Derelict

Vengeance in Anger and Wrath

Chapter Twelve

Days passed with Wyatt growing accustomed to the leather strap around his neck. He had also grown accustomed to meager rations of food and water, to no consideration for hygiene or ability to cleanse himself, and to being treated as something of less value than one of the draft animals used to pull the carts. He was even growing accustomed to the oppressive heat. He had fallen into the rhythm of the caravan and recognized its patterns and habits.

But accustomed did not mean accepted or enjoyed. No. He spent much of his time inventing creative methods to introduce misery and torment to Gilmer and Kemp. He wanted to see them suffer, to experience even a fraction of the anguish and humiliation they had inflicted on him. As bad as Boss had been, even with the occasional beatings from the stick, Gilmer and Kemp were worse. With Boss, mistreatment was incidental. To Boss, being born a Speck rendered him of no value and therefore he was fair game for abuse. But Gilmer and Kemp went out of their way to torment him with intent and seemed to believe it was their duty to impose as much damage as possible. To them a Speck was not only of no value but was a thing in dire need of extermination. They took a particular interest and glee in their sadistic treatment.

Wyatt knew he owed his life to the surreptitious deliveries of food and water from Bryant and his father Bono. Even a few others had managed to slip water to him upon occasion. Their kindness to a Speck represented a risk that baffled him. He could not fathom why anyone would go out of their way to help when the penalty if caught would clearly be unpleasant. But the most puzzling thought and one that continued to haunt and torment him was not understanding and knowing the reason of why Caddo and Rison dragged him from the relative security of Cairo only to abandon him helpless and injured in the Wastelands. This was the cruelest act of all, worse than anything Gilmer and Kemp could ever mete out.

He thought of Rison often, remembering her soft voice and touch, of her kindness and encouraging words when he was injured, and of how she had humiliated Boss with such apparent ease. But she was gone and he was alone.

A man approached, breaking his thoughts and striding forward with an air of authority. Kemp was close behind in his wake, scuttling along in an effort to keep pace and still maintain a sense of dignity in the shadow of the one who could only be Rusk.

And it was. The man stopped before him and stood with his arms crossed and a scowl on his face.

"So this is Caddo's Speck?"

Kemp hastened to answer. "Yes, my Touri. We have kept him secure according to your wishes."

Without deigning to even glance his way, Rusk dismissed Kemp. "Leave us."

Kemp nodded and backed away without a word.

A knife materialized in the hand of Rusk, gleaming in the glow of the firelight. Wyatt swallowed, knowing the end had arrived at the hand of this grizzled and weathered man before him. Too weak and exhausted to resist, he closed his eyes and waited for the blade to pierce or slice or stab. How it happened did not matter, he was bound and helpless, unable to alter the inevitable outcome. He felt Rusk's hand on the yoke and heard the nearly silent snicker of the blade as it sliced through. There was no pain and for that Wyatt was grateful. He waited for the inevitable onset of death and when it did not come, he realized with surprise he was able to breath more freely than he had able to in weeks.

Then he knew. It was the leather strap that had been cut. He dared to open his eyes.

Rusk stood before him with the yoke and the hated leather strap lying on the ground beside them. Wyatt stared at Rusk, his confusion evident.