The Collector

Ghoul looked the device in his hand, the tracker sweeping over a map with a small blinking light now almost dead centre.

“We should see it any minute,” he said without looking up as Jet squinted into the distance.
“There!” Jet almost shouted.

Looking up, Ghoul nodded. Almost hidden by dust and merging into the desert stood the abandoned trans am, exactly as it had been left by Kobra’s attackers. Slowing as they drew near to approach in near silence, Jet brought the van to a complete stop several yards away. Stepping down into the cool night air, the pair drew their guns and walked slowly and warily towards the vehicle. Jet hitched a breath as he saw an outline and a brief glimpse of movement in the back seat.

Both now running forward but keeping their steps as light as possible to maintain the stealth of their arrival. Each taking one side of the car, both Ghoul and Jet flung open the car doors, hoping to see Kobra, but ready for anything, well, almost.
A petite and slender young woman with ‘bed-head’ blonde hair, turned a harsh glare up at Jet as he disturbed her sleep.

“Get your own fucking car!” she yelled. “And shut the door, you’re letting the cold in!”

Leaning on the top of the car door, Jet offered Ghoul a wide-eyed and exasperated, did-that-really-happen look. Ghoul shrugged with a small smirk at Jet’s response as they both returned their guns to their holsters. With a sigh, Jet leaned in and grasping her ankles, pulled hard.

“Out you come, little girl,” he laughed as she struggled against his strong grip, writhing and venting her frustration as, despite being quite physically strong herself, Jet was both stronger and had the advantage of being out of reach.

“I’m not a little girl!” she shouted angrily as Jet finally got her outside the trans am and pushed her gently against the now closed car door.
“Feisty,” Ghoul grinned, as Jet planted his hands on her shoulder to push her back once more.

Jet stared at what he now realised was a young woman, an inch or two shorter than Ghoul wearing an inky purple pair of skinny jeans and a lighter purple and, what had once been, white leather jacket ingrained with dust and dirt accumulated over time and hardship out in the Zones. He allowed the tension to drop from his shoulders, as she stared up at him, her expression softening slightly being replaced by a fleeting look of curiosity.

“Who are you?” she asked, hesitantly.
“Never mind who I am,” Jet responded, still surprised at her forthrightness. “What were you doing in our car?”
“Your car?” she replied, taken aback. “I found it! It was just abandoned!”
“Where’s the driver?” Jet asked, ignoring her response.

The woman tilted her head before making a show of looking in the driver’s seat.

“Seems to have gone somewhere,” she deadpanned.
“Where is he?” Jet shook her.
“Get your hands off me!” she yelled trying to push him away without success. “I don’t know where he is! I don’t know, okay?”
“What are you doing in our car?” Jet repeated.
“Sleeping!”
“The supplies are gone,” Ghoul announced closing the trunk with concern. One solitary strip of Ademen was all he needed and someone had taken everything.
“Supplies!” the woman snapped. “Oh, man! Why didn’t I find it earlier?”
“When did you find it?” Jet pressed.

It had taken them two hours to drive there and knowing a timeline of events gave them more chance of finding Kobra.

“I don’t know!” she snapped in return.
“When did you find it!” Jet yelled this time.

Ghoul’s head snapped up; it took a lot to get Jet upset but there was something about this woman that just seemed to press his buttons. Their eyes were locked and intense in their animosity in a way that Ghoul had never seen – well certainly not with any Zonerunner before.

“Hey man, easy,” Ghoul walked to his side. “She just found the car, she doesn’t know anything.”

Jet couldn’t break eye contact, there was something. Something. He couldn’t place it.

“She knows,” he insisted, narrowing his eyes. “She knows something.”
“I don’t know who you are,” she snapped at Jet, “or you,” she turned her head to look at Ghoul, “or your damn driver. Now, I’m sorry I slept in your car, but I didn’t know that either. Now get your hands off me!”

Finally managing to push Jet’s hands away, she ducked under his arms and started to walk away. Ghoul scratched his head as he looked at Jet, still unmoving.

“Wait!” he called as he ran over to her.
“What?” she replied with a heavy exhalation as she turned to face the Killjoy.
“Our friend was attacked,” he explained. “We’re trying to find him.”
“I don’t know anything about it, really. I’m not lying to you. I had nowhere to sleep, your car was just there…” momentarily she left the sentence hanging. “Is that your van too?”

Ghoul smiled broadly.

“When did you last eat?” he asked kindly.
“What day is it?” she asked quietly.

Ghoul raised an eyebrow; that long?

