by Bob Williams
“Uh...David. David Thompson.” The man was twenty something and dirty. He might have shit his pants when Kade rocked him a few minutes before.
“David. Can I call you Dave? Great. We have a problem here, Dave. Do you know what it is?”
“Listen, we’re just out here like you, trying to survive,” David pleaded. The severity of the situation had snapped him back from the head shot and he was in full-on survival mode.
“Dave, we are not out here surviving. We live here, and we are quite happy, to be honest. At least we were until you and your Regular pals broke into our house and stole our supplies!” Kade jammed the microphone he was holding into David’s Adam’s apple and he began gasping for air.
“Dave, get ahold of yourself, for goodness sakes. You’re embarrassing yourself. Let me ask you another question. Who’s your lady friend? I haven’t seen her face but she has legs for miles, Dave. Ortiz, bring her on over.”
Ortiz grabbed the woman by the arm and dragged to the front of the stage next to Kade. The woman was sobbing uncontrollably under her sack. “What do you want!,” she screamed. Ortiz punched her in the stomach, ripped the burlap sack of her head, and prevented her from falling to the ground by grabbing her arm and holding her up.
“No! Stop! Please. We didn’t know. We’re travelling through. We heard there was a safe zone in Murfreesboro. We’re sorry. We were hungry!” Dave pleaded.
Kade pondered what he’d just heard for a moment and then walked over to the table. He picked up a Louisville Slugger and walked back to the woman. “What’s your name, Miss?”
“Nico,” she muttered. She had stopped crying and become stoic.
“Nico. Interesting name. And how do you know Dave, Nico? Speak up, we got a large crowd here.”
“He’s my husband.”
“Your husband? So what does this say about you, Nico, that you would be in league with a damn thief?” He kneecapped her with a vicious swing of the bat. The sickening thud of the bat crushing her knee sent David into a frenzy.
Not one to be upstaged, Kade drilled David in the stomach with everything he had, then gave him another across the back. “NOBODY STEALS FROM ME! NOBODY!” Kade screamed, spittle flying. “I’ll deal with Nico shortly.” Kade turned to the bloodthirsty crowd of Freaks. “Stand him up. Look at me, David. Why did you steal from me?
“Hungry, we were hungry.”
Kade punched him in the face.
“Why did you steal from me, David?” he asked again.
“Told you,” he muttered through a fat bloody lip. “Hungry.”
Kade punched him twice more in the face.
“One last time, David. Why did you steal from me?” Aside from the sobbing you could’ve heard a pin drop. As if this was the single most important question, and answer, in history.
“We were hungry, what do you want from me?” roared David.
Kade dropped the bat, ripped his hunting knife from the scabbard on his hip, then walked over and sliced open Nico’s stomach from left to right with a deep gruesome cut. He reached in and pulled out a section of large intestine and cut it off. He followed that by cutting her throat clear through to the spine and then kicked her off the stage to the Freaks waiting down below. The arterial spray had coated Kade in dark red blood, and even Ortiz thought to himself, holy shit.
He walked over to David and said, “Well then, DAVE, if you are so fucking hungry eat this!” Kade crammed the entire piece of intestine down his throat. Dave started to vomit but Kade picked up the bat again. “Don’t you do it, Dave! You’re hungry. Remember? If you puke your stomach will be even emptier. You don’t want to be hungrier, do you Dave?
Dave was making any number of gargling, chewing, and gagging sounds, which Kade was absolutely loving. Inevitably though, when Dave attempted to swallow, he started to puke. Kade cracked him in the ear with the Louisville Slugger. “Swallow that shit Dave! Don’t you disappoint me! After all, you were soooo hungry you felt like you could steal from me. Oops. It looks like you pissed your pants, Dave.” The headshot with the bat had effectively ended Dave, and with the last shred of will he had made a run at Kade. A very slow and clumsy run.. Kade brought the bat down hard with a skull crushing blow right to the center of his forehead. Dave fell dead to the stage. He lay lifeless with his eyes open and a piece of his wife’s large intestine hanging out of his mouth.
