by Kolin Wood
The suited man held up a hand, still without making eye contact, and Sal fell immediately silent. Clearly this guy held a position of some power.
The General then watched as the man suddenly pushed backwards with his legs and the wheeled chair came to a stop with a bump against the wall behind. From somewhere below there came a muffled murmur.
A beautiful woman, sporting a black eye, popped up from underneath the thick polished desk, wiping her mouth and pushing the dark tangle of thick, sweaty hair out of her face. She was naked from the waist up and she clutched her glittery top to cover her chest as she climbed unsteadily to her feet before tip-toeing across the room to the door. She did not look at either of the visitors on the way.
Only once the woman had closed the door did the suited man finally look at them. He dropped his hand down with a thump onto the armrest in a lethargically, and pulled on his zipper.
With a smile and a twinkle in his eye that acknowledged and admired the antics of his boss, Sal cleared his throat.
“Boss, this is Cole.”
Sal stepped aside and the General stepped forwards.
“He watched the fight and has some information I think might be of interest to you. Cole, this is Mr. Braydon.”
The seated man raised the still-smoking cigar to his lips and took a long pull. The end of it glowed bright red and there was a popping hiss as the dried and folded leaves burned brightly with the intake of air. The man took his time, inhaling another two, long pulls before finally leaning forward with a look that said he was clearly unimpressed with the interruption.
Tension bristled in the room. The General winced slightly as the brightness from the uncovered single light bulb stabbed him in his good cornea.
Mr. Braydon gave the lump a momentary and cursory glance before looking back, a slightly perturbed look now creasing his face. For a moment, silence befell the two men as they sized each other up.
Eventually, opening his arms in a questioning gesture, he said, “Well? What’s so fucking important that you feel the need to come barging in here and interrupt my… therapy session?”
Already, from just this initial introduction, the General knew that if the interruption was not properly warranted, things would probably go awry very quickly. This man, Braydon, didn’t seem like the type of guy that suffered fools easily.
The General decided to cut straight to the chase.
“I know a place, not too far away from here…” he began. “Where you will find stores, food, weapons…”
Braydon studied the heavy, gold rings on his fingers and the corners of his mouth pulled downward in a snarl. He was clearly not interested in stockpiles of stores; the man was smoking Cuban cigars in an office for Christ’s sake.
“… and people that can fight the pit,” he finished.
With this final piece of information, the look on Braydon’s face changed. It was like somebody had finally said the words that he had been waiting so long to hear.
“Go on,” he said, suddenly interested.
***
The General skipped most of story, including the true extent of his involvement. By the time he’d finished, Braydon had already dispatched a gang to go and search for the prison, with the direct instructions to capture and bring back alive some criminal madmen of the worst kind. In exchange for the information, the General was offered immediate lodgings, although he had understood that, should the information turn out to be bogus, that he would be paying for the time wasted with his own blood. They were terms that the General eagerly accepted.
After the meeting, he was shown to a room and offered a hot meal; his first in a while. The overcooked flesh of whatever animal it was that he was eating was difficult to chew but sufficiently filled his belly. Following the meal, the General lay down on the bed, groaning as the soft mattress enveloped his large frame like a slab of jelly. The bed was big; a double—the first one able to fully accommodate his size since his initial night on the cot bunks in the prison so many years ago.
The General allowed the flame of the candle on the small bedside table next to him to burn out. He lay there in the dark, his face throbbing and his thoughts whirling. For days now, he had fought against the impending sickness, not willing to acknowledge its ever-growing presence. The infection in his face had crept down into his jaw and neck, making every movement, however small, an agonising test of endurance. His hands shook and his legs occasionally felt like they would give out on him any minute. Now, lying there in the dark, he felt like there was not much more left for him to give. The longer he lay the worse he felt. Soon, he began to shiver. Visions of the prison flashed before his eyes as his mind began to drift into an uneasy sub-consciousness.
Deformed, half-eaten faces swirled in the mist. Blood-covered fingers reached out for him, threatening to pull him in. How many of the boys had survived in the wake of the onslaught from the numbers? he thought as wave after wave of nausea rolled through him. Perhaps a few had managed to fight back? Mitchel, for one, would never have gone down without a fight. For all he knew, the prison was still operational, perhaps up and running under new leadership. Part of him hoped so. For however misguided his original intentions had been, however naive his vision, nobody had foreseen how out of control things were to get.
The thoughts continued to plague him and he rolled sideways, groaning as the blood sloshed in his face.
He could only hope that any that had managed to survive would have since seen sense and left. Gangs of men would soon turn up to stake a claim on the place; armed men with a purpose, ready to fight.
He closed his eye and took a deep breath in an attempt to settle his tumultuous stomach.
It was not only the boys that were in danger. The whereabouts of the prison and its promise of bounty had been his ticket into the New Capital, via Magnus and his gang on the East Road, and now it served as credit to his lodgings. The true likelihood was that Magnus’ crew would already have been there and cleared out the place, killing anybody that stood in their way. If that was the case then there was a good chance that Teddy’s men would turn up to nothing but an empty husk, chock full of decomposing, half-eaten bodies.
