Ruin - By N.M. Martinez Page 0,6
a stray."
"Down?" His words directed at me completely confuse me for a moment.
"Lay across the back." There's impatience in his voice that reminds me of the way he grabbed me earlier, practically shoving me into the car.
I do as he's told me, laying the duffel on the floor and then stretching out across the back seat and putting my head on my arms. My stomach still tugs, but now it's tugging sideways. I pull my legs up. Gray Eyes glances back at me directly without the grimy mirror as our filter, and I freeze in the spot. He is handsome. None of the scars on his body are on his face, and he looks young though I can tell he's definitely older than me. But his eyes are cold. Maybe it's because of the color. There is just something that is lacking in them.
And then the car slows to a stop. The older man sighs halfway in annoyance. For half a second he looks like he's going to get up, but it's the younger man who swings his door open. "I'll do it."
I almost lift my head, but the older man grunts at me. "Stay down."
With a nod, I press myself against the seat and listen. Not far off I can hear voices, though it's difficult to tell what's being said. One voice I think I recognize as Gray Eyes rings clear over the others. It speaks with some authority and annoyance. But there are others, desperation and anger clear in their voices.
The older man watches with his hands on the steering wheel. He sits still like that for a minute before he utters under his breath, "Stupid."
"There's your meat," I hear Gray Eyes say as he comes closer to us. The sudden silence swells in my ears, filling the car like heavy air pressing down on my lungs. Though I didn't see it, I know something bad has happened. I can feel the shift in the air.
Grey Eyes comes back to the car, a knife in his hands that he carries low by his leg. When he sits down, he grabs the shirt from the floor and uses it to wipe the knife down quickly before it disappears again somewhere on his person. The shirt gets dropped to the floor again. Still I catch the red gashed across it from the knife.
I cover my face with my hands and turn towards the seat, the tip of my nose touching the faded fabric. My hair falls over my hand and my face, one extra small barrier that helps me not see. But inside my chest, my heart thuds against bone.
The car has already started moving. We drive past the crowd with their words still simmering angrily.
The younger man speaks quietly. “I had to. We should probably take care of the rest later. It's starting to become a problem."
"Not now."
I peek through my hair and my fingers at the younger man. He leans back with a sigh going to his earlier position. His eyes partially closed his hands over his stomach. From my spot I can see him clearer. Well-muscled, plenty of scars across his front, and a tattoo across his back-- he's exactly the sort of person we were warned about. He's obviously one of those people who, with or without powers, fights for survival. We've talked about these people in school. They band together to form tribes and then fight to kill over territory, food, water. They're the kind of people who wouldn't feel anything at killing another. They enjoy it.
My fingers press my eyes shut and I curl up tighter, not wanting to look at him any closer.
"All right, we're here." The older man shuts the car off as he grunts out the words.
The younger man is already getting out of the car, grabbing his shirt to take with him. As I sit up, I catch his eyes again. They look colder, a quiet threat. These people hate Neutrals-- especially tribe members. It's why we need guards with guns and barbed wire at our borders, because they wouldn't hesitate to kill us if they were given the chance.
It doesn't take much thought to realize that I need to avoid this man.
The older man stands up and then turns to pull the lever on the seat. It shoots forward, and I come out carefully. Under my feet there's more broken pavement with short grass growing up through the cracks. I tug on my duffel bag, sliding it along the