by Mark Mosley
“What the—” I started.
“Shut up!” Devin yelled.
“Hey, easy on the decibel level—my head is still ringin’ from Xavier’s Thor-punch to the face,” I said groggily.
“I don’t give two shits about your damn head,” Smiley said.
“Do you give one, at least? I really only need one. Or a half? I feel like that would—”
Devin kicked me in the stomach. I felt like air was never going to enter or exit my body again and I’d just die there. I did something the hero is never shown doing: I curled into the fetal position and convulsed my body as if it’d work some air into my lungs. It didn’t. I gasped and flailed from this single kick to the gut like I’d been run through with a lightsaber. Maybe we leave that part out of my testimony—or else the odds of me being inducted into the hero hall of fame will take a severe hit.
Smiley or Devin may have been talking to me during my dying moments, but I registered nothing. When I realized I would, in fact, survive, I looked up to see Smiley crouched over me. “Just wanted to let you know that it’s time to wake up ‘cuz we’re gonna have us another bonfire.”
I held my stomach. “Thanks for the invite. A card or save-the-date would’ve sufficed.”
“Not for you,” Devin said. “Ya see, you’re the special guest tonight.”
“I’m honored.” I started sweating. “But what are you talkin’ about?”
“Mason was so impressed with your bout the other night, that he feels you’ve earned a second one.”
My heart sank. I couldn’t endure another beating. A single finger-flick to the forehead would finish me.
Unhappiness must’ve been plastered across my face because Smiley chimed in. “Don’t look glum. It can’t be as bad as the first. Maybe this time you’ll last for three hits instead of just two.” He giggled.
“Shootin’ for the stars,” I said, trying to save face. “I’m goin’ for four.”
“Atta boy,” Devin said. “Feast is in about an hour. If you need to do any stretchin’, you better get to it.” He laughed. “Or prayin’.” He laughed harder.
I was still lying on the cat rug, the box below the floor right under me. Smiley and Devin began searching my place, turning over anything I had, ripping apart walls. They even tore down the hammock, probably to upset me; little did they know they were doing me a favor.
In the middle of their destruction, I asked, “What’s going on?”
“Just redecorating for ya,” Smiley said.
I prayed they didn’t flip the rug and find the box.
“Well,” Devin said, “enjoy the rest of your freedom.”
“I will, guys. Take care,” I said in a sweet voice.
They both stopped and turned just before reaching the door. Devin said, “Oh, we will. You’re the one that needs to take care.”
I realized they wanted to get the last word. I decided to be a prick. “Thanks for helping me redecorate my room, guys.”
Slowly opening the door to leave, Smiley said, “Don’t mention it. Watch yourself or we’ll be back.”
“Yeah,” Devin said. “Or we’ll be back.”
As they stepped outside, I said, “I’d love to see you guys again. We never get to talk.”
They stopped and turned again. Devin said, “Oh, if you don’t mind your bi’ness you’ll be seein’ us real soon.”
I let them take another step. “Well, I guess I’ll see you again tonight, right? You’ll be there. Maybe we can talk then.”
They poked their heads back in. “We’ll be there,” Devin said, still trying to sound tough.
“We’ll be watchin’ you,” Smiley added.
They slammed the door quickly so I couldn’t get in the final word. I yelled, “I’ll be watchin’ you too. I love you!”
Idiots.
I rolled over onto my stomach. Should I warn Xavier? Unless Zigor accompanied them, if they paid Xavier a similar visit, at least one of them would leave in a body bag. Sitting up, the approaching nightmare—another fight—hit me. Would I choose my opponent again? Or worse yet, would Mason choose for me to teach me a lesson—would I have to face the rage of Zigor’s fists?
My mind started racing, filling up with questions:
One—marijuana. All of that marijuana. Whose?
Two—dynamite. Where’d Robbie get it? What had he hoped somebody would do with it?
Three—locations. There were two others we hadn’t visited. I assumed they were marijuana fields, but couldn’t know until we visited. One of the dates was coming up on the middle one. Speaking of which, what happened on those dates? The harvest? Woodstock?
