Unknown

by Jane

  Hot breath pushes from my mouth as I stand over them is a jujitsu pose. Straightening up I walk over to the pile of bones in the corner, to a tiny shelf on the back wall. I pull down a large hunting knife and head back over to the dying men. With three quick swipes their necks are cut open draining them of any life they may have had left.

  “Motherfuckers,” I pant.

  I grab them one at time and drag them over to the pile of bones. I toss them on top, wipe my hands off and stand back to admire my life’s work. I turn my attention back to the archway and the light that is now green.

  “Now, where was I.”

  I step into the archway to go after Roland. Unfortunately, it doesn’t turn out that way.

  3. JIMMY

  She stands in front of me with a freshly shaved head. It breaks my heart to shear off those dark tresses. And now she looks like a concentration camp survivor. With breasts. But she has to feel the part to play the part. And a couple of tears over some hair is a small price to pay.

  “Okay, this is called Thai Chi. It’s a martial art that will help you to focus your energies and renew your strength. It’s known as a soft martial art style, so we won’t be hitting each other. It’s an internal power. Much of the time you are using your own body to provide you with all of the equipment you need. Between gravity, muscle tension, and your own internal dialog it’s all you’ll ever need. No weights, no equipment, nothing.”

  “Okay,” Madison says.

  “Just mirror me and do what I do. Place your right foot behind your left foot, perpendicular to it. Bend your right knee down,” I say with a grunt. “And then twist your torso back to face forward.” She is following me exactly. Good.

  “Now push both of your hands out to the side so they are parallel with the ground and hold that pose.” I gasp. “Remember to breathe. We’re going to stay like this for sixty seconds.”

  Our tiny closet has turned into a dojo and she is my first student. I study her form out of the corner of my eye. She is calm and focused and it takes a great weight off of me. I thought she might balk. Might whine when I asked her to cut her hair off. It isn’t a power trip. I’m not trying to break her down so that I can build her back up. That’s coming. This is now. It’s so I can disguise her, hide her from the men that will want to rape her. From the Blisterheads that will gladly tear me limb from limb and beat me to death with my own appendages. I would rather die than witness her torture but I have no real desire for either dark moment.

  I need to toughen her up if she’s going to stand a chance. There is a quiet tension all around her, but a good tension. One of self-imposed pain and quiet. The control we hold over our bodies and minds will take us to Eden or leave us bloody in the dirt. Her arms are starting to shake as are mine. Her body is starting to wiggle, fighting the bent muscles and the strain of her weight. She turns her head towards me her infinite eyes asking but one question.

  Is this enough? Is this enough? Is this enough? Can I let go?

  57...58...59...60.

  “Sixty,” I blurt out, lowering my arms, shifting my weight to my left side, and standing up from the bent position. She doesn’t move. She just smiles at me, holding her position, a calm washing over her. Her muscles are like stone, her body still. For a moment she floats off the ground, a glow around her, a peaceful violence that shocks me. She lowers her long, slender arms to her sides. She straightens up and moves her taut right leg back to meet the left. A perfect storm, she takes one breath, and bows to me. A smile creeps across her shimmering face.

  “Our son has a new master, Jimmy. And his name is tranquility.”

  4. X

  The regime must be kept.

  I drop to the hardwood floor and continue the exercise. The maintenance is a time consuming and draining affair but it must be done. Again and again I push my body off of the floor and over and over I track every muscle in my arms, my legs, my chest. The bonfire has been a lesson. I’ve grown cocky and it could have cost me.

  ...35...36...37...

  They will be on the move. Jacob and Roland especially. Focusing on the growing pain in my biceps, the concentration is whittled down to a fine point of white light. The vibrations hone in on the sextet and I am taken to the ones who need me most.

