The Undead World (Book 12): The Body [An Undead World Expansion]

by Meredith, Peter

  “No, you didn’t,” Burt growled. “We both found her.”

  Carl’s fingers dug into Jillybean’s shoulders. “Okay, yeah. Technically. Either way, we said no way to bringing her right to Van Mire. We wanted you to have that honor.”

  Baldy was only partially paying attention. His mind was busy weighing his ugly desires against getting in good with Van Mire. There was a reason why Baldy had the smallest boat in the fleet. He and his squadron commander were constantly butting heads.

  “The honor?” Baldy cracked a smile. There wouldn’t be any honor when it came to the girl, that was for certain. Someone would “claim” her and Baldy figured it might as well be himself. Carl was still going on the way he did; the only thing Baldy picked up on was the part about her being a runaway.

  “So, what do you think?” Carl asked.

  Baldy finally took his eyes from the girl. “About what?”

  “You know, about me and Burt getting some sort of special consideration? You know, maybe a bump in rank or something? Oh, before you answer, she also had this.” He took the .25 from Burt and handed it Baldy. “We didn’t even keep that. She was carrying it like in secret.”

  The gun seemed tiny in Baldy’s large hands. Normally, guns were prized possessions, but this looked like a toy to him. Grunting, he tucked it into a pocket of a black leather jacket he’d thrown on. “The Toad isn’t rated for more than one S2. But here’s what I’ll do, if Van Mire bumps me up to a bigger ship, I’ll see what I can do. In the meantime, one of you can cut your patrol early. Dorg, get Rat-faced Ronny up here.”

  Behind his back, Dorg, the XO of The Toad rolled his eyes just as he left. He came back a minute later with skinny Rat-faced Ronny. Carl, sour over losing a coin toss got into the canoe first. Jillybean didn’t see Rat-face go over the stern. Baldy was propelling her down in the dank confines of the galley as Ipes let out a last cry of Jillybean! from the canoe.

  He was gone and she was alone.

  The galley was dim, lit only by a couple of small lamps. Adding more light would have only revealed the extent of the filth. The sink was crammed with muck-encrusted dishes, while the tiny, two-burner stove was covered in months, if not years of grease and molding bits of egg or fish. It was impossible to tell which.

  The rest of the cramped little galley was equally filthy, with clothes and boxes strewn everywhere. With the ceiling so low and the width of the boat a little over nine feet at the widest, the mess made it seem as though the curved walls were closing in on her.

  “This way,” Baldy said, eagerness in his voice. She began shaking as he brought her around the stairs and to a cabin beneath the stern of the boat. “Running away, huh? I bet it was bad at home. They your real parents?”

  Jillybean froze at the door as the stench of sweat and unwashed feet washed over her. She couldn’t go in there. Bad things would happen if she went in there. And she had no way to stop them from happening. Her one weapon had been taken from her. The inch-long razor blades didn’t count. Maybe a master assassin could kill with one, but she knew from first-hand experience that she couldn’t.

  Once, at Eve’s urging, she had taken a razor to one of her zombie corpses. In four slashing attempts, she had nicked one of the carotid arteries twice. Neither nick would’ve been immediately fatal or even debilitating. If Baldy suffered a similar wound, or even if she managed to cut one of his arteries completely, his death would take up to half a minute, which was plenty of time to call out. Maybe he’d have enough time to kill Jillybean with his wet red hands.

  She didn’t need a test to know going for an eye would be fruitless as well. Even if she managed to slit one open, Baldy’s reaction would be to scream, grab his gun, and call for his men. More than likely, he’d also smash Jillybean’s face into mush with his big fists.

  Which left her…

  There is one other option, Eve whispered and filled her mind with a series moving pictures: Jillybean pulling out her little blade, tilting her head back and digging it deep into her own throat. She could feel the hot blood flowing in a sheet of red.

  “No,” Jillybean replied, weakly.

