by Mike Staton
Had he failed everyone he’d killed? Evan, Morrbid, Jessica? All of the nameless, nearly faceless faux-soldiers at the depot? Had there been a way to protect Evan and Jessica from danger and infection? Had there been a way to talk Morrbid down from whatever explosive course of action he’d chosen to take? A peaceful way to handle the faux-soldiers? There were other options, but in the game of second guessing himself, only the worst presented themselves.
Clomping footsteps preceded someone else entering the room and distracted Percival from his self-pity party. He kept his head down, however, uncertain that he wanted to readily reveal the tear tracks on his cheeks. He’d lost himself to grief and guilt for a moment while alone, and wasn’t ready to admit that weakness to someone else. Much less someone he considered little more than an enemy or obstacle to getting what he wanted.
“Did yuh drift off again?” A male voice drifted through the air.
“No. This is just the comfortable new way to catch some rest. Does wonders for the neck,” Percival answered with sarcasm. He was a little surprised that his voice hadn’t cracked with the emotion he’d hastily stuffed up.
“I bet. Gets it all nice and stretched out and taunt, I’m sure.” The man sat down across from Percival.
Percival studied the man’s boots. They looked like the same standard issue ones that the others had worn, just not quite with the same amount of wear. He slowly lifted his head and looked at the man. He recognized him from the prior day (or was it earlier in the day?) as the last of the five soldiers to confront him in the basement. The fat one who barely fit into his uniform.
For some reason the man’s obesity struck a nerve with Percival. He’d missed meals since leaving the campus and finding the military depot. He’d dropped weight rationing food since the dead started walking. It had done wonders for showing the definition of the muscles he’d built with long hours on the road, or laboring to secure the campus. But he didn’t like the forced diet or the barest of survival.
And this man, this fat man, before him couldn’t hardly fit into his uniform because of being overfed. Percival ignored the stab of recognition that Roy Joy also was overweight, focusing instead on the military man before him.
Roy Joy was a friend. This man was not.
“What do you want?” Any sense of friendliness had dropped from Percival’s tone.
“Was gonna clean yuh up. See if’n there won’t somethin’ else I could get yuh,” the man answered. He looked wounded and hurt by Percival’s sudden change in tone.
Percival stared at the man, studying his lilting features and long drawn out syllables. The messy mop of brown hair atop his head that, despite being large due to fat, was still slightly too big for his body. Did the man suffer from Down’s syndrome?
He frowned and looked back down.
“Yuh okay?” the man asked.
“No,” Percival answered. The fight left his body in a mental whoosh that felt neither relieving nor pleasant. He felt tired, beyond tired, and like an asshole for how he’d addressed the man.
“Wha’s wrong?” Genuine concern marked the man’s voice.
“I’m tired. I miss my friends. I’m worried for them. My wrists hurt. I’m not even certain just how long I’ve been sitting here in this chair,” Percival said quietly and without looking back up. “Sorry for snapping at you. What’s your name?”
This man wasn’t the enemy. Hell he might have been just as much a captive as Percival and his friends were now.
“It’s alright,” he pronounced it ‘awright,’ “Ah’m Indiana, but everyone calls me Jones. Er Professor.”
Percival lifted his head. He got the Indiana Jones reference that was clearly going over the man’s head. “I’m Percival.”
“Like the Arthurian knight?” Indiana’s tone took on a reverent quality.
“Something like that. How long have I been here?” Percival asked. He didn’t wait for Indiana to latch onto his less than solid confirmation that he was named for a Knight of the Round Table.
“Same day as yuh was knocked out,” Indiana said. He lifted a damp wad of paper towels. Percival nodded his consent. Indiana wasn’t exactly gentle as he wiped the crusted blood from Percival’s nose and chin.
“Ow,” Percival muttered as Indiana finished. “Where’re the others?”
Indiana was quiet for a moment. “I ain’t s’posed tuh say.”