The time slowly went by quickly. I don’t know how to explain that, but I promise I hadn’t smoked anything from the field. Eventually, it was time for dinner. I made my way to the bonfire. I saw Xavier, who looked at me with complete ignorance to what was about to go down.
Mason prayed again, holding up his stupid Bible (this has the answers, it’s super-duper important, blah, blah, blah). He grabbed his food then invited everybody else to do the same. He looked hard at me anytime our eyes connected, so I tried avoiding it all together. But I felt like his eye never left me.
Stepping down, Mason was encircled by Zigor, Smiley, and Devin. They all started talking at once, except Zigor, who stood stoically with his arms crossed. Were Smiley and Devin upset with Mason? Mason thrust his finger in Smiley’s face, who continued talking. Then Mason slapped him. While Smiley pressed his palm to his cheek, Mason focused on Devin, aggressively putting a finger in his face. Smiley stomped away into the jungle, Devin followed him, and Zigor just grinned.
What just happened? I turned away before Mason and Zigor looked at me. Danny was once again staring down Mason with murderous thoughts.
As I ate, sharp pain shot through my jaw. I may as well have been scarfing down seashells. I quit my futile attempt at eating when blood oozed out of my mouth from all the work.
Watching the other convicts eat, my hyperthymesia transported me back to my sophomore year. On January 19th, my English class was reading Lord of the Flies. In the story, Jack used meat to gain power and control. During our class discussion, Mrs. Hopfer asked, “What do you think the author, William Golding, is saying about people?”
“That we’re all capable of going crazy,” I’d answered.
“Capable? If we’re capable, then why don’t we act like this now?”
“Because of rules.”
“Explain.”
I squirmed in my chair, never keen on having to expand on my thoughts in front of other kids. But I’d managed to say, “We act the right way because there’s rules we have to follow.”
Mrs. Hopfer took off her glasses and shrugged. “And if these rules weren’t enforced by anybody, we’d all act badly?”
“Not everybody,” another kid said. “Piggy didn’t. Simon didn’t.”
“Look what happens to them,” I countered.
“Then what causes people to act on it?” Mrs. Hopfer probed.
I thought about it, but couldn’t answer. Someone else jumped in. “Golding was saying our morals are situational. Given the right circumstances, anybody might lose their sense of good.”
“Okay,” Mrs. Hopfer nodded. “If that’s the case, why do you think some characters in the book—like Piggy and Simon—don’t change? And considering what happened to them, what do you think Golding was saying about people like them?”
“The weak will…” I’d trailed off, trying to connect the dots Mrs. Hopfer had placed in front of us. “The weak will be dominated by the ones holding the power. Meat gave Jack power, and he took over.”
Standing there like one of Golding’s savages, I tried again to gnaw on pig meat, listening to the tribe around me ripping into their food. Mason was what would’ve happened had Jack been elected leader of that island on the first day. On this island, was there a Ralph willing to step up? Did I have the guts to be a Ralph? Or would I end up as a Piggy?
F
inally, Mason got everyone’s attention. Here we go.
Everybody joined Danny in gazing at Mason. Danny’s look was filled with hatred, while the rest turned with excitement.
“Friends and followers, it is time to begin our festivities!”
Everybody cheered. Except me.
“Tonight, we shall start with a battle for punishment.”
I was being punished.
“Two days ago,” Mason continued, “I was away from my hut, performing my daily tasks for our community. Upon my return, I discovered several knives missing from my hut.”
I furrowed my brows. That wasn’t me. Suddenly, Darryl was pulled out from behind the circle and brought in, hands tied behind his back with vine ropes. What the hell was going on?
Mason walked slowly around Darryl. “It took us some time and investigation, but we finally discovered the weapons in Darryl’s possession.”
Why would Darryl steal knives?
“For such actions, Darryl must be punished. He will step into the ring tonight, facing not one, but two foes.” Mason waved to Zigor, who then strode into the circle, anticipation in his eyes. Bloodlust. “Myself and Zigor.”
