by Platt, Sean
Danger was in the room and dangers were outside. Outside was probably worse. Much worse. Difference was, outside Boricio made some of the rules. He was busting out one way or another. Question was how many fuckers would have to die before he was rolling down the highway, windows down, and dialing into the latest on Boricio FM.
Way he smelled it, he had six ways to end everyone in the room, and three of ‘em made a helluva lot of sense. One wouldn’t work, at least not until he could get a clearer picture of the distances between the last body and the wall, and the first body and the door. Of the remaining two, one was as easy as tenderizing a few pounds of meat.
None of the prisoners were armed, Boricio figured. He’d need to rip off his blindfold, survey the room, then get clear to his far right within the first second. He had no way of knowing for certain whether the four “prisoners” were friendly or not, but he’d have to assume they were all cozy with Testosterone and the Big Nipple Bitch, because as Boricio had learned long ago, you never take anything as a given.
He’d start with the prisoner on the far right, snap his neck before anyone in the room knew what was happening. He’d move straight in a row, ending each of the blindfolded pigeons until he hit Silent Bob at the end.
Bitch of it was, the strategy would have to flip a bitch in a second if any of the four prisoners were instead a guard. He’d still start with the guy on the far right, but would have to immediately grab the second guy so he could use his body as a shield while he figured out what to do with the other two fucktards.
It wouldn’t be quiet, and that meant just seconds until Testosterone and Big Nipple Bitch came busting in with their Superdome-sized home court advantage and whatever weapons they carried.
Much as he hated to soak in the saltwater suck on this that came with murdering time, it was college cool to play the room until the right time. It would happen, and when it did, he’d let everyone in the room, dead and alive, know he was their new Lord and Savior, least for the six or so seconds they had the chance to swear allegiance. They were already on their knees at the end of the world; ain’t no better time than that to switch up deities.
Boricio would’ve already snapped a whole lot of spinal cords, but the shit that came falling from Silent Bob’s mouth a few minutes earlier had tripped him way the fuck out.
He didn’t understand the dude’s words, but his tone was all wrong — sent an arrow straight into the bull’s-eye of Boricio’s terror like few things he’d ever heard.
The Chinese had a weird ass ching chong ramma lamma ding dong of a language, but there was shit about it that just made good sense, way it was once explained to Boricio. Like the way they used the same words to mean different things, difference being in tone.
“Tiger” “four” and “death” were all the same exact fucking word in Chinese, just the tone the chinks said it that made the difference. Most people in America would be too stupid to hear that shit; everyone would end up confusing one another all the time. But if a fucker can learn how to listen over there, then they can do it over here. Boricio knew everything he needed to know 99% of the time, and he got there with his ears and his eyes, and sometimes his nose. That’s what instincts were: listening to the music of the world around and never missing a note. When it came to hearing the fear in another man’s throat, Boricio had perfect pitch.
Silent Bob was scared as fuck about something.
He saw something out there that he don’t know how to explain. His mind is turning it over and trying to measure it, but there’s too much and not enough and he can’t stir that shit up enough to make no sorta sense. And it’s mixed with the kinda fear a man gets when there ain’t no way he’s got more than 100 breaths left inside him.
Whatever he saw, there was a chance it wasn’t human. A week ago that would’ve sounded like some science fiction bullshit to Boricio, but not anymore. Something soured the planet to memory — had to be global, otherwise some sort of cavalry would’ve been rolling in by now.
Something pointed the barrel at humanity. And it forgot to empty the chamber, or ran out of bullets. Either way, aliens, government, who-the-fuck ever — someone let the fries burn. And Boricio had a feeling that something was being done to clean up the mess. That something is probably what Silent Bob saw. It was something that Boricio had sensed more than knew, as a predator senses when a new breed has risen to the top of the food chain.
Whatever Silent Bob saw, must’ve fucked with his head big-time. Made sense. Boricio’s head was fucked with, above and beyond his usual internal bullshit transmissions. It felt real, sure, but he sure as shit knew a Boricio FM wasn’t broadcasting his name across all hours of fuck all.
