“Bring them out,” Beatrice says, leaning to the side and shouting toward the smoking med center.
Herb is the first to be pushed out, dragged by four men. Big men. Herb doesn’t put up a fight. He never has and I envy him for that. Putting up a fight just gets you where I’m at. Next is Norm. He smiles as he sees me, then shakes his head as if to say, Oh, here we go again, little brother. I find myself smiling back despite not feeling smiley at all.
Then it’s Abby. She is weak. Her face is pale. The medicine I have for her is in the Hummer I left somewhere in the dense woods…or gone, thanks to the asshole Klein. God, I’m so stupid. She doesn’t smile when she sees me. She seems too out of it for that. It hurts. I can’t see her like that.
My heart really starts to hammer my chest because Darlene doesn’t immediately follow. I saw her before they knocked me out. At least, I think I did. Was it a hallucination?
“Don’t worry,” Norm shouts. “She’s in there, Jack. She’s okay!” He knows me so well. I feel better despite my circumstances. But if I could just see her…
Then, the man dragging my older brother backhands him. Norm’s head snaps to the left. I see a stream of blood run from his nose.
“How cute,” Beatrice says. “It’s such a shame.” She titters and then the titters turn to cackles, the cackles of a witch. The more I look at her, the more she turns into one. Her skin is already a pukish green. I wonder if that is an effect of eating human meat.
Darlene finally comes out and my heart speeds up faster. Thank God. That’s all I need to feel hope. She is a little bloody but otherwise beautiful. “Jack!” she screams. I almost scream back, almost jump up and run to her, but I can’t because the men holding her are already rough and I don’t want to risk them hurting Darlene any more. But she bucks and kicks, puts up a good fight, actually. They lift her off the ground. “Let go of me, you assholes!” she says.
They don’t and she just keeps on fighting.
Ah, that’s my girl. I missed her.
“Line them up,” Beatrice says.
The men listen to her.
“Line them up right in front of our residential celebrity,” she says. She talks like an educated woman, though from one look at her, you wouldn’t think that’s the case.
Herb is the first to be put in line, then Darlene, Norm, and Abby. Abby can barely stay up by herself. The bandage around her stump is slick with blood. For a second, I’m brought back to Eden. Instead of a dirt arena and a cage that comes up from the ground full of zombies, I’m surrounded by cannibals and the ruined remains of a place I might’ve once been able to call home. This hurts me more than I care to admit.
“Abby!” I say, seeing her eyes roll to the back of her head. Oh shit, not good. I’ve seen that look before. She has one foot in Death’s doorway. I have to help her. I have to stop this.
Beatrice starts chuckling.
“Help her!” Darlene shrieks. “You bastards! You’re killing her!”
“That’s the point, sweetheart,” one of the men says. He pats her on the head. He is dressed in a dirty jean jacket and a pair of denim pants almost the exact same shade.
“Don’t let them move,” Beatrice says.
I don’t think any one of them can move. They are too defeated. I feel their pain. My eyes are scanning for a way out of this. I’m finding nothing and something tells me this woman isn’t overly cocky like Spike or Butch Hazard were. She’s not going to let me buy some time. That’s what not having testicles will do to you. It makes you smarter, more levelheaded.
“What do you want?” I say. I realize my body is shaking both with anger and fear but mostly fear. “If you’re going to kill me then do it!”
Beatrice grins with her hole-y smile. “I fully intend to do that, Jack Jupiter.” She titters again. It’s like nails on a chalkboard. “Oh, I intend to kill you all. It’s such a shame, really.” She does a three-sixty degree spin, her arms out. “This place was so…pleasant, and we had to ransack it just to find you.” Her face loses all semblance of happiness. “You can imagine how disappointed I was to find out you had left. So disappointed, in fact, I had to start these fires and hope you’d see the smoke from D.C. It was a long shot, I know, but,” she leans down right in front of my face, her breath is horrendous, I don’t think she knows what a toothbrush is, “here we are,” she finishes. I’d never punch a woman, but I’d punch her if my hands weren’t tied behind my back.
