Chapter 9: Crossing the Rubicon
481 Words
Drake shuddered, the absolute terror in my eyes breaking his spirit completely. He tapped his left hand frantic against the table—the universal sign of surrender in the wasteland.
I released his throat and stepped back, tossing the bloody knife onto the center of the table.
Drake scrambled backward off the table, clutching his shattered wrist, panting violently as he stared at me like I was a demon wearing a man's skin.
"Anyone else?" I asked, looking around the circle of lieutenants.
None of them spoke. None of them made a move toward their weapons. The contempt in their eyes had vanished, replaced by a deep, uneasy fear. They couldn't fathom how a man who had never fought in the wasteland possessed the killing efficiency of a master assassin.
BOOM!
The iron vault doors shuddered violently as an explosion detonated upstairs. The dust rained down from the ceiling, flickering the emergency lanterns.
A bloodied scout rushed down the concrete stairs, tumbling into the room.
"Boss! Jax!" the scout screamed, clutching a bullet wound in his shoulder. "It’s Vance! He brought fifty Scrappers! They’ve breached the outer courtyard! They’re pushing toward the main water pump!"
Jax instantly drew his rifle, turning to me. "The water pump is our heart, Leo. If Vance takes it or destroys it, the Syndicate dies, and everyone in this sector starves of thirst by tomorrow."
I looked down at the table.
My uncle had spent three years protecting my unconscious body in this hellscape. He had bled for me, kept me breathing while the rest of the world burned, and died because a traitor stabbed him in the back.
I didn't want this filthy world. I didn't ask to wake up into a nuclear wasteland.
But I was here. And the nightmare was real.
I reached out my hand and picked up the heavy 9mm pistol from the table. I racked the slide, chambering a round with a sharp, metallic CLACK that echoed through the vault.
I looked at Jax, then at Drake, and finally at the blood-stained Iron Crest hanging around my neck.
"Jax, take three men and secure the lower vents," I ordered, my voice cutting through the panic like a blade. "Drake, take your squad to the eastern barricade. If anyone retreats, shoot them yourself."
Drake swallowed hard, nodding rapidly despite his broken wrist. "Yes... Boss."
"What about you?" Jax asked, looking at the gun in my hand.
"I'm going upstairs," I said, my eyes turning cold as ash. "I'm going to kill Vance."
I stepped past the lieutenants and headed up the dark, smoky stairwell toward the thunder of gunfire. I had spent five years running from nightmares in the dark.
Now, it was time to make the wasteland fear mine.
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