Tainted Souls

by T J Christian

  "First, you'll chew this." She holds out her hand. In it are what appears to be tiny leaves.

  "What the hell is that? Poison?"

  Instead of answering, she takes a pinch from her palm, places it on her tongue so he can see it, then she chews before swallowing. "It's mint," she says, sticking out her tongue to show she'd actually swallowed. "It's for your god-awful breath. If you're going to be anywhere around me, you're going to either take that or I will throw up on you."

  He looks down at her naked body while he rubs his hand over the bulge in his pants. Instead of answering, he moves toward her, takes the remaining pinch of mint, and chews it for several seconds.

  "Fine," he says. "What next?"

  "When you do it...you do it quickly and get out. I don't want to have to smell you any longer than necessary."

  "Deal. Anything else?" he asks, unzipping his pants, revealing his cock, eyes studying her face for a reaction.

  Helen tries to remain calm, face neutral—while inside, her adrenaline kicks hard into overdrive. She could be up and off the cot in an instant, push him down while his feet are tangled in his pants, grab the spear leaning in the far corner, and jab it through his skull.

  She remains on the cot though, resigned to her newly gained status as Highwayman doctor and whore to Elgin. Once she's settled in, maybe Elgin will become more comfortable and drop his guard. She can't rush into brash decisions without having a clearly defined exit strategy.

  "Anything else," he asks again. She looks him over. Besides the ripeness of his midsection (which is more than likely because of the lack of a nutritional food source) he's a well-built man. In any other situation, she might have enjoyed his company. Hell, if he'd have been half-way decent to her, she eventually would have opened her legs for him anyway. Her eyes settle on his cock. It stands at attention, rising with every heartbeat—to say she wasn't impressed by its size would be a lie.

  "Yes," she says, but holds up a finger stop him again. There was one more thing. As if to explain away the reason she'd been staring at his dick for so long, she says, "If you put that thing anywhere near my face and I'll bite it off."

  * * *

  Now here he was again, waiting for her in the darkness and today of all days, she was tired, exhausted, and in no way felt up to be a receptacle for his spunk.

  "Do I need to get my man, Bear in here? He might crush you to death, but hell, there's other, fresher meat to be had than an old, washed-up bitch like you."

  She's anything but old. Not that she'd been keeping count, but she'd be approaching her thirty-fifth birthday soon.

  Sighing, she lies back on the cot. Instead of pressing an argument, she asks with genuine curiosity, "Why do you want to fuck me instead of the younger women? You can have any of them you want."

  "Who says I'm not?" he responds, too quickly. She can hear the lie.

  She presses, "I'm serious...I'd like to know."

  He rises from the chair in which he'd been sitting and starts removing his shirt. "I don't know. There was just something about you I liked from the start. Even if you weren't a doctor, I told my men to let you live."

  He pauses while undressing and his mouth clamps shut. The pause is brief, but it's enough that she notices, even in the dimly lit room. Apparently, that was information he'd never intended on sharing.

  He tugs at his jeans and when he straightens up to face her, his shoulders square and a lusting determination fills his eyes. Whatever that moment had been—that period of openness, of vulnerability—slams shut. She feels the change like that first north wind bringing the hint of winter. Goosebumps rise on her arms and she immediately tenses, waiting for a blow or a verbal reprimand.

  He doesn't strike her—not with his fist, at least.

  Sneering down at her, he barks, "Open up bitch!"

  She flinches. He should have just hit her.

  * * *

  "The doctor," Zak demands. "Where is she?"

  He'd just entered Number One and approached the first person he'd seen. He was a burly man about the size of a bear, but Zak didn't let that affect him. With these people, you present authority and ask questions before anyone can ask them of you. The big man's eyes flitter up and he looks down the hallway over Zak's shoulder.

  Zak nudges the big man with his spear. "Speak up, man...I can't hear you."

  The big man had been mumbling, as if trying to work out the answer in his head before his mouth could formulate the words. "Center corridor, about half-way down. She's on the right...room one-oh-eight."

