Asunder

by Tonnie Johnson

  Varick slammed his mug on the counter. "What?!"

  "Varick, she also found some of him touching Stevie... sexually."

  "Now that’s a lie… right?" Joe asked nervous. “Hope he didn't take any of me." He recoiled at the thought and covered himself with his robe.

  Varick stormed out the kitchen, fire in each step. Meg knew what would happen. When Varick was angry, he was raging.

  "Don’t say it was Christi!" Meg yelled behind him.

  "Where are you going?" Hazel followed and without a word he jumped on the bike and starts it. Hazel hurried on— barely clinging before he fires off on the bike.

  Varick sped through the streets at lightning speed. Hazel clung tight afraid that if she fell off, there was no way he would stop for her. Something had him angry, something made him furious, but she would not ask him for the details. She had seen his type of anger before in Luc, volatile and all-encompassing and she had no desire to be caught in its war path. The only thing she knew was to be there, an extra body beside the fire, sometimes that was all that was needed. She didn’t know if they were still in Los Angeles or not, she most certain have never been to this part of town and she was thankful for it. It looked like some sort of country woodland back roads area and it was near dark.

  The old crippled man sat on his porch, grey thinned out hair combed back and a soft white blanket draped over the legs of his gray tweed suit. He waited as though he had expected Varick all along. Hazel looked up seeing the many flags which represented their organization and for the first time felt very uneasy.

  "You’re gonna want to wait outside this time." She did not protest, instead she waited. Varick marched toward the porch and without a word the old man pushed open the front door and rolled calmly inside.

  Dixon turned around, angry at the sight. "Boy, what the hell are you doing? Did she lie and say she's southern Italian or somthin'? Well she ain't! I can clearly see the nigger in her, she ain’t fooling me." He coughed. "Now the question is why the hell are you running around with a nigger girl… or mulatto, whatever the hell she’s calling herself."

  Rage, white hot like a viper with prey. He calmed himself the best he could but the more he tried the angrier he got, there was no need for Christi to lie and certainly no need for Meg. He should have gone to her himself to sort this out but loyalty ran deep and strong. Not anymore.

  "You’ve got other problems." Varick could barely speak the words, they came out low in a gruff whisper. All he could see was the white heat.

  "What the hell you mean? You see the news? It’s Armageddon and the white race needs to be prepared now more than ever. Now isn’t the time to be a selfish ass race traitor. I heard what you did." he said disgusted. "Beating up your own white brothers all because you killed a nigger."

  Varick leaned against the small desk, a frail thing from the 18th century. Dixon loved collecting stuff like that, what he called the greatest time of our history where 'white men were white, the women were submissive, and the niggers were kept in line.'

  "I learned how to be selfish from you." Varick stated simply. "How I watched you further your own agenda, time after time. Manipulating boys into leaving home acting like a fucking mentor when you didn't even graduate from High School."

  "Hey!" He pointed his cane an accusatory at Varick. "Where the fuck is that coming from? Their parents didn’t want'em, they needed a place to belong, to fight for their race. You think those niggers out there are gonna save your ass when those things come and get ya? No, they'll stick to their own every single time."

  Varick shook his head. Oh yes it was time to clear the air, and why not? A new world needed a new start. "You know, the more I see you the more disgusted I am." He walked toward the kitchen opening the fridge which contained nothing but different brands of beer all stocked piled inside. Varick angrily pulled out the bottles and the old man sat in the living room watching the display unable to do anything. "You talk a real good game!"

  "What the fuck are you doing?"

  "What do you think? Preparing for the race war." He shrugged. Varick smashes the bottles against the wall spraying glass and beer all over the place. The room was soon over taken by the smell, he tossed them in the sink until they broke into pieces and on the floor and he watches the fizzy amber liquid puddle the floor. "Cause this shit." he held up a bottle. "Isn’t preparation."

