by W. A. R.
“Please…” he whimpered, his eyes focused on her. He was terrified…hell, Buddy was terrified of the woman to his left.
“Louder.” She stated, her voice remaining the relative serene-like calm it had been since she had released her son from her hold. It never faltered as she stared at him. Her expression was…well, there wasn’t one…she was expressionless. There was no amusement, anger, or even sadness on her face. Her stance wasn’t rigid and tense. She stood with relative ease in her situation.
“Please!” he wailed, turning and baring his face to her in its entirety. “Please just fucking kill me!” he all but screamed at her. Buddy shuddered as a slow, pained and yet malicious scowl crept onto her face. Her eyes flashed at the injured man.
“I told you there was no mercy here.” Her voice was soft, and not the slightest bit mocking and that alone with her scorn and the hate in her eyes was enough to frighten Damien more than he had ever been before. She sighed, losing her frown, her face once again expressionless. And stepping forward, she kicked his leg. He screamed in pain, unable to move his broken bones to ease the pain that radiated up his spine.
“I see you still can’t move. Good.” She said absent-mindedly before turning and glancing at Buddy. He stood rigid before her, awaiting her orders. She looked at him, and he could see how very tired she was. She knelt down and began digging through his pockets for her keys. It wasn’t but just a few seconds before she found them and pulled them from his denim jeans. “Can’t have you trying to escape from the back of the truck.” and with that both Amber and Buddy knelt and lifted him, heaving with the effort of his limp weight. He screamed more so in agony and Amber ignored him. Buddy watched as she dropped him hard on the tailgate before pressing her palms against his body and shoving him back into the bed of the truck. She grunted with the effort and Buddy lifted his arms to help, pushing against the shattered bones of one of his knees. Once this was done, Amber shot the crying man one last heated look before stepping back and closing the tailgate. She then turned to Buddy and nodded for him to follow her. He did so without word.
Very quickly, he realized where they were going. He was two steps behind her as she led the way to where Lance stood, his hands tied behind his back. His eyes were on the two of them and he visibly swallowed. Buddy followed Amber’s lead as she reached for Lance’s elbow. He did the same with the opposite arm, his eyes skimming over the others that were in their group, noting how they all watched them. Amber noticed this as well and turned to them all.
“Everyone get in the trucks and remain quiet. Open the front gate whenever it’s safe. We won’t be but just a moment.” She said calmly, her voice thick with emotion, Buddy just wasn’t sure which emotion it was anymore. With that being said, everyone began moving towards the trucks, having loaded up the gas, food, and weapons. Amber and Buddy turned and began towards the back of the house, bringing a cooperative Lance with them.
All three members of the party remained silent on their trek to the backyard, the only sound being their feet as the shuffled against the ground and overstepped bodies, whether they were Biters or enemies. It didn’t matter anymore; they were all dead and they were not coming back. Buddy felt his chest tighten at so many thoughts. He imagined what lay before them, if they could accomplish whatever it was they were going to have to do. Finally, they reached the back yard and Amber looked to Lance, releasing him. Buddy followed her as she turned to face him head on.
“On your knees.” She ordered and reluctantly he did as she ordered. Gracefully, she lowered herself down on her haunches, leveling her eyes with his. They stayed like this for a moment until Lance spoke to her.
“What are you going to do to me?” he asked and for a brief moment he saw sympathy come across Amber’s eyes. Buddy sighed in relief as he watched her retrieve a pocket knife from her back pocket. She then opened it and tossed it out of his reach to the far side of the fence. She then turned back to the man and reached for the belt holster he had.
“As I said before, this does not belong to you.” She then addressed Buddy as she stood, securing it around her own waist. “Did we get the guns?” she asked and Buddy hurriedly nodded.
“George has them both.” He replied and Amber nodded, turning her attention back to the man on his knees before her.