  "Thank you," Zak says, limping away, still using his spear for a crutch. He turns his head and calls over his shoulder, "You can go back to sleep now."

  Zak turns away and continues to the first intersection. It's not until he rounds the corner and is out of the big man's view before he takes a breath. The day is young, so there's not much activity. Zak never knew the Highwaymen for being morning people, but that doesn't mean they weren't any walking the corridors—there were plenty—they just acted as if they were still half asleep. For the most part, they ignored him—never even making eye contact.

  In almost no time at all, he stands at the door with a hand-painted 108. Holding up his hand, he pauses, wondering if he should knock before going in, or just barge right in? He's not sure she's even here right now.

  * * *

  Helen wishes Elgin would hurry the fuck up. He's taking longer than normal and she's to the point she can't stand the smell of him. His sweat—it doesn't smell like the salty musk she's used to. His smell is different—he smells like the dead.

  Thrusting into her, his back arches, face to the ceiling. His eyes close as release nears. Finally, she thinks, feeling his member swell inside her—it's almost over.

  She looks toward the exit, thinking about what's beyond—thinking about freedom—when she notices a lot more light slipping through around the door than normal. Then she realizes what's happening. Someone is opening the door.

  Nervously, she glances at Elgin. His rhythm increases, head held high, eyes still closed. At the door, someone slips inside. Light profiles his features for only a moment before the door shuts quietly behind him.

  She recognizes him. It's the boy—and if he's here, where's Audrey?

  Tensing, she's just about to scream when, simultaneously, the boy puts a finger to his mouth to keep her quiet as Elgin says, "Oh, you like that, huh?"

  Elgin opens his eyes, looks down at her as his thrusting intensifies. She meets his stare. If she's reading the situation correctly, the boy is here to help her. Lifting her legs, she wraps them around Elgin's waste.

  He looks at her in surprise, but never breaks his rhythm. If anything, her sudden active participation causes him to react accordingly.

  "That's it," she says, gritting her teeth.

  "Fuck!" he screams, ramming himself into her. "Fuck, fuck, fuck..."

  He thrusts for the last time, lifting his head to the ceiling, but no sound escapes his lips—just the point of a spear and blood—a lot of blood.

  Helen shoves Elgin's body off her. As it slides to the floor, the boy extracts the spear from the back of his head. When she stands, she puts a finger in his face and says, "If you ever mention this to Audrey, I'll kill you."

  * * *

  Zak puts his fingers to his mouth, makes a twisting motion, and then throws away an imaginary key.

  "Good," Helen says, spitting blood out of her mouth and blowing it out of her nose. She's covered in it. "Now, there's no fucking mirror in here and barely any light," She looks at him seriously. "I need you to help me get all this blood cleaned off."

  Zak takes his backpack off and sets it on the ground between his feet. Rummaging through a side pocket, he extracts a small plastic case, unscrews the lid, and pulls out a fresh match. There are two candles in the room and he lights them both. "Better?" he asks.

  "Yes," she says, searching through a stack of folded laundry on a shelf. Moving to the sink, she swipes at the handle, tu
rning on the water. "I'm Helen," she says, motioning him over.

  Reluctantly, he moves toward her. She's still very naked and even with the blood covering most of her upper body, he can't help but stare. "I'm Z-Zak."

  "Nice to meet you, Zak. Now put that spear in the corner with the other one and get over here and help me wash my hair. I assume you have a plan to get out of here?"

  He steps up beside her and she bends over the sink, letting her hair fall into the weak stream of water.

  "Kind of," he admits.

  She cocks her head, looking up at him out of the corner of her right eye. "Kind of? I hope you've got something better than that?"

  "It depends," he says, cupping water in his hands and dumping it on the back of her head. "Do you know Karen? They took her from my town when they were picking up supplies. Is she still alive?"

  "Yes...she's alive."

  "Do you know where she is?"

