by Jeff Strand
"No, Benjamin, I'm not planning to shoot the cops. Just relax."
Finally an officer emerged from each vehicle. Neither of them looked particularly intimidating by cop standards, but Benjamin still had a sick feeling in his stomach that had nothing to do with the parasite.
"Don't question me," Julie told Benjamin. "I need you to get out of the car and walk toward them. Stop when they tell you to stop."
Benjamin didn't hesitate. He got out of the car and gave the officers a friendly little wave. Though they didn't puke or anything, they both seemed taken aback by his grotesque appearance.
"Sir, please place your hands on the vehicle," one of the officers said, an instant before a bullet struck him in the thigh.
Julie, leaning out through the window, fired again. Another leg shot. The second officer went down.
Benjamin stood there, gaping at the fallen officers. Any possible comment he could make at this time seemed woefully inadequate.
Julie got out of the car and pointed her gun at Benjamin. He cringed, waiting for her to shoot him as well. "Get back in the car, dumb-ass!"
He hurried back into the car and slammed the door shut as Julie turned on the engine and sped back onto the road.
"I...I can't...what the hell, Julie?" Benjamin screamed. "This isn't like stealing a car or shooting a security guard! You shot two cops! There's no happy ending to this!"
"I'll be the judge of the happy ending," said Julie.
"You said you weren't going to shoot them!"
"I changed my mind!"
"You shouldn't have!"
"Enough, Benjamin. It's already done. And let me warn you: If you give me any problems at all from now on, I'll put one bullet in each kneecap. Do we understand each other?"
She looked one hundred percent serious. Benjamin decided not to test it. "Yeah, I understand you."
"And guess what? I'm going to pull over, and you're riding in the trunk from now on."
* * *
"I vow vengeance!"
Pedro clenched the steering wheel even more tightly in his fists. "If you say that one more time, I'm going to floor it and slam us into a wall."
"Easy for you to say!" Joey wailed. "You didn't just lose a brother!"
"Easy for me to say? That doesn't even make any sense. We need to think about what we're going to tell your father."
"We're going to tell him that revenge will be mine!"
"I mean it, you need to pull yourself together. I'm calling him now."
"Revenge!"
"Fine, revenge, whatever. Inigo Montoya you're not." Pedro took out his cell phone and dialed.
"Did you get it?" Mr. Smith immediately asked. Pedro pushed a button and put him on speakerphone.
"No, sir. There were complications."
"Complications involving my idiot sons?"
"More or less, sir."
"She killed Clyde!" Joey shouted.
"My son is dead?"
"One of them, sir."
A moment of terrifying silence, and then: "How did this happen on your watch?"
"The situation was completely under control," Pedro said. "We had them exactly where we wanted them, and then Joey decided to shoot at the other bounty hunter. He wasn't fast enough and he hit Clyde instead."
"Joey shot Clyde?"
"Yes, sir."
"Put him on."
"You're on speaker, sir."
"Take it off speaker and put him on."
Pedro pressed the speaker button and handed the phone to Joey.
"Yeah?" Joey asked. "No...yeah...no...uh-huh...I don't know...I don't know...yeah...I don't know...because... yeah...no...no...I don't know...yeah...why?...I guess...I guess...no...yeah...okay." He handed the phone back to Pedro.
"Yes, sir?"
"You have disappointed me more than I can possibly express, Pedro," said Mr. Smith.
"It wasn't my—"
"I don't want excuses. You were given a job that was obviously beyond your capabilities. For that, I regret my poor judgment."
Pedro did not smash the cell phone against the dashboard over and over until nothing remained but powder, but he would have enjoyed the experience immensely.
"I'm giving you a second chance," said Mr. Smith. Pedro thought he might have actually heard the man sniffle a bit, but he couldn't be sure.
"Thank you, sir," said Pedro, since it sounded like a better way to stay alive than the desired response of "Fuck you."
"Here's your new assignment..."
* * *
The trunk of the car was not comfy. It had a spare tire in it, along with a few smelly old books, some fast food bags, and a stuffed walrus. Benjamin had to contort his body to fit inside, and he still smacked the roof whenever Julie hit a bump, which she seemed to be doing on purpose.
Benjamin wasn't sure which hurt worse: the parasite, or the thought that he'd been partially responsible for two cops, a security guard, and an old man getting shot. (He didn't count Clyde.)
The pain wasn't anywhere near as severe as when he'd first met Julie, but it was definitely starting to get more intense. Another dose of medication just seemed to have made the creature angry. Or maybe it was stoned and simply thrashing around in a drug-induced fantasy world. Either way, the parasite was a very inconsiderate intestinal guest.
And it felt heavier. A lot heavier. As if it were growing.
They were going to kill him. That much seemed obvious. He didn't even know who "they" were, but if shooting a couple of cops was considered acceptable behavior, then he was certainly disposable once they removed the specimen.