  ...78...79...80

  A flash of red and a gust of wind washes over me as I continue to raise and lower, raise and lower. There is a flurry of metal, a rapid fire of motion. I drift forward redirecting the bits of metal around the flying torpedo. I float over the men and become one with their minds. A great sleep falls over them and they will not remember a thing. Jacob will be okay, he will get through unharmed. It is not time for his demise yet. I need him intact.

  ...148...149...150.

  My eyes open and I stop. Roland is coming. I should clean up soon. I pull my legs under and roll over onto my back. Bending my knees I commence. Through the open doors that lead outside to the stone patio and the swimming pool which glistens in the sun like a precious jewel, a flutter of brown fur and he is back. Up to my head Raymond skitters, chittering into my ear a succession of squeaks and wet mouth smacking.

  ...26...27...28...

  “It’s okay, I know.”

  Bending and straightening, bending and straightening, up and down. His incessant chatter fades in and out, in and out. He is a necessary tool, and as such, has to be oiled and put away for when I need him”

  “Go on. It’s okay. I’ll talk to him. We’ll work it out. It’s not your fault.”

  ...62...63...64...

  The shaken up little furball pauses and stares. He wants to bite me, I know that. He wants to take a little nip at my ear and draw blood. He hates me with all of his tiny heart, but like mutual parents of a gifted child, we keep our mouths shut and get along for the etterment of all concerned. He brought this on himself, and there is nothing I can do about it for now.

  ...109...110...111...

  He squints at me and is gone. He shoots out the door towards the gate. Roland doesn’t have a key and I can’t very well wander down and greet him like a glorified housekeeper. He has his uses, Raymond, this childhood friend of mine, and I do owe him that one thing. That one favor.

  ...148...149...150.

  Roland has questions and I have some of the answers. He wants to run away, and maybe I’ll allow it. The chess game that is management doesn’t need to know everything. Maybe it’ll keep him out of trouble. I can adjust the port. I’ll have to think of where to send him. There is so much to be done. But I can’t have my son, the prince of everything, just wandering around.

  5. GORDON

  Closing my eyes for a moment, I check my internal compass for the way to X. Standing between the barracks I know I can’t stay here. I can be discovered at any time. I head out into the jungle and see a path that I know leads to an artesian well. It’s one of the water sources here. I follow it for the time being since I need to head that way but I can’t run the risk of security or random workers so it’ll be off the path in a moment. Down a slight incline I run, up and over a small footbridge, and I’m across the creek. Glancing back, the buildings are barely visible. I’m deep enough to get off the path now but I need to stop for water. Up ahead I hear a waterfall. It must be the water’s source. Through the winding path I see a large pool of dark water. I slow and stop for a moment at the shimmering edge. Just for a second. I kneel down on one knee and scoop up some water. It’s shockingly cold and I shiver for a moment as it freezes my tongue and throat. But it is so clean. Glancing at my reflection for a moment a shadow passes over the water. She has long, stringy hair, matted with twigs and leaves. Before I can move, she raises a club and pummels the back of my head. The last thing I hear is the splash of my body falling into the icy water

  • • • • •

  I feel the hands on my body long before I see anything. They are soft and yet calloused. They run over my body, squeezing, poking, pinching my flesh. I am blindfolded but can tell t
hat my arms and legs are tied to something and I am standing up. Crucified. Voices mutter and echo around me. I catch a word here and there, women chatting about their day, girls giggling as feet shuffle about and a subdued light flickers across my eyes. A breeze shifts, and I realize that I am naked. Fully exposed and vulnerable. I clench my jaw and wonder how I could have been taken so easily. I let my guard down for one second. Who are these people, and where am I?

  I can barely make out shapes moving around beyond the blindfold. There are many. More than five but less than ten. And then the smell hits me. Stagnant urine and feces, rotting meat, mold and dust, coppery blood.

  “Hey,” I croak. My throat is dry. I must have been out for awhile. My head starts to throb.

  “What’s going on?” I ask.

