by James Jaros
“I want to burn him up,” Jaya said. “Leave what’s left for the animals. Maybe that dragon.”
“Burning him’s a good idea. I don’t want anyone knowing who he is. But we got to bury him, just in case.”
“Sounds good to me,” Jaya said, mostly wishing the bastard was alive so he could burn him to death. He pulled a gas can from the sidecar. “We got enough of this?”
“Plenty,” Esau said. “But hold on. We have to move him first. I don’t want to blow up the Harley. And you should take his boots. No sense burning them. They’re old army boots. No one’s going to know they’re his.”
Jaya pulled them on, not caring that they were too big. “My first shoes.” He beamed, feeling like a child. Then he grabbed Hunt’s feet and dragged him from the bike. Esau wasn’t much help.
The youth sloshed gas on the body “Where’s the flint? I want to do this.”
“In the saddlebag. The one on the right,” Esau said. “Hurry up, we don’t want the gas evaporating.”
Jaya hustled to the bike and found the flint, making sparks as he turned back. Hunt’s knife, Hunt’s flint, Hunt’s gas. The boy grinned, ready to make Hunt burn.
“You hear that?” Esau said, limping toward a nearby dune.
“Hear what?” Jaya asked, setting off the biggest spark yet. Whoa.
The slave didn’t answer him. Maybe he hadn’t heard. He caught up with Esau near the top of the dune. He was crawling fast.
“Get down,” Esau said to him.
Jaya didn’t want to, not with his leg, but he heard loud cars and ducked. A half mile away four vehicles churned up a dust plume. The one in front flew a large red, white, and blue flag.
“Those are Russians,” Jaya said.
“How do you know that?” Esau asked.
“We had a school. Their flag’s the ones with the fat stripes. There aren’t many countries left. The Russians are one of the winners.”
“Of what?”
“They survived,” Jaya said. “Not a lot of them, but a lot more than us.”
“Who’s ‘us’?” Esau asked.
“That’s what I mean. Most of us don’t even know we’re an ‘us,’ ’cause we’re not anymore.”
They stared at the dust plume.
“Good thing we didn’t go burning him yet,” Esau said. “Last thing we need right now is—”
“Shit!” Jaya moaned. “I didn’t know.”
They both turned around. Thick black smoke blotted the sky.
“Oh, God, we gotta go.” Esau started hurling himself back down the dune.
Jaya stole another look at the cars. They were already turning toward them. “They’re coming!” he shouted. He spotted armor plating. They looked like monsters. “I’m sorry,” he yelled, bounding toward the bike.
“Grab everything,” Esau screamed, “and throw it in the cage!” He was hunched over the front of the Harley, fiddling frantically with wires.
Jaya shoved food, gas, and water into the sidecar. He looked around. Nothing left but Hunt’s burning body, blood boiling from the wounds, skin crackling—eerie death knells quickly engulfed by the roar of car engines.
He drew his guns and backed up to the bike, where the only sounds were Esau’s prayers and violent imprecations.
Cassie hurried off with William to a sealed-off storage area for a primer on land mines. Sam and Yurgen watched the odd pair leave the main cavern. The girl needed to learn to carry the mines safely, Sam thought—if that were even possible for such a tiny child—before carting them across the treacherous terrain of the long-buried prison. Unless, of course, Cassie had the strength to pull out the pins, which was also doubtful. While a training session with live mines was risky for anyone, much less a nine-year-old, she, Yurgen, and William knew it was essential to teach Cassie the basics about the bombs before having her place them under the City of Shade.
Sam and Yurgen settled at a grayed wooden table where their battle plans lay sketched in charcoal on a stone tablet.
“She’s a gutsy kid,” Sam said.
“You mean working with the mines, or being with him?” Yurgen joked.
“Both,” Sam said without a smile. “He’s not exactly kid-friendly.”
“We’d be lost without him.”
“We’d be lost without her,” Sam responded.
As she lowered her eyes to the plans, bare feet smacked on the cavern floor. Both of them turned toward the shadows. Someone had leaped from the rope ladder.