“What are you going to do to me?” he repeated, his tone of voice more urgent and desperate, reaching out for the person she was before everything was taken from her. She again lowered herself on the balls of her feet. He was practically begging for her pity, for acceptance of a fate, one or the other. And yet, she felt nothing. She was neither happy nor angry, bereaved or forlorn…instead, she was just…indifferent; numb.
“I am going to leave you here, Lance.” She told him and his eyes widened at her words. “I am not going to kill you. I am going to leave you here to die at the hands of hungry, desperate monsters.” She said this last part with disgust, her upper lip curling into a sneer. “And while you are being eaten alive…while you are being pricked and prodded as food for the creatures you ruined my family to defend…I want you to remember everything you have done to reach this point. While you are screaming for someone and there is no one there to save you, I want you to remember my mercy…mercy I didn’t have to give.”
He scoffed at her, his eyes angry. “What mercy?” he asked and Buddy found he was curious as well.
Amber sighed and stood, turning to Buddy, hand out, palm up. “Gun, please.” Though Buddy was thoroughly confused, he reached back into his waistband and handed her the gun that he had obtained from Damien; the same gun he had used to kill her son. She clicked open the chamber and glanced at the bullets in there before snapping it closed with a flick of her wrist and turning back to Lance.
She never flinched before drawing the gun up over her head and firing it.
1…2…3…three shots into the air.
Lance flinched and ducked from her, and Buddy stood surprised, watching as she lowered the gun once again to her side.
“Will you go light the pile of lumber beside the fence that the others set out?” she asked of him and he nodded reluctantly, reaching out and placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze before turning to do as she said. Buddy turned and watched as Biter’s followed them from the front, struggling against the fence to reach them. His nerves were on edge, and he had to admit that a small part of him wandered if they were going to make it out of there
“You aren’t going to end this are you?” Lance spat at her and he grinned deviously when she didn’t answer him. He was furious and scared, possibly having lost a good bit of his right mind. Again, she didn’t care. “I always knew you had this fury…this impossible determination and strength…I can’t wait until they get a hold of you.”
Amber never flinched. “They won’t.”
He laughed at her. “They have a bargaining chip.”
“So do I.” She replied, never missing a beat and she turned quickly to the smell of smoke. Buddy was walking back towards her and she lifted her arm, raising the gun. She fired, the bullet hitting the chain that held the gate to the fence. The gate remained still, unopened, but she knew it wouldn’t be long. She glanced at Lance before she tossed the gun to the side, far enough out of his reach that he would have to struggle for it. She locked eyes with him. “You have taken my family from me to do unspeakable horrors to them and your gun and foolish actions have taken my son from me. However,” she continued after a slight hesitation. “You have cooperated and you carried those two children as tenderly as if they were your own. That is the only reason you are receiving any mercy and it isn’t much.” At this her eyes darkened. “My mercy is this. There is a knife somewhere over there.” She pointed in the direction she had thrown the pocketknife and Buddy winced. It was nowhere to be seen. “Six bullets. Three in the air, one at the gate, one in my son, and one left for you…if you can reach it in time.” She stated and with that, she left him, Buddy directly behind her. She trav
eled through the house, aware of the following eyes of Biters that were traveling from the front. Buddy didn’t speak, and neither did she. The only sounds were Biter’s hungry growls, the crackling of a raging fire, and their boot clad feet stomping along through the silent house.
