Fresh Flesh

by Todd Russell

  "Could that have been some sort of dream premonition of me finding you?"

  "I would not describe myself, Richard, as 'something fresh.' That sounds a bit, well, obscene."

  "But isn't it weird that they didn't find you first? I've thought about that a lot since I found you."

  "I don't call that weird, I call that being fortunate."

  "Wondering why I found this so important to tell you?"

  His next question took her a different, unexpected place. "Jessica, could you ever. . .like me?"

  "I like you now, Richard."

  "I mean like me. . . more than a friend."

  "You have a lot of pent-up anger and hurt that concerns me. Some I can't blame you for because if I was here for a long time I don't know what it would do to me."

  "It's my looks, isn't it?"

  "It has nothing to do with your looks." She looked at him and realized that wasn't entirely true, "Ok, I admit physical attraction has something to do with me liking people in that way."

  "I smell bad."

  "Hey, everything on this island smells bad. This island, me, you, the air, everything smells like fish. But no, that's something I could overcome."

  "I'm a lousy conversationalist?"

  "No, actually that's one of your redeeming qualities."

  "Then it's because I hit you?"

  "That didn't help."

  "I wish I could take that back."

  "I'm trying to forget it ever happened."

  "I didn't. Deep, deep, deep, down I didn't mean to hurt you."

  "It borders on impossible to forget."

  There was a moment for the ocean wind to blow and then taper off.

  "I never hit a woman before," Richard said, ashamed.

  "I believe you." Jessica added, "I didn't get the feeling that you had that in you but I do understand the pressure of what has happened here could break most anybody. It's doing a number on me."

  "I never wanted you exposed to this. I wanted you to remain untouched, beautiful, unhurt, fresh. Only, I can't keep you away from hurt here. There's too much hurt on this island."

  She turned to him and looked past his exterior for the first time. Inside there was something entirely different brewing. Something mysterious and interesting.

  Another time, another place?

  That's a lousy thought, she told herself, and just isn't the truth. But with all the deception, the lies she'd heard, the truth was complicated.

  "I believe you," Jessica repeated. She had to believe. Her belief in Richard was keeping her sane. She had to believe he knew how to keep her safe from Roberts and his "boys" on the east side of the island.

  He nodded, still looking ashamed and beaten. "Could there ever be a chance for us?"

  Was there ever a chance with any kind of relationship? Even if you put two people who didn't like each other on an island together, how long would it be before they cast aside the negative traits and started to have romantic feelings for each other? Everyone needs somebody to stave off the darkness, the perils and loneliness.

  She found herself asking, "Why haven't you tried anything on me?"

  "Because then I would be no different than them."

  And looking deep into his interior self, she saw something else, something warm. Something she could have deeper feelings for if she wasn't distracted by the thoughts of some sinister convict spying on them.

  The tide washed in and carried two dreamers out.

  "I'm sorry, I can't get over our spy. He's still watching us, isn't he?" Jessica asked.

  "If he isn't, he's probably dead. Every convict that has crossed Roberts has been killed. They listen to him or he gets rid of them."

  "He sounds like Hitler."

  "I suppose he's a bit like Hitler. But Hitler targeted the Jews. Roberts targets pretty much everybody."

  "Why have you put up with him if he's so cruel? I mean why didn't you form a faction with the others and overthrow him?"

  "Ask yourself what would you do? You're dropped out of the sky into a strange surrounding, with other scared death row convicts that you barely know, and he steps up as the leader. I'm no leader, Jessica, and neither were most other cons. If you don't conform to his rules you're branded an outcast. This is Prison 101, you don't be an outcast in prison and survive."

  "But hasn't anybody ever come to this side of the island and tried to side with you?"

  "No, and I'm ok with that. I'm sure Roberts doesn't say: hey, did you know you can go over and hang out on the west side of the island with the loner con. He doesn't give them a choice. They drop there, he tells them where to go, when to go, what to do, what to be. He's the warden of this island prison."

  The tide rolled in softly. The sky above was darkening, as was Jessica's hope. They had spent all their time talking instead of planning. They were wasting valuable time.

