Commodity (11 page)

I had remained in the apartment until it was time to eat and now sit on the ground with a plate on my lap.  I’ve barely touched the food.  My stomach is too queasy to eat.  I haven’t seen Beck since our little encounter, and I’m afraid of what he might say when he returns.

I watch as Caesar introduces the newcomers.  They are also from the Atlanta area and had taken refuge in the basement of a church when the attack occurred.  I only catch the names of two of them—Owen, a short, freckled guy of barely twenty years with bright, red hair, and Brett, a stocky guy in his mid-twenties with a toothy smile and a scar just below his right eye.  I miss the names of the other two.

Outnumbered eleven to two now.

I swallow and wonder if Christine even counts since she’s married to Chuck.  I look around for her, but they must have already retired to their own place, leaving me the only woman in the area.

I guess it’s really ten to one.

I don’t miss how the four newbies look at me.  Brett taps Caesar, leans close to say something to him, and they both look over at me.  It’s unnerving, especially considering my earlier encounter with Beck.  He still hasn’t appeared, and I figure he’s sleeping it off somewhere.

I stand and stare down at my plate.  Wasting food is practically criminal right now, and I wonder if I’ll be able to finish it before it goes bad.  While I think about what to do with it, Brett and Caesar keep talking.  They’re too far away from me to hear any of their words, but I see them glance over at me a couple more times, and I look away whenever they do.  They’re standing close together, and I wonder if they’ve met before.  They seem very familiar with each other.

“What’s wrong?”  Falk is suddenly at my side, and his voice startles me.  I didn’t even see him approach.

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit.”  He takes my arm and turns me to face him.  His face is shadowed except for the light from the evening fire.  It casts him in an orange glow.  “You’ve barely said a word to anyone all evening, and you’re not even making eye contact.  All you’re doing is staring at your half-eaten dinner.  Now, what happened?”

“Just…just Beck being as ass.”  I sigh.  “It’s not a big deal.”

“What did he do?”  Falk’s words are short and clipped.  He scans the area, presumably looking for Beck.

“Nothing, really.”

“What did he do to you, Hannah?”

“He was just asking who I was.  I guess he picked up on something Caesar said.  I don’t know.  He asked me who I was.  That’s all.”

Falk stares at me for a long moment.

“Did he touch you?” he asks.

I hesitate, and Falk tightens his grip on my arm, nearly making me drop my plate.

“Did he fucking touch you?”

“No!”  I pull my arm back from his grasp and glare at him.  “He didn’t.”

The statement isn’t true, but I don’t want Falk to make a big deal out of it.

“You’re a shitty liar.”  Falk runs his hand through his hair and huffs out a sharp breath.  “Where were you?”

“In the shed,” I tell him.

“Alone?”

“I was just getting some paper towels,” I explained.  “I was only in there a minute.”

“I told you not to go anywhere alone!”  He’s not exactly yelling, but his tone is harsh.

“Well, that isn’t always practical!”  I stare at him as he glares at me.  After a moment, he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

“Did he hurt you, Hannah?”  Falk’s voice is softer now, and he’s back to his characteristic calm.  I’m not buying it though.  I know by his eyes that he is still burning inside.

“No, he didn’t.  I’m fine.”  I glance up to meet his gaze, hoping I am convincing enough.  Beck hadn’t hurt me, not really.  He’d just frightened me, and that was only because he had been drinking.  I just want to forget the whole thing.

Obviously, Falk isn’t going to let it go.

“I’m going to talk to him.”

“No, Falk!”  I drop the plate, and it’s my turn to grab Falk’s arm.  He stops and looks at my hand and then back to my face.  I think it may be the only time I’ve initiated contact with him since the first night in his apartment when I’d had a breakdown.  “Just drop it, okay?  He didn’t really do anything, and I don’t want you two to get in yet another argument!”

“He
did
touch you.”  It’s no longer a question.

“He didn’t hurt me.”

“He had his hands on you.”

I can feel the muscles of his forearm flex beneath my palm.

“Come on.” Falk takes my hand from his arm and holds it in his.

“Where are we going?”

“Out of here.”  He starts pulling me toward the apartment.

“Why?”

