The New Capital

by Kolin Wood

  She kicked at the sooty remains of the milk crate with her boot. The resultant, rising ash caused her to cough. Fragments of bone, partially hidden amongst the discarded liquor bottles and burned aluminium paint cans, poked like teeth from the ash. Old, used cigarette butts littered the floor.

  When she had left, John had been six. From her rough estimations, that was nearly ten years ago. He would now be nearly or already sixteen! A man. Who knew what he would be like now? She looked around the room one last time as her heart grew as cold as the ash at her feet.

  Do you really think that he has hung around… in this?

  Still, she had to keep looking. She had to believe that he was still alive.

  She searched through the house, room to room, stopping to look into the back garden which bore a similar depiction of the front. Where once there had been a garden shed, now only a bare patch of grey, creased concrete remained.

  Only once she was satisfied that the downstairs was empty did Juliana make her way to the bottom of the staircase where she stopped and readied herself at the banister. The darkness above held the answers to questions that she had been asking herself every day for the past decade. The evidence from the living room would suggest that somebody had been living in the house, but she had no way of knowing for sure who that might have been. The hearth itself was cold and the building felt lifeless. It was highly likely that whoever had been living there had long since moved on.

  She began up the stairs, pausing momentarily as her weight caused one to creak. The pulse of her heart beat loudly in her ears, far faster than normal.

  At the top of the stairs it was so dark that Juliana could barely make out the empty doorways to the bedrooms.

  Suddenly, something banged loudly in the room on her left and she jumped, her veins running cold; the sound had come from John’s room.

  “Johnny?” she called out, her foot still resting on the top step. Adrenaline surged through her and threatened to send her fleeing back down the stairs.

  “Johnny?” This time louder.

  But nobody replied.

  The doorway loomed black and dangerous.

  Juliana swallowed hard, stepped onto the landing and put out a shaky hand in front of her. Then she stepped into the room.

  Inside, the gloom was heavy, only partially broken by the tiniest amount of light provided by the night sky outside still caught in the midst of a minor tempest. She stood still in the doorway, waiting for her eyes to adjust.

  Her son’s room had been turned over; piles of broken and probably un-burnable toys littered the floor around the edge. The bookshelf had been removed, as had the bed, probably to use for firewood downstairs. The small children’s mattress was still present, and had been pushed over against the wall. It looked from where she as standing that a dirty blanket or sleeping bag had been laid out on it. For a second time her heart lifted. Could it be possible that her precious boy might have found a way to survive in this squalor?

  On the other wall stood the large, hand-built wardrobe, the very same one that she had abandoned John in so many years before. Large dents streaked up the side facing her showing that somebody had, at some point, probably tried to smash it up. But the cupboard was dense and made of solid oak, probably weighing more than the temporary occupants wanted to bother with and so had left it be. Just the sight of it now threatened to break her and she fought against the urge to fall to her knees and cry.

  Please! She prayed as she moved closer.

  It was then that the stink from the room hit her with force. Hot bile rose fiercely in her throat, but her empty belly did not produce anything but a trail of slime, which she spat to the floor at her feet.

  “John?” she said, this time in nothing more than a cracked whisper from beneath the sleeve of the sodden jacket now clamped hard over her mouth.

  “Johnny… are you in here, baby?”

  There was a loud bang and the door to the cupboard sprung open suddenly. A shape charged at her, moving as a blur in the blackness. It slammed into her before she had a chance to react and the impact forced the breath from her lungs and snatched the scream from her lips as she scrambled backwards with desperate, flailing arms.

  All of a sudden something was upon her, astride of her, forcing her down on her back upon the filthy, stinking carpet. A pair of wild eyes stared through a tangled mess of hair. It took a few seconds for her to realise that she could not draw breath. A strong pair of hands gripped her tightly around the throat.

  “Who the fuck are you?” hissed the male voice, speckling her face with saliva.

  Juliana tried to pull the hands free but immediately found that it was futile, the man was simply too strong.

