Free Badlands Trilogy (Book 3): Out of the Badlands by Brian J. Jarrett Page B

again.”
    “We might be young but we’re not stupid,” Sam said, standing up to his full height. “We’ll go with you and your shortcut. Right, Chloe?”
    Chloe sighed. “Right.”
    Lester smiled wide. “Wise choice. Now follow me.” Lester stepped off the highway and into the weedy field.
    Chloe watched as Sam followed. Around them, birds perched on defunct power lines. A butterfly fluttered randomly while crickets chirped a symphony around them. It struck her how beautiful the scene might have been, under different circumstances.
    A dozen steps out, Sam turned slowly, balancing their supplies on the horizontal broomstick. “You coming?”
    Chloe frowned.
    “What?” he said, shrugging.
    “Never mind. Let’s just go.”
    Chloe balanced the broomstick on her shoulders and followed them into the field, unable to shake an undefinable sense of trepidation.
    * * *
    The trio trekked through the waist-high weeds, away from the road. Eventually a sad and dilapidated farmhouse appeared, its shingles cracking and its external paint peeling. Lester had never seen the house before—hadn’t even been in the area—but it looked like it might be secluded enough to have survived the worst of the post-virus scavenging. Sometimes these places had still-functioning hand pump wells nearby; a drink of cold water sounded damn near perfect.
    Lester smiled as he walked, smitten with himself. His bluff—allowing the teenagers the choice to go off on their own—had paid off. That he was a murderer Lester never denied, but a cheat he was not. He worked his targets like a hunter stalking prey, outsmarting and outwitting them. If the two had chosen to take the stretch of highway and make off on their own, he would have let them go. That would, after all, be fair. He’d lied about the road gangs, of course, but lying was not cheating, merely manipulation. Part of the game. And who knew…maybe highwaymen did lurk along that roadway, waiting for the next unsuspecting victim.
    Ultimately, the choice had to be Chloe’s. She had to fall for the ruse and choose her own fate. Anything less than that would be unscrupulous. Thankfully she’d already made that choice. She belonged to him now, but he wouldn’t rush it. Time remained to savor the experience of the hunt, to gradually build to the utter bliss of total and complete domination of his quarry.
    Plenty of time, indeed.
    Certain he’d now firmly established himself as the adult of the group, Lester would begin the process of asserting his control. Little by little he’d assume more and more of the decision-making, so deftly that they wouldn’t even notice it. For now, however, he simply made suggestions.
    As they looped around the back of the run-down farmhouse, he spied in the backyard a well with a pump. Bingo , he thought. He could almost taste the cool, crisp well-water rushing down his throat. The apparatus appeared to be in decent condition—well, not rusted at least—so it seemed possible it might actually refill their canteens with bacteria-free water.
    Lester stopped and pointed. “We should refill the canteens, don’t you think?”
    Chloe took a long look at the contraption. “Think it still works?”
    “It has a handle, so it doesn’t need electricity. I’d say it’s possible.” Lester replied. “Worth a shot, eh?”
    “Yeah,” Sam replied. “Lester, do you know how it works?”
    Lester had, in fact, used a pump very similar to this one. As a child in summer camp he’d taken his turn pumping out clean water for the group. He’d also tortured and mutilated two baby rabbits that summer. All ended up being useful skills.
    “I think so,” Lester replied. “Been a while since I used one of these, but I’ll give it a try.”
    Sam and Chloe lowered their supplies to the ground, stretching tired muscles. Lester took two steps toward the pump before he heard the unmistakable sound of a shell being racked into a shotgun’s chamber.
    “You can just freeze your