by Cliff Burns
“Antibiotics. My husband…he’s dying, his immune system’s crashing and he’s dying. I need,” she took a deep breath, “he needs antibiotics. Whatever you have.”
“Who told you about us?”
“Kenny. He said his name was Kenny.”
The Scab nodded. “I think we might have what you’re looking for.” She forced herself to look at him, smiled gratefully. “And these items should cover the cost.”
“Thank you, I—”
“Pack this up and put it over there.” Kay did as she was told. When she returned the desktop had been raised and he was rummaging within. He handed her several large vials. “Penicillin.” He proffered another batch. “Codeine. Demerol.” Some of the others made sounds of complaint but he ignored them. Finally he closed the lid, watched as Kay stuffed the precious vials into her pockets.
She was elated. She had conquered her fears, shown great courage in the face of adversity and accomplished what she came to do. But now she desperately wanted to leave this place. Despite the charity the creature had shown her, she still didn’t feel safe among his kind. She was alone, an outsider, and no one, besides Kenny, knew where she was. Not a good strategy. She started backing toward the passage.
“I—I want to thank you for—”
“No.” The abrupt coldness of the single syllable made her shiver. “You owe.”
“But I paid you for the pills!”
“For the pills, yes, for your life, no.”
She felt heavy all over. “I have nothing left to trade.”
The desktop rose again. The scab reached in and withdrew a polished scalpel, its silver cast reflecting the feeble light of a nearby candle onto the walls and ceiling.
“Yes, you do…”
The others moved up behind her, clutching at her with swollen, misshapen hands, their doughy faces looming before her, pressing in on her. She tried to scream but couldn’t find her breath. She was blacking out, fading away, leaving the scene of the crime.
“Such a beautiful woman,” the Scab crooned. “So smooth…so untouched.”
He was close, very close, she could see his eyes and they were green and she had always liked green eyes, Sebastian has green eyes, greenish-blue and--oh my God, he’s cutting me…
And then a tottering, faltering flight.
She managed to rip a sleeve off her shirt and knot it around her forearm, directly above the wound. That stopped most of the bleeding.
It was funny, but her arm didn’t hurt. Not even a little bit. It was like it was someone else’s arm. She thought the lack of pain was suspicious. Abnormal. Like those red trees over there…
Kay came to the abrupt realization that for the past—well, she couldn’t say how long, exactly--she had been sleep-walking, blundering down desolate avenues in a fugue state, completely oblivious to her surroundings. It was a wonder she hadn’t fallen into an open elevator shaft. She decided to pull up a chunk of rubble, make herself comfortable until the spell passed.
Some of it was coming back now. She remembered the scalpel and how just touching her with the blade had broken the skin and how it felt when it slid into her flesh, biting quick and hard…but her brain obstinately refused to allow her to re-experience the pain that must have accompanied the sensation.
What Kay wished she could forget, what she wished could be excised from her mind forever was their excitement as blood bubbled from the wound, the way they had fought each other and when one gained predominance—
--how it had positioned its mouth over the slit, slurping and lapping at the blood, gulping audibly, grunting in obscene satisfaction.
Until another pushed it aside and took its turn.
She wasn’t sure how long it had gone on; at some point the flow subsided. As she swooned she could hear latecomers snarling in disappointment.
Had they released her or had she broken away from them, fought her way free and bolted down the tunnel to the ladder?
It didn’t matter.
She was alive. And she’d gotten what she came for. Patting her pockets.
Little boxes of miracles…
She sure hoped they lived up to their billing.
Because after what she’d just been through she needed a sign, some indication that there was still a god up there, someone who forgave our trespasses and listened to the simple prayers of a woman living in the valley of the shadow of death.
End
© 2016 by Cliff Burns (All Rights Reserved)