They sprang to their feet. Yurgen dropped his hand to his holstered pistol and stared into the darkness, relaxing his grip when he spotted Keegan racing toward the encampment. The young man’s black ponytail peeked out from behind him with each of his long strides.
“We lost the guy with the burned eye,” Keegan said in a startled voice, as though he were just hearing the news about the missing gunman, rather than delivering it.
“How did that happen?” Yurgen demanded. The closely cropped man looked past Keegan, perhaps worried the half-blind gunman would stumble from behind a stalagmite or boulder.
“Our guys were keeping their distance, switching off, trying not to be too obvious,” Keegan said in a rush, “but he must have gotten ahead of them, or backtracked. It’s not the only thing they’ve been doing up there,” he added in an even faster note of reproach. “He must have climbed up one of the stacks.”
“We needed to know this right away,” Sam said. “He could have seen everyone deploying.”
“You are hearing it right away. I just found out. I took a risk just slipping back down here.”
“He’s got to know what’s going on,” Yurgen said, raising his spectacles when he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Only a moron could have missed our people moving out.”
Sam took a deep breath. “We’ve got to find him.”
“No, we don’t,” Yurgen said. “We can’t take time for that. He can see all he wants, as long as he doesn’t get back to the city.”
“He’s definitely not getting back there,” Keegan stated. “I’ve got Mika, the Donatos, and MacKenzie making sure no one crosses till we head out. They’re patrolling every last inch of the perimeter. And he is kind of conspicuous.”
“Not that conspicuous,” Sam said, flipping her white curls behind her back. “We lost him! What if he starts wondering where everyone is coming from? We’re leaving girls down here. And Denton.” A nine-year-old boy.
“William will be down here,” Yurgen said, “and he’s armed.”
“But he’s going to be busy with Cassie,” Sam countered, “and definitely doesn’t need to be dealing with a guy who’s clearly looking for something. Probably her. We should have killed him when we had the chance.”
“That could have been a disaster,” Yurgen said. “What if someone showed up looking for him, right when we’re getting ready to attack?”
“Or several someones,” Keegan added. “Look, he’s a gunman, right? But I don’t think he even has a gun.”
“What about in his pack?” Sam asked.
“They always have their guns out when they come here,” Keegan said.
Yurgen nodded.
“Even if he doesn’t have a gun, it doesn’t matter,” she responded, “because now we’ve got to put someone in the trailer when we head out. We can’t have some guy finding his way down here.” She glanced at the battle plans. “It’s going to leave us one short, with one less gun.”
Yurgen tapped the stone tablet. “Let’s leave Helena in the trailer. She’d rather be closer to Miranda.” He looked up and lowered his voice. “And we’ll give her the derringer. We’re only losing two shots that way. Let’s be honest, she’s not our best fighter.”
“Which is why we should leave someone else,” Sam said. “These are our kids we’re talking about—and all our water and food, our entire support system.”
“Wait a second,” Keegan jumped back in. “Let’s just slow down and look at this. We’ve got a one-eyed guy stumbling around
with a knife, versus Helena, a real mama bear, with a gun. And we’ve got William, if we need him, with his .38.” Keegan looked intently at Sam. “I think you’re overreacting.”
“We either take them down tonight, Sam, or we’re finished anyway,” Yurgen said. “That’s the truth, and we all know it. Helena is the only one we can spare.”
Maybe so, she thought. But when she stared at the shadows hiding the rope ladder, she imagined only more feet landing in the cavern—to hunt children and plunder paradise. “Where is our mother bear?” she managed to ask Yurgen.
“She and the cub are pulling the plug.”
Loud jostling and raucous laughter woke Jessie. Burned Fingers, too; his arm fell from her shoulders when he turned to the cell door. Five guards appeared, including the bullishly built white thug who told her they’d turned Bliss into a “porn queen.” He pointed to Burned Fingers: “Get out here with your arms straight out. You try any shit at all, we’ll break every one of your goddamn fingers. The Mayor’s pissed about what you did to Chunga, asshole.”
