Fresh Flesh

by Todd Russell

  * * *

  Six ships in the distance. Freedom.

  She couldn't leave without Richard. He had been there every single time she'd needed him. He'd rescued her from the ocean, Bobby, and Roberts. He'd been there for her every time and now she could choose to be there for him.

  The ships beckoned her. Two months she'd been here waiting for civilization to return and there they were in the distance, waiting.

  Jessica turned away from the ships. She must go help Richard. It was the only way she'd ever be able to live with herself.

  But she knew where the raft was, could easily drag it to the beach, climb on it. . .

  No. Can't leave him. Love him.

  She looked at the boats and there were eight of them out there now. It was a convoy of rescue ships, waiting for her to float on Richard's raft to them.

  What's going on out there?

  Not just one angel, but several angels waiting. Come to us, Jessica, come to us. . .

  Can't leave him. Love him.

  Come to us, Jessica. We have warm beds, fresh, hot, non-fish meals.

  She made her decision, turned away, and started running for the east side of the island. God help her, if Richard was dead when she reached there.

  God help her, period.

  * * *

  Roberts' dwelling was being savaged, dismantled, collateral damage to the viscous, hate-filled battle. Roberts had lost his knife in the frenzy, sticking it in a tree branch while aiming for Richard's head. Richard's knife was still in his hand, stabbing for and missing Roberts' heart.

  Neither was winning.

  Roberts swung blindly and punched a hole in the wall instead. Richard rushed Roberts, knocking him through the wall, and suddenly they were out in the open on the ground, punching each other with fists, and trying to claw each other's throats out with the other hand.

  Roberts grabbed Richard's wounded leg, sticking his dirty fingernails deep into the scabbed flesh and digging. Reopening the wood, fresh blood oozed anew.

  Richard jumped off, his howling echoed into the ravine and across the island. He rolled over to the dead campfire. "Bastard."

  He grabbed a small stone out of the circular arrangement, forcing himself to stand. Warm scarlet flowed down his leg in uneven streams.

  Roberts had retrieved both knives and glared at him with smiling pits.

  Richard motioned him on. By now he was at the height of rage. He didn't care if it was a Mack truck he was fighting.

  Roberts rushed toward him.

  And so did two spinning knives.

  * * *

  Jessica felt lost. She only knew if she followed the line of the ocean, kept very close to the shore, she would reach the opposite end of the island.

  The ships had spread out and had begun to surrounding the island. What's going on out there? She switched between a fast walk and run, pushing branches aside.

  Her mind was reeling, I know he's dead, know he's dead, please don't let him he dead but I know he's dead, he's dead—

  Realizing that she was moving way too slow, she quickened her pace. Her heartbeat was the only thing moving faster than her feet.

  As she drew nearer the camp, gooseflesh rose like tiny black bug heads inside her skin.

  * * *

  One of the knives bit into Richard's flesh, causing him to drop his stone weapon. It was a long unreal-looking slice down his forearm, immediately exposing bone. He reached with his other hand, connected with Roberts' wrist, and thwarted the oath of the other knife.

  "DIE!" Roberts screamed. "DIE YOU SON OF A BITCH, DIE!"

  Richard pushed his adversary back, back, back into one of the dead convict's tree branch forts. The fort collapsed, the battling men landing on the rotting inhabitant, pinned to the earth by his knife. They rolled around on the decaying bones of the corpse, Richard still clenching Roberts' wrist, the smell of rot faintly wafted in their nostrils. Roberts broke free, recoiling, climbing to his feet. Richard bulleted up and landed a fierce right that shattered bones in Roberts' nose, knocking the man back in the direction of the campfire.

  Richard moved toward him.

  Roberts got to his feet, bringing the knife up in the air, his face covered with blood.

  Again, they collided. Richard caught Roberts' wrist with the knife. With a quick move he twisted Roberts' knife out of his hand and thrust it into his adversary's stomach. Roberts moved back, stunned.

  Richard grabbed his left arm, trying to fold the flesh over, trying to hold it so he didn't lose all of his blood. He didn't feel any pain, but he'd begun to feel dizzy.

  Both men stared at each other, tired from the fighting.

  Roberts tried to pull the knife out of his stomach and it wouldn't budge. Richard saw his chance and went for the man's legs. Roberts wisely raised his knee, and shattered Richard's nose against his face.

  Richard Templin's body was becoming a mass of red; a man who bathed in blood paint.

  But he wouldn't quit. He got up, his nose bloody, leg bloody, arm bloody and rushed again.

  And again.

  Again.

  They went to the ground, Rolling and rolling over each other, snarling as they battered each other with their fists. Each roll thrust the knife deeper into Roberts' stomach.

  "DIE! DIE! DIE!" they screamed in unison.

  But neither wished to honor the other's request.

  * * *

  Jessica reached the east side of the island.

  About five minutes north and I'll be at the camp.

  She remembered Richard telling her the first time how close they were to the camp: Too close. Remembered the terror she felt. Remembered and relived.

  She was plagued by fear and regret as she plunged through the ravine toward the camp.

