It really doesn't matter. If they know about Chris and Karen already, then he's already fucked for not saying anything. If they don't know, then that's an ace up Zak's sleeve that he can play if needed. Hopefully, it doesn't come to that—he's grown to like the couple.
As they near the old grocery store, Zak feels a change in the air. When they round the corner and the store comes into view, he realizes why. Elgin said they were at war—he didn't say they'd taken prisoners.
* * *
Aaron approaches the back door. It opens on nearly silent hinges. He opens it slowly, just in case they make a sound before it's wide enough to slide inside. When it's wide enough to stick his head through, he checks the room beyond. She's not in the kitchen and doesn't appear to be sitting at the table in the dining room. When able, he slides inside and closes the door behind him. Once closed, he locks it. If she makes it past him, she'll not realize until it's locked until it's too late.
Now, he must get through the kitchen and dining room without her hearing him. So far, the floors are solid. There's no give in the sub-flooring beneath the tile, and no sound as he makes his way from the kitchen into the dining room. At the next doorway, he can see the front door—she’s not in the living room either. He turns right, facing the gloomy hallway and there she is, standing in the far room. Her back is toward him. Something has her complete attention and from where he's standing, he can't see what.
Whatever it is, he doesn't care. His focus is on this new side of her. He moves toward her, his erection pressing painfully against his pants. He can't wait to push it against her. The anticipation is killing him.
He reaches the doorway behind her, and she has still not made any sign that she hears him. Her singular focus is on the rotting baby crib standing in front of the broken window. His hand is mere inches from her hair now.
An inch away. A gust of wind slides through the broken glass—it tousles her hair, strands of it sliding silkily across his fingers. Just as he's about to grab her, she screams.
* * *
Chris's muscles tense, not out of fright or anything to do with fear or terror—the reason he's this way is out of rage. Below him are prisoners. About thirty of them, tied by the necks and hands with ropes. More rope hobbled their feet—there was just enough play so they could shuffle but not run. By his observation, running was the last thing on their minds—the last thing they could do.
Their emaciated, fragile bodies—just skin and bones dressed in torn rags—swayed rhythmically, ready to break and bend in the slightest wind. Cuts oozed rivers of blood, bruises covered most of their visible skin, and several had obvious bone breaks. One held her left arm in an attempt to keep it from moving, but every time someone barely bumped her, or the ropes caused her to take a step, she'd cry out in pain. The break was bad. When the arm moved, it looked like only skin and muscle kept it from falling off. Either the bones inside her arm were snapped in two—or crushed—either way, Chris could feel her pain.
Others were just like her, some even worse off. Most were only a step or two away from becoming Tainted.
There wasn't a single man among them, they were all women and children.
Chris's blood boiled.
* * *
Seeing the women and children tied up like that broke Zak's heart. At first, he was angry they were being led around like animals. But knowing what their future held, as prisoners of the Highwaymen, caused his heart to sink. He wished there was some way he could help them. As he walked past, he lowered his eyes so he wouldn't have to meet their gaze. He felt like shit doing it, but at the moment, his only concern was getting Elgin their provisions and getting them out of here.
Despite his feelings, he raises his head and catches the eyes of a young girl—she’s probably only a little younger than himself. Her eyes lock on his. They are like the pictures of islands he's seen in magazines. The island is dark, surrounded by deep green water. There's a story behind those eyes—a story he'd like to know. Her eyes plead with him; do something, anything.
"You like that one, don't you?" asks Elgin, startling Zak. He hadn't realized the Highwayman had been watching.
"She has pretty eyes," he admits. He picks up the pace, hoping Elgin will let the matter go.
He doesn't.
"I'll make a deal with you, Zak. If you can tell me what we're doing with these prisoners, I'll let you have that green-eyed beauty for yourself."
Zak doesn't stop but can't help his mind from spinning. What is going on here? Why is Elgin being like this? Why is he even here? He thinks of the girl with the green eyes. Beneath the blood and grime, there was a living, breathing person under there. Scared of the unknown, her thoughts were probably racing through all the horrific scenarios her mind could conjure. If Zak's experience was valid, she was probably thinking wrong.
He knew what Elgin had planned. Unless something had changed, then he knew exactly what he had planned. He decides to play Elgin's game and answer the question, but first, he needed to know the stakes. What if his answer is wrong? He gets the answer right; the girl goes free. He gets the answer wrong—then what?
"So, if I answer correctly, you let her go and if I answer incorrectly?"
"Come on, Zachariah...where's your sense of fun?"
"I never knew you to have fun."
"Now you insult me?"
Zak stops and turns to face Elgin. He's tired of whatever this is already. He's outnumbered, outmatched, and he doesn't care. A day will come when he picks a direction, starts walking, and never looks back. Zak already provoked Elgin more in the last two minutes than anyone he'd ever known before—and they'd all died.
Since Chris and Karen arrived, his thoughts on moving on have become more concrete. He knows now that time is coming soon and after this encounter, he's especially keen on moving on. Getting out from under the Highwaymen's thumb is now a top priority. If he survives the day, then this will be the last time he does anything for them. As soon as they leave, he will come right out and ask Chris and Karen if they would let him tag along on their adventure north.
