The Truth Circle

by Cameron Ayers

  “You’ve gotten good with that.” Lamar said, impressed.

  The fire spread and gradually illuminated the room in a reddish glow. Guttural Ken’s snarling visage appeared even more sinister by its light. The light repelled the looming shadows as it grew in intensity, feeding off the wood beneath the kindling. The pressure on the bugling canvas walls receded as the light continued to spread. Lamar noticed shapes wriggling in the far corners of the wigwam, hiding in the deepest shadows where the light couldn’t reach. They were sharing the room with the iku once again, but unlike last night, they lacked a working flashlight to drive them out.

  Coop took a deep breath and sat on one of the dozens of logs set in a wide circle around the firepit. He made a face as he sat on it, stood up again and ran his finger along the edge.

  “It’s damp,” he complained.

  “Most of the wood is,” Gaby explained. “We thought we’d try drying these pieces by placing them near the fire.

  “How much dry wood do we have?” Lamar asked.

  Gaby pointed to a small pile off to the side, made up of six logs and dozens of branches and hacked pieces of bark.

  “That doesn’t look like much,” he said, worried. “How long can we hold out?”

  “It’s ‘we’ now, is it?” guttural Ken sneered. “If we’re careful, we could last nine hours. Ten, tops.”

  Lamar did a quick calculation and inhaled sharply.

  “That only gets us to 5 a.m.” he said, his brow furrowing in concern. “That’s at least two hours we have to make up.”

  “You wanna chop some more wood? Have at it,” guttural Ken said mockingly as he pointed toward the entrance. “Your imminent death is thataway.”

  * * * Eight Hours Until Sunrise * * *

  After four hours, the two opposing factions had settled into a familiar, if still uneasy, rhythm.

  Gaby kept the fire fed from her perch on one of the damp logs. She fondled the hatchet resting on her lap. To her right, Lamar sat stock-still as he stared impassively across the flames at guttural Ken, watching carefully for any further signs of aggression. His spear rested on his shoulder, ready to be lowered defensively at a moment’s notice. Beside him, Coop alternated between pacing nervously in a tight loop like he was on patrol and trying to initiate a conversation with people who were in no mood talk.

  On the other side of the fire, Ken and Beverly kept their eyes glued to the trio. Beverly looked sick, huddling under a blanket for warmth even as beads of sweat rolled down her face. Lamar noticed that the black mark had spread to her neck, and it appeared to be affecting her respirations, which were shallow and wheezy. Beside her, guttural Ken seethed with barely contained fury, just waiting for anything to set him off. Most people would grow fatigued after 30 minutes of constant rage, but not him. His hate seemed boundless, as though it were feeding off itself. That impression was heightened by the red glow of the firelight, which painted everything in a hellish light that made him look quite diabolical.

  Wade seemed oblivious to the tension in the air, bouncing giddily up and down and straining against his bonds as he sought to welcome “the visitors.”

  Gaby eyed their rapidly depleting fuel pile. The iku were unusually aggressive tonight, slithering in frightening numbers right up to the edge of the light, as if its hold on them were waning. To keep the creatures at bay, they had been forced to keep the fire burning hotter and higher than on previous nights, and it was taking a terrible toll on their wood supply. It wasn’t even 11:00 p.m. yet, and they’d already managed to burn through half their supply. At this rate, they’d be out of fuel by 4 a.m.

  Lamar leaned in toward Gaby, while still keeping his eyes fixated on guttural Ken.

  “How long have they been like this?” he whispered, nodding toward guttural Ken, whose left eye twitched disturbingly as he glowered at Lamar, and Beverly, whose quivering was so pronounced that the spear in her hand vibrated in time with the shivers.

  “Beverly’s been like that most of the day,” Gaby whispered back. “Ken’s been getting progressively worse, but I’ve never seen him this bad before.”

  “We can hear you, you know. Nothing’s wrong with us,” Beverly called out from across the fire before doubling over in another coughing fit.

  Guttural Ken stood up, clenching his spear with such primordial fury it was a wonder the thing didn’t snap in two. He was tired of waiting for something to set him off. Time to take the initiative.

  “Enough fucking around!” he spat. “What did you really come back for? I want answers, and they better be good.”