“It’s important to me to know my friends’re safe, Indiana,” Percival said. He quietly hoped he didn’t need to press the man for information or try to manipulate him into revealing something he wasn’t supposed to.
Indiana looked down. An emotion, grief or sadness, flickered across his face. That wasn’t exactly a good sign. However, given the evasiveness of Proxies, it caused several horrific scenes to bloom into Percival’s mind. The least of which only had them dead in the street.
“What happened?” Percival asked quietly. “What happened to my friends?”
Indiana struggled with conflicting emotions, but didn’t hide them as Percival had a habit of doing. He knew the answers to Percival’s question, but had been told by someone not to tell him.
Percival took in a little breath. He could ask again later. “It’s alright. I’m a little parched. Thirsty. Could I have some water please?”
The relief on Indiana’s face spoke volumes. Percival grappled with the desire to immediately demand information.
“Yup. Can do. I’ll be right back.” A lopsided grin bloomed on Indiana’s face as he got up and clomped out of the room.
Percival replayed what he had gotten out of the brief conversation with the man, trying to ascertain what had happened and what plan he could make from here. He might be able to manipulate Indiana into releasing him, but didn’t want to if he didn’t absolutely need to. With his wrists bound behind his back, he didn’t feel like he had much choice.
Then there was the fact that the man had become visibly upset at the mention of Percival’s friends. That worried him far more than any thought of escape.
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. The light from outside was nearly gone, casting long, dark shadows through the room. Percival didn’t think that escape was coming tonight. And he needed to be sure that he wasn’t going to be escaping alone before an attempt was made.
But he would be escaping. That much he was certain. They wouldn’t be keeping him captive forever. He had friends and family out there to return to. Promises to keep. And he’d bring everyone he’d gotten into this shitty situation out of it with him.
Chapter 19
Percival woke at first light. Or, more accurately, when his bladder told him it couldn’t go much longer without being emptied. He strained against the bindings that still held him to the chair. His muscles protested the movement. He was stiff and ached and felt as though he’d barely rested. He hadn’t anticipated being left in the chair overnight. He didn’t expect to be fed, but remaining tied to the chair seemed slightly like overkill. He rolled his shoulders and worked his arms as best he could, convincing himself that they were indeed still attached.
A part of him wished that they weren’t. Then the pins and needles feeling he was getting from them wouldn’t last any longer. He’d also be free to stalk through the house kicking the ever living shit out of anything that passed in front of him. He wondered, until his bladder gave another warning wave, if pins and needles would eventually lead to some more permanent damage to his limbs.
He cleared his throat, getting phlegm loose before spitting it out.
“Hey!” he shouted. He didn’t care if a zombie outside heard him. It might make a run at the door that much easier. “Anyone around? I need to go!”
“Yeah, yeah. What else is new?” Greyson answered Percival’s shouts. It also squashed the minute worry that they’d left him there for who knew what to find.
“No. Not like go as in leave. More like I’m going to make whoever sits in this chair next really unhappy, go.” Percival twisted to try and see the
door from where he was. The morning sunrise was beautiful and all, but the danger was in the rest of the house. Not resting in front of him through the window.
“Right,” Greyson said.
Percival wondered if Greyson’s ‘punishment’ had been getting the night shift watching over Percival’s makeshift prison. He shifted his legs to ward off the impending explosion.
“Hey Jones. Get in here. Gotta job for you,” Greyson called.
A moment later and Percival could hear the approaching clomps of Indiana. “What’s goin’ on?”
There was a pause before Indiana added, “Sir?”
Percival was pretty sure that Greyson didn’t outrank Indiana in any fashion except the intellect department.
“Our guest needs to ‘go.’ See him to the latrine and bring ‘im back,” Greyson said.
“Are yuh going tuh help me?” Indiana asked.
“Uh, no, Jones.”
“Lieutenant Proxies said tha—“
Greyson cut Indiana off. “You saying you’re not capable of handling one prisoner with his hands tied behind his back for a few minutes?”
