Into the Badlands Read Online Free PDF

over her mouth. She bit it hard, and she heard her attacker scream before a fist smashed into her face. The world spun, and she went limp. Flashing points of light flared in her eyes.
    Though stunned, she didn’t lose consciousness. Her mind raced for answers. Her assailants weren't carriers; carriers tore and ate flesh, attacking wildly and viciously. This was a kidnapping, and Trish knew there was only one reason to kidnap a young woman.
    There were some fates worse than death.
    The kidnappers dragged her limp body out of the building and into the open air. She could feel the coldness of snowflakes falling on her neck. The bite of the freezing night air and driving wind brought her to her senses. She began to struggle against her captor's grip. In the dim light she could make out three figures surrounding her, two standing in front of her, and one pinning her arms behind her back.
    “Let go of me, asshole!” she screamed.
    A voice came from one of the dark silhouettes in front of her. “Shut the fuck up, cunt!” The figure then quickly lunged forward, driving his fist viciously into her stomach. Trish doubled over in agony. The world spun around her as she dropped to her knees and vomited up a small amount of bile from her empty stomach. Another heavy blow to the back of her head, and she drifted off into darkness.

    When Trish awoke the first thing she noticed was the pounding headache; it felt as if her head would split open at any minute. She then noticed warmth in the air around her that she hadn't felt for weeks. Dazed and confused, she tried to move, but quickly discovered her hands were bound. Suddenly it all came back to her, and she quickly opened her eyes to look around.

    She found herself in a small room, dimly lit with a single gas lantern. A small kerosene heater burned with glorious heat in the center of the room. Beside it sat a man on an empty drum, dressed in dirty overalls. He was small and thin with pasty-white skin. He was picking at his fingernails with a large knife.
    The man on the drum noticed her eyes open then stopped the work on his fingernails. He nodded toward a figure out of Trish's sight, then flashed a blackened grin at her. Her stomach twisted in revulsion.
    Another figure appeared from the darkness, pulled up a stool, then took a seat beside the first man. He was tall, black, and wore a beret. They both stared at her without saying a word. She stared back, her wits returning and her fear rising. She knew no good could come from any of this. She found herself wishing a carrier had gotten to her instead.
    “Who are you?” she croaked, her mouth dry and her throat parched.
    “Shut the fuck up, bitch,” the man on the drum said. The large man with the beret chuckled.
    Trish closed her eyes. To have come all this way, to have fought so hard, only to meet her end at the hands of these monsters was unthinkable. Tim had always told her that the world wasn't fair; he was right once again. She turned her thoughts to Tim, to the images of his face emblazoned within her mind, and she drifted off to blissful unconsciousness.

    When Trish opened her eyes again she saw the same two men. This time they were standing around her, less than three feet away. A third man was in the room, again out of sight.
    “Give her another dose,” she heard the hidden man say.
    “Not so much this time,” the man in the beret said. “You just about killed her the last time.”
    The pale, black-toothed man replied. He was so thin he was almost frail. His hair was greasy and long. “How the fuck am I supposed to know, Darnell? Ain't no instructions on the bottle, and I ain't no fuckin' doctor.”
    “Don't use the needle this time then. You always fuck that shit up. Give her the pills,” Darnell replied.
    “Which ones?”
    The hidden man walked around from behind her and into the feeble light. She couldn't make out his features; she could only see his silhouette. He handed the scrawny man a bottle of pills.