by Mark Tufo
"Hey, dickwad," I yell. Probably not the smartest move, but I desperately need him to lift that blade from Luke's neck. I'm terrified he’s going to push it all the way through. "That's a crock of buttered shit if I've ever heard it. In case you haven't noticed, it's not our world anymore. It belongs to the fucking parasites now. And you’re as much under their rules as we are."
He looks back at me over his shoulder. The mad laughter starts up again. Good news, he pulls the knife away from Luke's throat. Bad news, he starts heading back my way.
"Noooooo, darlin'. You have it all wrong. They don't rule us. They freed us. Freed us from the regime and the political bullshit and the farce of civilization. People like us," he swings the knife around in a wide arc, "we were nobodies. The dregs of society. Spit upon by those thinking they were better than us. Now look at what we've become. We are kings! Able to do whatever we want! And those people...well we shit them out a long time ago."
More maniacal laughter. Where the hell had he found so many crazy people to follow him? It's like he had taken out some ad in the local paper, “Gang members wanted. Lunatics only need apply.”
"But I digress," pimp-daddy straightens his fur around his shoulders in a very regal manner. "I'd love to talk world events with you...I truly would. But I have decisions to make." He taps the knife against his pursed lips, studying me. "Hmmmm. What to do with you? You're a feisty one. The girl over there and the blonde one, they’ll make good additions to our breeders. They seem to be submissive enough. They will follow. But you? You seem like you would be more trouble than you are worth." He looks Luke's way once more. "What do you think, Gigantor? I'm sure you've fucked her enough to give me an opinion. Is she worth it? Or should I just gut her right now."
"I am going to kill you," Luke grounds out in response. All that gets him is another whack to the back of the head.
"You know what I think," I interject quickly before the dumb oaf can say anything else and earn himself a concussion. Or worse. "I think you’re a coward. I think you already know you're going to gut me because you're scared of me."
"Bix," Luke warns, his voice groggy.
I ignore him. I know I shouldn't be goading on this crazy maniac, but I'm hoping to buy us time. Time for Kingsley to do something to get us out of this. "You'd be a fool to let me loose."
Pimp-daddy steps closer, his eyes reflecting the flame from the fire, making him appear like he had just stepped straight out of Hell's gates. Eyes empty of reason, but full of a madman's cunning.
"And why is that, darlin'?" he whispers in amusement.
"Because you know if I go free, you will be the one to die. I’m gonna take that knife of yours, cut off your disgusting dick and shove it down your throat, so the rest of your men can see what a fucking little cocksucker you really are."
I'm unprepared for the backhand he lashes across my face. The rings dig in painfully as they rip at my skin. I cry out this time; I can't help myself.
Pimp-daddy stares at me, hate radiating off of him in waves. My heart slams against my rib cage, threatening to make me pass out. Holy shit. I’ve gone too far. I'm an idiot. He's going to do it. He's going to gut me, right now. I'm going to die. And it's going to hurt. Come on, Kingsley. If you’re waiting to do something heroic, now would be a good time!
But then his face eases back into that rotted, arrogant smile. He flexes his fingers then points a filthy nail at me.
"You got me. I don't normally like to lose my temper that way. But for some reason I hate that word. Cocksucker. It's so vulgar, don't you agree? And no, I am definitely not a 'sucker of cocks' nor would I want one shoved down my throat. But you’re right about one thing. I will have to kill you. I'm afraid you will be more trouble than you’ll be worth."
He steps toward me, knife outstretched. My vision goes fuzzy as fear spikes my heart rate far too high. So this is how I’m going to die? Taken out by a piece of ravager shit and cooked on a spit? Maybe I deserve it for being so stupid, but that doesn’t ease my panic. I start yanking on the arms holding me, the scream stuck in my throat. NO! It can't end this way. Kingsley, do something!
The scream reaches my ears about the same time pimp-daddy flies out of my line of vision, jumped by the kid we had come to rescue. I had totally forgotten about her during my own dire predicament. Her tackle surprises me just as much as it shocks him.
"He's dead. You killed Gramps. You killed him!" Her voice rises hysterically as she gouges at the ravager's face.
