The Buzzard Zone

by Kelly, Ronald

  “Don’t kill the boy,” she said, tightening her grip on his hand. “He didn’t hurt me. What they did to me… it sickened him. They tried to force him on me… but he couldn’t. From what I heard afterward, they made him pay for it.”

  “He’s one of them.”

  “Out of necessity,” claimed Enolia. “To keep from starving or getting eaten by Biters. I’m sure of it, asgahah aninela. He’s not like them. He would have stopped them… if it had been possible.”

  “He was the one who stripped your daughter naked and painted her red,” he told her. “He made her watch your violation.”

  “Forced to, I’m sure.”

  “Breathe deeply and try not to push, no matter how much you feel like you need to,” he told. “This will only take a minute.”

  As he walked toward the door, she called out to him softly. “Billy? The boy… please.”

  His ebony face was an unreadable mask. “I will be back soon.”

  Then, before she could say another word, he was gone.

  Frank Gentry was stirred from his sleep by a velvet hand.

  The man sighed and smiled. He stretched lazily on the army cot in the manager’s office, feeling a thrill of pleasure as it traveled from his groin and ran up the length of his back. He was nude, having had another go at Enolia after they had brought her back to the winery. Frank remembered his last thrust, a particularly violent one that ruptured the sack within her. “Let’s see if the little bastard lives through that,” he had whispered cruelly in the weeping woman’s ear.

  Frank felt himself begin to harden and wondered if he was dreaming. He had once known a whore in New Orleans capable of delivering such pleasure with a palm full of warm oil and the right rhythm. A little faster, he thought. Yes, that’s right. Just like that.

  As the pleasure mounted and he neared the point of release, it all went south. A thin, burning sensation ran like a hot thread at the base of his testicles and grew in intensity as it traveled swiftly upward. Frank jolted away and was aware of several things at once: a moist ripping noise; his lower abdomen and thighs bathed in jetting, hot liquid; and a pain like none he had ever known before.

  He tried to sit up, but found that he was confined to where he lay. Last time it had been the whittled pegs that held him down. This time it was a sturdy band of duct tape that secured him to his bed.

  Frank Gentry’s mouth yawned wide for a scream, so wide that his jaw nearly came unhinged. The shriek was abruptly silenced as something large and bloody was forced past his teeth and crammed firmly down his throat. It lodged in his esophagus, blocking his windpipe. He attempted to breathe, but his lungs deflated and stayed that way, completely deprived of air. He strained and struggled, blood spurting out his nostrils, as he panicked and struggled to find oxygen.

  Then, out of the darkness, a familiar face emerged. Its eyes were as dark and devoid of warmth and mercy as the autumn night around them. “I always keep my promises,” rasped Billy Tauchee.

  The Cherokee wound several strands of black duct tape tightly around Frank’s head, sealing his mouth and nostrils, then left him alone to deal with his atonement.

  Marty Bryant lay in his bunk in the darkness and waited to die.

  He had heard the sounds—the struggles, the dank noises of bodily devastation, the muffled grunts and groans of suffocation. He had also smelled the stench of blood, piss, and shit. The boy knew the rank odor of death well, from traveling with Frank Gentry and his band of soldiers for the past few weeks.

  Marty lay perfectly still, trying to be as silent and invisible as humanly possible. His body ached and bled from the beating he had received at the hands of Frank and the others. His nose was broken and so were two of his ribs, maybe more. And what they had done to him with the broom handle…

  Suddenly, Death stood over him, soundlessly, appraising him for a long and endless moment. Just do it! his mind screamed. For God’s sake, get it over with!

  Then the assassin crouched beside him. Although the room was dark, faint light shown from the outer corridor. The shine of dark eyes hovered inches from his battered face. “Frank and his men are dead,” the black form told him. “You have been granted a reprieve.”

  “You’re… you’re not going to…”

  “Kill you?” Marty heard a humorless chuckle that chilled him to the bone. “No. You have my wife to thank for that. If it were up to me, you would die for what you did to my daughter and that alone.”

