You Can Never Spit It All Out

by Moore, Ralph Robert

  He moved the yellow circles off his daughter, back to the man.

  But the man wasn't there anymore.

  It happened fast.

  The strong shove knocked him off his feet. Invisible hand wresting the flashlight from his grip.

  He crawled on his hands and knees, wincing, over towards his daughter.

  Yellow light appearing on the carpet in front of him.

  "This old pecker your father?"

  Wick kept crawling forward, shaking with fear.

  "Answer me, cunt!"

  "Yes! He is."

  A foot kicked against his ass, propelling him face forward, into the carpet.

  "This is who's gonna rescue you?"

  Wick, on the carpet, looked up into the yellow light, squinting. "Who are you?"

  "I'm the warden."

  "He's not. He's a prisoner."

  "Shut the fuck up."

  His daughter's frightened voice in the darkness. "Daddy, he raped me!" Fresh burst of tears.

  Wick reached her, put a trembling arm around her bare shoulder.

  "You want to try doing something, old man?" Happy chuckle. "Seriously?"

  "Daddy, he–"

  "I know. You told me." Twisted his face around, at the blinding light. "Listen, I have enough equipment here that all three of us can get out safely. The dam burst. There's a lake over our heads. The only reason you're still alive is because there's an air pocket in these rooms. But once you breathe all the air up here, it's gone. You'll suffocate. I can save you. And my daughter. I'm the only person who can save you."

  Silence in the darkness.

  Wick was a salesman. Cars, frozen food, retail property. Forty years summed up in one sentence. He knew when to pitch, when to wait.

  "Daddy?"

  "Ssssh, honey."

  Silence.

  "How you gonna save us?"

  Wick shut his old eyes gratefully. "I brought more than enough air tanks, and regulators. The device you put in your mouth so you can breathe the air in the tanks. The three of us can swim out of the prison. I've already unlocked all the doors to get in here. Once we're outside the prison, we can dump the equipment and swim to the surface. You swim your way, we'll swim ours."

  "Right to the sheriff, to have me captured."

  "It's a long way to shore. It must be getting dark by now outside. Even if my daughter and me raced to the shore, and we won't, you'll have plenty of time to swim to the opposite shore and slip into the woods."

  More silence.

  Wick bent his head, holding onto his daughter, praying.

  The flashlight's yellow beam highlighted Wick's lap. Slid up to his face. "Okay, here's the thing. I can't swim. Never learned."

  Wick raised his face up into the blinding light. "No problem!" Christ, how many times had he said those two words over the long, coffee-wired, too many drinks decades? "New plan. We'll walk through the prison to the outside, then walk underwater, the three of us, through the valley to the opposite shore. You don't have to swim at all. We walk out of the lake on the opposite shore, and you go wherever you want. Free."

  "Except once we get out of the prison, the two of you are gonna swim away from me, and I'm fucked."

  "We wouldn't do that."

  "Shit you wouldn't."

  Wick was out of options. Said the one thing you never say in a sale, but he couldn't think of anything else. "You have my word." Tried to hide his wince.

  "Really! You got any idea how insincere that sounds, daddy?"

  "What else―"

  "Here's an idea. Why don't I just keep fucking your daughter while you watch, cause you don't have the strength to do anything but watch, and if I get rescued, I get rescued. If I don't, I die a happy man. That's what's gonna happen."

  Wick hung his head. With his thumb, surreptitiously touched his ring finger, at the bottom, where his wedding finger had been for so many years before it all went bad. How much strength he had gotten on the road from that symbol of everlasting love. On the road, where sometimes, maybe too many times, you have to swallow whatever's in front of your mouth. "And you'll never be able to rape another woman. Ever. We do it my way, you get out, there's lots of isolated homes on that side of the shore. Probably some with women all alone in them. You already had my daughter. Don't you want someone new?"

  Silence.

  "You a fucked up little daddy."

  "What's it gonna be? My daughter is the last girl you ever rape, or you escape out into the world to rape as many women as you want. All different heights. Colors. Ages."

