by M C Rooney
“I did too,” Craig replied.
“Yes, you bloody did,” John spat out, “and don’t think I will forget that you didn’t try to stop this in the first place.”
Good call, Craig thought; he didn’t try to stop it because a part of him wanted Maurice to beat the shit out of the Martins.
“If we are to do this,” Craig said, “we need weapons, and we need to know all the facts.”
“What do you mean?” John asked.
“We need Maurice to lead us, agreed?”
“Yes.” John nodded as they almost reached his tent.
“Maurice needs to seek revenge on the Martins,” Craig said.
“For the beating?” John replied. “Of course he will.”
“But maybe he won’t,” replied Cheng. “Maybe the beating will leave him destroyed, as the Martins intended.”
“So what do you think will certainly make Maurice seek revenge?” asked John thoughtfully.
“I know what Scott and Warren did to Veronica,” Craig said.
“What do you mean, ‘what they did’?” asked John.
“No matter how much you wish to keep a secret,” Craig replied, “someone will always blab.”
They didn’t know that Maurice had now regained consciousness. The beating wasn’t as bad as it looked, as he had covered his body as much as he could. And now, Maurice listened as Craig told John what his cousins had done to the love of his life.
Anger is an energy, and Maurice was now very angry.
Ken Martin watched as his nephew’s friends dragged his unconscious body away. What a mess, he thought, and not just because of the clumsy way his gang had handled the beating. This was going to lead to more trouble. He could see the way the Chinese traitor and Maurice’s friend, John Carter, had glared at him when they took Maurice away. Some of the young kids were glaring at him as well. This beating had not subdued the sheep. This beating had given them strength.
“C’mon,” he growled to his two sons. “Get the food, and let’s get back to the mansion.”
Veronica gave a start as she awoke from her sleep to see a bloody mess being dragged into her tent.
“Maurice!” she cried out. “What happened; what happened?” she asked, as her hands fluttered around his bloody face and body.
“He stood up to the Martins,” replied John with a shamed face, “and we stood by—”
“I’m okay, Vonnie,” Maurice mumbled as he reached up and touched her face. “When seven people attack you, it’s surprising how much they get in the way of each other.”
John looked at Cheng in complete shock. He was awake, but for how long, and how much did he hear?
“But your face is bleeding,” she said, in tears. “Why did they do this to you?”
“Because they are animals,” Maurice replied as he lifted himself into a sitting position, “and it is time for me to become one too.”
“What?” Veronica said, confused. “I don’t understand.”
John noticed that he winced a few times, but he seemed to be doing much better than anybody would have anticipated. An idea soon formed in his mind. A plan for murder.
“I know what they did to you, Vonnie,” he continued. “Craig told me, in his own way.”
Veronica broke into sobbing tears.
“I’m sorry, Veronica,” Craig said in shame. “I thought he was unconscious.”
“And you were trying to get me to lead the rebellion,” Maurice replied as he felt at the swelling in his face.
“I’m sorry, Maurice,” Cheng replied. “I really am.”
“Don’t be,” Maurice said as he slowly stood up. “I needed to know the truth. I needed to know what we face.”
John noticed that something had changed in his friend. His eyes had become hard, his voice had deepened somehow, and he was flexing his muscles like a lion awakening from a long sleep.
“They won’t be expecting us,” John said as he looked at his friend, who nodded back in return. Maurice was with him on this.
“You mean to attack all of them?” Cheng said, surprised.
“No, not all of them, Craig,” Maurice replied. “Just the ones who need killing.”
Nobody gave a start at Maurice’s candid admission that he was about to commit murder; everybody had changed tonight.
“They will not be expecting us,” John repeated, “and if we are quick, Maurice will be beyond suspicion due to his injuries.”
“But you won’t,” Maurice said as he looked over at Craig. “I want you to leave tonight, you and your family, just for a few months.”
“I’d rather stay and fight,” replied Cheng.
“No,” John replied thoughtfully. “Sorry, but we need them to think it was you. I mean, you hate the Martins as much as anybody, and if they think it was you, then we can strike again when the time is right.”
Craig Cheng sighed. “Karen will be pissed off she missed all the action.”
“Better angry than dead,” Maurice replied.
“I feel like a coward,” Craig protested one more time.
“Don’t think like that, Craig,” Maurice replied. “We all have a part to play in this, and yours is as important as mine and John’s.”
“They may come looking for you,” John said. “Move quickly and hide.”
“And watch for the dead,” Maurice added. “They may still be centred in the towns, but I have come across a few in the bushlands. Some are strangely changing colour as well.”
“What do you mean?” replied Cheng.
“Some are getting pale skin,” he replied, “but I hope you won’t have to see them.”
“Maurice,” Veronica said with a shaky voice, “I’m so ashamed. I couldn’t tell you; I thought you would try to kill them,”
“You were right then,” Maurice replied and tried to smile, but his swollen face would not let him. “But you have nothing to be ashamed about, my love, nothing at all.”
“Don’t die, Maurice,” she said sadly. “I don’t think I can make it without you.” What has happened to us? Veronica thought in despair. The idea of murder was always an abomination to her, but now, she was condoning the man she loved to commit such a foul act.
