by Mark Harritt
Mike thought about it, “Hey Brett.”
Brett didn’t answer, so Mike called out to him again, “Brett.”
“What?”
“I liked you better when you were cursing me, instead of acting like a little girl.”
“Fuck you, Mike!”
Mike grinned, “Yeah, like that. Hey Brett?”
Brett was angry now, “What!”
“I’m not going to curl up into a ball and wait for them to kill me. I swear to God up above; I’m going to kill at least one of these bastards,” Mike told him.
“Bullshit, Mike, there’s no way. How the hell do you think you’re going to be able to do that?” Brett scoffed.
“All I need to do is get my hands on one of them. If I can do that, I can kill him,” Mike growled.
Brett spoke again, “You can’t do it. When they come for us, they bring more than one person. They always have four guys to handle one of us. They got this down to a science. They’ve been doing it for a long time, Mike.”
“We’ll figure it out,” Mike told him. He was afraid that Brett might be right, though. They were probably going to die in this place. He wasn’t going to tell them that, though. He had to keep their spirits up. If they had a chance, he had to make sure they were mentally prepared to take advantage of any situation that might favor them. They would only be able to do that if they kept their warrior mentality. He had to make sure that they had hope, to keep them focused. But he had to give them a target. Mike would have to prep the battlefield first. Mike told them what he had planned.
----------------------------------------------------
Mike was awakened in the morning by the sound of metal bowls on the iron walkway. He couldn’t remember how long he’d been there, the days blending together. It could be days, or even weeks. Now, though, it was feeding time at the zoo, and the guards were ladling out the slop into the metal feed bowls. They always started on the end of the walkway closest to the laboratory. He looked out to see which of the grey men it was. It was Zrelnta with another Turinzoni that Mike didn’t recognize.
There were two Contai on that end, with Brett’s cage next, then Mike, Rich, Craig, and one more Contai at the other end of the walkway. There were only seven of them, with twenty-five cages to each side. The bars made it hard to see the other captives. Mike wanted to tell the Contai what they were going to do, but Mike was afraid that whoever was in charge here might understand the Contai language. There was no way in hell they understood English, though.
Another clatter, another bowl of gruel set in front of one of the Contai. Mike closed his eyes, relaxing his body against the iron bands of the cell like he was still asleep. Another bowl dropped, and slops were ladled in. That would be Brett’s cell. Then he heard the bowl drop in front of his cell, and his eyes opened wide. He looked at the two Turinzoni, and a look of fear crossed his face. He whimpered and pulled away from the front of the cell. He tried to get as far away from the Turinzoni as possible. He thought about his dead families, and tears sprang from his eyes. He relaxed his bladder, and urine sluiced down his leg in a stream that dropped through the iron bars.
The two Turinzoni laughed at Mike’s fear display. They yelled at him and pulled out their batons. They switched the batons on and ran the sparking arc across the front of the iron bands. Sparks flew off the batons to hit the floor as the batons danced across the front of the cage. They slammed the sizzling batons down on the top of his cage as they yelled at him. All the while, Mike covered his face, screaming in response to their cursing and banging.
They finally tired of their game, and moved on to Rich. The banging continued down the walkway as they fed the others. Mike stayed curled into a ball. One of them slammed their baton down on his cage as they walked back to the laboratory. Mike flinched and screamed. They laughed as they walked away. Mike made sure that he stayed in the ball for a while, just in case someone was watching. It was going to take some time, but he had to sell it to his jailers.
Then, he looked around, just like a traumatized person might look for their tormentors. Slowly, Mike moved to the front of the cage, and used his good hand to scoop the gruel out of the bowl.
Familiarity breeds contempt. Mike had to make sure that the Turinzoni guards had nothing but contempt for him. It was a long shot, but if they grew to despise him, then they just might let their guard down long enough so that Mike could use his perceived weakness against them. Mike thought about Sun Tzu, “Appear weak when you are strong, and strong when you are weak. Pretend to be weak, that your enemy may grow arrogant.” Arrogance is what Mike wanted. He hoped that they would grow contemptuous of him, disregard him, and discount him as a threat.