If that were all true, and Boricio figured it was, he was safer in this room, even if it meant staying on his knees a little longer. He was a king now; this was his kingdom. It just might take a bit longer to claim the throne.
Another click and whine from the door, followed by a fresh gust of warm, stale air. A new scent entered the room. This scent had teeth. Boricio could smell it, under the sweat: mean, sadistic and cruel. If Testosterone reeked of asshole, this guy was steeped in the scent of pain and misery. He was cock of the walk, and was all too happy to strut his stuff.
“Time to eat,” Boricio heard the voice a split second before something was forced into his mouth. Earthy and unfamiliar.
Boricio spit it out, then heard the sticky THWAP!! as it hit the man’s face. “Not hungry,” Boricio said.
It was nice to hear the guard’s laughter, good to know a nice kitty cat was there who wanted to play.
A sudden slap at the side of each of Boricio’s ears rolled thunder through his head.
“You dropped something from your cockhole,” the voice said. “Good thing I’m a generous teacher willing to help you learn more control.”
Boricio’s lips and jaw exploded in pain as the asshole took a cheap shot, and for a moment he wasn’t sure whether or not he’d have to swallow a tooth. Between his nose and lips, he probably looked like Halloween. Not good. Boricio gave exactly two shits and a half a tinkle about his good looks, but knew the value of an effective weapon and a convincing disguise. His looks were both, and in a dead world, a pretty face looked like an angel.
Boricio laughed. A crazy, cracked, drunken alligator of a laugh.
Dead Guard Walking, that’s what I’ll call this special breed of fucker. Bag of shit won’t just be any old corpse either. I’ll be taking as much of my sweet time as I can afford. Won’t have the minutes I need to make it biblical, but I’m gonna get creative, believe it, bitch. That’s all I need, one minute to make this bag of shit wish he’d died as a child.
Boricio’s laughter quieted to a dying rumble.
The voice cackled back. “Glad to see you’ve got a bit of fight in ya’. This might just be fun,” he said. “The rest of you fuckers were a bit vanilla for my taste.”
Boricio felt a slap at his throat, not too hard but hard enough to make him open his mouth in reflex. The earthy shit was back, followed by a second slap to the throat. “Chew on it, fucker. I’ll be back.”
A whine, a thud, then seven or so minutes of silence followed by, “I think that asshole’s name is Jackson,” from the voice all the way to Boricio’s right. “And I don’t know it for sure, but I think he’s the one who killed the guy who was sitting right where I’m sitting, round this time yesterday. I don’t think he meant to, and I think he may have even gotten in some trouble from Brock, that was the other asshole who was in here earlier, but he gets carried away and they let him. Might even be his job. Gave me a gash on my right cheek. Feels creek deep, too. My name is Moe, by the way.”
Moe paused, as if he were waiting for someone to say something. When nobody spoke, he continued.
“You all can’t see it, but it’s a bad one, and bled so much I expected I’d die right there. Happened right when that asshole Jackson hauled me in. And ain’t no reason, neither. Asked me why I was smirking and I said I wasn’t sm
irking. Guess he didn’t like me talking back cuz he started whooping me on the top of my head. I was just gonna take it, but then I got to hearing my daddy in my ear telling me not to be such a bitch, so I tried to swing, but forgot my hands were tied behind my back so I fell flat on my ass. That Jackson fucker just started laughing his ass off. He told me he’d teach me not to fight. A second later I felt the worst pain I ever felt, no warning or nothing. My cheek was in a couple of pieces, and blood was spilling from my face like a busted faucet. I started screaming like a hog. Even pissed myself; ain’t no shame in it either way, ‘cuz I was bleeding. They gave me some sort of shot, I guess to sedate me. Next thing I knew I was in here, same as I am now.”