Not a lot of escape opportunities when you were locked in a car trunk speeding down the highway. He'd tried kicking at the lid a few times, but that only hurt his foot, and even if he got the lid open, leaping from a speeding automobile onto the pavement was a good way to end up nice and splattery.
Dammit.
He hated being powerless. Hated lying in this trunk like a pitiful little victim. No matter what, when the first opportunity presented itself to escape, he was going to take it. Benjamin Wilson was not going to find himself on a dissection table thinking "Gosh, I really should have tried to shove past Julie when I had the chance. Oh well. Wow, is that what my pancreas looks like?"
Well, okay, if she opened the trunk and immediately shoved a gun in his face, he might wait for a better opportunity, but still, the basic concept was that he was going to get the hell away from her.
Friends...
"Shut up," he told the parasite. "We're not friends. You're a rotten creature and I hope they stomp on you like a frickin' slug. That's right, a slug. After you're out of my body, of course. But a slug."
He'd meant to think that, not say it out loud. At least nobody else could hear him.
Friends...
"Quit harping on the whole 'friends' thing. It makes you sound needy. Have some self-respect. You don't hear me going around begging people to be my friends. Friendship is something that you have to earn. It's not something you're entitled to just because you're swimming around in somebody's intestinal tract."
No response.
Benjamin frowned. "Did I hurt your feelings?"
The parasite didn't respond.
"I wasn't trying to be mean. I was just trying to impart some life lessons. I'm sorry I called you a rotten little creature. I'm also sorry about the slug comment. I'm stressed out because of Julie, that's all it is—it's not your fault."
Still nothing.
There was a brief moment of clarity, where Benjamin suddenly realized that he was apologizing to the parasite. His thought of "What the hell?" was fleeting and followed by:
"I said I was sorry! What more do you want?"
He gently tapped at his gut. How dare the parasite try to give him the silent treatment? Were they back in elementary school? What happened to being able to resolve conflicts like reasonable adults?
"Hey, I'm talking to you! Don't pretend you can't hear me. I'll reach down my throat and drag
you out of there. You think my arm won't reach that far? I'll reach right through my lungs if I have to, bitch!"
Friends...
"Oh, thank God." Benjamin stroked his fingers lovingly over his waist. "You had me scared for a minute there. Let's not fight. Let's never fight again."
The car struck a particularly large bump, and Benjamin's head bashed against the roof of the trunk. He cursed for a while. After he was done, he suddenly realized once again that he was trying to build a relationship with the monster in his gut.
What had the parasite done to him? He felt like he'd been one step away from saying "My precious!"
A few minutes later, the car stopped. Benjamin readied himself to spring into action. "Okay, little parasite, it's you and me against the world. If we stick together, there's nothing we can't accomplish. Follow my lead. Or I'll follow your lead. Which do you prefer?"
The parasite did not answer.
"Follow my lead," Benjamin decided. He realized that he was still having trouble with the "thinking" vs. "speaking out loud" concept, and hoped Julie hadn't overheard him.
The trunk opened. Julie immediately shoved a gun in his face.
Benjamin sighed. "Aw, man."
* * *
Benjamin sat in the darkness in the back of another semi truck. This one was even less comfortable than the first. The entire storage area was almost completely filled with wooden crates, so he sat right up next to the sliding metal door, handcuffed to the locking mechanism. This time, he didn't feel guilty about the sacrifices Julie had to make to get them this ride. He sort of hoped that there was gagging and the phrase "Ooops! That never happens!" involved.
Once again, he vowed to make an escape attempt as soon as he had a chance. He hadn't had a chance this last time, because Julie never stopped pointing the goddamn gun at him, but there would be a moment at some point in the future where the gun would be aimed elsewhere, and that's when Benjamin Wilson would strike. He and the parasite would show her who was boss.
Now the question was, should he sleep and regain his energy for the battle ahead, or should he simply wait, all five senses alive and alert, like a ferocious panther stalking its prey?
He selected the panther simile.
Three hours later, he was pretty much sick of being a panther, and fell asleep.
Benjamin awoke as the truck stopped. His body was stiff, he had a headache that felt like the hands of Zeus were trying to squeeze his eyeballs out of their sockets, and the parasite pain hadn't gone away. Also, he was still handcuffed. That said, he had a plan in place ("I need to use the restroom," followed by a blatant violation of the trust she put in him by letting him use the restroom) and wasn't going to screw it up.
When the door slid open, Julie didn't have a gun pointed at him.
However, the semi driver had a gun pointed at her.
Julie was on her knees, with her hands on top of her head. She looked unhappy.
The driver, who was probably in his sixties, gave Benjamin a great big grin, exposing teeth coated with a thin layer of chewing tobacco. He wore gray overalls and heavy work boots. Something about him just screamed "serial killer," possibly his crazed expression of maniacal glee.
