Milo slowed the Jeep to a halt. “I don’t like this.”
“They have goods to trade,” Zia said. “We should at least talk to them.”
Without answering, he put the Jeep in reverse and slung his arm over the seat to back up.
Before he could, a pickup truck pulled out onto the road behind them. Driving around it was impossible. Strands of trees hemmed them in.
They were trapped.
2
Two men rode in the pickup, a driver and a man brandishing a gun in the truck bed.
Charity’s heart slammed into her chest. The markets employed security guards to keep order and dissuade raiders, but security guards kept their weapons out of sight unless problems arose. Even then, she hoped her first instincts were wrong, and these men belonged to the market.
Milo put the Jeep in park and lifted his hands to show he was unarmed. “We don’t mean any trouble. We just came to trade.”
The man in the truck bed smiled, showing a golden tooth. Charity had read about those but couldn’t believe anyone with gold would use it on a tooth. “Get out of the Jeep,” he yelled. “Now!”
Milo didn’t move. Zia and Charity sat statue-still. “Is the market closed?” he asked.
The man with the gold tooth jumped from the truck and swaggered toward the Jeep, the gun pointed at Milo. “Out of the Jeep, scrappers! Do you think I’m bluffing?”
It was a possibility. More people had guns than bullets.
The gun barrel flashed, and a clap cut through the air. Zia screamed. Milo gasped, gripping his hand as blood seeped between his fingers.
Charity blinked in shock. The man had shot Milo because they hadn’t moved quickly enough. Or maybe he’d done it to prove he had bullets. Otherwise, Milo might have gone for his own gun.
Raiders. Or worse, slavers.
“Get out now!” the man shouted.
Charity lifted her hands and scooted toward the Jeep door. “Don’t shoot! We’re getting out!”
In the front seat, Milo cursed while Zia took crying gasps. Was there any way to get the key from Milo’s neck and into the glovebox without being shot? Probably not.
“We’re getting out,” Charity yelled again. “Give us a second.”
The man laughed. He thought injuring Milo was funny. There was something chilling about that.
Another man, rifle in hand, strode over to the Jeep from the direction of the market. His scraggly brown beard and greasy brown hair hadn’t seen a shower anytime recently. “Don’t resist, and we won’t have to shoot no one else.”
He yanked open the driver’s door and pulled Milo out.
“Don’t hurt him!” Zia yelled, her voice high with hysteria. She reached for Milo, nearly tumbling out of the driver’s side after him.
He looked like he wanted to punch the man and was only barely restraining himself. His eyes were wild with anger and fear.
Fear for us,Charity thought. She and Zia were both young and pretty, the sort of women slavers paid a lot for. Charity sprang out of the Jeep and went to Milo.Don’t let the injury be in his wrist, she prayed. If it was, he could bleed out in minutes.
Blood covered his hand and dripped to the ground. “Where did he shoot you?” she asked.
“The side of my hand,” he muttered through tight teeth. “It’s just a nick.”
She wasn’t sure whether he was lying, whether he could even tell how bad it was. The wound might be beyond her nursing skills, but her mother could probably help him. If they could reach her.
The bearded man stepped close to her, sneering. The stench of sweat hung from him. “No talking! From now on, don’t speak unless we tell you to.”