With a grimy hand, she pinches my cheek much the same way my grandmother used to. I shudder at her clamminess.
“I’m so glad we got to meet. I’ve heard the stories. You’ve become quite famous in the short span of just a week. More famous than Blade was,” she says.
Blade, now there’s a blast from the past. The fiancé-groping son of a bitch. I wish I had a gun, I’d do to this wench what I did to him in a heartbeat. Screw morality.
Instead, I just say, “If you’re going to kill me, just kill me. Beating around the bush never works out for the bad guys.”
She smiles wider. “Not yet,” she says. “You look like a man who is ready to die.” She turns to Abby, Darlene, Norm, and Herb in line. “But they don’t,” she says.
All of a sudden, I can’t swallow. My throat is dryer than the Mojave Desert. “Leave them out of this,” I say. “This is between you and I.”
She shakes her head, still smiling. “No, no, no, Jack. In the old world, accomplices get punished too, remember?”
“This isn’t the old world,” I say.
“No, it’s not. You’re right,” she says. “That’s why the whole village was punished.”
You piece of shit That was between you and me, not the village.
The men standing guard over my family all grin. They loved it, loved every minute of murder and destruction. This ain’t the old world, that’s for sure.
She pulls a gun free from the back of her pants. It’s a shiny pistol, something from the village’s armory, no doubt. Her other hand digs into the front of her pocket, pulls something small and white from it. It takes me a moment to realize that it’s a six-sided die. “Now we are going to have some fun,” she says.
The men behind my family lose their smiles. They seem to go the color of ash. One even looks like he’s going to throw up. Norm shakes his head. I know what he must be thinking because I’m thinking the same thing. It’s always the same with these villains. They always want to turn death into a game. I think you must get bored when you’re evil, when you don’t live by any morals. It’s a sad fact of the apocalyptic life, I’m afraid. Then again, without morals, you don’t have guilt. No guilt like the guilt I’m feeling right now as I look around the ruined remains of the village, as I look at my family on their knees with their hands tied behind their backs and pain written on their faces. This is all my fault. So many things had to happen for me to get in this position. So many bad things.
I should’ve killed Froggy, I should’ve never went to D.C., I should’ve never saved Klein.
I should’ve stayed with Darlene, with the rest of my family when they needed me the most.
Shoulda, woulda, coulda, my mind says and I start thinking of Mother — not my mother, but the woman who was the leader of this village and who is undoubtedly dead somewhere, buried in the rubble.
Beatrice scans the crowd. None of her followers are meeting her eyes. The hand holding the die sweeps over them. There’s only about twenty cannibals surrounding us, but now they seem to collapse inwardly on themselves. It reminds me of my college days where the professor would call on someone who didn’t volunteer to answer a question no one knew the answer to.
“Matthew and Florence,” Beatrice says.
The crowd lets out a collective sigh and seem to stand up straighter — well, all of those except for a young woman and an older man. Those two — and you can pick them out from the crowd with ease because everyone has stepped away from them like they’re carrying some disease or something — are still looking down at their
feet.
“Please step forward,” Beatrice says, “and fall in line with those on trial.”
Matthew looks up. There is blood on his face. I don’t think it is his blood. The girl follows behind him. There’s a wild look about her, almost exotic.
“The name of the game is called Death Roll,” Beatrice says. “I give each participant a number one through six, I roll, whoever’s number the die lands on gets a bullet. Understand, Jack?”
I don’t nod or say anything. Fuck this woman. Fuck them all.
“Matthew, insert yourself between the big black man and the blonde woman. Florence, please go to the front end. You will be number one,” she points to Darlene, “you’ll be number two,” then she continues on down the line. I don’t care about numbers one and three.
Beatrice smiles. “The rules of the game are simple.”
Someone in the crowd whistles. Another person hoots.
“And, Jack, believe me, it is so fun,” Beatrice says.
