by Poss, Bryant
When the door opened again, the pokies came in, three or four. There was no way to know for sure because once they grabbed the girl closest to the door, the screams slowed down everyone’s thought processes. The other two hit the door to the lab, and with the force of both of them managed to get it open. What happened to them after that I don’t know. I stumbled back into the wooden closet/locker the nurses used for their coats and eased the door closed in front of me. I barely fit. After at least an hour, most of the groans of the pokies died away, and I foolishly opened the door to check my surroundings. The poky was directly in front of me, looking around for something to stimulate it, and I obliged. After another gut-wrenching hour of listening to what used to be a man claw at the particle board that separated us, trying desperately to figure out how to get the door open, I heard the familiar sound of a golf ball on concrete. It tap tap tapped along the tile, the sound disappearing in the lab, it seemed.
When the door opened, I saw her. My mother sat dead in a chair twenty feet from me, and there were people being eaten in the next room, but the only thing I could see was this woman in front of me. She made me feel like a kid on Christmas morning, like I had gotten exactly what I’d asked for. There was no other way to put it. Did she take the fear away from me? No. The uncertainty, the confusion, the chaos? No, she didn’t take those things from me. What she did was give me a reason to live. Because during those cramped hours in the dark, during the last with the fingernails inches from my face, I decided that I didn’t want to live. What was there to live for? Whatever inherent self-preservation humans are born with had escaped me. But with the sight of her and the time with her spent after, I knew that I had something to live for because I’d found what I never realized I was looking for, and it came to me after the Earth had fallen into ruin—
The water felt like it came from another world, a dream. The first slosh brought him around, his consciousness, the second opened his eyes.
Cheek throbbing like gout, he hung in place barely able to open his eyes. Once the darkness took up his vision, he closed his lids again waiting for sleep to take him, but it just wouldn’t come, like some elusive woman, it wouldn’t come to him, would give him no comfort. The shuffling on concrete kept him awake, along with the muffled voices from people from other rooms, other floors.
“Wakey, wakey,” Marshal’s voice again, cigar smoke poured from his mouth as he talked, a wide grin on his face like he’d just heard the best news of his life. “Cuffs aren’t too tight, are they?”
Ben took a few seconds to look around. He was in the basement, arms over his head, hands cuffed with the chain over a pipe in the ceiling. On tiptoes, his feet barely touched a crate underneath him, just enough to take some of the pressure off his wrists. His shirt had been taken off.
“What, nothin smartass to say?” Marshal said, and the guard who stood behind him, Buddy Bakowski, or B.B. to anyone who wanted to talk to him, chuckled at the comment. Frank stood behind them both with his head down, the horseshoe of his white hair long now, the top of his skull tight and shiny, the only tight skin on him. Marshal gave Ben a hard slap across the face to get his attention on him. “Hey! Look at me, goddammit. Don’t worry about them. You had four guns with you, some ammo, stuff I’d expect. What I don’t get is the medicine. What the hell you need with all the antibiotics? You’ve been here for weeks. There’s nothing out there left for you, so why come back for them?”
“Well,” Ben winced a little as he lost his balance and his weight went to his wrists. He straightened up quickly and looked at Marshal. “This is a little embarrassing, but . . . it really burns when I pee, and—”
The back of Marshal’s hand felt like a damn cinder block. His head rocked back bringing dots in his vision. He was actually seeing stars, but the worst part was that he almost fell off the crate, which would’ve been more than he could take.
“Jesus, Ben just shut the fuck up,” Frank hissed, and Marshal turned on him, gripping his cheeks in one hand, making his lips pucker like a fish.
“You open your mouth again unless I talk to you, and I’ll put you up there beside him with no crate. You’re on thin ice with me since they had to haul you back to that truck.” He turned back to Ben. “I’m through with this shit.” He put his foot on the crate and pushed it a little. “You want all your weight on your wrists? This ain’t the movies, boy. You wanna see what it feels like? What the hell did you need the meds for? You know where the kids are, where she is?”