  He could tell the big man was thinking it over in the darkness on the other side of the flashlight.

  "Daddy, he raped me! Do something!"

  Wick glared at his daughter. "Shut up!"

  "Yeah, shut up, little girl. Man talk. Tell you what, little daddy. I like it, but I still don't trust you."

  "And you shouldn't! We just met." Think of something! "So here's what we do. That prison guard lying over there? I can see he's got a set of handcuffs at his waist. You handcuff my daughter to your wrist. That way, she can't escape. And you know I'm not gonna leave her behind. That's your insurance."

  "Daddy, what are you doing? He raped me!"

  "What do you say?"

  Nothing from the darkness. Then, finally, a chuckle. "That might just work."

  He had four air tanks left, because he had exhausted the first one getting here, and enough mouth regulators, but only two wet suits, two pairs of flippers. Since they were going to walk across the bottom of the lake, the flippers really weren't necessary. Danny was too big to fit into Wick's wet suit or the one he brought along for Joan, so the big man decided no one would wear wet suits. They marched down the stairs, into the water's lappings across one of the steps, each with an air tank strapped to their back, regulator in their mouth, mask on their face, in the clothes they had been wearing. Danny had allowed Joan to get dressed.

  Joan was ordered to descend first into the water-submerged stairs, her wrist handcuffed to one of his wrists. Danny balked as they stepped further down, as the water level rose up his neck, across his regulator, over his face mask. He was sucking in too much air, nervous. At this rate, he'd go through his tank too fast. And they only had one back-up tank.

  As Wick watched, Danny's head dipped under the water. That moment of panic, elbows jerking, face switching left, right, but then Danny seemed to realize he wasn't going to drown, and he continued stepping down, his long, lanky black hair floating over his head.

  Once they arrived at the sub-basement corridor where the men were caged, Danny turned around, motioned to Wick to get ahead of him and Joan, so Wick would be in front. Made sense. He didn't want anyone behind him, where they could try something.

  Some of the men in the cages were floating, dead, feet up by the ceiling, but a few were still desperately breathing air from the shallow pockets at the tops of their cells. Wick wondered what their crimes were. Danny caught their attention by waving his long arms, blowing precious oxygen bubbles out his mouth, lips grinning around the hard black rubber mouthpiece, to show them he was safe, even though they weren't.

  As they reached the cage where the guards' bodies were bumping into each other, Danny stopped long enough to roll some of the men over, find the ones he wanted, reach down, put his big thumbs on their stares, and gouge out their eyes, rising red threads.

  If he had any doubts before, Wick realized now that Danny was never going to let him and his daughter survive. Just out of meanness.

  Once they were out the front door of the prison, Wick stopped them. He let Danny see him check his own air supply, then check Joan's. Her face was frantic behind her mask. He winked at her. Pantomimed that he wanted to check Danny's tank. Danny allowed it, but put his massive hand around Joan's throat.

  Not good. His tank was more than three-quarters empty. He was breathing too deeply, out of fear. At this rate, their tanks plus the one spare tank might not be enough to get to the shore.

 
Wick stood in front of Danny. How could he signal, You're using too much air?

  He showed Danny his own tank level. Then showed Danny his tank level. Put his hands, palms down, in front of him, lowering them in the water. Slow down your breaths.

  White bubbles rising, they walked underwater across the lawn, heading towards the woods that would lead them out on the far side of the lake.

  Most of the trees inside the woods were still standing, but the flood waters sweeping past the trunks had dislodged much of the forest floor debris, piling it in logjams between the trees, so that the three had to keep changing their path to walk around the clogs. And since they weren't swimming, they had to contend with the up and down slopes of the forest. It's not easy walking underwater. That weight makes every lifted knee a task.

  Once Wick had made Danny aware of the air supply meter, Danny started carrying the round gauge in front of him, checking it constantly. They hadn't gotten that far in the forest when Danny began jabbing Wick's upper arm with his finger, jerking on the handcuffs to get Joan even closer.

  Wick looked at the held-out gauge.