The General knew that it was a risk, but his options had been limited. He had left the place almost empty handed. The girl had been virtually worthless to him (transients were not legal barter), not even enough to grant him access to the capital and even then, barely affording him the money to get started. However, there was no way that he could have headed out into the countryside either. One side of his face now constantly felt like he was dipping it into hot wax. If he did not receive any help soon then… well, everything would have been for nothing anyway.
It was worth the risk.
Hopefully, the gang would come back with something; he had not lied about the stores, after all, and perhaps Braydon would be satisfied enough to allow him to stay. It was a possibility and, at that moment, all that he had; if it backfired, well, it was no less than he deserved.
10
Juliana pushed on down the tight alleyway, her steps careful due to the almost impenetrable dark which had closed in around her. Judging by what she had seen thus far, she figured that the alley acted as some kind of make-shift latrine for the drunks; probably little difference from what it had been like before the culling.
The ground beneath her over-sized boots was slippery, but she resisted the urge to look down. She did not need to know; if the smell was anything to go by, then whatever it was wasn’t good. She walked with her sleeve covering her nose and breathed through her mouth, but still it did little. Had she not heard voices behind her, she would almost certainly have turned back by now.
Ahead, the faint tinkling sounds of running water lifted her spirits; perhaps it meant an end to the filth. She added some extra stride to her step and a few turns later the alleyway opened up into a wide, moonlit space. She blinked her eyes against the sharp, silver light. Closer inspection revealed that the space was actually a section of r
oad, blocked off at one end by a huge, man-made barricade. At the other, the steel perimeter fence of the capital rose up into the night sky, its top crowned with coils of razor wire. Piles of refuse glistened and seethed all around. The buildings on either side of her were also chock full of rubbish that had spilled out into the street. The floor itself looked to be moving, probably on account of the bugs, she guessed.
“WELL, YOU BLOODY WELL COME AND DO IT THEN!” an angry voice shouted from somewhere nearby.
Panicked, Juliana ducked back into the shadow of the alley and gripped a hold of the damp wall. From where she was hidden, she could see a man silhouetted against the bright moon on top of the barricade. In his hands, he held two bags which he proceeded to swing back behind him before letting them both fly together at the closest, rubbish-filled building where they exploded with a wet thump.
Down the centre of the street, branching at various intervals towards the buildings on either side, a half-pipe made of a thick, white material ran in a straight line to the fence at the far end. At her feet she noticed that a simple guttering system of plastic and other smooth, impenetrable materials ran from the alleyway, allowing for a steady stream to flow along it. Now, aided by the light of the moon, it was possible to see the steam rising up into the cold, evening air. Clouds of flies buzzed and swarmed all around.
With a shudder, Juliana swiped some of the bugs away from her nose. So she had been right. This was a latrine; a mighty big one too. Not only that, but she had inadvertently walked into the middle of what looked to be the main dumping ground for the entire population of the New Capital.
“TELL HIM TO COME AND DO IT HIMSELF THEN!” the voice shouted again.
She glanced behind herself back down the alleyway. It was now so dark that she couldn’t see more than a few feet.
Another two bags swished through the air, splitting on impact with a squelch, followed closely behind by two more.
Juliana waited until the sounds stopped then poked her head around the wall and looked back up in the direction of the barrier just in time to see the top of the man’s head as it disappeared from view.
As far as she could tell, she was alone again.
Laughing from the other side told of night-time festivities within the capital. Over the fence in the other direction, the empty carcass of the city lay spread out for miles in every direction, barren and quiet as the dead.
Juliana stood upright and took a few tentative steps out onto the open, rubbish-strewn space. A sudden bright light shone down into the enclosure, lighting up the area all around her. Instinctively, she dropped down amongst the rubbish, scuffing her bare knees on the rough road surface in the process.
“What the hell are you doing now?” a voice shouted from somewhere behind the blockade.
The owner of the torch didn’t say anything as the bright light scoured the area around her illuminating the steam and glistening off the wet, rotten articles that festered there.
“Hang on a minute!” the voice on top of the bus said in a hushed voice. “I thought I saw something moving down there.”
Still the beam of light moved, more slowly now.
“Yes, there’s something…” the second voice shouted. “There’s a shit ton of bugs and rats and shit down there. What exactly do ya think you saw?”
Silence again for a second.
“I thought I saw a woman.”
The laugh from the other side of the bus was loud and true as it guffawed and snorted at the retort. “A woman?! You bloody idiot.” More laughing. “I think we’d best go and get you laid, me ol’ son.”
Undeterred, the torch beam continued to scour the waste. Juliana felt her lungs begin to ache as she stopped breathing, not wanting the cloud of her own breath to give her away.
“Go on then, lover boy… Down you go… Sure there’s something you can use!”
