by Bible, Jake
They don’t get the joke and tell me so by lifting me up, punching me in the face, lifting me again, punching me in the gut, lifting me and kicking me in the nuts, lifting me- Well, you get the picture.
This lift and beat routine goes on for a while. These guys are good. They keep me in agony, but don’t let me pass out. Stuart would probably applaud their professionalism. Then he’d rip their throats out. Man, I wish Stuart was here right now. He’d be a sight for sore eyes.
“What you looking at, scrounge?” the main biker asks.
This question confuses me. I’m not looking at anything, because both of my eyes are swollen shut. You know, the beatings and all.
“Move along,” the biker orders, “this ain’t your concern. Be glad about that. We’re letting you live. Unless you want this to be your concern? Then we co-”
I don’t hear the rest of his words. I do hear gagging and choking. Very wet. Then the hands on my right side let go. I’m able to get my eyes open a slit and see the bikers spinning about, pulling out pistols and unslinging rifles. Then one by one, they drop. Blood pours from their throats. The shafts of crossbow bolts bounce and wiggle as the bikers take their last struggling breaths.
So, if they are dead on the ground, then who is holding me up?
I turn my head and see a beautiful, yet extremely dirty, young woman next to me. Her hand is on my upper arm and is surprisingly strong.
“How are you doing that?” I ask. The look on her face tells me that my words actually sound like, “Hew uh ya duh det?”
She cocks her head a little and smiles, as she looks me up and down. I try to smile back at her. Then I realize she isn’t holding me up. It’s the hand on my other arm that’s really holding my weight. I turn my head and see the opposite of the young woman. Sure, this person is just as dirty, but not a beautiful young woman. More of a grizzled, old man. With one eye, no hair, and half of the right side of his face flayed open and healed in a horrifying tangle of skin and tendons.
“I can see your tongue,” I say. He just nods. I don’t think he understands me, but oh well.
Then he smiles and I really wish he hadn’t. Smiling with only one intact cheek and half your face gone, is not flattering. Not in the least. I get over my shock at the grin and then wonder what he’s smiling at. I’m not really given the opportunity to find out, as the next thing I see, is his fist up close and personal.
Then it’s goodnight, Jace, sleep tight.
I dream of tacos.
I can smell the crispy corn tortillas. I hear the sizzle of the taco meat in the pain.
“Better stir that or it will scorch,” I say to the nothing of my dreamscape. The taco meat is stirred.
Onions, cilantro, garlic, and then tomatoes. All it needs is some salt and it’ll be an amazing salsa. Fresh and refreshing. Yum!
Oh, but there’s guacamole too! Creamy avocados with just a hint of cumin. I am so ready to make some tacos. I want to fill those shells until they are ready to crack. Fill them with all the stuff that makes for great tacos. I don’t care if they do split and crumble all over my plate. That’s what forks and tortilla chips are for! To catch the droppings!
God, I miss tacos.
I don’t miss pain, though. And that’s what waits for me as my taco dreams turn to wakefulness. Slowly, excruciatingly, I am brought back to consciousness. And know what? I still smell tacos. Not beef though. No. More like pork. Mmmm, carne asada.
“He’s coming around, Pa,” a woman says. “Should I knock him back out?”
“Nah,” a man replies. “He’s roped tight. May be good to talk to him for a spell and see what he knows.”
“Hey,” the young woman says. Then she slaps me. “Hey, you awake? Pa wants to do some talking with ya.”
“I’m...awake,” I croak. “Can...I...have some...water?”
“Can he have some water, Pa?”
“No, don’t waste it on him.”
“No, you can’t have no water,” the young woman says.
I get my eyes open and see her sitting in front of me. Damn, she is beautiful. You know, once you get past the layers of dirt and post-apocalyptic disarray. And the smell. She isn’t pleasant smelling. I can smell shit and piss plus something tangier that I’d rather not identify. Her mouth is a bellows of yuck and just her short breaths are almost enough to send me back into unconsciousness.
