The Protectors

by King, Ryan

  I try to pull away. "I'm not sixteen yet."

  Reaper licks his lips, foul breath pushing down upon me. "I'm just going to test the wares, that's all. Let the boys know what the merchandize is worth. You wouldn't begrudge anyone that."

  Before I can say anything, he nearly lifts me off the ground with his hand in my crotch. His big fingers are there probing, thrusting, hurting. "Stop!" I cry out. "You're hurting me."

  "Shut up," he says burying his head in the opening of my shirt licking my neck.

  I cry out again and struggled, but it's like pushing against a tree.

  "Let her go," says Mother from behind Reaper.

  He grunts in surprise and releases me. Turning he sees the small woman there with a slender knife in her hand. Fast as a cat, he punches out at her catching her flush in the face. Blood spouts from her nose and mouth as she crumbles to the ground.

  Reaper stops to spit disdainfully on Mother's writhing form before turning back to me.

  "No hurt, Teal," says a childish voice from inside the garden. "Miss Margaret hurt?"

  "Get out of here, softhead," says Reaper, "or I'll put a beating on you too."

  Victor ignores the Protector and helps Mother off the ground.

  The Shrieker appears genuinely angry now and he lets go of me. He swings his arm and his fist connects fully with the side of Victor's face. The big man's head rocks back, but he doesn't fall, only looks back at Reaper in slight surprise.

  "Leave him alone," I say.

  Reaper backhands me absentmindedly and then turns back just in time to see Victor rushing upon him.

  The giant wraps his arms around Reaper and squeezes him tightly. "Nohurtteal. Nohurtteal. Nohurtteal," he keeps saying over and over as the two men struggle and fall to the ground.

  Reaper thrashes and bites at Victor until the big man lets him go. The Shrieker climbs to his feet red in the face and gasping. Picking up his whip with trembling fingers, Reaper starts hitting Victor again and again with all his might.

  Victor squeals and tries to crawl away, but Reaper follows, striking Victor across the back, legs, arms, and head again and again until blood shows through torn clothing.

  I rush towards the two, but feel Mother's arms around me, holding me back. "No dear, stay out of it, or he'll kill you."

  "But he's going to kill Victor!"

  At that moment the wooden handle of the whip breaks in half. Reaper stands over Victor's prostrate body heaving great gasps of air. His large head slowly rotates towards us before baring his teeth and screaming savagely. Fists clinched he steps forward straddling the man's body and grips the hair on the back of Victor's head. With one hand he tugs the head back to expose Victor's neck while pulling out the large curved knife at his belt.

  "No!" I cry struggling in mother's arms. "Don't kill him!"

  Reaper ignores me, but Victor's meet mine. Incredibly they look calm, even aware. He smiles at me affectionately.

  "I'll Take the Chit from you," I scream.

  The Protector freezes and tilts his head in my direction like a dog listening for a particular sound.

  "No," hisses Mother.

  I ignore her. "If you spare him, I'll Take the Chit from you when I'm Of Age."

  He glares at me angrily before looking me up and down. I can almost feel him devouring me and my skin crawls. Finally, he puts the knife back in its sheath and steps away from Victor.

  "Pick him up and get him out of here," he rasps and notices the other women and girls at the entrance. "Not one word of this to anyone or I'll peel the skin off your faces. Now get!"

  We flee. It is difficult carrying Victor, but he is able to support most of his own weight. I can feel Reaper's eyes upon me until we are down the street and out of sight.

  I hear a strange sound from Mother and turn to see something terrible.

  Tears are running down her face and that frightens me worse than anything that has happened so far.

  Victor cries all the way back to our house, but once there seems to calm himself. Mother and I strip the bloody rags from his body and clean his wounds, most of which are on his immense back. He stoically endures what is certainly painful, mumbling incoherently to himself.

  Once we had done all we could for him, I try to get the big man to rest. Instead he takes his rainmaker and sits cross-legged in front of the open fireplace. He tilts the cylinder to one side and then the other. The soothing sounds of rain fill the house while Victor stares intently into the flames.

