The Monster (Unbound Trilogy Book 2)

by J. D. Palmer

  “What’s the plan?” Theo does his best to lower his voice. To rumble more quietly. It’s a small improvement.

  “Cyrene couldn’t tell us shit about this place. Or wouldn’t. Other than it’s small. So we have to figure out a way to get a good look around. But they’ve posted lookouts. And if we wait for night…” I give him a shrug to say “we’d be taking a chance.” He raises his eyebrows.

  “You don’t have a plan?”

  “You didn’t just hear me?”

  “Always seems like you have a plan,” he mutters.

  “Yeah, well, guess I’m a shitty assassin.”

  I try to smile. To make this moment a joke. But I feel sick to my stomach. More like prey than a predator.

  “Man, fuck this shit!” Theo smacks his fist in his palm. “Fuck this.” He looks at me, almost hopeful. “You want to go back?” he says softly. “We can get Beryl and the others. Get out of this.”

  I’ve thought about it too much already. I know the answer. But I still pause. Anything to get away from here. In the end I still shake my head. “Cyrene is too thorough. She will make sure someone is there to kill Beryl, even if it means the death of all of them. She’s that kind of person.”

  He nods. “Yeah. So we’re fucked.”

  “Yeah.”

  We sit in silence. A dirt road. The swish of trees and bird calls. Water somewhere in the distance.

  And cold. I belong here. I think the worst part of this whole thing is that this feels like home. I would have preferred to leave this land untarnished by unnecessary blood.

  I will be the monster I need to be. I will be a monster to protect those I love.

  I repeat the mantra in my head. And slowly. Slowly. An idea forms.

  “How fast can you run?”

  The moment I ask it Theo begins to shake his head. “I fuckin’ knew it. I knew you were going to say something I wasn’t gonna like.”

  “If you don’t want to do this…” I say it one more time. And he shakes his head again. He could say no. He could tell me to think of something better. But we both know that there isn’t going to be a sneaky way in there. It will have to be something outlandish.

  It was a long trek out and around so that we approached Mackey from the other side. As if we were coming from the north. That this moment is the closest I have been to my home is ludicrous enough.

  The trip around took us through brush and bramble. A mix of trees and forest and at one point we had to wade through a slough. So now, covered in dirt and grime, our pants stained from our overland travel, we prepare for the final embellishments.

  “Both of us?” Theo asks, hefting the knife.

  “Just me. You don’t have to go nuts or anything, just so that it looks like you mean business.”

  He gives me a grin. “Maybe I should just head-butt ya in the face a few times?”

  I laugh. “Just for old times sake? Yeah, maybe you should.”

  We stand there for a second. Both smiling. I wonder if he, too, is thinking about how far we’ve come together. Gods, this man terrified me. And I hated him.

  You truly can’t judge someone without getting to know them…

  I’m brought back to reality by this thought. Of finding a faceless man. Erik. And killing him.

  Theo sees it. “The knife?”

  “Yeah. The arm.”

  He takes a deep breath. Then whips the blade across my shoulder.

  “Fuck!”

  “I’m sorry man, I’m sorry.”

  I grip the arm as blood begins to sheet down. And I laugh again. “I fuckin’ told ya to do it!”

  “I know. I just… I feel bad.”

  “Maybe I should knife you a bit as well. Really sell this.”

  I clap him on the back and we head out to the road. The evening just creeping in. Shadows just beginning to lengthen.

  I give him my pack, along with my gun. The binoculars. The rope. And everything else that was supposed to help us with our… mission. I hold my hand out for the knife, wiping my own blood off on my shirt before sticking it into my boot. An action that reminds me of Beryl. Reminds me of why I’m doing this.

  I will be a monster for you…

  I allow the cold in the air to seep in. Cold grimness. A grim task for a grim land. The north has always known the cold. It knows that you need the death of winter in order to savor the rebirth of spring. I will be winter.

  “They have to see you or else they won’t send out people after you.”

  Theo nods. He knows the plan. He knows he has to be quick. That he’ll have to get back to the men in the cars before he is caught.

