novelraw Chapter 362: They Started It
Chapter 362: They Started It
The flare still burned above the yard when Zubair keyed the comm and took stock of the pieces left on the board in front of him.
He didn’t think of any of them as soldiers anymore... there were too few rules for this type of warfare for that. Instead, they were a team that moved because that was the only thing they really knew how to do.
Well, that, and because Sera’s presence behind them turned movement into purpose.
Elias held position near the Hummer, his eyes scanning data that no longer mattered.
Lachlan tracked the newcomers with the hungry focus that meant his creature was close to the surface.
Alexei was already a ghost on the west flank, one scope sweep away from ending someone.
And Sera stood by the truck, watching the yard like it was a stage play written for her amusement.
The bikers spread along the crate line, more mouth than sense. One raised a rifle. Another shouted about monsters. Zubair marked firing angles, wind drag, cover gaps. The air itself felt heavy, as if the world waited to see who would be first to draw real blood.
"Alexei," he said into the mic, his voice flat. "Left three. Don’t shoot yet. I want to see who gives the orders."
A pause, then Alexei’s low reply: "Copy. Left three, waiting."
Zubair shifted his stance to keep the entire yard inside his reach.
The Saints on the far side were already breaking formation, startled by the new arrivals who weren’t Saints at all.
That told him enough. The bikers weren’t allies; they were scavengers looking to stake a claim on someone else’s ruin.
He glanced at Sera. She hadn’t moved, hadn’t flinched. Her eyes followed the man with the Saint-Eater banner.
That banner made his teeth grind—bravado pretending to be cause. Still, she looked entertained, and that was all that mattered. If she was entertained, the horde stayed calm.
"Lachlan," Zubair called. "Two degrees right. Don’t fire until they do."
"Copy." Lachlan’s tone held that edge between eagerness and obedience. Zubair would need to keep an eye on him.
He raised his binoculars.
The bikers were talking among themselves now, uncertain whether the flare had been theirs or someone else’s signal.
Good.
Confusion meant delay, and delay meant options. He counted eight in the main group and more in the shadows near the transport—clean armor, clean boots, no dirt under the fingernails. Not Saints. Not survivors either. Contractors maybe, or a new gang testing territory.
He thumbed the mic again. "Alexei, give me a read on their rear vehicle."
"Diesel truck, reinforced bed, heavy chains. Something’s inside." Alexei’s tone flattened. "Could be alive. Could be parts."
Zubair’s stomach tightened, not from fear but calculation. "You see cages?"
"One. Small. Locked."
He looked toward Sera again. Her head tilted slightly, that cat-like movement she made when she noticed something worth keeping. It wasn’t an order, but it might as well have been.
He nodded once toward the truck. "Elias, prep containment. If we take that cage, I want samples sealed before we roll."
Elias acknowledged without question. That was the rhythm he relied on: short words, no explanations. The others filled the spaces on their own.
A gust rolled dust across the open yard. The newcomers mistook it for cover and started forward. Two at the front. Six following. They advanced like men expecting a standoff, not a hunt.
Zubair counted the steps—one, two, three—and then keyed the comm again. "Alexei. First warning."
The first man fell before the others realized a shot had been fired. It wasn’t mercy; it was punctuation. The yard went still long enough for engines to idle and metal to creak. Then shouting started.
The Saints fired first. The bikers returned it. For ten seconds, everyone forgot who the enemy was.
Zubair used those ten seconds well. "Lachlan, left ridge suppression. Two bursts. No more."
"On it."
Gunfire cracked. Two bursts, precise and fast. Men dropped; others hit dirt. Zubair moved the rest forward.
"Elias, rear flank. Check the spill line. If it ignites, we lose containment."
"Already on it," Elias answered, calm.
Sera watched them all like it was choreography. She didn’t smile, but the faint tilt of her head told him she approved of the order in the chaos.
She didn’t have to say a word.
They all felt what she meant in the bottom of their souls.
He crouched behind a half-collapsed barrier and sighted the transport with the cage.