“Well shit, Dave. Ok. We have one last toy to play with and then it’s back to work. Now Dave and Nico were fun, but this asshole… This Regular asshole was actually the one caught red handed over at the old Tootsies Orchid Lounge. When these three were discovered by our guards, this guy was loading our canned goods into his backpack. Our. Canned. Goods. Get him over here Ortiz.”
Ortiz brought the man forward, removed the burlap sack and cut the ropes from his wrists. He was about 40, and in decent shape. Obviously older. He didn’t look like either Dave or Nico, so they probably hooked up somewhere in their quest for the Murfreesboro Safe Zone. Well it didn’t really matter anymore of course, but the Murfreesboro Safe Zone wasn’t going to be around much longer. This man was probably the de facto leader of the pack, the father figure.
“And what’s your name, Sir?” Kade asked in a wickedly creepy game show host voice.
“You...you killed ‘em! You killed ‘em! They didn’t deserve that. What’s wrong with you?” the man pleaded.
“Let me make something very clear here, Mister. You are a miserable fucking Regular. You will tell me your name, and that is all. No more fucking commentary.”
“Bob. My name is Bob Taylor. Do what you will, Mr. Kade. I’m a man of God and I know where I’m going when I die.”
Kade retrieved his knife again and drove it through Bob’s foot and into the stage. Bob screamed in pain but caught himself quickly. Kade framed him as a proud man. A man who was going to do all he could to not show Kade anything. Right now, all he was showing was an extreme desire to not pass out.
“Bob, did you happen to hear what I said a few moments ago? About how you were caught red handed, stealing from me.”
“All of this belongs to God, and it is his will that in these trying times his children will share their fruit with those in need if there is an abundance.”
Kade strode across the stage and kicked Bob squarely in the nuts as hard as he could. He still had blood in his eyes, kind of, so he missed the bullseye. But a solid triple ten. Bob would’ve considered it a direct hit as he doubled over and fell to the ground. Kade stomped him repeatedly for close to a minute.
“Mention God one more time on this stage, asshole. All of this belongs to Chaos and The Eighty-Eight. These “trying times” you speak of are what we refer to as being according to plan. The Descent was merely the beginning. There is so much more work to be done. Our next little bit of work is your Murfreesboro Safe Zone. I mean, you won’t make it, anyway. That place is going down in short order. And we will fight until our very last breath to eradicate every safe zone there is to ensure the will of Chaos is done.”
“I know nothing of this Chaos you speak of.”
“Bob, there is a ton of shit you don’t know. But we’re getting off track. You stole from me, Bob. That spells trouble for you. Ortiz! The Block!”
Ortiz wheeled up an old rolling cart with a butcher block top and stopped it next to Bob. Bob was terrified. Kade stood directly in front of Bob and asked, “Why did you steal from me, Bob?”
“You heard what David said. We were hungry and thirsty. This street has a hundred old restaurants and bars. We figured one of them would have something. We didn’t take much.”
“Wait a second. Wait just one second. Bob did you say you were thirsty? I’m thirsty. People can do crazy things, Bob, when they’re hungry and thirsty. As evidenced by y’all STEALING FROM ME! I’m downright parched. Are you Bob? Ortiz! Can we get a couple of glasses up here? I know you weren’t expecting this, so we can wait a bit. Send someone back to the Hard Rock.”
Ortiz said, “Spahr,
you heard the man. GO!” A large bull of a man took off down the stairs and disappeared into the old restaurant. He emerged a few minutes later with two tall pilsner glasses and gave them to Kade. Kade looked at the glasses and looked at Bob.
“Are you thirsty Bob?” He walked right up to within an inch of his face. “I said, are you thirsty, Bob? I’m practically dying of thirst. Can I get you something to drink, Bob?” He never took his eyes off Bob’s. His mic barely picked up the ominous whisper he was using to speak to Bob.
“Yes. I’m thirsty. Could I please have a drink?” Bob sounded completely defeated.
“YES! You can Bob!” Kade walked over to the table and picked up a cleaver. He walked back, grabbed Bob by the wrist and slammed his arm down on the block. Without hesitation he hacked off Bob’s right hand and threw it into crowd. He then picked up one of the pilsner glasses and put Bob’s stump about halfway into it.
