The Warlord w-1

by Jason Frost

  "Yeah," Eric said. "Thank God."

  "I just meant, you know…"

  Eric smiled, squeezed her shoulder. "Thanks for what you did in there. Trying to save Jenny. Brave thing to do." He turned and marched through the doors.

  Tracy ran after him. "Where are you going now?"

  "For answers."

  "What about searching for Annie and Timmy?"

  He looked at her, his reddish-brown eyes stabbing into hers. "I know where they are."

  18.

  Dr. Joan Dreiser sat in the chair behind the conference table. She was slumped forward slightly, but the arrow poking out of her chest was wedged against the side of the table keeping her propped upright. Her head hung limply to one side.

  Next to her, at the center of the table, Dr. Epson sat stiffly tapping his mallet against his palm. He looked ten years older than the last time Eric had seen him, his eyes vacant, his skin gray and sagging. His mouth kept dropping open and he seemed to have trouble keeping himself from drooling.

  "Eric, you're finally back," he waved happily, rapping the mallet on the table. "What's your report, son? How'd the trade go? We'll have electricity in no time, eh?"

  Eric approached him slowly.

  "Dr. Epson?" Tracy said.

  "Tracy?" He grinned and winked. "Did you see? Eric's back. That means a successful mission. He's never let us down yet. Can't wait to install those generator parts. Oversee the whole thing myself. Owe it to the community, I do." He rapped the table again with his mallet.

  Eric continued walking. When he got to the table, he stood directly across from Dr. Epson.

  "Well?" the old man said, rubbing his eyes, "Let's hear your report, Eric. It's getting late, you know."

  Eric lurched across the table, grabbed Dr. Epson by his loosened tie, and jerked him out of his chair until he was half lying on top of the table. He tugged the tie high over Dr. Epson's head until it choked him.

  "Listen to me, you crazy son of a bitch, you better snap back to reality within five seconds or I'm going to hang you up like a dead pig. You got that?"

  "Eric!" Tracy shouted. "Can't you see there's something wrong with him?"

  "Right. And I'm giving him therapy."

  Dr. Epson clawed at the tie biting into his skin, cutting off his air. His eyes bulged slightly, his tongue protruded between dry lips.

  Eric loosened his grip and Dr. Epson sucked in a lungful of air. "Damn it, Eric, are you insane? I'm Chairman of the University Camp Council. Watch yourself or Dr. Dreiser and I will have to bring charges against you."

  "No you don't, Epson," Eric growled, leaning his face toward Dr. Epson's. "Don't retreat into craziness, don't hide in there. You don't get off that easy. Not after what you've done."

  Tracy wedged her body between the two men, trying to pry Eric away. "What are you talking about, Eric? You're the one who's acting crazy."

  "Betrayal," the weary voice behind them answered. "He's talking about betrayal."

  "Trevor," Dr. Epson said, straightening his tie. "About time you got here. Joan and I have been waiting for hours. Have you seen Durham anywhere?"

  "He's coming, Donald," Trevor Graumann said, walking unsteadily into the room. "I saw you at the hospital, Eric. I was just coming out of my unconsciousness. They told me about Jennifer. The rest I could guess." He stooped down, retrieved his pipe, wiped the stem, and stuck it in his mouth. "I take it you've guessed it too."

  "Yes."

  Tracy shook her head in confusion. "What are you two talking about? What betrayal?"

  "Would you mind lighting the other lamp, Tracy?" Trevor said, pointing at the far end of the table where the Coleman lay on its side. "It's a bit too dark in here."

  "Sure," she said, pulling a Bic lighter from her pocket. The room brightened considerably, though the extra light only made Dr. Epson look worse.

  "How much do you know, Eric?"

  "Just what I pieced together. The Council decided to go against my advice earlier this evening about trading for the generator parts. Once I left the room, the discussion was reopened and they decided to send me on a wild goose chase in the opposite direction, which would leave them free to make their own deal with these people. So they staged Dr. Dreiser's kidnapping."

  "I wasn't a part of it, Eric. I want you to know that."

  "I know. That's why they decided to drug you until it was all over. I imagine Dr. Dreiser did that."