One driver, one gunner, both scanning the horizon for the wrong threat. Zubair tracked their breathing cycles through the scope, waited for the inhale, fired once. The gunner dropped. The driver froze, and that half-second of confusion let Alexei finish the job.
"Truck clear," Alexei reported.
"Hold it," Zubair answered. "We don’t know what’s inside."
He signaled Elias to approach.
The medic jogged low, eyes darting from fuel leaks to bodies.
Zubair followed at an angle that kept both the cage and the main group in sight.
The bikers had pulled back toward their transport now, shouting for someone named Roarke.
It was always a Roarke or a King, he thought. And they were always a man who believed naming himself leader made him one.
He stopped beside Elias as the medic leaned to check the lock. The cage door was welded shut. Inside, something moved—a faint scrape, wet and uneven. Not an animal. Not human either.
Elias backed off, expression unreadable. "Containment confirmed. I suggest we burn everything and left them deal with the rest."
Zubair shook his head. "Not yet. That’s too easy for them."
From the corner of his vision, he saw Sera start walking.
Each step that she took was slow and deliberate. She wasn’t heading toward the fight but toward the cages off to the side.
He didn’t know if it was because of who and what she was, or simply because she looked more like she was going to sit down for afternoon tea, but every Saint and biker who still had eyes turned to follow her.
Zubair straightened and raised a hand to hold his men. "Let her do what she wants. Alexei, Lachlan, cover her."
Sera stopped a few feet short of the cage.
The thing inside went silent, then began to tremble.
The bikers muttered, one even took a step back. Zubair had seen her presence quiet monsters before, but never so fast.
She watched the movement for a few seconds, then looked over her shoulder toward him as if to ask whether this specimen was worth the trouble.
He gave a small nod. She turned away again, uninterested now that the novelty had passed, and returned to the truck. The cage stopped moving altogether.
That was all the confirmation he needed. "Elias, seal it. Alexei, cover."
As they worked, Zubair scanned the yard again.
The bikers had broken; half were down, half scattered. The Saints were no longer shooting—they were running. It wasn’t victory yet, but it was momentum.
He checked the comm. "Report."
Lachlan: "South ridge clear."
Alexei: "West stable. No movement."
Elias: "Containment secured."
He looked toward the truck. Sera leaned against the door again, her eyes on the horizon as if she were waiting for something else to happen.
And maybe she was.
Maybe the world never stopped being a game once you realized it couldn’t kill you.
Zubair walked back to her, wiping grime from his hands. "You find anything interesting?"
Her tone was lazy amusement. "A cage that tried to remember what fear felt like."
He nodded. That was answer enough.
"Then we move," he said, turning to the others. "Pack the samples. Take their fuel. Leave the rest. We’re not scavengers."
Lachlan jogged past with a grin that looked half feral. "You sure? Their bikes are shiny."
"Later," Zubair told him. "We’re still in their territory."
"That just makes it all that much sweeter," Lachlan muttered.
Zubair let the comment slide.
He checked the ridge lines one last time. Smoke curled from the wrecks; the sound of retreating engines echoed in the distance.
The Saints and the bikers would be busy blaming each other for hours. That was time his team could use.
He walked toward the Hummer, where Elias was already loading samples into sealed containers. "Burn the rest," he instructed. "No trace left behind."
Elias struck a flare and tossed it toward the nearest fuel spill. Fire caught, steady and low. It would finish the job.
Zubair rested a hand on the truck’s door and looked back once more.
The cage burned with the rest, metal popping as heat found its seams. Whatever had been inside wouldn’t matter now.
It had served its purpose—proof that the Saints and their new friends were still playing games they didn’t understand.
He climbed into the driver’s seat. Sera was already watching the flames fade in the mirror. Her eyes held a spark of something close to delight.
"Entertained?" he asked.
She hummed an answer he didn’t need translated. It meant yes.
He started the engine. "Good. Then we keep going."
The tires crushed broken glass as the Hummer rolled out of the yard, fire behind them, open road ahead. Zubair didn’t look back again.
The world had learned its lesson for the day: some predators didn’t announce the hunt—they simply started it.