reach out with my hand to stop myself from going into the dash. Both Diogo and Stryker leap from the vehicle while I crawl to the window, lifting the gun and placing it against the sill, waiting for an attack that I hope won't come.
We wait in tense anticipation. It's after sunset now and, except for a sliver of light provided by a crescent moon, visibility is next to nothing. Yet Diogo's sharp eyes pick them out of the darkness. His rifle barks and the echo of a shot rings out, the dull thump of a hit registering seconds later. He shoots three times in a row, each time hitting something I can't see. I'm shaking in fear, yet I continue to cover my husband's back as he protects us.
After what feels like hours, but is probably only minutes, Stryker shouts, "Done!"
Both men leap into the car, Stryker half through the window covering us in the darkness as Diogo peels out, leaving a cloud of dust in our wake. I twist in my seat, hanging onto the back as I watch the road behind us. My heart leaps as I see a single Primitive lurching through the dust, his hideous scarred features glaring in the light of the moon as he chases after us.
"Stryker, behind us!" I manage to yell, tapping the other man on the knee and pointing. He turns in the window, takes aim and pulls the trigger. I don't see where the bullet hits, but the Primitive stumbles and goes down in the dirt, not getting back up again.
A wave of nausea hits me as the jeep rattles along a broken road, going faster than it should considering the lack of light and the cracks in the road. If we get a flat tire out here on the road, we'll be sitting ducks. The Primitives can attack en masse, using sheer numbers to overcome our resistance.
It's Stryker that says something though. "Slow down, Commander. Nothing's chasing us right now and we need to put distance between us and that town, not strand ourselves out here with only a few bullets left and a couple of knives."
Diogo doesn't say anything, but the vehicle slows to a good pace. Squinting into the dark surrounding the vehicle I don't see any more Primitives. Still I keep a vigilant eye and so does Stryker, leaving Diogo to drive. We drive slowly through the night, Diogo carefully picking his path in the dark. I have never been in a vehicle in the dark and consider the whole experience frightening, with or without a horde of Primitives attacking. When all is quiet and we put enough distance between us and the town, Diogo takes the opportunity to explain road mechanics to me.
"When they existed fifty years ago all vehicles had lights on them so people could drive safely in the dark." He wraps an arm around me and tugs me closer to his side. "After the Great Fall, when vehicles became more and more scarce, lights were one of the first things to go. The bulbs themselves were difficult enough to find, but when the electrical circuitry that made them work failed, there were very few people left in the world with the mechanical know-how to fix them."
I very much doubt driving in the dark was ever safe, with or without lights. But I keep the comment to myself. Instead I murmur, "It's a miracle we have any vehicles left. They're so rare and they fall apart so easily."
"Humans are nothing if not resilient," Diogo says. "We'll work with what we have and then try to better the things around us. Try to make our lives more convenient, more bearable. It's in our nature to survive using the best methods possible."
"That's surprisingly optimistic coming from you." I snuggle deeper into his side, enjoying the warmth passing from his body to mine. Cool desert air is flowing through the vehicle as we drive.
"Humans are fucking cockroaches," Stryker grunts. "They can't be killed."
I look over at the big man, slumped against the opposite window, a hat pulled low over his face. I thought he was asleep. "And that's a bad thing?" I ask softly.
He shrugs one shoulder and still doesn't look over. "Humans are responsible for the downfall of this planet. They were responsible for releasing the Death Kiss into the world, they were responsible for not stepping up when they should've to eradicate the disease -"
"Even if our ancestors had focused more on the disease than they did, you don't know that they could've come up with a cure," I interrupt. "I think the world we now live in was inevitable, but it's our actions and reactions that matter, that forges a path forward for us. We are responsible for ourselves and our own future, not a bunch of people that died fifty years ago."
He pushes his hat back just enough so that our eyes meet. I see a combination of deep-seated fury and accusation there, but also a softness, like his anger isn't directed at me. I wonder if Diogo sees the same thing I see when he looks at his man.
"You're too young to know what's inevitable in this world. Your optimism is cute, but misplaced. We live in a world where more people die than survive, where people either die violently or from an illness that could've been prevented shortly after the first outbreak." Stryker's words are bleak, even bleaker than the things I've heard Diogo say. He must've lost someone, and that loss has crippled his perspective, twisting it to something incredibly dark. He doesn't have my optimism, he doesn't have Diogo's realism, and his easy-going attitude is fake. He continues, "We could've come up with a cure fifty years ago if governments had gotten their heads outta their asses and helped each other, rather than focusing on the bottom dollar. Now we're outta dollars and everything else that makes this world bearable. We deserve to die this way."
I stare at him, wondering what happened to make him this way. We're all resentful of certain aspects of the apocalypse. I want safe haven for all, yet my dream will likely never come to fruition. Diogo wants a flourishing society.
"I'm sorry you feel that way," I murmur.
Stryker snorts and settles back into his seat. "Don't want nobody's pity. It means nothing."
"That's enough," Diogo interjects, his voice harsh and weary. He's been driving for hours, his eyes straining ahead as he picks out the safest, fastest routes to get us back home. Once in a while we pass one of his men on the road who falls in behind us.
Whether because of Diogo's order or because he has nothing else to say, Stryker falls silent and moments later his soft snores fill the vehicle. I smile, enjoying the feeling of having Diogo to myself. Enjoying the feeling of safety I get by just being near him, because I know he will ensure my well-being. With that kind of support at my back, I feel invincible, like I can do anything.
I must've drifted to sleep, my head on Diogo's arm, because the next time he speaks, he says, "Look, we're home." He nudges me awake.
Yawning, I sit up and look around. The first light of dawn is picking its path along the ground, lighting up the Western mountain range on the opposite side of the city. When I glance behind, I see the clouds of dust kicked up by Diogo and his men. It's an incredible sight, like an approaching storm, headed toward the city. I draw my breath when I catch sight of the city walls. Lighting a path across the top at key points are fires, as though guiding us home.
When I point them out, Diogo nods and says, "They're for us. A welcome to the Warlord and his lady."
Stryker coughs pointedly.
"And the Warlords guard," I add with a laugh.
"Damn right." Stryker leans his arm across the windowsill.
Diogo brings the vehicle to a stop in front of the gates. Though I'm exhausted, ready to be home, I'm still awed by the somehow significant moment. A guard rounds the front of the car and stops by Diogo's window.
"Welcome home. The Sanctuary is yours, Warlord Fuentes."