The Human Zoo (Book 4): The Ruin Nation

by Wood, Kolin

  “Keep your eyes peeled,” Juliana called back, “for anything we can eat. But don’t go off alone.”

  The comment caused his hands to throb.

  Something, a shadow he thought, moved in the corner of his eye, and John stopped walking. The house was the same generic build and composition as the multitude of others that lined the streets of the city. A town house, probably three stories high with rotten shutters covering what remained of the windows. The front door, still intact, hung open.

  “What is it?” Becca said, stopping next to him. Sweat peppered her brow.

  John shook his head. “I’m not sure. I think I saw somebody stood over there.”

  Juliana pushed on. “C’mon, you two. No time to stop. We need to clear the city before dark.”

  Becca looked at the house, then back at him. “I don’t see anything there, John.”

  John took one final look, and nodded. His eyes could easily be playing tricks on him, given how tired he was. “No, maybe not.”

  They carried on walking.

  The street stretched away from them into the distance. John felt a spike of adrenaline as he considered the number of miles still to travel. His legs were already heavy and weighing him down as if he were growing roots in the soles of his feet.

  Suddenly, Juliana stopped. She raised her arm and then lifted the gun to her shoulder. Following her lead, Becca slid the cross bow from her back and loaded a bolt into the groove. John looked down at his hands.

  Something was blocking the route up ahead. It was a chair, positioned in the very centre of the road. On it, facing in the other direction, sat a person wearing a black, wide-brimmed hat and a long, tattered-looking, shiny red jacket. The tails of the jacket moved in the breeze caused by the funnel effect of the street.

  Squinting against the drive of fine grit which blew into their faces, the three of them cautiously approached the chair, Juliana as usual, strode out in front.

  “Put your hands up where I can see ‘em!” she yelled, her gun trained on the seated person’s back.

  But the occupier of the chair did not move.

  They were now only a few metres away. Juliana turned and waved her hand towards the floor, signalling for them to stop. John frowned but when Becca laid a warm hand on his arm, he reluctantly did as instructed.

  “I said… raise your fucking hands!”

  Still the person in the chair did not move.

  Juliana was now stood right behind them, the barrel of the gun only inches away from the back of their head. She pressed it in, knocking the hat clean away to reveal the shiny plastic dome of a mannequin.

  “What the hell?”

  The first time John knew that somebody had crept up on him was when he felt the sting to the back of his skull and the rough assault of asphalt on his knees and elbows. He reeled from the blow, crying out at the pain from his torn hands as they scuffed the tarmac. Becca’s crossbow clattered to the floor near his face.

  “Hello, Johnny boy.”

  Immediately, John recognised the voice. Dread flushed through him.

  Frank.

  Behind him, Juliana spun on her heal, gun raised. “Who the fuck are you?”

  The responding laugh was deep and coarse, like a pot-holed desert road. Frank whistled. “Quite the ladies’ man, aint’cha, John. Well, aren’t you gonna introduce us?”

  John looked up from the road. Frank stood behind Becca, his face partially hidden behind the frizz of her red hair. In his right hand he held onto a ligature of some kind, which he had looped around Becca’s neck so tight that it had already drawn blood. Becca’s fingers groped for the noose as her mouth flapped open and shut, desperate to draw breath. Her eyes, wide and startled, begged him for help.

  “Let her go, motherfucker!” Juliana shouted, advancing a few steps, gun straight and true.

  Another laugh. “Well, come on, Johnny Boy! Who’s the old bint with the big balls?”

  Juliana took another step. She was now stood right over the top of John. The shadow of the gun cut across him like an arrow.

  “Uh, uh, uh! Take one more step and I’ll pull this noose so tight you gonna see what this bitch ate for breakfast.” Frank spat, playing his tongue along his bottom lip. “Drop the gun.”

  Juliana didn’t move. Her body looked stiff and rigid. The muscles in her cheeks flexed as she clenched her teeth together.

  “Drop it!”

  John looked up at his mother. Oily hair hung over her face. Her top lip had curled up into a hateful snarl, making her look ugly. For just a moment in time he thought that she might simply pull the trigger.

  “Mum,” he said, his voice timid and weak sounding.

