Genesis Virus

by Pinto, Daniel

  “Shit out of luck.”

  “Show me something.”

  Phillip hooks high with his left hand, Paul dashes back and jabs him beneath the eye then shin kicks Phillip in the side, but Phillip catches the leg and elbows down at his opponent’s knee. Causing Paul to caw and stumble back, Phillip grabs him by the throat and punches him in the mouth, busting his lip. Paul quickly turns inside and brings his forearm to block the next punch. He squeezes both of Phillip’s shoulders and torpedoes a knee to his sternum, dropping Phillip to the ground without air. Phillip knew it was coming, but was too slow to react like a boxer in the last rounds. He gasps for air, bunching up his face, angry at himself. The Boss uncrosses his arms in concern.

  “What a croak of shit.”

  Paul’s boot heels click and clack, it’s the only sound in the camp.

  Men applaud as Paul puts his belt back on his thigh. Jude drums on his back like a wrestling coach. “Stay loose buddy, stay loose.”

  Paul bends his fingers down, waving at the Boss goodbye. The dismayed Boss keeps his eyes on Phillip.

  When the commotion calms down, Paul walks over and extends a hand to his worthy contender. Phillip is on the ground with bruised ribs.

  Paul quips. “Good fight, it’s done.” He flings sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand.

  Phillip slaps Paul’s other hand out of his way. Paul squats low next to him, sucking in air. “Whatever you think you know about me, is lies. Stay down and I’ll let walk out tomorrow morning with your beautiful little daughter. I’m fighting for family too, who’s to say I should even care about your plight. Choose, and I will try my hardest either way.”

  “What a waste of body.”

  “Chickenshit.”

  A distracted Paul turns his attention to Phillip again, who thrusts his palm up into Paul’s nose, breaking it to the side. Paul’s eyes fill with tears and he falls to his shoulder. Guys throw their cups and berets between the two man in excitement, respecting violence over sportsmanship.

  “The hell you say.”

  Paul gradually rises and hunches over with both hands steeple over his nose…and…snaps it back into place. “Fuck. Have it your way.”

  The two fighters meet in the center of the ring again. On Paul’s second attempt to kick in Phillip’s knee, he grabs Paul by his torso and pulls him in close by under-hooking his arms under Paul’s arms, then lifts him off the ground. The faces in the crowd chant, “Phillip,” as he rams Paul into a truck’s passenger window multiple times, hammering the wind out of him before he overhands him into the windshield. Paul’s back cracks the foggy glass; he rolls off the hood and onto the dirt, sweat in his eyes.

  The Boss starts to talk. “I think that’s enough. Paul…he can’t take anymore. There’s no shame in giving up.” Phillips turns and faces the Boss confused.

  “Booooooooo.”

  The Boss says. “Phillip, he’s done, you won, let him walk away with dignity.”

  Paul’s now in front of a truck’s headlights on his hands and knees. One of his buddies throws him a metal pipe, it bounces near his eyes.

  The Boss looks at Phillip and slowly nods his head down at Paul. Immediately after Phillip turns around and beholds Paul swinging the pipe downward, Phillip tries to move, the pipe comes down hard on his shoulder anyway. He falls to his shins and Paul swings for his rival’s head. The pipe comes down faster, Phillip catches it with his other hand. The two men squeeze and twist the pipe, the friction slices Phillip’s fingertips; the corroded pipe bends in the center like a plastic straw.

  As both men rise in harmony, Phillip head-butts Paul in the forehead while looking at the ground, so his nose won’t look like Paul’s nose. The pipe tumbles on the dirt.

  Phillip stands tall and stares Paul in the eyes. Fire is gleaming in both their eyes.

  Paul pulls his knife from the holster strapped to his thigh. Phillip’s ambivalent about moving left or right and goes nowhere as Paul gets closer.

  Paul punches left and stabs right. The blade fillets Phillip’s arm. He rolls off the side of a truck dodging the barrage of stabs. The crowd winces at the metal-to-metal scratching.

  Phillip crawls on the ground and grabs the broken pipe under the bumper; Paul elbows him in the back and swipes the knife for Phillip’s face. The knife slides off the edge of the pipe and a hunched over Paul quicksteps forward like a man about to fall over a ledge.