The crate inched from underneath his feet. Ben did everything he could not to look panicked, but he didn’t know how long he could hold out. Marshal edged closer to him, the crate sliding. Ben could feel the heat from the cherry of the cigar on his face. His wince only made Marshal smile, and the big man leaned forward taking the cigar from his mouth. Removing his foot from the crate, he took the cigar from his teeth and hovered the end over Ben’s chest just above the nipple. He didn’t even ask the question again. The hiss sounded sickening until Ben’s half scream, half grunt covered the sound. Once again he almost fell off the crate, but he strained to stay on.
“Don’t even tell me yet,” Marshal pulled out a Zippo and relit the stogie. “This is too much fun.”
Taking the cigar from his mouth, he blew on the end, the cherry glowing in response like a woman aroused. Hovering it over the opposite side of his chest, sweat stood out and began pouring down Ben’s face. Another hiss, the pain not as severe this time like his body had quickly become accustomed. Ben groaned more than anything, the voice from the top of the stairs cancelling everything out.
“Marshal!” Ben heard the voice but couldn’t quite place it, his ears ringing with the cigar burns.
“What!” he turned, irritated at having his fun interrupted.
“Somebody left the gate open! There’s slows coming in!”
“Well, take care of em, goddammit!” Stomping off, he dropped the stub of the cigar on the floor and pointed at B.B. and Frank. “Y’all come with me! I swear and be damned. I’ve got to do every fuckin’ thing myself.”
The door slammed shut, blessed silence in the room now like a friend come to comfort. Head hanging, Ben raised up as much as he could, trying to grip the pipe he was chained to, but there wasn’t enough room to fit his fingers through, the pipe between struts. Clenching his core, he managed to pull the crate underneath him with his toes. His weight better distributed now, he took the time to look around. This moment wasn’t going to last long, and if he didn’t get himself out of here he was as good as dead by morning. Damn, his chest hurt from the burns.
Shuffling on the floor from the next room. A cough. Ben watched the door for a full minute before he was satisfied everyone was gone. Sporadic gunshots could be heard outside.
“Who are you?” he heard one of the kids from their cells. It had to be Slayton.
“Shhh,” someone else. Ben couldn’t see, but he could hear that sound come from a different part of the room, from the door.
“Don’t shush me!” Slayton’s voice again.
The pain in his wrists was pretty severe at this point. Both hands had gone numb, getting no circulation, the pins and needles going crazy in both. He could smell the burnt skin on his chest. It made him nauseated. Another shuffle of feet, and he squinted as the shape came through the door, the one that led to the next room where the cells were. It was a smaller shape, not a grown man, not in body anyway, but Ben had a feeling he was more grown man than most he’d known in the old world. Cillian stepped forward, eyes shifting around, and he seemed to hesitate, to look at Ben for a long moment like a person trying to decide what to do. Whether Cillian made up his mind or saw that Ben had opened his eyes and was looking at him, he finally came forward.
“What can I do?” Cillian asked, standing in front of him, looking up with hands at his sides.
“The bag,” Ben’s voice was gone, and he cleared his throat as best he could. “He left my bag. It’s behind you. Grab it. If they come back you’ve got to
run for it, and that’s got the supplies.”
“What do I do for you!” Cillian hissed harshly.
“I can pick these cuffs with anything stiff like a clothes pin or something. It’s not that hard. Look around for anything. Bring me that chair too.”
Cillian slid the metal folding chair from the door, its seat much higher than the crate. Ben stood on it and exhaled loudly, all his weight now on his feet. He watched as the boy looked around frantically.
“You need to get out of here,” Ben said finally. “Do you know what they do to kids in this place?”
“They’re going to be busy for a bit,” Cillian barked, walking into the other room where the weapons were. “I lured some pokies to the gate and opened it. They’ll have to search to make sure they got them all. Hey!”
He came back into the room holding a paperclip.
“Will this work?”
“Only a key works better.”
