by Marlin Grail
Just then, without expecting this next move, I feel his arms hover over mine, and he wraps the handle of the machete with my hands under his. “On the count of 3, we pull upward, okay?”
I nod, confidently, but still uneasy from the rising and burning of sensation that comes from his warm, wide, hands holding onto the grip. He quickly slips his fingers in between the gaps of mine, so he has a steadier hold.
Is he seriously being intimate here? This isn't very sly of him… but I won't call it out.
I wait for his count, over-preparing myself to time my pull with his.
Maybe it's as a means to get this damn undead off of my machete, or so I do not lose my own steadiness with Gary being right behind me.
It makes me tense, but I'd rather it be his manly, but gentle, hands than anyone else here.
Why can't I just get comfortable around him today? Yesterday, I could hide the wandering conflict of interest I've had for him, yet ever since he made a move, I can't stop concerning myself with what weight that could be lifted if I just confide why Harold has made it a 100 times harder for him.
“That prick.” My mouth faintly spills out, which, apparently, Gary has strong enough ears to have heard it.
“What was that?” he curiously asks.
“Don't worry about it.”
Confused, but undeterred, he nods and begins the counting. By the number 2, my arms flinch a bit from being tensed up, but I keep cool so I don't lose focus. His end count riles the absolute strength from my legs, and all the way to my neck.
“Whoa!” Gary releases, while we both get the blade out of the flesh. I now have my machete claimed in each hand—held above my head like the beginning form of a downward strike. I turn back at Gary, which I can tell, with his widened stance was done in reaction to my extremely-involved retract of the weapon. “I believe it needed only a little more force that time.” He says with a tone that admits he has no need to credit his help.
“Thanks.” I state, acting indifferent, and walk to where the group was waiting for us.
This cold shoulder I radiate off to him makes me disgusted with how much of a mixed bag I've been towards him throughout the day.
We've interacted as though it won't be the last, and while I want that to be the case, issues that today has shown tells me to not take advantage of the times we have now—where the only danger around is the danger of how distant I constantly suggest we be.
I'm certain Gary is standing in place, thinking in his own mind what bold move he made reaching around the way he did, so I look back at him, not working too hard with what I'm about to say—like I overworked on that pull. “Come on… I have something to talk to you about.” I say, taking the initiative to clear the air.
His eyes seem to lighten up a bit, like a dog seeing food waved at them, but he's not wanting it to be apparent.
I keep my posture standing sideways, waiting for him to jog over. We then start walking to the back of the group, together. “I need to get upfront, Lissie, so maybe we could talk later?” he asks, sounding very much like he's subtly trying to divert the conversation.
In a quiet and private voice, I counter his secretive way of getting out of our chatter, by blocking his now blushing face with my own.
“It's time I tell you something.” I say, sharp, but only from discomfort.
Ashton twists his head around him, and is curious with what we are talking about.
“Can you take point for me for some time?” Gary asks him.
I give off a look that indicates, in a firmer attitude, that it is none of his business.
“Sure thing.” He tells us, and moves past everyone else to reach the tip-top of the group.
We both slow our pace down, so Janice or the boys won't hear us. “Gary—” I falter, before he cuts in with a response.
“I know. I'm sorry. The whole time, I was awkward myself. In my head, I thought getting behind you would speed the act up, but no doubt...” He ends his explanation with a deep inhale, and with eyes that he's shut extremely tight.
I reclaim my position of the conversation. “No. Not that. It's okay, Gary. I mean… you brought it up by doing what you did, but now would be a good time to share what most of you have sensed since about 5 days ago. Five days ago… I planned on leaving the group. You and Ashton were off on a run, while Janice and Will went searching for a river. Meanwhile, I stayed in the RV that day, which felt like a good time to take a nap—mostly because I wasn't able to stay awake any longer. Harold… made his way to the bedroom.”