  "Now hold on! You better not be questioning my leadership while riding here with some goddamn nigger whore on your damn bike!"

  Varick faced the sink, his back turned to the man, it was all he could do to spare him at this point. His irises of his eyes flashed, the colors in the room were more vibrant than they ever were. He breathed deeply and turned to face him, the vibrant colors turning normal. Varick walked over to him hearing the shards crunch underfoot and once he was in the living room again he leaned against the wall near the same old desk and folded his arms.

  "I saw through your bullshit years ago!" Varick vented. "I want you to know, that I never would have wasted my time with you if it weren’t for my mother."

  "Your mother is a true woman, a mother who understood the need for her boys to be soldiers for this war, a mother who bred a soldier for this war, you! Look at you. Standing there mighty and strong, and white. Because of her. She didn’t let some damn nigger climb on top of her like all the rest of our women, no! She’s classy!"

  "I love my mother but she was a better woman before she met you!"

  "Bullshit!"

  "She didn't have a problem with nobody, then after you she's beating my ass half to death all because I loaned a Mexican kid my Gameboy."

  "That's how it manifests!" Dixon argued back. "She squashed that nonsense before it took root! I say, she didn't beat ya enough! If she did, you wouldn't have that outside! You had a good woman in Stacey and ya couldn't even hold on to her."

  "Speaking of women who ain't shit and white brothers looking out for their own. Do you know where Stacey and Eurich went? As I recall that body was buried on your property." He had no desire to listen to Dixon’s preaching. He had quite literally had his fill. Dixon darted away from his intense gaze unable to look him in the eye.

  "Varick." He spoke with love yet there was fear behind his eyes.

  "Did you fart or is that the stench of hypocrisy?"

  "You're the best soldier I got. Strong, handsome, a good white soldier. Okay, I can forgive almost anything with you." he chuckled. "If you wanna sate your lust with… that woman then do it but make sure you dump her body in the woods or bury her in my yard with that nigger boy you rightfully killed. I won’t tell a soul about it. Then come back and pick me up and take me to the safe house and we can plan our take back of this country! Now is the right time to strike."

  Varick stared him down, the man was scared and he knew it, he could almost smell the fear. Actually, he could smell almost everything in this house which hit him as fierce as his anger, but right now he was focused on the trapped animal before him.

  "Sate my lust." Varick thought about those words for a moment a chuckled. "Now that is an interesting turn of phrase."

  The look on his face sent Dixon wheeling, his heart beat pounded hard and Varick could sense it and hear it, like a drum beckoning him to silence it.

  "You better!" he screeched and sputtered. "You better not betray me! Not after everything I’d done for you and your family!"

  "You haven’t done shit for me." Varick verbally fought back. "I took care of my own family, no one ever gave me shit. All you ever provided was a place to party but I understand why now."

  The old man shook, from the chills of his illness to the chills of fear he couldn’t tell which was which anymore. "If you don’t get me to that safe house then that dead nigger boy may just pop up somewhere."

  "That won’t happen." Varick laughed slamming his fist into the desk destroying it effortlessly and the mountain of pictures spilled to the floor carrying several DVDs with it. Game over. Dixon rolled toward the mess, a weak att
empt to hide his shame.

  "Now, wait! It’s not what it looks like!" Weak and trembling. "Okay, I was weak."

  Varick pushed him out the way and shifted through the pictures. He found one of himself when he was younger, shirtless by the pond.

  His lips curled in disgust. "Sick."

  "I never touched you, that’s the only one I got." Dixon sniffled. "I swear I never laid a hand on you!"

  "I know, cause I would have broke that motherfucker off." Varick lifted his brother’s picture, nude. "But my little brother?"

  Tears streamed down the old man’s wrinkled face, he went into a full coughing fit, but it was only the illness he carried for years. "I did nothing he didn’t ask me to."

  Varick grabbed the sheathed Army knife strapped to his upper thigh, releasing it slowly from the leather and playing with the sharp blade.

