by Travis Borne
Branches rustled.
Male voices got louder.
“Well, well, well—what do we have here, boys?” The voice was deep and rough, and the first of three men stepped inside.
While tearing away the brush Jon had placed over the hole just moments earlier, the skinny one anxiously asked, “What is it?”
“Careful, Lee, I think someone’s down there,” the fat one said. “Smell that?” He was glued to Lee’s back, following the light from Lee’s nightstick cautiously, although clobbering the clay steps clumsily.
“No shit, Dwayne,” Lee replied. “How the fuck you think I knew it wuz here. Now, shut your fuckin’ pie-holes, both of ya.” He held up his fist as though he wanted to whale on the two, then continued the descent. With hand signals he alerted the goons to flank and ready their guns. Like a hunter creeping toward his prey, Lee sidestepped into the hole, a goon on each side only one step behind.
Not a sound, and so far, it looked empty. The last of the daylight barely lit the space but the large inner dome shape became evident. Lee inspected the area with his light. Feet planted on the bottom floor, he quickly made out the soup and a smoldering fire, blankets, art on the walls, calendar and height marks, and makeshift furniture and blankets. He knew.
Dwayne passed Lee like an anxious blob made from stretched-out garbage bags. Lee just stood still, cautiously inspecting the area. Dwayne’d gotten a whiff of that soup, and now the skinny one tailed him. “Hey, Ray,” he whispered, “would ya look at this! Da-amn!” And they both vacuumed in the aroma.
“Ah, da-amn is right, that be good. Ga-ooood!” lanky Ray agreed, rubbing his gaunt hands together. He looked like he hadn’t eaten in weeks, and in contrast, Dwayne was swollen, as if he’d always bullied Ray from his share of the grub.
Ray attempted to snag a taste but Dwayne jerked it back, spilling a good portion. “Gimme that,” sparked Dwayne. “Shit, dawg, see what ya made me do. You know you’re always last, fucker. Now you’ll be lucky if ya get any.”
“Anyone in there, come on out,” Lee exploded. His loud tone reverberated throughout the cave. Ray put some nearby sticks on the coals and started blowing. Quickly he got it burning again and it lit the cave. “We got guns. Come on, we ain’t gonna hurt ya.”
Jerry tapped Jon’s shoulder one time.
The goons were obsessed with the soup. Lee motioned to Ray who was busy blowing, earning his turn for a taste. “Get the fuck—” Lee grunted while waving his arms to signal them, obviously pissed at the two for letting their guard down so easily. But the soup had hypnotized the famished imbeciles. Lee pointed this way and that, motioning a split-up. They reluctantly abandoned the soup and did as they were told, and the fire flared up, now lighting the cave amply.
Jerry tapped Jon’s shoulder a second time.
“Ray,” Lee spoke quickly, and pointed toward the dark area in the back. Ray aimed his shotgun into the nothingness then reached into his jeans for a lighter. He flicked it once, twice—
Tap.
Jerry dove! He forced Ray’s shotgun upward. It unloaded into the ceiling. He struck Ray, sending him ten feet back. Ray plowed into Dwayne who landed on his huge pack. Like a flipped turtle the round man’s limbs flailed. And Jerry gave Ray the hammer.
Amy screamed!
At the same time, Jon leapt out swinging. He pounced onto Lee while dodging a bullet from his revolver. But Jon’s tackle did little to knock down the larger man and after a brief struggle, Jon found himself in a choke hold. Lee wriggled Jon’s wrist until the machete fell with a clang.
“Everybody freeze! Don’t move or I’ll blow his motha’ fuckin’ head off.” Lee’s demands were a bullhorn’s best, each word as solid as matter, and fierce. He locked his beady black eyes onto Jerry and compressed Jon’s neck; both of their faces reddened—one in suffocation. Lee’s goatee beard, flattened onto Jon’s ear, was thick, round and long, jet-black and mottled with a few grays. Below a frayed black beanie, the sides of his face and head were buzzed short. His neck was Viking thick, he wore a flack vest, and carried a small pack. He was smaller than Jerry by far, but by no means a small man and it was apparent he always got the best of any grub they managed to scavenge.
Jerry had his own hostage. While Ray slept with his mouth open like a broken zombie, out cold from Jerry’s Goliath right, white-faced Dwayne, a butterball with slabs of malnourished flab drooping from his body like garbage bags filled with standard trash, was frozen in his grip. Jerry had his left gorilla mitt clutching Dwayne’s throat, the other had pulled his pistol. Its barrel forced Dwayne’s head back onto his turtle shell of a pack.