  Tears ran freely as shame overtook him. “I’m sorry, mister. Really sorry.”

  The man in black said nothing, offered no comfort or forgiveness. He only stared at the boy, long and hard, devoid of pity.

  “Can you drive?” he finally asked.

  “Uh… yeah,” replied Marty, surprised. “I can.”

  In the darkness, a set of keys were pressed into the palm of his hand. “Take their weapons and the transport truck outside. There’s enough food and water in the back to last you for months. Leave this place and head west. And never let me see your face here again.”

  Relief replaced terror and dread. “Yes, sir. I will.” Then he thought of something. “What about Frank and the others? You know when those bugs set up house, they’ll…”

  In the sparse light of the outer hallway, Marty saw the flash of a knife. “I’ll take care of them,” he assured him. “Believe me, I wouldn’t want Frank Gentry to show up for a third time in my life.”

  He sensed rather than heard as the man crossed the room. In the pale glow of the doorway, his silhouette stood outlined for a moment. Marty was surprised to see that he wasn’t nearly as big as he had imagined. “Stay put. You will know when to leave.”

  Thank you, Marty Bryant almost said, but didn’t. The man in black was already gone.

  He lay there for a while, alone in the dark, and listened. He heard the agonized wails of a woman in the throes of labor, followed by the cry of a newborn baby.

  “Your grandmother was right,” he heard a voice say, a voice much different than the one that had spoken to him out of the black of night. “It is a boy.”

  Shortly afterward, he heard the sound of an engine starting. He knew it was Harley Jenkins’ jeep outside. As the vehicle departed and roared into the distance, Marty rose from his bed, dressed with difficulty, and took advantage of the second chance he had been given.

  Chapter 30

  It was the week before Christmas when Levi Hobbs said, “We need a tree.”

  They were eating breakfast around the long table in the dining hall when he made his revelation known. The others were surprised, to say the least… especially his children. “Are you serious, Papa?” Kate asked him.

  Levi pushed his chair back, stood up, and looked around. He surveyed the big fireplace at the far end of the chamber as well the massive organ at the other. Through the vast, open doorways he could see the winter garden, the pool room, and the lofty entrance hall.

  “Hell… we need a bunch of trees!”

  Avery and Jem looked at one another and grinned. “That’s our specialty, ain’t it?” asked the more rambunctious of the two. “And we got two or three forests full of pine, fir, and blue spruce to choose from.”

  “I say let’s gather up the axes and saws and get to work!” said Jem, unable to contain his excitement.

  “Maybe,” mused their father. “But what would we do for decorations?”

  “Are you kidding?” Michelle jumped out of her chair as though scalded. “Have you ever seen this place around Christmastime? It’s like a hundred Christmas movies rolled into one! I know of at least six rooms in the attic stacked to the ceiling with ornaments, wreathes, garland, and all the fixings!”

  “I’ll help you bring it down,” offered Melissa.

  “Me, too!” squealed Jessie, jumping up and down. She held an antique china doll cradled in the crook of her arm, a replacement for the doll that had been defaced a month ago.

  “It would be nice,” agreed Enolia. “Very nice.” She sat i
n an armchair before the hearth, breastfeeding her baby. The horrifying incident in the wooded hollow and the winery had left its scars, physically and emotionally, but the woman was strong and resilient. She had survived the violation and humiliation, and had actually come out thriving. So had her son. He was healthy an infant as any, despite the fact that Frank Gentry’s actions had nearly cost him his life. Enolia and Billy had named him Usdi Austenaco or “Little Chief”, but they called him Austen for short.

  “We can take the truck down that maintenance road in the south forest behind the garden,” Tyrone suggested. “There are a lot of fine trees out that way, trees big enough to fill this place up.”

  Kate left the table and joined her father. She hugged his arm and put her head on his shoulder, something she hadn’t done since she was twelve.

  “Why the sudden change of heart?”