Pimp-daddy overcomes his surprise quickly and flicks her off like she’s no more bothersome than an ant. A deep, bloody gouge runs down the side of his face and he touches it, drawing the hand away covered in crimson. He stares at the blood in wonder before lifting that damn knife of his over his head.
I know what he’s about to do, so I scream at the kid, "Run!"
But she doesn't seem to care. She huddles on the ground, a crying lump of despair and misery. Pimp-daddy’s arm swoops down, the moonlight glinting silver on the blade. I wait in horror for the silver to be stained with red, but the blade doesn't connect. The ravager starts screaming like a terrified little girl as a black shadow leaps through the flames growling like some hell hound and attaches itself to the knife wielding arm.
Chapter 44
The combination of the dog's appearance and pimp-daddy’s screams stun everyone for a few seconds. But then all hell breaks loose. Gun shots blend with cries, telling me Kingsley is finally making his move. About time. It's enough to distract the two assholes holding me down and I take advantage. Yanking my arms from their grasp, I swing my heavy boot into Thing One's nuts and bolts. He doesn't appear to be wearing a damn cup because he bends over in pain and drops straight to the dirt.
Without losing stride, I grab Thing One's rifle and whirl around, slamming the butt into Thing Two's face. His nose breaks with a sickening crunch as his screams mingle with the others. He staggers back a couple of feet, his hands covering his bloody face. I aim the weapon, ready to finish what I started. I slam the bolt home and squeeze the trigger, bracing myself for the recoil. Nothing happens. I squeeze again. Nada. You gotta be kidding me. The fucking gun is not even loaded?
Thing Two realizes my situation and barrels at me like some running linebacker. I hadn't noticed how big he was before. Shiiiiiit.
"Doc, grab his gun," I yell at the blonde, pointing to the weapon he had dropped practically at her feet. She doesn't move. She remains as useless as a condom to a nun, staring at me like I'm speaking some foreign language.
I think fast. Dropping the useless weapon, I meet the advancing bull head on. Grabbing two fistfuls of shirt I fall like a lead weight down to the ground, as close to his feet as possible. My unexpected drop places his body weight completely off center, and his momentum makes it easy for me to flip him straight over my head with my knees.
He lands on his back with a loud grunt. Rolling quickly to the side, I leap back to my feet, knowing every second counts. He's winded, but not down. He pulls himself up to his knees, glaring at me with his bloodied face. That look tells me one thing. If he manages to get his hands on me, I'm a goner for sure. Without giving him time to get back to his feet, I lift my leg and kick him right in the solar plexus. He flies backward, landing in a winded heap.
Thing One seems to be made of sterner stuff than Two, since already he’s stumbling to his feet. I pivot on the heel of my left foot as my right leg swings straight out and smashes into his throat. His hands wrap around his collapsed windpipe, strangling his scream. Choking on his own blood, his eyes bulge in pain.
Those two down for the count, I search the mayhem in front of me for Luke. Christ! I can't tell who's who in the mash up. Where is he?
Then I see him. Pinned by a ravager, he’s fighting frantically with his tied hands to keep the bastard's knife off of his throat. Shit, he needs my help big time.
A howl of pain from the mangy beast reaches my ears just before it flies across my path. Nearly tripping over the stupid dog,
I swerve to avoid it only to have my ankle suddenly encased by a steel grip. I hit the ground face first, landing on my stomach and get yanked backwards across the wet grass. I feel pimp-daddy's weight press down between my shoulder blades as he straddles me. He jerks my head back so hard I hear my neck snap. The tip of his huge blade presses against my temple.
"I fucking knew it. I knew you'd be trouble. I should have killed you right from the start, bitch!" he hisses in my ear.
What happens next seems to move in slow motion, even though I know it must only take a few seconds. The dragon necklace lying on the ground between my spread hands gleams brightly in the firelight, like some omen of hope. Amy, you sweet, beautiful angel!
Grabbing the necklace, I yank the small, sharp blade out and aim blindly for the head next to my ear. I know I've made contact when my eardrum almost bursts from the shrillness of his scream. The knife at my temple drops away, giving me my opening.