“It won’t be me who’s dying tonight,” Maurice replied with eyes like steel. “It won’t be me.”
With a quick nod of his head and a wish of good luck, Craig Cheng disappeared into the night, and within twenty minutes, his brother and sister and family home were moving inland as fast as they could.
Craig Cheng would return in the coming months, and with him, he would bring about five hundred survivors from nearby areas. They were survivors who had endured violence as well. The tribe of the West Coast was beginning to build, and the culture of violence began to thrive.
Maurice and John crouched down and watched the mansion from a safe distance in the cold night air. With all the fires burning in their house, which was needed for the extra heat due to the large, empty spaces, Maurice and his friend could work out where most of the ten occupants were.
“You sure about this?” asked John.
“Yes,” replied Maurice firmly.
“You have killed animals before, but killing a human being is something else.”
“I am just thinking of what they did to Vonnie,” Maurice growled. “Believe me, killing them will be my pleasure.”
“Well, they won’t see you coming, that’s for sure,” John replied with a wicked grin.
For the last half an hour, Veronica had been putting a mixture of animal fat and charcoal all over his exposed body. All John could see of Maurice were the whites of his eyes and his teeth when he smiled, which wasn’t very often now.
Maurice grunted in reply. He looked like a greyhound about to be let loose at the races.
“You really are going in shirtless?”
“It feels right,” Maurice replied.
“Where are you going first?” John asked.
“Straight to the poolroom,” he replied, and thi
s time, he did give a painful grin and took off at a lumbering run.
Straight to the poolroom?
John brought out his bow and focused on the poolroom, which had a wide open archway looking out into the open fields. “Oh, yes, him.”
The thought of taking someone’s life did not trouble him now. He wasn’t really fully aware of that until after he let the arrow loose. Today would be the start of a long and bloody life at the side of his friend Maurice.
Dobson was leaning against the wall in the poolroom, wishing that cigarettes were still around to steady his nerves. What a day! First, Scott cowardly beat up an old man, then the huge, angry cousin of his almost broke his hand for it. Man, that guy took a lot of beatings to stay down. Wells had copped a broken hand from hitting him. Brooks had somehow knocked Harris out, and amazingly, the big man had managed to break Frampton’s jaw. It took seven of them to subdue him, with his evil mother looking on and smiling. Dobson didn’t know if Maurice Roberts was conscious now, but judging by the defiance he showed, this would not be the last time they would have to fight him.
“Well, I am stuffed,” he murmured to himself, and just as he was about to move away from the wall and go to bed, an arrow went into his stomach.
“Fuck!” he cried out in agony. “Fuck, somebody help me!”
He tried to drag himself out of the room, but the blood was spilling fast, and he felt his life ebbing away.
“It’s okay,” a voice said. “Help is on its way.”
Dobson looked up and saw that a huge black bear had entered the poolroom.
“It can’t be,” he muttered as he slumped against the wall.
“Oh, it is,” the bear replied, and for some strange reason, he was placing the billiard balls from the pool table into a large thick sock.
“You were almost dead,” Dobson managed to say as the life drained away from him.
“Not as close as you, mate,” the bear replied.
“Finish it,” Dobson replied. “I don’t want to come back.”
“If you insist,” the bear said as he broke one of the billiard cues in half.
The last sight Dobson had of this world was of a bear driving a broken snooker cue through his eye.
“What a day,” Scott said in his wheezy laugh as he sat on the couch in one of the mansion’s many lounge rooms. “Not only do we have enough food to last beyond the winter, but I got to beat up my fat cousin.”
Warren looked sideways at his younger brother. Scott beat him up? That was complete bullshit. Maurice had been breaking his hand, and it was only the distraction of his mother that allowed Scott and his men to gain the upper hand. His cousin was not a fat bastard as Scott would like to say; he was a man mountain who needed to be killed, the sooner the better in Warren’s opinion.
“And what are we to do with Veronica?” Warren asked.
“I don’t know; you’re the father,” Scott replied.
“That’s bullshit; you had more turns than me,” Warren replied.
They had caught her alone in the wilderness when she was trying to catch some fish. Scott had really enjoyed taking her, as he had lusted after her ever since primary school.
“Perhaps we will get rid of her like your ex-wife,” Scott replied with his evil grin.
“That was fun.” Warren laughed. “She really put up a struggle.”
“But you can only hold your breath for so long.” Scott giggled.
“I’m sure the fishes had a good feed.” Warren smiled at his brother.
Suddenly, a scratching noise could be heard coming from behind the lounge room door.
“Bloody mice again,” Scott grumbled as he got up to investigate.
“That’s the trouble with all the food lying around,” Warren said as his brother went to open the door. “We get so many mice, some as large as rats.”
“What the fuck—?” was the last thing Scott said as a sock full of billiard balls came crushing down on his skull.
Warren stood up in panic as a large man with a painted black body and face was smashing his brother’s head in with a blunt object.
“You had more turns, did you?” the figure roared as he smashed Scott’s head over and over, until it became a meaty pulp.