  This is a stupid fucking idea.

  “If, for some reason, I don’t get out of there…”

  I don’t know what to say. Keep going? Find my family? My child? I can’t ask that of them. “Go find someplace you can be happy.”

  “Shut the fuck up, Har. Sometimes man, sometimes.”

  “Sometimes what?”

  “Sometimes you’re a little bitch. We been through too much for this shit to take us down. So stop with your whining.”

  I guess I don’t need to fill the air with unnecessary words. And I can understand his anger. I’m a little pissed at myself for concocting this plan.

  We clasp arms. Bound together by more than the blood that courses down past my elbow to cement his fingers to my forearm. Death and life, yes. Sorrows. Pain. And the knowledge that we have become better men for it.

  And worse.

  I whack him on the arm and push him away and head down the road. I start to trot. Then I run. Clutching my arm. The road is flat, and smooth, and devoid of anything. And the outline of the sentry on this side of the building is clear in the evening light. His gun, too.

  “Help! Help me!”

  The reaction is immediate. The man fires his gun into the air. Then it’s brought down and leveled at me. He yells. I’m breathing too heavy to know what he says, but I get the gist. STOP.

  I freeze. But I cast frantic looks over my shoulder. Push the limits of their patience by walking forward. Hands far out to my side. Blood dripping from my fingers and shirt also crimson blossomed. Fear in my eyes. Fear that they won’t buy this ruse. Fear that they’ll just shoot me. Fear of what my failure means.

  Men filter out from the sides of the barricade and trot towards me, AR-15s out and at the ready.

  “Please! Help me!”

  I turn around. Theo is waiting too long. He has to come now. NOW. Or they will be too close.

  Then he comes running. The long shadows holding onto his dark form longer. As if he was simply part of the evening duskiness bleeding into physical form.

  “There he is!” I scream. He comes to a halt. Freezing as if caught by surprise at the approaching men. “That nigger is trying to kill me!”

  He raises his gun and fires a shot up high over my shoulder. I fall down. Crumple. Then watch as he takes off back the way he came. I lie with my face on the pavement, willing him to go faster. Faster.

  I’m almost caught by surprise when I feel arms grab me. Not roughly. Men are helping me up. Someone is saying, “easy there, easy there man.”

  A man grabs my chin, with urgency, not out of an attempt to be rough. “Who was that? Who shot at you?”

  “Black man… He jumped me out of nowhere. I was just walking.”

  The man stares at me. Appraising eyes. Calm eyes. “He shot you?”

  “No.” I hunch my shoulders. “He cut me with a knife. Then he… he took my gun. And everything else I had.”

  There is a quiet. I stare at the ground, still breathing heavy, hoping that they simply think me in shock. Oh god, they don’t believe me.

  “A fucking coon, right here in our back fuckin’ yard!”

  There is a chorus of agreement. I sneak a look up at the calm man. He is holding his hands up for quiet. There is now a brightness in his eyes, the fire of righteous anger.

  “Two groups. Five men each. You move fast. And you get him.”


  He turns in a slow circle, naming men and dishing out orders. But I’m not listening. I’m staring at the giant eagle tattoo on the back of his freshly shorn head.

  “We’ll get that nigger, don’t you worry friend,” Erik says to me as he dismisses his men to hunt for Theo. “We know these hills, he won’t get far.”

  Erik stays behind. He takes off his jacket and puts it around my shoulders. To comfort me. And he says things that one might say in a situation like this. He tells me I’m safe. That I’m lucky I got to them in time. Just in time. Two other men trail behind us as he takes me into Mackay.

  He leads me up the main road towards the heart of the small town. What used to be a small town. A ten foot high wall has sprung up in the city proper. I count six blocks that the wall has spread.

  “It goes all the way around,” Erik says. “We’ve worked really hard to make this a safe place.”

  For now.

  A thick wooden door, reinforced with metal sheeting, sits in the middle of the wall. One of the men opens it to reveal a secondary metal gate on rollers, and we pause as it is slowly hauled aside.