Benjamin also noticed that they were no longer on the interstate. Or, apparently, near civilization. There was nothing around but a dirt road and trees.
"Uh, hi," said Benjamin, squirming a bit.
The probable serial killer didn't respond. He looked down at Julie and nudged her with his boot. "You was right. He don't look good at all." He looked back at Benjamin. "What's the matter with you, boy? You got the AIDS or something?"
Benjamin decided to give the answer that would discourage cannibalism. He nodded. "AIDS and the plague. Bad year for me."
"Well, you are one nasty looking piece of meat," the man said. "We'll feed you to the dogs instead."
Food...
"Shut up," Benjamin told the parasite.
"Oh, looks like we gonna have to teach you some manners," said the man. He craned his head around and called over his shoulder. "Hap! Neal! How long you gonna keep me waiting?"
A couple of other guys, who looked like they could be the son and grandson of the man, came running. The grandson scowled when he saw Benjamin. "Aw, cripes, that's disgusting! Where'd you find this one?"
"Boy, that there is the sad result of what happens when you rape a possum. Don't be doing that no more."
The three men cracked up. "Don't say that in front of them," said the grandson, putting a hand over his mouth to stifle his laughter. "They gonna think I really do that!"
"But you do, Neal!"
"Don't neither! One dog." Neal held up one finger. "One dog, one time—"
"Two times."
"Second time didn't count. Either way, one dog two times don't make me a possum raper."
"That it doesn't. You got the sacks?"
"Sure do."
A moment later, Benjamin had a filthy burlap sack over his head. He thought he might spring into action when they unlocked the handcuffs, but they beat him unconscious before doing so.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
"Vengeance!"
"Enough," said Pedro. "You don't need to keep saying 'vengeance' every ten seconds. I get the point."
Joey punched the inside of the car door. "She killed my brother."
"I was there. You want to seek revenge? Fine. Just don't obsess about it out loud. You're giving me a migraine. Think it to yourself."
"I will not rest until Clyde is—"
"What the hell did I just say? Are you seriously going to deny me even a full second of silence?"
Joey glared at him. "If you lost a brother, you'd feel the same way."
"You're right. I probably would. At the same time, I probably wouldn't have shot my brother several times in the chest. Just saying."
"Vengeance!"
* * *
"Mom, you should slow down," Cindy suggested.
Margaret glanced down at the speedometer and saw that they were pushing ninety. She let the car drop down to eighty-five.
The rational part of Margaret's mind knew this trip was a waste of time. Benjamin was certainly long-gone from the motel by now, and it wasn't like she'd pass him hitchhiking by the side of the road. But the rational part of her mind wasn't carrying much of the mental load right now, and the emotional part told her that she should do whatever she could to get closer to her husband.
"Do you think Dad's okay?" Cindy asked. She'd asked this question at least a dozen times since their road trip began. Still, it was a far cry from "Are we there yet?" and didn't bother Margaret a bit.
"Yes," Margaret said. "He's fine. I promise."
"How do you know?"
"I just do. And I'm your mother, so don't argue with me."
* * *
Benjamin opened his eyes, which took a bit of effort because his eyelashes were stuck to his lower lids. He was in a small room in a cabin. An incredibly gross cabin. The reek was unidentifiable and almost unbearable. He really hoped it wasn't rotting flesh, though that seemed like the most likely culprit.
He sat in a wooden chair. He tried to stand up and was surprised when he succeeded. Then a dizzy spell struck him and he flopped back down into the chair, his entire body aching. His arms had new sores on them, along with a couple of nasty bruises.
Julie sat in a chair next to him, unconscious. She'd also been badly beaten. At least a dozen flies crawled over her body, but he could see that she was still breathing.
The only faint light shone in through a dusty grease-covered window. The window looked just barely large enough for them to squeeze out of if they broke the glass, although Benjamin doubted that escape would be quite that easy. He took a deep breath, focused, and got back to his feet. He gently shook Julie's shoulder.
"Julie," he whispered. "Wake up."
She groaned but didn't open her eyes. There was a single door that looked like a couple of solid kicks could break it open, but again, it was p
retty darn unlikely that there wasn't somebody waiting in the next room, probably with a weapon or two. He shook Julie's shoulder a little harder. "C'mon!"
"Lemme sleep," she muttered.
He considered tilting her chair forward and spilling her onto the floor, but didn't want to make a noise and let anybody know they were conscious. Also, considering the unappealing stains on the floor, he was worried that she might stick. Instead, he shook her even harder. Her eyes flew open. He cupped his hand over her mouth before she could scream.
"Shhhhh."
"Where are we?" Julie whispered.
"A bad cabin."
"I'm so sorry...he looked creepy but I didn't realize he was actually like that...I mean, what are the odds...?"
"It's okay," said Benjamin, even though it really wasn't. "We'll get out of this." He extended his hand. Julie took it and he pulled her to her feet.