  "Have you come up with a plan yet?" she asked, hopeful.

  "I think so."

  "Well, spill it?"

  "Not now."

  "Why?"

  "Shh," He said, looking away. "We have ears."

  Ten minutes later, he led her back to the cave. The trip to the beach had been a brief interlude, nothing more. Fear time had returned.

  She wondered how long Richard and her would be able to hold out.

  PART 3

  FLESH

  CHAPTER 18

  Seth Everson loved his eyes.

  His orders were to watch and if they went anywhere to follow. He had followed them to the beach (his eyes loved the beach), then followed them obediently back to the cave.

  He was amazed how easy, how simple they were making it for his eyes.

  His eyes loved watching. They were only brown pits to those throwing a quick glance, but those who looked deeper saw what he really was. For inside his eyes, beyond the cornea, pupil, iris, and lens, clockwork machinery dwelled in the vitreous humor; cogwheels turned with maximum efficiency, eliciting every micro-speck of information, transferring the data along a special pathway in the optic nerve to a tiny unique sector of his brain. Once there, information was stored and studied, logged and indexed; a section totally devoted to visual perception. Thus, the result: infallible eyes. Predator eyes.

  At one time, killer eyes.

  But that was a long time ago. When they called him something else, yes? A sniper? Yes. His eyes and he had clung to the roofs of buildings in downtown Austin as rightfully as the vents and outside fans. He had never known happiness quite like being on those buildings, seeing the ants scurry across the street below. Each of his eyes was an exterminator.

  His rifle had no sight, he didn't want one.

  His eyes were his only sight, his only guide, his only loving friend. His eyes would never deceive him like the mindless magnifying power of a sight. His eyes never missed a victim.

  Fourteen spent bullets.

  Fourteen shots through the heart.

  Fourteen cold corpses.

  Someone back in prison told him if you made it past ten killings, you would be remembered. But it was not him, Seth Everson, who wanted to be remembered.

  It was his eyes.

  His beautiful, masterful eyes.

  And his eyes were watching them. Waiting. Studying. His eyes saw them moving in that dim, dingy cave. If need be his eyes would watch them forever. Everson was honored that Roberts had chosen his eyes for this mission. Roberts recognized eyes of experience, knew the owner of the dark, optical blessings. Roberts would not have been a great leader if he would have passed on Everson's priceless eyes. Everson's eyes were so pleased, so overwhelmed that they suddenly became obscured by their own light.

  And a valuable second was lost. A tragic mistake made.

  His eyes cleared, catching the woman emerging from the cave entrance. Slowly moving down the dirt trail. His eyes followed her, laser efficiency, dedicated.

  Takin' a piss, my pretty? He pondered as she slipped into the spot Templin had designated as a bathroom.

  Eve
rson sneaked toward the bathroom. His eyes were horny; they had not seen a woman's naked flesh in ages. He slithered across the dirt, stupidly losing sight of the woman, squashing some night roaming bugs beneath his bare belly. He reached the enclosure in less than a minute, his eyes alight and excited.

  He reached for a handful of vines that blocked his eyes like a curtain. Nudity lies beyond. He drew back the vines with a hardness forming in his pants.

  His eyes darted around the darkness, focus. Cut through it like a flashlight beam.

  His heart pounded as sweat rolled down his temples. He drew the vines the rest of the way.

  And his eyes saw no nudity. An empty space. The woman had slipped into the bathroom—out of sight—fooled his eyes into coming over, then snuck out. A decoy! How could his eyes have been deceived?

  The smell blanketed him and he almost retched. The vile scent of human excrement lingering in a small, confined space for a long period of time. Seth may have had incredible power over his eyes but his nose was normal, and there was no way to cloak the stench of a mountainous pile of shit. Holding his breath, disgusted he let the vines go and they snapped back to a curtain-closed position.

  His eyes had been tricked for the first time. Not perfect. Not infallible.

  Damn you! He cursed them again and again. You can't fucking do this to me!