“Because if I see him right now, I’m going to kill him.”

Something tells me Falk isn’t exaggerating.  Without any further argument, I let him take me back to the seclusion of the apartment.  Once inside, he takes a long look at me before huffing a breath through his nose.  I know he wants to say something, but he doesn’t speak.  Instead, he turns to the kitchen, grabs a pack of cigarettes from one of the drawers, and steps out onto his balcony.

Falk smokes very rarely, usually when he’s too pissed off to speak.  I’ve found that when he does decide to partake, it’s best to just leave him be until he’s returned from his adult version of time out.  He usually comes back, collected and calm again.

This time, I consider following him just to make sure he isn’t planning to shoot Beck right there from the balcony.  I don’t think Falk would do that—kill Beck in cold blood—but I realize I don’t really know.  He doesn’t talk about himself very much, and a lot of things about him remain a mystery.

In the end, I don’t follow him.  I boil water for tea instead.  He usually likes that in the evenings, and I hope it will improve his mood.  By the time the tea is made, he returns with a declaration.

“I’m not leaving you alone again.”

“You can’t be at my side all the time.”  I hold out a cup of tea, and he takes it from me.

“Watch me.”  He sits on the couch and places the mug on the coffee table.

“Other people here need your help, too,” I say as I sit beside him.  “You know more than anyone about how to survive like this.”

“Chuck knows some.”

“Chuck knows because he’s watched a lot of movies.”

“Better than nothing.”  Falk sits back and sips the tea.  “I’m not here for everyone else.  I’m here for you.  There are more people now anyway—they can help.”

I almost forgot about the new people in the group.

“What do you think of the newcomers?”

“I don’t know yet,” he says.  “Better than the last group.”

“The last group opened fire on Caesar before he could say hello.”

“Right.  They’re better than that.”

“Aren’t you worried those guys may come back?  Might find us here?”

“No,” he says, and there’s no question about it in his voice.  “I’m sure they are long gone by now.”

I sigh and lean back against the couch.  My mind is in turmoil, and I can’t make sense of my jumbled thoughts.  I keep thinking about Beck cornering me and how I nearly froze again.  What if I hadn’t gotten out of there when I did?  What would he have done?

Probably nothing.

Not all men are like the ones who hurt me, and I know that, but being the only single woman in a group of men has me on edge most of the time.  Now there are even more of them.  More men I know nothing about.  For all I know, one of them could have been in the group that assaulted me.

I shake my head slightly.  The thought is ridiculous.  I was assaulted in Chicago, not Atlanta.  Everyone we’ve encountered has been from this area.  Then again, Hudson may have known I would be changing planes here.  He could have sent his connections to follow me.  He said it didn’t matter where I went—he would find a way to kill me.

My jumbled thoughts continue as Falk and I prepare for bed.  In the dim light of a battery-powered lamp, I stare at my reflection in the bathroom mirror and tell myself I’m being paranoid.  Beck isn’t one of Hudson’s men, and he isn’t here to exact revenge.  If he were, he would know exactly who I am and wouldn’t have asked such questions.

Even though the men in the group probably know nothing about Tyler Hudson, they’re still men.  “Men with needs,” my mother would have said.  They are men who may eventually get tired of their own hands.  They may imbibe a bit too much of Caesar’s scotch supply and wait for the opportunity when Falk is otherwise occupied and I am alone and vulnerable.

“You all right in there?” Falk knocks softly at the door, and I jump.

“Yes, I’ll be out in a minute.”

I sigh at my reflection, rub my eyes, and finish brushing my teeth.  Falk is already in bed when I come out, and I slide under the blankets with him.  He rolls to his side and wraps his arm around my waist, holding me close to him.  We always sleep this way though he’s never once tried to take it further.

Our position is both familiar and comfortable, but I’m always tense at first.  Falk thinks it’s because I don’t like to be touched, and he’s partially right, but that’s not all of it.  Part of me wants to push myself against him, feel the strength of his arms and chest against my bare skin.

I clench my thighs at the thought and hope the man with the ultimate observation skills doesn’t notice.  Even as I think about Falk’s touch, my mind pulls me back to Beck’s face peering into mine.  I can smell his breath, feel his fingers gripping my hair and pulling my head back, and I shudder.