Darlene looks me dead in the eyes. Her lips tremble, cheeks sag. My heart trembles in response.
Beatrice shakes the die in her hands, leans down closer to me, and says, “Would you like to blow on them for luck?”
I keep my mouth closed, my jaw clamped.
If I’m going to do something, I better do it fast.
Six
The die hangs in the air for what seems like much longer than the rope hung in the air back on the overpass in Washington D.C.; but like all things on this world, what goes up, must come down.
It lands in the dirt, sending a small cloud up to cover it. I’m staring at the dust, trying to see the black dots on the white cube.
Please, God, please, don’t be any of their numbers. Please.
Beatrice bends down and waves her hand at the dust. It seems that no one is breathing, certainly not me.
“Three!” she shouts when the dust clears.
I look up at the line of people in front of me. Number three is the older man named Matthew.
No way she kills him. This woman is just bluffing, all good gamblers are professional bluffers.
She pockets the die and opens the pistol’s cylinder. From where I’m at, on my knees, I see there’s four bullets loaded.
Matthew isn’t looking up. He’s looking at the dirt in front of him, his hands clasped at his waist.
“Well, Matthew,” Beatrice says, “you lose…or do you win?”
The crowd laughs, deep, belly-shaking laughs that might even rival Herb’s. The crowd’s laughter seems forced, though, as if this is a common phrase Beatrice uses when she plays this game. It’s almost as if it’s staged. I don’t know if that pisses me off more or if it frightens me to the point of no longer being able to feel.
“Please step forward,” she says.
Matthew doesn’t listen. He just goes on staring at the dirt. I see tears spill from the corners of his eyes, start running down the deep cracks and crevasses of his wrinkled, blood-speckled flesh.
“Matthew,” Beatrice says again, sounding like a chastising authority figure.
My skin is starting to crawl. I’m itching all over, but I can’t scratch with my hands behind my back. The luck of the roll has bought us time yet it’s gotten me nowhere. I’m still here, still staring death in the form of this hillbilly woman right in the face.
Matthew finally starts moving. I can’t believe it, but I’m feeling bad for him. Darlene must be too, because her lips are slightly parted and her eyes are all quivery like she’s about to cry. Ironic, isn’t it? One of the men who helped do this to the village is about to get what he deserves and here we are shedding tears for him.
I guess that’s why we’re the good guys and the bastards standing around us are the bad guys.
Matthew rises slowly. The men behind him are chuckling now.
Norm looks on with a twisted smile on his face. I’m glad he’s back to his usual self, but I’d be gladder if he had an idea on how to get out of this sticky situation and he put that plan into action. Because right now, I’m blank. Beatrice wasn’t stupid enough to untie me or challenge me to a shootout.
One of the men reaches out and pushes Matthew forward. It doesn’t look like he uses much force, but Matthew falls into the dirt on his knees, slides, and winds up on his stomach. He doesn’t move. He looks dead already.
“Now, Matthew, please get up,” Beatrice says.
Her voice is sickening sweet. It both unnerves and pisses me off behind belief. My hands start working at the thick rope tied around my wrist. Then something smacks me in the back of the head, causing my vision to go fuzzy.
“Quit it,” a man says from behind me. Dimly, out of the corner of my eye, I see him standing over me with his rifle and I instantly know what has hit me.
Beatrice ignores it, or she isn’t paying attention to me. She’s too invested in Matthew. This game must mean a lot to her. She’s practically staring daggers at him.
When he doesn’t move, Beatrice loses that icy-calm demeanor and bends down, grabbing him by the hair. “Stand up!” she shouts.
Her voice is harsh. The sickening sweet charm has sloughed off like a zombie’s flesh from its bone. My skin starts crawling again. She’s strong, too. Matthew bounces from the ground as easily as if he was made out of straw and not meat. Now he’s standing with his shoulders stooped, his eyes still downcast at the ground. Dirt streaks the gray hair on his face.
She’s not going to do it. There’s no way. Matthew is one of her own and it’s not like they have big numbers. There might only be about twenty of them, not thousands.
