January 29th, 2013
Outside Trinidad, Colorado
1
"Not again." Rick moved toward the center of the large, reeking camp as he fought against the sharp Colorado wind. "I won't do it."
He knew why he'd been called to the boss's tent. Trinidad, Colorado was big, and the survivors there had the town barricaded with machine guns that were constantly manned. The evil troll wanted him to be the wolf in sheep's clothing…again.
Walking steadily, the white man kept to himself, pretending not to understand the lazy Spanish insults from those he passed. The faint noise of crying and begging was nearly overshadowed by the lustful shouts of men, and the excited yapping of dogs. Mexican R&R, Rick thought.
His pale skin was very out of place, his life constantly in danger in the Slaver camp, and yet, he liked it. The white women here didn't feel the same. The few being allowed to sit in the open air were chained to their masters, and they watched Rick walk by with open contempt on their battered faces. These were the favorites, the ones whose bodies the Mexicans would leave on the side of the highway a week or a month from now, instead of tonight or tomorrow.
Rick stopped in front of a crooked tent and tapped on the flap before shoving his cold hands into the pockets of his dirty jeans. Cesar's men were mostly drunk and in a good mood - the church they had desecrated in Santa Fe four days ago had been full of women and kids who'd gone there for sanctuary - but it wasn't a friendly mood, despite the grins and sly leers. The tremors in his stomach doubled as the first flakes of black snow began to fall. What did the hardened criminals know that he didn't?
Gunshots echoed loudly from the other end of the carelessly sprawled out camp, followed by a young, female scream. The wind gusted smoke from their many neglected campfires as men hit, women bled, and the snow clouds rolled over a dark landscape. South was where they had been. North was where they were going, the firelight of Trinidad a dim glow through the distant trees.
"Wait." The Mexican leader's cold tone carried to his men, and Rick saw the widening grins of the two dozen or so watching men. They dressed like Spanish bandits with their crisscrossed belts and wide-brimmed sombrero's. They acted like them too, enjoying any chance to make him squirm, liking him to know that only Cesar's word kept him from the fate of all the other white males they'd found.