  Desperation began to creep in. Could this really be the end? After everything she had endured, after everything she had lived through and survived?

  The grip held fast and a rush of heat engulfed her head, making the buzzing in her ears intensify. She felt her eyelids flutter and she dropped her hands, allowing her body to fully slump in the man’s tight grip. There was no point in fighting him; he was far stronger in his position than she was in hers.

  Just before she fully blacked out, Juliana felt the weight on her chest lessen, and she raised her hands to her neck, clawing at the thick collar of the jacket in an attempt to aid the flow of air into her lungs. Her windpipe burned as she sucked in, barely withholding the black furriness which danced on the edges of her vision. Above her, something glistened in the darkness.

  “What you doing, sneaking into my house, bitch?” the man said aggressively and in a deep voice.

  He was stood over her, allowing absolutely no room to move. For now at least, she was at his mercy.

  “You think you can just go walking around people’s houses uninvited at night, huh? Or maybe you came to pay old Donnie a visit, huh? That it, sweet thing? You come to play with old Donnie?”

  In an attempt to engage, so that she might pacify the stranger, Juliana tried to prop herself up on her elbows but was met with a boot on her chest which pushed her back down flat on her back. Her eyes searched for his face, but found it masked by hair and cloaked in shadow. In one hand, he held a large knife which she thought she recognised as one of her own from the kitchen of her previous life. The large, dull blade was pointed down towards her face.

  “I’m just… looking,” she coughed, fighting against his boot, “for… my son.”

  Donnie pushed down even harder, the toe now painfully pressing on her chest bone, further restricting her breathing. If she did not get some proper air soon, she worried that she might pass out, and she didn’t even want to think what might happen to her then.

  Donnie seemed to pause and think for a second before bending closer to her. Juliana resisted the urge to turn her head as he spoke.

  “Say again?” he said.

  Juliana held onto the ankle of his boot and tried to lift it but Donnie simply laughed.

  “This… was my… house before… before the culling,” she managed. “My son… was six… when… I was taken. Left him… here… in… this… room… AAAARGH! Get the FUCK off of me!”

  She screamed and thrashed her head as the pressure from the foot suddenly increased again. It felt as though Donnie was now pressing down with his full body weight on her sternum.

  “You’re house?! Who do you think you are talking too? You stupid, ignorant bitch. This ain’t your house! Not no more. This is Donnie’s house! And you are trespassing!”

  Donnie suddenly removed his boot, bent down, and pressed the knife blade against her throat. Juliana froze.

  Seeing her fall obedient, he laughed. “Oh, you sure done fucked up this time, didn’t you, eh? Fucked right up; yes, you did. But maybe it’s your lucky day!” The pungent stench of his sour breath stripped her nostrils. “Whad’ya say, sweet thing, huh? Donnie ain’t afraid of a little company… it’s been a few weeks since I had anybody up here with me.”

  He slapped her face. It was a hard blow, but Julia
na barely registered it. She gritted her teeth and fought the urge to reach into her pocket and pull out her knife. Not yet. If he should see and take it from her, she would be done for.

  “Tough little slit, ain’t cha!’ he said, clearly surprised, “That’s okay with me though. Ohhhhh yes, Donnie likes that. Now then, let us get acquainted… like me ol’ mam used to say see… God rest her stinking soul… why put off till tomorrow… what you can get done today.” And with that he laughed again and began to aggressively yank down the zipper on her jacket.

  Even in the dark, Juliana could see that his eyes now shone with lust. This filthy freak was living here in squalor, scavenging in the shit, and surviving like a bug on the carrion. How many innocent people had he preyed upon? How many lives had he ruined? Loads, she bet to herself.

  With a perverted smile, the man who had called himself Donnie slid a hand inside her open jacket and gripped her left breast, twisting it hard. Juliana winced and drew a sharp breath as she fought to remain still so not cut herself on the blade, which was still dangerously close to her throat.

  He grunted, clearly enjoying the pain that he was delivering. After a few seconds, he released her breast and slid a flat, rough hand over her protruding ribs and down her solid, sit-up toned stomach.

