the wrong way with all her joking, but she’s been very loyal and honest.
No matter what anyone says, though, I can’t shake my fear for Anders tonight.
ANDERS
Bronco and Lowell drag John’s and Steph’s bodies to the center of the Village. Despite my wound, I keep watch over my president and VP while they wait for the adult Volkshalberd to shamble over.
People sob in the distance. Likely the parents or wives of the men killed. The Volkshalberd don’t believe in Christian heaven or the Dandelions’ new lives. They accept some kind of afterlife but only for those worthy enough. I doubt the dead assholes make the grade.
My shoulder and back hurt where the bullet tore open flesh on its way through. I might need a few stitches, but I’ve felt worse. I wish the pain stung more. I’d prefer a distraction from the sight of these starving people staring at me.
Most days, I struggle to find empathy for most people. I’ve rarely seen the purpose of caring. I’m surprised I can feel empathy at all. But I do, for my people.
And my family was starving less than a week ago. I didn’t let myself really imagine what that was like for Pixie. Leaving her behind after our visits would have been impossible if I thought about her suffering. I knew her little brother’s body looked weird, as did her sister’s sunken cheeks. They were losing weight fast. Bronco warned me that would happen, and I pretended their suffering was short term.
Except if those assholes hadn’t shot at me, Pixie and her family would still be here. And we wouldn’t know about John Marks. How much longer would the blockade go on? Weeks, months?
Those ugly voices in my head point out how Future wouldn’t have survived that long. One day, when I visited with Pixie, she would have told me how her little brother was living his next story. She would cry, and a part of her would know I helped kill him.
Guilt isn’t something I deal with often. I don’t let myself feel bad about the things I did in my youth or when I was high. I pretend they weren’t my fault. Or if they were, life sucks for everyone. I view my time with the Killing Joes as separate from who I am now. Killing my club brothers and suffering through withdrawal were the prices I paid to forget my sins.
But, tonight, I feel the guilt of leaving Pixie in this place for so long. I had the power to force her to go with me. Then, things would have played out like they did anyway. She would tell me about John Marks. Bronco would decide to raid the Village. And those extra weeks—even months—of suffering Pixie, her family, and these people went through wouldn’t have happened.
In a different story, maybe I take charge earlier. When Bronco said I had to let her starve, I could have been stronger. Told him how Pixie was mine. I needed to save her. He would’ve been disappointed in me, but that happened anyway.
Yeah, in a different story, I make better decisions. Of course, in one version, I likely never take Pixie away from the Village, and she dies. I guess I should be grateful my current story turned out this well.
“The Village belongs to the Executioners now,” Bronco announces as his foot rests on John Marks’s corpse. “You let this piece of shit run things for too long. People suffered and died. Tonight, some of your people were killed trying to save Marks. If any of you believe this man gave a shit, look at his fat gut, and then feel your empty stomachs.”
The people around us are impossible to read. Their miserable faces rarely reveal any emotions. The Volkshalberd believe in stern joy and painful freedom. They chose this life because the outside world is weak, pampered, and fallen.
I’m sure some of them still blame Bronco and the Executioners rather than John, Steph, or themselves. The Volkshalberd believe they’re living a blessed life. And their suffering is a badge of honor.
“We will return tomorrow with more supplies,” Bronco says. “Food, medicine, and gasoline for your generators. Any resistance will be met with violence. Those deaths will be on you.”
At the tree line, a bloodied Conor appears with Gunther. They walk to the center area where Bronco stands. The old man doesn’t look to have much life left in him.
“Will you bring the police to the Village?” Gunther asks Bronco.