  *******

  I have never seen Grandpa like this. To call him angry fails to adequately explain his state of mind. His deep fear for Mother and me, mixed with fury over what had happened, all combined to form a strange cocktail of intense brooding that set our home on edge.

  Instead of being more afraid, though, I feel a sense of clarity. I truly realize for the first time that we are not the Protected and the Shriekers are not our Protectors. It is a situation that can't continue, I know. We have to do something.

  "The Protected are close to one hundred fifty, right?" I ask Grandpa the following week in his workshop.

  "More or less," he answers working on a giant stereo speaker. "About twenty-five of what you would call Sad Ones and the rest women or young."

  My face turns hot. I didn't know that Grandpa knew we call them that. "What about the Protectors?"

  He stares at me sternly for almost a minute and I feel certain he can read my thoughts. Seeming to make up his mind he nods. "Thirty-one. But only fifteen are actual Shriekers. The rest are Prospects, boys taken to serve them once they came Of Age. Only two of those have been promoted to Protectors."

  "Why so few Shriekers?"

  "There used to be much more," he answers. "Most were killed in the Rebellion along with all our men."

  Understanding dawns. "We almost beat them, didn't we?"

  Grandpa glances around nervously. "That was a long time ago."

  I hesitate before finding my resolve. "We have to do something."

  "No we don't," he picks up a screwdriver and tightens a clamp.

  Knowing what I need to do, I still despise myself for doing it. I sigh and turn to the window knowing I can't say the words while facing him. "In two months I will walk up to the Shrieker House and take Reaper's Chit."

  "You don't have to do that," Grandpa says behind me, and it sounds as if he has thrown the tool on the table.

  "Yes I do," I say. "If I don't go, they'll kill you and Mother, but first they'll make an example of us to everyone. Take away what little dignity they've allowed us to have."

  "What do you know about dignity?" Grandpa's voice has a hint of anger.

  I ignore the question. "Once I Take the Chit, Reaper will use me and degrade me. He'll do it in front of the other Reapers and invite them to use and degrade me themselves. When he's tired of me he'll trade or sell me to another Shrieker like a goat."

  "Stop it."

  "Somewhere along the line I'll likely get pregnant," I continue. "Who will know or care who the father is? This great grandchild of yours will grow up in squalor and fear and bondage."

  "I said stop it, Teal."

  "And not too long after these things have happened, I will lose hope. I won't be able to live that way. One morning they will find me hanging from a beam or sitting in my own blood after I've cut my wrists."

  "Enough!" he cries at me.

  "This is my future," I turn to look at him now. "Unless someone does something. Unless you do something to stop it."

  With one of his powerful arms he sweeps the tools and speaker parts off the work table and onto the floor. His face looks at me with anger and shame. "Get out."

  I want to tell him I am sorry. I want to rush into his arms and beg for his forgiveness. Wanted things to be like they were before.

  Instead I turn and walk out the door.

  *******

  Grandpa doesn't stay angry at me for long, but I can tell things aren't okay with us. A persistent awkwardness hangs over our h
eads. I still want to apologize for what I said, but something told me that would be wrong. That it would be weak and possibly even doom us all.

  As if we aren't already doomed.

  Mother also seems on edge. I suspect that she and Grandpa talked about what I said, but she never brings it up with me. This isn't surprising given my mother doesn't speak about much of anything unless there is a good reason.

  Indomitable and sweet Victor continues on as if nothing happened. His wounds heal and he never even misses a day in the fields, although I'm sure he must be in terrible pain after the beating he took.

  Grandpa is meeting with the Old Ones in the evening after the Remembering. At first it was just one person at a time, but it soon grows to small groups, and now all the Old Ones. The rest of us are curious, but other than Mother and I, most just chalk it up to more unexplained strangeness of these human Artifacts from another age.