  But Juliana did not flinch, or look up from the gun.

  From behind his human shield, Frank started to laugh. “Mum? Oh, Johnny Boy, as if this day couldn’t get any better!”

  By now, Becca’s face had turned a purple-blueish colour. Her hands groped behind her head, pulling frantically on Frank’s arms.

  “Mum!” John shouted.

  This time she flicked her eyes down to look at him, imploring him not to make her give away their only edge.

  “Tick tock, Mum.” Frank said, laughing. “How much is your daughter-in-law worth to ya?

  With a look like she might scream, Juliana suddenly conceded. She lowered the barrel of the gun so that it was pointing at the floor.

  Relieved but defeated, John hung his head.

  “Drop it.”

  Steel hit concrete.

  “That’s good. Now, step away from it. Nice and slow. You too, Johnny Boy.”

  John felt his mother grip him under the armpit. His thigh muscles burned as he was hauled to his feet. The pair then took several steps backward toward the dummy in the chair.

  “Let her go!” This time it was Juliana who shouted.

  Becca’s eyes rolled in their sockets as Frank half-pushed, half-dragged her over to the discarded weapon. When he was stood directly over the top of it, he suddenly let go of her and reached for the gun.

  Becca hit the floor hard and rolled over onto her back. Blood from her neck had soaked into the blue denim of her shirt collar. She drew in a laboured breath and John felt his heart start to beat once more.

  “That was close, momma. Few more seconds and it woulda been curtains closed for that one.” Frank laughed as he broke open the gun and saw it loaded. “Guess mum approves of your choice in women, huh, Johnny Boy?”

  “What do you want, Frank?” John asked, as Juliana moved her body in the way to block him.

  Frank snapped the gun barrel back down and pointed it at them. His face detailed his mock surprise. “Want? Why I want to see you on your knees, Johnny. I want to hear you begging me, like the little fag that you are. I told you… I told you not to cross me.”

  “The city has fallen,” Juliana said, before he had a chance to reply. “We have nothing to give you. Take the gun and what little food we have, and let us be on our way.”

  Frank laughed again, his eyebrows raised. “Got a bit of spunk, your mum, don’t she, John? Or at least she will have when I’m finished with her. I like it. Bit on the old side for me, but I think I’ll make an exception in this case.”

  John clenched his fists, ignoring the agonising pain. He thought about the knife in his mother’s pocket, glanced down at it, wondered if his hands would grip it tight enough to hold it.

  By now, Becca had managed to loop the noose free from her neck and sat up. A low wheezing sound came from beneath the wild, red mane of her hair.

  “Let’s get this party started.” Frank pointed the gun at Juliana’s head and took a step forward. “You. Lie down on the floor, on ya front, face first.”

  “Please, Frank,” John said, stepping around to shield his mum. He hated the pitiful sound of his voice. “You don’t need to do this.”

  Frank wet his bottom lip, again. “Ahhh. That sounds so good to me, Johnny Boy. Like sweet music to my ears, that is. Almost had me wet my pants wi
th that one. But there’ll be more where that’s comin’ from; I can assure ya of that. Maybe you’re right though. We should get our arses off this street… don’t want anybody disturbing the fun now, do we?”

  It sounded like a frog croaking as Becca tried to speak. She cried and crumpled to the floor as Frank swung his foot into her side. “Don’t worry, Red. I’ll get to you soon enough.” He pointed the gun barrel in the direction of the house with the shuttered windows. “In the house, nice and quick.”

  John felt Juliana’s hand touch him gently on his back. When he looked, he saw the sadness in her eyes. With slow steps they started toward the house, Frank cackling behind them.

  Chapter 39

  Juliana glanced down at the girl on the floor. The wind on the road gathered grit which it flicked into her eyes. A thick bouquet of beautiful red hair hung across Becca’s face. The blood from her neck hung around the top of her shoulders like crimson lace.

  The man, Frank, giggled like a little boy as he circled behind them with the gun. Whatever his beef with John, there was no way he intended to let them live through the day. She thought about the knife in her pocket. The blade would perhaps be their only chance of survival.