  “Maybe because I’m sick and tired of being a contrary asshole with a stack of chips on his shoulder,” he told her. “And because your mama loved her Christmas tree in the month of December. Didn’t matter whether she had lights and store-bought ornaments or popcorn garland, corn husk angels, and paper snowflakes… she said it was the only time of year when we used a tree not for burning or building, but just to dress up and look pretty.”

  “Thanks, Papa,” she said, stretching on tippy-toes and planting a kiss on his whiskered jaw. “We needed this. All of us.”

  Levi kissed her on the forehead. “I’m sorry I’ve been such a burden, daughter. Your mama’s death… it broke something inside me. It’s mending… slowly, but it’s getting there.”

  “Let’s get our coats on and get going!” Avery urged, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “We can get the trees—a dozen at least—and the others can tote the decorations down from the attic. I know there’s a keg of cider in the basement and plenty of stuff in the pantry to snack on. We’ll have us one helluva Christmas-tree-decorating party!”

  “Austen will have a good first Christmas,” Billy said, flashing a rare smile. “One that we will cherish and always remember.”

  “Amen,” said Enolia. The woman smiled as he leaned down to kiss her. “Now move your hawini and join the others, before I kick it out the door myself.”

  Billy laughed and headed through the doorway, where the men shrugged on their winter coats and gloves in the entrance hall.

  “Come on, Chelle!” called Melissa. “Let’s get up there and start bringing down those decorations!”

  “I’m right behind you, sis!”

  “Wait for me!” piped Jessie, setting her doll next to the hearth. The girl paused to give her mother a hug and her baby brother a kiss on the crown of the head. “Isn’t this wonderful, Mama?”

  Yes, it is, the woman thought. She laughed as Jessie ran through the dining room doorway to join the Webb sisters. Sitting there alone, with her son cradled in her arms, Enolia thought of Nell and the awful void she had left. A shadow threatened to fall across the happiness she was feeling, but she fought past it. Nell would have loved this… loved it with all of her heart.

  The Cherokee woman knew that this celebration was not only for them, but for her as well. We will honor you with this, Enolia promised. Our strength and perseverance… our love for one another… it will be our memorial… our final gift to you, precious Nell.

  For several days they decorated the Biltmore. It was a time of celebration, as well as a much-needed reprieve from the monotony of their daily routine.

  A dozen trees were cut and erected in various rooms on the ground floor. The largest—an eighteen-foot blue spruce—stood beside the massive hearth. The fireplace was adorned with lush garlands of holly, pine cones, and red velvet bows, along with a row of stockings hanging from ornate brass hooks, one for each person present, as well as one for the Hobbs’ absent matriarch. The curving banister of the grand staircase was also decorated with garland and, although the greenhouse of the conservatory had produced no live poinsettias that year, they found a roomful of dried arrangements.

  The smells of the holiday season were plentiful as well. The heady scent of pine, cloves, spiced orange, cinnamon, and peppermint filled the rooms, as well as the delicious fragrance of freshly-baked cookies and pies from the kitchen’s wood-burning cook stove. As Christmas Eve grew near, hunting and foraging supplied such holiday delicacies as smoked trout, glazed ham, candied sweet potatoes, cornbread dressing, and cranberry relish.

  In the evenings, following supper, they would sit around the great hearth, enjoying a crackling fire that drove away the chill of December. As they sipped coffee, cider, or a cabernet from the winery, they shared ghost stories, read Christmas tales from ancient books found in the library, and sang Christmas carols. Spirited conversation and laughter echoed through the cold, stone halls of the old mansion, turning what once felt like a prison into a home.

  If there was one out of the eleven who was not completely immersed in the Christmas spirit, it was Melissa. The girl did her best to join in and enjoy herself, but sat quietly most of the time, unsmiling and preoccupied. She tried to shake off the dark mood, but couldn’t seem to.

  “Cheer up,” Jem told her, sensing her reluctance. “It’s Christmas. Time for us to count our blessings and be happy.”

  “I am happy,” she would reply, smiling and snuggling up to him on the big sofa before the fireplace. But, deep down, she knew that she was lying through her teeth.

