Worthe's Village

by Ron Ripley

  When the truck stopped, all four doors on the truck opened. Two black-clad figures approached the gate while the other pair went to the truck’s rear.

  One of the two new arrivals at the gate spoke, the voice coming out male, but mechanical due to what sounded like a fault in the system.

  “Subject B,” the man said. “You’ve been informed of the newest subject.”

  It was not a question, of course, but Marcus still had to resist the urge to feign ignorance.

  Instead, he nodded.

  “Excellent,” the man stated. “One of us is going to carry Subject D to you. You will take the subject and retire to your position in the chapel. Once we have confirmation of your arrival, we will unload supplies. When we are finished, you will be able to return to this place and gather up what you need.”

  “Alright,” Marcus said simply. He couldn’t think of anything else to say.

  The speaker gestured to the two at the back of the truck, and they quickly opened the door. Marcus watched as the man who had stood beside the speaker turned and went to the truck, where he accepted a blanket-wrapped figure. The man placed the newest subject over his shoulder with the ease and disdain a shopper might have for a large pillow or a bag of potatoes.

  Marcus waited as the gate was opened, guns were trained on him, and the guard with the subject approached him.

  When the man was near enough, Marcus extended his arms.

  “I’ll take it from here,” he said, but the man stepped closer and helped to place the subject over Marcus’s shoulder.

  And in that nearness, the guard spoke in a low voice, inaudible to anyone other than the two of them.

  “My grandfather swore by that brand of tobacco.”

  Before Marcus could respond, the man had turned on his heel with military precision and was on his way back.

  Marcus kept his mouth closed and walked away from the gate, wincing as the iron clanged shut. He remembered the first speaker’s admonition, and he moved as quickly as he could to the chapel. With each step, his burden became heavier, but he didn’t dare stop. He had no doubt he would be executed, and Marcus had too much to do before he died.

  And all of it had to do with Abel Worthe.

  Marcus’s legs ached, and his back throbbed by the time he crossed the threshold into the chapel.

  Maggie was in a corner, wrapped in a blanket and the remnants of a bowl of oatmeal in front of her on the stone floor.

  “Hello Maggie,” Marcus said in a thick voice, lowering the newest arrival to a pew. “It seems we have a new friend.”

  He peeled back the folds of the blanket and staggered back, sitting down hard on the pew opposite the new subject’s.

  “No,” Marcus whispered, looking to Maggie, whose eyes shone with curiosity, “it can’t be.”

  But it was.

  On the bench, sleeping in the comfort of the blanket, was a child.

  Chapter 34: A Stranger in a Strange Land

  Alex heard the murmur of voices, low and intense. A man and a woman.

  His mother and stepfather were arguing again.

  No, he thought, wincing at the way his head was pounding. They’re never this quiet.

  A vague suspicion that he was having a nightmare made him open his eyes, and what he saw stunned him into immobility.

  He could see through a large doorway, beyond which was an old man and a young woman. They were talking and gesturing towards Alex. Around them, Alex saw old headstones, the kind that had been in the cemetery his third-grade class had visited years earlier where they did rubbings of the stones.

  For a moment, the idea that he was still dreaming clung to him, but the way his head felt and the way the room he was in smelled of sweat and age told him he wasn’t.

  And then he remembered dinner.

  Alex tasted the burnt haddock. Remembered the sight of the boiled spinach, the terrible texture of the margarine.

  There was someone at the back door, he recalled, sitting up and shivering. He shifted his weight and felt something press into the side of his leg. Reaching into his pocket, wincing at the pain in his shoulder as he pulled out his paperback copy of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone.

  His movement had caught the attention of the people outside, and when he looked at them, Alex saw they were both staring at him.

  He wanted to scream, but he couldn’t.

  ***

  Even from where he stood in the graveyard, Marcus could see the fear, the absolute terror on the boy’s face.