Indiana stuttered through a handful of words that Percival couldn’t quite make out. He wondered just what Indiana was trying to get out in response to this bully. He didn’t like the way the man was being treated either.
“Get in there, Professor,” Greyson said.
“Yes, sir,” Indiana said, his voice wilted with defeat. His clomping footsteps preceded him into the room.
Percival felt a fresh zip tie applied to his wrists before the ones binding him to the chair were cut off. He shook his arms for a moment, working feeling back into them. He considered briefly taking complete advantage of the situation and trying for his escape. The problem was that he didn’t know how many other soldiers, or where they were, were in the house or where his gear was. He settled for letting his arms get feeling back before standing and presenting them to be retied behind his back.
He didn’t blame Indiana for his actions. He sympathized with the man. Something seemed broken in him, but he was making the best of a truly shitty situation. “Where am I going?”
“Backyard,” Indiana said.
Percival stepped through the door and into the hallway. He had to quickly hop over a foot that Greyson thrust out to trip him, but otherwise traversed the building unimpeded. He kept his head on a swivel, making mental notes of who he saw where and hoping to spot Sarah or Carlos in his trek through the house.
He descended the stairs, looking at the skinny kid, Yeltz, in a uniform that was way too big for him. He sat at the table before a laptop, quietly punching keys on the keyboard.
He didn’t even bother looking up as Percival was escorted through the kitchen and dining room to the sliding backdoor. He counted two more soldiers, another woman and a man he’d not seen before, at the table in the dining room. That brought his mental tally up to eight soldiers that he knew of. He wondered where the three soldiers he hadn’t seen were.
There were certainly rooms he hadn’t seen in his trek to the backyard, and he suspected that one was being used for a sleeping quarters while the other housed his friends. Why he was being kept separate from the others, he didn’t know. He suspected something horrible had happened, and that was just from judging Indiana’s reaction to his asking about them the night before.
Percival stepped through the backdoor and into the backyard. The sight there shocked him. He stumbled a step as he did, stopping dead in his tracks. Indiana bumped into him.
Carlos sat against the far wooden fence. His head rested against his chest, his legs were straight, and both hands palm up in his lap. Percival might have assumed the man was asleep if it weren’t for the large, bloody hole in his chest. Right over where Percival assumed his heart was.
Percival stared for what seemed like an eternity, lost to a stupor that didn’t befit a leader. Not that he was feeling like a terrific leader right that moment. His ‘flock’ had just dwindled to a single soul and even that being wasn’t a certainty. He hadn’t seen or heard Sarah within the house. For all he knew, she was facedown in the street out front.
“Percival?” Indiana asked. “Sir knight?”
“I’m not a knight, Indiana. Was just named after one,” Percival said quietly. He pulled his gaze away from Carlos’s corpse and settled it on a small dirty hole dug into the backyard. He frowned again, though not at the sight of where they expected him to relieve himself. He had spent enough time camping that peeing outdoors didn’t bother him.
“I, uh.” Percival stopped before the muddy hole without looking toward the corpse again. He wondered how long it would be before its decaying stench drew zombies to the yard. “Can’t really go with my hands tied behind my back.”
He glanced at Indiana who seemed suddenly incredibly ill at ease. He was casting not-so-veiled glances at the corpse positioned against the back fence.
“I ain’t s’posed tuh cut your hands free,” Indiana said.
“What if I just let you retie them after I’m done?” Percival asked. He was having difficulty keeping a straight face with Carlos’s body so nearby. He also didn’t like manipulating Indiana when he didn’t think he’d be able to bring the man along with him when he left.
“I ain’t got enough ties for that,” Indiana answered slowly.
Percival crossed his legs a little and started to do the ‘pee dance.’ “I’ve got a shy bladder and can’t have you helpin’ me. What if I just hold my hands behind my back when you escort me back inside? No one would need to be the wiser.”
