by T. W. Brown
“Enough,” I said. The arguing continued and I barely heard the word come out of my own mouth. Fine. “Enough!” I shouted sharply. The room fell silent.
“I’m gonna make this clear,” I said. Everybody was looking at me like I’d grown a second head. “We leave here tomorrow. There are two towns north and east of here with reported populations under two thousand. That seems the best potential for supplies.
“I want to make sure everybody gets plenty of rest; we need to be sharp going in. I don’t want to lose anybody because we made sloppy mistakes due to fatigue.” I made sure to sweep my gaze around to everybody like I’d seen Paul do when he spoke.
“What if we don’t want to?” a woman, Sandy or Cindy—
something like that—asked. I still hadn’t learned these folks’ names. A point I needed to remedy…soon.
“Then stay here,” I shrugged, “but when we roll out tomorrow, we take everything with us. If you want to be independent and on your own, fine. You do it with what you came with. For those of you we just plucked from that warehouse, that means the clothes on your backs and a couple of homemade weapons.”
“What about food and water?” Lawrence stepped forward.
“I guess you better get busy finding some,” I replied. I caught a bit of a smile on Barry’s face. Good, that probably meant I could count on his support. Teresa was expressionless, as was Dr. Zahn. Jamie and Aaron looked nervous, but I think it was because of the tension in the room. A physical confrontation wasn’t out of the picture. Randi would probably back Barry. That left Melissa, I made eye contact. She nodded slightly!
“I won’t leave anybody who wants to come,” I continued. “But I won’t deplete what’s ours to support people who aren’t with us. I won’t do anything to hurt, hinder or—”
“Help,” Lawrence cut me off.
“See it how you like it,” I said. “But if you want to go your own way, you do it without taking our stuff.”
As I spoke I tried to gauge the others. Sunshine had moved over near Barry, so had a short, blonde woman who hadn’t uttered a word since we’d picked them up. That left Lawrence, Sandy/Cindy, and the other two young men, both of which looked to be in their late teens or early twenties.
“Tonight, we eat together,” I said, “but tomorrow I’m rolling out of here. Be here or don’t. It is your decision to make. One that you need to be ready to live or die with.”
“I love you, Papi,” Thalia said over her hands that were still folded under her chin from saying her prayers.
“I love you, too, Thalia.” I leaned down and kissed her forehead. “Now get some sleep. We have some busy days coming.”
I stood, knees popping like tiny firecrackers. I winced, Thalia giggled. Why do children find the maladies of age so damned funny? I cinched my belt a little tighter and did a mental pat-down of my arsenal: two .45 caliber, semi-automatic pistols; Remington 12-gauge shotgun loaded with five and ten reloads in my vest pockets; field machete; and a brand new Bowie knife (compliments of Jamie to replace my Buck).
I walked out of the open quarters of the observation tower and onto the narrow walk. It was chilly and I could see my breath in little puffs. The moon overhead was slim and ducking in and out of the occasional cloud that scudded by. I walked all the way around, slowly admiring just how amazingly dark the New World was at night.
I was finishing my third circuit, rounding the corner on the side with the door when I literally bumped into Melissa. She was leaning against the log wall, and obviously waiting for me.
“You’ve been a bit…busy,” she said quietly.
“Yeah, and I owe you an apology for last night.”
“No. I think I realized today just how much of this crap has been piled on you.” She put a hand on my cheek.
“I was still a dick.” I peeled off one glove and took her hand in mine. “I had no right to assume you were there to ride me like everybody else had been up to that point.”
“No?” a playful tone crept into her voice. “I plan on riding you an entirely different way.
“Umm…” I was expecting more anger, perhaps some hurt feelings, not come-on lines.
“It was kinda sexy seeing you take charge like that.”
“I just figured that everybody expected me to take the lead, it was time I acted the part.” I was just a little uncomfortable with the praise and fawning. I can’t claim to ever having been a lady’s man.
“Yeah, well I had to practically put Chloe in a headlock,” Melissa chuckled.
“Who?” I was so confused. I had no idea who she was talking about, nor did I know why there should be a need for headlocks.
“The cute little blonde,” Melissa said. “The one who follows Sunshine everyplace. The deaf girl.”
What deaf girl?
“You didn’t know that one of the newbs is deaf, did you?”
“Until this very minute?” I asked sarcastically. “No.”
“Steve, you really can be clueless sometimes.”
“So it seems,” I agreed.
“You go all macho-take-charge on us and still don’t see things right in front of your face.” Melissa stepped close. “Jamie and Aaron are now ready to follow you to Hell and back. Barry and Randi have your back, and Teresa has finally shut up now that you’re talkin’ and takin’ charge. Add in the short blonde with the mega-crush and the fact that Emily is standing there watching you and Thalia while practically bursting into tears…”
Emily? What could her problem be? Oh my God! I am clueless. She’s lost her mom, now her dad. She was entrusted to me and I’ve just figured somebody would watch over her. I should be the one taking care of her. I gave my word. Tomorrow was gonna be a busy day.
