365 Days At War

by Nancy Isaak

  There was a single drop of blood on his upper lip—whether from my shoulder or his nose, I didn’t know; Brandon wiped at it in disgust.

  “Almost impressive,” he told me, begrudgingly. “Where’d you learn that one, little mouse? Certainly not from that wimp you made the mistake of marrying.”

  “No,” I said, shaking my head. “That one I learned from Jude—so consider it a present from both us girls.”

  Brandon’s eyes narrowed; the mention of Jude obviously bothered him. He apparently didn’t like being reminded of a humiliation-past.

  “Actually, consider it a present from every one of those girls you’ve got hidden under those stupid sheets,” I added. “You know, the ones who aren’t Tray or Orla—the ones who don’t give you orders—the ones who aren’t your mommies.”

  A few of the Crazies in the middle of the field made the mistake of tittering.

  With a SNAP!, Tray’s whip shot out in their direction, missing one guy’s crotch by mere inches. “Shaddup!” she yelled.

  “Looks like one of your mommies wants to protect her little Bran-Bran,” I taunted. “Maybe I should fight her instead.”

  Tray turned in our direction. “I’ll take her down, Brandon…just say the word.”

  “The word is—mind your own fricking business, Tray!” Brandon yelled at her. “I swear to god, you interfering bitches are getting sheeted when this thing is all over.”

  While Tray didn’t say a word in response—didn’t show any emotion—Orla was clearly spooked. She stumbled off of her wooden platform and moved quickly over to where Alice was now standing beside her horse.

  In response, Alice placed a hand on Orla’s shoulder; to anyone else it would have appeared that she was comforting her.

  Protecting her.

  * * * *

  “Let’s see you fly, angel.” Brandon grabbed my arm and twisted it in a way that it wasn’t meant to go. Before I knew it, I was spinning over his shoulder, my body slamming into the ground—my head following with a thunk.

  For a moment—I actually saw stars.

  It was the excited cheers from the Crazies in the stands that brought me back to my senses. I jumped to my feet, shaking it off; my fists went up and I tried to balance on my one good ankle.

  Before me, Brandon thumped his chest in satisfaction—knowing that he had me beat. “I think I’ll break your wrist next,” he told me. “Or maybe a couple of ribs.”

  “How very gentlemanly of you.”

  He snorted—honestly amused. “This is totally the problem with you guys, Kaylee. Like you never figured out what this new world is all about, did you?”

  “Oh yeah? And what do you think it’s all about?”

  “Well, it’s certainly not about manners…or what’s right or what’s wrong. This world, it’s about strength. It’s about who’s the strongest—who’s the most willing to take whatever’s right in front of them. It’s about survival of the fittest.”

  “You’re wrong.” I shook my head. “People like you might win for a while…but people like me…we’re the ones who win in the end. Good will always triumph over evil."

  I had barely finished that sentence before Brandon closed the distance between us with a leap. His foot snapped out, connecting with my mid-section. I fell back, even as his fists pummeled my head and shoulders.

  There was no chance for me to defend myself.

  Brandon was too quick—too vicious.

  When he grabbed my right hand and wrenched my fingers back toward my wrist, I screamed at the pain; when my wrist actually broke, my scream fractured as well.

  Suddenly I could only gasp—again and again; the agony was so great, so all-encompassing that I had trouble just finding my breaths.

  “Survival of the fittest.” Brandon slowly circled me—poking a finger into my back, my belly, my head—anything to see me jump, hear me gasp even harder. “The liars, the sneaks, the cruel—we’re the winners in this world, Kaylee.”

  “And…that’s…good enough…for you?” I managed to get out between gasps. “To be…less…a lesser human…to take and…hurt…and…kill?”

  Brandon grinned. “Abso-fricking-lutely.”

  And then he ran at me once more.

  I tried to evade him—hobbling on my aching ankle, cradling my broken wrist—but there was no possibility of escape. Brandon caught me easily, lifting me up by my waist and—with a mighty ROAR—he threw me across the field.