Eyes trembling, Dwayne’s shocked face revealed it had never felt the grip of such a large and powerful man. Then he pissed. His crotch resembled black mold growing on fast forward.
“Get the fuck off of him, now!” Lee demanded. “Last one, bitch…last motherfuckin’ chance and I mean it.”
Jerry stoned Lee with his glare, flaying several tense seconds from stopped time, then realized, he had no other choice. Letting time roll again, he loosened his grip on the stretchy-skinned blob then stood up and backed away. His eyes, however, retained the fury of Hell. And his fists were vises, max crank.
“Now toss it,” Lee demanded. Jerry reluctantly gave up the gun.
Dwayne coughed and reached for his throat with both hands and sucked in a deep breath. He had a round beard, at least six inches long in every direction, and his brown trucker cap was sideways from the hit. He massaged his throat and glowered at Jerry with anger, and embarrassment for the piss. The gun barrel had tattooed an embossed red circle on his forehead.
“Well, get the fuck up, Dee-fucking-wayne,” Lee said impatiently. Dwayne started to roll, side to side a few times until he could un-turtle. He forced himself onto his knees and started taking off the massive gadget of a pack. He set it down carefully, giving it the once-over.
“It’s still good,” he said, then staggered toward his skinny sidekick.
Jon looked at the pack, still frozen in Lee’s grip which loosened slightly as the threat abated. It had a belt-strapped car battery at the bottom with wires snaking up and around it. There were assorted electronic boxes on the top, not unlike that of vehicle electronics and power inverters. He thought, could it be, some sort of makeshift blocker—no, couldn’t be—perhaps some sort of electromagnetic-pulse device?
Jerry took a step back and demanded, “Now, let him go.”
“Everyone else out, out now. I know there’s more in there.” Lee reclamped his grip on Jon, ignoring Jerry.
Jodi appeared from the darkness, limping, assisted by Valerie. All eyes shifted to her. Even Dwayne paused his slapping of Ray. She’d been shot in the side and her blood was Niagara; half of her patchy blue-jeans were purplish-red; the gray clay floor became bright red. She started to fall, pain evident in her eyes, and Val could hold on no longer. Going down. Jon squirmed frantically. His face became the devil’s lamp. Lee tightened his grip, but Jon was losing—
“Jodi!” Jon blasted his cry!
“Jon, I—” Jodi struggled... Her eyes and head rolled round and round, loosely… She fainted—INTERCEPTION! Jerry slowly lowered her to the floor, cradling her neck. Drenched in tears, Valerie did her best to assist.
“I told you fucks. Now, I told ya to come out,” Lee said. “Dwayne move your fat glob-ass and tie ’em up—starting with him.” Lee kept his eye on Jodi while he talked, letting out a faint apathetic grin before saying, “Yeah, well, she’s still good for something.” He followed up with a vile chuckle.
Jerry pressed Lee with eyes that could make God feel small; his muscles were as dense as Earth’s core.
Jon’s jerking slowed and the bottom fell out of his soul; he languished seeing the women he loved go down.
“Don’t even think about it, big man. I don’t miss,” Lee replied to Jerry’s hostile eyes. He heard faint crying inside the tunnel. “More? Now, everyone else come out of there now or he gets it—and I mean now!”
Amy stepped out, meekly. Her wet face glimmered in the fire and her tears kept coming.
“Well, well, what do we have here? It’s Christmas early, boys,” Lee said with his sinister smile. He tossed Dwayne the light and gestured for him to check the tunnel.
“Clear, boss.”
Amy sniffled, sobbing quietly. Dwayne timidly approached Jerry, not bothering with her. He shredded some nearby clothing and had Jerry kneel down on Jodi’s right. Then he tied Jerry’s hands behind his back. For extra measure, he tied his ankles, hogtied everything together, then crammed underwear into his mouth. Once Jerry was well restrained and gagged, he kicked him in the gut and taunted him. Like a rock, Jerry didn’t budge.
After Jerry was no longer a threat, he tied Jon’s hands behind his back and set him on his knees on Jodi’s left side; Dwayne didn’t bother with his ankles.