“Shit!” another man to Boricio’s left said. “My name is Jack. They didn’t do nothing to me, least that I remember. I just woke up in here with my eyes covered and hands tied, about as scared as I’ve ever been.”
“What about you?” Moe asked.
“Me?” Boricio said.
“Yeah, how’d you end up at the End of the World Inn?”
“Not much to tell. I spent most of the last few days hiding in a basement. Would’a stayed there, too, least if I hadn't got so goddamned hungry. You all are the first people I’ve seen since whatever happened happened, least if you don’t count the bitch that brought us all together.”
“And you, heavy breathing dude?” Moe asked. “You ain’t said shit that makes sense yet. Someone fuck you up bad when you got here?”
“My name’s Adam, sir, And no, not hardly. I’ve had no problems other than getting tossed in here to start with. And I may be a prisoner but them folks out there saved me from something that was pure pitch black evil, I tell you what.”
Silent Bob’s name is Adam. Shit, and he ain’t so silent now, way to fuck up a nickname. Oh well, not like I’ll need to remember his name much longer.
Manny asked Adam, “What do you mean? That what you were trying to say earlier?”
“Yeah,” his voice about cracked in half. Something in the tone made Boricio uneasy. “I seen some things that I don’t even know how to explain, though I expect I’ll try once they make sense inside my head. Are you okay, Mister… what did you say your name was?”
“Boricio,” he said. No sense in lying, as none of these fuckers were likely to get out of here alive. “And yeah, I’ve dealt with tougher women than that prick.”
“That Jackson guy seems like a real sore wound of a fella,” Adam said. “But I swear on everything I know we’re better off in here than we are out there, unless these guys are as crazy as the things I’ve seen. And they were horrible, but a fat step up from my old man. World’s gone; I’m a prisoner of who knows who, and I seen evil walking on two legs sure as I’m breathing earlier today, and I still say this is a better than average week.”
Boricio should’ve known the second he referred to Moe as “sir,” but hadn’t realized until just that moment — Adam was only a boy.
“How old are you Adam?” Boricio asked, no disguise.
“I’m 16, but big for my age. Was my job to get the beer, no matter who was asking.”
“Your old man sounds like a ripe old gash of an asshole.”
Adam made a sound, might’ve laughed, though Boricio wasn’t sure. “Yeah, have to say I’m not sorry to see him go at all. Gary was an asshole and beat the shit out of me on days ending in Y and fucking my little sister once a month when my mom wouldn’t put out. Ma was busy pretending she didn’t have a clue what was going on, when the truth was she was just too scared to do anything about it.”
“How old was your sister?” Moe wanted to know, as if it mattered.
“Just turned 15 last week of September.”
“How many times have you imagined killing him?” Boricio asked
“Not once until last year, but once I started, every day since. Before then, I thought things were maybe somehow my fault. After that, it was clear he was some sorta demon.”
Boricio felt something, maybe curiosity. He hoped it wasn’t anything bullshit like compassion, though he’d guessed he could understand it if it was. “What happened?”
“We had just moved to St. Pete. Grandpa, the original asshole you might say, died and left Gary some land. A real dump, but paid for. There was a big trophy case in the house from when he was a kid. I was looking at the trophies, trying to see what the big one on top was for. I accidentally fell against the case and brought the whole thing down. I swear it was an accident, but before I knew it, all the trophies were on the ground, broken, and Gary came running in the room.”
“He grabbed me by the hair and dragged me through the house, kicking me the whole way. When we got to the kitchen, he flicked on the garbage disposal and grabbed my hand and shoved it into the drain, and I thought for sure, my fingers were gonna get caught up in it.” Adam started to cry, and fucking beer battered bullshit, Boricio kinda felt bad for the kid.
“He kept calling me a liar and yelling at me to tell him what really happened. I kept telling him I wasn’t lying. He told me if I ever lied again, he’d bring me right back to that same spot and let the blades tear my fingers up.”
This day was getting all full up with fuckers to kill. Would be nice to find Gary and build a whole new kind of fire to hold his ass to. Would bring back the sweet taste for sure.