  “We’re not here for revenge,” Lamar insisted calmly.

  “Not for a lack of encouragement on my part,” Coop chimed in, giving guttural Ken the nastiest look he could manage.

  “I don’t believe you,” guttural Ken said, his voice dropping low with suspicion.

  “That’s your problem,” Gaby retorted.

  Guttural Ken lowered his spear until it was level with Gaby’s head.

  “I’m making it your problem,” he threatened. Beside him, Beverly rose to her feet with difficulty and held her spear one handed.

  Coop and Gaby stood up in unison, both of them itching for a fight.

  “No, not like this!” Lamar shouted, throwing his spear down to the ground with such a clatter that it drew everyone’s attention. “Gaby, Coop, stand down!” he glared at both of them until they reluctantly lowered their weapons.

  “You want to know why we came back?” Lamar said to guttural Ken. “It was to keep the rest of you from killing each other.”

  Guttural Ken burst out in condescending laughter.

  “Wow, way to make him see the error of his ways, Lamar,” Coop deadpanned, clearly uncomfortable with his pacifist approach.

  “Self-defense is a last resort,” Lamar insisted. “No matter how it looks, that’s not the Ken we know. He’s been changed.”

  “You can’t hamstring us like that, Lamar,” Gaby insisted, stealing an annoyed glance at him. “This is serious.”

  “As am I,” Lamar answered sternly. “Everyone here is going to make it out alive. And once we’re back home, those three …” Lamar paused dramatically as his finger swept across guttural Ken, Beverly and Wade. “…will answer for their crimes.”

  Guttural Ken barked out in savage laughter again as Coop rounded on Lamar.

  “We can’t beat them by holding hands and singing Kumbaya!” he exclaimed, his eyes nearly popping out of their sockets.

  “We don’t have to beat them,” Lamar insisted with an uncharacteristically self-assured grin. “They’re going to surrender.”

  Gaby and Coop both looked at him like he was nuts.

  “Really?” guttural Ken sneered, humoring Lamar for the moment. “And why would I do that, Martin Luther Ding-Dong? All I need is one good spear thrust and both you and your plan wind up in a ditch.”

  Instead of responding to guttural Ken, Lamar turned to Coop.

  “You remember the route to Fawke’s Mill?” he asked.

  “I think so,” Coop replied, confused by the question.

  “Good,” Lamar responded as he fished the map out of his pocket and threw it on the fire. The ancient map went up like a Roman candle, briefly sending the flames two feet into the air and repelling the iku lurking in the shadows nearby.

  “How about now?” Lamar challenged guttural Ken through the curtain of flames. “We’re offering you a chance to surrender peacefully. We’re the only ones that know the way out, and there’s three of us. You can’t take all of us down, and you can’t escape without us. Accept my terms, and I give you my word no harm will come to you.”

  Guttural Ken spat into the fire in response. He quivered with rage, biting his lower lip so hard that it drew blood.

  “You’ll die for that,” he promised Lamar.

  Beverly, who was standing beside him and looked truly alarmed by the escalation of hostilities, leaned in and whispered in his ear.

  “Maybe we should l
isten to him,” she suggested timidly.

  “Shut the fuck up, you stupid, wrinkly old bitch!” guttural Ken bellowed as she slinked away with her head bowed. “Do what I tell you, or you’ll be the first to die!”

  Off to the side, Wade began craning his neck at odd angles, trying to slip his gag. After several tries, he had loosened it enough on one side to talk out of the corner of his mouth.

  “Let them in! Let the visitors in! They can save your friend, like they saved me!” he ranted, motioning toward Ken. “Before the visitors freed me, I was like him: little more than an animal, filled with so much malice I thought my heart would explode! It led me to murder my wife in a fit of rage! I buried her out in the Chihuahuan Desert and spent days wandering the wastes in confusion, not caring if I lived or died as the sun tried to burn the sin from my body,” he proselytized at full volume, only his sermon was going a mile a minute. “But the sun wasn’t strong enough. My sister found me and sent me up here to hide from the authorities. The sun had done its damage, but the rage persisted. It turned into self-loathing and finally, a rejection of my basic humanity. But salvation came! The visitors did in the darkness what the sun’s light could not! They’ll cleanse you as they did me! All we have to do is let them in! They will save you from yourselves.”