But first, he must survive the day.
Facing Elgin, he swallows the things he wanted to say and instead, apologizes. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to. I just..." He looks back at the young girl. She is watching him closely. Apparently, she heard what Elgin had said—her eyes plead with Zak to help her.
"It's okay, Zak," confides Elgin, throwing an arm around Zak's shoulders and turning him back toward the storefront. "I'm not mad. Things are changing around here and we're having to change with the times."
"What's changed?" Zak asks, genuinely curious.
"Everything," Elgin says, squeezing him then turning loose. "Now, let's see what you have for us and get our business under way. We have several day's march ahead and I'll like to get some miles behind us this afternoon."
Zak likes the sound of that. The sooner they move on, the better.
He glances back at the green-eyed girl one last time before disappearing into the building's dark gloom.
* * *
As soon as the door opened, she knew something was wrong. As if the door’s motion swept the present away and opened a portal to another world. Grime and mold cover the walls with a mixture of brown and black stains. The wood floor is peeling and gray from water and time. But what catches her eye is the baby crib in front of the window. Creeping vines encroach from outside, layering the wall and the ceiling above the window in a vertical carpet of leaves. Like natural murals, vines suspend from the ceiling, hanging down over the crib, gently swinging in the slight breeze from the missing windowpanes. More vines surround the crib, insulating it, hiding whatever lies inside.
Karen's breathe catches in her throat—the smell of mold and decay is overpowering. However, without realizing it, she's halfway across the room. It's something about the crib that draws her. She's seen nothing like this before—this mixture of man-made embraced by nature.
She steps forward, the weight of her body creak
ing the floorboards. Pausing, she tries to focus beyond the vines and to the crib's interior.
Did something just move?
Her heart flutters, her hand tightens its grip on her pickax. Her breath comes in quick, sharp gasps.
A vine moves and it wasn't caused by the wind. Something within the crib pulled it.
Leaves shake again, followed closely by that tugging motion.
An airy sound fills the small room as something out of sight within the crib begins to rise into view. The sound intensifies—a tiny sigh rattling with phlegm.
The thing rises higher and Karen's eyes widen in horror.
It's a tiny fist. The fingers extend as if reaching for her.
"No," she whispers, taking another tentative step forward. "No."
The fist lowers out of view and losing sight of it causes her to dart toward it, that internal maternal instinct within her kicking in—she must save the baby, protect it.
But there's nothing there to protect. Its tiny gray body reaches for her, smelling her flesh. Its lips smack together—its yellowing eyes roll up toward her. The right arm rises again. The left arm tries to rise with it, but it's caught in the vines.
But that's not right either. Yes, the vines are all around the Tainted baby, but not really.
"Oh, God." Her hand flies to her mouth, and she takes a step back. The vines, they're not just wrapped around the baby, they penetrate the flesh up and down its tiny body and move every time it moves.
Karen screams, turns away to flee, only to run into something behind her.
* * *
Her sudden scream startles him.
Jerking his hand away, Aaron tries to take a step back, but she backs into him as she turns to flee. Before he realizes what's happened, he's lying on his back. His spear clatters across the stained wooden floor and comes to a stop against the back wall of the house. The girl scrambles away from him, another scream rises from her throat and out those perfect lips. For a moment, their bodies had been pressed together. Not in the way he would like, but still, she was right there on top of him.
He reaches for her before she can get away, but he stops, hand hovering out in front of his face.
Why is there blood on his hand?
He tries to ask her what happened, but for some reason, the only thing that comes out of his mouth is a bubbling, gurgling sound.
Then he sees it—the ax in her hand. The point is red, bloody. A chunk of meaty gristle dangles off the tip before falling onto his chest.
When he breathes out, bubbles on his neck. Curious, he touches the area, moves his fingers across the slick skin, and then slides his index finger into his skin.
His eyes widen in surprise—there's a fucking hole in his neck.
Anger washes the surprise away, flooding him with adrenaline. He tries to rise, but the girl is standing over him now. She holds the ax high. Time slows as her arm descends and for some reason a headache blossoms at the top of his head. It's one of those deep, penetrating headaches—the kind that make you throw up and wish for a dark, quiet room where you can sleep it off.
Sleep—that's what Aaron needs, blessed sleep. The girl can wait. He'll find her again soon—just as soon as he wakes. His eyes slide closed and darkness overtakes him. The girl hovers in the darkness, but that's not right either, is it? She doesn't hover, she's flying. No—he’s flying. He reaches out, tries to take her hand, to hold on to anything to keep him from being sucked into the thick darkness forming behind him. Try as he might though, the darkness swallows him whole and he never sees her, nor the light again.
16
He fumbles for her, reaching out a bloody hand before realizing he's injured. He tries to talk, but the air, instead of traveling over his vocal cords, the jagged hole through his throat redirects it from his lungs. With each heartbeat, a stream of blood shoots out and spatters the stained floor. His hands grope for the wound, fingers explore, spreading slick blood. It wasn't until his exploring fingertips find the ragged hole and sink into it that his eyes widen in realization. He won't be surviving this.
