by David Haynes
Still she didn’t make a sound. Just looked up at him. She hadn’t been like this initially. She’d fought him and sometimes pretty vigorously too. He didn’t mind that, in fact he was just starting to enjoy it when she stopped and became passive. Too easy. Boring.
“Food?” he said. “Meat, I want more of that meat, deer or whatever it is.” He waved his hand toward the cache. “Come on.”
She didn’t move. Just carried right on staring at him. “I said, I want something to eat. You deaf or what?” He rammed his stump into her ear. It was as good as a fist. Still she didn’t move.
He raised the rifle again.
“It’s gone,” she whispered.
Her voice was so soft, it was barely audible above the wind. She rarely spoke at all so when she did it sounded like she had a raging throat infection.
“What? What did you say?”
“You ate everything. It’s all gone.” She simply lay back down on the bed and closed her eyes.
She was lying. Of course she was. That store was stocked full. Jonesy had filled it to the brim with all kinds of delicious cuts.
“Don’t lie to me.” He jumped onto the bed and pulled her hair toward him.
“I told you there were only two left.”
She seemed to be smiling at him. He slapped her across the face.
“Now you’re going to die,” she said.
“Fuck you,” he said, hitting her again. He vaguely recalled her talking about the empty sacks. Hadn’t he looked? Yes, he remembered seeing the empty hooks. So why hadn’t he done something about it?
His dropped off the bed, clutching his head. The demented firefly was buzzing around his skull, torching, scorching and singeing the nerves. He couldn’t think straight. He knew the food was gone, he’d known it was about to run out, so why hadn’t he sent those two fuckers out hunting? No, no, he couldn’t do that, he couldn’t give them a gun. Even though he was protecting them from that grizzly, they might turn on him.
If he could shoot that bear. If he could...
He looked down at Lauren. The arm he’d smashed hung limply at the side of her body. Dead. He smiled. He understood now. He’d always been a planner, and just because he was in the middle of nowhere and some bastard had chopped his hand off didn’t mean that was going to change.
He grabbed her hair and pulled her toward him. “Get up!”
She slid without resistance across the bed. She weighed about as much as a rag doll now.
“You’re coming with me.” He pulled her off the bed. She fell heavily but said nothing. Perhaps she was numb too. Living in this hellhole, it was surprising more people weren’t dead from the head down.
Then she laughed. “You’re going to die this time, you fuck. You’re going to starve to death.”
He whipped around. “Not today, honey. Not before the rest of you anyhow.” He gave his lips a porn-star lick.
That wiped the smirk off her face. He turned around and dragged her down the stairs. She tried to stand but he just kept pulling, sending her tumbling to the foot of the stairs.
“Where are you taking me?” she asked. Blood ran from the corner of her mouth.
“To see your friends,” he answered. “We need to have a little talk, I’m afraid.”
She crawled toward him. “You said, you’d leave them alone. You said if I played along you’d let them be...”
He banged the stock down on her damaged shoulder, making her shriek. Maybe she wasn’t so numb after all. That would make the next few minutes interesting.
He grabbed the dislocated arm and pulled her toward the door.
Not only would it be interesting, it would be painful. Very painful.
32
Jonesy pressed a button on his watch and the face lit up. It was 3am.
He nudged Lisa. “It’s time to go,” he said.
Lad stretched beside them and stood up as if he understood. He watched them load the sled with the paltry rations they had managed to scavenge. Jonesy rolled up their furs and tied them down. He did the same with the tarp and then stacked the wood as tightly as he could.
“How will we light it?” Lisa asked.
He held a disposable lighter in his hand and sparked it to show her it worked. Whether it would continue to work in minus thirty was another matter, but if he kept it close to his body it should remain usable.
“You ready?” he asked her.
She nodded. Lad walked toward the harness without instruction. “You want me to go first?” Lisa asked. The shadows of the dying fire danced in the hollows of her cheeks. It gave her a skeletal appearance.
“No, I’m up first.” He smiled and grabbed her gloved hand. “We can do this,” he said. “We’ll make it. Okay?”
She smiled back and nodded.
He turned around. “Let’s go.” He took hold of Lad and then the harness.