  “Let’s see what goodies we gots down here then…”

  Anger boiled up like a geyser inside her. There was no way on God’s fucking Earth that she was going to let this happen again. Images of the abuse—of every single episode of degradation—at that moment came together like a perfect storm in her mind, twisting into a vortex of hatred and charging her blood. Suddenly, she felt superhuman.

  “You… just picked the wrong bitch to fuck with!” she spat.

  Before Donnie could even register what was happening, Juliana grabbed his arm and bucked her hips, at the same time twisting her whole body sideways. Caught completely by surprise and off guard in his molestation, Donnie fell forwards with a cry. The fast momentum sent the knife blade down hard into the carpet narrowly missing her head. In an effort to stop himself from face planting after it, Donnie released the handle and fell roughly onto one elbow.

  Juliana moved quickly. Knowing that this would probably be her only chance before he over-powered her again, she thrust her hand into the deep outer pocket of the combat jacket and pulled her own knife free. Then, with the sturdy handle firmly in her grasp, she rolled herself to the side away from him, sat up, and swung the blade down in an arc, sinking it into the soft thigh just above the knee cap with a dull thud.

  Donnie bellowed like a mortally-wounded animal. The look on his face detailed the surprise; the predator clearly not used to being a victim. Completely in shock, he attempted to scrabble backwards, dragging his newly incapacitated leg behind him.

  Juliana seized the moment. Now on the offensive and still high on the powerful elixir of adrenaline, she sprung forward like a cat, teeth bared, uncut nails flashing. The knife was still protruding from his leg and she grabbed it as she landed on the carpet next to him, giving the handle a twist of one hundred and eighty degrees before pulling it free.

  It was a devastating blow. Given the state of the house, the general hygiene of the man, and the lack of medical facilities available, there was very little chance that it would ever properly heal, if at all. A wound of that magnitude had the potential to kill. But right now, it was not enough to ensure that Donnie was no longer a risk; he could still do her damage. Pulling herself up onto one knee, she gripped his greasy, lank hair in her free hand and yanked his head back so that he was looking directly into her face. She raised the bloody knife blade, stopping the point under his right eye and leaving a crimson smear on his cheek.

  “Listen to me, you disgusting fuck!” It was all she could do to stop herself driving the blade into his eye. “This is my son’s fucking bedroom.”

  Just saying the words choked and constricted her bruised throat. She swallowed hard against the pain and continued, as tears fell freely from her eyes. “You tell me… where he is… right…fucking… now… or, I swear to Christ, I will poke your fucking eyes out.”

  Donnie groaned but said nothing. She twisted her hand again, further wrenching his neck up at an awkward angle and eliciting a pitiful moan. Rancid fumes caused her to wrinkle her nose in disgust but she held firm, her face not an inch from his own. She could hardly believe the transformation; the dominator now nothing more than a weak and pathetic vagrant.

  “TALK!” she screamed as the dark cloud of rage threatened to envelope her completely.

  Donnie began to sob, his reply, when it came, was cracked and hard to understand.

  “I don’t know about any fucking kid, all right!” he said, shaking his head violently from side to side.

  Infuriated to the point of crazy, Juliana reached down and gripped his thigh hard, sinking her thumb deep into the fresh wound. It pushed through hot, sticky flesh and struck something hard which she assumed to be bone. He screamed loudly, this time causing her to turn her face away from the fetid breath.

  “NO! Okay… Okay! Stop! You crazy fucking bitch… Stop… STOP! I’ll tell you!”

  She released his leg but maintained a tight hold on his hair. “I’m listening!” she said, as her whole body shook with anger.

  Below her, the man’s face changed, and he tried to look sincere, arching his eyebrows in the middle.

  “I… I… sold him, okay?’ he said, with a voice to match. “They promised me a good price.”

  Juliana felt her blood turn to ice in her veins. She trembled.

  Sold him? What do you mean SOLD HIM? she thought to herself. He’s just a little boy!