  Mouth full of water, Helen nods instead of answering.

  "Good," Zak says, voice taking on a note of excitement. "Let's finish getting you cleaned up. I do have a plan and I’m ready to get it started. The sooner I get away from this place the better.”

  Helen spits pinkish water into the basin. “I couldn’t agree more.”

  22

  "Look at this place," Helen says, glancing from the can to the interior of the complex. "It'll go up in minutes."

  Zak hears the concern in her voice and he can't believe she's going all doctor on him now—right at the verge of rescue.

  "Listen," he whispers. "These people made their bed." He points to the upper reaches, the guts of the Number One complex. "The elders live right up there. No matter what you might think, the people elected them and put them in power. They support every raid, every death, everything!" He tries to keep his voice low, but her sudden compassion for the Highwaymen was causing him to lose his cool. He continues, "Besides, most of them will get out."

  "I don't know," she says, looking around the complex. A couple approaches and passes them by without so much as a second glance.

  "I'll tell you what...I'll set off a warning before I light it up. That'll give them a chance to get out."

  "I still don't like it, but I understand...we need a distraction." Holding on to the lid, she hands the can over.

  "Okay," he says, taking it from her. "Follow me."

  They walk down the central hallway, heading toward the west exit, all the while, Zak pours a thin line of black powder along the base of the interior-most wall. Near their exit, a set of stairs leads to the second floor. Can nearly empty, Zak pours the remaining contents beneath the bottom step. Glancing back into the gloomy alley, he takes a deep breath and prepares to light a match. He had three more cans at the house in Carson's Crossing, but he only brought the single can—it should be enough.

  Just as he's about to light the match, the door beside them opens, exposing a rectangle of bright sunlight. A shadow steps into the doorway, blocking their way.

  It's the large man Zak encountered a little while ago. Back-lit by daylight, Zak couldn't see his features—but he could hear the surprise in his voice.

  "Doctor? What are you doing here?" He takes a tentative step inside and looks around the immediate vicinity. "Where's Elgin?" He asks, gaze settling on Zak. "And who are you?"

  Helen touches Zak's shoulder and whispers, "Do it. Now."

  She doesn't have to tell him twice. He runs the match down the rough wood wall beside him, causing it to ignite.

  "What the..."

  But that's all the big man could get out. Helen, using Elgin's spear, runs the business end into the big man's stomach, driving him onto the stairs. Just as he falls backward, Helen slips outside and Zak drops the match into the line of gunpowder. It ignites and a blue-tinged flame crawls in two directions—toward the stairs and back down the central corridor.

  It takes several seconds for the pain to register, but when it does, the big man howls. As Zak makes for the exit, the popping flames crawling toward the pile at the bottom of the steps catches the man's trousers on fire. His cries reach another level as his pants ignite and his skin begins to sizzle and cook.

  "Fire!" Zak shouts, just before ducking outside. He'd meant to sound off a warning first, just before lighting the gunpowder, but the big man had put a wrinkle in that plan.

  Within seconds, more shouts of “fire” echo throughout the complex. People pour from the exits all along the building’s length. Then others join from other complexes. Before Zak and Helen can make it very far, there's already a chain of people with buckets, carrying water to a fire that's already an inferno.

  Smoke billows upward, casting a shadow of darkness over them. Helen risks a glance back. "Holy shit," she says, her voice croaking with emotion. It's not the fire that draws this response—it's the screams.

  * * *

  The word resonates in his mind. Fire—it's the single most destructive force he can imagine, and he's deathly afraid of it. Not the fire itself, but what it can do to his entire world—it can destroy everything in minutes.

  As Simon steps outside and runs toward the burning building, a shadow of smoke already casts its impression on the world around him. The column of black clouds reaches the sky like a giant arrow, announcing to all the dead, we're right here.

  He turns west, looking toward the tree line closest to him. Already, the dead are spilling into the clearing, sparked by the visual announcement of the column of smoke and by the constant screams and shouts in and around Number One.