Boricio had a special place in his dark heart for evil fuck fathers ever since he paid his dear ole’ dad back for his childhood of hell.
Ears burned with cigarettes. Forced to drink shampoo. Three toes bent so bad the doctors considered amputation. A third-degree burn by way of blow dryer. A miserable fucking childhood raped of every molecule of joy. Yeah, it’d be nice to skull fuck some other asshole just as deserving.
“So, Adam,” Boricio asked. “What do you think happens when they take you out of here, then? What’s in the box?”
“World’s been shit miserable so far; maybe outside is some sort of hallelujah to make up for it, you know, if you’re the right kind of person.”
“What kind of person is that?” Boricio asked.
“Maybe the world owes some of us a new beginning.”
The room went silent, as if in the aftermath of an uncomfortable truth. Boricio wanted to laugh at the kid’s delusional pipe dreams because as sure as shit, there was no God in the sky, no angels waiting to take you to heaven, and the world never gave you what it owed you. No, the only thing on the menu was shit and more shit.
However, perhaps fortune had smiled on Adam, as Boricio reconsidered his plans to kill every fucker in the room.
No reason he couldn't take out most of the room, leave one soldier behind. Maybe a second set of hands was just what Boricio needed. Maybe Boricio could be a mentor. A special kind of mentor like Boricio had while growing up.
It felt good to think about Tom again. It had been a long time since he allowed himself to remember the man who taught him to kill and never get caught.
* * * *
EDWARD KEENAN
October 15
Early evening
Somewhere in North Carolina
Ed and Teagan were 60 miles from her home in Cape Hope, North Carolina when she finally decided to break the ice that had frosted their air since the fallen bodies at the gas station.
“Why aren’t we going to find your daughter first?”
“What?”
“Well, if my dad were looking for me, I don’t think he’d stop to help a stranger and get sidetracked from doing what he set out to do.”
“It’s complicated,” he said. “Can we talk about something else? Anything. Like your favorite bands or what movies you like, or what you like to do? Do you play any sports?”
“Had to give up football with the baby and all, ” Teagan said with a laugh, patting her belly. Another moment of silence passed before she finally said what she’d wanted to say in the first place. “You killed those people like it was nothing. I mean, no hesitation whatsoever. How can you do that? What are you?”
>
“What do you mean, what am I?”
“You said you were kinda like a cop, but cops have to go by rules, right? Even now. My cousin Jeb was a cop, and I can’t imagine him, or any of his cop buddies, pulling the trigger like that, no questions asked.”
“I can’t really say what it was that I did, but I worked for our government. And I was one of the good guys. And despite what you see on TV and in the movies, the good guys aren’t necessarily the same as the nice guys.”
“So, you’re not a nice guy, then?”
He kept his eyes on the road. Teagan’s resemblance to his daughter made the conversation every bit the biting through nails it would’ve been if it were Jade’s mouth moving instead, so he tried not to look at her any more than he had to.
“I’m just a guy who does what needs to be done. You said your cousin Jeb was a cop? What do you mean was?”
“He was killed by a drunk driver a year ago. Tell me, why were you arrested?” she asked, so out of the blue he nearly swerved off the road.
“What?” he asked, playing stupid.
“The rings on your wrist, someone had you in cuffs, I assume?”
Ed smiled.
“You’re observant.”
“So, are you going to tell me?”
“Man, you just cut right to the chase, eh?”
Teagan was smiling, but just barely.
“You’re right, I was arrested. But I didn’t do anything I wasn’t told to do.”
“Then why were you arrested?”
“Sometimes, the people who make up the rules of the game change them on the fly depending on which asses need kissing, the political gestures that need to be made, and you know, all the usual bureaucratic bullshit. Well, maybe you don’t know. At any rate, when the rules change and your bosses are caught playing by the old rules, well, that means shifting the blame downwind to someone else. A guy like me.”
“What does that even mean?” she asked.