  Richard was on top of Roberts and pummeling the man's face like a savage beast. Again! Again! Again! Again! Again! Roberts face was a glove, his fist the baseball. Again! Again! Again! Again! Gore and blood trailed the battle from Robert's dwelling to the campfire to its current location about twenty feet away from the campfire.

  Roberts reached up and caught Richard's hand. He twisted and pushed the man off him. His bloody hands went for the knife sticking in his gut. He wrenched with all his strength and. . .it moved. . .began to free. . .

  Richard was on his knees. Staring. Panting. Blood-covered and dripping Roberts came at him again. Richard's fists were his only weapon now. He grabbed the knife and pushed it back in Roberts stomach. Ground it in.

  "DIE. DIE. DIE." Their voices had become hoarse ordering each other to die.

  Roberts grabbed the open flesh of Richard's arm and a heinous smile curved on his lips.

  Pain registered in Richard's eyes. Roberts tore the flesh on Richard's arm toward him. Ripped it two inches. The sound, itself, was excruciating.

  "AHHHHHH." Richard jumped off him again. He tended to the bloody flap of torn flesh on his forearm. Blood in his body dotted a trail on the dirt ground.

  Roberts returned to the knife in his stomach that was aggravating his intestines and boring a new hole for relieving excrement.

  The battle was at a standstill.

  * * *

  She ran faster.

  Faster,

  Ron's voice, then Edward's voice. Chickenshit, Jessica, that's what you are. And then that odd pool-ball cracking laugh of Edward's: Chickenshit.

  She pounded through the ravine as if it weren't even there. Up ahead she heard screaming.

  Roberts and Richard.

  Somehow she ran faster, a killer pace in another place but too slow here.

  I'm coming, Richard. Almost there.

  * * *

  Roberts could not get the knife out of his stomach and knew it was fast becoming a mortal wound. He must remove it before it killed him. He had to net Templin first. He had to grab the flesh at his forearm again and tear it off. He couldn't allow that bastard to kill him first. He must be the last con to die.

  Feebly, he rolled over and stared int
o Templin's eyes.

  "Die. . ." Templin gasped.

  "You. . .DIE. . ."

  Roberts crawled toward Richard. Reaching with outstretched hands. Reaching for the man's throat. Found it.

  Squeezing.

  "DIE."

  "DIE!" Roberts screeched. Squeezed.

  Richard grabbed Roberts throat and returned the favor. With every last bit of strength, they both squeezed.

  "DIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEE!"

  Squeezed.

  * * *

  That's when Jessica reached the gory scene.

  She stopped at the edge of the ravine and saw the two men drenched in each other's blood, locked in each other's clutches, gripping each other's throats, telling each other in voices reduced to whispers saying "die, die, die." Roberts dwelling lay in ruin thirty feet behind them.

  Jessica picked up Roberts' knife lying on the ground.

  Jessica ran toward the fight.

  Forty steps. She was that close. Forty steps.

  * * *

  Richard could feel his body drifting and his throat being crushed. His strength was leaving him. He knew Roberts had to be close to choking out. Neither could squeeze any longer.

  He kept telling himself not to give up. Dammit, Richard, DON'T GIVE UP. But he could see his body drifting. . .drifting. . .and dying seemed the most pleasant thought. Just give up, give in and die.

  And then Richard saw Jessica's running toward them.

  "No," he tried to stop her, but his voice was so hoarse and muted that it was unintelligible.

  Jessica saw Roberts' back, open and vulnerable. She was targeting to thrust the knife straight into that opening.

  Twenty steps.

  * * *

  Kyle Roberts saw her coming too. But then he saw something else in the corner of his eyes.

  Something that seemed to be on the woman's shoulder and then inching up her neck with its wings fluttering. More of them joined and landed on her body. A few at first, but a dozen joined and then a dozen more.

  Everywhere, butterflies everywhere.

  * * *

  Richard saw Roberts' eyebrows rise. Roberts completely let go of his throat and actually began to get off him.

  Richard let go of Roberts neck, too.

  Jessica was a moving blur.

  Jessica was suddenly there.

  Jessica brandished a very sharp knife.

  "No, I've always loved and protected you," Roberts cried, holding up his arm. He covered his face. "No. . ."

  Jessica was so focused on stabbing Roberts back that she didn't see him stick out a foot and she tripped, the knife flying from her hand. Jessica saw a half-broken bottle with dirt in it near her hand and picked it up, turning on Roberts.

  She used the jagged edge of the broken glass as a weapon and jammed that into Roberts' back.

  This time she said the word, "DIE."

  And for a short moment time froze.

  * * *

  The glass sliced open his back and the dirt entered his wounds.

  Kyle Roberts eyes were wide and empty as he gasped. The dirt burned his spine like acid. He remembered what Sar had looked like with dirt covering his intestines. The dirt in the glass was eating through Kyle's organs the same way.

  "C is for. . .me. . .Condemned."

  And wherever Kyle Roberts went on from there, forty other wretched souls that had been exiled on the island were released and followed.