The probability that this strategy would work was slim. But it was the only thing that Mike could think of that might save them. And, as slim as the possibility was, it was better than giving up. There was no way that Mike was just going to roll over and give up without a fight. Death hadn’t taken him yet, and he was going to make sure that death had to drag him down into oblivion, fighting the entire way. And when he went, he was going to make sure that he took as many of the enemy as possible to hell with him.
----------------------------------------------------
Mike sat in the cage, his mind dulled from boredom. He’d been here for days, but the days blended together, and he couldn’t figure out how long he had been here. Nothing broke up the monotony except for the visits from his jailers. He continued to flinch and cower in terror whenever any of the guards appeared, continuing the charade he was trying to portray. Then, the weather outside changed, and light broke through the dim grey of the pit at the bottom of the shaft.
Mike could finally see the bottom of the huge pit, the floor about thirty feet down. Rich had been right, there were arches at the bottom of the pit, shadowed in darkness. Water sluiced out of the arches across the floor, and drained into a large recessed grate secured into the floor. That was why the pit wasn’t overpowered by the smell of urine and feces, although, there was still a ripe odor.
One of the guards started to walk across the walkway from the laboratory to the other archway, but the light fell across his face, and he had to shield his eyes with his hand. He turned around and walked back to the laboratory with a smile on his face. Mike watched, puzzled, wondering why the guard was smiling. It wasn’t long before his unasked question was answered.
The four guards came back with an emaciated figure between them. Mike wasn’t sure if the man was dead or alive. At first, Mike was afraid, since they hadn’t seen him, that it was Ken,. One look at the man’s feet betrayed his species as Contai. It wasn’t Ken, but that was no reason to celebrate.
One of the Contai closest to the lab, yelled out the man’s name, “Kotram! Kotram! Cousin, speak to me!”
Mike was horrified. He knew Kotram. Kotram was one of the men that he’d trained. Kotram worked for Dind, and had volunteered to go on the shuttle with Leth to avenge Dind’s death. Only he didn’t look like the Kotram that Mike had known. The Kotram that Mike had known had been a muscular, jolly man. This man was dried up, skin and bones. It was hard for Mike to look at him, knowing who he’d been. One more sin for Mike to tally on his list to atone for. Another man murdered on the altar of his hubris.
One of the Turinzoni pulled out his baton and started jabbing it in between the iron bands of the yelling Contai’s cell. The Contai’s screams vied with the sizzling sound of the baton. Finally, satisfied with the results, the Turinzoni walked away from the cage. Mike watched as they drug Kotram across the walkway. One of the Turinzoni slammed his baton on Mike’s cage and grinned in satisfaction as Mike screamed and huddled across the cage from him. The Turinzoni turned away to enjoy a different sport.
One of the cages in the middle of the walkway didn’t have a bottom, only the locked door, top, and sides. That was where they dumped refuse and dead bodies. It looked like they were going to dump Kotram to the floor below.
One of the jailers pulled hi
s keys and started unlocking the door. Mike started. He wasn’t sure, but he could have sworn that the head moved. He watched, and just as he thought he might have imagined it, he saw an eyelid flutter.
“My God!”
“What is it, Mike?” Craig asked.
“I think he’s still alive.”
“There’s no way. He must be dead. There’s nothing left of him.”
Rich was right, the body was desiccated. It looked like they’d drained all fluids from him. Then he watched as a finger twitched.
Rich spoke, “Oh God, Mike’s right, he’s still alive. I don’t know how, but he’s still alive.”
The front of the cage dropped, and the Turinzoni started shoving Kotram’s legs into the hole.
“Damn you, Stop! He’s still alive,” Mike screamed.
“Jesus, oh Jesus, stop it, stop it,” Rich yelled.
“It doesn’t matter! They know he’s still alive.” Brett yelled. “That’s the sport. That’s why they do it this way.”