“I ‘unno,” Indiana said. He was dutifully studying his feet.
“I don’t want to get you in trouble—“ at least that much was true, “—but, I’ve really got to go.”
“Promise to keep yer hands behind you?”
“Promise,” Percival said. He might even keep it, unless an opportunity presented itself. He felt his wrists become free as Indiana cut the zip ties away. He shook his arms once more and rubbed at his wrists. He could feel them again, which was an improvement from when he was attached to the chair.
He cast one more glance at the fallen Carlos and proceeded to relieve himself in the latrine, kicking dirt over the wet spot he’d just created. He turned back to Indiana and made a show of putting his hands behind his back for the man.
“Now just act like I’m actually bound up back there and no one should be the wiser,” Percival said. He took a breath, keeping his hands close together as he walked back to the house and inside. He didn’t look at the pair of soldiers still having breakfast, nor Yeltz as he punched keys on the laptop.
He climbed the stairs in front of Indiana. Greyson was still sitting outside of the boy’s room where Percival had been held captive for the past day. He glanced at Indiana and briefly considered delivering a vicious kick to the man’s head.
But he didn’t think now was his time. There were too many soldiers in the house with too many weapons at hand. If he did drop Greyson with the blow, it’d leave him with Greyson’s sidearm, and nothing else.
A lone pistol against three assault rifles was not the odds he wanted to play. This was especially when he didn’t know where Sarah was. Bullets had a bad tendency to punch right through drywall.
Percival stepped over Greyson, purposefully clipping the heel of his boot hard across the man’s shin when it was stuck out to trip him, and into the room.
He retook his seat. “Indiana? Mind putting the ties on a little looser this time? I could barely feel my hands the last time you did it.”
“Sure thing.” Indiana provided him with a goofy grin. A moment later and Percival’s wrists were bound to the chair once more.
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, closing his eyes. “One more thing.”
“Yeah?”
“Is Sarah, the girl I came with, okay?” Percival dreaded what the answer might be, but he asked it anyways.
Indiana was silent for a time longer than Percival liked.
<
br /> “Yeh, she’s alright,” he said at last.
Percival let out a sigh of relief. He was sorely tempted to ask where she was, but didn’t feel like pressing his luck. And he only had a couple places to check for her anyways. The house simply wasn’t that big.
That was, of course, assuming that she’d not been removed from the house. “Thanks again.”
“Just what’re you thanking the dolt for?” Greyson’s voice thundered behind Percival’s eyes.
“Being nice. A concept you’re clearly foreign to,” Percival snapped back at Greyson. He opened his eyes.
“Go on an’ get, Jones,” Greyson ordered.
Indiana gave a lopsided salute that wasn’t returned by Greyson and positively scampered out of the room.
Greyson stalked closer to Percival and leaned in close. “You’ve quite the little mouth on you.”
“And you’ve anger problems,” Percival responded. He kept still, not wanting to draw attention to the fact his wrists were so loosely bound that he might be able to slip the ties. The briefest moment of guilt for asking Indiana to tie them loosely flashed through him.
If it meant he got away with Sarah safely he’d have made the same decision a thousand times over.
“And you’re a snot-nosed brat who’s a bit too big for his britches,” Greyson retorted.
“Going British on me? Why not just call them trousers,” Percival baited Greyson. He wasn’t quite sure what had spawned this little bit of verbal sparring, but at least on some level he was enjoying the back and forth. And he seemed to be on the victorious side of the volley.
“I ain’t British,” Greyson said.
“Just old then? I mean, last time I heard someone use—“ Percival’s words were sliced short as Greyson lashed out with a jab. Percival dipped just in time to turn the blow into skidding across the harder part of his head. It still hurt, Greyson packed a mean jab, but it didn’t do any real damage. He’d certainly have a bruise there later, but a bruise was better than a shattered eye socket or dislocated jaw.