“Going somewhere, Jonesy?”
He heard Lisa gasp a moment before he lifted his head. Olin was standing in the opening. Lauren was on the floor at his feet. Even in the gloom he could see her arm didn’t look right. It belonged to someone else. Olin lowered the ax he was holding and lifted the Winchester off his shoulder. He pointed it at Jonesy’s face.
Jonesy straightened, keeping his hand on Lad. The dog was only halfway into the harness. He could leap out of it anytime he wanted.
“We’re going,” Jonesy said. His mouth was full of cotton wool.
“No. No you’re not,” Olin replied. He swiveled the rifle until it was pointing at Lisa. “None of you are going anywhere.”
“We won’t tell anyone,” Lisa said. “We don’t even know who you are anyway. Just let us go and we’ll...”
“No!” Olin roared. “I need you here.” He turned the rifle to Jonesy again.
“Why?” Jonesy asked. “The food’s all gone and we can’t hunt. There’s nothing left.”
Olin lowered the rifle, a smile spreading over his collapsing face. “Not quite all gone.” He winked.
Jonesy opened his mouth to argue. He was confused. Apart from the scraps they had, there was nothing left. Nothing at all.
Olin kicked Lauren in the ribs. “Over there,” he barked. “Over by the block.”
Lauren tried to stand but he kicked her again. She didn’t make another effort, just crawled over to the wooden stump they used as the chopping block.
“Her arm’s busted. Ain’t that right, honey?” Olin was still grinning. “That’s the bad news. The good news, honey, is that we’ve got ourselves a field-surgery expert here.”
He held his stump in the air. “You’re good with an ax, ain’t you, Jonesy? Good with hands and axes.”
Jonesy shook his head. “What are you talking about? I did that to keep you alive. I didn’t have a choice.” Lad tried to lick Lauren’s face as she crawled past him. He whined at her, straining under Jonesy’s hand.
“Two birds with one stone. That’s what we’re dealing with here. Fix her arm, like you did mine. Fix it and then we’ll have ourselves a little cook-out on the fire over there.”
Jonesy looked at the fire and then at Lisa. The look of horror on her face was frightening. He didn’t understand. The guy was deranged. Mad as...
“Oh, Christ,” he said.
“Then maybe tomorrow I’ll have another job for you. Not much of her left but should keep me fed for a few days.” He laughed. “Hey, don’t knock it till you’ve tried it.” He paused and looked at Lauren. “Put your arm up there, honey. That’s it.”
Jonesy watched Lauren, meek as a lamb, lift the dislocated arm with her other hand and drop it onto the block.
“You’re crazy,” Jonesy said. “Both of you. I won’t do it.”
“You will or I’ll put a bullet through your wife and eat her fucking face right in front of you. Now pick up this ax and get to work.” He pushed the ax with his foot.
The gap between them wasn’t too wide. Olin could get only one shot off before he got to him. One shot and Lisa would be dead tho
ugh. That was all it took. One shot. But what if Lad went too? The dog could spring six feet in one bound. He would be on Olin before he knew what had hit him. He’d been through this before. The same thoughts, the same...
“Now!” Olin shouted.
Jonesy jerked back to reality. His legs didn’t feel like they belonged to him anymore. There was none of the wiry strength left in his body. He took his hand off Lad and stepped forward. Olin said nothing to Lisa about keeping hold of Lad. Maybe he thought the harness was fastened. It was clear the dog thought so too.
Jonesy walked across the gap and stooped to gather the ax. Olin took a step back, out of reach of any sudden upswing.
“Please,” Lisa cried out.
Olin sneered down at him. “Now you get to save me all over again, Jonesy.”
“Lauren, please. Lauren, get up.” Lisa took a step toward her.
The crack was deafening in the enclosed space, as Olin fired above her head.
“One more step and you’re on the menu, honey.”
Jonesy closed his hand around the wooden handle and lifted the ax. It had never felt so heavy in all the time he’d hefted it. As he walked back he looked at Lad, not Lisa. He couldn’t look at her. The dog was panting, tongue lolling to the side. He didn’t understand what was happening here but he was nervous. Jonesy could see it in the way he kept moving. Lad was all they had left.