  "It’s fitting that your body is riddled with cancer considering you’ve been nothing but a cancer to everyone you've ever met for years."

  The horrific screams echoed through the woods, the screaming in the dark, but it was not the shrieking of the long-limbed women. No, this was the agonizing death wails of a man. Hazel waited and waited, she swore she could hear the flesh rip from her location, she couldn’t take it and ran toward the house.

  Varick was perched in a chair gently sawing at the wheelchair bound man. A piece of eyelid flesh clinging to his fingers which he had a hard time disposing of. The blood trailed the floor following the sexual organ which lay strewn against the floor in a splatter along with the balls which were desiccated from the pouch of skin.

  Hazel stumbled back from the scene disgusted and scared.

  "Don’t say shit to me." Varick pointed the knife upward to emphasis the point. "I warned you not to come inside."

  He finally flicked the little piece of skin off. The eyes were open because nothing could close them but he was long passed out. Varick reached for the smelling salts which he knew the old man kept handy… for boxing matches the boys had on his property, or so he said. He placed the strong crystals in front of the old man and jolted him awake and he screamed once more, his eyes feeling so dry, his instincts tried to force a blink but only the blood coated them

  "You don’t want to sleep for this party." Varick continued to hack at the man, sawing meticulously at the skin, skinning him alive.

  "Just put him out of his misery already!" She shouted through the old man’s screams unable to bear it, the sawing, the screaming, the splatter and spraying.

  Varick looked hard at her, for a long time unable to understand why. He looked from her to the Dixon, he could have carved on him all night but instead he gently pushed the blade into his heart and then out again, sawing at him. He watched as his eyes rolled to the back of his head

  "Thank you." Those words where his last before he fell limp.

  Varick stormed out the door, covered in blood and body matter but he didn’t care, he sheathed the blade and clipped it to his belt.

  "Where are we going?" Hazel followed.

  "To get my fucking family."

  "The way you look right now that's not a good idea."

  He ignored her and got on the bike. He had no desire to replace one preacher for another. A soft hand grabbed his chin forcing his face to hers. He turned fast wanting to strike her, but he didn’t. She stood her ground. Placing her face in his forcing him to look at her.

  "If you go to your family looking like that, they will run in the opposite direction. And you know what? They would be right to do it. From what I hear they seem to be safer than you right now so they can wait a little longer."

  He settled down but only by a small margin, he was ready to explode everywhere, killing Dixon wasn’t enough, but she was right. His mother took him around Dixon, she got them both involved… in everything. If he saw her now, he had no idea what he would do to her. He was worried about her but still. "Got any better ideas?"

  Hazel was silent for a moment, she knew what she saw in his eyes, a tinge of red in the sea of blue. It fascinated and concerned her at the same time. 'Could this the virus or a mutation?' "My friend’s house, Luc. It’s well protected, you can clean up and calm down and be on your way."

  Chapter Fifteen

  Hazel guided him along the roads, suggesting short cuts that avoided the blockades until they reached an upper middle-class neighborhood. If it were not for the cars flipped over, the blockade at the other end and the clothes of hurried travelers left strewn across the lawns it would be a peaceful neighborhood. They pulled up in the large driveway and Hazel unlocked the garage allowing Varick to pull in.

  She pressed the six-digit code and using her thumbprint on the panel, the sound of whooshing unsealed the door allowing them inside.

  The house was large and beautiful in colors of creams and whites. The redwood floors shined, the large area rug was clean, the kitchen, pristine. Varick felt strange and out of place in such a setting.

  "A thumbprint and a code just to get in? What kind of friend is this?"

  "Someone important, remember?" She wanted to say more but chose not to.

  "Ah." he replied uninterested.

  She closed the door entering the code to seal it shut.

  "So, the house is sealed cause if a gust of wind escapes from it, it’s considered classified." Varick joked and smiled thinly but he was still raw from the previous experience. Problem is if he didn’t go about his wiseass ways he would never be the same.