Once outside, she allowed Buddy to lead. She followed Buddy to the truck that held her son, and watched as he climbed in back, turning to offer her a hand. She swallowed thickly and reluctantly reached forward, placing her hand in his and letting him pull her in. Her heart tore yet again at the sight of her son’s wrapped body in the bed of the truck and she felt the tears threaten to fall. As they lowered themselves into the bed of the truck, listening to the engine as it roared to life, Buddy secured his arm around her shoulders. The tears began falling then as they turned and began out of the driveway, a few Biters noticing them and reaching. She didn’t care, not really. The pain was again fresh and she thought she might die. She lowered her head into her hands and sobbed against the wind as Buddy comforted her without words as best he knew how. She cried for her father, for her son. She cried for her brother and her lover, and her best-friend. She cried for the loss of Brittany, for the betrayal of Damien, and the loss of their home. She sobbed for Cassie’s ache, for Jacob’s, George’s. The wind whipped wildly about her as they went about a quarter mile down the road, avoiding any Biters that may have remained at the front of the fence. They weren’t far from the house, and Amber could smell the smoke winding through the air when they came to a stop. George and Derek climbed from two trucks, the weapons truck behind the one she rode in, and behind them, the red Dodge driven by Katie.
They aimed for the back of the first truck where fragile pieces of their lives rested, wrapped in cloth. Amber lifted her eyes to George as he spoke.
“Where are we going?” he asked her and she sighed, fighting through the tears.
“The church. We need to get the others…and then we will have to immediately find somewhere safe to go. The church is too close to here. It wouldn’t be…” she was abruptly cut off by the sound of screams echoing off of the trees around them. Birds took flight at the sound and everyone turned their attention to the direction of the house. Derek swallowed, realizing what they had done. George looked at Amber and nodded sadly, understanding why she had done it, and Buddy tightened his grip on her shoulder at the sound. A gunshot sounded then and the screams stopped, but they all continued to remain silent, just for a moment, remembering everything that had just happened; what had been gained, and in the process what had been lost.
She noted then the change in herself, the anger having consumed her. She had become a different person in just the time span of that morning, of even just one hour. She took note of this on the side of the ride as what was once their house burned, a house where her father lay buried; as three of the most important people to her were missing, as her son’s body lay at her feet in the bed of a truck. She took note of it then because when she heard the screams…while they continued to grow louder...her heart beat faster and she did not find regret at the suffering she had caused him. No; instead, she found solace at the sound.
Epilogue
The pain was excruciating, almost unbearable, and it came in slow steady waves that threatened to crash harder and harder than their predecessors. He grimaced against it, wishing he was once again numb to the world and to the agony he was experiencing. He knew that wouldn’t happen, however, not until his body collapsed once more into shock. He felt tears snake their way down his filth covered cheeks and he whimpered slightly as he tried to moved his one good arm. He knew that he couldn’t move his left arm or either of his legs at all, they were too far damaged, and after a moment he realized that his one good arm was strapped down. He reluctantly opened his eyes, unsure of whether or not he wanted to see where he was, or even worse, who waited before him. His breathing was heavy and he forced himself to calm down. He was crying from the pain, but even more so from the unadulterated fear that was gnawing away at his body and forcing him to tremble violently. He was scared; terrified, and he realized that he had never been so terrified in his life.
Darkness filled his eyesight with the exception of small rays of orange light filling the blank spaces before him. The light came from cracks between wooden planks, and his surroundings consisted of high beams, dangling farm tools, and a few molded hay bales. He grimaced at the scent of must and decay and he turned from the sight of the hay bales, hearing low groans and desperate cries in the distance. His breathing became uneven and he jerked his hand reflexively against his restriction. He glanced down, seeing that he was in a sturdy wooden chair, belts of different widths holding his arms, hands, legs and feet in place. Sweat began beading on his brow and he felt a trickle roll down the back of his neck. He whimpered again, wanting desperately to free himself, and he began scouring everything around him for tools of any use. What he saw made him still, unable to move, unable to breathe.
To his left there was a makeshift table, and on it were tools of unspeakable torture. There were clamps, needles, string, scalpels, filth covered towels, plyers, wire cutters, and knives. The items were laid out with such extreme precision and organization that he began to actually sob. His body was wracked with terror and panic. His chest tightened and he found it difficult to breath. He had fucked up; he knew his death was going to come to him in a slow torturous form. He needed to get out of there, he needed to find a way, any way possible. He tried to move his left arm, to stand on his legs and pain shot up his spine, forcing him to relent in his advances. He screamed in agony, in horror, and shook in his chair. He couldn’t stop the tremors, and he couldn’t leave. He was stuck, primed and ready to die.