  Trevor nodded sadly. "She didn't want to. But she wanted those parts so badly, for her hospital, you know. She just let herself get talked into it."

  "I imagine it was Griff Durham who knocked the guard out to add some authenticity, and Dr. Dreiser who spread some blood from the hospital around the room for special effects. After we left, they sent another delegation out to meet our friends with the generator parts. Somehow they tricked their way inside, and the slaughter began."

  Dr. Epson hammered his mallet on the table. "You're out of order, young man. This is not parliamentary procedure. Councilman Graumann has the floor."

  Tracy sank into a nearby chair, her body numb. "You mean it was our own council who let these monsters in?"

  "Yes," Trevor answered, "They thought they were doing the right thing. They thought they were buying us electricity, light."

  "They thought!" she yelled, jumping out of her chair. "They thought! They risked all our lives without asking us, without advising us of the risks? What arrogance!" In her rage, Tracy jostled the table, disloding the arrow balancing Dr. Dreiser. Her body toppled off the chair onto the floor.

  "Joan? Joan, are you all right," Dr. Epson said. "Nasty fall, eh?"

  "How did you know, Eric?" Trevor asked. "I mean about the double cross."

  "The note. They constructed a kidnap note that referred to Joan as 'the doctor.' But after the 'kidnapping' her lab jacket was still hanging on the coat rack, and she wasn't carrying any medical equipment, so how did the kidnappers know she was a doctor? Certainly Joan wouldn't risk telling them."

  "The question now, of course," Trevor said, "is why did these savages do it? What was to gain? They didn't stay long enough to steal much of value. It seems all they did was kill. Not very logical."

  Eric's voice was distant. "It was Dirk Fallows."

  "Oh," Trevor sighed. "That explains it. What about Annie and Timmy?"

  "He's got them. Jennifer was sick, so he didn't want to bother with her. He just slit her throat. But he has Annie and Timmy."

  "How do you know?" Tracy said. "We haven't even searched the grounds yet. They might be wounded somewhere, or still hiding."

  "Or dead," Trevor said.

  "No, he didn't kill them. It's me he wants. To make me suffer. He'll drag it out as long as possible. He wants me to think about what he did to Jennifer, what he might do to Annie and Timmy."

  "Sounds like a very sick man."

  "Not a man. A thing. It looks human, but that's the only similarity. But he knows what he wants. Always."

  Trevor sucked on his pipe. "And he wants you to follow him, right?"

  "Right?"

  "So what are you going to do?"

  Eric's lips cracked, revealing clenched teeth. "Follow him."

  "Yes, follow him, my boy," Dr. Epson mumbled absently. "We all need someone to follow, eh?"

  19.

  Rydell Grimme peered into the dark room, squinting in the dim light from his lantern. "That you, Molly?"

  Molly Sing was sitting on the floor leaning against the wall, her face slack with exhaustion. "Anybody found him yet?"

  "Nope. Son of a bitch seems to have disappeared."

  "It would be just like Eric," she nodded with a mixture of admiration and annoyance. "Do you think he's left the camp?"

  Rydell shrugged. "Maybe. But I doubt it."

  "I don't. We've had a dozen people searching for him for almost an hour and nobody's seen any trace of him. To me that suggests he's not here."

  "You can't tell with Eric," Rydell said, entering the room, his lantern h
eld in front of him. Molly winced slightly at the light. "He could be sitting right next to us and there's a good chance we wouldn't notice. Some kind of Zen trick."

  Molly glanced around the semi-dark room. "If you're here, Eric, don't show yourself until I've had another five minutes rest, okay. My feet are ready to bark."

  "Mine too," Rydell agreed, walking slowly around the room, holding out his lantern here and there to examine something. "So this is where he lived?"

  "Yup, the four of them. Not exactly Jim and Betty Anderson."

  "Huh?"

  "You know, Father Knows Best. Did you ever notice how all those TV families had two-story houses? Ward and June Cleaver, The Brady Bunch, even Archie Bunker."

  "I don't know. We didn't have a TV when I was a kid."

  "Oh. Moral or financial?"

  "What?"

