Broken Warrior (The Weavers Circle 1)

“Hey,” the guy said in a gruff voice with no discernable accent.

“Hey. I’m Clay Green.”

The man’s eyes narrowed for a second, and then he shook his head. “I was sure I knew you, but I don’t recognize the name.”

Clay dropped his hands to his hips and swallowed a sigh. “Yeah, I feel the same.” He had no idea what to tell this guy. Definitely nothing about the powers, alien demons, or crazy old ladies. The guy would probably punch him in the face and walk the fuck away, and Flo had been very adamant about bringing him to the plantation house.

“Baer Manning,” the guy said, extending his hand to Clay.

“Good to meet you.”

“You from around here?”

Clay shook his head. “No. Tend to travel a lot. Been all over the country.”

Baer huffed a sort of breathless laugh. “Yeah. Me too.” He glanced around the flea market and stepped a little to the side as a woman with her arms full of VHS tapes wove her way through the crowd. “I never thought I’d make it to Savannah. Thought I’d be heading north in summer. See Mount Rushmore maybe, but this just felt like where I needed to be. Stupid as it sounds.”

Clay grinned. “Summer in the south is never smart, but here I am too.”

They shared an awkward laugh and Baer threaded his fingers through his hair, pushing it from where the wind had blown it in front of his eyes. His smile faded, and his face grew more serious, but he no longer met Clay’s gaze.

“You’re being followed, aren’t you?” Clay asked, taking a shot.

Baer’s eyes snapped to Clay’s and there was something hard in his expression. “Yes. How do you—”

“They smell bad. Like rotting meat.”

“Roadkill cooking on the asphalt in the summer sun.”

Clay nodded. “They’ve been following me too. Tried to kill me several times.”

“Yes. They found me in Charleston a few nights ago. I’ve been on the run, moving constantly.” Baer’s lip curled and he shook his head once. “But they found me again. Here.”

“What?” Clay turned, looking around the immediate area, his eyes skimming quickly over every face. He dragged in a deep breath, scenting the air for that telltale rotten scent.

“I can feel it. Like spiders tap-dancing on the back of my neck. They’re here.”

“Where?”

“Not sure.”

Clay couldn’t feel or smell anything, but now his skin was starting to crawl. Was it from Baer’s words or something linked to this new power of his? No reason to stick around and figure it out.

“Look, we should get out of here. I’ve got a place we can go. These women, they know who these fucks are, I think,” Clay suggested.

One of Baer’s eyebrows lifted, and he smirked at Clay. “No offense. I’ll admit that you seem familiar and know some shit, but how the hell do I know that you’re not in league with these assholes?”

“Because those same assholes already did this to me a couple of nights ago.” Clay leaned closer to Baer and grabbed the collar of his T-shirt. He stretched the worn material so that Baer could get a good look at the healing furrows across his chest.

“Shit,” Baer hissed, his face briefly wrinkling up in a look of horror.

“I get your skepticism, man, but they got really close to killing me a couple of nights ago. I figure we’ve got to have a better chance of surviving together.” Definitely not his best “you gotta trust me” speech, but at least Baer was nodding.

“I see your point,” Baer mumbled as he glanced over his shoulder.

“Where’s your ride? I parked my truck near the edge of the lot.” He motioned toward the aisle he’d come through.

“Jeep isn’t far. I’m sure Ruby is ready to get out of here.”

That stopped Clay. “Your girl?”

Baer laughed. “Nope. My dog. German shepherd. She’s waiting in the Jeep.” Baer held up a finger before Clay could even ask his next questions. “The Jeep is in the shade, and I’ve got the roof off it. She’s plenty comfortable and has a bowl of water.”

Clay smirked at him. “I was gonna ask if she was friendly.”

“Only if I tell her to be,” Baer replied with a wink.

Clay’s smirk turned into a grin, but it died as his nose wrinkled at the first hint of rotting flesh. The wind had changed directions, buffering their backs. Baer and Clay shared a look, then turned in unison to look down the aisle behind them.

Three of them stood clustered together by a table of old oil lamps and ceramic dogs, but they were definitely staring at Clay and Baer. It was strange seeing them in the light of day, when nearly every encounter Clay had suffered was after sunset. They looked human in the most basic of ways. Human enough that all the other shoppers and vendors at the flea market moved easily around them. No one reacted to anything strange. They didn’t even seem to notice the horrific smell wafting off them.