Benjamin's Parasite

by Jeff Strand

  "Do you know where they are?" Julie asked.

  Benjamin shook his head. "Not too far, I'm guessing."

  "What do you think? Break down the door and take them by surprise?"

  "You think we can knock it down in one kick?"

  Julie carefully tiptoed over to inspect the door more carefully. Mercifully, the floorboards didn't creak. "If we kick it at the exact same time, yeah."

  "Maybe we should wait," said Benjamin. "Pick up a chair, stand by the door, and get ready to bash somebody's head in as soon as they come in to check on us."

  Julie cursed under her breath. "Too late."

  Benjamin looked toward the window and saw what Julie saw: a woman peering inside. The woman quickly disappeared. Benjamin picked up his chair and hoisted it over his head, while his sore arm muscles screamed for mercy. Julie did the same thing.

  Food...

  "Don't start."

  They each stood on one side of the door. "We need to conserve the chairs," Benjamin whispered. "Do you want to hit the first person through or the second one?"

  "The first."

  "Sounds good."

  They waited.

  The door remained closed. Benjamin glanced back at the window. Empty.

  They continued to wait.

  "Do you think they're trying to lull us into a false sense of security?" Benjamin asked.

  "I don't know. She might not have been part of their group."

  "Maybe she's getting help."

  "Maybe."

  They continued to wait.

  Finally, Benjamin walked over to the window. This time, the floorboards creaked. He peered out the window and saw nothing but trees.

  They waited for a few more minutes. Julie lowered her chair.

  "Don't lower it! That's what they want you to do!"

  "They're not coming," she said. She reached out, took hold of the doorknob, and gave it a very tentative turn. "It's unlocked."

  She slowly opened it a crack and peeked out. Then she closed it again.

  "They're out there," she said.

  "Asleep?"

  "No."

  "Watching the door?"

  "Yes."

  "Did they see you?"

  "Yes."

  "Shit."

  "Yes."

  Julie hoisted her chair over her head again.

  A few more moments later, nothing had happened.

  "So what exactly are they doing?" Benjamin wondered.

  Julie shrugged. Then she winced because the act of shrugging apparently hurt her shoulders.

  Benjamin thought he heard floorboards creaking, as if somebody were walking toward them. He and Julie returned to their prime chair-attack positions.

  Somebody was definitely right outside the door.

  There was a knock at the door to the tune of "Shave and a Haircut." A couple of notes off, but close enough.

  Benjamin frowned. Were they supposed to answer? Wouldn't that be kind of stupid on their part?

  Another knock.

  Benjamin and Julie exchanged a "What do we do now?" look. Benjamin certainly didn't know.

  The door slowly swung open. Benjamin prepared to slam the chair down with skull-shattering force.

  "Y'all better put those chairs down before I shoot you right through the wall," said a voice that Benjamin recognized as the truck driver. The walls didn't seem anywhere near thick enough to deflect a bullet, so he lowered the chair and set it back on the floor. Julie sighed with frustration and then lowered her chair as well.

  "Now walk on out here, nice and easy, one at a time. Ladies first."

  "I don't think that's going to happen," Julie informed him.

  "It will if you don't want a big ol' hole in your sweet chest."

  "Do you promise to let my friend go if I come out?" Julie asked.

  "Hell naw."

  Julie slowly stepped out of the room. The men—all three of them, including the driver and Hap and Neal from before—laughed heartily, whooping it up as if they'd seen the funniest stand-up comedian in the world do the funniest routine about flatulence ever performed. Benjamin didn't think they'd go through all this just to blow her away with a shotgun, though he still cringed and waited for the blast.

  "Run!" shouted Julie, suddenly kicking the door closed behind her.

  Benjamin didn't have a whole lot of fleeing options, so he grabbed the chair and ran to the window. He smashed out as much of the glass as he could get with one blow, then grabbed the bottom of the windowsill, slashing his palms, and pulled himself halfway out of the window. He heard the door open behind him.

  Jagged glass scraped against his legs as he climbed all the way out the window and crashed down onto the ground. He stood up and ran from the cabin, clutching his waist and limping.

  A large man in a dirty white T-shirt stepped out of the woods in front of him. The man had a shotgun and a cheerful smile. Benjamin turned as another man stepped out of the woods, also with a shotgun. And then the woman he'd seen peeking through the window—she didn't have a shotgun, but she did have a machete.

  Benjamin stopped running. The two men and the woman walked toward him, almost at a stroll. No big hurry.

  "Don't stop now," said the large man. "That ain't no fun."

  Great. This was a game to them. Benjamin would take responsibility for the incident at the diner, but Julie was going to be completely accountable for this mess. How many truckers did she have to choose from? Unless semi drivers had a way-above-average percentage of psycho redneck killers in their ranks, her ability to predict the danger level of potential rides was absolute crap.

  Still, participating in their game was better than being quickly executed, so he ran. It was a stumbling, awkward run, and the trio was only a few steps behind him, laughing loudly, obviously not making a legitimate effort to catch up to him. He didn't care. All he needed was a chance, and if they were going to be dumb enough to let him run—

  He smacked into a tree branch.