  * * *

  Jessica rolled Roberts dead body off Richard with tears clouding her eyes. All Richard could make out was her face. "I. . .I'm. . .a mess."

  "Oh, Richard, please don't die on me."

  "You. . .you came."

  "I couldn't leave without you. We're supposed to leave together." She put her arms around him and held him tightly. His head bobbed against her knees.

  All he could feel now was pain. Pain had many forms and Richard felt them all. He felt pain for not being able to live the life he wanted, cheating death in the electric chair for something better which turned out to be Jessica, and bodily pain for his countless wounds.

  "Richard, please don't leave me. . ."

  "Listen," his vocal chords thrashed, he had to get this out, "a part of me will always be with you. I love you, Jessica."

  "I love you, too."

  He felt his body drifting away. He wanted to tell Jessica goodbye but decided that that was not what it was. He could see the huge birds of his dreams high above in the sky, slowly moving toward him.

  "Hold me."

  "Richard, stay with me. There are boats out there. A bunch of them. Don't leave me. We're going to get off this island together. We're going to get on your raft and float to the —"

  Boats.

  That was all Richard heard. The birds swooped down and grabbed him. He let them have him for the first time, knowing at last where the birds were taking him. He flew with them high up and away. Past the waiting ships with a purpose he suddenly knew. He couldn't help laughing at the irony.

  The birds carried him into the clouds. Was he going to an island this time? No. But it was a paradise, he believed, because he felt no more pain. His body felt like it had never been aged and beaten. He looked into the clouds and saw a youthful reflection of himself. He had his full set of shining white teeth back. He had his well-groomed hair. He had his boyish face. He would never look sick, old and repugnant again.

  It was quite some time before Richard looked at the birds to see the faces that carried him to the land of unknown. He was not surprised to see the faces were all the same. He had been right. He had told Jessica he'd always be with her and he wasn't lying. All the birds had Jessica's shining face. Jessica.

  * * *

  "We're going to get off this island together. The boats. . .the boats. Richard, please don't leave me. Don't leave. . .me."

  A part of me will always be with you.

  Jessica closed Richard's eyes and her own while she wept.

  A few minutes passed before she stood, still staring at Richard. His face was not drawn up in the horrible grimace that Roberts was in. He looked, in spite of things, at peace with his passing.

  A part of me will always be with you.

  Jessica dug a grave for Richard with her bare hands ten feet from the spot where he had died. It wasn't a very deep trench, only deep enough to fit his body. She kept crying the whole way through. She remembered Richard burying Bobby and how she'd insisted he be the one to do it. It seemed so long ago.

  In death he finally joined the east side of the island.

  She laid Richard's body in the grave and covered it with dirt, patting it with her hand.

  She turned and looked briefly at the corpse of Kyle Roberts and decided to let him rot where he lay.

  From memory, she remembered the Japanese phrase Richard had used after burying Bobby: Shinin no waruguchi wa yokunai.

  Speaking ill of the dead is not good.

  She looked at the east island graveyard one last time and left.

  It was hard not looking back.

  CHAPTER 38

  She made it to the raft about fifteen minutes later. She had no problem finding it. We have the best chance during the day., the raft seemed to whisper.

  Beside the raft, as innocent and alone as its creator was a tree-branch spear. She put the spear in the raft and started dragging it toward the beach. The raft didn't weigh as heavy as it looked.

  Thirty minutes later she reached the beach and stopped, exhausted. She saw even more ships out there now in the distance.

  Jessica sat down on the raft and stared at Richard's greatest creation on the island. Many of his memorable words, many of their memorable times, kept moving across her brain.

  After a short time, she began to feel his eyes staring down at her.

  A part of me will always be with you.

  And suddenly those eyes became hands, Richard's hands. They were rough, hard-worked, calloused, warm and wanting. Reaching and longing for her.

  Overwhelmed
with loneliness, she turned around.

  Sure enough, a pair of hands were there and reaching to grab her neck.

  Hands that didn't belong to Richard.

  Hands that belonged to a man covered in moist dirt and sand. He looked like he had gone into the ocean naked and then rolled around in wet sand.

  "You aren't going anywhere," the man said, his voice a grating noise as if rubbing across sandpaper.

  Jessica leaned forward quickly enough to throw Torque off balance. He tumbled over her, losing purchase on her neck, plunging into the sand.

  Not over. Jessica thought. It goes on and on in this purgatory.

  The dirt-man struggled to his feet, offering his monstrous hands.

  "You'll die again, bitch." He charged her.

  Jessica tried to roll away, but the madman caught her neck in his hands.

  * * *

  His dirt-infested hands started to twist in a familiar motion.

  To torque.

  Somewhere in Torque's battered brain, he knew the bitch beneath him wasn't Nina, but it helped to numb the pain coursing through his body to focus on Nina's face and not this stranger that his Dark Lord wanted.

  "You're coming with me," Torque said,

  DO NOT LET HER ESCAPE.

  Yes, my Dark Lord.

  BRING HER TO THE SOIL.

  And even though he didn't know Jessica Stanton, it seemed most compelling, and certainly most fitting, that she should be just-another-Nina in disguise.