“My associates here wanted me to strap you in using razor wire, but I didn’t.” he heard the low rumble of a determined voice reach his ears from behind him. He jerked his heard wildly about, struggling to find the source. Gasping for breath, he heard the shuffling of boot laden feet echo to his left. “I very well couldn’t have you bleed out before I was through with you.” More footsteps were heard to his right and flames flew up from a fire. The orange light illuminated two familiar faces in the dark and he once again tried to struggle before crying out in anguish. “It’s fruitless for you to try.” The voice informed him; the voice that had once been forgiving and comforting was now…well, now he had never been so scared of anyone in his life.
The footsteps still sounded to his left as they rounded the table and he forced himself to turn away. Fingertips ran across metals tools, and he squeezed his eyes tightly shut. No, it wasn’t happening, it couldn’t be. It was a nightmare; he was in hell. It wasn’t real.
“No…no, please, no…” he begged, saliva pooling at the corner of his mouth before dripping from his bottom lip to his leg. Footsteps sounded to his right and he felt hot breath on his ear as the gruff looking man leaned over to him.
“Begging will get you nowhere, son.” The voice said before leaving and he shook his head, attempting to rid himself of the voices, of the sting of regret.
“No!!!” he screamed at the top of his lungs before he felt fingers grip his hair roughly, jerking his head back. The back of his head slammed hard against the back of the chair. He felt a wide strip of leather stretch across his forehead and tighten, holding him back against the chair. He tried to free himself of its confines but two big hands held his head still as another strip of leather across his chin. The big hands were gone from either side of his face and the strap was tightened to a painful pressure, jerking his chin slightly down. His lips parted involuntarily and he gasped, tasting the salt of his own tears. He felt a firm finger dig into the bullet wound of his shoulder and he cried out, jerking wildly and crying out more against even more pain. Tears flooded his face and he jerked his eyes open at the pain. He found himself staring into the face of his tormenter and future executioner.
Amber McDermott.
Her ice blue eyes were fire, her anger fueling the flames. They were red-rimmed and bloodshot,
and he vaguely recalled how she had screamed into the night only hours before. Her lips were set into a thin straight line, and they were cracked and bleeding. Blood had dried on the side of her face and head, staining her hair crimson. Her shirt was stained crimson as well, and her arms, her hands. Hatred bubbled under the surface of her touch as she twisted her finger into his wound once more. He cried out, shutting his eyes, wanting to turn from her but once he felt her finger leave his wound, he opened his eyes and found them locked once more onto her. Her hair was in disarray, and there was a war raging in her eyes. Desperation, determination, fury, and retaliation were there, darkening her face to something he had not witnessed, something he never had thought her capable of. She stared at him, soaking in his fear like fuel. Eventually, she stood from her stance, distancing herself from him and turning towards the makeshift table.
“Now that I have your attention, as I said, I couldn’t have you bleeding out on me.” He watched as she picked up a pair of pliers and studied them before casually replacing them. She sighed. “You have a retribution awaiting you…and I have questions to ask you…information I need…information that you are going to give me one way or another.” She turned and glanced at him, a small, maniacal grin on her face. “And in case you forgot, we do have a nurse here so I know what can and cannot kill you.” She turned back to her tools, picking up a knife and before he had time to react she turned and slammed the knife into his left hand. He screamed, his fingers splaying out as blood pooled from the wound and dripped in a steady rivulet to the concrete floor below. His eyes burned and he choked on the air around him. She stood then, turning back to her tools and leaving the knife in his hand, the tip of the blade dug deep into the wood of the chair. “Let me just say first of all that I know who your dad is…which is…” she laughed lightly “…ironic, considering the circumstances. An eye for an eye.”