There was nervous cheering among the crowd—was it actual excitement, or did the audience feel required to cheer on their leader to protect their own asses? I felt sick for Darryl. He didn’t say a word. He denied nothing. He lifted his chin, arms still behind his back. The Masonite that led Darryl like a prison guard cut Darryl’s hands loose. Darryl rubbed his wrists. There were red rings of raw skin on each of them. His body and face were covered in bruises—they must’ve worked him over when they found the knives on him.
Mason didn’t hesitate, but lunged towards his unfaithful hunter, jumping and swinging down with a powerful right arm. Darryl was late in putting his forearm up to block it, and the fist landed squarely on his head, forcing him a few steps back. As Mason brought back his arm for a second attack, Darryl charged and tackled him to the ground, punching his sides with quick jabs from both fists.
Zigor approached from behind. I wanted to yell out to warn Darryl, but Zigor was quick and it’d be too late. Mason’s enforcer reared back his foot and kicked Darryl in the ribs. Darryl screamed, spun, and fell to the ground, facing up to the sky and wincing, holding his ribs. I looked away from the fight, searching the crowd for John, curious to see his reaction to his hunting partner ganged up on in a boxing match.
Darryl was still sprawled on the ground, holding his side. Zigor followed his kick by pouncing on Darryl, striking with heavy fists. Mason got up slowly from Darryl’s earlier tackle. I smiled inwardly in satisfaction that Darryl had hurt him.
Once Darryl was pummeled into submission, Mason came in for the knockout blow, and Darryl stopped moving. I feared for a moment he was dead, but his chest still rose and fell. Some Masonites grabbed Darryl by the feet and dragged him away, leaving him to bleed and moan in the brush. Xavier went to him with water and tended to him like a nurse.
Mason caught his breath and walked over to another one of his followers holding a bag. He grabbed the satchel and dumped its contents to the ground. Knives. At least ten. “Here are the knives Darryl stole from me—from us!” Mason spoke in jolts, his breaths fast and short. “If anyone wants to take them from me and from the rest of our group, now is your chance.”
He stood defiantly. I wondered what would happen if someone approached to grab one. After a moment of silence, Mason smeared a big smile on his face. He nodded to Zigor, who picked up the knives and put them back in the sack.
“Now, let us continue this fight night where our previous one had finished.” Mason moved towards me. “One contestant needs to jump back in and reclaim his manhood!”
Everybody laughed and cheered, invigorated and ready to move on from the awkwardness of seeing Darryl beaten. I hated them all at that moment.
“Now,” Mason continued, “what Jhalon does not know is that we have a surprise in store for his opponent tonight.”
I furrowed my brows. Not good.
“Previously, Jhalon chose his own combatant. We all saw how that ended!” Mason laughed heartily and everyone but Danny joined in. “To help change his luck, I thought I would choose his opponent for him!”
My heart raced. I had obviously seen Danny in the crowd. I’d also seen Xavier, Smiley, Devin, Darryl, John. So it couldn’t be any of them. Zigor just fought, so I doubted it’d be him—although he could kill me after running a marathon if he wanted.
“Jhalon, turn and face your challenger!”
I slowly spun with my eyes closed. When I opened them, the crowd had parted to the side, and Mitch stood fifteen feet away from me, walking slowly into the circle.
He still looked like crap—dirt covered his skin, and his eyes were bloodshot. But he stood tall with his arms to his side, stronger than when I’d seen him in my previous visits. I guessed the food and water I’d been getting him—excuse me—risking my life to give him—helped get his strength back. And apparently, it also revived his will to live and to abuse me. Kudos to him. I was so happy I risked everything to supply him with what he needed to beat the hell out of me.
“Yes, Jhalon,” Mason said, playing up his role as promoter for the match—just a regular Don King. “I made Mitch an offer. If he defeats you, he is free from the pit! You see, we have been trying to starve him, but somehow, he has continued to be fit.”