  Everyone gawked at Wade, still trying to process his bizarre confession. His conviction was absolute, and despite his erratic behavior, it evoked images of Cotton Mather rather than Hannibal Lecter. Wade didn’t seem dangerous anymore, just overexcited, like a hyperactive 8-year-old. It was hard to imagine this was the same person who had tried to kill them all not three days ago.

  That appeared to be the final straw for guttural Ken.

  “You want salvation, little man?” he bellowed, the fire dancing in his eyes as Wade continued to ramble. Guttural Ken pushed past Beverly, nearly knocking her over in the process, and strode toward Wade with his spear in hand. “I’ll give you a taste of my brand of salvation!”

  Guttural Ken reared back and drove his spear deep into his prisoner’s right thigh. Wade’s sermon abruptly cut off, replaced with a shriek of agony. Guttural Ken started twisting the handle to maximize Wade’s pain, wrenching it with such force that the tip snapped off in Wade’s leg.

  “Where are your precious iku now, huh?” he hollered, shaking with sadistic delight as he watched Wade writhe in unimaginable pain. “No one’s going to save you from me!”

  “Holy shit!” Lamar exclaimed as he stood up in shock. Gaby and Coop looked to him, wondering whether they should intervene.

  Trickles of blood appeared around the edges of the jagged hunk of wood protruding from Wade’s leg. The trickle quickly became a steady stream and started pooling at Wade’s feet as he thrashed about in agony.

  “Aggghhh! I suffer any atonement for my sins!” Wade shrieked through the pain. “Heed me, oh visitors! I will show this lost soul the way! Ggghhhhaaahhh!”

  Guttural Ken examined his spear. It was now a foot shorter, and the new tip — the point where it had fractured — was jagged and fearsome looking. He aimed it at Wade’s face, stopping just a few inches short. Wade instantly fell silent, his eyes wide with fear.

  “If I hear so much as another peep from you, this goes in your eye,” guttural Ken warned. Wade nodded his understanding as he grimaced in unimaginable pain.

  “That goes for the rest of you, too!” guttural Ken declared, pointing at Lamar, who stood some 15 feet away. “This is my house now! You’ll do what I say when I say, or no one will ever find your bodies!”

  With that declaration, he sauntered back over to his former spot, causing Beverly to scoot fearfully out of his way, and sat cross-legged on the ground with a look of immense satisfaction on his face.

  Lamar and Coop rushed over to Wade’s side, while Gaby stood guard, hatchet in hand. Lamar tried to hold Wade still while Coop examined the wound.

  The broken shaft protruded several inches past Wade’s thigh, and a torrent of blood was seeping out from the sides. While the shaft sealed off much of the wound, the skin had torn around it thanks to Ken’s twisting and jerking motions. Most of the blood came from those peripheral injuries.

  “This is bad!” Coop exclaimed, making certain to keep his voice down to avoid arousing guttural Ken’s wrath.

  “Can you stop the bleeding?” Lamar asked.

  “Maybe,” Coop said doubtfully as he studied the wound. “It doesn’t look like he hit an artery. The real problem is the internal bleeding. We need to stop it, or he could lose the leg.”

  “You’re just going to keep that wood in his leg?” Lamar asked.

  “Since that’s the only thing keeping him alive at the moment, yes,” Coop responded sharply. “Now give me your belt.”

  “What?”

  “I need something to cut the circulation. Give me your belt,” Coop repeated urgently.

  Lamar hastily unbuckled his belt, handing it over to Coop, who looped it loosely around Wade’s thigh, about five inches above the wound. He nodded to Lamar, who put the gag back in Wade’s mouth.

  “Bite down on this,” he advised.

  Coop grabbed both ends of the makeshift tourniquet and pulled tight. The gag muffled Wade’s tortured screams as tears coursed down his cheeks. Coop buckled it into place as Lamar gently patted Wade’s forehead to let him know that the worst had passed.

  Wade’s gasps of pain gradually eased until his breathing pattern was nearly normal. After a few minutes, he resumed his bouncing motion, only slower and without the enthusiasm of before. His previously giddy expression had been replaced with a mask of concentrated agony as the up-and-down motion flexed his mutilated thigh, sending shrieking nerve impulses up his leg. He was like a child that insisted on playing in a bouncy castle lined with spikes.