  Where did they get him from? Marcus wondered. It was the question he and Maggie had been debating. She thought they must have kidnapped him while the boy was out and about.

  Marcus had seen and heard Abel Worthe’s intensity as he had spoken about the experiment.

  He killed this child’s family, Marcus thought, and he knew it for truth.

  One look at the boy’s conscious face confirmed it.

  Marcus walked to the doorway of the chapel and stopped.

  “May I come in?” he asked.

  The boy pushed himself against the pew, gathered his knees up under his chin, his right hand clutching a paperback, and nodded.

  “Thank you,” Marcus said in a gentle voice. He stepped over the threshold and came to a stop again. “What’s your name?”

  The boy cleared his throat and then whispered, “Alex. Alexander Kallistos.”

  “Alex, I’m Marcus,” he said. “And the woman standing out there, her name is Maggie. Do you know how you got here?”

  Alex shook his head. “But I know what happened. Someone killed my stepfather. I think they killed everyone else, too.”

  Marcus heard Maggie gasp behind him, then the pounding of her feet on the ground as she hurried away. A moment later came the painfully loud sound of her vomiting off to one side.

  Alex had a dull, glazed look in his blue eyes, and Marcus suspected the boy might be in the grasp of shock.

  “Are you hungry?” Marcus asked.

  Alex nodded.

  Marcus stepped outside to the small fire pit he had built, slid the scrambled eggs he had cooked for his own breakfast onto a plate, and brought it to the boy.

  Alex accepted it with large eyes, and Marcus smiled. He picked up the salt and pepper he had salvaged from the Reverend’s house and offered them to the child. “I’m sorry, I forgot to grab silverware. I’ll have to get some later.”

  Impossibly, the boy’s eyes seemed to grow even larger as he looked at the salt and pepper.

  “I wish we had some ketchup to go with the eggs,” Marcus said with a sad smile. “I do love scrambled eggs with ketchup.”

  “I do, too,” Alex replied. He set his plate on the pew in front of him, looked longingly at the shakers and asked, “Are you sure?”

  “Of course, I’m sure,” Marcus said, grinning. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  The boy took the shakers excitedly, some of the shock burning out of his eyes as he replied, “I wasn’t ever allowed to have salt. Not at home. My stepfather, he didn’t let me. My mom, well, she didn’t have a problem with it, either.”

  Marcus watched as the boy casually scooped up some of the cool eggs and deftly placed them in his mouth. There were scars on Alex’s forehead. Small, vertical slashes, and his nose looked as if it had been broken at least once.

  “How old are you, Alex?” Marcus asked.

  “I’m eleven,” the boy answered, pausing a moment to add another mouthful and chewing it quickly. He brushed a bit of egg from his lips and grinned. Several of the teeth were chipped in the front.

  What teacher at school didn’t see these signs? Marcus thought angrily, keeping his expression placid.

  “Do you like the eggs?” he asked.

  The boy nodded cheerfully.

  “Well, when you finish those, I’ll cook you some more, if you like,” Marcus said.

  “That would be cool,” Alex said.

  “Where are you from?” Maggie’s question came from the doorway and caused
both Marcus and the boy to twitch.

  Alex smiled nervously at her and answered, “Maine. Down in Wells. It’s by Ogunquit if you know it.”

  Maggie came into the chapel, and she nodded. “I do. An old boyfriend and I used to go up to York.”

  The boy grinned again, and Marcus did as well, realizing how pleasant it was to have the child there.

  And then his blood chilled.

  That’s what this Worthe character wants, Marcus understood. He wants us to care for the child. To keep him safe. He wants to see how I react to having to ensure the safety of the boy.

  Marcus glanced at Maggie and saw that she was focused only on the child, on gaining information from him.

  She hadn’t been receptive to the idea that they were part of a test, and he doubted she would believe that the boy had been placed with them as an added stressor in a controlled environment.

  At least she believes in ghosts now, Marcus thought bitterly. But even that had been difficult to achieve, and only because her life had nearly been ended by them.