  One night the first small flurries of snow fall and everyone who was Of Age was told to return to the Meeting Hall after putting the little ones to bed. I help Mother place Victor on the pallet in front of the fire to sleep and then walk back with her. She seems as if she wants to protest my involvement, but then just shrugs.

  "She's not Of Age," Grandpa says as soon as he sees me enter.

  "What does that even mean?" I ask. "It's just something from the Treaty. Made up."

  "Let her stay," says Mother with a finality that tells me there will be no discussion on this topic.

  Grandpa must have known it too because he simply grumbles under his breath and turns away.

  The large meeting room soon fills with nearly a hundred Protected. Almost all of them are women and all are nervous. This has never been done as far as anyone knows and many keep looking over their shoulders and out windows racked with guilt and fear.

  "We should get started," says Doc Huck looking at Grandpa.

  My grandfather nods and appears to gather his courage before speaking. "Many of you remember the Rebellion over a decade ago. Few of you remember the times before and only a handful lived in the days of the Great Plague."

  I find myself leaning forward in anticipation. I knew every story by heart, but this was new.

  "The Shriekers weren't the first road gang to attack Newton in those dark days, but they took the most. We were nearly burned out twice and most of the town starved in the Famine Year. Those that were left fought each other for every kernel of corn or rotting dog corpse. None of us were in any shape to fight off the attacks. So we made a deal with the devil, but things were so bad we didn't care. The Shriekers helped us for a time when we were getting raids near every week. It was a good arrangement at first. We gave them a little food and shelter and they helped us fight. And for a while it worked. We focused on growing food and they watched our backs while we did it."

  Mother's hand was under her sleeve and I suspected she was unconsciously touching her hidden knife.

  "The fighting was bad at first, but gangs eventually learned to pass by Newton. Wasn't long after that we were scavenging outside the town and planting whole fields of our own food again. People began to cooperate. Soon, the madness settled and we weren't getting attacked at all. Then the Shriekers started taking from us. A little at first, such that it wasn't worth protesting, but it grew over time. It was inevitable I guess, in their nature. Soon they were stealing our food and women. Groups of them breaking into houses at night and doing their worst. Anyone who did protest was gunned down, back when we had guns. Something had to be done."

  "The Rebellion," says a girl to my right.

  "Their word, not ours," answers Broily.

  Grandpa smiles sadly. "I'm pretty sure we surprised them. Didn't enter their heads that we would dare go after them. They expected us to obey and endure, no matter what they did to us. Terror was their only weapon and one they used with practiced precision."

  I look at Mother and wonder what she is remembering. How many times did they break into our house? How many cruel men raped and abused her? At what point did Grandpa protest too much and lose his legs for it?

  "We damn near had them beat," continues Grandpa, "but winter was coming on and we knew if we were to survive we needed to prepare. By then most of the Shriekers were dead and many of our men were too. Both sides were at the end of their endurance and we were destroying the town as we fought. That's why we don't have running water or sewage anymore, but everything was breaking down and we knew it could no longer be replaced."

  "So you made a treaty with the Shriekers," says Sarah. Even her conversational voice is beautiful, I realize in the stillness.

  Grandpa nods. "We got almost everything we wanted. They agreed to not mistreat the women, children, old, or infirm. They agreed to never take a woman by force again. They would be our Protectors and we the Protected and we would provide for them as long as they helped defend us and abided by the Treaty."

  "But they didn't abide by it?" asks a small voice from the other side of the room.

  "Oh, they abided by it," says Grandpa. "It's only recently that they've started really taking advantage and abusing us again."

  "Then what went wrong?" I ask louder than I intended.

  He looks at me before answering. "Clay outsmarted us. He had all of his men and all of our men sign the treaty in our own blood. I saw it hanging in Clay's office the other day, my signature is there on it. After the signatures he had his men seize all of us. We protested, but he said there was nothing in the Treaty about not killing the men of Newton. They tied us all up, slit our throats, and laid the corpses out on the ground for the town to see."

  "But they didn't kill you," says Reuben and for once he doesn't sound drunk.