  He didn't fall, although gravity indicated that it was a pretty good idea. However, his forward momentum did not continue. He stood there, dazed, unable to run even though he knew that standing there in a daze was a terrible idea.

  The psychobillies laughed some more.

  Benjamin grabbed the branch, intending to snap it off and jab it into the nearest eye that wasn't his own. The branch wouldn't snap off. He tried to twist it off, but that was equally ineffective.

  Everybody just stood there, watching him. Benjamin didn't care. He'd have the last laugh if something worked out in his favor.

  He gave up on the branch and forced himself to run again. He smacked into the same branch. Then he adjusted his course and smacked into the tree. He fell.

  * * *

  He awoke to the sensation of warm beer pouring over his head. He coughed and sputtered and realized that he was back in the cabin, lying on the floor. Julie lay next to him, also getting a beer shower. At least it was only beer.

  They were in the main room. Hap and Neal stood over them, pouring out the cans of beer. The two men and the woman from outside sat on a couch, watching and laughing. The truck driver stood by the door, holding a shotgun.

  After all this, Benjamin was going to be killed by rednecks instead of the parasite. Life was so zany sometimes.

  Hap shook the last drops of beer out of his can. "Now you smell all nice and pretty," he told Benjamin.

  Benjamin blinked the beer out of his eyes. Julie looked absolutely terrified. She mouthed the words "I'm sorry" to him. He wasn't quite ready to accept her apology.

  "Here's what we've got goin' on," Hap explained to Benjamin and Julie. "We're gonna have ourselves a little party, and y'all are gonna be the guests of honor. Ain't that something? We're gonna party with ya, use ya up, and toss ya away. Now tell me that don't sound like fun."

  "Sounds like fun for everyone but them!" said Neal.

  Hap chuckled. "Aw, I think they might have fun for a little while, anyways. Not so much at th
e end. Everybody likes a good rammin' now and then, ain't that right?"

  "That's right!" said Neal.

  "So now the only question is how we divide up these spoils." He turned to the others. "Everybody who wants to party with the lady, raise your hand."

  All of the rednecks, including the woman, raised their hand.

  "Now, now, now, that ain't gonna work. We can't all have the lady, or else our buddy here—" He prodded Benjamin with his toe. "—will be all lonely. That ain't no way to treat a guest of honor. So who wants him?"

  Nobody raised their hand.

  "I reckon we're gonna have to settle this with a game of Rock, Paper, Scissors, Jug, Log, and Still. Everybody put your hands out. One...two...three!"

  Benjamin wasn't sure exactly how the game was played, but one of the rednecks on the couch, the biggest one, hung his head and let his shoulders slump.

  "Aw, man, that ain't right," he said.

  "Now, Chet, we done it fair and square."

  "But I ain't queer."

  "This ain't about bein' queer!" Hap insisted. "This is about havin' a good time! How many times do I gotta tell you that?"

  "But look at him. He's all nasty and diseased and shit. That's why nobody else picked him. It ain't no fun having a go at somebody if you gotta wash your hands afterward. What if I wake up tomorrow with all them sores on me?"

  "Only touch the parts that don't have sores on 'em. It ain't that complicated."

  "Yeah, well, I ain't gonna do it in front of everyone."

  "So? Don't nobody want to see that anyway."

  Though Chet looked almost ready to retreat to a corner and pout, he grabbed Benjamin's collar instead. "I better not get no sores," he said. "That's all I'm sayin'."

  "You won't."

  Chet gazed longingly at Julie, then dragged Benjamin across the floor toward the other room. He dragged him into the small room and slammed the door shut. "Now, I ain't queer," he said to Benjamin, pulling him to a standing position. "If it were up to me, you'd be a girl. You understand that, right?"

  "I'm sick," said Benjamin. "I've got...I've got a queer disease. That's what these sores are. If you touch me, you'll catch it, I promise."

  "Well, at least you ain't got pustules. I've got pustules the size of ant hills."

  As an educator, Benjamin was a strong believer in sharing knowledge, but this was an area in which he wished he'd remained blissfully ignorant.

  Kill...

  Oh, that was real helpful, he mentally told the parasite. I'll get right on that. Good call.

  Benjamin decided that it would be kind of pathetic not to at least throw a punch at the bad guy, so he did. Though he wasn't aiming anywhere in particular, through some miracle of aiming and timing the blow connected directly with Chet's nose. The miracle, however, did not extend to the power of the blow, and his fist bounced harmlessly off Chet's face.

  Chet punched him back. Chet's punch was better.

  Benjamin did a twirl and careened into the wall, creating a small cloud of dust. Refusing to give up, he spun around and threw another punch at Chet. This one missed completely, since Chet was approximately ten feet away.

  "Damn!" shouted somebody from the main room. "What're you doin' in there, boy?"

  Chet chuckled, walked over to Benjamin, and threw another punch at his face. Benjamin ducked out of the way, although it wasn't really a defensive move but rather an unintended side effect of having a dizzy spell and falling to the floor.

  "Now that's just sad," Chet noted. "You're like one of them squirrels that spends a couple days in the trap before I empty it."