  “It’ll be okay,” Baldy told her. “You just have to face the inevitable. It’s going to happen, so your best bet is to lay back and enjoy it.” He thrust her gently but firmly into the room, turning off the overhead light and saying, “Ooh that’s nice.” Now only a dim bulb on an end table shed any light. As he shut and locked the door, a set of handcuffs on the knob, clinked back and forth. There was no reason to ask herself why he’d have handcuffs in his cabin. She knew.

  The winking steel sickened her and she turned away and stared blankly at the room. Like the galley, it was trashed, clothes and crusted plates sat among empty wine bottles. The bed was covered in the most disgustingly stained sheets she had ever seen.

  Her mind whirled. Was he really suggesting that she enjoy being raped?

  “Here’s the deal, sweetie. Your dad was molesting you at home and tonight was the final straw, so you grabbed a boat and took off. That’s the story you’re gonna tell if anyone asks. If you don’t; if you make me look bad…”

  Suddenly, his hands were around her neck, squeezing inward, crushing down on her windpipe. The power in his hands was shocking. He wasn’t even putting half his strength into throttling her, and had he wanted, he could’ve snapped her neck with ease. Panic exploded through her, stealing her intelligence and turning her into what she really was: a tiny child in the presence of great evil.

  Gone were her plans, her schemes, or any thought of using the now pathetic trinkets she had hidden on her. The panic reduced her to struggling in vain against Baldy’s iron hands. She thrashed and kicked. She pulled down with her nimble but weak little fingers. If she could’ve, she would have called for Eve. This is why she was here. Eve was supposed to take the pain from her. She was supposed to be the strong one.

  But Eve had deserted her. Ipes and Sadie had as well. Jillybean was alone and defenseless.

  Then Jillybean began to lose the feeling in her feet and hands. Her thrashing about turned into a pointless squirming, and the world started to spin while at the same time it began to fade.

  Baldy released her just as her eyes began to flutter. Her legs buckled and he grabbed her under one armpit to hold her up. “Did you like that?” he whispered into her ear. Gasping, barely able to stand, she shook her head. “That’s right,” he said, gently. “That wasn’t fun, but it’ll be worse if you ever say anything.”

  He moved around her and sat on the bed; she still had to look up at him. “No tears; I like that. Who needs all that nonsense?” He grinned. “How ‘bout some music?” He stood, quickly and went around the bed and to a disc player, giving Jillybean a moment to regain some of her senses.

  Her head still felt like it was on a tilt-a-whirl, then her eyes fell on a shotgun. The cabin was low with curving walls. The bed took up most of the room but there was about two feet on either side with small end tables built into the walls. On the left one sat the disc player, and a dozen empty bottles, stacked on a dirty plate. The shotgun leaned up against that end table.

  The gun was almost as tall as Jillybean. In her hands, it would be a slow, unwieldy weapon and in the confines of the room, perhaps useless, at least at the moment. Later…after, when he was slow and tired, she might use it if she had the chance.

  The idea of after left a bitter taste in her mouth.

  Killing Baldy after would be only for revenge’s sake. Nothing else for her would change. She wasn’t a gun fighter. She wouldn’t be able to fight her way to freedom. She might be able to get her revenge, but it wouldn’t change what he had done to her or what the others would do to her.

  No, there could be no after.

  13

  As he fiddled with the disc player, the big gun right at his elbow, she touched the razor tied up into her hair. It sparked the image of blood sheeting down her neck. This time she felt the slick bite of the blade as it drew across her neck. It would
hurt, but it would be quick, and it would be over as quickly. She could handle a minute of pain. She would probably even grin at Baldy, knowing she was leaving him frustrated. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

  “Okay,” she whispered, and started to pull the razor free, but just as she did, her eyes fell on the other end table. On it sat the stumpy, shadeless lamp. It was a dim little thing, but it was the room’s only source of light. The one window in the cabin had a piece of plywood nailed over it.

  The lamp suddenly took on tremendous significance as possibilities arranged themselves neatly in her conscious. In a way the lamp represented more of an equalizer than the shotgun. Her mind spun over this slimmest of chances, and as it did her fear dropped quickly away.

