Read Wolves for Free Online Page B

rage.
    â€œWait!” Huxley reaches out and grabs Jay before he can plant his boot heel into the man’s head.
    â€œWhat?” Jay jerks away from Huxley. He wants blood. “He took our water!”
    Huxley points the knife. “He’s one of the Mexicans.”
    Jay opens his mouth to say something, then looks down at the man.
    Huxley steps in, breathing hard. “You one of the Mexicans?”
    The man looks up at Huxley. He has round, very dark features. A wispy moustache. There is something wrong with one eye. It’s cloudy and the lid looks like it droops. He looks to be about thirty, if that. He is breathing hard, hands held up and shaking as he lies on his back.
    â€œSí, Mexico,” he says.
    â€œYou speak English?” Huxley demands.
    â€œAh … a little bit.” It sounds like ah lihl bee.
    â€œThe slavers,” Huxley says, trying to speak clearly despite his chest still heaving. “Was it your group they hit? The slavers?” For some reason Huxley mimes the word “slavers” by making a gun from his fingers and pretending to fire it. “Was that your people? Your family?”
    The man’s face darkens. “Los lobos.”
    Jay spits into the dirt, dry and contemptuous. “This is bullshit. Where’s our water?”
    Huxley glances at his companion. The other man’s pale, sunburned face is rocky and cruel. He doesn’t care. He didn’t care about the old man, and he certainly doesn’t care about this one. He just wants the water. He wants to make sure that he and Huxley survive.
    Can you argue with that?
    Huxley addresses the lone surviving member of the caravan. “Where’s our water?”
    The man on the ground points to his voluminous coat. “Ayi. Lo siento. Por favor, no hay nada.”
    Jay kicks the man in the leg. “Speak English!”
    â€œSorry,” the caravanner cringes back. “No hurt.”
    â€œYou’re gonna hurt,” Jay says through clenched teeth.
    Huxley bends over the man and pulls his coat open roughly. Inside, the water skin is hanging from the man’s shoulder. Huxley rips it off of the man, feeling a little bit of his anger returning, though it’s tempered now. How dare he take their water? But still … Huxley supposes it was his water first.
    Huxley has to pull the caravanner’s arm from the sleeve of his jacket to get the strap of the water skin off. When he pulls the water skin free, he hefts it, hears water sluicing around inside. It still has water in it, though less than Huxley remembers from the other night.
    â€œThirsty,” the Mexican says.
    Jay kicks him again. “No, you’re not getting any more water.” He fixes Huxley with his pale eyes. “Kill this wetback and let’s get the hell out of here.”
    Huxley shakes his head. “It was technically his water.”
    â€œTechnically?” Jay raises his eyebrows. “Fucking technically? ”
    Huxley glares at his companion. “Get a hold of yourself.”
    Jay becomes still. “I have complete control of myself, brother. Don’t think that I don’t. But when someone takes something from you, they need to die. That’s the law of the Wastelands.”
    â€œThen he should’ve slit our throats last night.”
    Jay makes an angry noise in the back of his throat, but has no verbal response.
    Huxley turns back to the caravanner. He doesn’t want to kill the man anymore. But that doesn’t mean Huxley has any kindness for him. He nudges the man with his boot. “Go. Get the fuck out of here.”
    The smaller man stands up, hesitantly at first, and then quickly. He stares.
    Huxley and Jay both shoo him like a dog. “Go!” Huxley shouts at him. “Go on!”
    The man runs. At first, it seems like he is trying to get away, but Huxley watches his pace slow, and then the man stops and turns and looks at them. Like he