  “You think they were all killed?” Maggie asked the boy, her question jerking Marcus’s attention back to the conversation.

  Alex popped the last bit of egg into his mouth and nodded. A look of sadness flashed over his face, but it was quickly smothered by a cold calm.

  “I’m sad about Todd,” Alex said after a moment. “He was a jerk and everything, but he was still my brother. And he was littler than me.”

  “What about your mom?” Maggie asked. “What about your stepfather?”

  “My stepfather,” the boy said, the two words coming out as hard as nails, “I don’t care that he’s dead. I didn’t like him. He wasn’t a nice man. And my mom, well, I guess I’ll miss her. But she never stopped him. Not once. At least not inside. Outside, he couldn’t put his hands on me. She didn’t want the neighbors to say anything.”

  Marcus kept his attention fixed on Maggie, and he knew by the way her face paled a minute later that she finally understood what the boy had been saying.

  “Oh,” she said in a soft voice.

  “Marcus,” Alex said, “may I have some more eggs?”

  “You can have half a dozen more if you like,” Marcus said with a wink, picking the plate up off the pew. “You stay in here and relax a little. Maggie, could you help me with the eggs?”

  She shot him a questioning look, shrugged, and then followed him out. A glance back at Alex showed the boy had picked up his book and had started to read it.

  Either that boy hated his family, or he’s in complete shock, Marcus thought. I’m going to go with the former, though.

  “How can he not care?” Maggie asked as they both hunkered down by the fire and she handed him several eggs.

  “How can he?” Marcus retorted.

  Maggie frowned and waited for him to continue.

  “When we go back in,” Marcus explained, cracking the eggs on the edge of the iron skillet as she fed small branches to the fire. “I want you to look at the boy’s nose. And then to his cheeks and his forehead. Finally, when he smiles, take a glance at his teeth.”

  “Just tell me,” she grumbled. “I don’t want any of this mystery garbage, Marcus.”

  She scratched at her bandages and watched him.

  “There are old and new scars over his brow and cheeks,” Marcus said. “Those came from a class ring, I’m guessing. My own nose, which is rather aquiline and prominent, is only this way because my father backhanded me when I was sixteen. I suspect that young Alexander’s nose was broken more than once. Probably more than three times. And when you see his teeth, you’ll see the chips. That’s from an open hand smack to the mouth.”

  “He was abused?” Her voice was low and filled with a rage Marcus easily identified with.

  “Yes,” Marcus answered patiently. “And on a fairly regular basis, it would seem. I would agree with him as well. There is a measure of sympathy I feel for his brother, but none for his mother and her husband.”

  She shook her head. Then, a minute later she let out a harsh, bitter laugh.

  Marcus looked at her questioningly, and Maggie stated, “It took his family being killed for him to get away from it. And now, he probably won’t be able to get out.”

  “There’s no ‘probably’ about it, Maggie,” Marcus said, stirring the eggs with a wooden spoon. “None of us are getting out.”

  Chapter 35: An Incentive to Move

  Abel paced the small conference room, his excitement too great to contain.

  The door opened a moment later. David and Jane walked in, trailed by Suzie and Timmy. His four experts.

  “Ah!” he said, clapping loudly with his hands. “Bravo, everyone! Bravo!”

  David and Suzie blushed, but Jane and Timmy remained their stoic selves.

  Abel moved to the head of the table and sat, his experts doing the same a moment later.

  “My captains!” Abel exclaimed. “You have truly done the impossible. I am humbled to have such dedicated persons working for me. You may all expect significant bonuses in your bank accounts as a more practical example of my appreciation.”

  He waved away their murmurs of thanks and grinned.

  “Now,” Abel said, “I have heard of a house in Illinois that I would like the real estate team to investigate. Jane, I would like you to lead the team this time. Alright?”

  “Yes, sir,” she replied with a sharp nod.