  A gashed up Phillip uppercuts the pipe at Paul’s chin, who sways back, Phillip horizontally slashes for Paul’s temple, he ducks low falling to his behind, and has to roll away to avoid Phillip pounding his head into the ground.

  Paul backhands his knife as he turns in a full circle, catapulting the pipe out of Phillip’s hand and under a car.

  Phillip says. “Come on.” He stands on his toes, taunting Paul. “Give me your best shot.”

  Paul thrusts hard forward and straight for Phillip’s chest. Phillip counters by opening his bent arms like wings. The men’s chests slam into each other like magnets. Phillip has trapped and is pinning Paul’s arm over his bleeding side and hip. And with his free arm Phillip punches Paul in the kidney, both men bounce up and down. The Boss circles to see better.

  Phillip releases Paul’s arm as he turns into and grabs the lethal wrist with both hands. The two men are locked in place, fighting for control, the point of the knife lingers above Phillip’s eye then Paul’s.

  Their stomachs curve inward into their spines and Phillip can feel Paul’s hot breath on his neck. Yolk colored snot and blood from Paul’s nose builds up on his lips.

  They run forward with Paul leading the way, Phillip’s still holding the hand holding the knife. Phillip lifts his leg against the car bumper to stop his face from going into the back window and instantly elbows back, catching Paul in the corner of his eye. It’s Phillip’s knife now.

  He swings completely around aiming for Paul’s throat and by the skin of his teeth, Paul instinctively raises both palms to stop what may come. Paul’s hands are slashed in the middle. Phillip jumps forward and stabs a one eyed and no hands Paul in the side.

  The blade slides up through the ribs as Phillip lifts Paul’s feet off the ground. Paul’s hands are on Phillip’s bleeding shoulders. The full moon is behind Paul’s titled head, he spits out blood. There’s not a peep from the audience. Both fighters let out a cry. Paul sides off the knife to the ground gasping. “I…saved…daughter…fired.”

  Two men run towards Phillip, he stoops and swoops his head upwards like a bull, propelling the first man into a windshield. Phillip knocks the pistol out of the other man’s hand, twirls him into a chokehold, the man pulls at Phillip’s forearm watching himself get stabbed in the chest. The hostage is instantly killed, Phillip moves around with the body to the man’s pistol then aims it at the other men.

  Phillip says. “No one else has to die.”

  Another man comes towards him. Phillip takes the dead man’s knife from the belt, leaving Paul’s knife in his heart. The attacker has a rifle and shoots it a few times, Phillip shoves the dead man filling up with bullets towards the aggressor then with his knife, controls the direction of the rifle bringing it to the man’s side as he gets behind him and points the handgun to his temple, exploding brains out to the other side. Three dead men dead in three different ways, lay to rest at his feet.

  Close-quarters combat with two weapons comes back to Phillip like riding a bike. It’s how he made his living in his old life and now it’s how he lives.

  Approaching Phillip, the Boss says. “Paul accepted the challenge like a man and continued to be one to the end. It’s done, we’re men, not cowards. Don’t shoot this man in the back or outnumber him. Paul was brave and fought him one-on-one. If there is any man that wants to challenge Phillip. Speak up now.” Jude sidles away from the showdown like a scolded child with a dirty word on the tip of his tongue.

  Phillip collects all the fallen men’s weapons.

  The Boss talks with such brio. “Paul
was a good man and this community lost a good man today, but we gained a better man. Extend you cheers and felicitations for the victor.” He raises his arms.

  Phillip heads for the bunker, bleeding from head to toe.

  “Phillip. Phillip. Phillip.”

  Acclamation and foot stomping only gets louder when the bunker door slams shut. The gladiator returns underground to await the next fight.

  8

  A gibbous eye in the sky breaks up the monotony of a cloudless canvas. Two men are on patrol duty on the outskirts of the Boss’s camp.

  Shivering man says. “Do you think aliens have the same problems as us?”

  “They have one more problem, because they wish they were us.”

  The night gets colder as time flies by.