  Fuck.

  We walk down a street that is almost disturbing in its normalcy. Two young men chop wood to add to what must be twenty cords already stacked and covered in tarps. A young woman takes shirts down from a clothesline. Two children run shrieking across the street chasing a ball.

  We take a turn down a street and Erik guides us to a small white house with red trim around the doors and windows. The driveway is divided by pine trees on the left, aspens on the right. An oak looms in the far corner of the yard.

  Everything in its place.

  At the door he dismisses the men. He tells them to bring any news to him here. I wonder how much time that gives me.

  He opens the door and gestures me inside. I’m watching the men walk down the street out of my peripherals. Do I have time now? Do I… And here is the part that I haven’t taken the time to think about. Do I knife him in the back? Do I take him by surprise?

  As if looking him in the eyes will change anything. Except, perhaps, that while he dies, he might see the apology on my face.

  “Ann! Get your kit!” he bellows as he walks down the hall. I pause at the door. Unsure now.

  “C’mon man, get in here. We gotta get you fixed up.”

  I follow him down the hall and into the kitchen. A backdoor slams and a short, mousy blonde woman comes running in. Heavy makeup on her face is at odds with hands covered in dirt, a trowel still in her hand.

  She takes in Erik leaning on the counter and then looks at me. Relief floods her face.

  “Erik! Damn you! I thought you were hurt again.”

  “Sorry to disappoint.” He gives her a big grin and then points at me. “Just this guy. Got cut up on the road.”

  “Oh no. Oh… Well sit. Let me get my stuff.” She opens a cabinet and pulls out a heavy duty first aid kit that she slaps down on the table and opens with an air of proficiency.

  “Where are you cut?”

  Before I can answer she is glaring at Erik.

  “Is that your coat? Don’t answer. Of course it is. And I’ll bet it’s covered in blood as usual.”

  She shakes her head at him as she helps me pull off the jacket. The slice Theo gave me wasn’t too deep, but it does throb. After running it’s had time to swell up and pulling off the jacket causes me to wince.

  “I swear that man doesn’t have one article of clothing that he hasn’t ripped, or bloodied, or stained beyond recognition.” She speaks conspiratorially but I know Erik can hear her. He watches her work, a smile on his face.

  “Don’t just stand there! Light some candles. I’m not going to have any light here in a few minutes.”

  Erik doesn’t say anything, he just pulls out a lighter and walks in a circle around the room, lighting tall, thick candles mounted on every conceivable ledge.

  “Do you want stitches? It could probably use ‘em…”

  I shake my head. I want the least amount of kindness from these people before I destroy their world.

  “Okay. Well, I work in threes here. Hydrogen Peroxide first, alcohol second, Neosporin third. Bacteria… Bacteria is one of the worst things, now.”

  I just nod. She pours peroxide on my wound, dabbing at it with a cloth before studying my face. Looking in my eyes. She turns to Erik.

  “Is he okay?”

  “Just shook up. I think.”

  “Oh. Okay.” She turns back to me, gives my other arm a reassuring squeeze and a small smile. “You’re safe here. What’s your name?”

  “Harlan.”

  It is hard not to lie. I wanted to lie. More than that I didn’t want to say anything.

  “It’s nice to meet you Harlan. I’m Ann. Did he introduce himself?”

  I nod before realizing he hadn’t. “Uh…”

  “Don’t try to cover for me.” Erik walks over laughing, hand proffered. “I’m Erik.”

  We shake hands and I meet his eyes. And I look at him, truly, for the first time. A shorn head, although I can’t tell if it’s because he’s bald or for some other reason. The stubble on his face is a mix of black and grey hairs, probably younger than forty. He’s quick to smile.

  And his hands. I’ve met only a handful of people who strike me more by their hands than by their faces. Uncles, mostly. Ranchers. Farmers. Knuckles and joints swollen by years of work. Proud work. The whorls of their fingerprints almost visible, as if the dirt they work in has been captured and mixed into their very essence. Something they are so a part of that it cannot be washed away.

  Hands that have shed blood.