  A scream brought the terror rushing back and she went stiff. It came from either Willy or Ted, and it was so loud that it sounded like it was coming from right outside. Then the music came blaring on and Baldy turned, a new grin on his red face.

  “That’s nice, ain’t it?” The music was lost on her. The only beat she heard was her heart pounding in her chest. She took a step back as he came around the bed and once more sat down to look her in the eye. “I don’t think I need this,” he said, unzipping his jacket.

  “Should I take mine off, too?” Her shaking hands were already quickly running down the buttons.

  It made her look eager and he hesitated. “Yeah, sure. Smart girl.” He watched as she went down each button. The blue jacket hung loosely on her small frame, while his fit snugly. Hers fell off her shoulders, while he had to grunt his way out of his, and for just one second, the heavy leather held both his arms behind his back.

  A second was not enough time to go for the shotgun, not when it was as big as it was. In that second, she threw her jacket at the end table hitting the bare bulb. There was a pop and the light blinked out. Now the two were equally blind and yet the advantage did not completely pass to Jillybean. The room was small, narrow, and his arms were comparably long. And although she had mentally mapped out the room, the one thing she couldn’t completely anticipate was what he would do.

  “Hey!” Baldy cried, angry for a single moment. Then, “You want to play hide and seek? I can play hide and seek.”

  The moment the light went down, she dropped low, took a step back and to the left. Reaching out, her blind hand felt the encrusted dinner plate she had seen earlier. Just as the air in front of her swished with the passing of one of his hands, she tossed the plate gently to the right. It clunked lightly off the wall and landed on a pile of clothes.

  Bent at the waist, he lumbered toward the sound, swishing one arm left and right as the other felt for the wall. When he moved, Jillybean moved, crawling on all fours, her hands finding the bottles in her way. She moved them to the side as she scooted between the bed and the wall.

  Baldy swung back around, found the bed, and immediately stepped on a pile of dishes. “Son of a bitch!” One hand swung out and found the wall, while he stirred the air with the other. “You’re pretty good. Bet livin’ with the zombies makes a kid good at…”

  Jillybean tossed a bottle towards the door. Again, there was enough mess to catch it without breaking it. The thunk it made had Baldy rushing through the blackness for the door. By then, Jillybean had her hands on the shotgun. She felt in the loading port with a finger and found the curved edge of a shell—she had bet her life on the hope that it would be.

  Soundlessly, she heaved it up and laid it on the bed for support, aiming toward the grunting man. The bottle had been tossed towards the door for a reason: the light switch was there, and she guessed that a man like Baldy would cheat even at hide and seek. When the lights flicked on, he blinked around for her and found her gazing at the side of the weapon. The safety had been on.

  Click.

  And now it wasn’t. The sound of her flicking off the safety was small but ominous. Baldy didn’t miss it. He sucked in his breath as Jillybean pointed the gun at him. Eight feet separated them; she couldn’t miss.

  “I wouldn’t do that,” he said. “I got men right outside. They’d be here in a second. So why don’t you just…”

  “No.” She was no longer the timid little thing. She had been here before. “This is not my first time.”

  Silence between them. He started nodding. “It’s a tough world and things happen, right? It’s why you’re out here, I bet. Someone’s already gotten to you, haven’t they?”

  “Yep, and I took care of them.” He started to open his mouth but she shook her head, her wild, fly away hair swishing about. “You can stop talking now, Mr. Baldy, sir. What you gotta say doesn’t matter anymore. It’s what you’re gonna do that counts.”

  The little girl had changed. She was no longer the shaking leaf. Her face was blank, yet grim. Unflinchingly, she held the shotgun sucked into her shoulder, her body gathered behind it. Clearly, this wouldn’t be her first time shooting a gun of this size. Now, it was Baldy who felt a little tremor inside his gut.

  Once more he opened his mouth and again she shook her head. “You know whats a scenario means?” she asked.

  “Yeah.” He leaned back against the door, feeling the knob against the small of his back. He could spin, grab it and be out of the room in two seconds. More like three, he thought. And she can kill me in one.