  “No sudden movements,” Coop advised him as he stood up and wiped his bloody hands on the hem of his robes. “Try to keep your leg still.”

  Wade nodded, although his eyes were squeezed shut with pain, and stopped bouncing. As Lamar and Coop returned to their seats, Wade resumed the motion, only now he was only using his upper body, alternating between hunching forward and sitting fully erect. Lamar and Coop exchanged confused glances as they watched him resume this masochistic display.

  What neither of them knew was that Wade’s bouncing had nothing to do with enthusiasm and everything to do with freeing himself. He’d spent hours using the bouncing motion as leverage to saw through his plastic wrist bindings. Every time Wade rocked up and down, the sharp stone he’d found during his water torture session would cut deeper into his bindings. He was already halfway through them.

  Soon he’d be free, and then he’d show everyone the true power of the visitors.

  * * * Three Hours Until Sunrise * * *

  As the fire petered down to smoldering embers and a few wisps of flame, Gaby tossed the final log into the firepit. She grabbed Lamar’s spear and stoked the embers with its tip, sending sparks into the air and producing additional trickles of flame that lapped greedily at the new fuel. The sudden burst of flames sent the iku lurking on the edge of the firelight scurrying away.

  “That’s the last one,” she said dejectedly. All eyes went to the log as the flames began to eat away at its edges, trying to mentally calculate how much longer it would keep them alive.

  Beside her, Lamar was stripping away bark from one of the dozen rejects they’d been warming beside the fire all night. He ran his finger along the interior wood, hoping for good news.

  “Any luck?” Gaby asked him.

  His crestfallen expression said it all: still too damp to burn. There was only one log in the teepee that he hadn’t ruled out, and he wasn’t about to examine it because of its occupant. Guttural Ken sat astride the final log, his back arched and legs splayed out like he was lord of the manor, except his ferocious gaze and bloodied spear reminded them all that this lord was not benevolent.

  “What about the flashlight?” Gaby asked.

  Lamar knocked on t
he plastic exterior and flicked the switch several times. Nothing happened.

  “Either the battery’s dead or the bulb burned out,” he answered glumly. “Either way, no light.”

  On the opposite side of the fire, Beverly quietly suffered. Her shivering had progressed to full-on tremors so bad she could no longer hold a spear, a fact she tried to conceal by wrapping herself in a blanket. As she stared into the fire, Gaby noticed a dark liquid oozing out of the corners of Beverly’s bloodshot eyes. It was hard to tell because of the firelight, but it looked like her tear ducts were leaking blood.

  About 10 feet away from her, opposite the entrance, Coop tended to Wade. His patient had lost a lot of blood, and every time he adjusted the tourniquet to restore circulation, Wade’s thigh spurted more of the precious liquid into the dirt.

  Even in the reddish glow of the firelight, Wade looked white as a sheet. But that didn’t deter him as he pleaded through his gag for the group to “whet whem win,” a phrase he repeated incessantly. He grimaced in pain every time he raised and lowered himself, yet he persisted, to the bewilderment of the others. And with each downward thrust, his concealed stone sliced a bit deeper into his plastic bindings.

  Lamar checked his binary watch: 4:38 a.m. The wood supply had lasted longer than they’d expected, but it was never going to see them through the night. And they had two and a half hours left to go.

  Gaby stoked the fire with the tip of Lamar’s spear, gently at first, and then with increasing fervor, until Lamar pulled it back for fear she’d break the tip.

  “I never should have picked this place!” she lamented. “If only I had told Bill I was going to visit my folks! Or a yoga retreat! Better yet, I shouldn’t have told him anything and just run the minute his back was turned! Literally anything would be better than dying here senselessly!”

  “Was Bill your …” Lamar gently probed.

  “Yeah, my abusive boyfriend,” Gaby cut him off, placing venomous emphasis on “abusive.” No point in being coy about it at the end. “I told him this was a two-week trip,” she continued, her head bowed low in despair. “I figured by the time he came to look for me, I’d have a weeklong head start. Why am I so unlucky?”