  Shivering man says. “Have you ever seen an undead with a erection? Searching for his true love.”

  “Sounds romantic.” He walks away, stops, turns as quietly as he can and touches his friend in the back that’s headed in the opposite direction.

  The shivering man jumps as if he abruptly sat on a thumbtack. “I don’t like to be touched ever, especially when I’m shitting or cumming.”

  “Who ever touched your ugly ass?”

  The two men stare into each other’s eyes, flashlight beams cross each other like swords. Kiss. A brushing of trees cuts their kissing short. One of the men shines a light into the darkness.

  The flashlight sentry says. “Have you ever danced with the Devil in the pale moonlight?” Quoting the last movie, he ever saw.

  His partner attempts an authoritative tone. “Show yourself.” Although it comes out more like a mall cop on a segway than a hard-boiled officer.

  9

  Under the cover of darkness and dead of night, the Chief is escorted at gunpoint into the lion’s den. He enters the redoubt and entrenchment that he’s been dying to see for weeks. David delivered on his word in the forest and that has changed the fate of many people that have never met. Now, it’s my turn to keep my word.

  Merry men distractedly flip meat on makeshift grills and smile over the flames. Booze sweat is evaporating from their glistening pores. Strata of soldiers are relaxing by canisters randomly placed around the camp; the steel barrels filled to the rim with glowing lumber keeping the men happy.

  A belching Jude hightails it to the entrance and the Chief thinks, we’re off to a good start.

  The Chief kicks his prisoner in the stomach. “This person killed Jacob, did I come to the right place?” Body heats up after he’s motioned to remove his brown duster coat. He didn’t wear his bulletproof vest tonight. It might have given the wrong impression. And when you have dozens of men aiming their weapons only at you, what’s the point?

  The Chief pushes the kneeling prisoner’s head down. “I want Sora for this killer…I’ve been traveling from town to town, looking for the Boss. Is he here?”

  A man nursing a beer hollers. “Boss we have two landlopers here.”

  “Check the Injun.”

  “Yeah, check his Indian authenticity card.” Snorts up alcohol.

  Jude says as he pats down the Chief. “Are you carrying anything in your breeches that can poke me?” The Chief spreads his arms up like’s he’s about to fly out of the camp.

  Soldiers are chorusing. “Kill the red skin nigger.”

  The Boss finally appears, minces toward the intruders with his arms up, mouthing the word, “fellas,” over the cheers.

  Jude has a flare gun in one hand and a wooden figurine in the other. “Besides this. Sir, this man is clean, but he can sure use a bath.” He relinquishes them at the Boss’s feet.

  The Boss says to the side of the Chief’s ear, looking beyond. “Why come here, I could kill you on sight?” The Boss’s recognizable air of superiority instantly puts the Chief back in the moment before the Boss burned his home down, vivid recollection as if it was yesterday.

  The Chief says. “There is more dignity in suicide than living in this world, if the cause is just.” His bald head is perspiring.

  The Boss smiles and says. “Have you been reading my memoirs?”

  The facile Chief says. “I’ve traveled a long way for this. I can leave if you’re not The Boss.” He recognizes the Boss’s tinted eyes, but keeps a poker face.

  The Boss crosses his arms, still grinning. “Hmm. Who’s your friend in the hood?”

  “Jacob’s killer.” The happy face disappears from the Boss’s face and appears on the Chief’s in record time.

  Plenty of men are still enjoying the barbeque, high-fiving each other, while others are pacing closer every second to hear like nosy neighbors.

  The Chief unlatches the watch off and hands it to the Boss, his Americanized equivalent. “Here, you might recognize this.”

  The Boss inspects the inscription on the watch. “Yes, the watch it was a gift from…someone else, but of course I recognize it.”

  The Boss stares at the prisoner with a withering look. “How did you two manage to meet up and end up here?”

  The Chief says. “Glad to tell you the story, in exchange for Sora.”

  The Boss says. “Who?”

  “A beautiful middle-aged American Indian woman.”

  “Thaddeus please bring Phillip’s woman out here.”

  The Chief takes a heavy step forward, slipping out of character. “She’s alive.” Heart in his throat chokes the words from his mouth.