I try to move and realize I’m down on my knees and bound to a metal post, my arms tied behind my back and around the post. My shoulder hurts, but isn’t dislocated anymore. There’s a plus. I look about and can see we’re in a wide basement. There are no windows, or if there are, they’re blacked out, and only a small fire in the corner lights the room. I can see a camp rig set up over the fire and the man is standing there, slowly turning a spit.
The other thing I notice is the thick and cloying smell of copper. Like pennies in the rain. Which doesn’t make sense. When have I ever smelled pennies in the rain? I mean what is that all ab-
“Hey!” the young woman says, slapping me again. “Stop drifting. Stay awake while Pa talks.”
“Where you from?” the man asks as he motions for the woman to go to him. She takes over the rotating of the spit and he walks over to me. He looks me up and down with his one eye. “You’re looking pretty healthy. Where you holed up? You got food? Where’s your water coming from? There others with ya? How many? Kids? Ladies?”
Yeah, not liking how he says ladies.
The questions all muddle together in my muddled brain and I stumble for muddled answers.
“I have a penthouse,” I say. “Right downtown. In those new condos off Biltmore. Great views. I can see the apocalypse for miles from my bedroom.”
The man stares at me for a second and then grins that half-face grin. I have to wonder how he lost half his face on one side, but then the eye is clouded on the other side. The bizarre questions of the apocalypse...
“You’re playing with me,” he states and chuckles. Bits of spit fly from his open cheek as he laughs. “You’re a funny guy, are ya?”
Uh-oh. Never good when the guy with half a face calls you the “funny guy.” I learned that from bullies in middle school. Once they call you “funny guy”, then there’s usually some type of violence and the inevitable question, “You find this funny, funny guy?” I never did.
He squats down in front of me, a very sharp boning knife in his right hand. He slowly moves the blade closer and closer until the tip is right by my left eye.
“Let’s see how funny you are with only one eye,” he says and laughs. More cheek spit. “Get it? See how funny?”
“That’s a good one,” I smile. “We’re two funny guys. Just a couple of jokesters hanging out and telling jokes.”
“You know any?”
“What?” I ask, the need to shit myself with fear probably keeps me from understanding the question. “Know any what?”
“Jokes, stupid,” the woman says from the fire. “Pa likes jokes. We always like to get new jokes when we meet new folk.”
“We do, Elsbeth,” Pa says as he stands, slipping the boning knife into a sheath on his belt. “What was that one we heard last week? You know? Those two kids kept telling it over and over while I cut their mama up.”
Oh, sweet, God...
“Oh, oh, I remember,” Elsbeth says. “It was...it was... Oh, wait... I forget.”
She starts to smack the side of her head over and over and over before Pa can stop her. He grabs her wrist and yanks it away hard enough for her to cry out.
“Too pretty to be hitting yourself, Elsbeth,” Pa says as he pushes a stray strand of hair away from her forehead. “Don’t hurt that beautiful face.”
“I’m very pretty,” Elsbeth says.
“Where was I?” Pa asks himself as he turns to me. “Oh, right, jokes. You heard this one?” He clears his throat. “Knock, knock.”
I wait and then realize that he wants me to answer. I was thinking he was talking to pretty and stinky Elsbe
th.
“Who’s there?” I ask.
“Interrupting zombie.”
“Uh, interrupting zombie-”
“Rarrrr!” Elsbeth shouts, interrupting me.
“Good one,” I smile.
Pa whirls around and punches Elsbeth in the chest, knocking the breath from her. She falls to her knees, but gets up quickly and keeps turning the spit.
“Sorry, Pa,” she gasps. “It was your joke. I ruined it. Ruined the joke.”
She starts smacking herself again.
Pa stops her and pulls her to him, stroking her hair. She doesn’t stop turning the spit. Pa’s hair stroking gets faster and faster until I notice he’s kind of grinding against her. Ah, fuck, seriously?
“My kids told me that joke,” I say quickly. “But it’s with an interrupting cow instead of a zombie. I like yours better.”
“Ain’t mine,” Pa says, his hips stopping their obscenity. “I told you it was from two kids. Are you stupid, mister? Do you have to be told things twice?”
“Stupid,” Elsbeth says, looking around Pa at me. “You’re stupid.”
“Pot meet kettle,” I mumble.