  I am greeted with grunts and the shuffling of bare feet. Giggling again. I hear the trickle of water in the distance. The waterfall. The pool. Somebody scoops water out of a container and comes closer. They ladle some to my mouth and I drink hungrily. I feel inordinately thirsty. As I strain my neck to reach out for more, I feel a thousand cuts creak and crack open. What have they done to me? My skin is littered with cuts and they sting, as if I have been cut by a tiny knife, over and over again. My head spins and I feel weak. The woman standing in front of me puts her mouth up against my ear and mumbles something I can’t understand. Her breath is fetid, so foul that I can smell the stench while she is still at my ear garbling words, her tongue lashing out at my ear.

  “Who are you?” I manage. “What do you want with me, I haven’t done anything...”

  Abruptly a fist slams into my gut. My head bows and the blindfold slips down. She stands before me with wild hair, knotted and long, streaks of gray wound throughout. Behind her are several more women and girls of various ages. A skinny old woman stands next to three young girls in their late teens or twenties. A young girl not quite in her teens holds a baby in her arms. They all stare at me, some with wide open eyes, some glancing away as they make eye contact. They have the look of a family, and yet, they don’t. Most are dark haired, some long, some short. They all have large foreheads and bushy eyebrows. And they are in various states of dress, some covered in patches of cloth and fur, some in sacks, some completely naked. Looking up into the face of the madwoman in front of me her eyes go wide with surprise and anger. She jumps up and down and slaps my face. Again, and again. Her tiny knuckled fists beat at my chest and I suppress a laugh, knowing that it wouldn’t take much for her to find a way to end this all.

  “Stop it,” I yell. “Talk to me, we can work this...”

  She won’t have any of it. By speaking, I have offended her. I can only wonder how or why these outcasts came to be. Were they here first? Or because of their deformities and handicaps were they abandoned, kicked out?

  I don’t have any time to find out, as she reaches over for a large flat rock. A glaze washes over her eyes as she raises it high over her head.

  “No, no, nonononono...don’t it’s okay, listen...”

  Just before she brings it down on my head, wrapping me in darkness again, I catch the eyes of the tall girl in the middle. Her arms are crossed. Her hair is pulled back in a ponytail. Like a sorority girl lost in the Amazon, she seems strangely put together. Not like the others. Her face is clean, and her blue eyes among brown are a my hope for something different. Her lips move, but I can’t hear what she’s saying. It could be “it’s okay,” it could be “don’t worry.” Then again, it could be “you’re dead.”

  6. ASSIGNED

  //

  boot..................................3.1415

  9 26535 89793 23846 26433 83279

  reboot.........................okAY

  the time has come the walrus said to talk of

  many things...

  damnitdamnitdamnitdamnitdamnitdamnitdamnitda

  mnitdamnit

  123marcy

  return

  123marcy

  return

  123marcy

  set chip to stun

  daily weather disbursement:

  //rain over sectors 1-2, 8

  12 minutes

  34 minutes over jasmine in sector 4

  121 minutes over corn in sectors 3, 6, and 9

  //increase temperature over sectors 3,12-15

  six degrees to 98

  //roll in fog over the eastern shore

  //increase wave height by 3 feet

  //shake fault lines by portal 3

  //increase wind gusts to 15 miles sectors 134

  maintain velocity in sectors 1-2, 8

  daily anima regulation:

  //redirect locust to island 2

  //increase tide pool temperatures by five

  degrees for optimum coy breeding

  //increase vitamin supplement in Yorkshire

  pig slop

  //end

  //

  7. ROLAND

  I emerge in an empty field of recently harvested corn. I have been teleported to another part of the compound. The archway. I didn’t see it and now I have no idea how to get back or what comes next. I sit down with a crunchy thud and suddenly I am exhausted. Tears run down my face as the enormity of my desperate life descends on me. What a waste this poor excuse for a life has been, but I have to keep going. There is nothing left for me here.

  A crackling to my left startles me as a dark shape starts to form an oval in the sky. A field of lightning manifests and the blue starts to rip open like a gutted fish.