“I’m real thirsty, Bob. Stay with me, Bob, we’re going to do a very special toast here in a second.” The first glass filled quickly, but the second wasn’t filling as quickly so Kade punched Bob in the chest a few times and that caused the second glass to fill.
“Ok, everyone shut up! We’re about to call it a night. One last thing: me and Bob here are going to do a very special toast.” Kade picked up his glass and swirled it under his nose. “Damn, this is a fine vintage!” At this point, Bob was a ghastly pale color and starting to slump. Kade attempted to hand him his glass, but he wasn’t taking it.
“Oh well. Here we go Bob. This goes out to everyone who can hear me. Freak or Regular, I don’t care. If you steal from me, You. Will. Die. Cheers, Bob!” Kade turned to raise his glass to Bob. As he did, Bob grabbed the cleaver and launched himself into Kade, driving the cleaver three inches deep into Kade’s shoulder.
Without bothering to remove the cleaver, Kade jerked Bob in close and proceeded to gruesomely headbutt him until his face looked like a bowl of Campbell’s soup. When Bob finally slumped to the ground, Kade took a moment to remove the cleaver. He then grabbed Bob’s head by the hair and hacked on his neck until he was decapitated. He looked at Ortiz, then at the body, and finally the crowd. Ortiz picked up the headless bloody pulp of a body and threw it into the crowd.
Kade walked down to the front of the stage. He picked up Bob’s untouched glass and held it in one hand, raising Bob’s head with the other.
He raised the glass to his followers who cheered and applauded wildly. He raised the glass to his lips, downed it, then tossed the glass aside. He took the mic out of his back pocket, turned it on, and took a few deep breaths. When he was finally ready, he lifted the head.
“When you drink the blood of the thief that violated your home, you own it!
The crowd of fiercely loyal Freaks, who would fight and die for this man, started chanting “KADE! KADE! KADE!
“And when you take the heads of those thieves and stick them on pikes so that every last Regular or Freak who comes to our house with ill intent knows they will be met with suffering and death, you must...own it!”
KADE! KADE! KADE!
“Thus endeth the lesson.” He dropped the mic, tossed the head to Ortiz and walked off the stage.
TRAVELLING
I took another walk around the Jeep and got in. Lost in his rundown of everything my Jeep Comanche had become was the small cache of guns and ammunition in the back seat. There were two Glocks and two assault rifles that all smelled freshly oiled and prepared for battle. Also included were two jugs of gas, and a two day supply of non-perishable food items. Two days if I rationed well. I had a bottle of pain meds given to me by the base Doctor, but I couldn’t take them and also drive. So it appeared that however long I was on the road pain and discomfort would be my travelling companions.
The last and possibly most interesting addition to my Jeep was a CB radio. Of all things. Why a CB? Who the hell even used a CB anymore? I sat for a moment then an idea hit me. I picked up the handheld and pressed the button.
“Prescott to Normal Safe Zone, over.” I waited.
“Ops to Prescott. We read you loud and clear. Safe travels sir. Always be vigilant,” said Kevin from his station in OPs.
“Will do. Pulling out.”
That morning I had rolled the dice with my galaxy S3 and found a GPS signal. The nice lady told me it would be 429.9 miles and a drive time six hours and twenty minutes. That was, of course, ridiculous. I was allowing myself a little gallows humor. Nobody used GPS anymore. You were basically a joke if you did. Battery life and other cell phone functions were much more important than trying to use GPS. I had my trusty 2013 U.S. Atlas and that was all I needed.
I wasn’t looking forward to this. I was driving alone, to an area I’d never been, on a long stretch of Interstate on which I had no idea what to expect. I was already sore and hurting as I left and the thought of having no pain meds for the next ten to twelve hours was a tad horrifying. OK...here we go.
Twenty-four hours later, I pulled off of Interstate 57 into the Welcome Cente,r not at Nashville, Tennessee, but Paducah, Kentucky. Interstate blockage had caused me hours of delay, which had depleted the majority of the gas Jay had given me. Before I hit Interstate 24 to Nashville, I had to stop.