“What’s that?” Pa asks, and he moves at me faster than I think he can. His hand grabs my chin and pulls hard. “You say something to my girl?”
“I think dinner’s ready, Pa,” Elsbeth says, taking some rags and lifting the spit off the fire.
She walks it over to a dirty work bench and sets it down. Grease and juices start to drip over the edge and the smell makes my mouth water. Pa watches me and then nods.
“I’m guessing you’re hungry,” he says. “Elsbeth, cut our guest a hunk. After today, we got plenty to feed a third mouth.”
Elsbeth rips a chunk of meat from the roast and walks it over to me. The meat has to be burning her hand, but she doesn’t show any sign. Her eyes are bright and glassy and she just looks at me, a simple smile on her face.
“You gonna like this, mister,” she says. “Long pork is good. The best.”
The smell is incredible. I haven’t smelled fresh roasted meat in forever. We don’t keep livestock in Whispering Pines other than chickens. They take up too many resources. Easier to just grow beans for protein. And chicken does not smell like this. My mouth is drooling, but...then...I realize...
“Long pork?” I ask.
“Yep,” Pa smiles, “best kinda pork.”
He laughs and Elsbeth laughs with him.
“I, uh, think I’ll pass,” I say, “long pork gives me the runs.”
He backhands me and my head snaps to the side.
“Don’t be crude,” Pa snarls, “no potty talk like that in front of my girl.”
“You should eat what’s offered,” Elsbeth says, the meat right under my nose. “Never know when you’re gonna eat again. That’s what Pa always says. Eat when you can, it may be the last you see for a while.”
The boning knife comes out and my eyes are drawn to its wickedly sharp looking blade. I follow the blade up to the hand, up the arm, and to the shoulder, and then to the half-cheeked face. Pa looks at me with his one eye and I know he knows I know what the meat is. There is a lot of knowing going on. I really, really, wish I had none of it. The knowing, that is.
“I’d rather not,” I say again. “I am sorry, but my stomach...it gets touchy with too much grease.”
Elsbeth wipes the hunk of meat against her pants leg, leaving a shiny streak of fat. “There,” she says, offering me the meat again. “I wiped the grease off. It’s a shame since that’s where the flavor is.”
She shoves the meat against my lips. I try to keep them closed, but she just keeps pushing. Then she takes her other hand and grips the back of my head.
“Eat it!” she shouts. “Eat the fucking meat! It’s good! GOOD! LONG PORK IS GOOD!”
She keeps screaming at me until I can’t hold back anymore. My lips are forced apart and the hunk of meat is shoved inside my mouth. I’m about to spit it out when Elsbeth brings out her own knife and pushes it up one nostril until I can smell and feel the trickle of blood.
“Eat,” she says, “ain’t telling you again, mister. Eat what’s good for ya.”
Oh fucking Jesus on the cross with a head like a hole black as my soul oh fuck shit fuck.
I chew.
I swallow.
I struggle.
I lose.
I puke.
Elsbeth barely gets out of the way. She stands and looks at her pa. He shakes his head.
“Too bad, mister,” Pa says. “I thought we’d keep you around for a while. I kinda like you.” He looks at Elsbeth. “And she’s more than I can handle sometimes. Would be nice to have another man help take care of her.”
He pulls his boning knife and looks at the reflection of the fire in the blade.
“But I ain’t gonna keep ya around if you’re going to starve yourself,” he says quietly. “You’ll just waste away to nothing and then what would you be good for?”
“Gonna kill him now while he’s plump?” Elsbeth asks.
“Seems like the smart thing to do,” Pa replies. “Help me get him up and trussed. And go get the buckets. We lost half the blood from the biker woman. Can’t waste blood like that.”
“No, sorry, Pa,” Elsbeth says as she helps pull me to my feet. My body and arms slide up the pole and I’m looking her right in the eyes.
“You don’t have to do this,” I say. “You don’t have to live like this. There’s better places to live than this basement.”
“Is there now?” Pa says as he pushes Elsbeth away. “The buckets, girl!”