  She flipped a switch bringing down metal shutters over the windows and doors. She then turned on the lights illuminating the white cabinets and rich polished wood. The kitchen was expansive.

  "I’m surprised we still have electricity."

  "Me too, it's not like we live on the West Coast. I once watched a documentary called Life after People and they said if all of humanity suddenly left the planet, the west coast would still have power for at least a good ten years."

  "Your head must be full of useless knowledge." Varick smirked.

  "Not so useless anymore."

  "Ah, I forgot, you’re the secret agent girl."

  She turned on the lights in the large living room. The white walls were clean, the rug on the floor was clean, the wooden floor, the house was virtually untouched.

  "Sealed windows and doors…"

  "It’s all bullet proof." Hazel explained. "I doubt anything could get in here. There’s also a bunker down below with dry food storage so if any worst-case scenarios happen…"

  "Your friend trusts you like that?" Varick cocked a skeptical brow.

  "Yes, he’s a great guy." She replied. "The upstairs should be covered too."

  Varick pulled out his revolver. "We should still check this place out just in case."

  "Great." Hazel said feeling like an idiot. "You say this after I seal us in here."

  Hazel headed upstairs while Varick opened the various doors of the house, a guest bedroom, a closet, nothing.

  A single metal door sat down a small set of steps. He placed his hand on the door, there was no knob to open it, only a code pad.

  "Nothin' down here!" Varick shouted.

  "Everything is okay up here!" Hazel shouted before closing the door to her room and tearing open box after box she had placed inside just days ago. She found it! A hand mirror. She turned on the lights and spied her reflection in the glass, it was as she feared, a tinge of red in the sea of green. Along with the heavy headedness, a feeling that never left her since escaping from the van, and feeling a bit feverish it was a miracle she was able to stay on her feet.

  "There are two bathrooms here. One downstairs, you’ve probably seen it. Just leave your clothes outside the door so I can wash them." She instructed as she came down the stairs.

  Varick sat his guns down and headed toward the bathroom. She waited at the top of the stairs for the sound of the clothing hitting the floor before retrieving it and tossing it in the washer before slipping out of her garments and flinging them into the washer, she added
the detergent, set the dials and ran as fast as she could up the stairs clutching the piece of paper she pulled from her pocket. She pulled some clothes from one of her boxes, something that would finally fit her better yet would still be great for combat. An olive-green button up shirt, cameo vest and pants with a black belt and brown work boots. She then rummaged through Luc's closet and found a black Condor tactical combat shirt and black tactical pants.

  The shower was much needed, not just because of the sweat and grim and blood caking his body but the heat relaxed him. Once more he kicked himself for leaving his cell at the house. Leaving the bathroom with nothing but a towel hiding his shame he walked around the living room curious to see this Luc person up close and by the small hum coming from upstairs the girl was enjoying her shower still. It was the perfect time to snoop. 'A white guy’ he remarked in his mind sitting down the picture. There was one of them holding each other and smiling on the front lawn, another of them playing around-- giving each other bunny ears. He heard her footsteps coming down the stairs, she was dressed in a lush pink robe though underneath she wore a comfy sleeper shirt and pants. She tossed a dark blue robe at him along with a simple White T-shirt and Pajama pants.

  "That stuff belongs to Luc but I don’t think he would mind."

  "You sure he ain't dead?"

  Hazel laughed. "I know for the fact he isn’t."

  Varick swallowed her confidence, and it tasted bitter. For some reason, he wanted her to suffer if only a little. Misery loving company. "Are you sure he’s just some friend?"

  "Yeah" Hazel said dumbfounded.

  Hazel walked toward the kitchen, she was hungry again. "Put the clothes in the dryer for me."

  Varick tossed the items on the couch and went to work on the laundry. "So, this friend of yours. He lets you come and go as you please? You probably have your own bedroom here."