  Tenderly, she cradled John’s waist and together they walked across the street and crossed onto the broken flagstones leading up to the house. Inside the open door, the corridor looked dark, and briefly she considered the possibility that there might be one of those things hiding in there. Would be sod’s law, that, she thought. Forced into a house at gunpoint only to be eaten by a crazy.

  John climbed the red, brick stairs first and looked back at her, then beyond her and into the street. Sensing his anger, Juliana glanced back also. Frank had pulled Becca to her feet and was now leading her on unsteady legs toward the house. The hand not carrying the gun had hooked her around the waist. She watched as his hand moved higher, groping her while he buried his stubbled face into her hair. Fury balled in her fists. Glancing down, Juliana noticed the handle of her hunting knife, now pushed down the front waistband of Frank’s jeans.

  “Eyes front!” Frank shouted, looking up from her hair.

  Juliana looked up at John, saw his face darken, and shook her head at him. If he lost it now… one pull of that trigger and they would both be dead.

  But John continued to stare, his brow dipped low and hatred brimming in his teary eyes.

  “Don’t make me tell you again, Johnny Boy. Inside. Up the stairs.”

  Juliana reached out to hold John’s arm but he snatched it away from her, turned, and stepped into the house. Behind, she heard Frank laugh.

  The house smelled like damp. Huge holes covered the floor where the wooden planks had been ripped up, probably for use as firewood. The stairs lay in a state of sorry disrepair too, and each step squeaked as it bore the weight put upon it. At the top, the landing branched in both directions.

  “Left!” the voice called up from behind, and she heard the clomping of boots on the remaining boards below. “Over by the window. And don’t try anything, else I’ll cut this bitch’s spine.”

  John turned left and Juliana followed him. Once out of Frank’s line of sight, Juliana tapped him urgently on the shoulder and patted the pocket of her jacket. John followed her gaze down, but made no move toward it. His eyes looked dejected. A moment later, he shrugged and walked to the window.

  Tempted to take a chance herself, Juliana hung back for a few seconds, listening as the boots clomped slowly up the stairs. Her fingers twitched at her sides and she reached into her pocket. The smooth handle felt comforting in her sweaty palm. But the gun… A shotgun… She had seen what it could do. And there was no doubting that it was loaded. She had loaded it herself. Both barrels.

  With a long swallow on a dry throat, Juliana let go of the knife and followed John over to the window, where he avoided her stare.

  A dirty rug lay next to a blackened bucket. Various animal bones sat stacked up in a pile next to it. In the corner of the room, a few old, frayed coils of thin rope sat next to a rusty axe with a broken handle. Seeing the items, Juliana’s blood chilled in her veins.

  Becca was pushed forcefully into the room, her face wet with tears. Frank did not follow. He stopped in the doorway, gun at his hip.

  “Well, well. Here we are, then. Nice little family affair.” His dark eyes sparkled above a huge, twisted grin. “Grab that rope there, Johnny Boy. We’re gonna tie mummy up nice and tight.”

  John glanced down at the rope and then up into her face, his eyes detailing his horror at what he was being asked to do.

  Juliana managed a smile and nodded. “It’s okay,” she said.

  She watched his eyes flit to Becca then Frank and finally down to the gun.

  John walked to the corner of the room, bent down and hooked a piece of the rope with the end of his fingers.

  “Whatcha done there, Johnny? Looks painful.” Frank pointed the gun down at John’s hands.

  John did not reply. With a slump in his shoulders, he walked back to where Juliana was stood, the rope like a dead snake in his grasp. “Oh dear. Might be a problem, that. Maybe a change of plan. You…” He kicked out at Becca, striking her thigh. “Go tie the old bitch up.”

  Becca’s emerald green eyes stared up from beneath deep curls of red. Her hands were covered in blood and still clasped around her neck.

  Juliana nodded at her, and held out her hands.

  “See. She wants it. But let’s have that big, old jacket off first, huh? See what we’re dealing with.” Frank laughed and it boomed like a ball in a barrel. He kicked out again and this time Becca yelped in pain and scuttled forward. Juliana shrugged the jacket from her shoulders and it dropped to the floor at her feet.

  Frank sucked in a breath between his teeth and let out a low moan. “Damn.”