  As I fell to the ground in a crumpled heap, the crowd cheered their appreciation—although I was certain that I heard at least one or two cries of dismay. Meanwhile, one of the bass drums pounded out a congratulatory beat.

  Boom…boom…BOOM!

  Knowing that I only had seconds before Brandon would be upon me, I pushed up from the ground—until I was on my elbows and knees. Once again, stars twinkled at the edges of my vision, so much so that I didn’t even see Brandon until his hands were on my arms.

  Until he pushed me back down, flipping me over—onto my back.

  “Kaylee Michelson.” He stepped one leg over my body, so he was straddling me. “This is where the real fun starts.”

  And he dropped down—the air pushing out of my lungs with a whoosh as he sat on me.

  I tried frantically to buck him off; rolling this way and that.

  He easily subdued me, merely by applying pressure to my broken wrist. Then—when I’d stopped moving, Brandon leaned down and licked my face—up one side and down the other.

  “Brandon, stop!” I yelled. “Please, Brandon…stop!”

  Instead of stopping, however, Brandon turned toward the bleachers and grinned at his impatient, raucous audience. “Time to break some angel wings!”

  The cheering from many of the Crazies was immediate; others began to pound their feet against the risers in their excitement.

  When Brandon turned back to me, there was something dark and feral in his eyes. A small drop of saliva escaped the corner of his lips, splashing down on my cheek. He didn’t even seem to notice it, so complete was his blood-lust at that moment. Instead, he lifted his head to the sky and…howled!

  Crazies on both sides of the field began to howl in response.

  “Do it now!” yelled Tray. “Do the bitch!”

  And—before I even realized what he was doing—Brandon had reached down and flipped me over onto my stomach, his pointed teeth biting furiously into my back.

  I struggled to escape, but his weight kept me pinned in place.

  He bit me again and again—drawing blood and flesh.

  And the worst of it—the true humiliation—was that I could feel that Brandon was getting off on his bloodlust. As he leaned over me, the hardness of him pressed against my back.

  Once again, I tried to buck him off. Unfortunately, my movements gave him easy access to the front of my jeans. He slipped his hands under my body and began to fumble at my belt.

  “No…no!” I cried—horrified by what he was intending to do.

  Brandon ignored me, however—unlatching my belt and yanking on it until it came free from the belt loops. Then, he held it up like a prize—proudly exhibiting it to the excited screams of the crowd.

  Desperately, I turned my head toward the Crazies in the center of the field—searching for Alice…for anyone who might come and save me. Unfortunately, my position under Brandon made it difficult to see; only Tray was visible—the look on her face one of hunger and excitement.

  Meanwhile, voices from the bleachers became audible—yelling out horrible things—wanting Brandon to kill me.

  But first…to deliver the ultimate humiliation.

  “You heard them, Kaylee-bird,” Brandon whispered, his lips next to my ears. “Gotta’ feed the beasts.”

  And he reached under me once more, his hands searching for the zipper on my jeans.

  Oh god…

  Was this really the way it would all end?

  * * * *

  “Jacob, Jay, Jude, Lily, Cherry, Shawnee, Peyton…” T
he names escaped my lips in a rush—one after another—the people I had left behind, the people I had sworn to protect…the people who gave me strength.

  “They can’t help you now, Kaylee!” snarled Brandon, yanking the zipper down on my jeans. “You belong to me now, bitch!” He grabbed the waistband of my pants, pulling at them.

  I held on tight with my one good hand, struggling against his superior strength. “JacobJayJudeLilyCherryShawneePeyton!” My jeans began to slip along my hips; the Crazies shrieked their excited approval. “JacobJayJudeLilyCherryShawneePeyton!”

  “You understand what happens next, right?” Brandon’s lips were right next to my ear, his tongue licking at my lobe, while his hands continued to work on pulling my jeans down. “But don’t make this easy for me, Kaylee. I like it when the ladies wiggle.”