  “Okay, good. I worked out two scenarios. In one you live and in the other you die. I’m gonna tell them to you and you get to pick which I go with. Okay?” He said nothing. More and more it felt like the floor beneath his feet was turning to quicksand. “With the first one, you’re gonna put those cuffs on with your hands behind your back…”

  He grunted out a laugh and shook his head. “That ain’t happening. You might as well pull the trigger now. I’m right here.”

  Unperturbed, she went on, “You’ll put the cuffs on with your hands behind your back. Then I’ll go up on deck and kill Burt and Dorg.” She said this with so little emotion that the tremor in his gut increased. “Everyone’ll hear so I’ll cut us away from the boat in front of us, set fire to the sails and slip overboard. With the wind, it’ll take the other boats some time to save your ship, by the time they do, I’ll be gone.”

  It certainly wasn’t a foolproof plan, but for one made up on the spot it was surprisingly sound. Baldy searched for a crack in it and found only one. “If you light the sails on fire, the whole boat might go up. I could die.”

  “Yeah, but with the other scenario I shoot you and there isn’t a could at all. That scenario is more risky for me, because once I kill you, Burt and Dorg will come and investigate. Will they rush down right away? Or will they hesitate and maybe call your name a couple of times before coming down?”

  Baldy pictured them lounging on the moldy cushions and jerking at the sound of the gun shot. They wouldn’t rush down.

  “Four seconds is all I’ll need to get to the little kitchen area,” she went on in that flat, no-nonsense way. “When they come down, I’ll shoot them in the back as they stare at your lifeless body. From there, the plan plays out like the first one.”

  With that she stopped talking. She and Baldy stared at each other while he tried to work out a reason why her plan could fail. There were many, but they all boiled down to risk versus reward.

  “They’ll catch you,” he told her and then pointed to the ceiling. “And what you’re hearing now is nothing to what Van Mire will do to you if you hurt one of his ships.”

  “Trust me, Mr. Baldy, sir, I know what’ll happen to me. Only, if I do nothing will it be all that much better for me? Those screams out there tell me it won’t.”

  He scowled. She did understand, and all too well. “Maybe there’s a third option. You can hide out down here while I…”

  “There is no third option,” she said, cutting across him. “I gave you two, so pick one. If you can’t, I’ll have to go with scenario two.” She took a deep breath and adjusted her shoulders. “I’m gonna count to ten. One…”

  She was really going to shoot. He c
ouldn’t believe it. This little bit of a thing was going to kill him. The idea was impossible until he looked into her cold, cold eyes. His fists balled and his face went dark red. “You won’t pull the trigger.”

  “Two. Three. Four. Five.”

  He could see her little knuckles going white as she prepared to fire. “Son of a bitch! Fine.”

  “Reach behind you with one hand and get the cuffs. Don’t you go and grab that knob or it’ll be scenario two. I’m not foolin’” He didn’t try. He cuffed himself behind the back, making his belly pooch out even further. Still crouched behind her gun, she directed him to lay down on his round belly. Even handcuffed, she was afraid of him and quickly, she danced to where his jacket had fallen and retrieved her little gun. In the same pocket were a lighter, keys to the boat’s engine and one tiny handcuff key. Although she already had two of the little keys hidden on her, she took the handcuff key, as well as the lighter.

  She then paused, standing near his feet, the gun in her hand. Things were playing out as she hoped. They were not playing along Scenario 1 as Baldy assumed. No, there was no Scenario 1. There was far too much risk involved in either Scenario 1 or 2.

  Scenario 3 was far better. It involved killing Baldy…no, assassinating Baldy. She needed him dead and she needed it done as quietly as possible. There was no way she could trust him. The moment she left him, he would find a way to escape, or he’d make noise at the exact wrong time. She couldn’t risk it. What she didn’t want was to kill him herself. The seconds drew out and still she stood there, waiting.

  Baldy seemed to sense that there was something wrong and craned his neck far around and croaked out, “What are you doing? We had a deal.”

  She didn’t like him looking at her, and she definitely didn’t like him talking to her. “Part of our deal is you shushing.” He glared and she ignored him. After a sigh, she whispered, “Eve?”