“I’m scared,” I whisper.

“I know you are.”  Falk tightens his grip and holds me closer.  “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“I thought I’d already had the worst thing possible happen to me,” I say.  “I was wrong though.  This is worse.”

“How is this worse?”  Falk tilts his head to look at me, his expression confused.  “I told you—no one is going to touch you again.”

“Because it’s just a matter of time.  I know you want to keep me safe, but you can’t watch me all the time forever.  It’s worse because I feel like I’m waiting for it to happen all over again.”

There is one thought in my head that I don’t voice because just the notion scares the shit out of me.  There are too many men here now.  If they wanted a piece of me, they could overwhelm Falk.  He can’t protect me from a mob.

Falk is quiet as he reaches over me, wrapping his arm around me gently.  I take a deep breath, inhaling the scent of him.  It calms me as I close my eyes and give in to the exhaustion of the day.  He speaks before I drift off completely, but his words are lost in my dreams.

“He won’t touch you again.”

I sip coffee on the balcony and watch Christine and Chuck in the common area.  My head is pounding this morning, and I know my sleep was restless.  Falk headed for the shower after commanding me not to leave the apartment until he was out.  I don’t know how he can stand the cold water.  I’ve mostly taken to bathing at the sink with a washcloth warmed by water heated on the fire.

From the second story balcony, I can’t participate in the morning conversation, but I can at least hear most of it.  The couple below flow around each other with a practiced flare that only comes with years of living with the same person.  They look happy and content.

“Can you hand me that…that thingy?”

“The ladle?”

“Yeah, that thingy.”  Chuck takes the utensil from his wife and dips it into a large pot of oatmeal.  “Is there any brown sugar?”

“My white sugar ain’t good enough for you anymore?”

“Oh, baby,” Chuck replies with a grin, “you know I can’t get enough of your sugar.”

“Mmhmm.”  Christine saddles up to his side and reaches around to grab his ass.  Chuck presses his hips up against hers and kisses her deeply.

I turn away, not wanting to be so voyeuristic.  Through the balcony door, I see Falk inside and go to join him.  He’s in the kitchen with his back to me, pouring coffee from the pot.  He’s wearing only his boxer shorts, and his shoulders are still damp from the shower.

I find myself licking my lips as I take the moment to watch the muscles in his back ripple as his arms move.  I am still a little confused about how I feel about him, but I can’t deny that I like to look.  I take a breath and try to compose myself.

“Looks like breakfast is about ready,” I say.

“Good.”  Falk turns around and gives me an uncharacteristic smile.

“You look like you’re in a good mood,” I comment.  “Sleep well?”

“Not complaining.”  He takes a sip from his coffee, and I see a long scratch on the underside of his forearm.

“What happened?” I ask, moving closer to get a better look.

Falk glances down at the mark and shrugs.

“Probably scratched it gathering wood yesterday.  No big deal.  You ready to get food?  I’ll go throw on some clothes.”

He disappears into the bedroom and returns a minute later dressed in jeans and a T-shirt with a Captain America symbol on the front, and we head outside to join the rest of the group as they gather for breakfast.

My appetite has returned, and I think I might be making up for last night’s slight supper as I go back for a second helping of oatmeal.  Chuck must have located the brown sugar because it’s positively delicious.

Ryan, Sam, and Marco sit together, chatting easily with the four new people.  Falk takes me over and introduces me since I hadn’t met them officially last night, and I finally catch all their names—Owen, Brian, Brett, and Wayne.

“We came down from Smyrna,” Wayne says.  “Been walking for the better part of two weeks, just looking for people.”

Wayne’s in his late fifties or early sixties.  He looks like he’s in pretty good shape, though.  Brian is his son, and looks like the spitting image of his father.  Brett and Owen are their neighbors, and they’ve lived near each other for many years.

“We’d about given up,” Brian says.  “Dad keeps blaming terrorists, but I told him that wasn’t possible.”

“You never know what they got hidden away,” Wayne says.  “You think that’s better than his idea of space aliens?”

“Just pointing out the facts as I know them,” Falk says.  “There isn’t a power in the world that could have done the kind of damage we’ve seen.”