As he passed the dog he stepped on part of the harness, pulling it from Lad’s shoulder. The strap fell to the ground silently. With one lead still hanging from him, he stayed where he was. Jonesy willed him to leap at Olin, to sink his teeth into what was left of the man’s face and rip him apart. Instead, the dog stood there, waiting for instruction as he always did.
He could hear Olin laughing as he approached Lauren. “Bet you didn’t take this long to do me, did you?” he shouted. His voice sounded maniacal. He was excited, enjoying it, probably looking forward to the gruesome show.
Jonesy moved around the back of the block, facing Olin. The gap was about seven, maybe eight feet; too far to run before someone – Lisa, Lad or him – was shot.
“Let us go,” he said. He didn’t know what else to say. “The three of us, we’ll just go and...”
“Shut the fuck up, Jonesy.”
“I...”
“One more word, Jonesy. Just one.” Olin wasn’t smiling now and Jonesy knew he wasn’t going to let this go. He wasn’t going to let any of them go. Not ever.
He glanced down at Lauren. She stared up at him. Her face was a puffy, swollen collage of dried blood. It was a paradox beside her emaciated body.
“Sorry,” Jonesy whispered, looking away. He hefted the ax above his head and squeezed his eyes closed for a second.
“Go, Lad! Go!” He opened his eyes, screaming the words as loud as he could.
Lad did what he did best. He pulled. This time there was nothing to pull, nothing to fasten him to the sled. He charged toward the entrance.
Olin squeezed the trigger but the shot went wide as Lad barreled into him. The dog hadn’t charged in an aggressive attack, he was merely doing what his training taught him to do. But as he hit Olin, it changed. Lad paused, looked over his shoulder as if confused at the lack of weight.
Olin tried to bring the rifle around but the dog was on him, clamping onto his forearm with his powerful jaws. He roared, staggering backward.
“Get down, Lisa!” Jonesy shouted. At the same time he flung the ax. It flipped end over end through the air, thudding into the wall just to the right of the opening. It was too heavy, and Jonesy too weak, for it to fly with any accuracy or speed. But that didn’t matter, Jonesy wasn’t necessarily aiming to hit him. He just wanted to confusion. He wanted it to appear that Olin was being attacked on all fronts. He had three shots with the rifle. One was already gone. He couldn’t kill them all with just two shots.
He charged forward. Lad had Olin on the ground, standing above him, growling, swinging Olin’s forearm from side to side, just as he did when he caught a squirrel, shaking the life out of it. Lisa was crouching behind the sled. He caught sight of the look of terror on her face, her hands up to her mouth.
“Come on!” he shouted.
Olin held Lad back with his good forearm but managed to swing the rifle around with his armpit.
“No!” Jonesy shouted.
But it was too late. The bullet exploded from the muzzle. Lad yelped and Lisa screamed. The dog leaped to the side, like there were springs in his legs. Blood dripped from a wound that Jonesy couldn’t see.
“Go, Lad!” Jonesy screamed. Lad paused, looked at him in confusion. “Run! Go!” he yelled again.
Olin crouched on one knee, leveling the rifle at the dog. As he squeezed the trigger, Jonesy hit him, knocking them both outside into the snow.
As they rolled away, Jonesy felt the sick stump of Olin’s arm batter into his face over and over again. It was like being hit with a hammer. Something cracked and collapsed inside his nose. The taste of blood was hot and bitter against the freezing snow on his face. He tried to swing his own fist but there was no leverage. His blows were weak and ineffective.
Olin fought with his whole body. Knees, elbows, his head, but most of all that great clubbing stump. The rifle had flown off toward the forest when he hit him. Not that it mattered. There were no rounds left. As they tumbled over and over, as Olin pounded on him, he caught sight of something in his other hand. The Glock.
Jonesy made a grab for it but Olin saw it and brought it down on his forehead. Scorching heat exploded across his skull, a flash of brilliant light in his eyes. He cranked a desperate elbow upward, hearing the crack of teeth and a grunt. One blow. That was all he’d managed to land. It was a fleeting victory because he knew Olin would bring the Glock to bear, shooting him in the face. His vision cleared enough to see Olin’s finger curl around the trigger. The man was straddling him.