Mike understood the viciousness of the Turinzoni, and what Brett was telling him, but he kept yelling. Zrelnta looked Mike dead in the eye, grinning as he kept pushing the man into the hole. Kotram woke up just enough to grab onto the bars. He tried to keep himself from being pushed into the hole. A Turinzoni boot heel smashed his hand, and Mike watched him drop.
Kotram didn’t land right, slamming into the hard, slimy rock below on his hip. He landed with a thud and a splash. The way he landed had to hurt, but Mike didn’t even hear him moan. Mike knew that Kotram’s hip must have been broken, from the way he landed, and how far he’d dropped. The man lay in the water as it rushed past him. Kotram felt the water on his skin, which aroused him from his stupor somewhat, and he used one hand to cup water and bring it to his mouth. Mike was horrified, realizing that the man was drinking sewage. Kotram didn’t seem to mind, though. He finished with the one handful, and then cupped another, and brought it to his lips.
Mike heard a clang, and looked up to see the men close the gate and lock it. They started talking animatedly, passing money back and forth, smiling. Mike didn’t like the look of this. He knew they were taking bets, but he didn’t know what they were betting on. Once the haggling was over, they stepped away from each other, and pulled out their batons. They all started beating on the banded iron in unison, big grins on their faces as they did so.
Mike looked back down at Kotram. Kotram had stopped drinking the sewage, and he stared up at the Turinzoni as they beat on the iron banding. Mike could see the raw fear on his face.
“Brett, what’s going on?” Mike yelled.
“They’re calling him,” Brett answered.
Mike knew the answer, but he needed to hear it, “Who are they calling, Brett?”
“Min, Mike. They’re calling Min.”
Kotram didn’t have anywhere to go, and he knew it. He was too weak to stand, and possibly had a broken hip. He tried pulling himself to the grate where the water flowed out, but it was a struggle for him to pull himself along the floor. Mike didn’t know what Kotram might accomplish if he even made it to the grate.
The Turinzoni took up a chant to match the pounding, “Min, Min, Min!”
Mike knew what was about to happen, but he still didn’t understand the absolute horror that he was about to witness. Then, out of one of the tunnels under the arches, he heard a grunt.
The Turinzoni quieted and stopped beating the cage. Another grunt sounded, but this one was louder. More money exchanged hands. Then, Mike saw it.
Slowly, the great beast exited the arch. It was huge. It was as tall as polar bear, at least ten feet, but wider, much wider than a polar bear. It was built like a gorilla, with wide shoulders and gigantic arms, monstrous in size. It had to mass anywhere from three-quarters to a full ton. The leathery hide was mahogany in color, with scabrous patches of pale, rough scales interspersed with wire like hair across the body. Pig eyes peered out from underneath a heavy brow ridge. Serrated, jagged yellow teeth jutted out from thick rubbery lips. One tooth stuck out of the side of its face, tusk like.
The monster blinked against the dim light of the sun, making Mike think that it never saw the light of day. Kotram was still trying to crawl to the grate. The movement caught the beast’s eyes, and it roared a challenge to the prey that was trying to get away. The sound was deafening as it filled the silence of the pit. A counterpoint to the roaring of the monster was the moaning of Kotram. Reality had truly sunk into his mind. He knew his death had arrived in the form of this gigantic ghoul. Horrified, Mike could do nothing but watch what was about to happen.
Mike watched as Kotram kept trying to pull himself to the grate. Then, the beast lunged with little sound, making Mike jump. Evidently with the challenge given, the beast had no more need to announce its presence. Kotram’s moans gave way to bloodcurdling screams as the beast savaged him. Blood tainted the foul water as Kotram’s life faded. The great beast took his time, playing with his victim. Finally, Min tired of his game, picked up the dying man and ripped Kotram’s head from his body with one bite. Mike hoped that Kotram was already dead, but he doubted that he was spared the vision of those gnashing teeth. The body sagged as life abandoned it. Min sat down with his catch and ripped flesh from bone. The smell of iron permeated the air as Kotram’s blood coated Min.