  "How come you didn't have a TV? Moral or financial grounds? Your parents didn't want their child corrupted by the tube, or they couldn't afford one?"

  "A little of both, I guess. My mother didn't want me to learn about sex until I was too old to use it. And my father didn't want to take the money away from his drinking fund."

  "Oh, it was like that, huh?"

  "Yeah." Rydell poked around on Eric's desk. "Did you see these?"

  Molly clicked on her flashlight, shined it at the desk. "Yeah, what are they?"

  "Trip flares. He was building trip flares." Rydell shook his head and grinned. "Clever son of a bitch."

  "I don't think a man should be referred to as a son of a bitch in his own home. Especially by uninvited guests."

  "Right. The loss of manners is the first step of our descent into savagery. Stiff upper lip, that's the ticket, what?"

  "It's possible, but I don't think I've ever heard a worse British accent in my life."

  Rydell slipped out of his quiver and plopped down next to Molly. The lantern sat at their feet, casting a flickering light onto their faces. "Reminds me of Boy Scout camp."

  "You were a Boy Scout?"

  "A Boy Scout, a Cub Scout, every kind of scout there was to keep me on the right track."

  "The right track?"

  "The manly track. Masculine, macho manhood. My father had read an article in Reader's Digest about the ten warning signs of homosexuality in children and he was determined that I never show one of those signs."

  "Did it work?"

  He looked at her, her eyes twinkling mischievously, a half grin curling her lips. He took a deep breath and smelled her distinctive odor. That was one of the pleasant side effects of this new lifestyle they'd all been forced into, each person had a very distinctive scent. He understood now why dogs sniffed each other when meeting. Molly's scent was delicate, yet hearty, like stir-fried vegetables. He felt his mouth watering as he leaned over and kissed her.

  She accepted the kiss without moving, either to encourage or protest. Her arms bung limply at her sides, but her lips parted to allow his tongue to enter her mouth. She sucked on it a little, then pushed him away.

  "Don't you have the wrong girl, pal? I'm the short oriental with the Chinese doll haircut. I think you've mistaken me for the gorgeous blonde with the big tits." She smoothed the bib of her overalls against her chest. "See, no tits."

  "What the hell are you talking about?"

  "Reality, man. You're a pretty decent hunk of guy considering the depressed market lately. Okay, let's be honest. You're a knockout in any market. But me? Well, I've been around enough to know that guys like you always end up with Gidget. It's in the script, man."

  Rydell laughed. "Relax, the doctor will be right here. I think you're going through a severe case of TV withdrawal."

  Molly's laugh tinkled like wind chimes. "Maybe. My father used to have the thing on day and night, trying to learn English and American customs."

  "My God, what a distorted view of us he must have gotten. To say nothing of his children."

  "Child."

  "Still, it's warped."

  Molly shrugged. "Maybe."

  He reached out, smoothed her hair lightly with his fingertips.

  "I told Tag I was going to rest here, so he should be picking me up soon." She stared into Rydell's eyes. "That doesn't really give us enough time for a quick boff, does it?"

  Angrily, he jerked his hand away from her hair. "Jesus, is that what you think this is all about?"

  "Isn't it?"

  He hesitated, sighed. "Yeah, okay, partially. It's such a rare occurrence around this camp to be alone in a room with a woman, well, you know."

  "Yeah, we're just as horny as you guys. It's not much fun catching a quickie behind buildings at night. The draft is murder."

  Even in the dim light, Molly could see Rydell was blushing. She laughed. "Don't look so shocked, man. What do you think the women talk about at night on their side of the gym? When and where the best places in camp are to do it. The sixteen-year-olds are the worst. Half of the time it's hard to sleep because of all the women masturbating themselves or each other. It's a little like a prison. Hell, a lot like a prison."

  Rydell nodded. "Yeah, well, men aren't quite so open. Most of them don't talk about it, but you can see they think about it a lot. As for masturbation, never in the open." He chuckled. "I think that was one of the ten warning signs for homosexuality in that article my father read. Apparently everybody's father read the same article."

  "What about the gays?"

  "Whatever they do they do in private, just like the rest of the guys. I think men are embarrassed by wanting sex."

