The Ruins Part 2 (Sequel to The Ruins)

Chapter 12

Sam Morgan couldn't hold a job, so he took to killing.

It was the family business. He barely knew his biological family- and by family he meant his guardian, Tom- and he definitely didn't like the idea of "business." Or work. The only part of the deal that sounded like it might be alright for him than just work was going out into the Ruins.

He done it before. Sure, he'd gone couple years inside the Fairview but went through hundred simulations in gym class and in the Scouts and trained vigorously by Tom, but they never let kids or teens do any real killing. Not before they hit seventeen.

"Why not?" he asked his Scoutmaster, a fat guy named Rodney who used to be a TV weatherman back in the day. Sam was twelve at the time and hated this cheery place and their strict rules.

"Because killing's the sort of thing you should learn from your folks," said Rodney.

"I have folks," Sam countered. "Tom and I been through it. I can take care of myself."

Rodney had stared at him. "Wow. I didn't know you were related to him. He's you father, huh? Well, there's your answer, kid. Nobody better to teach you the art of killing than a professional killer like Tom." Rodney pause and kick his lips nervously. "Yet you have to be seventeen."

"No," Sam said with huge annoyance. "He's not my father. But he doesn't keep me inside these walls."

Tom is a Bounty Hunter all the way back to his first encounter of the Black Night. He was graduating as a police officer when it all broke down; it was his birthday and the day his little sister Melody died. Many years of being tortured by his past, he moved on and found Sam and other kids in the Flyer Frontiers quarantine zone, not wanting them as soldiers, only survivors like Tom. The curled chestnut brown hair man with the British accent is the most famous Bounty Hunter like the others, and him working in one of the Eleven Towns, which they call it here Fairview, Tom has been accepted to many people and for his help. Once in awhile he hears them call Tom the names he was given: Fast Tommy, Tom the Killer, Tom the Hunter, Tom the Hero.

Tom didn't think of those names, especially the one calling him a hero. He's not one, and he killed before but is neither a killer.

Sam had asked Tom on his thirteenth birthday, and Tom had said no. Again. It wasn't a discussion. Just "No." from Mayor Gregory.

That was more than four years ago, and now Sam was six weeks past his seventeenth birthday. He had four more weeks grace to find a paying job before town ordinance cut his rations by half. Sam hated being in that position, and if one more person gave him the "seventeen and free" speech, he was going to scream. He hated that as much as when people saw someone doing hard work and they said crap like, "Holy smokes, he's going at that like he's seventeen and out of food."

Like it was something to be happy about. Something to be proud of. Working your butt off for the rest of your life when you should work on something more important than getting ration dollars.

His buddy Benny Chong said it was a sign of the growing cultural oppression that was driving post apocalyptic humanity toward acceptance of the new slave state. Sam had know freaking idea what Benny meant or if there was even meaning in anything he said. But he nodded agreement because the look on Benny's face always made it seem like he knew exactly what was what.

At home, before he even finished eating his dessert, Tom had said, "If I want to talk about you joining the family business, are you going to chew my head off? Again?"

Sam stared venomous death at Tom and said, very clearly and distinctly, "I. Don't. Want. A. Stupid. Job."

"I'll take that as a 'no', then."