Cillian climbed on the chair and placed the paperclip in his hand then stepped down and looked around. Ben watched him, using the keyhole of the cuffs to bend the tip of the paperclip to a ninety-degree angle. He then used that to turn the latch inside. Probably the easiest lock in the world to pick. He watched Cillian grab another metal folding chair from a stack against the wall. He ran up the stairs with it and jammed it underneath the doorknob of the metal door. Ben smiled a little then gritted his teeth, feeling the latch move. He rolled his wrist and the cuff came off, his skin a sickish blue-black all the way around with cuts in several places. He pulled and maneuvered the empty cuff over the pipe and stepped down, a thousand stabs of pain in his back and shoulders. With handcuffs dangling from his left hand, he stood looking at Cillian who stood looking at him.
“You probably just saved my life,” Ben said it like he was commenting on the weather. “I don’t know what to say. Why did you follow me?”
“Knew I’d be zero help just sitting on the other end of that radio. I’m also not going back without medicine for Lo,” he shuffled his foot around on the floor as if embarrassed. “What are we gonna do about them?” he nodded in the direction of the next room with the cells.
The doorknob rattled at the top of the stairs as if in answer, banging and yelling soon following.
“We’ll have to figure that out later,” Ben said, grabbing his shirt off the floor and heading toward the next room. The children were standing, looking at them through the gates like dogs at the pound. Please come get me and take me home with you. Ben pursed his lips and looked at them, mainly at Slayton. “I swear on everything I’ll be back.”
“Give me a gun!” Slayton shouted. “At least give me that!”
“They’ll kill you,” Ben replied calmly. The banging at the door had turned to booms, shoulders and bodyweight thrown against it. The chair wouldn’t hold long. Others would already be coming around back. “You’d get one at most then they’d kill you.”
“I don’t want to kill them,” Slayton hissed, his gold eyes, so light green, piercing with so much hate.
“I’m coming back,” there was finality in Ben’s voice.
Cillian was scrounging around at the bench with all the weapons, taking something and putting it in the bag then he turned to Ben with a goofy smile on his face. They looked at each other a moment longer then Ben and Cillian hit the door running, the kid with the bag and Ben with nothing but his shirt and loose handcuffs flinging from a black wrist, two ugly cigar burns above his nipples. The sun was down, and they had three miles to go at least, but the world would be better. Anywhere would be better than this shithole. Fuck this building Ben thought. Cillian slid under the fence first, pulling the bag after him then he pulled it back, making it easier for Ben. If anyone saw them, they couldn’t tell, but it wouldn’t matter once they hit the woods, anyway. No one was going to come looking for them in the dark.
16
Ben patted Luck in his front pocket and reached down, touching the fresh spots of the cigar burns, sucking air through his teeth, cursing the day for what it was worth. Cillian stood to his side watching, waiting to hear from the man what to do next. He followed as Ben made his way to the woods and searched around like a dog that had buried something it was coming back for. After a few minutes, Ben came up with the radio, quickly gave it back to Cillian, and motioned with his finger for him to keep quiet for the time being. Breathing heavily through his mouth, and wincing a little at the ache in his back and legs. Ben went deep into the woods, trying to go out in exactly the same way he had come in. Once he felt they were far enough away from the armory, he held up a hand for them to stop then he turned to Cillian.
“I can’t tell you how grateful I am you came back,” his words were heavy, his breathing the same. “It was a stupid mistake that got me caught. Not that it matters. I underestimated him, something I’ll never do again. Go ahead,” he motioned to Cillian with a nod. “Go ahead and see if there’s someone on the other end of that radio.”
“Alice,” he coughed to clear his throat. “Alice, it’s Cillian, do you read? Are you there?” He kept his eyes on the man in front of him as he spoke, but Ben was in pain. That much was obvious.
“Alice, it’s Cillian do you read?”
Ben walked over to him and rummaged through the bag, coming up with one of the medicine bottles, shaking out two white pills and dry swallowing them then he leaned against a tree, looking down at the marks on his chest.
Cillian, I’m here Alice’s voice crackled through and the boy gave Ben a thumbs up.
