"Yes, of course," Dax tells him.
"Maybe I should talk to the new guy," Grant says. "Use my Zen powers on him. After a little forced meditation, he might be more open to talking."
Gabriel chuckles again. "Forced meditation? You guys are nuts."
I really want to see what's going on in there, instead of just hearing it. So I skulk along the backside of the tent until I find a seam where the tent has been held together with snaps. I carefully push two fingers into the seam and spread them. That gives me a partial view of the interior.
Gabriel sits on a folding canvas chair with his wrists bound behind it with duct tape. He keeps smiling with smug satisfaction while Dax glares and Grant just gazes at the man placidly.
"We're not bad people," Grant says. "If you tell us about you, maybe we can help each other."
"I don't trust anyone."
"That's too bad. Trust is a beautiful thing—when it's earned."
Gabriel grunts. "Why should I give a shit about earning your trust? You haven't earned mine."
"Hey, man, we're just trying to keep our family safe. I'm sure you can understand that. Besides, you did assault our friend."
"No, I didn't. I detained her briefly."
Grant clucks his tongue. "Lying won't help us trust you."
"Screw your trust."
Gabriel swivels his head toward the rear of the tent—toward me—and his lips kink into a sly smile.
A shiver races up my spine.
No, I don't like this at all. A stranger with ulterior motives has invaded our Sanctuary, and nothing good can come of that.
Chapter Three
Gabriel
I sit here inside a tent, with my wrists secured with duct tape, and try to figure out if I should trust these people. They haven't made me feel welcome, that's for sure. I haven't given them reason to, so there's that. After months of scrabbling to survive post-apocalypse, I'd finally found a group of allies I could trust. Friends. A new kind of family. But I got them all killed.
Why did Aldith send me here? She claimed it's my destiny or some bullshit like that. I've never bought into the idea of fate. The Echo didn't change my mind about that.
The big guy who has a beard, tattoos, and a British accent walks up beside me and leans in. "You should start answering our questions, mate. Give us a reason to trust you, or we will toss you back to wherever you came from."
"Dial it back a little, Dax, would you?" the other man says. "We're trying to be nice."
The man who just spoke is American, which doesn't surprise me. The British Hulk seems out of place here, though. How many Brits lived in Northern California before the Echo hit? Not many, I'd bet. Of course, this is my first visit to California.
I glance toward the rear of the tent. The blonde sunbather is still peeking through a slit in the tent to watch us. So, she's a nudist and a voyeur.
"What should we do with him, Grant?" the British Hulk says. He told me I could call him Dax, but I prefer my nickname for him.
"Try to make peace," Grant says.
What do I have to lose? Everyone I cared about is gone. I sigh and slump in my chair. "Look, I don't want to hurt anybody. But I don't know you guys, and I've learned the hard way that trusting the wrong people ends in bloodshed."
"Yeah, we've learned that lesson too," Grant says. "Let's untie him, huh, Dax?"
The British Hulk nods.
Grant removes the duct tape, then offers me his hand to shake. "I'm Grant Larson. And that big scary dude is Dax."