Ray jostled. He started to regain consciousness and slowly sat up. A scrawny old-lady’s hand to his face: broken jaw, surely, or the whole face, or both. Ray tried to talk yet could only make lethargic moans. And his eyes rolled round and round as if searching for the source of the pain. Then he brought his old-lady’s fingers higher, and touched his cheekbone. It moved! The grinding sound within his face and skull sent a sharp pain past his right ear and into the back of his neck. And he tensed in agony while his eyes rolled back as though he was returning to la-la land.
“Man, he fucked you up good,” Lee said, laughing. “Wrap up your ugly coconut and come get some of this soup.” Dwayne chuckled then he and Lee couldn’t help it, both burst into laughter.
Ray was stretched out like a rubber band at 6 foot 1, probably weighed a buck twenty wet, and he had no front teeth. A mullet leaked recklessly from the back of his hunting beanie: cliche camo with the standard—faded-to-hell—fluorescent-orange ear flaps. His dark-blue puffy undersized jacket was divided like parted seas by the straps of a hefty pack: supplies enough for ten, roll-out mats, trinkets, and tents bolted to the sides. His small, olive-green, grayish eyes were moon craters and the rest of his angular face and body was a walking stick—uglier than its insectile similitude. Ray’s mind oozed the mentality of a simple man, bolstered by a simple mentality: anything for a bone. And he just kept fucking with his face as if trying to puzzle it back together; Jerry had shuffled it up good.
One down at least, Jerry thought. He won’t be doing much else. The more he watched the filth the more he boiled, and kept wrestling to free his hands. Jodi was lying on her back, breathing slowly, wheezing more, with exhausted eyes on Jon. Her freckles were exaggerated by whiter-than-ever skin that seemed to be deflating. She was losing the fight and Jon couldn’t do a damn thing about it save watch her and wait for the intruders to finish stuffing face. They just sat warm at the oblivious, reckless fire, as if everyone but them had suddenly ceased to exist. Amy and Valerie weren’t tied up; they sat beside Lee.
Jon managed to spit out the sock. “Let me help her, please.” Lee paid zero attention.
“What’s your name, sweet lips?” Chunks of raw meat clung to his beard.
Valerie didn’t respond, just sat on his left with a swollen face full of tears. He pulled out his knife and slid it slowly across her face. Pressing it a little harder, he cut her cheek. She flinched back.
Jerry fumed, blood pressure in his face nearing overload.
“Valerie,” she said, breathing in quick and deep.
“I think we’re gonna have dessert tonight, boys,” Lee said. “Even you, Ray. You can have the dead stick.” Dwayne and Lee laughed again and continued stuffing face. Ray attempted to join in with his smile, then winced in pain. “Don’t worry, bud, after this I’d say your initiation is complete. Never seen anyone take a hit like that.”
“Which one can I have, Lee?” Dwayne interrupted.
“You can have the Mexican, dumb ass, after me, of course,” Lee said. “The little one is all mine.” He ogled at little Amy. She teared up, not wanting to look at the scary man.
“You look like a mean pirate,” she blurted. The cute outburst just sustained their laughs.
“I like that boys, I’m a pirate.” He laughed. But to her he did: had a big scar on his face, had a black tattoo on his neck, and, had a piece of rat meat stuck in his wide-gapped front teeth.
“You’re a sloppy eater too, and a bad man!” Amy mocked.
“Just wait, little girl, you are about to find out just how bad.”
Jerry raged. His face reddened as if molten steel was coursing through his veins. And Lee kept taunting him, and provoking the spirited little girl. Jerry focused his rage on the clothes binding him.
A small tear.
“Here, Ray, thanks for stopping the ogre.” A pile of remains on a rag near the fire: uncooked rat guts. Lee slung the grayish strands his way.
Lottery win! A woman and a meal! Ray ogled at the dangling slop with crossed eyes and endeavored to tilt his head back into a position that didn’t shoot pain into his spine and skull. “Ow, uk,” he mumbled, in delight as the snot-like guts slid into his throat; he didn’t even have to chew! His face, as distorted as it was, shone like a night-light that had been melted and stretched thin. A starved dog that’d been thrown a couple of bones, although one would probably be cold when he finally got to it, and his apparent feeble mind had been given the necessary reason to carry on.
Amy’s tears had dried. “Yuck,” she blurted, watching him suck it down. Ray acknowledged her with a dull chuckle and continued blackholing the rest.