He emphasized somehow like he knew I had been providing Mitch the necessities. Even if I made it out of the fight alive, Mason was probably going to kill me.
“But beware, Jhalon. There is no telling what solitary confinement will do to someone’s mind.” He twirled his finger by his temple to indicate Mitch could be crazy.
I saw Danny out of the corner of my eye—it was weird to think of it at the time, but I couldn’t believe how focused he was on Mason. Then Danny glanced towards me and Mitch. Then back at Mason. And then back at us again. He looked nervous. Like he was waiting for something.
Before leaving us, Mason leaned in close to my ear. “Your brother would’ve fared much better here than you.”
I froze.
Mason stepped back. “Gentlemen! Begin!”
I was still too stunned to move. My brother? What did he know of my brother? Mitch looked at Danny. How’d they know each other? Then I remembered…hadn’t Danny pinpointed Mitch as the guy in the pit when we’d talked earlier? How’d he know his name?
Mitch ran at me, but he had a slight limp. I’d forgotten about his leg injury and thought that I’d need to use that to my advantage. He swung at my head, which I dodged easily. He spun and took another run at me, this time swinging at my stomach. I avoided that one too like a matador stepping aside from the rampaging bull. As much as I’d like to say I suddenly became an amazing boxer that could fly like a butterfly and sting like a bee, I’d be lying to you—and this testimony is filled with nothing but facts. Mitch’s attacks were weak. I felt like I was in a terrible fight scene with a bad actor in an even worse film.
Before I could figure out why Mitch wasn’t trying to hurt me, a scream rented the air. Turning, I saw Danny standing behind Mason, holding his hand open as if he’d just released something. His hand was drenched in wet, red slime—blood.
I shifted my focus to Mason and saw a knife—or more accurately, the handle of a knife. The actual blade was jammed into his side, blood spilling out of his wound like a hose. And then all hell broke loose.
Chapter 19
“Oh, crap,” I muttered, just before Mitch plowed into me. Did he see Danny attacking Mason as his opportunity to finally kill me? He clutched me like a firefighter snatching a smoke victim, hauling me over his sweaty, meaty shoulders and running. It took me a second to realize he was getting my ass out of there.
Considering he’d been in a hole and had an injured leg, he moved really well. Mitch carried me east without saying a word, leaving behind the chaos. Beyond the crowd and away from the field and bonfire, I suddenly felt the coolne
ss of the night jungle. Mitch continued, weaving between trees and foliage through the pathless jungle as if he had an idea of where he was going—which was good because I was still too stunned at the scene that just played out to even talk.
The fight must’ve been a decoy for Danny to attack Mason. Mitch and Danny were working together?
A path from the right interrupted the jungle, and Danny burst forth from the trail, crashing into us like a linebacker. I, the football, popped off of my carrier’s shoulder and fell to the ground, rolling until I hit a small, thin tree. I lay there for a minute, chest heaving even though I literally had done nothing but be carried by a cripple.
Danny spoke first, focusing on Mitch. “We gotta keep moving. We’ve still got some distance to cover.”
“To where?” I asked.
Mitch asked, “Will we be able to find it in the dark?”
“Find what?”
Danny ignored me. “They’ll be looking for us, so we don’t have to find anything. They’ll find us.”
“Who?” I’d covered the who, the what, and the where. Still missing out on the when and how.
“Ok, then let’s get going.” Mitch slowly got to his feet after his brief respite.
“Woah, woah, woah,” I waved my hands. “Hold the phone. Would one of you please tell me what the hell just happened and what the hell is going on and where the hell we’re going and what the hell we’re looking for and who the hell is looking for us? Just…” I was exasperated. “Just…what the hell!”
“No time,” Danny snapped. “We’ll explain on the run. They’re gonna be after us.”
“Don’t you think you bought us some time?” I asked. “After all, you did just jam a sharpened object into the all-powerful leader of the freaking island.”
Danny shook his head. “All the more reason for them to be after us.”