  Nell had been on her mind lately. Melissa had no idea, but the woman seemed to be a link to her gloomy disposition. If she had truly known of Nell’s feelings and intuitions, and the way she had expressed them during times of impending misfortune, she would have said that the dread was upon her.

  “So… what the hell is going on?”

  Melissa turned to see her sister standing in the doorway that led onto the upper balcony.

  “What do you mean?” she asked absently. Her eyes stared across the long front lawn, toward the treetops of the forest beyond.

  “I mean you’ve been out here an awful lot lately, while the rest of us have been inside, taking it easy and enjoying ourselves,” Michelle said. She walked over and stood next to her sister. “Why is that?”

  “Someone has to stand guard.”

  “Sure, but not you… not all the time. You’ve been acting downright spooky the past few days. Like you’re just waiting for something to happen.”

  “Maybe I am,” Melissa told her. “Maybe we all should.”

  Michelle couldn’t believe her ears. “What’s gotten into you, Lissa? You used to be the positive one… Pollyanna on a freaking unicorn farting pixie dust and sunshine. Now you’re more of a pessimist and fatalist than I ever was. It’s not right, you being like this. You’re totally screwing up our yin and yang… the natural order of us.”

  Melissa understood what she was getting at. “Why does it bother you so much that I’m being a little overly cautious? It seems that you used to promote that pretty heavily… and criticized me for being so naïve and trusting.”

  “Things have gotten better, sis. You’ve seen it. Everybody’s getting along great and we don’t have to be on our guard twenty-four seven, like before. We haven’t seen one Biter since Nell’s death and not one actual person since Frank Gentry and his bunch showed up a month ago. It’s like the world has reached the ninety-nine point nine percent minus-population point… and that includes buzzards and Biters, too. Maybe the cold weather did a number on those little black bugs and killed their tiny asses. It’s like we have a chance to start over again, without having to worry about that old survival shit, like we did before.”

  “Yes, things have been rainbows and candy hearts before,” Melissa admitted. “We let our guard down and where did it get us? Nell got eaten by zombies and Enolia got brutalized. When we grow lax, when we get too comfortable, something happens. Something bad.”

  Michelle didn’t know how to answer. Maybe her sister was right. Maybe they had grown too complacent. But it had felt good, hadn’t it?

/>   “Take a look over there,” Melissa said, nodding toward the tree line. “What do you see?”

  Michelle looked to the west. A long line of thick black clouds reached from north to south for as far as she could see. “Looks like a storm is brewing.”

  Melissa shook her head and smiled softly. “Where is Levi?”

  “He and Billy headed out this morning,” she said. “There’s tons of mistletoe at the top of some trees in the east forest. They took rifles, said they were going to shoot it down. Levi said Christmas wasn’t Christmas without mistletoe.” Michelle winked at her sister. “I’m sure Jem will take advantage of it.”

  Melissa simply stared toward the far side of the estate. “When Levi gets back, tell him I need to see him. Okay?”

  “You got it, sis,” said Michelle. She sent one more worried glance toward her twin, then left the balcony and headed downstairs.

  An hour later, a deeper voice drew her attention from her vigil.

  “You wanted to see me?”

  Melissa turned to see Levi. She wasn’t surprised to Jem standing next to him.

  “Come here,” she said. “Got something I want you to see.”

  When Levi joined her at the balcony railing, she pointed westward. “See those clouds?”

  “Yes.”

  She handed him a pair of binoculars. “Look a little closer.”

  He took the binoculars and studied the darkness in the sky. “What is that?”

  “Not clouds,” she told him. “Wind currents and circulation patterns aren’t that synchronized. They don’t swoop and rise like that.”

  “It’s buzzards, isn’t it?” Levi lowered the binoculars and shook his head. “Lord have mercy.”

  “I saw one the other day, you know,” she said. “A buzzard. Just one. It flew in from the west, over those treetops and landed on the lawn, near the fountain there. It stared at me for a moment… stared at this place… then took flight and flew back the way it came.”