“Stop right there,” Warren shouted tremulously as he took out a knife from his hip.
The big man turned towards him. “Oh, you going to stab me, are you, Warren?”
No, it can’t be, Warren thought, horrified. He had looked half-dead only a few hours ago. Warren was about to call out for help when the big man lunged across the room and grabbed his throat with his right hand and his knife with his left.
“Go on, you rapist cunt,” Maurice said with a soft growl, “stab me, then,” as he looked directly into his face.
And Warren did try to stab him, but Maurice was far too strong, and the knife moved away from the intended target and started moving towards Warren’s face.
“No, you can’t!” Warren cried out.
“Yes, I can.” Maurice grimaced as he moved the knife to his cousin’s eye. “You hurt her, now I can hurt you.” He said as he slammed the knife through his eye and brain.
“Time to go,” he muttered as he watched his cousin’s body slide to the ground, but it was already too late to get out of the house, as her mother’s boyfriend, Barry Smith, now stumbled into the room.
“What’s the noise?” he said as he walked through the open door.
“Death,” Maurice whispered sadly in reply.
“Oh my Lord!” Barry cried out as he noticed Scott’s headless body on the floor.
Maurice ran for him, but slimy Barry Smith had bolted back out the doorway, screaming. Fortunately for Maurice, though, he went straight to the poolroom, looking for Dobson.
“He’s dead too,” Maurice mumbled as he finally cornered him. Strangely, he really didn’t want to kill his mother’s lover, even though he had betrayed his father’s friendship and broken up his family.
“Maurice, is that you?” Barry asked.
“Yes, it’s me,” Maurice replied.
“You put a pool cue through Dobson’s head.”
“Yes, I did.”
And I enjoyed it.
What was happening to him? When did he change from the fat kid hiding behind the Internet to a person who enjoyed killing? But he still didn’t want to hurt Barry. Why? Because he didn’t want to hurt his mother, he suddenly realised. Harden your heart, Maurice, you wimp; she hates you, he chastised himself. You need to be harder to survive in this world.
“I know … what happened today was—” Barry didn’t finish the sentence, as an arrow went through the side of his head. His body fell down next to Dobson’s.
“Thank you, John,” Maurice muttered and ran outside into the darkness.
Rebecca Roberts stood at the window of the darkened room, brushing her long black hair and gazing out at all the tents and tepees surrounding the mansion. She really felt like a lady of the manor being the only female allowed into this house. Except, of course, for Warren’s wife, Elaine, but she had disappeared months ago, and nobody had heard anything from her since.
God, I miss electricity, she thought with melancholy as she looked into the darkness. But this house was truly a blessing with all of its beautiful furnishings and accessories. She heard another muffled sound come from the south side of the building, and again wondered what is was. Probably one of Ken’s thugs getting drunk on the last cellar of whiskey that the supposed Christians had stashed away beneath the house, she thought with amusement.
Well, no doubt Barry would come back later with news of what had been happening. Such a good man he was, always doing as he was told, just like a proper man should. It was a shame that money didn’t exist anymore. Barry had been so rich, it gave her goose bumps to think about it, even now. She went back to thinking about what had happened earlier with her son, Maurice. What a disappointment that fat boy had been for such a long time. She really was embarrassed to admit to everybody that
he was her son, but today, she had seen the way he fought all of those men and was surprised that she felt a little proud of him. Perhaps there was hope for him yet, and given time, maybe he could be allowed to move into the mansion with her and Barry.
She was jolted from her thoughts when she saw a huge shadowy image run from the poolroom out into the camp grounds. Strange, she thought as she realised who that large image reminded her of. “What was Maurice doing in this house?”
Veronica breathed a sigh of relief as Maurice returned to their tent. She was so worried about him. It seemed like she had spent the last six years worrying over him.
“It’s over, then?” she asked in hope.
“Only half over,” Maurice replied. “My uncle won’t stand still for this.”
“But he doesn’t know it was you?”
“No, but his sons are dead. He will not stop until he finds out who killed them.”
“But he will think it was Cheng.”
“Yes, I hope so,” Maurice, who was now starting to feel the pain and fatigue of today’s events, replied. “But a reckoning is coming. My uncle still rules us all.”
“The pain has finally arrived,” Veronica said, watching him wincing.
“Yes, it has I think, Vonnie,” he replied as he sat down.
“Tomorrow you may not be able to move properly.”
“Maybe that’s a good thing,” Maurice replied as he moved towards his bedroll. “It makes the lie more convincing.”
“Wait a moment,” Veronica said as she reached for a bowl of water and a clean cloth. So the world is free of Scott and Warren Martin, she thought with satisfaction. She was overjoyed at their deaths. Horrible as it may sound; the thought of those men no longer being on the planet gave her an overwhelming sense of relief and pleasure. “Did they put up much of a fight, Maurice?” she asked.
“No, not really; it was relatively quick,” he replied.
“And did John play a part?” she asked.
“Yes, he killed Dobson and … and Barry Smith.”
“Your mother’s partner?” Veronica said, surprised.