Death Flag

  -----

  It felt like he had only been asleep for mere moments before another man was kicking him awake in the morning. He cracked his dried eyes open to see that the sun wasn’t even up yet. Despite that, the murky gloom and fog that had clung to the land for a full day seemed to have disappeared, and the sun was beginning to shine through cracks in the forest canopy overhead. It was hard to tell because of how thick the leaves and branches were, but he had the feeling that it had only just come over the horizon somewhere far in the distance. A fine coat of dew had fallen during the night, leaving everything damp. His thin shirt was soaked through and clung to his skin in places where it hadn’t been pressed against the ground while he slept, and his hair was matted down against his head.

  He sucked in a tentative breath, and the ache in his ribs immediately reminded him what it felt like to be an idiot. He tried to roll over and stand up, but his muscles protested even that simple action. He was stiff and sore all over, his muscles were cramped, most likely from overuse and dehydration, and he had to spend several minutes rubbing his legs to get blood into them before they relaxed enough for him to stand up. Once he was finally on his feet, he spent several minutes stretching as best as he could with his legs hobbled together while he took note of his surroundings.

  The prisoners were allowed another single ladle of water, and some form of dusty, flatbread was passed out amongst them. It was so hard that Madison almost broke his tooth against it when he tried to take a bite from it, but he was so hungry that he didn’t really care. He broke off a small piece and held it in his mouth for as long as he could, hoping that it would soften up enough to chew. As a result, he was forced to stuff the remainder into one of his pockets and carry the better portion of his breakfast along with him when they resumed their march.

  He had been too tired to take much notice of anything the day before, but he realized now that they had been following some sort of road that was barely wide enough for the cart to fit down ever since they turned east away from the ocean the day before. The ground thankfully began to harden up as they moved further inland, but it quickly became rutted and rocky, and as they moved further into what appeared to be an old hardwood forest, thick, gnarled tree roots often filled the trail.

  In truth, Madison would have thought that it was an absolutely-beautiful country under different circumstances. Towering deciduous trees filled the forest, sometimes packed so tightly together that their massive trunks were clearly vying for space on the forest floor. Their lowest branches were so high above that someone looking up would have struggled to tell where they ended and others began, and the canopy of leaves stretched off as far as one could see in any direction. Although the thick green foliage blocked out most of the sky, sunlight was still somehow able to make its way down to where they traveled in varying amounts. It seemed as if the sun had been blocked out almost entirely at times, and at others, there were clearly vibrant streams of light filtering down from above. The result was an insubstantial quality of light that looked as if it belonged to the early morning just before sunrise, even in the middle of the day.

  The cart he was trailing along behind came to an abrupt and unceremonious stop as its wheels hung up on one of these fat roots, and Madison slammed into the wagon before he pulled his eyes back down and realized what had happened. One of the guards instantly ran over and began issuing orders, lining up the first three captives from each of the two lines behind the wagon. He then grabbed another three men from the end of the line and took them around to the other side so that they could help pull against the tresses and keep the animals in line while the others pushed from behind. The orders were issued quickly and without resistance, once again affirming Madison’s fears that this was an all-too-practiced maneuver. No one put up so much as a fight, simply acquiescing to the fact that they were going to do exactly as they were told.

  One of the guards produced a whip from his belt, uncurled it, and cracked it over their heads. “On my mark!” he snarled. “Push!”

  There was a collective grunt as they all pushed, and the wagon slowly moved forward before rocking backward. His feet slid back in the loose soil as they worked to stop the wagon from rolling back. As soon as the cart was fully stopped, the guard cracked the whip again and screamed, “Push!”

  They laid in to push the cart together for a second time, but this time they had a bit of a moving start and the subsequent momentum to help them out. The wagon lurched up onto the massive root, slowing down and pausing slightly as it reached the top, and then surged forward and down the other side all at once. There was a creaking noise and then the sound of wood splintering, and the front left corner of the wagon collapsed forward, driving down into the ground. A scream rang out from the other side of the wagon at the same time, and several guards jumped forward all at once.