  His eyes—angered and hurt—turned against him creating a bizarre, paralyzing mirage. All of his skin was shed revealing a gruesome costume on the ground. One by one, his organs squeezed, still functioning, out of his dumbstruck body. At Seth's feet lay a nightmarish assemblage: a slimy intestinal track cringing and a heart squirting blood.

  (GOTCHA, SETH! GOTCHA).

  And, in the meantime, the two he'd been ordered to keep eyes on escaped.

  "NO." Everson blinked, mentally ordering his body to reassemble itself. His eyes punished him for another minute, then dispersed the mirage and returned to his control.

  He got up, tripped, and climbed to feet again.

  He flew through the ravine, unquestionable rage coursing through him. He bulleted through obstructions that would have stopped a weaker man. He grabbed the branches that raked the flesh on his cheeks and snapped them like necks.

  No one escaped his eyes. . .

  No one escaped. . .

  No one. . .

  No. . .

  He. stopped, dog-panting, cuts burning like individual fires all over his body

  And heard only the sound of footsteps far off in the distance, much too far away for even his eyes to see.

  He stopped and moaned in the darkness, over and over,

  "No one escapes Seth Everson's eyes, no one, no one, no one . . ."

  And when the footsteps became the wind, Everson knelt down and, not him, his eyes wept ceaselessly into his hands.

  * * *

  "What is that?" Jessica whispered.

  Richard led her through the darkness. He couldn't stop, nor could she, and if anything the awful moaning sounds quickened their pace.

  "What is—" Jessica started again and Richard put a finger to her lips.

  "I don't know, and don't want to find out. Come on."

  * * *

  Five minutes later, Kyle Roberts and three others came upon the weeping, sorry sight of Seth Everson. They carried torches that illuminated the scene. Kyle knelt down, grabbed Everson between his armpits and hoisted him to his feet.

  "Speak to me, Seth," he slapped the man's face until Seth stopped crying.

  "Roberts?"

  "What happened?"

  "My. . .eyes." a few left-over tears streamed down Seth Everson's bloody scratched cheeks, "They're not infallible, not perfect, they missed—"

  Roberts slapped him again, violent enough to open one of the scratches wider.

  "My eyes had them all day. . .they went to the beach. . .back to the cave. . .all day. . .into night. . .my eyes didn't fail me."

  "But Templin and the woman tricked you and got away, didn't they?" Roberts said. His eyes cutting a hole in Seth's eyes. Roberts had angry, mean, sometimes cruel eyes.

  "Y-Yes." Eversons lips trembled.

  "Your eyes are incompetent. I told you not to let them out of your sight. What the fuck went wrong?"

  "I-I. . .I'm sorry. My eyes never—"

  "FUCK YOUR EYES. They got away, you idiot."

  "Please forgive me, Roberts. I'm sorry. My eyes have never failed me before."

  "I don't care about before," Roberts said. "For your sake you better at least know which way they went."

  Everson pointed south, toward the beach where Richard found Jessica. "That way, the beach. I think."

  Roberts turned to the three convicts behind him. He pointed at the tall Indian and a big black man. "Smith and Jackson, go find them. Bring them back. Go."

  The men grunted approval and took off through the night, the flare of their torches cutting a ragged red-white light through the blackness.

  Roberts turned to Everson and put his index finger on the man's heart. "You need to be punished, Seth."

  "Not me, no, my eyes let us down, Roberts. It was my eyes."

  "I don't care." Roberts shook his finger in front of Seth's eyes. He grabbed Everson and easily shoved him to the ground. "Get up. We're going to the cave."

  Everson got up and followed Roberts into the cave. He mumbled about his eyes the whole way.

  They reached the cave, went inside, and Roberts looked around. The fire was still burning, and gave the appearance that they hadn't gone anywhere. Exactly what Templin had wanted them to believe.

  "Good one, Richie." Roberts raised his fist to the night. Then he laid his dark green eyes on Everson. "I'm holding you responsible for this, Seth."

  "My eyes turned on me. . .my eyes—"

  Roberts turned and looked at Don Walkins, a muscular man who almost perfectly resembled Chuck Norris. Roberts grabbed the torch from the man.