Letting go of the blade, I claw at his face, my fingers coming into contact with cold steel. Yanking on the chains, I'm splattered with blood and flesh as the piercings detach from his nose and ears with a satisfying rip. The knife drops from his grasp now at this new assault and lands inches from my face. I heave my body up with my arms, flipping us both over. Straddling him now, I bring my knee down on the bloody, mangled arm the dog had used as a chew toy earlier. He screams even louder. It's like music to my ears. Swooping up the knife, I hold it to his throat and he stills underneath the blade, his screams dulling to a whimper.
"You scream like a little bitch," I say with a hard smile. I know I shouldn't enjoy his fear so much, but the frightened eyes staring back at me tell me he is remembering every word of my earlier threat. He stops whimpering and tries to get himself under control. The fear slips from his face, replaced by a mask dripping with blood and hot with hate. My little knife sticks out of his cheek like some morbid decoration, and I take way too much pleasure in yanking it free.
"You won't kill me, darlin'. I know your type. All talk, but no action. You've lived behind walls. You have no idea what it's like to try and survive out here...in the real world. You're soft."
I push my knee down harder on his mangled arm, making him yell out once more.
"Soft? You think I’m fucking soft?" I ask harshly, his words pissing me off. How dare he tell me I have no idea? Let's see what tune he will be singing after I'm finished with him.
"Hey!" Doc Blondie seems to have finally come out of her comatose state and starts yanking at my arm.
What the fuck? Now she decides to interfere? I try to shake her off, but she pinches my arm even harder.
"We have to go!" her voice is shrill with panic. Without letting the knife move an inch from pimp-daddy’s throat, I follow her pointing finger.
Jesus! A horde of leeches, most likely drawn by the noise and smell of blood, are advancing out of the trees at an alarming rate. Fantastic. Just what we need.
Hatred still burns hot in my gut for the piece of shit pinned below me, and the voice in my head is whispering at me, Do it. Kill him. He was going to gut you. But for some reason, I don't listen. I resist the urge to plunge the knife straight through his heart. Instead, I aim for the outstretched hand underneath my knee. The huge blade slides through his palm like butter, pinning him to the ground. His ensuing screams tells me it must hurt like hell. Good. I lean in not caring about his stink anymore.
"Let’s see how much you enjoy being on the menu, asshole," I whisper in his ear before leaping to my feet.
"Leeches!" I scream. It catches everyone's attention. All heads in the mass of fighting bodies turn in unison with fear. The horde approaching us doesn't care if you are hunter or ravager. All they see is a waiting buffet.
Christ. There has to be at least forty or fifty of them. There's no way we can take down that many. Especially since all my guys are still hog tied and weaponless. We’re so up shit creek without a paddle.
The ravagers waste no time. Whatever beef they had with us is forgotten, as well as any sense of loyalty, apparently. Pimp-daddy’s screams for help go completely unheeded as his men hightail it out of the field as fast as they can. We need to do the same.
"Move it, kid!" I yell at the girl in the dirt, giving a hard yank on her arm. It seems to do the trick. She blinks a couple of times then leaps to her feet, falling into step beside me as we get the hell out of the field, the overgrown mutt not far behind.
We run through the field like desperate gazelles trying to escape a pride of lions. The grass is slick under my feet, causing me to slip and slide. I figure the boys must be having as much trouble since I hear a couple of muted profanities as they fight to stay upright, but with tied hands it’s not an easy task.
"LEFT!" Luke bellows from behind, and we turn immediately on his command. Smart move. The turn will break us off from the ravagers and the trajectory of the horde. I hope it works, or at least leads us to some sort of shelter. We can't run all night. But they sure as hell can.
Our left turn brings us out of the trees surrounding the field and onto the moon lit road. We don't stop to see if we’ve lost the leeches, or even to see if we all made it. We don't have time. The wet gurgling behind us tells us all we need to know. At least some of them are still on our tail. I curse myself for letting my emotions get the better of me and stabbing Gunner with his own knife instead of keeping it. It would have come in handy right about now.
