Free Impersonator (Forager Impersonator - A Post Apocalyptic Trilogy Book 1) by Peter R. Stone Page A

still wouldn’t look at me. I recalled what he said earlier, that he’d left the automotive factory for personal reasons, that he didn’t get the sack. I wondered if he was being honest, though. If he had been given the flick and word of his sacking spread to the other factories, that could explain why no one would employ him. And everyone knew that foraging was considered the dregs when it came to career choices, due to its inherent risks.
    I was about to ask him something else, but he held up his hands, stalling me. “Just back off and give me some space. Like I told you before, I prefer working alone.”
    Hurt, I did as he asked. For a moment I entertained the idea that his personal issues were the only ones bothering him, but then I recalled the doubt in his eyes after I saved him from the crossbow bolts. No, something else was bugging him.
    I wish this day would hurry up and end!
    And then I remembered my father’s plan to marry me off as soon as possible. Then I wished the day would never end. Pregnant, barefoot, and in the kitchen at eighteen, and married to some git I’d never met before, was not the future I’d signed up for. There had to be another way.
     
    Sadly, the day did come to an end, and we drove back to Newhome. As soon as we got back to the Recycling Works, we knew something was wrong. A Custodian G-Wagon was parked ominously outside the office doors. The mere sight of it caused Con, Matt and Jack to fidget nervously and exchange worried glances.
    Con backed the truck up to the warehouse and we jumped out. Well, they jumped out and I climbed out like an old woman, holding my breath and biting my tongue to keep from crying out.
    “Hill, Jack, unload the truck,” he barked. “Matt, see if you can find out why they’re here. Report the Skel attack while you’re at it.”
    Jack and Matt bounded off like dutiful hounds obeying their master. Ryan trudged after them with a scowl marring his tanned face.
    Once they were out of earshot, Con grabbed me by the collar and pulled me behind the truck, where we were out of sight of the office. He stuck his face in mine.
    “What were you doing, you stupid little idiot?” he whispered harshly.
    “What?” I so wished he wouldn’t invade my personal space like that.
    “We had a perfect, justifiable opportunity to leave that stinking informer behind and get him out of our hair, and you blew it!”
    “I don’t know about you, Con, but I want to be able to look myself in the mirror when I get home tonight,” I replied.
    “What the blazes are you blabbing about? Do I have to remind you what happens if they find out what we're doing out there? Hello – the death penalty sound familiar?”
    I faked a cough to hide my stunned reaction as my mind span in circles trying to work out what he was talking about. What were they doing in the ruins that warranted the death penalty should it be discovered? Whatever it was, my brother was obviously up to his eyeballs in it. A pang of worry wormed its way through me – what had Brandon gotten himself into? I knew he wasn’t a poster boy for the Founders’ ideal society, but I couldn’t see him doing something illegal. Well, not that illegal.
    “Well?” Con hissed.
    “Ryan’s not an informer,” I said.
    “And you know this how?”
    “‘Cause I figured informers would pump you for information, and Ryan’s spent the whole day telling me to rack off because he prefers to work alone.”
    The sound of approaching footsteps ended the conversation. Con looked around, startled, eyes wide in fright. I knew it was Matt, but I copied Con’s reaction to hide my advanced hearing.
    Matt walked around the truck. “There you are.”
    “Find out something?” Con demanded gruffly.
    “Custodians are up there with the boss and the eastern suburbs metals foraging team,” he replied.
    “And?”
    “Jones is gone.”
    “Gone? Gone where – home, to the toilet, to the afterlife?” Con snapped.
    “Gone as in disappeared