  Unable to control the rage any longer she drove the handle of the knife down upon the bridge of his nose, splitting it down the centre. Blood sprayed her face and began to drip liberally off his chin. He bellowed again.

  “Sold him? Sold him to who? Where? How do you sell a little boy?” Juliana screamed as her anger threatened to consume her. A bitter taste crept into her mouth and she snarled, gripping down on his leg once again.

  “You’d best answer me right now, you sick fuck, or I am going to put out your eye. I swear to GOD.”

  “ARRRRGGGHHHH! Get off me!” Donnie screamed back, suddenly enraged.

  Being at the mercy of a woman was clearly too much for Donnie. The predator had obviously found his balls again. Where fake sincerity had sat, anger now reigned. From nowhere, he started to laugh. The breaths rattled in his chest and blood spilled from the sides of his mouth.

  The spark of retaliation infuriated her and Juliana snapped his neck back, pushing harder on the handle of the knife. Only a hairs width now separated the point from his cornea. But still the laughing continued. The man was now seemingly uncaring of the outcome of his dire situation. A thought struck her like a hammer blow and she looked back at the door, trying her best to listen above the calamity of the man’s broken cackle. Perhaps he was laughing because he knew something that she did not. Maybe he was not alone in the house.

  “You stupid bitch,” he said between laughs, “You really wanna know what happened to your little boy, huh?” There was a teasing edge to his voice now, and even through the blood, a twinkle shone in his eyes.

  Incapacitated for a second, Juliana did not move, she simply held him underneath her, the hand holding the knife shaking violently as she considered her options. “John? Johnny… my boy? You saw him? Where is he? What did you do with him?’

  Now, with her own voice pleading, she realised that the tables had turned once again. Like it or not, she needed this pathetic excuse for a human being alive otherwise, she might never know the truth about what happened to her son. From beneath her, more laughing continued.

  “But you already seen him,” Donnie said, the glee almost radiating from his blood-splattered face.

  Juliana’s mind raced.

  Already seen him? I’ve seen nobody! the voice in her head screamed.

  Seeing her confusion, Donnie
, happy to the point of deliriously joyful now, grinned wide. “Oh, you seen him all right. As a matter of fact, you done smelled him right good too!’

  The words bounced around in her head as Juliana tried to make sense of what he was saying.

  Smelled him?

  She played out her entrance into the house—the devastation in the kitchen, the bed in the corner of the lounge, the up-turned milk crate which had obviously acted as a fire place, the burned cans, the blackened fragments of bone— The thought struck her like an articulated truck on a blind bend.

  The bones…

  Donnie’s laugh had by now turned into a horrible, phlegm-choked, hooting sound. He wriggled in her grasp, whooping, his eyes wide and the veins on his forehead popping. “Ha ha ha, yes! That’s it! You got it now! wooohoooo!”

  Juliana felt the grief strike her like a knife in her heart.

  No. No. No. No!

  She fired the word like a bombardment of heavy artillery in her brain, trying to stop the onslaught of the news as it attempted to permeate through to her consciousness.

  Beneath her, Donnie, drunk on his own delirium, began to sing. “Eenie, meenie, miney, mo! Catch a kiddie by his toe! If he screams, he’s got to go! Eenie, meenie, miney, mo!”

  Her whole body started to shake as the red mist fell like a curtain.

  No. No. No. No! It can’t be possible.

  “Eenie, meenie, miney, mo! Catch a kiddie by his toe…”

  John’s face popped into her head. He was looking up at her from the cupboard with scared eyes, completely confused. How long had he waited in there? Scared and alone, listening to the shouts and screams from down stairs.

  “If he screams, he’s gotta go!”

  How long before he had ventured from his hiding place, maybe in search of food, stomach rumbling, his timid voice calling her name? What had he thought when somebody had come into the house, somebody not invited, a stranger? An adult… somebody to help him. She pictured the up-turned, black and partially-melted milk crate again, the booze bottles, the cigarette butts.

  “Eenie, meenie, miney…”