  “Get it back!” one yelled.

  “Bring the slaves around! We have to move it back!” a second ordered.

  There was no way for him to move around the wagon to get a look at what was going on, so he ducked down and peered underneath instead. One of the guards had apparently failed to get out of the way fast enough when the wagon surged forward and collapsed, and he had been trapped underneath one of the large axles when the wheel broke and the wagon collapsed.

  One of the guards he recognized from his beating the day before came around, unleashed both lines of slaves, and drug them to the front of the cart.

  “Move! Move!” the other guard shouted, cracking his whip over their backs when they failed to jump fast enough.

  Madison realized that it was worse than what he had originally seen. The cart’s axle had sheared the man’s thigh, and he was quickly losing blood. There was already a massive pool underneath his lower body, and there were no signs of it slowing down on its own. He knew from basic biology that the man had severed an artery, and unless there was some source of modern medical aid that he had yet to find out about, the man was probably going to bleed out no matter what anyone did for him.

  One of the guards quickly opened up the cages and let the women and children free, practically pushing them off of the cart in his hurry to remove as much weight as possible. They were herded into a small group at the back of the wagon, and one of the guards leveled a spear at them with a few threatening remarks.

  Once they were clear, Madison and the rest of the men lined up and grabbed ahold of the cart.

  “Lift!” the man screamed, lashing out with his whip as if he were trying to punctuate every word. “Lift! Lift! Lift!”

  Madison sank down into a squat and then lifted with the rest of them. As tired and hungry as he was, the combined efforts of so many men easily lifted the wagon off the injured guard. One of the other guards grabbed the downed man’s shoulders and pulled him out from underneath the axle, and there was a collective sigh as the wagon was lowered back to the ground.

  “Wrap that leg!” one of the guards shouted. “We have to stop the bleeding, or he’s done for!”

  “Ain’t no helpin’ him,” Pudgy grunted as he waddled over. “We’ve all seen this before. He’s gonna bleed out before we can stop it.” His voice was low and somber, though there was no real regret to it.

  The other guards’ heads all swiveled to Pudgy and one said, “Mit’s your brother, boss. We ought to try and save him.”

  Pudgy stared at the dying man and shook his head slowly. “No. Better off to just end him now and stop the suffering.”

  “But boss, we can—”

  “I can do it,” Madison said from where he stood in line with the other slaves. He saw an opportunity, and he was going to take it. “I can save him.”

  The guards’ heads all swiveled to him just as they had to Pudgy seconds before. “How?” one asked.

  “Why should we trust you?” another demanded. “You just killed Wart.”

  Madison shrugged. He didn’t care one way or another if the man died. But this was a chance for him to pull something off that he might not ge
t otherwise. “Look, we’re going to be here for the rest of the night anyway. You aren’t going to be able to fix that broken wheel until sunrise tomorrow, so you might as well let me try. I served on a ship before you found me. I wasn’t a doctor, but I assisted the surgeon many times. I can save him.”

  “A ship?” one asked suspiciously.

  “Who did you serve under?” Pudgy demanded, suddenly curious. “What captain?”

  He took a breath and glanced off to the side. What the hell was that Captain’s name? He was awful at remembering names anyway, and he hadn’t exactly been under the best of circumstances at the time to commit anything to memory. Think. Think. Think. Finally, it came to him. He took a breath and said, “Janos.”

  “Janos?!” Pudgy repeated, barking the name in surprise. His eyes narrowed, and he rubbed at his chin, which caused the folds of fat there to wobble back and forth. “That explains something,” he muttered, taking the measure of Madison as if he had just seen him for the first time. His mouth slowly twisted into a grin, though there was a devilish light in his eyes that Madison instantly recognized. It wasn’t anger or spite. It was something much more dangerous: greed. Madison’s worth had just gone up drastically. “Save him then if you can.”