“What he said about the women and kids makes sense,” Brett remarks.

“Where did she come from, then?” Wayne asks, nodding toward me.

“She was in the MARTA tunnel with me,” Falk says as he takes a slight step closer to my side.

“Well, it ain’t all women then, is it?”

Caesar joins the group and addresses me.

“Have you seen Beck around?” he asks.

“Not today,” I reply.  I don’t make eye contact with him, and I hope he isn’t going to ask me about the circumstances of my last encounter with Beck.  Falk’s badgering me about it last night was enough.  I really don’t want to talk about it.

“Well, if you do, let him know I’m looking for him.”  Caesar drains a cup of coffee and sets it down near the rest of the dishes.  “We were supposed to head out for supplies this morning, but I can’t find him anywhere.”

“He’s probably passed out cold,” Ryan says.  “He was pretty hammered last night.  If he is awake, he’s holding his head somewhere.  Just listen for the moans.”

“Probably,” Caesar says with a nod.  “I can’t wait around though.  Brett, you want to join me instead?”

“Sure thing.”  Brett stands and walks over to Caesar.

“Do you still want me to tell him you’re looking for him?” I ask.

“Fuck it.”  Caesar and Brett head off, and I don’t think much of it until later.

*****

Falk steps up closer behind me.

“I’m just going to help you aim,” he says softly as his arms come up around me.  I can feel his chest pressed against my back.  He places his hands over mine and holds the gun up a little higher.  “Look right down the top of the barrel.  See the notch?  That’s there you want to look.  That’s it.”

I try to focus on my aim on the empty pop can sitting on a tree stump and not the feeling of him pressed up behind me.

“Take a deep breath.”  His words are hot in my ear.  “Breathe out slowly, and pull the trigger as soon as all the breath is out.”

“Why?”

“It improves your aim.”

I don’t understand it, but I don’t question it either.  Following his instructions, I fire.

The sound scares the shit out of me every time I do it.  Even with the earplugs in my ears, it’s deafening.  I still don’t hit the can, but a chunk from the stump goes flying.

“Better,” Falk says.  “Try again.”

I do, with similar results.  I go through two clips of ammo and still can’t hit the damn can.

“I really am hopeless at this.”

“You just need more practice,” Falk says as he reloads the gun.  “At this point, I think you could at least protect yourself at close range.”

“Yeah, I’ll just ask anyone who attacks me to stand still for a minute while I remember how to breathe.”

Falk laughs.

“Eventually, it will all be second nature.  I promise.”  He starts to put the gun back in my hands again, but we’re interrupted.

“Falk!”

I glance in the direction of the common area and see Caesar and Brett coming through the trees.

“Over here!” Falk calls back.  “Don’t worry—Hannah doesn’t have a gun in her hands right now, so you’re safe!”

“Very funny.”

Caesar walks up to him, glances at me quickly, then takes a deep breath.

“We have a problem.”

“What’s that?” Falk asks as he checks the chamber of the gun.

“It’s Beck.”

“What’s he done now?”

“He’s not doing anything,” Caesar says.  “He’s dead.”

*****

“When was the last time anyone saw him?”

We’re all gathered around the cooking fire in a circle, and Caesar seems to be in full investigative mode.  He even has a pad of paper and a pen, and he makes notes as he questions everyone in the group.

“Never even met the guy,” Wayne says.  “None of us did.”

“You mentioned him,” Brett says.  He reaches up and rubs the little scar under his eye as he glances at me.  “Never actually saw him.”

Brian and Owen all nod in agreement.

“I saw him yesterday morning, but that was it.” Sam says.

“He didn’t come to dinner last night,” Chuck says.

“I saw him coming out of the shed right before dinner,” Christine adds as she glances in my direction.  “Had a bottle in his hand.  Headed off through the parking lot.”

“Yeah, I saw him walking off,” Marco says.  “Didn’t talk to him or anything though.”

“He’s got another apartment in one of the other buildings,” Ryan says.  “That’s where I found him.”

Caesar looks to me, and I feel sweat collecting on the back of my neck.

“I saw him in the shed before dinner,” I say quietly.  “Didn’t see him after that.”