  My terror and pain threatened to overwhelm me; I was having difficulty focusing, remembering why I was there. Taking a deep breath, I fought against my natural instincts—the ones that were telling me to run.

  Instead, I attempted to focus…to remember.

  There was a reason why I was underneath Brandon—a reason that I was the only person who could get this close.

  The plan—it was all part of the plan.

  Except that, I wasn’t where I was supposed to be…not completely. There had been a mistake, an error in judgment that could ruin everything. Because Brandon had me on my stomach—and I needed to be on my back.

  The plan absolutely depended on it.

  My jeans began to slip down even farther; in a few seconds, Brandon would have them past my hips.

  Then—all would be lost.

  “God, you smell good,” whispered Brandon, in my ear. “I want you so fricking bad!”

  I turned my head to the side—speaking loudly—so he would be able to hear me. “Then, let’s do this face-to-face, Brandon. Unless you’re too afraid to look me in the eyes. Unless you’re one of those guys who can’t get it up with a real live girl looking up at him.”

  For a moment, Brandon stopped moving; his hands were still on my jeans and the weight of his body bore down on mine—but he went motionless.

  “Can’t even look at the fallen angel?” I continued to goad him. “Afraid to look at me—look me right in my eyes? Probably afraid of what you might see…or is that you’re afraid of what I might see; what a truly little man you are…little boy Brandon who still needs his mommies.”

  I suddenly realized that the bleachers of Crazies had gone silent—most likely confused at Brandon’s stillness. Even Tray remained quiet—watching us closely, waiting to see what would happen next.

  “Your tribe thinks you’re scared,” I told Brandon, raising my voice—hoping it would carry across the field. “They think you’re too scared to face me—that you’re just a coward who comes at his enemies from behind…because he’s weak…because you’re weak…and scared—little Brandon controlled by his mommies…just like he was once controlled by his daddy!”

  “SHADDUP!” Brandon flipped me over, screaming down in my face. “You want it this way, Kaylee?! You really want to see it coming?!”

  Thank god…I was finally on my back.

  Exactly where I needed to be…because of the plan.

  Brandon wrenched my wrists above my head, holding them there with one hand, while the other worked at my jeans. The agony of my broken wrist threatened to knock me unconscious and I had to struggle to remain awake.

  “Better for me anyway, bitch!” snarled Brandon. “Face-to-face while I’m using you...” He leaned down and licked my forehead. “…drinking your blood.”

  “While…you’re…dying,” I gasped.

  Brandon licked me again. “Kaylee Michelson—one delusional bitch.”

  “Delusional bitch…who made it…to spitting…distance.”

  His hand stopped tugging at my jeans. “What did you say?”

  “Delusional bitch…who spits…razors.”

  From Brandon’s instantaneous reaction, it was obvious that he knew exactly what spitting razors was. He abandoned tugging on my jeans, instead placing his hands on the ground to push up and away from me.

  But—it was too late.

  Ignoring the pain in my broken wrist, I latched my arms around the back of his head. As he rose up—so did I—a sliver of metal sliding out from between my lips.

  I could see the beating of Brandon’s carotid artery in his neck—and I leaned toward it. Like the deadliest of kisses, my lips settled on that artery—Brandon’s one vulnerability.

  And—I began to slice.

  * * * *

  The end came surprisingly quick.

  Like I had with him, Brandon tried desperately to buck me off. When he finally succeeded, the damage had already been done.

  Brandon knelt on the ground, his throat shredded—blood spurting out from between his desperate fingers. His eyes were filled with shock…with horror…and he looked small and pitiful to me.

  At long last…a monster slain.

  Careful to maintain a safe distance, I moved to stand in front of him. “People like you and the Foxes,” I told Brandon, “you beat on people like me—trying to rule over us, degrade us, take away our pride and our trust and our humanity.”

  With one hand holding onto his neck, Brandon reached toward me with the other; I slapped it away, continuing, “But what people like you don’t get is that we’re not weak like you think we are. The beast is inside of us, just like you. It’s just that we’re the strong ones—because we know how to control it. Because we know that we can’t let our beast out—because when we do…” And—making certain that only he could see—I slid Florenza’s razor out from under my tongue once more.“…we kill.”

