Refugees from the Righteous Horde (Toxic World Book 2) Read Online Free

been one of the Elect, a favored follower of The Pure One, proud bearer of a rifle and a full stomach, with captive women to warm his bed at night.
    No more. He had eaten the last of his food just before joining these losers, had hidden his rifle away under a rock after killing a lone machete man to grab his gear so he could play the part. Jeb had shaved his beard so they wouldn’t recognize him.
    Not that there was much danger of that. Nobody looked the Elect in the face.
    He knew this group wasn’t going to stay together. When he had joined them three days ago they’d numbered more than thirty. Infighting and pitched battles with other starving groups had whittled that number down to fifteen. So far they’d managed to dodge the patrols, but that wouldn’t last either.
    Still, it was the best option.
    What had his options been? He had made a list in his head.
    Option 1: Stay with the Elect and follow The Pure One on his mad crusade to wherever it took them next. Bad idea. Simmering resentments between the Elect and The Pure One’s bodyguard were bound to flare up sooner or later, and he didn’t want to be in that firefight. It would be worse than the assault on New City’s walls. Besides, even the Elect were running out of food and the only good source of it was the city that had just beaten them.
    Option 2: Become a turncoat and give New City some valuable information in exchange for his life. Tempting, except he had no idea what The Pure One’s plans were.
    Option 3: Surrender and throw himself on the mercy of the city they had just tried to pillage. Yeah, right.
    Option 4: Set off alone for the mountains and try to blend in with the scavengers. Hell no, not with so many hungry people roving through the countryside. It was only a matter of time before they started eating each other, and they’d kill him for his boots and coat long before that.
    He’d done the same with that lone machete man he’d come across. The guy didn’t have any food, but he did have clothes two sizes too big for Jeb. Those made Jeb look like he’d lost weight.
    So he’d joined this bunch of weaklings, a crowd of scrawny “warriors” who only managed to keep walking out of sheer terror of what would happen to them if they stopped.
    They’d accepted him with suspicion but no comment. His simple disguise didn’t do much to hide the fact that he was bigger than most of them and far healthier, but he was used to getting his way, one way or another. No one dared challenge him.
    Now they walked along a dry riverbed to keep out of sight of the open plains all around. They’d heard firing the night before. A New City patrol was close.
    Jeb stopped. He was walking in front and spotted the footprints of half a dozen people. The trail lead down from the side of the riverbed and went off in the direction in which they were headed.
    “Look,” he said, stopping and pointing.
    The others stared. It took them a moment to see what he saw. Hunger had made them careless.
    “We better turn around,” one said.
    “No, look,” Jeb said, crouching down. “Two of them are barefoot. They’re not New City. They’re Righteous Horde.”
    Everyone’s eyes lit up.
    “Maybe porters!” one said.
    “Hope so,” Jeb said. He was beginning to feel a bit dizzy from lack of food.
    They headed down the streambed, machetes and spears ready.
    They found them a mile further on, six ragged machete men resting in the sun. They leapt up when Jeb’s group came into view, fevered eyes startled, machetes raised. They had a large bag with them.
    The bag decided it. His companions charged forward, Jeb hanging back a little but not so much as to look like he wasn’t trying to help. Machetes swung down, spears thrust at thin faces and sunken bellies. The sickening sound of steel parting flesh filled the dry riverbed. Just as the last of the other group were falling Jeb lunged forward and cut down an already wounded man.
    He stopped, looked around as the blood dripped