  Grandpa is looking down at his legs. "They decided I was part of the infirm indicated in the Treaty. They dragged me out of my chair and hung me up by my hands in the center of the courthouse where we'd all signed. Made me watch as they murdered my friends and neighbors. Then they cut me down and made me crawl through their blood while they pissed and spat on me."

  The room was eerily silent and I notice everyone is staring at my grandfather intently, even Mother.

  "Ironically, they intended their act as an example. To terrorize us of course, but they warned us never to speak of that day. And we didn't, there was no point."

  "Is there a point now? In speaking of it?" asks Miriam.

  Grandpa pauses so long that I think he isn't going to answer. He finally takes a deep breath and glances around. "We surprised them before and I think we could do it again. They don't expect us to do anything."

  "But there's no men left," says our neighbor Candice. "They'll kill us all if we do anything."

  "They can't kill us all," answers Broily. "We provide their food, their clothes, their shelter. Without us they have to go back on the road and none of them want that. Not anymore."

  "But we need everyone in on this," adds Doc Huck. "All it takes is one person saying something to a Protector and we're in trouble. Although they can't kill all of us, they'd certainly kill some of us as an example. We've got to be together on this."

  "How are we supposed to fight those men?" asks Candice. "They'll just kill us and then where will our children be?"

  "We fight them by fighting them," says Reuben and I am surprised to see a fierceness in his old bloodshot eyes.

  "They'll never expect us to rise against them," says Grandpa. "We'll have surprise and numbers on our side. Most of the ammo for the guns is gone, so we'll make weapons in hiding to use."

  This wasn't technically true. I'd seen the Shrieker Bird's Eye kill a small black bear with a rifle last year. The animal had been hanging around the edge of the goat herd and we were sure the animal would eventually drag one off despite the dogs. I remember how the sound of the weapon had frightened me and everyone else. That was the first and only time I'd seen a gun. I hadn't been paying attention the last few minutes and realize that most of the objections had been talked down or reasoned with.

  "So is the
re a plan or something?" asks Sarah.

  Grandpa nods. "We're still working on that, but I've got some ideas. We'll talk more in the days ahead. The important part of tonight was getting everyone's mind right for what is to come."

  "We've stayed long enough," says Broily. "Don't want any of the Shriekers to get suspicious. Remember folks, don't talk about this outside this room and for God's sake don't talk to any of your sons or brothers who are working for the Shriekers. We don't know if they can be trusted."

  "But we're going to save them, right?" asks Beatrice, Jonesy's mother.

  Grandpa, Reuben, Doc Huck, and Broily turn to each other. Rueben speaks to her kindly. "If we can. They're part of us, we'll try to bring them back in the fold."

  I think of Jonesy and some of the other Newton boys working for the Shriekers. I am certain some of them will fight against us. They have become drunk on power and don't consider themselves part of us anymore.

  "That's enough for tonight," says Grandpa. "May God bless us and help us."

  Some grumble as they depart but several others say "amen." I peer around at the people and know I should be excited about what has happened tonight. This is what I wanted. What I set in motion.

  Instead I feel terrible, a sense of foreboding weighing me down like the kudzu slowly covering the world outside.

  *******

  As we make weapons we hide them in the Dead Houses in the Borderland. Clubs and spears are our most common instruments, but there is also an occasional flail or rusty knife.

  Everyone is edgy. We meet each other's eyes and then glance away as if afraid the Protectors can read our thoughts. There are more late night meetings after the Remembering, but they serve more to strengthen our resolve than to actually strategize.

  Reaper is watching me with hungry eyes, and it is somehow more frightening that he no long paws at me. It is as if he already considers me a possession, one he is making plans for, one he is waiting to take ownership of.

  "You keep that big idiot away from here," he says when Victor comes around to greet us. "Next time he won't be so lucky."

  Victor seems genuinely content. He is eating voraciously. Grins moronically at the children and plays with his rainmaker. At night his loud snores from the pallet in front of the fire testify to his sound relaxation.