Clover gasped for air, still shaken and crying. “None of this is my fault!”
“Whose then? They were after you,” Drake said, but didn’t stall with removing the cuffs from Clover’s hands and legs.
“I--”
“I’m done with your bullshit. If you want to be useful, help me get these bodies off the road and shut your fucking mouth for once. If you don’t, I’ll gag you again!” Drake said, heaving as he watched Clover.
Play time was over.
Clover nodded as he slowly got up on shaky legs.
Chapter 7 – Clover
Clover was numb by the time he and Drake finished moving the bodies and remained that way on the drive to meet the others. Drake talked to Tank on the phone about the ‘situation’ for which they had special code names, because there had been no other ‘spillage on the road’ other than blood.
The unexpected attack meant a change of plans, and they’d be going to some kind of safe house instead of the restaurant with homely food. The atmosphere in the van was beyond dense, as if they were at a funeral for the people Drake had killed, and Clover didn’t dare speak a word, which likely was Drake’s preferred state of affairs anyway.
After crossing state borders into Colorado, Drake seemed to have loosened up somewhat and even bought Clover an apple pie at the drive-through they used for their lunch. Clover had little appetite after the extreme stress of the near-abduction, but the sugary pastry with a thick filling somehow went down his throat, unlike the burger and fries.
The light was already changing into its late afternoon colors when Drake left the highway behind and drove toward the massive mountains on the horizon, following satellite directions to whatever deserted spot they’d be hiding in next.
So this was Clover’s life now. Hunted forever for something he had no power over.
He remained silent as they made another turn, this time onto a dirt road. At this pace, Clover would never find peace, but right now, Drake, Tank, Pyro, and Boar were the closest thing to safety he knew.
“Thank you,” he whispered as they traversed the endless landscape, while darkness grew around them and turned the sparse bushes peppering the rusty sand into crouching enemies about to strike. Clover couldn’t wait to be around a larger group of people, no matter how efficient of a fighter Drake was.
“I didn’t do it for you! We’d all agreed on keeping you safe, so once we arrive, you’ll talk to Tank about what happened,” Drake barked, following the narrowing trail between two bare slopes.
In the end, he reached a valley surrounded from all sides by cliffs where, among trees that had no right to be in a place so dry, stood a warehouse with green walls.
Beat-up and with rust on its exterior, it didn’t look inviting. More like a place where a serial murderer could store his blood-stained furniture than a safe haven for anyone, but Clover would take whatever he could get. As soon as the lights from the van illuminated one of the walls, a door in its side opened and Tank walked out, moving with purpose. He and Pyro opened the large gate leading into the building, and Drake drove straight inside, parking alongside the pickup and the Subaru.
Clover didn’t dare move, still as a mouse when Drake left the vehicle and approached the others, briefly talking to them while the last sunlight died outside.
It was Tank who came over. He opened the passenger door and asked him outside with a gesture. “We need to have a chat, boy.”
He wasn’t happy. And having experienced mostly Tank’s good disposition before, Clover didn’t know what to expect. He didn’t stall though, and slid out of the seat, his shoulders hunched, not even because he wanted to look meek, but because the threat to his life was so real he could feel it freezing the inside of his bones. He was alone with a group of men who could make him disappear with the same ease they killed everyone else, and he had no straws to grab on.
“Told you he’d be a problem,” Drake grumbled, following them inside.
The massive empty space was illuminated by only a couple of weak lamps gathered in one area. The warehouse wasn’t used for its original purpose, because there was nothing here beyond the three vehicles at one end, and a collection of furniture at the other. A table with a few chairs, an old sofa, and an armchair next to it created a strange piece of a home in the middle of a desert, but Clover didn’t get to ask questions about it.
“You need to start talking, boy, and fast. Are you a witness to something? How did they even find you?” Tank grabbed Clover’s hair and nudged him toward the living room-like space in the corner of the warehouse. For once, there was nothing exciting or fun about being manhandled by Tank.