  Almost out.

  They still had a long way to go.

  Wick pulled the spare tank floating behind him closer.

  How was he going to explain the procedure to Danny?

  He stood directly in front of the bigger man. Held up an index finger. Pantomimed pulling Danny's tank off his back. Tossing it away. Connecting the new, full tank.

  Behind his face mask, Danny looked more and more suspicious, jutting out his jaw.

  Wick raised his index finger again.

  Pantomimed removing his own mouthpiece, giving it to Danny to breathe.

  Wick made an OK sign with his right hand. Pointed at it with his left finger. Drew a question mark in the cold water.

  Danny was sucking more violently on his mouthpiece.

  Again, the invisible question mark in the water.

  Danny sucked in more air. Sucked. Sucked. The bugged-out eyes behind his face mask. He had just run out of air.

  He clamped his big hands around Joan's neck.

  Wick took a breath. Pulled the mouthpiece out of his own mouth. Bubbles rising up.

  Yanked the mouthpiece out from between Danny's lips. Quickly shoved his own bubbling mouthpiece in place.

  He and his daughter watched as Danny raised his massive arms, feet fluttering. Wick floated his hand up to Danny's shoulder. Gripped the shoulder until the big man realized he was breathing again.

  And calmed down.

  Wick, without a mouthpiece, letting small bubbles of the one breath he had slowly trickle out between his lips, because you can't hold pressurized air in your lungs, unless you want the bends, quickly attached Danny's original mouthpiece to the new tank.

  Took a long, welcome draw on the cold air, heart beating in his ears.

  The three of them still close to each other, hair waving straight up.

  Final step.

  He motioned to Danny to remove the mouthpiece from his lips, and take back his original mouthpiece.

  He shook his large head.

  Wick showed him both tanks' gauges. Angrily tapped his finger against their glass. The one in Danny's mouth? Less than half full now. The one losing precious oxygen in the water? Still full.

  Danny was reluctant.

  Wick reached up, yanked the mouthpiece out of Danny's mouth. Shoved in the mouthpiece for the new tank.

  Once again, Danny panicking underwater.

  This time, Wick didn't hold his shoulder.

  The elbows-waving giant eventually understood he could breathe again.

  Wick put the mouthpiece he had pulled out of Danny's mouth back into his own mouth. Could taste Danny's teeth, tongue. Not good.

  He checked gauges. Joan's was half-full. Wick's was less than half-full, thanks to Danny's stupidity.

  He signaled to them to move forward again.

  His daughter kept her head down, knees lifting, as they travelled. He tried to connect with her a few times through their face masks, but she wouldn't, through the layers of oval plastic, meet his eyes.

  Danny walked confidently, at ease now, enjoying the novelty of what they were doing, but bubbles still flying out of his mouth, seconds counting down on a time bomb.

  Wick watched where he was stepping his feet, but otherwise kept his eyes on Danny, studying him, trying to figure out his weak points, his strengths.

  They were deep in the underwater woods when Danny's latest tank starting running out of air.

  No spare tanks.

  The big man sucked on his mouthpiece. Swam in Wick's face. Gesturing at his lips.

  Wick's own tank was almost empty. He watched as Danny, having learned the drill, checked Wick's gauge. Danny checked Joan's gauge. About a quarter of a tank left. Simple math. That was the one you were going to steal.

  Danny's massive hand yanked the mouth piece out from between Joan's lips. Tossed his own useless mouth piece away, letting it float behind his head.

  Joan, knees drawing up in the water. No air.

  Wick passed her his mouth piece. Using his fingers, he gestured to Danny, Let me attach Joan's tank to your back.

  Danny nodded, long black hair floating, sucking on the new mouth piece.

  Wick reached fussily behind his back, unstrapped Danny's empty tank.

  Swam up a few feet, coming over the top of Danny's head.

  Smashed the hard metal bottom of the tank against the bridge of Danny's nose, breaking it.

  Danny, jerking in mid-water, hands going up to his face.

  Wick reaching down, yanking off Danny's face mask.