I begin telling him this incurable, and unforgivable flashback. Harold had parked the RV off of the road, which left him too much damn time for himself. “Wakey, Wakey!” he said to my slumbering eyes. I opened them, and saw his wrinkled facial lines that rose to a smile, deepening the indentations of his middle-aged skin. “What do you say hot-stuff? There's some peace and quiet now.”
His fawning grin and undignified gaze said enough to me—that this man was not smooth with words, and he had already made the decision my 'no' would be meaningless. “Come on. I give you this wonderful bed, made for 2, and all you want is to share it with just yourself? Let's have some stress be worked off.” His piggish tone hinted, regarding something sexual.
“Why aren't you keeping watch like you're supposed to?” I said, avoiding his offer.
“Ah, don't worry about that. The others will take care of what might get around our home. Let's take this opportunity to fulfill a fantasy or 2.”
I got up, shoving my hand at his shoulder while I did so. “You're trying to be for real? If so, then no is my answer.” I said, disgusted by his intent.
He simply laughed, and sprawled on the bed. “You think this is below you? Come on, I've seen your type before, and I bet you've had even worse surroundings you fornicated in.”
This drew me over the edge. I stomped out of the room, blabbing my mouth the whole time. “You ridiculous, insulting, worthless reflection of a man! I now know the reason I came on board with this place is not because of you, or your 'charming' ways!”
I heard his feet fall flat and loudly on the floor, while his voice became more unsettling. “What? So, it was Gary? That over-eccentric, emotionless, worker of mine?” he arrogantly asked, which began his tantrum. “That's right, I said worker. You all are my workers. You eat my food, and take up my space. You, girl, get a favor by accepting this chance!”
I went ahead and opened the front RV door, but to my surprise, Harold stormed his way over, stretching his arm across my face to slam it back shut. “Harold! No way will we have any kind of sexual activity! I do not have to pay you back at all! Now get out of my way!” I yelled in a vigorous and unstable voice.
It didn't seem to have had any affect in breaking through to him that I meant what I said. His eyes became dim, and fixated on only one thing—that was getting his way. He daringly put both of his hands on both of my arms, and swung me to a wall. The closeness of our faces—his stinking breath made me reach a level of ferociousness he hadn't seen. His legs were split apart, which made it all the more easy to defend myself.
One raised knee cap to any man's most vulnerable spot will take any Goliath done, and proved it he did, as he then hunched over, letting go of my biceps, clasping his crotch and writhing in pain.
I didn't care I severely injured him, but I worried if it would have enraged him further.
Fortunately, he remained stunned, and unable to get back up. After gaining a few feet from where he was at, I recalled where my knife had been place, since my pistol was too far away for me at the time. I grabbed it, and returned to him, pointing the sharp end directly on his back. “Stay. Down.” I demanded, with both words being threatening syllables.
He did not retaliate, and remained crouched, but the hurt he felt did not seal his fat mouth. “You've been a loose cannon this whole time. Imagine if everyone walked in, and saw us where we are. You'd probably not get away from it!” he presumed.
“I don't care, be
cause I'm done with this joke you call a resort!” I told. I had him under complete subordination, so I had no hesitance getting the best I could out of his surrendering. “When the group comes back, you'll take me to the next closest neighborhood. There, You'll drop me off. I'll take all I want, and if you try to deny me, I'll tell Gary!”
Knocking at the door began. “It's Will and Janice.” Will's voice said, with his tone oblivious to the commotion. I took a few steps back, strapped my knife under my pants, and opened it. Will got in first and noticed Harold, who was placing a hand on one of his legs, exercising greatly to get up. “Hey! What happened?!” he asked, more directed towards me.
Harold gave me a silent and subtle stare, but, ultimately, spared this opportunity to rat on me for something he started. “Just got vertigo. No big deal. I hope you got water. When Ashton and Gary come back, no one's leaving the RV. We'll be on a trip to this one neighborhood I found. It could take a few days.” He concluded, with his last statement ending purposefully as venom towards me.