  “The men. Shit.”

  They were right behind me. I leap up and run to the edge of the clearing. There is a thin path into the jungle. I rush in and follow it up a hill and around a massive pile of rocks. I don’t hear any voices or gunshots for that matter. Suddenly I am in an open area and I come to a halt in front of a fire pit and six tall wooden posts.

  “It was real,” I mutter.

  The circle of rocks is black with ash and time. Glancing back towards the cornfield I stop to take a closer look. I hold my hand out over the pit of gray ashes and it still holds a subtle warmth. The rocks look like random broken pieces until I get up close. They are inlaid with a wide variety of fossils. Small animal skeletons are pressed into the stones, rodents of some kind, complete with teeth. Leaves I don’t recognize sit next to seashells, roots, and tiny seeds. Fish scales that are set in spines that don’t look like any fish that I’ve ever seen. As I walk around the fire pit I see bigger bones, what must be arms and legs, femurs and tibias that look elongated and wrong. Parts of what looks to be a skull. I’ve seen enough television to think this should all be familiar to me. But it isn’t. Everything looks just a little bit off.

  I stop and look around the clearing. The ring of leaves on the trees above me is singed at the ends. A hesitant blue sky peeks through the overgrowth. Glancing back toward the corn fields I don’t see anyone coming, no rustling of plants, no voices yet. Maybe they aren’t coming. I examine the nearest post. It also reveals a lot of details that I didn’t notice when we were here last night. At the top of the pole is the name Jacob. But the letters aren’t quite right. More like jAK00 B. And below that are a bunch of symbols that are familiar, and yet, totally alien. Some mix of astrological signs, Japanese characters, and Egyptian hieroglyphics. There are strange Nike swooshes, birds, and wide open eyeballs. Fish swim around half circles and squiggly lines depict heat or waves.

  “What is all of this?”

  Suddenly the jungle comes to life and there is movement at the edge of the clearing. Several birds take flight, screeching into the sky. They do exist, the deeper I get into the jungle. Leaves and branches wrestle each other as a hot wind pushes through the foliage. I bolt out the other side of the fire circle where the path picks up again and head up the hill towards a wooden fence. Atop the hill a small structure sits as quiet and unassuming as a gingerbread house. And for a split second I’m reminded of what happened to Hansel and Gretel. Not the politica
lly correct modern day tale, but the Grimm fairy tale that it was based on.

  In the void where I just stood, poor Raymond shows his face. He stops at the edge of the ring and sniffs his tiny pink nose. He chitters at the ashes and looks around. He glances at the hill and nods his head quickly, once, and takes off towards the house.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Past communications

  1. JACOB

  (One Letter)

  January 15, 2012

  Dr. Stephen Jones,

  Director of Admissions

  Wakefield University

  1289 University Drive

  Columbia, MO 65201

  Dear Jacob Millhouse:

  Congratulations! You have been accepted to the Wakefield University Business program. We were very impressed with your 4.0 grade point average at Webster Groves High School. Your involvement in extra curricular activities also went a long way towards our accepting you. I’m sure you must have been very busy lettering in golf and cross country, not to mention being president of the choir, and having major roles in productions of Godspell, Grease, and The Music Man. Where did you find the time for the Science Club, Mathletes and WriteClub2011?

  An application for student aid has been included in this packet. Please fill out the appropriate forms and return them to us as soon as possible, no later June 1, 2012. Also, please give my best wishes to your mother, Gayle. We go way back, and in fact, went to high school together. It was great to see her again, and I’m so glad that she brought your fine application to my attention.

  We look forward to you attending. If there is anything I can do to help you in your decision to attend Columbia please don’t hesitate to drop me a line. Your mother also has my contact information. I’d love to see you both up here for orientation.

  Sincerely,

  Dr. Stephen Jones

  Director of Admissions

  2. MARCY

  (One Letter)