"This way," the girl says.
I look over, surprised to see the young girl keeping up with my pace. The whites of her terrified eyes gleam luminously in the moonlight. "What?" I yell at her.
"Follow me. I know…a...safe place," she gasps between words. Like the rest of us, she won't be able to keep up this pace much longer.
"Guys, follow me!" I bellow, and I let her lead the way.
She leads us further down the road and then suddenly veers off into a grove of trees. Stumbling through the low hanging branches and raised roots, we bring up abruptly into a solid wall of darkness. A dead end. Shit. I’d just been stupid enough to let her lead us into a dead end...and straight to our deaths. But then the night comes alive with the sound of scraping and creaking.
"Get in," she yells.
In? Into what? I can't see shit in this murkiness. But given a choice between going in and standing outside waiting for the leeches to catch up, I go in. I trip over a raised step and literally fall into what I can feel is a confined space. A few more grunts and groans follow my descent as the rest fall in behind me. I hear the scraping again as the feeble sliver of moonlight is suddenly obliterated by total blackness.
The few seconds of suffocating silence is followed by a whisper. "Does anyone still have their flashlight?" I think it’s Gordon, but I'm not sure.
"Quiet," the girl hisses. "Be still."
She's right. Being inside may mask our scent, but they can still hear us. A couple of thunks echo against our sanctuary. Not sure if they are actually trying to get in, or just stupidly running into the walls of...whatever we’re in. So nobody else makes a sound.
After what seems like forever, the noises finally fade out as the infected wander away. Their frantic need to feed is diminished now that they have no scent to agitate the parasite inside. All that remains is our own shallow breathing.
Something furry brushes by my leg, and I almost scream in sheer terror before I realize it's just the dog. I mean, I hope it's the dog. I think it’s in here with us. My luck, she brought us into a cave and that's a momma bear wanting to rip my head off.
A little more scraping and then mercifully light. The old looking oil lamp in the girl’s hand gets brighter as she fiddles with it, spreading light into every dark corner of the space we find ourselves in.
I start doing a head count right away as I button my coat, covering up my shredded t-shirt and exposed skin.
"Do you have a knife?" Luke questions gruffly to the girl as he, too, looks around. He’s doing the same head count as me.
Two missi
ng. Wentworth and Kelly. He sends a look my way as the girl starts sawing through his zip tie with what appears to be a meat cleaver.
"We're missing some," Gordon says in a quiet voice.
"Yeah. They probably got separated back at the field. They'll just head on to our main objective and wait for us there. They know that's where we’ll look for them," Luke says as the girl finally frees his hands. Shaking his wrists, he pulls the meat cleaver out of her hands and starts working on setting the others free.
Now that she has nothing else to do, the girl looks around in bewilderment. The dog sticks its nose into her face and she wraps her arms around it, holding on for dear life. Knowing she’s probably going into shock, I approach her.
"Hey," I say, my tone gentle. She looks up at me. Up close, she appears older than I had first thought. What I thought was eleven or twelve is probably more like sixteen. "Thank you. You saved our lives. What's your name?"
"Evie," she says.
"Nice to meet you, Evie. I'm Bixby. And we've already met Scruff." I rub the dog’s ears in gratitude. It’s another reason I’m still alive. Maybe we won't eat it after all.
I look around at where we are. Now in the glow of the oil lamp, I can see we’re inside what looks to be an old shipping container. The metal walls contain no windows, but every inch is covered with colorful flags, pictures of varying size, and an array of old calendars. Two mattresses run along the back and are piled with a mountain of blankets, a ratty old couch stretches along the opposite wall, and a woodstove sitting in the corner tells me this is her home.
"You live here?" I push.
"Yeah, me and Gramps..." she trails off at realizing what she said. “I mean, Gramps used to..."
Tears fill her dark eyes as she bites her lip to stop it from trembling.
"It's okay. What happened really sucks, and I know it hurts like hell. I’m not gonna lie. It's going to hurt for quite a bit longer. And you’re going to cry—a lot. But that's okay. You did real good out there. It's because of you that we’re still alive. Your Gramps would be proud of you."