The Dead Among Us

Exposed

Sabin's POV

In the shade under the oak trees, I feel Moose's wet and slightly rough muzzle graze against my open palm as I hold out an apple for him. His warm breath and whiskers tickle my skin as he greedily gobbles up the treat, the sound of his crunching echoing through the quiet surrounding woods outside the protective barrier of Bronzeclaw. 

"Good boy," I coo and can't help but grin as I stroke his coat, feeling the coarseness of his fur under my fingertips.

"Sabin, hush," Billy's voice cuts down to me.

I glance up at him, his figure silhouetted against the sky as he sits perched on the post. Irritation flashes through me, and I narrow my eyes in response to his harsh whisper.

With a final caress to Moose, I ascend the ladder back to the post; my rifle slung over my back. The peaceful moment with Moose fades as I climb. The wind whispers around me, and each step echoes my thoughts. Memories of my time with Fa this morning flood my mind. I think about the way she responded to my authority without bickering, the way her body moved against my own, and the sound of her moans replay in my ears when I punished her, making my stomach do somersaults.   

 As I reach for the top of our post, I find Billy leaning against the wooden railing. The setting sun casts a golden glow around him, and his binoculars are trained on the horizon.

"See anything?" I ask semi-sarcastically because it's been dry out here for hours.

Billy pauses, spits out some chewing tobacco, and then replies, "Yeah, actually."

He hands me the binoculars, and as I adjust them to my eyes, the world comes into sharper focus. At first, all I see is a hazy, warped, circular view of the lush green foliage. Then, like a puzzle slowly coming together, the outlines of a group of men—Raiders, unmistakably—emerge from the natural camouflage.

They are hidden behind a cluster of trees, appearing to lie in wait for something or someone.

Quickly, I fumble for my walkie-talkie on my belt loop, taking care to keep the volume low to avoid alerting the devils or someone near our post.

"We've spotted Raiders," I report, my voice barely above a whisper.

Finn's voice crackles over the radio, "How many?"

Glancing back at Billy for confirmation, I reply, "At least four." A silent nod from Billy confirms our count.

"We'll send a team. Keep an eye on them and let us know if they make a move," Finn instructs calmly.

"Roger," I acknowledge, securing the walkie-talkie back onto my belt. Raising the binoculars once more, I scrutinize the Raiders' movements. Four men stand vigil near their parked ATVs, their watchful eyes scanning the woods.

The more I watch, the more something dawns on me: they are sporting red bandanas.

My eyes shoot to Billy, "I don't wanna wait."

He's mid stuffing more chewing-dip into the side of his cheek as his eyes dart to me. "Huh?" he muffles out.

"My slave said the man who attacked her had a red bandana. So do they," I explain, passing the binoculars over.

"Lots of people have red bandanas, Sabin," he disputes through a stuffed mouth, then spits a brown glob down the rail. "And maybe your slave was lying to avoid trouble for running away."

I ignore his comment; I saw her tattered skittish body when she came back. He didn't.

"I'm going," I state, slinging my rifle over my back and striding toward the ladder. He chases after me, gripping my arm, his face contorted.