Outcasts (Badlands 3)

Oddly, I didn’t feel afraid. I was pissed. Me and Grimm weren’t supposed to be separated. With what he’d just told me about this town, I had a good feeling these fuckers had come here specifically for me.

Rushing across the bridge, I pushed through the rusted door the man I’d shot had just gone through. He was using the wall as support, trying to get away. I could’ve gone about my business and let him eventually fall to his knees, sufferin, but fuck that. I wanted him to meet death then and there.

“Let’s see if I can get you dead this time,” I muttered, following after him.

He looked over his shoulder at me and shook his head. “You don’t have to do this, little miss. I’m only doing as I was told.” He coughed, leaving a small dribble of blood on his cracked lower lip.

Little miss? I’m positive the word he used a minute ago was bitch. I glanced at his tattoo and couldn’t help but sneer. He was as pathetic as the others had been.

He stopped hobbling and leaned against the wall, huffin and puffin. I stepped right in his face, getting the eye contact I suddenly craved.

“Well, your shitty boss didn’t have to stick his dirty dick in me, but he must not have been thinkin wi

th the right head.” I pressed the extended end of the gun to his temple and pulled the trigger. I saw the life leave his widened eyes as they looked straight back into mine.

I watched the blood and bone splatter on that filthy peelin wall, and the rush that gave me could only be described as euphoric.

I’d seen lives snatched away many times, but I had never been the one to send someone to the afterlife. If this was how Grimm felt, I could understand exactly why he liked his job so much.

That single thought of him had me hurrying away from my first fatality, runnin down the hall. At the far opposite end, something groaned. It sounded like rusted metal, and at least two voices followed right after.

Making a split decision, I veered toward a door that was half bent at the bottom, preventing it from opening any more than it was. I could see a semi-dark stairwell beyond and squeezed through it, knowing Grimm had been on the floor below this one.

I exited right out the door that led to the next floor, bouncing off an old wheelchair.

“Shit,” I hissed, recovering as quickly as I could. “They’re comin.”

I hauled my ass to my feet and took off, away from the dead body Grimm had left behind.

The room I’d found myself in was circular and massive. I had no idea where to go. Grimm told me this place had everything from a chapel to a theater; I didn’t know where he was, or if he was okay.

“Hey!” a voice called from behind me, carrying through the empty building. I heard the sound of footfalls, and poured on speed, dodging old medical equipment.

I swear I felt breath on my neck. Our footsteps sounded like a barrage of thunder coming from every direction at once.

To hell with this.

I darted through the next door on my right and stopped a few feet inside, whirling around just in time to get smacked into by the guy who’d been behind me.

I wasn’t braced enough to take the hit, and he was too close to shoot. We went over the edge of the old in-ground pool I’d barely caught myself from falling into just a second ago.

Who the fuck designed this layout?

Naturally, the pool wasn’t full, but there was enough murky rainwater that had come through the roof to coat the bottom so that whatever equipment had been tossed in was submerged. A drop was a drop, though, and this wasn’t a kiddie’s pool.

It hurt bad enough to knock the wind from my lungs. It smelled terribly, like rotten egg salad. I tried not to think about all the contamination and bacteria I’d just landed in.

I hit the grizzly bear of a man who’d tackled me in the head with the end of my gun as soon as I could steady myself enough to do so, albeit it wasn’t a strong one, due to our new situation.

He cried out and lunged at me, grabbing hold of my wrists, sending me careening into a filing cabinet as we struggled. I internally cursed as my knee resonated with pain.

His intent was clearly to make me drop the gun. Mine was to shoot the fucker and not myself in the process. One shot rang out, hitting a decaying trolley. Another hit where bright blue graffiti was spray painted on the other end of the pool.

The tainted water was a hindrance to both of us. It soaked through my clothes; I tried my best to keep my mouth shut, not wanting to swallow a drop of it, when my feet were swept out from under me.

“You fucker!” I cried out, dropping the gun as my arm bent back at an unnatural angle.

It hit the black water with a depressing plop, sinking to a place I wouldn’t be going to get it.