  I’ve seen these hands.

  He returns to his spot on the counter. Like a man unwilling to sit until he is sure the day is done. His hands lay spread across the counter. The tools of his trade. Ready to go to work. Always.

  “Do you need any food?” Ann says. She asks this, and I say no. Because I can tell that Erik knows something is wrong. That he knows this whole situation reeks. I have stopped being thankful for survival. I’ve turned away all help. I’m a man who wants to be alone with him… for whatever reason. He knows.

  Footsteps on the porch. Did they catch Theo?

  The door opens and feet approach and only Ann looks to the hallway. Erik studies me with something like sadness, mixed with the mien of a man pleased with a puzzle.

  “Sir. Here to… Ma’am. Brian needs you.”

  “What happened?” The words from Erik are quick, sibilant.

  “Brian broke his leg. Stepped in a rut in the dark.”

  Erik still keeps his eyes on me. “And the… nigger?”

  There is an uncomfortable silence. The silence of men who rarely disappoint. Or are afraid to disappoint. “He got away.”

  I try not to breathe a heavy sigh. I lower my head, instead. Best they not see relief. Best they keep thinking me a small man, too afraid.

  “Ma’am? With your permission? Brian…”

  “Of course.”

  Ann’s words sound odd. I think she, too, was waiting for Erik to say something. But he had eyes only for me.

  Footsteps. A door banging shut. The nighttime sounds filling the room.

  “You’re a shitty actor.”

  Yeah.

  “What do you mean?”

  He gives a little chuckle. “You should have practiced saying ‘nigger’ a few times.”

  I stare at him. Not sure where this is going. Wondering why I’m wasting time when this is my moment to kill.

  “The word has been made to carry weight, as much as it’s bandied about. Was bandied about, I guess.”

  He goes to a cabinet and pulls out a bottle of whiskey. “This is an expensive bottle. Would have cost… I don’t know, a shit ton of money. But now it’s free. But I don’t give it to just anyone. Which is weird.”

  He pours two fingers into a glass and hands it to me before pouring a glass for himself. While his back is turned I ease the knife from my boot an
d slip it into my shirt sleeve.

  “Maybe because it was valued before, I think it should be valued now. Do you follow me?” He takes a small, slow, sip. Eyes over the glass still studying me. “It was rare. And cherished. And it hasn’t changed. Only the world has.”

  “I think I understand you.”

  “Do you?” He crosses to sit across from me at the table. Long legs crossed and one hand on the glass, the other dangling out of my view. “Israel had a culture. A rare, esoteric culture that they are… were… proud of. They didn’t let anyone in. The Chinese had a culture. Buddhists. Hindus. Africa… But if you’re white you can’t close yourself off. You can’t say ‘this is ours, and it is rare, and cherished, and we aren’t letting you in.”

  “I understand.”

  He slams a fist on the table. “Stop. Fucking. Pretending.” He looks down, as if regretting his words, before tossing the rest of his drink back. “You knew about us. You knew that our borders, however small, are closed off to people of a certain color. And you used that to get protection. So stop.”

  I don’t say anything. I don’t know what to say. And for some reason, with him speaking about something so passionately, however I might feel about it, seems to be the wrong moment to kill. Is there a right moment?

  “I don’t know why I feel like I need to justify… But I always do. I always do. I’ve had this talk with more than two dozen people. And everyone always stays. Maybe that’s why I go through this bullshit. I need to be sure people understand, and agree.”

  I stay quiet, waiting for him to continue. Waiting for him to culminate with something that will bring me to my feet and give speed to my hands.

  “I love blacks. I love all people.” He spreads his hands. “I just don’t think we can coexist together. And rather than sacrifice our culture, or the peace that can exist within it… I’m building a home. And one day, I’m all for trading with them. With anyone. As long as they understand that we stand alone as a people.”

  We stare at each other. I don’t know how to respond, and I don’t know if I should attack now, or if there’s something wrong in committing murder whilst a man is speaking from the heart. The conversation doesn’t matter, but I know every word will forever be engraved in my memory.