“Alice, I’m out, too far out for no sun, but I’m on my way. How is she?”
Still sleeping the voice crackled through again, but it was understandable. We’re keeping her hydrated as best we can, but she won’t eat. We’re running out of pills too.
“Don’t worry, we’re about to solve that.”
We? Alice’s voice came through, but Cillian’s attention was caught by Ben’s rolling his finger in the air, telling him to wrap it up.
“I’ll explain later,” Cillian said hurriedly. “Gotta go.” He clicked off the radio.
The stars and moon that made it through the clouds was little more than galactic candlelight. It seemed the blanket of night had put the Earth to bed, and they both chased what shadows were given enough to survive as they headed east, back the way Ben had come originally. With the sparse light so was their courage, or at least their speed at any rate. Trot transitioned to jog, and eventually fell to a slow walk, but they pressed on. Twigs caught their faces frequently and the fabric of their pants made a steady rasping sound from the thorns and underbrush they trudged through, and it was growing noticeably colder. Ben put on the tee shirt some time ago, putting it off as long as possible to keep the cotton off his fresh burns, but the night air finally forced him. Much good it had done, a thin layer of cotton against the cold, but it was better than nothing, and besides that, the painkillers were doing their part. After half an hour or better of their slow pace through the woods, they heard the yell of men in the distance, but that wasn’t what worried. The dark was the same for everyone, as dangerous to Marshal and his men as to them, so Ben knew they wouldn’t risk coming after them in the night. But the dogs, the dogs were another story. When he heard the barking he stopped and placed a hand on Cillian to still him, listening carefully, turning an ear back toward the compound, trying to decide if the crazy bastard was actually going to do it. Would he release some of his dogs, risk surely losing them, just to get at him? Why am I even wondering Ben thought there’s no method to his madness.
“Everything in the bag except flashlights, huh?” Ben tried to sound playful.
“Oh, you mean like the one I left at the pharmacy?” Cillian said a little embarrassed. “And I was considered a genius in the old world.”
“Ha! Don’t let that slow you down here,” Ben chuckled as he said it, not quite knowing what he meant himself. “Hell, there were at least ten back there on the wall where I got the guns. Who’s the dumbass?” Then they moved on.
It was only a few more minutes before the trees cleared.
There was a good three-quarter moon with little overcast, and their eyes had adjusted a great deal from walking through the darkness of the woods, so when Ben saw the glow of the metal buildings and heard the bending tin with the wind, he knew exactly where he was. He also remembered the last thing he’d seen when he was here.
“Cillian.”
“Yeah?” whispers, both of them.
“Not more than a few hours ago there was a spazzo around here.”
Silence.
“Like somewhere around here?” Cillian asked hesitantly.
“Like right here,” as the contemplation continued, the distant bark of a dog was carried on the wind.
“Well,” Cillian tried to sound confident. “I guess it really doesn’t matter right now, does it?”
“Stay on my heels,” Ben replied, the clink of the pistol chamber in the background.
The crunching of the gravel interrupted their every attempt at measuring the surrounding. If a spazzo was within two hundred yards of them, they needed to be aware of its presence as soon as possible in order to get elevated. There was no significant evidence that spazzos couldn’t climb or jump—in fact all prior experience led to the contrary—but what else were they to do? Ben’s last experience with a spazzo proved to him that it took a clip to put one down without a headshot, but that was exceptionally difficult to make in broad daylight considering how fast they moved. Here they were working by moonlight, dogs in the background and possible spazzo anywhere else. They were possibly two miles from the school. Lo was in bad shape desperately needing antibiotics, and they were moving like turtles in the mud.
Crunch, crunch, errrr
The footsteps fell and the metal bent. They were at the midway point through the concrete plant totally exposed, only hollow buildings for any kind of cover when Ben heard it. There was a shuffle of feet to the right, no rhythm, just random shuffling, chaos looking for stimulus, looking for purpose. He stopped and held up his hand, knowing Cillian could see well enough out here in the open moonlight.