  The Boss puts a soft hand on the Chief’s heart. “Of course, but first tell me about Jacob. How did he look, what happened?” The Boss averts his gaze and raises a hand to Thaddeus to wait.

  The Chief says. “He was young, light skin, and slim. I ran into my prisoner here near two bodies and they told me about a camp that Jacob told them about. I put two and two together and realized his father had my sister and I thought I would take advantage of the coincidence…I assumed they tortured him first because I found him with missing fingers and toes, and burned all over.”

  The Boss stomps a foot in an unquenchable urge. “That’s enough.” He moves to pull the hood off the hanging head of the prisoner.

  10

  The silence startles David; he smacks the flashlight into being, to reveal something slanting on his hand. The word Goodbye is written on his hand in Ava’s chickenscratch handwriting, smudged a little.

  His compass watch is gone as well. “Shit.” He stands up rubbing the back of his neck and looking around as if he’s been in a coma for ages and recognizes nothing. The calm ambience is unnerving.

  “Chief, Lou, Youngblood.” As he says it, he feels dumb for even trying.

  Empty bags are spread around a long forgotten campfire. “Why couldn’t you all just wait.” He kicks logs and cans into the trees.

  “Now was not the time to give me a taste of my own medicine.” The large amount of cold air taken from huffing and puffing hurts his lungs. He has to sit to catch his breath.

  No one has touched his belongings; he drinks all the water he can find. He can’t remember the last meal he ate. “They wouldn’t kill Ava and leave me, but they would take her against her will…”

  He reloads his body with weapons: trusty knife, two heavy rifles, faded handgun. Then wraps a satchel to the tail-end of his Apollo motorbike.

  David turns the headlights on and speeds down the hill. “This ain’t no place for the dreary kind, you, stupid-stupid girl.” He was having the best sleep in his life.

  11

  Jude says. “Hey wait a minute, Boss man. I’ll do the honors.” He gambols over to the hooded prisoner, delicately pinches the top and slowly raises the cloak. Recognizing the voice, the only part of her body moving is her fingers, discreetly in the dark under her shirt.

  Jude smirks and says as he gets a good look at her. “Hold up, I know this slut,” he lifts her chin with his forefinger. “All I ever wanted was respect...You stuck-up bitch, time to be put in your place.”

  “You wanted attention, here you go.” Ava cups her hand and slaps Jude’s ear, s
ending a blast of air into his ear canal and taking him off his equilibrium. He’s a baby taking his first step. She takes her cattle gun from her hip, points it in Jude’s groin, it releases a cartridge into his penis designed to go through a cow’s thick skull.

  “Oh SHIT.” He hops back twice on one foot, sliding off the side of a truck, making a screeching noise like a wet sponge on glass. Jude stumbles forward and grabs hold of a nearby grill, taking it down with him. He screams into the dirt with red coals on his back. All the men watch, several drunkenly laugh, others just laugh.

  The raucous Ava screams. “Jude.” The Boss has his hand resting on his chin and studies the tussling Jude and Ava in fascination.

  The Chief slides a blade down his sleeve with no handle; the bottom of it is wrapped with a cloth like a prison shank. The Boss is standing sideways still watching Jude as the Chief steps forward and under-swings the blade to slit his throat. They collide into each other like two rams head-on vying for dominancy.

  The Chief hems over and behind the Boss as if he’s about whisper a secret to him.

  On the lower back of Jude, Ava pulls his dirt and drool covered face up by the hair, showing him to his new friends. He coughs out and says. “Wait, Maria and Abigail are still alive.” The men either don’t know what hit Jude or don’t care, either way, they are enjoying the minstrel show.

  The Chief’s knife is in the Boss’s bloody grasp; he caught it like a fly and hasn’t let go. The interlock men wring in each other’s arms and clutch for the knife. Soldiers begin to raise their guns at the wrestling men.

  Both leaders are holding each other’s balled up fists in the air in a test of strength; their feet are crushing the earth like titans.

  The Boss says. “Revenge is a tool used by all, let’s see what you got.”

  The Chief gets a hand loose and punches the Boss in the throat, who staggers back. “That’ll shut you up.”