“…have known considering how oblivious you were when we first hooked up,” Melissa was still talking.
“Yeah,” I put a finger over her mouth, “Well things are gonna change around here.”
“I really like this new attitude.”
Soft lips touched mine.
7
Vignettes IX
Peter rolled to a stop. The third set of smoldering ruins that he passed a few miles back was the final warning, and he’d taken it. Somebody (or bodies) was roaming these parts and they were none too friendly by all signs. That last body hanging from that big tree hadn’t been dead or undead long. The blood was still wet looking.
Yes, he had an armored vehicle and plenty of ammo and weapons, but this was a group and they were carrying a buttload of weaponry if the shot up side of that brick building he’d slowed in front of was any indication. That was when he’d decided to get off-road and try to use as much cover as possible.
He’d found the perfect spot to get a look around. It was a ridge with a copse of clustered trees, but spaced enough to allow him to drive in. The sun was almost directly overhead, and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. He’d get a good look. Climbing out of the vehicle, he grabbed a bottle of water and his binoculars. He was looking south after having to skirt a small city that was almost completely engulfed in flame and shrouded in smoke on the entire eastern side.
Below him, a highway ran east-west. But it was what was on the other side that had his attention. It was the largest picnic basket he had ever seen. And there was a newly reinforced fence and barricade all the way around the entire complex, including two large parking lots—one on either side. A few dozen vehicles were parked inside. There were tall scaffold-mounted watchtowers spaced all along the perimeter with men inside. Dark pits dug in an open field on his side of the highway showed where they disposed of bodies. Judging by the snowplow parked just inside, there’d been a lot.
He watched from his secluded location for quite a while. It looked like a military base with all the firepower he saw just out in the open. The question was whether these people were “good guys” or “bad guys.” These days, you couldn’t be too careful. He’d seen and heard enough of the latter to know just how prevalent it’d become in the
se lawless times.
He was seriously considering going down there. Hell, he was a doctor…mostly. Any group he met should welcome him with open arms. The voice in the back of his mind kept trying to remind him of all the destruction he’d passed today. The bodies, freshly killed, that hadn’t been zombies.
There was a commotion at the front doors of the giant picnic basket. He focused in as a single-file line of women were paraded outside. Closer inspection revealed that they were all cuffed and shackled. It was like a women’s prison, only, not. A long metal pipe mounted on five rolling posts was pushed out. Meanwhile, the women were being unbound and stripped.
“What the—?” Peter mumbled. Then streams of water began pouring. Showers, he thought. Hmm, okay.
Even from this distance, he could hear some of the jeering, hooting, and catcalls—as well as screaming and crying. Well, Peter sighed, that answers the question about what sort these people are. There was no way that anything they could say would justify what he was seeing. Women, treated as cattle. He took another look. Correction. Women and girls.
Time to move on, he decided. Taking another drink, finishing off the bottle of water, Peter stood. He turned…and froze.
“You just raise those hands and I won’t have to put a bullet in your head,” a behemoth of a man with an equally large gun aimed directly at his face said.
“Fuck,” Peter hissed.
Garrett walked out onto the porch. The sun was just rising. There was enough light now. He tugged at the clothesline he had wrapped around one hand. A pained whimper sounded as his Toy limped forward. He glanced at it briefly to ensure it was following. It limped from the shadows shielding its eyes from the sunlight.
“Come, Toy,” Garrett ordered and started down the stairs. There was only the briefest tension from the line, but it did as it was told.
He heard the winces and sharp inhaling of breath as he led it across the gravel and to the long driveway. As they neared the end, it was obvious thatThe Toy had an idea what was about to happen. The whimpers and pleading began, and the tension on the line increased, but the choking sounds were quickly followed by the line going slack again. The Hangman’s Noose-style knot around its neck really limited the amount of resistance that the pitiful thing could put up.
Garrett stopped at the four-by-four wooden post that he had planted in the ground to the left of the entry-gate just barely an arm’s lenth from the horde of terrible creatures that strained to reach through every available inch of space that the twisting iron bars allowed. He grabbed his tiny Toy by the hair and slammed it against the wood. That earned him a yelp of pain.
Good, Garrett thought, it is breaking to my will. As he began wrapping the twenty-five feet of clothesline around and around to secure The Toy to the post, he couldn’t help but admire the bright blooms of purple that colored the pale, nude body of his Toy. One eye was swollen shut and flakes of dried blood still clung to the corners of its mouth.
It had dared to bite him! The long slash of his knife across one small breast had forced the scream that had allowed him to pull himself free from its mouth. He’d considered killing it right then and there, but when Garrett looked into those defiant eyes, he’d known: it must be broken. He’d wanted to turn it onto its stomach and take it as violently as possible, but his thing hurt. Garrett knew what his thing was called, but he couldn’t even think the words. Mom had called it filthy, vile, and dirty. He’d first heard the word penis in school. When he got home that day, six-year-old Garrett McCormick asked his mother what a penis was. She’d broken three wooden spoons on his bare behind that day. Later, he’d heard other names for it. Many of them from Ennis while he was telling young Garrett what to do with his. He couldn’t think of that, especially when he wanted to do things with his Toy. If he did, his thing would not work. Right now, while he healed from the wicked bite of The Toy, those memories actually served him well when he felt a stirring down there. It made the feelings stop. Times like right now when he was on his knees, tying The Toy to the post, his face right in front of that soft, dark triangle between The Toy’s legs. When he could smell her.