  He wonders where Elgin is, but a heavy rock seems to descend into his guts—he already knows. It's early morning. Elgin would have been visiting the doctor, deep in the bowels of the flaming complex.

  He's halfway there when he slows and comes to a stop, watching the people as they run to and from the burning building. Eyes drawn upward, he sees a lone figure on top of the overpass.

  The lookout. A young man named Rodney. He moves from one side to the other, trying to find a way down the slope of the old road. But through cracks in the concrete, flames emerge, shoot into the air and block his way, trapping him two hundred feet into the air.

  Simon takes a step in Rodney's direction even though he knows there's nothing he can do. He watches Rodney move to the edge, to the twisted guardrail that, at one time, deterred automobiles from flying off the side. Now, it's just a ledge with no barrier to stop anyone from falling.

  Or jumping.

  "No," Simon whispers, but it's too late. There's nothing he can do. Rodney jumps.

  "Son of a bitch!" He starts running again. If this wasn't an accident, he vows to kill the person who did it—kill them nice and slow, inflicting as much pain as possible. Hell, he might even cut off a pound of flesh, cook it up with some bacon grease, and eat it right in front of them.

  He grins. No, he'll make them eat it.

  A male voice catches his ear, causing him to slow and stop. He recognizes it, but it’s not a voice associated with anyone here.

  Turning in a circle, he tries to focus through the throng of people rushing back and forth. He knows that voice.

  It hits him just as he catches sight of him. He's running in the direction Simon had just come from, back toward the girl he'd taken from Carson's Crossing.

  As if by magic, a break in the crowd gives him a direct line-of-sight back toward the other complex. Standing outside is the girl, Karen. Confusion masks her face as she watches the surrounding chaos.

  He realizes his mistake then—at the announcement of the fire, he'd left the room, left her door open, and left his weapon. She'd taken advantage of all these mistakes.

  A Hunter passes next to Simon and he reaches out, grabs his arm, and brings him to a stop.

  "Round up as many Hunter's as you can and meet me at Number Four in two minutes. This fire wasn't an accident and I've spotted the culprits."

  "Yes, sir," says the man, the look on his face immediately changing from one of panic to one of hatred and determination.


  "Hurry," Simon says, knowing it's unnecessary but saying it anyway.

  * * *

  "Damn it," Zak says, pulling Helen's hand and drawing her to the side. He'd recognized Simon while he was still a few feet away and hopefully ducked away before being spotted by the Highwayman. "Shit, shit, shit..." he says, looking back through the mass of people. Simon had stopped and was turning, sweeping his gaze in the direction Zak and Helen ran.

  "Hurry," he urges, forcing himself to turn away and focusing on what's forward and not back. If Simon saw him, he's already gathering reinforcement. Zak counted on this—knew it was inevitable. Lucky for them, he sees Karen ahead, already standing outside the building.

  Her eyes widen in surprise when he approaches. "What's going on?" she asks.

  "No time for questions...we've got to go. Simon saw us and he's probably gathering Hunters as we speak." He nudges her in the direction opposite the fire. "Go...run." He points with the spear. "Chris and Audrey are waiting to the north."

  At the mention of Chris's name, Karen kicks it into high gear, sprinting as quickly as possible and leaving the other two behind. Despite the chaos around them and the raging inferno behind them, Zak can't help but feel a little surprised at her speed. He always thought he was swift on his feet, but Karen might just beat him if they were ever in a foot race.

  "Over here," he says, diverting them across a median to the other side of the highway—the side of the road that would bring them closest to Chris and Audrey.

  Shouts call out behind them—and these have nothing to do with the fire.

  The Highwaymen are on the way.

  * * *

  Something crunches the leaves behind them. Audrey stands, turns, and thrusts the tip of her lance through a Tainted's head. All around them, they can hear the crunching of leaves and breaking of twigs.

  She kneels back down beside Chris. "That smoke will draw the...what did you call them?"