  There was a couple minutes silence as each drifted into his own thoughts.

  "Rydell?"

  "Yeah?"

  "If we'd had the time. You know."

  "Sure."

  "It's just that I wouldn't want Tag or Season walking in on us."

  He looked at her. "Do you think I do?"

  "Maybe. You look like a bit of an exhibitionist."

  "Thanks."

  Another pause.

  "I'll do it with my hand, if you want. Easier to hide if we're caught. Or if you want to do it to yourself while I watch, that'd be okay. Some guys get off on that."

  "Can we change the subject, please?"

  "Sure, I didn't mean to embarrass you."

  "Like hell you didn't."

  She laughed. "Okay, maybe I did. A little."

  Rydell leaned over and kissed her again. This time her arms were around him, crushing him to her. He was surprised by the strength in her arms. She nibbled his lip lightly like a hamster and they giggled into each other's mouth.

  "You think they found him yet?" she asked, nuzzling against his neck.

  "Nope. They won't find him until he's ready to be found."

  "What do you think he's doing right now?"

  "Grieving."

  She leaned back against the wall and frowned. "What are we going to do now?"

  "God, I wish I knew. It looks like Trevor Graumann is going to be Chairperson of the Council. New members will have to be elected."

  "Eric?"

  He shook his head. "I doubt it. He's going after his wife and son."

  "Alone?"

  "Maybe."

  "What's that supposed to mean?"

  "Nothing."

  "Uh oh. You want to go too, right? I think I see the ugly macho head of Daddy Grimme rearing."

  His voice crackled with bitterness. "Who taught you psychology? Dr. Joyce Brothers? Or Ozzie and Harriet?"

  "Bob Newhart." She touched his arm. "I didn't mean anything, you know. Just shooting my big mouth off without checking to see if it's loaded."

  He nodded sullenly.

  "Hell, we were better off talking about sex."

  He looked into her face. "You're not the kind who tries to joke people out of bad moods, are you?"

  She shrugged helplessly. "Afraid so. Mary Tyler Moore with slanted eyes."

  The sound of footsteps outside the door interrupted them. Rydell nodded to Molly to stay put. She picked up her bow and eased an arr
ow out of the quiver. Rydell plucked a throwing knife from his belt, poised it over his shoulder.

  "Hey, anybody in there?" Season called before popping her head into the doorway.

  "It's only you," Rydell said impatiently.

  Season jerked a thumb at him and spoke to Molly. "Get him. Bah, humbug to you too." She slipped her quiver over head, laid it on the floor next to her bow, and sat down on the mattress next to Molly where Rydell had been sitting. "Oh my God. Oh, that feels good. I never thought I'd get to sit again."

  "Any sign of Eric?" Molly asked.

  "Nope. Wherever he is, he doesn't want to be found yet. We've combed, teased, and blow-dried this camp three times already. Still no sign. Tag told me you were hiding out here so I thought I'd join you." She raised her eyebrows suggestively. "I didn't realize you had company of the male persuasion. I can keep watch outside the door if you guys want some privacy," Neither of them answered her, so she just shrugged and closed her eyes. "Suit yourself."

  "Anything new out there?" Rydell asked to change the subject.

  Season rolled her head toward him, half-opened her eyes. "Same old same old. People are still in shock about what the council did. They're scared now that we don't have a doctor. Susan was a surgical nurse, but you know people, they like professionals with titles, little letters after their names. She's doing a hell of a job at the hospital, but people are still asking her what would Dr. Dreiser do."

  "What about Trevor Graumann?"

  "He's organizing people, keeping them busy. The old guy really knows what he's doing. And since he's the only one who didn't have anything to do with this disaster, people are starting to listen to him. In the meantime, Dr. Epson is locked in a room in the hospital until they figure out what to do with him."

  "What can they do?" Molly asked.

  Season laughed sharply. "If most people get their way, they'll lynch him."

  "They wouldn't," Molly said.

  "Probably not," Rydell said. "But I wouldn't be surprised if they expel him from University Camp."

  "Expel him? They might as well lynch him. You saw what it's like out there. He wouldn't last an hour, especially in his present condition."