Jon reached down behind his back slowly. He had faith Jerry could escape; they’d both heard the tiny rip. And if he could just reach the blocker, he could activate Mode 3—LAST RESORT. Jodi, still hanging in there, was looking up at him as if she knew what he was doing. She managed the tiniest of nods. It touched Jon’s heart, and he knew he had to try, and fast. No, there was no trying, he had to make it happen! Jodi’s eyes were puddles of water and while meeting Jon’s in the moment of desperation, they exchanged a lifetime.
Jon kept one blocker on him at all times. Jodi had the only remaining other; both were strapped to their ankles. Jodi’s leg was too far, protruding outward toward Lee. His was almost within reach and without looking suspicious he reached his fingers and felt the edge.
Mode 3 would destroy the blocker with a power surge when used. It was not intended solely for machines, people too would be affected. Jon feared days like this more than anything, one reason why the cave served better than any house or building could: distance from people and protection from the devastating first-year storms. If I can just, reach, almost there…
But ultimately it would be of little use if they couldn’t get untied. Jerry looked to Jon. He understood what Jon intended to do and knew half of the plan relied on him escaping. If I can just get free, before Jon activates it!
Lee and the boys finished eating. Jerry knew he had to hurry. With renewed vigor and a stuffed belly, Lee got up and grabbed Valerie. “Might have a little of this one before a nap. You two fucks can have what’s left.”
“No, no. Please,” Valerie cried. A rush of tears turned her cheeks to glass.
Jerry raged. His face burned core-of-the-sun red and veins pulsed on his temples. His arms became hydraulic cylinders on overload. He forced hard enough to tear tendon from bone yet still made little progress with the bondage that had his immense power at a disadvantage for leverage. A button popped on his shirt, and came another small rip.
Jodi nodded to Jon. She knew what he was thinking. The edge it would give them would be small, but at least it was a chance.
Valerie let her voice erupt as Lee dragged her toward the steps of the cave. He jerked off her flannel, spinning her around, then ripped her undershirt to shreds. Dwayne snickered like a child when she became bare. Even Ray, rat guts cleaving to the side of his hair bespeckled face, ogled in anticipation; short hiccupping pains between chuckles did nothing to damper his excitement.
Jerry raged on, level: nuclear sunrise. Another small rip. This
time louder. Dwayne caught the noise but was easily swayed back to the show. Jon managed to get his fingers on the buttons but had to wait for Jerry to escape or it would be almost useless. But, he would use it regardless, if he had to—and he knew what it was going to do to his leg.
From behind, the pirate moaned and rubbed her breasts with both hands after clamping the knife with his teeth. He took his groping hands lower and went around her belly; it was large and hard, a globe, ready to pop any moment. He went lower—then Amy let loose, SCREAMING! Dwayne fumbled to shut her up but she was too slippery.
“We’ll both appreciate this,” Lee said slowly, ignoring the high-pitched needle to his ear. He grabbed Valerie’s shirt and stuffed it into her mouth, then put the knife up to her cheek. He pressed himself, squeezing her stomach onto the large rock. The knife drew blood, just a drop, and it rolled down her cheek. “Now, if you so much as move again this becomes a poker, right into the back of your head. And I’ll still fuck your dead ass.”
She now had a gash on each cheek—and a hand haphazardly gripping her face; Lee’s mitt smelt like copper, rat blood, and desert dust. And his other went low. With his large dirty left wrapped around her, he palmed her belly, squeezing enough to cause knee-bending pain.
She tried not to move. And she closed her eyes.
He pressed harder, forcing her into the rock.
Amy ran over. She screamed an even higher note and grabbed his leg. Lee only glimpsed down at her and laughed, then refocused onto his dessert. But Amy kept on, pulling, tugging. “Come get this little bitch, would ya?” Lee said, then resumed full attention onto the beautiful Valerie. He was too aroused, and Val knew it, and Amy could barely budge his leg. “Oh, you Spanish whore, you’re in for a real treat now.” Lee chuckled, dragging out his words, long and slow, and he unbuttoned his pants. Before Dwayne could unseat his bulk to get her—Amy bit down hard.
“Ya fuck!” Lee barked. He was still holding the knife with his right. “You little fucking bitch!” He slashed down at the little girl with full force. The hit sent Amy flying. A stream of blood sliced the cave in half. Dwayne arrived, grabbed her skinny legs and dragged. The high-pitched screaming was an ice pick to ears—but faded quickly.