“We’ve got some cans in the van and some recycled water.”
“Bragging or offering?” she tipped her head and smiled.
“What do they call you?” Ghoul asked.
“Little Red,” she said.

Ghoul eyed her in puzzlement.

“You’re blonde.”
“Well aren’t you the observant one,” she smirked. “I know, but it sounds better than Little Blonde, doesn’t it? Besides, it’s got nothing to do with my hair.”
“Fair enough,” Ghoul nodded, crossing his arms. “What does it refer to?”
“Would you like my boot size too?” she asked defensively.

Ghoul raised his hands in defeat; he hadn’t meant to pry.

“What’s your name?” Red asked, surprised it wasn’t already forthcoming.

Ghoul paused, chewing his lip as he considered answering. He was, after all, a wanted man. She obviously hadn’t recognised him from the posters, which he was glad was actually a difficult thing to do. Black and white photos with a giant red X through the face weren’t exactly conducive to helping anyone recognise an individual. His name, however, that was different.

“Okay,” she rolled her eyes at his reluctance to reveal his name, “I’ll just call you Shorty and him Frizzy. Okay?”

Ghoul couldn’t help but smile again. His first impression was spot on – feisty!

“Come on,” he placed a hand on her shoulder, moving it quickly when she flinched. “Sorry,” he added quickly.
“No,” she shook her head, as the pair walked back toward the van. “I was floored by an explosion. Must have landed funny.”
“You saw that?” Jet asked as he joined them. His tone still had an edge to it.
“I didn’t see it,” she snapped at him, “I was in it! Jeez, what’s your problem?”
At the words, it seemed that Jet suddenly snapped out of whatever was troubling him. He shrugged and frowned deeply.
“Hey,” she smiled thinly, extending her hand and giving his forearm a slight squeeze. “You’re worried about your friend, I get it. I woke up about an hour ago and about ten minutes later I found the car. I thought it was abandoned, really.”

Jet nodded and signalled to the van.

“Come on, we might even have a painkiller in there.”
“So, what’s next?” Ghoul asked as they walked. “We’ve hit a dead end.”
“We call Candi Crush in Dust Bowl,” Jet frowned. “See what she’s heard.”
“And if she knows where the meds are,” Ghoul prompted.
“Second on my list,” Jet replied.

*

Kobra’s cell was well equipped with a private area sectioned off at the back, and what he had originally seen when dragged over was only half of the unit. That had been a viewing area. He wasn’t in a museum, he was in a goddamned zoo!

He had no doubt that somewhere in another room, perhaps via a camera, someone was laughing at him as he moved his hands over every inch of the Perspex looking for a weakness or some sort of secret panel. Anything! He’d squeeze through a two-inch hole if he had to. The door appeared to be electrically powered; there were no locks to pick. Taking advantage of his martial arts training, Kobra launched into a series of Push Kicks that thundered into the door at what he believed to be a variety of potential weak points. Sweating profusely, over thirty kicks later, with his back aching from the door’s resistance, Kobra staggered backwards, resigned to the fact that, for the moment, he was trapped.

Heading to living quarters, he flopped down heavily on the bed. Compared to the diner, the private area of the cell was a palace. A ten by twelve foot space complete with bed, washing and toilet facilities even a small table and chair. It even had running water – actual water, that you could drink without it burning your insides. But all that aside, it was still a prison and he had to get out.

She was intent on capturing all four of them and that was terrifying enough, but what scared him more than anything was her knowledge of the diner. How did she know where they lived? How did she know so much about them? How did she know where to find him? With sudden terrifying clarity, he knew. Someone had given them up to her. A contact? Someone had been watching them? A friend? Someone who knew where he was going to be. He couldn’t even begin to guess who that might be. There was no one new in their lives, everyone they worked with they’d known for a long time. Could it mean that whoever had given him up would help her get the others too? She was rich. She could offer that person anything. What would a desperate person do for what she was offering?

He rested his elbows on his knees as he leaned forward dropping his chin onto his clasped hands staring at nothing. Party was ill and still weak.Without the medicine he was supposed to take back his brother would get sicker and struggle to defend himself. Party had told him he wasn’t ready for a lone run and like a child he’d disobeyed and proved him right in style by getting captured and endangering them all. Letting out a low guttural scream of frustration, he leapt to his feet and lashed out with a powerful kick, connecting with the table. Careering across the room, the small table crashed against the wall and split and splintered into pieces.

Notes

Huge thank you to BrokenChemicalHeart for the use of her OFC, Little Red