More laughing.
Suddenly the beam clicked off, plunging Juliana into darkness once more. She breathed out, thankful of the release.
“Oh, shut up!” the voice on top of the barricade said.
The laughing intensified and she heard steps on a metal staircase. Then the voices were gone.
To be sure that she was in the clear, Juliana waited a further few minutes, fighting against the pain in her knees. Once satisfied that they were indeed gone, she stood slowly, peering over the closest mound.
The top of the barricade stood empty.
Time to get moving in case the man decided that he wanted to double check.
By now, she was far more used to the rancid stench, so was able to walk without covering her nose and mouth, granting her a better view of the ground before her. It took a few minutes of twisting and turning through the various piles, but eventually she made it to the bottom of the barrier where the man had been standing before. Now close enough, she was able to see that the barrier was, in fact, a boarded up London bus that had been built up using pallets and rolls of trellis fencing. The wheels were missing, but the bus still had a gap beneath it so Juliana squatted down to check whether she could fit. To go under would certainly be easier than trying to climb over; less conspicuous too.
Beneath the bus, the floor was black with untold nasties, but through gaps in the rubbish it was possible to make out the occasional glimmer of the reflection of flames from the other side.
Juliana prepared herself for what was about to be a thoroughly unpleasant experience. With the night drawing in like a cloak around her and her stomach growling like a scavenging feline on the prowl, there was no way that she was going to try and find another way out. She cursed herself for not taking some of the spilled food from the storeroom, but at the time she had only thought of escape. With a deep breath and one final look around her, she dropped to her knees.
As she knelt down, the ground around the bus cracked like a skin beneath her knees before giving way to something far softer. The smell that escaped from the broken floor was so gruesome it made her gag violently. Her sides flashed with pain as the contractions searched her for something—anything—to expel, but there was nothing left in her stomach to lose. She dropped down on her hands, retching bile as she followed the route through the skin of the vile soup.
There was no point turning back, not now that she had already committed herself.
Without being able to take a full breath on account of her constricted insides, Juliana lowered her chest down into the grime and crawled under the bus, kicking with her legs as they struggled to find purchase.
***
He slithered like a snake, flat on his belly. The noise from the barricade had gone and, save for the sound of the running water, the night hung quiet once again. The smoothness of the boards and the constant stream of running fluid made the going quick and easy. Occasional, piles of rubbish and bags of filth blocked his path, but he slipped around them using the natural concave of the trench.
He’d seen the meat come in, watching her from cover by the red flap in the fence and something had triggered in him, a feeling that he could not shake.
Like him, the meat seemed to hide away when it heard the noise.
And now the meat was on the floor with him, down in the dirt where the ground was cool and refreshing.
With an extra pump of his thighs he pushed forwards faster.
Before him, the bus loomed out of the dark night.
***
Coughing, Juliana drove her hands into the blockage. Plastic bags and things soft and putrid slid up her arms as she pushed forwards like a diver, sweeping the detritus aside in a breast stroke- style motion.
She was now about halfway under.
The thick material of her coat continually snagged on the metal works of the underside of the bus, pulling her back and slowing her progress. To counteract it, she lowered herself farther into the mire until her front was fully dragging in the muck.
The heat surrounded her like a blanket, warming the rancid fumes like a gas chamber. Sweat dripped from her forehead, itc
hing her skin and stinging her eyes, but she couldn’t stop to wipe her face.
Her arms burned hot with lactic acid.
Finally, with one final push, she felt her fingers break through to the other side. The fresh air rushed in like an elixir. Her feet slipped and slid behind her and she tried to dig her toes in. With a cry, she threw herself the final few yards, uncaring at that point who might hear.
***
He slithered under the bus using the ready-made hole that the meat had created. His mouth dripped liberally with saliva as he imagined the succulence of the flesh and the salty tang of the blood.
Ahead of him, something moved in the darkness, squelching and plopping. He heard the meat cry out and panicked, hoping… no, praying that he had not been too slow and somebody else had beaten him to it.
His mouth opened wide and a hiss emanated from the back of his throat. He was ravenous and the hunger would soon be sated. He was so close that he could hear the drag of its clothing and the grunts of exertion. Even above the thick stench of the slippery floor he could smell it: the meat.
And there it was; he could see it. The thick boot that was slipping over and over again, unable to find purchase.
Light suddenly shone into the hole in front of him, and he could only watch in hopeless desperation as the meat’s legs were pulled away from him, out into the rancid freshness of the night.
He screamed silently.
11
The place reeked of death, excrement and nuts. A small window offered only limited lighting into the room. Stacked high along each wall lay rows of Hessian sacks; some full, others opened. Various food stuffs had spilled out onto the floor and, now combined with the blood, had left the cobbled stones sticky underfoot. In the far corner, face down on a split bag of spoiling rice, the overweight body was splayed out. A deep-red slit ran between his two shoulder blades, and a dark brown stain covered his buttocks, continuing down the back of his legs.