Raven's Hell (Savage World 2)

“You have contacts in South America who hook you up with this product?” Collin asked and shut the cases of drugs. When they didn’t answer right away but just looked at each other, Collin’s patience faded. “Answer the fucking question. I have other business to attend to, and you’re wasting my time.”

“No disrespect, Mr. Suthers. Um,” one of the men began. “We know a guy who knows a guy who knows a guy in the Cartel. He can send us small amounts at a time. This load took a month to get to us because of the mules having to cross the border.”

Collin would need to look into getting into contact with their wholesale distributor, because the meth and weed he sold wasn’t enough. He had inventory to stock, people to get high, and his empire was expanding. He nodded to Peter, who grabbed the duffle from off the floor and tossed it to the junkies’ feet.

“That’s the amount we discussed.” Collin stared at the two men, and when they didn’t move right away, his patience snapped. “Get the fuck out of here.”

They grabbed the money and took off once the wall was opened again. Collin sat on the edge of the desk, blew out a breath, and stared at Marco and Peter, his two most loyal men who worked for him. “Let’s get laid and fucked up.” And then the three of them headed back out to the club to get their dicks wet and enjoy the rest of the evening with a little cocaine and some booze.

2

After the fall of civilization

Collin walked across the rooftop, his last cigarette in his mouth and the sun beating down on him. In just six short months, the city of New York crumbled.

Parts of buildings were missing from the bombs that had been dropped. The government had tried to eradicate the threat of the infection spreading by killing off the sick, as well as anyone still healthy and on the ground.

Sections of the city were nothing more than crumbled wastelands, burned to the ground, blackened and ash-filled. He stayed though, became the last man standing in his crew and watched everyone around him flee, become infected, or waste away and die.

He sat on the edge of the roof, his feet hanging off the side, the drop thirty stories. The wind picked up, and the stench of the decay below, of the filth that built up in the city and covered it like a sickening blanket, filled his nose. He took another hit off the cigarette, pulled the smoke back, and looked at it.

He had a few cartons at his place before all this shit happened, and during it he acquired a few more cartons, along with other supplies in exchange for helping some people. Because he ran things before the infection, a lot of people in his area looked to him for help. But Collin couldn’t have done anything but wait it out just like everyone else.

“So long,” he said to the smoke, took the final hit, and then flicked it over the ledge. Even from a distance, he could see the infected below, stumbling around, their groans muffled by the expanse. Collin stood and walked back to the rooftop entrance of the apartment building he lived in.

He had the penthouse, and although he lived here comfortably for the last six months, staying was not an option he wanted to exercise anymore. His resources in the city had run out, and if he stayed, he’d die like the rest of this place.

The country seemed like a good place to start his life over, away from this fucking death, the life he once had, and now was the time to leave.

He headed down the stairs and into his place. The sound of moaning came up from the lower levels, and he knew getting through this building and past the fucking infected was going to be a bitch. But he had been preparing for this, plotting out his way to leave the city with as little hassle as possible.

After shutting the door behind him, he leaned against his door and stared at his penthouse apartment.

The entire upper level was his, with an open floor plan he worked for from the floor up. He had everything packed: a backpack with enough supplies—the rest of what he had—a few weapons, and a pair of clothes. Those were the items he’d have to survive on until he found other supplies.

He was smart enough to know that the measures he’d have to take to survive out in the world, to get more supplies, could very well mean he’d have to kill and maim for them.

He walked over, grabbed his coat and backpack, and shoved the jacket inside it. This was it. He was leaving all this shit behind, going to set roots down away from where the stench of death and decay covered the streets, filtered up to the rooftops, and saturated him in vileness.