Rather than making a scene, I chose to go along with this 'secret' he wanted to embark on, only so I would spite him further by not needing anyone else in the group to know about this incident. “Best I take a good breath of fresh-air then.” I said, giving a fake smile to Harold, but ingraining my hatred for him with my eyes.
I went out, passing Janice, and just about fell to my knees the moment I found privacy. I clenched onto my stomach, feeling sick, but I wouldn't allow myself to vomit. I wouldn't have given Harold the satisfaction. I saw a haze appear in the sky, and it forced me to return back into the RV with that man—who continued to harass me for those last days.
At least now, there's no more pleasure he's taking advantage of from us any longer. I won't smile at his death, but I will still smile at Gary, for now I know he's the one I shared this with first. Harold drew me straight to him, which was definitely not what he wanted. I will smile at that.
Chapter XXII
(Gary)
When Lissie tells a story, she does not hold back on details.
I want to set myself in my tracks, signifying the distraught reaction I have for this shocking discovery. “So, this is why you were distant and quiet these last several days?” I manage to ask from my throat, fighting and resisting a current of anger from within.
Lissie nods to my question, and though I would have pictured she might have been ready to wreck the world before herself, instead, a smile comes from her face. Interestingly, she says, keeping the warmth in her tone, “This, Gary, I don't want you to be hung up on. I brought it to daylight, because… I can trust whatever feelings you have for me are far more respectful than his were.”
I am hanging on this more than I'm leading her to know.
Harold had the audacity to do something like this, and still tried to enforce his 'code of conduct' on us after the fact? I did not bow down to him, but without a doubt will I never see him like any of us again. He was an aggressor, and I did not act on instinct when I first noticed those warning signs.
At the time, I kept those suspicions to myself, because I recognized Lissie, Ashton, Janice, and Will all received benefits in having the RV, and I did not want to steal that safety net from them, and, unfortunately, ridding of Harold would not have been justified in my mind, for I saw no concrete evidence he assaulted anyone here unjustly.
He is very fortunate I did not find out about this while he was around.
“Gary?” she asks, worriedly, for she sees I am staying put where I stand, in an incensing trance.
Only Harold's face is clouding all of my thoughts. Her voice catches the others' attention, leaving them puzzled also.
“Hey, man. What's up?” I hear from Ashton.
I slowly begin to grind my teeth, channeling all of my anger to stare at the ground.
Not a second later, and I would outburst a roar from pent up rage that I'd want to project directly at Harold—if only he were here.
The sun leaves my shadow on the pavement, by itself, with deformed proportions. Just before I prepare to take a stomp at the ground, Lissie's own disproportionate shadow comes into my vision, coalescing with my darkness. I feel she grabs and places both of my hands into hers, with her eyes looking through my pain-stricken guilt. “I wasn't there to protect you.” I softly say, being drab, still looking down at our flat selves on the road.
Her index finger and thumb, connecting together, then raises my chin to have me look up. “Don't beat yourself up for this. I'm the only one that can do that to myself. You have no reason to hold onto any blame. And, more than anything, you're protecting me now—all of us from scum like him.”
I look back at her slightly opened mouth and eyes, embraceable with mine, but I quickly see the rest of our group huddled close to each other. It is obvious the teens have no idea what is happening.
I put my priorities as leader forward again, but not before deciding to wrap myself around Lissie, and delicately squeeze her body, hugging out the catharsis we both shared. “As long as I am here. You will never have to concern yourself with something like that again.” I say to her, at a low-leveled volume.
“I know.” She responds, and we release from each other.
Ashton asks once more if I am all right.
“I will be. We need to finish this assignment.” I say, back in my calm-tempered voice.
I check on Janice to see if she is tired from carrying the RV bag.
“I'm fine. I know tonight I'm going to get a good rest though.”