“Falk?”  Caesar turns to him.  “When did you see him last?”

Falk stares at Caesar for a long moment, his expression passive.

“Right before you and I left to meet up with those guys,” Falk finally responds, gesturing toward the four newcomers.  “Never saw him after we got back.”

“Where were you after dinner?” Caesar asks.  “Everyone else was here.”

“With Hannah in our apartment.”  Falk doesn’t blink.  “All night.”

Caesar and Falk stare at each other far too long.  I glance back and forth between them, but I can’t read their expressions.  Caesar eventually breaks the stare and writes something down on the pad of paper in his hand.

“So what happened to him?” Chuck asks.  “I never heard any gunshots.”

“He was strangled.”  Caesar looks down at the paper and taps it with his pen.  “There was definitely a struggle beforehand.  The place is a wreck.”

“It was always a wreck,” Ryan says with a snort.

“What about those men you ran into last week?” I ask.  “The ones who shot at you could have followed you back here.”

“I don’t think they did,” Caesar says.  “If they had caught up to me and planned on doing something like this, it would have been days ago, not now.”

“They might have been watching us,” Ryan interjects, “biding their time.”

“For what reason?”  Caesar shakes his head.  “Besides, I think I would have been a more likely target if they were going to do that.  I’m the one who shot back.  Beck wasn’t there.”

“Did you hit one of them?” I ask.

“No,” Caesar responds quickly.  “I only fired two shots as I ran off.  It was a deterrent only.  If I wanted to hit them, I would have.”

“Then it has to be someone here.”  Ryan leans back in his lawn chair and stares directly at Falk.  “Someone with a grudge.”

Falk stares right back, unflinching.

“You have something you want to say to me?”  Falk’s voice is cold.

“You were arguing with him yesterday.”

“
He
was arguing with
me
,” Falk says, correcting Ryan, “just like he does every day.”

“Maybe you just got tired of it.”

“Maybe you need to watch your mouth.”

“Enough.”  Caesar takes a step forward, blocking the two men’s view of each other.  “This isn’t helping.  I’m going to go back to that other apartment—see what else I can find.”

“Want help?” Brett asks as he stands.

“Yeah, sure.”  Caesar turns around in a circle, addressing the whole group.  “I think it’s best if everyone stays close today.  We don’t know what happened, and whoever did this might still be in the area.  No one should wander off alone.”

Everyone gets up from their seats and heads off in different directions, talking in hushed voices.  Most are heading toward their own apartments, but Christine makes her way to the kitchen area and starts washing pots and pans.

I look to Falk, expecting a lecture about staying close to him.  I expect him to drag me back to the apartment and make me sit on the couch with a book while he stares at me, making sure no one gets close.  I expect him to demand that I remain in the apartment for the rest of my life.

But he doesn’t say a word about it.

“Want to try some more target practice?” he asks.

“Right now?”

“Yeah.  Why not?”

“I’m a little shaken at the moment.”  I narrow my eyes at him.

He glances up at me and shrugs.

“All right.  You hungry?  You still haven’t eaten much.”

“No, but I think Christine could use some help with dinner.”

“Gotcha.  I’ll be nearby.”

I close my eyes and shake my head.  I don’t know how he can be so nonchalant about someone in the group apparently being murdered.  I know he’s seen a lot of death—he’s told me a little about his combat experiences—but this is different.

It is to me, anyway.

I need to keep myself busy, so I walk over to Christine and start to help her out.  She smiles and hands me a dishtowel.

“What do you think happened?” I ask quietly.  I glance at Falk, but he’s just sitting on the chair by the fire, using a sharpening stone on one of his knives.

“I think he pissed off the wrong person,” Christine says.  She finishes up a large pot and hands it to me.  “I think a nice big pot of stew would work well tonight.”

“Sounds good to me.”  I have no appetite, but I like the idea of staying busy.  Chopping up whatever fresh vegetables are still left is as good as anything.

Christine seems to make up her recipe as we go along, adding a little of this and a little of that to some browned onions at the bottom of the huge pot near the coals of the cooking fire.  I hand her whatever she asks for, and she stirs and hums a little.  I don’t recognize the tune, but her tone is calming.