Betrayal

Damien crouched in the hills above the camp, nervously fingering the trigger on the rebuilt Remington 700 he carried. Where were they, he wondered to himself. Maybe they had run across another caravan and wouldn't need this one. Or better yet, maybe they had been caught by one of the Ranger groups that still patrolled this area. Either one would be preferable to the alternative.
         But he knew it was only an idle hope. He had sold them out and that was the end of it. Starting  to lose his composure he fumbled for the leather pouch around his waist. He wanted to feel its smoothness against his skin, to make it all seem worth it. His breath came as panting gasps as he finally freed it from the pouches confines. The glistening gold hurt his eyes in the dim light of the morning, but it comforted him.
         Cradling the gold piece in his palm he eased down the ledge of rock to a flat spot to sit. The coin presented quite a stark contrast against the dirty, callused character of his palms. Two worlds in such close proximity sent a shiver down his spine. The delicate fine lines crisscrossed the surface forming the man's face and next to it he recognized the writing of the old world. He couldn't read the writings of course, only higher classes were taught the dead language. However he could pick out a few of the characters and traced the ones he knew in the gravel beside him.
         Damien had heard the stories of Wanderers from other tribes finding coins like these and leaving the hard plains life behind them. It was said that you could buy passage into one of the Cities with a few of them. It was his way out, his ticket to a better, easier life. He clenched his fist around the the coin. And if selling out those fools in the caravan was all he had to do, he didn't even consider it a sacrifice. The Blackhawks were doing him a favor by wiping them out. He stroked the coin with his thumb one last time as he placed it back in the pouch.
         He shook his head remembering. It was his damn curiosity like normal. He had always felt the need to question everything around him. It was half the reason the tribe had such strong feelings for him as well.
         “So many questions,” he said imitating a woman's voice. “If you applied yourself half as much to hunting or planting instead of messing with those rusty trinkets you'd be the best worker we had!” Damien picked up a rock and tossed it down the slope in disgust.
         “They just don't understand. All they can think about are their plants or cattle. People could get water in their house instead of a stream. I know it's possible to do it again if someone would just try!”
         But after this he wouldn't have to worry about them anymore. The caravan would be disbanded and he could do as he liked with the rest of the payment the Blackhawks leader would give him.
         And yet he worried for the people who had taken him in. He had heard the stories of the boys being sold into slavery in the coal mines and the women and girls... He shuddered at the thought.
         “No,” he said aloud. “I'm sick of working for every scrap of trash. I'm sick of being their bitch, their entertainment.”
         Damien stood and steeled himself. This was how they were going to repay him for everything they had done to him. He brushed himself off and climbed back to his vantage point.
         Grabbing his rifle he looked through the scope to the east searching for the dust cloud that would mark the arrival of the other tribe. Seeing nothing, he decided it would b be as good a time as any to take a nap and wait for them to come.
         Damien was finally roused from his sleep by the rumble of a large explosion on the valley floor.  The concussion was powerful enough to shake him awake and send some of the hill careening down to the valley floor. Damien frantically scrambled for his rifle and started to look through the eyepiece when he noticed the ball of flame and smoke that was rising into the sky like a spherical hell.
         He gaped at the scene below him, the battle was already over from the caravan's position. The Blackhawks had crashed through the defensive ring of the caravan's vehicles on what looked to be their first push. Damien knew enough about tactics to realize that there was no hope for the defenders, once the outer ring was breached the rest of the force had simply moved their way inside and slaughtered the innocents and militants alike. The explosion that had woken Damien was the tanker that the caravan had all of their fuel supplies in. A second force had directly attacked it and the defenders had stupidly positioned it too close to the wall. The explosion tore a second hole in the wall and even retreat was out of the question.
         Damien finally took a look through the scope and immediately felt his stomach rise into his throat. They were slaughtering everyone in the camp, the only one that survived longer than first contact were the women of the camp that were being raped or the young girls that were being loaded into transports to be sold as sex slaves.
         Finally Damien fully realized the horror of what he had done and knew what his next course of action had to be. Tears streamed down his face as he freed the pistol at his belt from the clasp and mouthed the barrel. With one final sob he triggered the pistol and painted the slope of the mountain with his sorrow.
         On the battle field below the Blackhawks leader heard the echo of the shot and smirked as his raiders cleared up the last pockets of resistance.