She's never watched a person die like this. Oh, she's seen people die—her grandfather's killer, Harvey. She'd struck the final blow against him, watched him fall to the ground, and then slump forward with her ax embedded deep in his skull.
This was different. To look into a person's eyes and see the light dim, to witness the soul take flight as the living body and the conscious mind separates—it's unnerving. She knows the moment it happens and realizes there's one more task at hand. She can't leave him here to turn. Lifting the ax, she swings it, striking him in the head and leaving a thumb-sized hole right at the hairline above the left temple.
It's not until that moment that she wonders why the man was here. Obviously, he's a Highwaymen, but what was he doing in here? She killed him out of surprise, but was that justified? Emotions stir within her as she continually plays out scenarios in her head to explain his sudden appearance. Most of these thoughts are dark, sinister. From what Zak has explained of this group, they are almost all bad apples.
If he'd been sneaking up on her, he was probably up to no good—and in this world, if a person is up to no good, then they are no better than the Tainted.
She cleans her ax off using the dead man's shirt and slides it into the leather sheath.
Standing, she looks back at the crib. Her initial shock at seeing the Tainted baby evaporates, replaced now by her own curiosity. Why did Zak keep it here? Why not put it out of its misery? She thinks of the Tainted toddler Chris killed for her back in Martinville. She couldn't bring herself to do it, so he stepped in and took care of the matter for her. For someone so young, she wonders if Zak felt the same way toward the baby that she’d felt toward that toddler. If that's the reason, she can forgive him. However, if there's some other morbid reason for keeping a Tainted child in a crib behind a locked door of the house, she's interested in hearing about it.
Between the baby in the crib and the body on the floor, she's done with this house. Chris wanted her to lie low, but he can't expect her to do that, not here, not now. She knows where he is—she helped him scope out the area around the grocery store. She'll start in the apartment complex across the street, and if he's not there, she'll get a read on what's going on with Zak and the Highwaymen and move on from there if needed.
* * *
"Nice," Elgin says, making a circuit around the stacks of goods near the front door. A stale wind blows in from the outside, kicking up dirt, leaves, and trash from years of looting and neglect. Along the front of the building, only one pane of glass has managed to survive the last ten years. The rest are either broken or missing completely, allowing outside elements easy access to the building's interior. Zak always has to take care, on more than one occasion, he's found wild animals lurking inside, scavenging for something to eat. They've never been hungry enough, or aggressive enough, to threaten him, but there's nothing like having the shit scared out of you when a deer almost collides with you in its attempt to vacate the premises.
Elgin continues. "You've exceeded yourself again."
Zak remains silent, eyes locked on one of Elgin's men. The man stands on the edge of the lot, just outside the northern-most window.
A new anger floods through his body. He's outside before Elgin even realizes he's gone. His voice echoes faintly behind him. "Zachariah?"
Zak doesn't answer—barely even hears him. The man he approaches looks left and right, as if searching for support or advice. "Where did you get that?" Zak demands, pointing at the fur draped across the man's shoulders.
"Wha-What?" says the man, taking a defensive step away. "Oh, this..." he says, instinctively reaching for the covering. He wears it like a cape. Two ragged, leathery straps, one white, the other gray, tie it securely around his neck.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" states the man, pulling the bulk of it around to show Zak.
The fur was familiar.
"Came across her three days ago, just outside of
town."
The coat was beautiful—a mixture of grays with black spots.
"Made a mighty nice meal too," grins the man, showing a huge gap between his yellowing teeth.
Standing a head taller than Zak, the man would have been intimidating at any other time but now. Before the man realizes it, Zak is on him. Starting low by his side, Zak's fist comes up in a blur of motion, connecting with the man's temple before he can defend himself. The strike sends an electric current up Zak's arm, but he doesn't notice. He swings his other fist but misses the mark. The man falls, striking the concrete in a lifeless heap.
Zak reaches down, unties the fur, and jerks it out from under the man.
"Someone you know?" Elgin asks, voice bleeding sarcasm as he moves past Zak. He snaps his fingers at two laughing Highwaymen. "Get him up," he says, pointing at the man on the ground. Turning back to Zak, he says, "So, are you going to tell me why you struck one of my men."
Zak holds the pelt up. He tries to speak, but he doesn't know what to say. Trixie, though a little skittish, could have been a good watchdog. He's only interacted with her that one time, but that one encounter developed the early blossoms of trust. He's not sure how close Chris and Karen were to the dog, but he's sure they will be just as upset.
"Well?" Elgin spits.
Zak lies. "Trixie was my dog. You had no right to kill her."
"We have no right?" Elgin says. "We have every right. This is a kill or be killed world. if we're hungry, we eat. If we're cold, we get a new fur. You know this."
Zak almost argues but decides it would be better for his well-being if he didn't push Elgin anymore. Besides, his mind is reeling. The man that killed Trixie had said something important but he can't quite remember what…
"Fine," Zak says, sighing. "But I'm keeping this."
Tainted Souls Page 9