  Madison stepped forward and began issuing orders to the guards as if it were his job. “You,” he said, pointing to the closest guard. “Get a fire lit. And do it quickly. Get it as hot as you can, and get a knife or another flat blade red hot. I’m going to have to cauterize that and seal it shut, or it’s just going to break open again. You”—he pointed to a second guard—“collect some of this brownish-red moss that’s growing on the tree and some of this three-leafed weed.” He picked up a handful of moss and some random plant for good measure. “Add a few drops of water and start rolling them into a paste. Got it?”

  He walked forward and kneeled down next to the injured guard. His face was already a pale, sickly color, and his breathing was shallow. “Damn,” he cursed, looking at one of the remaining guards. “Get these ropes off me! He’s going to die if we don’t stop this bleeding!”

  Much to his surprise, the guard actually walked over and untied the leather straps holding Madison’s wrists together. No way. Seriously? That was way too easy.

  Madison knelt down on one knee and examined the man’s leg. The axle had punctured straight into the side of the guard’s thigh, leaving behind a giant open wound when it was lifted off. Madison knew that everything he was doing at this point was entirely for show. There was nothing that could be done to save the man from death, and he doubted that he would have bothered even if he could. As far as he was concerned, the man deserved a far slower and more agonizing punishment than this. Anyone who partook in human trafficking was about the lowest form of life imaginable, and add on the fact that he had taken his shots at Madison along with the rest of them, and he really didn’t care what happened to Pudgy’s brother.

  He heard the clatter of wood being piled together and looked up to see several of the slaves and guards building a massive pile of leaves and wood. One of the guards was already striking a piece of flint against his knife, trying to get the damp leaves to spark up and take flame.

  An idea suddenly entered Madison’s mind. He’d already been planning on taking advantage of this, but with a little luck and the right timing, he might be able to do even better.

  I just need to keep this up a little longer . . .

  “Come here and help me with this,” Madison said to the guard standing over him. He leaned down and quickly tore off part of the dying man’s shirt, and together with the guard’s help, he wrapped it around the man’s leg above the wound, forming a tourniquet. Knowing that it wasn’t going to be enough to stem the flow of blood, Madison quickly stripped the guard of his shirt as well, balling it up and pressing it against the wound. When he was finished, he instructed the guard to take over and to keep as much pressure on the wound as possible.

  Glancing up again, Madison saw they finally had a decent blaze going. The small flame was sending up thick clouds of smoke as the damp wood caught fire, and he went back to work when he saw someone stick a sword into the flame. He resumed making a show over the guard, tilting his head back, flipping his eyelids back and peering into his eyes, and pressing his head against the man’s chest to listen to his heartbeat. He had no idea what he was doing, and he was just making it up as he went along, but no one made a move to stop him or tell him that it was useless.

  “Where’s that paste?” Madison asked, glancing around.

  “I’ve got it! I’ve got it!” one answered, running around the side of the wagon. He was carrying a small wooden bowl, and Madison could see clumps of ground up moss and the random weed that he had instructed the man to use.

  “Good,” Madison said when the man reached him, examining the paste.

  “And where’s the hot blade?” he asked, staring pointedly at the two by the fire.

  “Coming!” he shouted back.

  Madison could hear the tension in his voice. He knew the man was actually trying his best to save his friend, and it was driving him crazy being forced to stand around and wait as the blade got hot.

  Madison leaned down and put his head to the unconscious guard’s chest. He couldn’t even hear a heartbeat any longer, and when he pressed his hand up underneath the man’s nose, he couldn’t feel him breathing either.

  “Let’s go!” Madison shouted urgently. “I need it now! He’s going to die if we take any longer!” Looking at the guard next to him with the paste, Madison said hurriedly, “When we take the pressure off the wound, I need you to mash that paste in as quickly as you can. You got that?”

  The man nodded dumbly, staring down at the now-dead guard. “You sure this is going to work?” he asked doubtfully.