  At that depth, without a face mask, you're blind.

  Joan, tethered by the handcuffs to Danny, tried to swim away. Kept getting pulled back by the chain.

  Danny's hands waving in front of him, sightlessly trying to locate Joan by the angles the handcuff tugged on his wrist.

  The three of them tumbling around each other, feet upside down, in slow motion.

  Danny had a big advantage. He still had air.

  Wick felt his lungs getting thin. Stars in his head.

  Grabbed the mouth piece out of Danny's mouth. The tank was still attached to Joan so he could swim up only so far. Got his shoes on top of Danny's face.

  Danny's long arms fumbled up Wick's legs. His hands found the older man's balls. Started squeezing.

  White bubbles pouring out of Wick's mouthpiece, lips grimaced.

  And then, the huge hands flapping in a panic between his thighs.

  Releasing their grip.

  Floating out sideways.

  Joan was panicking. The air in Wick's tank used up.

  He passed her his mouthpiece.

  Danny's big, drowned corpse floating between them, arms hanging down, mouth drooped open.

  So down to one air tank, the one Joan was using, but that was almost empty.

  The surface of the lake was far, far above them. Might as well be the moon.

  And Joan was still handcuffed to Danny's wrist.

  Wick gestured to Joan to let him take a breath from the mouth piece. She shook her head.

  He put his right hand on the mouth piece. Stared with his father's eyes into hers.

  Took a sip of air, passed it back to his daughter.

  Reached his two hands down, to Danny's wrist. Using what little strength he had left, he bent the wrist all the way down, trying to break the bones.

  But he couldn't.

  No way his daughter could swim to the surface with Danny's weight chained to her.

  He floated his face down until it was level with Danny's wrist.

  Put his lips against the hairy side of the wrist.

  Keeping his lips around the skin in a seal, he dug his teeth into the wrist, pulling off as much skin and meat as he could. Yanked a floating square of hair-covered flesh away from the wrist, spitting it out. Letting it drift away.

  Bit again.

  Bone the circumference of a
thick pencil. Front teeth couldn't bite through the hardness. Slid his mouth further onto the wrist, getting his molars against the bone. Crunched down, working his back teeth, yanking left and right, like a dog. Blood flowing up in the dark water.

  Snap!

  Needed another gulp of air.

  Fitted his teeth back against the wrist, jagged end of the broken wrist bone on one side cutting into his cheek, sending up its own trail of blood, as he chewed his way through the meat and tendons in the middle of the wrist to the bone on the other side.

  Clenched his molars around that bone. Reached his left hand out, pulled Danny's half-amputated hand down as quickly as he could.

  Snap!

  Left hand on Danny's hand, right hand on Danny's forearm beyond his wrist, Wick pulled his two hands apart in the water, using all the strength he had left, until Danny's hand popped off his arm.

  Curled fingers stiff as they floated downwards.

  Danny's side of the handcuffs slipped easily, bloodily, off his amputated forearm.

  Wick felt a twinge in his chest. Not good. Tapping Joan's collarbone, got her attention. Signaled for her to take a deep breath, hand him the mouth piece so he could take a deep breath, then unharness her tank like he's unharnessed his, and they'd both swim up to the surface.

  She swam upwards a lot faster than him. He saw her feet disappearing into the murk above him.

  By the time he climbed up through the water to the top, he was not feeling too good, chest aching.

  Head bobbing above the choppy surface of the lake, he huffed and puffed, trying to catch his breath.

  It was dark. How long had he been under? Light rain falling on the water.

  In the moonlight, he could see her white trail fifty feet ahead of him, splashing towards the shore.

  They actually weren't that far out. Which surprised him. If Danny had used less air, they might have made it.

  He paddled slowly across the surface, chest aching, arms feeling numb.

  Joan reached the far shore.

  Crawled on her hands and knees through the shallow water.

  Her face had that emaciated look of someone who has almost died. The skull waiting behind the skin.

  Her father's body washed up beside her.

  Washed back.

  She looked over her shoulder.