  Juliana held out her hands once more, her wrists pushed together. As her eyes met the girl’s, she flicked them down at the floor, to the jacket, hoping that her intent would be read. But Becca looked away, her face white and drained of blood. With shaking hands she began looping the rope around Juliana’s wrists.

  “Take a seat, Johnny Boy. Over there by the wall. You’re gonna enjoy this, I promise.” He flicked the barrel of the gun over at the far wall beyond the burnt bucket and winked. His tongue flicked across his bottom lip like a serpent.

  John glanced at her, his eyes now panicked and searching hers for answers that she could not give him. Reality had suddenly dawned. He walked over to a clear spot on the floor near the wall and turned his back to it.

  “Sit,” Frank said, jovially.

  John obeyed, tucking his knees under his chin.

  Becca pulled tight on the two ends of the rope. “Done,” she croaked, stepping away from Juliana’s tied hands.

  Frank advanced, pushing the barrel of the gun up under Becca’s chin as he reached to test the knot. Becca held her hands out and tipped her face toward the ceiling. Her nostrils flared and contracted as she struggled to control her panic. Blood in the wound on her neck glistened.

  “Frank,” Juliana said, keen to keep the situation under control. “She’s just a girl.”

  Frank smiled broadly. “Yes, she is.”

  “What is it you want?”

  Frank seemed to consider the question for a moment. Juliana cast her eyes down to the coat containing the knife. If she could just stall him long enough.

  “Frank,” she said. “You don’t need the gun.”

  Frank raised his eyebrows. “I don’t?” he said, the sarcasm clear.

  Juliana shook her head and allowed her eyes to droop, seductively. “No.”

  With that same, booming laugh, Frank turned to John. “Hear that, Johnny Boy? Mum don’t wanna fight. Why couldn’t you be that accommodating, huh? Coulda saved us all the trouble.”

  “I never did anything to you, Frank,” John said, his voice shaky, his face flushed red with anger.

  “On the contrary, Johnny Boy, you did lots to me. You took my bow, my arrow
s, my girl…”

  “You motherfucker.”

  Frank turned the gun on him. “Do it. Go on. Just you give me the fucking excuse, you little shit stain. Not so funny when the tables are turned, is it, huh? Maybe I should kill her right now, stop with all the play. Watch you piss your pants.”

  John shook his head, his eyes dead with hate. After a few moments of staring, he dropped his gaze to the floor.

  Scoffing, Frank held his hands out. “See. This ain’t so hard now, is it? We’re all friends here.” His smile personified evil. He turned to look at Juliana. “Well now, let’s get this jamboree underway! Seeing as you are so keen, let’s start with you, mumma. Get it off. Strip.”

  John looked up at her and then hung his head back between his knees. Beside her, Becca sobbed.

  “Shut up!” Frank shouted, thrusting a hand into the girl’s face and pushing her roughly to the floor on top of the filthy blanket. “You’re next, Red.” He began to back away toward the door. “Shit, we need some music!” He started to bob up and down ridiculously, in time to a non-existent beat. “C’mon, mumma! Show me how sexy you can be! Who knows? Maybe I’ll only keep one of you and, hell, you got some way to go to convince me that the lucky lady should be you!”

  Humiliated, Juliana began to sway her hips in time with Frank’s own, trying to mimic the beat that only he could hear.

  “Whooo! That’s the ticket, baby!”

  Keeping her eyes on his and away from John she reached up and ran a finger along her bottom lip. The jacket remained on the floor at her feet. She knew that whatever else happened, she needed to stay close to it; otherwise, they would all die.

  “Shake it!”

  Juliana trailed the finger over her chin and down her neck, stopping at the top of her shirt. As she twisted and turned with her hips, she pulled on the rope holding her hands, hoping to find some slack, but the knot held true and tight. She bent her knees and lowered herself to the floor. The jacket lay so close that she could see the dried blood flaking at the cuffs. Beside her, Becca remained on her knees and for a brief second, their eyes met. Did she know? Would she move to help if Juliana saw an opening and made a move? Everything that she had thus far seen about the girl pointed toward the high probability that she would. However, the near strangulation had obviously shaken and knocked some of the stuffing out of her.