But she pulls the gun free and presses it up under Matthew’s chin.
He whimpers something I can’t understand. It sounds like “please,” but who knows? Whatever else he is going to say after that is cut off by the sound of the gunshot. It’s an explosion this close. My ears thrum. Eyes shut.
When I open them, Matthew is in the process of falling to the dirt. A hole is in his head, blood spouting from it. His face is a twisted grin. His eyes are lifeless, coated with red. Then he falls and I’m faintly aware of Darlene and Herb shrieking while the rest of the crowd laughs and cheers and claps. I’ve met the true monsters of this world. Not the zombies, but the cannibals.
“Time for round two,” Beatrice says.
Seven
“You’re sick! You’re fucked up!” Darlene shouts.
Beatrice ignores her, smiling. She rattles the die in her half-closed fist then throws it on the blood-soaked dirt. It splashes.
I’m really shaking now.
I smell Matthew’s death, if you can do such a thing.
The die bounces, spins through the air. Everyone is looking on. My group and I wait, holding our breath. It’s so smeared with blood and dirt, I can’t see the number. Beatrice can’t either. She walks over to it, bends down, and brushes it gently with the back of a finger.
“Six!” she shouts.
My stomach does this thing where it feels like it’s simultaneously on fire and bottoming out. The woman who would be number one looks up and smiles. She’s survived. But one of my own hasn’t. The pain going through my body is mental, I know, but it’s debilitating. I can’t move. I can’t breathe. I’m stuck.
Abby is too out of it to realize her number’s been called. Her eyelids flutter. Lips smack.
“Step right up, cutie!” Beatrice says. I might vomit. I swear to God, I might puke.
Abby doesn’t step right up; she can’t.
“Leave her alone!” Darlene shouts. “Leave her alone! She’s sick!”
Now Beatrice notices Darlene. She snaps her head in her direction, snarling and holding the gun up right at her face. “Don’t make me roll for a bonus round,” she says.
I’m struggling now, trying to break my own wrists so I can slide out of the ropes and having no luck. It’s doing nothing but burning my skin.
“Bring her to me,” Beatrice says. She flips the cylinder of the gun out — a weird habit — then spins it.<
br />
The man behind Abby lifts her up and Abby doesn’t struggle at all. In fact, she looks like a rag doll. I’m still trying to shimmy my way out and it’s still not working.
“Wait,” I say.
I’ll have to talk my way out of this.
Beatrice turns to me. “Yes, Jack?”
“I challenge you to…to a duel?” I say it more like a question. Not confident. Not suave. Not at all.
Beatrice grins. “I’m afraid not, Jack. I don’t let my hubris get the best of me. I’m no Spike and I’m certainly no Blade.”
Damn her for being logical.
Abby is put back on her knees and a skinny tweaker-looking motherfucker holds her still. There’s a fire burning in my chest and a cold finger crawling up my spine. I hate it. I hate this.
Beatrice holds the gun on Abby’s forehead. This rouses Abby a bit. Her eyes flutter open again, but this time they stay open and they get bigger. I almost wish she wouldn’t have come to the realization of what is happening to her…of what is going to happen.
“Make sure he keeps his eyes open,” Beatrice says, then titters.
What? I think and then someone is sticking their filthy sausage fingers on my face as I’m turning my head and trying to shake them off without much luck. My eyes start burning. I scream out for them to stop.
Again, no luck.
“P-Please,” Abby says.
And I really hope that’s not her last words.
All of a sudden, it’s really quiet outside. It’s like no one is even breathing. It’s like the Woodhaven Rec Center when the power went out and this terrible reckoning came down upon us. Just quiet. Pure quiet. It’s now that I realize what is missing and it’s the gunshots intermittently bursting off in the background, the sounds of the cannibals keeping the zombies at bay. Maybe they’ve killed them all, but I doubt it.
Then, something else.
A deep rumbling. The sounds of snapping branches, of leaves rustling.
A revving engine.
Eight
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