“Get off him!” Lisa screamed. She kicked Olin’s hand away. The round buried itself in the snow beside Jonesy’s head. A terrible and shrill ring sounded in his ears. The noise reverberated throughout his entire skeleton.
Olin turned the gun toward Lisa. She just stood, open-mouthed. Jonesy grabbed Olin’s wrist, twisting it away from her.
“Run!” Jonesy shouted. But Lisa didn’t move. “Run!” he screamed again.
Olin looked down at him, grinning. “I’m going to eat her first,” he said. He brought the stump down on Jonesy’s damaged nose, grinding it down. It was hideous. It was like tree bark, slimy like a fungus-ridden tree. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t draw air as the wound pressed against his lips.
He held on as long as he could until his lungs threatened to pop like a balloon. He opened his mouth, tasting the foul, rotting flesh. He bit down as hard as he could. He bit into Olin’s wound until he felt the bone crack beneath his teeth.
Olin howled, pulling back. He staggered away, gripping the stump with his good hand. Blood ran from the wound in thick, stringy clots. Jonesy spat part of Olin into the snow. His stomach heaved but he swallowed the bile and staggered to his feet. He had to move before Olin recovered his senses.
Olin stared at the new hole in his arm. A flap of skin hung down; something new, something clean and brittle caught the faint orange glow of the fire. He screamed and raised the Glock, a shot at nothing before Jonesy hit him like a linebacker, knocking him into the treeline. They hit the bank of Sitka at the top of the slope that ran all the way down to the Tanana. There was no plan, just a will to survive. That was all.
Jonesy held the Glock hand, trying to lift it above his head, trying to prize Olin’s fingers loose, smashing it against the Sitka’s trunk. Olin held fast. As Jonesy struggled, the shadow of Olin’s face disappeared entirely. It was an illusion but the frostbite consumed every inch of skin on his face, leaving behind just a skull. A laughing, demented skull.
The bloody stump hit Jonesy on the cheek, painting his face with greasy blood. But there was less strength than there had been. It sn
apped his head to the side but he replied with an elbow of his own. And then a knee to the thigh. He heard Olin laugh, the sound squeezed between the clacking teeth of the horror movie skull. He wouldn’t give, he never would.
He closed his eyes and drove his forehead into Olin’s face. It was a move he’d seen in films and it hurt like hell. Tears streamed from his eyes immediately and he staggered backward. Blood ran from the wound he’d inflicted on himself. He couldn’t see straight.
Olin laughed again. Jonesy saw him lift his arm. Where was Lisa? He hoped she’d run, got far enough away that Olin couldn’t hurt her. He shook his head, cleared his vision. What did it feel like to be shot, he wondered? He hoped it hurt. He deserved it.
A banshee screamed. It was Lauren. She ran past him, holding something high above her head. Olin fired but not at Jonesy, he fired at her. She flinched, missed a step but her momentum carried her forward. She swung the ax. Olin ducked, dodging to the side but not quick enough. The blade passed through his jacket, not sinking into his flesh, but shaving a slice from his arm. The ax head stuck in the tree, a length of red fabric attached to it.
Olin staggered back, fired another shot into the sky and then toppled over the bank. There was a crack of snapping limbs, a roar and then the world was strangely silent. A cacophonous din had blared in Jonesy’s head since Olin came into the shed and found them. Now there was just the wind bending the trees.
He ran to Lisa. She was standing perfectly still, staring at Lauren, at where Olin had just been.
“I thought...I thought...” she muttered.
He grabbed her hand, pulling her to him. “Lad? Where’s Lad?”
She shook her head.
“He’s in the shed,” Lauren called from behind.
Jonesy turned and walked over to her. She was staring down into the abyss. “He’s not dead,” she said.
Jonesy didn’t care. All he knew was that she had saved him, saved them both. He stared down the slope. There was no sign of Olin but that didn’t mean a thing. It was pitch black down there and he couldn’t focus anyway. The mother of all headaches was smashing her way through his brain with a brick in each hand.