  Brandon’s eyes opened wide; he scrambled away from me, the sudden movement only serving to increase his blood flow.

  Under Florenza’s teachings, I had spent weeks working with the dangerous blade—practicing for hours at a time. With a small flick of my tongue, I now slid the razor back into its hiding place, just like Florenza had taught me.

  Then, I reached out and touched the blood flowing between Brandon’s fingers. He tried to jerk away, but his movements were slow, weak; he was losing too much blood to be able to defend himself.

  “Oh god…NO!” Tray ran toward us—her whip unfurling behind her.

  With a speed I had no idea I possessed, I dove behind Brandon, using my one good hand to pull his head back. Blood arced out from his neck—ebbing and flowing with each beat of his dying heart.

  Tray stopped in her tracks—horrified.

  She turned toward the stands, desperate for help; the Crazies there were all on their feet, many of them looking just as horrified as Tray.

  Nobody moved toward her, though.

  Nobody tried to intervene.

  They just stared silently as Brandon’s life-force slowed to a trickle…then stopped. Finally, a small bubble of blood popped out from between his teeth and he gazed up at me—shocked.

  “Now you die,” I told him.

  And he did.

  * * * *

  When I finally stood up, there was blood dripping from my mouth and chin. The Crazies on both sides of the football field remained eerily quiet. There were a few gasps here and there; soft hiccupping sobs came from one of the drummers.

  Other than that…silence.

  The moment I looked in her direction, Tray took two steps backward, toward where Orla was now hiding behind Alice. Both Foxes looked absolutely stunned—uncertain of what would happen next.

  In front of the bleachers, meanwhile, the White Shirts had gathered in a single group—confused, wary.

  It was time…

  Taking a deep breath—trying to steel myself for what was about to happen—I placed a foot on Brandon’s unmoving chest and licked the blood from my fingers.

  Excited murmurings erupted in the stands—full of horror and disgust.

  When I turned my head toward them, however—the Crazies went silent again.
r />   “This…is…” I punched my fist in the air, punctuating each of my words. “…my…TRIBE!”

  Nate was the first to jump up, screaming only one word, “MOTHER!”

  Erroll and the Stars followed moments later, yelling out, chanting—jubilant screams that echoed throughout the arena. “MOTHER…MOTHER...MOTHER!”

  When their voices finally died down, I held up my hands for their attention.

  “This is my tribe!” I yelled out once more. “And today is the day that this tribe—my tribe—returns to civility!”

  A cheer rose up—quieting only when I held up my hand once again.

  “Today is the day when my tribe returns to the good…and the kind…and the compassionate!”

  Up in the stands, I could see kids starting to move—Stars positioning themselves behind White Shirts and other Crazies.

  “But first,” I continued, “today is the day when this tribe goes wild for one last time…beasts to defeat the beasts!”

  I began to turn in a circle, shouting—so everyone could hear on both sides of the field. “Only the evil need fear what is about to happen, only the evil need fear our anger and our vengeance! And make no mistake about it…we shall have our vengeance!”

  Off to one side, Tray began to back up, moving slowly toward the far gate. Orla, meanwhile, stayed where she was, effectively hidden behind Alice. The White Shirts along the running track continued to look confused—their heads swiveling between myself and the furtive movements all around them that they were only now beginning to sense.

  “So, listen closely for your own safety,” I yelled. “If you are innocent, if you have not owned slaves, if you have not killed, if you have held steady to what is good and right, then you will be safe. Sit quietly…fear not because…VENGEANCE BEGINS!”

  And—ignoring the pain in my wrist—I rose both of my arms in the air and brought them down, signaling the killing to begin.

  * * * *

  All through the stands and on the field, Stars went into action—pulling out knives and, in a few cases, guns. The slaves, meanwhile, whipped off their sheets, exposing a ferocity in their faces and cross-knives in their hands.