Burned Fingers stepped out as ordered. They chained his hands and ankles.
The same brute pointed to Jessie. “Now you get your witchy ass out here or we’ll break your girl’s fingers.”
The guards led them past the infected women. None of them reached through the bars. A few muttered curses, but with barely the breath to be heard.
“Maybe we should feed those bitches,” said the lean African, who generally teamed up with Jessie’s tormentor. “They’re more fun when they’re fed. There must be some kind of truce going on. No one’s getting eaten.”
“They’re tired, that’s all,” his buddy said. “Lots of excitement.” He slapped Jessie’s back. “We’ll toss them some bones later, and then we’ll have all kinds of fun seeing them in the pit tonight.”
Doing what? Jessie wondered.
The guards hurried them through a labyrinth of shadows to the Mayor’s office, where she noticed a dirty carpet with the presidential seal hanging on a wall.
Guards pushed them onto chairs at a large table. The African opened a door on the other side of the room. “They’re here,” he announced.
A moment later the Mayor stepped into his office. So did his emissary, Linden, who avoided Jessie’s eyes.
“I trust you have eaten well,” the Mayor said, standing across from them.
“We haven’t eaten at all this morning,” she answered evenly.
The Mayor turned to Linden. “Why have they not been fed? These are my finest gladiators.” He chuckled, holding up his arm as if looking at a watch. “It is almost noon.”
“She spit on me last night when I fed them.”
“That is not good.” The Mayor’s exchange with Linden sounded rehearsed to her. “But they must be fed,” he said tiredly, as if speaking of household chores. “Give them their chicken, and make sure they get vegetables and biscuits, and a lot of water.”
He turned back to his prisoners. “Is there anything else you would like for your last meal? Chateaubriand? Grilled asparagus spears in wine sauce? Peach mango sorbet?”
He laughed so hard he had to sit down. After he coughed and cleared his throat, he leaned forward. “It was the custom in your country, was it not, to give the condemned the right to choose their last meal? I always liked the story of the retarded man who asked for ice cream, and then saved it for later. He was black, so they killed him anyway. Savages. But you two, you are smart. You will eat your smoked chicken. Maybe you have even figured out how to kill Chunga and Tonga.”
Burned Fingers nodded. “Got it wired, boss man.”
The Mayor clapped happily. “I like this man. He has mighty balls. So how are you going to slay my dragons?”
“I’m going to throw you in the pit, and watch them choke to death on a big fat asshole.”
The Mayor didn’t laugh. “You should not make such jokes. I do not like them.”
“Who’s joking? And what are you gonna do to me, boss man? Toss me to a couple of man-eating lizards?”
Nobody spoke. They Mayor stared at Burned Fingers for the longest minute Jessie could recall before he laughed again, but this time his mirth sounded forced.
“I could send you to the larder and take your arms and legs and testicles one at a time, all fresh and juicy for my pets.”
“But you know I’ll put on a show for you. And you want to know why? Because I can’t wait to finish off that stupid goddamned freak. I started on his tongue, and I’ll finish with his tail. You wait and see.”
“If you do not watch what you say,” the Mayor unsheathed a foot-long knife from his belt, “I will start on your tongue and finish with your tail.”
Burned Fingers tilted his head and peered down his nose at the Mayor, jaunty mood undiminished.
Tempting fate, Jessie thought. She wished she could kick him under the table, shut him up. He’d been just as maddeningly cocky before the assault on the Army of God. But they’d been attacking depraved men then, and now they were prisoners facing monstrously powerful reptiles.
“You are going to meet my guests,” the Mayor said. “It is a perk I extend to some of them for Fight Night. Watch your tongue, or I will start the festivities here.” He laid his ample blade on the table. “Go get them,” the Mayor said to the African.
The guard darted out the door behind them, returning in moments with five men. The biggest wore an open, sleeveless leather vest. His thick arms and naked chest crawled with crudely rendered tattoos of spears and knives, barbed wire, and chained women raped by armor-clad beasts with long claws.
