"Ain't all of us gonna make it," Johns said as Riddick passed him by.
Riddick smirked. "You just realized that?"
Johns fell into step beside him. "Six of us left. If we could make it through the canyon and lose just one, that’d be quite a feat, huh?"
"Not if I’m the one."
"Well, what if you’re one of five?" Johns stopped and glanced around at hearing a creature’s croon to their right.
Riddick continued walking, then took a step back. "I’m listening," he said.
He was curious to find out what Johns was thinking, although he had a pretty good idea when the merc started talking about triage and doctors deciding "who lives or dies." In a lot of ways, the man was a Goddamned criminal himself. He was talking about murdering one of the others. Riddick kept the conversation going while his mind wandered idly over the other survivors, wondering who’d make the best bait. A peculiar twisting took over his gut as he thought about offing one of them, though. Carolyn, not even pretending she could get the others to safety; "But he can," she’d said, and he’d turned to find her gaze on him. With three little words, she put the lives of six people in his hands. The holy man Riddick supposed was expendable, as was his remaining acolyte, but Imam had been willing to treat him as a human being from the very start and that was something Riddick hadn’t come across too many times before. Killing his follower would be a poor repayment for that kindness. Jack...there was no way in hell he could put a shiv to her neck. Her hero worship was endearing as hell, and kids had always made him feel vaguely protective, not predatory. So...if not one of them...
"So which one caught your eye?" he asked, deliberately turning around and looking at the group behind him.
"No, no, no, don’t look," Johns said, grabbing his arm. "Christ. What the hell’s wrong with you?"
Riddick heard Carolyn mutter something to the others and their footsteps fell farther back. Good girl, he thought. At least someone’s paying attention. He wanted them far enough away to not interfere when things got nasty.
Johns stopped. "All right, enough of this shit. You do the girl and I’ll keep the others off your back."
Riddick stopped too, his back to Johns. His eyebrows drew together, the lines between them deepening, a subtle expression of the inner turmoil he was experiencing. Jack’s face flashed before him. The big eyes, the smile. His right hand closed involuntarily, the feeling of the soft stubble of her hair ghosting across his palm. She’d stood there, watching him shave his head, then said, "Do mine too."
"Seriously?" he’d asked.
She’d nodded, and so he had. Then he’d brushed his hand over her shorn head while she giggled and wiggled a little in delight at his attentions. It was afterward that she’d shown him the broken goggles she’d found and, ducking her head shyly, asked if he minded if she wore them. He didn’t.
Now, Johns’ voice broke into his thoughts: "That’s not too big a job for you, is it?"
Riddick turned and said casually, "I’m just wondering if we don’t need a bigger piece of bait."
"Like who?" Johns asked.
Riddick let his steady gaze and the killing joy that welled up in his eyes be the answer.
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