  “Excellent, excellent,” Abel said with a pleased sigh. “I saw on the drone’s feed that all three subjects are interacting. This is excellent. It is the direction in which I hoped it might go, well, hoped after Subject B proved to be so inspiring in regards to research. Anyway, I digress. David, what I would like from you is the placement of a second generator in the kitchen of 114 Broad.”

  David looked taken aback for a moment, then he nodded. “A second. May I ask why, sir?”

  “Of course,” Abel said, beaming at the man. “I believe that the Reverend’s efforts are taxing him too greatly. I think that a second generator should generate enough energy to propel him for a prolonged period to the graveyard. Once there, he should be able to put up a sustained battle against the two adults. Possibly even the child as well. That would be the best-case scenario.”

  “And worst-case, sir?” Timmy asked.

  “Ah, yes, thank you for asking that,” Abel said, rubbing his hands together excitedly. “Now, the worst-case scenario would be the Reverend finding one of the three on their own. I have no doubt he will overpower the individual, and that the Subject will invariably be slain. However, this would not be without its benefit. Such a situation would feed into the fear factor of the other two, and would lead us to the inevitable acquisition of Subject E.”

  “Have we finalized Subjects E and F, sir?” Suzie asked.

  Abel shook his head and chuckled. “This is why you are the captains of my realm. You ask important questions. The answer is a simple no. I have narrowed the list down to three couples, but I will not make a final decision on the matter just yet.”

  “Sir,” David said.

  “Yes, David?” Abel asked.

  “We’ve placed the food and supplies in the center of the road, as you requested,” David said, “but there’s been no movement toward them as of yet.”

  “No,” Abel agreed. “I doubt there will be, at least not at first. Subjects B and C are coming to terms with the horrific and terrifying idea that a child has been taken and thrust into their situation. I am fairly positive that Subject D has informed them as to what happened in his home, and how he was taken.”

  David’s normally impassive face flashed a look of alarm.

  Abel held up a hand to forestall any shocked outburst from the man.

  “It is quite alright, David,” Abel said in a soothing tone. “You see, Subject D is a smart child. Extremely smart. In fact, if I were to place any money on any of this group escaping, it would be Subject D. We know that he saw his stepfather killed, and while there is a k
nown amnesiac after-effect in the drug we use to subdue the captured subjects, it is notoriously unpredictable with children. I believe that he remembers at least the slaying of his stepfather, and, being the intelligent child that he is, he has surmised that the other members of his family are dead as well.”

  There was no response to Abel’s hypothesis, which was as much as he had expected.

  “Alright,” Abel said, smiling. “We now have three subjects. Two adults and one child, two male and one female. There is a wide range in the ages. With an increase in pressure by the Reverend, we will be able to determine which of the three, if any, is likely to break.”

  “Sir,” Timmy said.

  “Yes?” Abel asked.

  “Are we still employing non-lethal rounds at the gate and along the perimeter of the fence?” the man asked.

  “Of course,” Abel said, grinning. “We certainly don’t want them killing themselves by charging the gate. That would defeat the entire raison d’etre of this little experiment, agreed?”

  They all nodded.

  “Excellent,” Abel said, easing back in his chair. “So, David, please prepare the second generator. Jane, gather the necessary information on the house so we can examine it fully. Suzie and Timmy, I am going to be passing along the dossiers of the three individuals from whom I will choose the next subject. Please, begin to make basic preparations and scout out the locations. We did have a minor hiccup in the acquisition of Subject B, and I would prefer to avoid that if at all possible.”

  The four captains nodded, and Abel smiled at them.

  “Now, off with you,” Abel said, shooing them away. “Enjoy the rest of the evening. Get your rest. Tomorrow starts a brand-new day for all of us.”

  ***

  Timmy stood outside the main barracks and stared up at the Village. Only the towers at the gate were visible, and he wondered how the three subjects were faring. He had enjoyed the old man’s expression at the mention of the pipe tobacco.