  “No,” Madison answered honestly, shaking his head. No sense in spoiling this rouse now by making a promise that he won’t believe. “He’s pretty far gone already, but this is the best chance we have of saving him.”

  “I don’t think we can stand losing him,” the guard said mournfully. “We been together since kids. Me and him was going to retire one day soon when we made our fortune and raise a family together . . .”

  Thankfully, the other guard came hustling over to them before Madison had to answer. He was carrying the hot sword by its hilt, which he had wrapped in a cloth to help further protect his hands.

  “Here, let me,” Madison said as the man approached, carefully taking the hot blade from him. “Now, remember,” he started, turning to each of the guards in turn. “On three, you pull the pressure off his leg, you apply the paste to the wound, and I’ll burn it shut. Got it?”

  “One . . . Two . . .” Madison never reached three. When the man holding the paste leaned over in anticipation of applying it, Madison turned the blade sideways and shoved it over his head, plunging it into the guard’s stomach. He instantly jerked the blade clear from the man’s body, swinging it around to his opposite side and pulling it back across the throat of the guard who was bent over holding pressure on the wound. Then, finally, he reversed the blade and jammed it down into the back of the man who was holding the paste. It went in at an awkward, diagonal angle, but the blow was good as any. He knew that he had pierced the man’s lung, so it was only a matter of time before he was dead as well.

  He staggered back, letting go of the sword and leaving it buried in the man’s body. The first man fell to his knees as Madison watched, clutching his stomach in horror as his brain caught up with the fact that he was dead, the other two men crumbling forward into a bloody mess at almost the same time. Madison’s attack had been so fast, so brutal, and so efficient that no one even had time to shout a warning, much less stop him.

  He spun in a small circle, locating Pudgy near the women and children. “Hey, fat man!” he called. “Yeah, you! Fat man!”

  Pudgy turned and looked at him, outrage already evident on his face from the insult. He seemed to pale for a moment as he spied the pile
of bodies behind Madison, and then he exploded in a fit of rage. “I’ll kill you! You’re dead! I don’t care what you’re worth! I don’t care what captain you sailed for! You’re dead for this! You hear me!? You’re dead!”

  Madison threw his hands up to his sides and shrugged as if he were helplessly asking ‘What are you gonna do?’ And then he took off.

  -----

  Madison sprinted off into the woods, throwing every bit of energy he could summon into his stiff and tired legs. He had never been much of a runner, often foregoing cardio at the gym in favor of a little more time with the free weights, and he was regretting his decision now. He was already sucking wind and pumping his legs as hard as he could before he even made it a stone’s throw into the forest. Even on the best of days, when he wasn’t already so tired he could drop out at a moment’s notice, he would have had a hard time putting distance between him and the slavers quickly enough. He ducked around a massive tree trunk, its branches so far overhead that he could never hope to reach them as a means of escape or safety,and pushed ahead. He heard the sounds of a whip snapping ferociously and men shouting behind him, but he couldn’t stop to worry about that right now. He had already managed to take out several of the slavers, but there wasn’t going to be a third chance for him to catch them by surprise again. He had taken advantage of their complacent nature one too many times, and he had killed their leader’s brother. There was no way he was going to be able to take on all of those guards alone, and as much as it irked him, he had to think about saving himself for now.

  He vaulted up onto a fallen tree and scrambled to climb over the top of it. Although its trunk was as abnormally thick as many of the other trees in the forest, he had expected to clear it with little problem. Unfortunately, he wasn’t in the best of athletic shape at the moment, and neither his hands nor his feet were able to find any traction. The weathered log’s aged trunk was covered in a thick coating of slick, wet moss that had probably never seen the full light of day, and he just couldn’t grab ahold of anything to use as leverage. His feet slipped out from under him, and he slammed chest-first into the log, fighting furiously to grab ahold of something steady and ungiving that would stop him from toppling off backward. Finally, after a few very tense seconds where he was sure that he wouldn’t make it, he was able to catch a grip on the stump of a limb and hoist himself up.