“I would introduce you,” the Mayor said to Burned Fingers, “but I don’t think this is necessary. When your old friends heard you were going to fight my dragons, they could not get here fast enough. Is that not right, Pie?”
The large inked man offered no response, tiny pink eyes already pinned on Burned Fingers. His bald pate was encircled by a moat of frizzy blond hair, but the most prominent feature on his round, bearded face was his rapidly reddening skin. Jessie watched him flush all the way to the crown of his head before he exploded with anger.
“You fucked-up, asshole,” he yelled at Burned Fingers. “You burned down our best customer. You fucking killed them. I would have swam through a lake of your stinking piss to see you get eaten alive. And we got nineteen more guys coming, and every one of them wants to see you die.”
“Nice to see you, too, Pie. When I’m through with the Komodos, I’ll waste you.”
Pie lunged across the table, bringing the reek of booze with him. Burned Fingers jumped to his feet and smacked his forehead—his only weapon—into the much larger man’s face, mashing his lips. Pie rolled away and spilled to the floor. Guards seized them both. The Mayor chortled.
“Oh, it is good to see men with such fire in their bellies. But I urge you to calm down. We will have our entertainment tonight. And this one,” the Mayor nodded at Jessie, “will have motivations galore. Bring in the girl.”
Jessie scarcely had time to register the Mayor’s last words when Ananda was hauled into the room by another guard.
“Mom,” she cried out, but the rugged-looking man held her firmly.
“No, let her go,” the Mayor said. “This is a good thing.”
Ananda raced around the table, breathless when she hugged her mother. Though fettered, Jessie tried to hold Ananda close while her youngest gripped her tightly and wept. Jessie’s eyes also moistened. The marauders laughed, and Pie turned away in head-shaking disgust.
“There is a good reason for the mother and daughter reunion,” the Mayor said. “And these tears are good, too.” Jessie looked up. “I like your little one very much.”
“Don’t you dare touch her.” At the Army of God, the Mayor’s comment would have been followed by a marriage announcement.
“Do not speak to me like that. You have no power. Look at your chains. But what I said is not what you think. I like her so much that I am sad about what I will have to do to
her tonight.”
“Do what?” Jessie demanded.
The Mayor peered at her for several seconds before shaking his head. “You do not listen when I talk. You still speak to me like I am your slave, so I will tell you nothing.”
“You’re the one with slaves.”
“Because I have earned them. You have earned nothing, not even word of what I will do to your daughters tonight.”
Ananda hugged her mother in terror. Jessie whispered, “Don’t worry, nothing’s going to happen. It’s just talk,” wondering how many more lies she would have to tell before death ended her duplicity.
“But I will tell you this,” the Mayor added. “You will see your girls once more, before the fight. And maybe during the fight.”
What are you talking about? But she didn’t ask the question aloud. Ananda didn’t need details. Instead, Jessie tried to live forever in the touch of her daughter. Ananda suddenly seemed so young for a girl who had been so brave and endured so much.
A stout guard burst into the room. The Mayor glared at him. “What is it?”
“There’s no water.”
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing’s coming out of the taps. We didn’t want to bother you, especially today, but we can’t get it going, and the men are getting thirsty.”
“Who gives a shit about water?” Pie bellowed. “We’ve got hooch.” He pulled out a dented metal flask and offered it to the Mayor, who brushed past him, stopping at the door only long enough to order the prisoners returned to their cells.
As Jessie’s tormentor hauled her from the chair, she saw Pie drinking. His faced flushed again; but with his tiny eyes fixed back on Burned Fingers, she couldn’t tell whether he reddened from liquor or rage, or the unruly eruption of both.
Helena crawled into a tunnel off the main cavern, ducking dozens of stone roof supports. River water no longer rushed through a five-inch pipe by her side. Earlier, she and her daughter had shut off the flow to the City of Shade. Now, pale light from her candle-fired lantern reached Miranda, who rested where the coupled pipe formed an el and ran straight up to the city.