  Walkins looked at him, puzzled.

  "Draw your knife," Roberts ordered.

  Seth Everson kept babbling.

  Walkins drew his knife, the blade glimmering in the firelight. He awaited his next command.

  Roberts turned back to Everson. "You let me down, Seth. You and your eyes. You know what I do to people who let me down?"

  Everson held up him hands, pleading, "No, no please, it was an accident, it'll never happen again, Roberts."

  "Oh, I know it will never happen again, Seth. I intend to make sure of that. Right, Mr. Walkins?"

  Walkins chuckled. "Right."

  "Please don't kill me, Kyle," Everson kept begging.

  That's exactly what Roberts wanted to do. Everyone who had fucked up on the island must be punished. Except at the moment things were a little different as he needed all of his men. At least until he had Templin and the woman. Then he could collect all of them. He wouldn't let the other convicts sink their mangy claws into the woman. No, not like Templin had been doing. He wanted Everson done badly but he decided upon something different. Something more fitting.

  "Ok, Seth. I'll give you another chance. You believe in second chances?"

  "Yes, thank you, Roberts, thank you. I would like a second chance."

  "Let's go back to the winter you first came to the island and met our Japanese farmer friend. Yeah, remember ol' Sar? He found that clearing not far from this very cave. He brought those great tasting vegetables to the camp the next summer. Remember how much we all liked Sar after that? We couldn't understand a fucking word he said but you understood him some and translated some of his vegetable and dirt talk. Tell me what happened. What else did Sar find?"

  Seth Everson shook his head violently. "I—I don't know any more than you do, Roberts. I swear I don't."

  "That's what you've been saying for years but Sar found something else here on the island the fall of that year. Something that scared him real bad. He came back to the camp and was never the same. What did he find?"

  "I told you everything about that that day, Roberts
. You remember. We were both there with him when he came back."

  Roberts walked over to the fire, dropped the torch, and furiously stomped out the fire.

  "Seth, I can't tell if you know Sar's secret or not, but I can punish you for losing the girl."

  "My eyes. . .MY EYES. . ." Everson lamented.

  "That's exactly what I was thinking, thank you. Your eyes. Your eyes are what fucked up, weren't they?"

  "Yes! Yes. . .my eyes!"

  "So it wouldn't be fair to punish the rest of you then, would it?" Roberts flashed an eerie smile, cracking his knuckles. He walked over to Everson and clutched the man's bony throat. "Would it?"

  "No, no, not me. Roberts, my eyes." His eyes were two gigantic egg whites.

  "That's right," Roberts said, grabbing Everson's head and nodding it yes several times.

  "What should it be, Seth, what should I punish?"

  Everson looked at him in horror, knowing the answer.

  "Yes." Roberts laughed and gestured Walkins over with the knife"

  "No," Everson pleaded. "No, not my eyes, my eyes, my eyes."

  "Now, don't be a baby about this, Seth. Mr. Walkins is a professional. He'll try to make it as quick and painless as possible."

  "NOOOO."

  Roberts tightened his grip on Everson's throat, holding him as Walkins brought the knife closer.

  Closer to Everson's eyes.

  "Mr. Walkins won't leave you blind if you don't struggle, Seth." Roberts laughed. "In fact, he'll take your weak eye."

  Seth struggled, a look of terror rippling across his face.

  "Take his left eye. But make sure you don't kill him. We can still use his. . .other eye."

  Roberts turned and walked back to the glowing embers. As he picked up the torch he could hear the sound of Walkins poking Seth Everson's left eyeball

  His fantasy while Seth Everson's screams rocked the night was that it was instead Richard Templin he was torturing.

  CHAPTER 19

  The world wanted Jumping Bat Jackson to believe he was chasing Richard Templin and Jessica Stanton, but Bat would have no part of it. He only felt the hungry eager feeling when he was walking down the aisle to an important wrestling match. The feeling was a strong pounding near his heart, as if some internal animal was chipping away inside there, aching to get out. The feeling bordered somewhere between pain and pleasure; a strange internal mixture of fear, anticipation, hunger, and nervousness.