It had taken twenty four hours to drive two hundred and eighty nine miles. I was exhausted, in pain, and I couldn’t stop sweating. I was sweating like Fat Elvis at a Vegas concert. I needed to eat something, take some painkillers, and sleep.
The parking lot of the Welcome Center was littered with abandoned vehicles and trash. This place had been tossed more times than a prison bitch. I wasn’t going to find anything useful, but I had to look anyway. There was a new looking Chevy truck with its hood propped up that looked tempting, but something told me to stay away, so I moved on. Almost all of the other vehicles had the glass busted out and were picked clean. Rest stops and welcome centers are incredibly dangerous places to be these days as evidenced by the odd assortment of bones I discovered in an old Pathfinder.
The rest of the cars in parking lot bore no fruit, so I headed inside. I had popped a couple of pills and my stomach was telling me to eat something by starting to feel queasy. I drew my Glock and entered cautiously through the front door. The Center felt anything but welcoming. The place had been summarily destroyed, first by the Collapse, then repeatedly trashed after The Descent. I gave each office the once over, again hoping to find anything I could use or take with me but, again, the place had been properly scavenged. Well...looted. I mean destroyed. I was wrapping up my office visit when I heard what sounded like scratching coming from the direction of the lobby.
Gun in front of me, I walked out into the lobby and did a three hundred sixty degree turn, scanning for danger. I wasn’t naive to the fact there could be Freaks in here, but I hadn’t necessarily gotten that vibe. That truck outside was more likely a guy who ended up dead before he could address the issue under the hood. Coming around a large welcoming kiosk, I saw a sign that directed bathroom users down the hallway to the left for relief. I hadn’t really paid attention to the bathrooms initially because I pissed outside. Why? Because, well...because.
Heading down the hallway, I heard the scratching noise again, and what? Crying? Great. I approached the women’s room and I could feel my heartbeat quickening and the sweat was dripping off me. I counted a quick one-two and kicked the door of the bathroom open. Nothing obvious.
“I’m armed and really pissed off. I’m going to check each stall and if you’re Freaky I’m gonna waste your ass.”
I continued down the row and cautiously pushed each stall door open and was quite relieved to not find anything. Human or not. I have no interest in killing anyone right now, or bringing on a travelling companion. God help me if that happens. I can’t leave them but I just don’t have enough provisions for anyone else.
I left the ladies room and headed the short stretch down to the ‘Gents’. As I approached the door, I heard the scratching again. Not the crying though. Dammit. Ok. Sh
it, I’m not ready for this. I’m not even close to being in the right frame of mind for this. I holstered my gun and backed down the hallway.
With my back against the wall and facing the entrance to the center, I slid down to the floor. First things first. I brought out both Glocks and dropped the clips. I was so delirious, I couldn’t remember if my guns were fully loaded. They were. I’d never leave for a fight without loaded guns. I’m not prone to swim in the waters of self doubt, but my condition was leaving me in serious need of some arm floaties.
I slowly return to my feet and take a minute to stretch. Yes, stretch. I’m hurting anyway but throw in twenty-four hours in a car and I’m proud to actually be walking. OK, back down the hallway, gun drawn and intensely focused. I hear the scratching right on the other side of the door as it grows in intensity. Whatever’s on the other side of the door knows I’m here.
I figure I only have one shot at this. I back up, count one two, and bum rush the door. It flies open a whole two feet and stops cold. My momentum carries me smack into the door and I get rewarded with a beautiful jolt of pain as my fist digs right into my stab wound. Falling to the ground, I grab my gun off the floor and scoot backwards, gun trained on the door.
Shit. what the hell was that? I get up and approach the door again. I’m over this. I have ravioli in the other room. “I’m coming in on a count of two. Freak, human, whatever, if you pull any shit with me I’m gonna torch your ass. Seriously, speak now or I’m gonna punch your ticket. I’ve been driving for a fucking day and I’m pissed off and hungry.”
I switched the gun to my left hand which wasn’t normally ideal, but whatever was on the other side of the door was close enough to hit just pulling the trigger. I’m not feeling super great after all, so I need the advantage. I push the door open very slowly and then surge through the small opening into the bathroom, ready to shoot that shit up like the OK Corral.