Mike was mesmerized and horrified, watching the beast through the bands of his cage, and was taken unaware. He didn’t realize that Zrelnta was next to his cage. Mike’s head jerked up as he heard the baton slam into his cage, and he stared uncomprehending into the smiling face of the jailer. The baton slammed down on his cage again and again in a slow beat. Then, realization came to Mike, and he looked down.
The pig eyed beast was looking directly at Mike. When Mike’s eyes met Min’s, Min’s mouth contorted into a snarl, and he roared at Mike. Mike watched in horror as the beast gathered itself for a jump. Mike shifted his hand to the bars on top so that he could pull himself up, only to be rewarded with a thump on his hand from the jailer’s baton. He quickly pulled his hand back before Zrelnta could slam his hand again. Mike slipped back down onto the floor of the cage.
In the recesses of his gibbering brain, time seeming to slow as Mike tracked the ghoul’s jump. All reason fled and Mike kicked his legs trying to get traction. His only goal was to get as far from the horror as he possibly could. Finally, one foot caught on a bar, and he was able to lever himself from the floor to slam his back up against the top of the cage. Min grew closer and closer, to the point that Mike truly thought the beast would be able to latch onto the cage.
The beast reached its apogee with a hand about five or six feet away from the cage. Mike watched as the monster fell back towards the bottom of the pit. Then, as he watched the monster grow smaller, Zrelnta’s baton slammed into him, electricity surging into him, making his jaw clench and the rest of his frame slam against the cage. Another baton joined the first and Mike saw flashes of light as foam spilled out of his mouth. More batons jabbed in and out of the bars, and he could hear the laughter of the guards as they tortured him.
Mike slumped to the bottom of the cage. At this point, he was barely coherent. He was face down, and the batons delivered jolt after jolt of energy into his body. His eyes were open, but he couldn’t move. A stream of saliva trailed out of his mouth. He could hear the other prisoners screaming at the guards, and he could hear the guards laughing.
Below him, he could see Min resting on his haunches, staring. The pig eyes studied Mike. Mike saw something in Min’s eyes. Mike didn’t know what it was or what it meant, but he thought that for a moment, Min understood what was happening to Mike. Then that brief moment passed and Min turned back to his meal.
The jailers grew tired of their game, and the batons withdrew from the cage. He could hear their steps as they walked away. They were still laughing from their festivities. Below, Min continued his feast. Thick jaws savaged meat from the bones of what was once a living man, a man that Mike had led to his doom.
That thought was the last one to cross Mike’s mind before oblivion took him.
----------------------------------------------------
His plan was working, probably too well. The Turinzoni were sadistic bastards. They rarely walked by without stopping to use their batons on Mike. He didn’t have to pretend to urinate on himself anymore when they played their games. It was beginning to be Pavlovian. Predators always picked on the weakest prey, and that was what Mike was presenting himself as. Mike continued his fear displays, but it was starting to wear on him. He was afraid that if he wore the mask for too long, he would become that which he mimicked.
The next one they took was the lone Contai at the end. They came in two days after they dropped Kotram to the floor of the pit. Bret had been right. There were four of them. They hit the Contai with shock batons until he was whimpering, then they dropped the cage door and pulled him out. He was a brave man, though, and he tried to fight back, yelling his name as he lashed out at his jailers.
“I am Tirit! I am a free man! You will not take me!”
They beat him down and put one of the collars on him. After the collar, he didn’t fight anymore.
Cuoltat, one of the guards was displeased, “it was more fun when he fought back.”
Zrelnta laughed, “Yes, but Speason and Rethlick would be very unhappy with us. They need him for their studies.”
Cuoltat looked over at Mike, “I guess we must make do with others.”
Zrelnta shook his head, “We can play, but they want the Emurecuns intact. They have questions that the Dostori Rev wants answered. Until she gets her answers, they have to be coddled.”
One of the others chided the two, “you can talk about your hobbies later. Right now, this one goes into the lab.”