We push forward for the next several minutes, taking a left turn at another 4-way intersection. The walk is calm again, with only the clacking and sliding of our various shoes, until one of the teenagers begin talking. “Gary, sir?” the 17-year-old chokes up. “Do you think we should let whoever we're going to meet know about that roadblock we came across?”
So far, the boys have observed our group as though C. has always been a part of the order of things for us, but I know, if anything, the people of it I have seen suggests honesty as key to harmony.
“You should, but be specific that you 2 had nothing to do with the ones who were killed.” I say in response, assuring them best I can.
He takes that answer to heart, and tells me he and his friend will be prepared.
“That's a good thing, because that's needed now.” Ashton clues to them, and the rest of us.
As I turn my head back around to the front, I see what he sees. With the road splitting again, into a total of 4 lanes this time, it becomes immediately apparent how our supervisor's roadblock leads by example compared to the other one.
A large, symmetrical, structure made of many elements, mostly metal and wood, consumes the entire width of both double-lane roads.
It looks as though the model plans intended for it to be even bigger, if it was not for the large trees around.
On both ends are 2 open spaces, with carved squares within the one-sided wall, and 2 turrets pointed at us from behind a raised platform. I see these turrets fitting the classification of M2 Browning Heavy Machine Guns, and, certainly, that automatically out-muscles our weaponry. Straight ahead is a gate, controlling what, and who, goes past the roadblock.
Everything looks excelled in structure and weapons, except the one thing I am surprised of most is that fewer people can be spotted.
Regardless, we cannot underestimate the aggression we might face out of their guards, and their protocol.
Without hearing a command, I insist we all stop. “DO3! Repeat! DO3!” I yell.
I can tell my shouting made one of the boys jump from not expecting it. Unlike the other roadblock, it did not take long for someone to yell back at us. “All of you may come forth!” A familiar sounding voice says.
Without needing confirmation, I already know they are the supervisor.
I advise our weapons be kept unequipped, but exposed as to not insinuate anything secretive on our part. Another surprise I notice is that the guards around the radius of their barriers
walk with less edge, and look at us with lesser stress in their faces—either because they are new to their positions, or they are collectively greater at handling chaos.
I can tell they have earned their responsibilities from experience and skill.
“Welcome, everyone!” our supervisor says with bliss in his tone. His outfit is similarly dull, like the others around, but what makes him stick out is the cowboy hat he has on, and chains hooked onto his pants. “Neat! Looks like we've got a lot of supplies! Good job!” he says, full of enthusiasm—like C. had.
Possibly, this is the personality type that helps people be looked at with admiration in this organization.
“Now, before our exchange, where are those 2 you mentioned over the radio?” he asks.
I stretch my left arm back, placing it on the 17-year-old’s back. “They are right here, and I will give them a positive referral for being quite helpful.”
He gives an open-mouth smile, and reaches to shake both of the boys' hands. Suddenly, without being coaxed to do so, I look over, and notice one of the guards to our supervisor's right side. One of their legs is kicked up on the roadblock's wall, relaxed, even as they intensify their focus directly at the boys.
My eyes can see theirs squinting—almost shutting entirely. Without uncertainty, he then gets off of the wall, and comes strutting over at us. The supervisor notices, and excuses himself to speak with this guard, who is patiently awaiting for his ear. Whatever he wants to share, he whispers it to him, who, I can tell from his slowly dropping smile, is receiving a disconcerting message.
They both nod to the finished chat, and look entirely onto the boys. “Hey, son,” our supervisor asserts to the 16-year-old, “how many people were in your group, before this one here brought you along?”
“Well, there were 2 men we followed, but that was it.” He answers, affirming himself with his voice. More follow-up questions land into the air, weighing on all of us more, with both men and their ever-growing obstinate expressions hammering down relentlessly.
“Two, huh? Is this marvelous roadblock you see before you not the first you've seen? If it wasn't, was it the one not 5 miles from here?”