“Right, Pa!” She hurries through a side door I hadn’t noticed. The smell of pennies gets stronger as the door swings open. I glance over. Wish I hadn’t. Bodies. Hanging. Dripping...
“You were saying there’s better places to live than here?” Pa asks. “Where would those places be? Up in that penthouse of yours?” The knife nicks my cheek. It is wicked sharp. “I don’t appreciate you filling my girl with lies and dreams. Cotton candy and pinwheels, that’s all you are. A fading game on a summer night.”
Okay, he’s lost me.
Elsbeth comes back in with two large, five-gallon buckets.
“Ain’t gonna lose the blood now, Pa,” she says.
“Take your knife and cut his clothes off,” he orders. “Get him naked and we’ll wipe him down. Don’t want to taint the meat.”
I’m pretty sure the workbench that hunk of whomever is resting on isn’t very sanitary, but decide now is not the time to quibble about what taints what.
It takes her less than two minutes to get my clothes cut off. I stand there, arms bound behind me, cock and balls free for all to see, and shake my head.
“What?” Pa asks.
“Just wasn’t how I thought I’d die,” I say.
“Really?” Pa laughs. “You had other plans? What? You planning on dying in your sleep in a feather bed up in that penthouse?”
“That would be preferable,” I say. “Or you could let me go and I can just die out there somewhere. We can just skip the slicing and the dicing.”
“It even cuts cans!” Elsbeth says out of the blue. “That’s Shakespeare.”
Pa rolls his eye. “Sometimes it’s all I can do from killing that one.” He shrugs. “But you can’t always pick your family.”
“I have a family too,” I say. “I’d really like to see them one last time before I die. You already said you have plenty of food. You don’t need to carve me up.”
“Waste not, want not,” Elsbeth sing songs.
“She has a point,” Pa says. “I smoke you up and wrap you in oil cloth and you’ll last us through the winter. How can I pass that up?”
“I get it, I do,” I say, panic setting in. “We all have to do crazy shit to live. But you can’t keep eating people. You’ll get sick. People aren’t supposed to eat people. There are these things called prions-”
“Called what?” Elsbeth asks.
“Prions,” I re
peat.
“That’s a funny word,” she says and starts saying it over and over.
“Shut up, will ya!” Pa barks, whirling on her, the knife slashing out and just missing her by a hair. She stumbles back and cowers against the wall. “It ain’t a funny word, it’s a science word.” He looks back at me. “You a teacher, mister? You trying to teach me and my girl?”
“Uh, I could be a teacher,” I say. “I do know a lot of stuff-” The knife cuts across my cheek. Deep. I scream and wish I could clamp my hand to the flap of flesh I can feel flapping away. “Fuck! FUCK!” I scream some more, you know, just in case they didn’t get the point.
“I don’t need no one filling my girl’s head with science,” Pa smiles. “It’s all lies. Science couldn’t stop the Zs from coming, but the Bible predicted it would happen. What’s the point of science if religion is always right?”
“Gotta get you some religion,” Elsbeth whispers and nods. “Gotta get ya some.”
“Listen,” I plead. “Man to man, father to father, you can’t do this! Please! I just want to see my wife and kids again! Please!”
“How about you tell me where they are and I’ll go get them for ya?” Pa says. “I’ll keep you alive long enough so you can see them one last time. Then you and your family can die together. How’s that sound, Mr. Science?”
“I think I’ll leave them out of this,” I say.
“Fine,” he nods then looks me up and down. “Where should I start? I hate to kill and butcher you now. Your fear is gonna make the meat all gamey. I like the quick kills. Or a kill in a fight. The adrenaline tenderizes the meat for me. Less pounding of the tough cuts.”
“Maybe we can put this on hold? I can get some sleep. Letting me rest will do wonders to the flavor.”
“Don’t think so,” Pa says. “I have a lot of work to do before I sleep, and I’d like to get started.”
“No...please...”
I may have just peed a little.
“That’s disgusting,” Pa says.
Yeah, I peed.
“Just kill him, Pa,” Elsbeth mutters from the wall. “I don’t like him talking no more. Makes my head all flunky spin like.”
“You heard the girl,” Pa says, placing the knife against my groin. “Better get to it.”