  Benjamin was too preoccupied with other matters to be offended by the insult. He tried to stand back up, even though he was pretty sure he'd just be knocked down again.

  He'd felt a lot of pain in the time since the parasite's behavioral problems started, and he'd been optimistic enough to believe that he'd already reached the maximum level. So he expected to continue saying things like "Wow, getting punched by Chet just now really hurt, but, hey, at least it wasn't as bad as when the parasite went nuts in the school hallway."

  This new blast of pain was the worst yet.

  He screamed and clutched at his waist. The parasite was moving. No question about it. The rotten little bastard was squirming through his intestine, probably propelling itself with hooks.

  Chet looked a bit uncomfortable, as if wondering why his punch had elicited such a strong reaction.

  Benjamin could faintly hear Julie scream in the next room, then his own scream quickly drowned her out. He wanted to dig his fingernails into his flesh and rip his own stomach open just to get that fucker out.

  "Uh, are you okay?" Chet asked.

  Benjamin thrashed around on the floor, screaming and sobbing. He wanted nothing more than for Chet to jump onto his head, splattering his brain enough to end the agony.

  And then the excruciating pain...stopped.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  It felt like the parasite had slithered up into his stomach. Though his intestines still burned, the worst part of the pain had vanished almost instantly. He didn't exactly feel up to dancing a merry two-step, but the parasite's new location was infinitely less agonizing. It had definitely grown, though. A lot. Benjamin felt fat.

  He got about ten seconds to enjoy the reduced pain before he couldn't breathe.

  He clutched at his throat and gasped for breath. The parasite's journey hadn't ended with his stomach. It was coming up for air.

  Chet crouched down next to Benjamin. "You really don't look so good. Maybe I should call—"

  The parasite squirmed up Benjamin's throat until something slimy appeared on his tongue. He tried to scream but couldn't with his windpipe blocked.

  Chet gaped into Benjamin's open mouth, then let out a scream of his own. His hands flailed around and his legs flew wildly as he scrambled backwards across the floor, desperately trying to get away from Benjamin.

  "Go for it, Chet!" shouted somebody in the other room.

  The parasite slid back down Benjamin's throat, allowing him to take a deep breath just as he thought he was going to suffocate. Chet pressed himself into the corner, covering his eyes with both hands and whimpering.

  A welcome rush of adrenaline shot through Benjamin's veins. He took advantage of this momentary burst of strength and hurried over to the open window. He climbed out, slicing himself up some more but not really caring at this point, struck the ground hard, then got up and ran into the woods.

  Thank God for the parasite.

  Friends...

  Yep. Thanks, buddy. I owe you a drink. Help yourself to some bile.

  Benjamin knew he didn't have long before Chet got over his panic and warned the others. Instead of running blindly through the woods, he needed to find a place to hide, someplace where he could rest long enough to recoup his energy and then—

  No. He couldn't just run away. He couldn't leave Julie to die a horrible, protracted death at the hands (or worse) of those lunatics. She wasn't exactly a stellar human being, but leaving her behind wasn't an option. There were no real shades of morality when it came to letting somebody be raped and murdered by sociopathic rednecks.

  Unless he went and got help. He could alert the authorities and bring back a dozen cops with rifles and tear gas and Dobermans frothing at the mouth.

  Yeah, right. She'd be long dead before he even found a road.

  Shit.

  If he got himself killed, he'd never see Margaret or Cindy again. They wouldn't fault him for running away from this mess. If they were watching him right now, they'd say "Don't go back to the cabin! Leave that crazy bitch behind!"

  Benjamin sighed and stopped running. This sucked on so many levels. She'd damn well better appreciate this enough not to try to handcuff him again.

  He headed back for the cabin.

  I can't believe I'm doing this. This is so much dumber than gambling away two thousand dollars. I'm insane. I'm completely insane. Mr. Insane—that's me.
Just slap a big ol' scarlet "I" on my forehead.

  Instead of emerging from the woods next to the broken window, he came out in the front of the cabin. He could hear Julie wailing inside. Normally this would not be a good sound, but it meant that the others must not have been alerted to his escape yet.

  A small shovel rested by the front door. He would rather have a firearm or a samurai sword, but it was better than nothing. He picked up the shovel, which seemed more suited to gardening than head-bashing, then pounded on the front door a few times and stepped to the side.

  Julie's wailing didn't stop, but Benjamin heard footsteps approach the door.

  The door swung open. As the truck driver stepped out, Benjamin slammed the shovel down upon his head as hard as he possibly could—which, from the crunching sound and the "give" of the driver's skull, was plenty hard enough.

  The truck driver crumpled to the ground. Benjamin immediately dropped the shovel and grabbed his shotgun. He didn't know how to check if the weapon was cocked or if the safety was on, but he nevertheless stepped into the doorway and fired at the closest redneck. Since Hap was about three feet away and hurrying toward the doorway, he made a very easy target even without basic marksman skills.

  Hap's stomach exploded and he veered off course. Benjamin fired again, blowing off the top half of the woman's head, then quickly stepped back out of the doorway.

  The truck driver twitched. Swinging the shotgun like a sledgehammer, Benjamin smashed the barrel into the back of his head to make him quit twitching.