Standing, Garrett backed away and looked at his handiwork. He pulled another piece of cord from one pocket and forced it in the mouth, then tied it securely to the post. This would keep its mouth open part way the whole time he was gone. Yes, Garrett smiled, it would learn to keep its mouth open.
He stood behind it for a moment. He watched the writhing wall of pale, dead arms strain to reach the squirming figure fastened to the splintery post. It learned quickly that moving caused two very unpleasant results: the noose would tighten and sharp slivers of the dry wood from the post would sink into its tender flesh.
Satisfied that it learned enough to be still, he loosened the noose just enough so it could once again breathe freely. Now, if it did anything to tighten the cord, it would die. He sensed that The Toy did not yet want to die. Not yet.
He grabbed his two tote bags and walked away. Occasionally he glanced over his shoulder. He’d made certain that none of those arms could actually reach. They would come close, but that was all. Perhaps when he came back, it would be happy to see him. It would be thankful that he would take it away from the dead faces it had known in life.
Reaching a tree, Garrett climbed and looked. It was clear. Those stupid things were all headed to the gate where they would not even get close enough to see inside because of the size of the crowd already gathered. With a quiet chuckle, he secured the knotted rope, dropped it over the wall and climbed.
It was time to go shopping!
Kirsten stared in horror at all of the familiar faces that pressed against the sturdy gate. So many mouths opening to reveal broken teeth, black tongues, and ropy strands of goo slobbering forth. So many sets of white filmed eyes shot full of squiggly black lines. Then there were the injuries, the open, gaping rips and tears in flesh. Mouth-sized chunks missing from arms and legs. Strands of guts hanging limply like the sausages she’d seen at her dad’s favorite deli. And other things, terrible, terrible things.
She could feel the vile breeze of the hands that swiped at her over and over with no concept of the definition of futility. All they were managing was to force a continuous wave of stench to wash over her.
She had to force herself to focus on the monsters to avoid thinking of other things. She did not want to allow in the pain of the clothesline biting into her flesh. How it seemed as if tiny lines of fire were burning every inch of her body. And then there was the scratchy, uncomfortable sensation of the wooden post at her back. Her mouth was a little more difficult to ignore. The Big Man had made a couple of wraps with the clothesline to tie her head to the pole. The line cut into the corners of her mouth, but it also made it impossible to really close it. Plus, she was drooling like those terrible things on the other side of the gate.
There was more than her current discomfort to try and block out of her mind. There were the events of yesterday and last night. The Big Man had returned…angry. She had no idea about what, there didn’t seem to ever be an identifiable reason to explain his rages and outbursts. If anything, he mostly reminded her of a spoiled-rotten child—like her cousin Rikki.
He’d stomped into the room with the look. It was the look he always got when he was about to…rape her. That was the word she’d tried to avoid but couldn’t. Kirsten was no dummy. She certainly knew the difference between rape and sex. The Big Man had walked up to her and pulled the wicked blade he kept on his hip. Then, he’d unzipped his pants.
Kirsten shuddered, then forced herself to be still when the cord around her neck tightened just a bit. She wanted to spit. The memory of that taste returning uninvited. The drool trickling from her mouth tainted with the disgusting taste. Kirsten smiled just a bit. She remembered the sound of pain and surprise when she’d bit. Of course there was the sudden flash of pain from the knife slicing her. She’d screamed. And that would not be her last scream of th
e day or night. He’d whipped her with his calloused hands.
But, and this made her smile even though it hurt as the clothesline cut deeper into the corners of her mouth, he hadn’t been able to rape her again. He’d beaten her into unconsciousness more than once, but he had not been able to satisfy his other needs. If only she’d been able to bite it off. Let him try to rape her without a penis!
She felt sweat trickling down her body, wincing as the salty fluid found every cut, tear, and abrasion. The day was going to be hot. All the pain was merging, making it seem like her entire body was dipped in flame, what was a little more pain? She tried to let her mind go to that place it went when The Big Man was doing horrible things to her. It wasn’t much, but it was a tiny relief from all the pain and misery.
A few times, she considered going limp. The noose would constrict and it would be over. But she just couldn’t. Something deep down told her to fight. The Big Man was not too terribly smart. Eventually, he would make a mistake, and when he did, she would get away. Or, if she was lucky, kill him. Kill The Big Man. She’d given it thought, honestly asked herself if she could kill a living person. The Big Man wasn’t a person. He was an animal. Worse than the dead people who wanted to eat her. Worse than the dead person who’d bitten her dad.
Yes, Kirsten thought, The Big Man had to die. And she would do it. The time would come, of that she was certain. He would die, and she, Kirsten Malloy, would do it.