“Keep him awake for the whole thing!” the Butcher shouted.
The man pleaded for mercy, but it fell upon deaf ears.
“Gag him and I don’t care how much he struggles, do not knock him out!” The Butcher continued with his orders, but they gradually faded as Thomas and James made their way up the hill.
“One hundred chits my good man,” James said while smiling, even though it was Thomas that slid the note over to the guard. He lifted the paper from the tabletop and read. James stood there with his arms crossed while nodding.
“And what's in those bags there?”
They plopped their book bags onto the table and began stacking book after book in front of the man. He glanced at each one, taking a few and setting them to the side. With the others, he abruptly began to shove them back inside the bags.
“You only want those three?” James pointed to the ones the guard set aside then started to take the others from the bag, looking at their covers. “You didn't even really touch these here.”
“The ones I took are the ones we want.” He refused the books that James had attempted to force back upon him. “Take it or leave it.”
“How much?” James sounded disappointed.
We aren’t here to actually… Thomas stopped his judgment of James, remembering that they needed to stay in character. James is slick. “Yeah, what can we get for those?”
“Five chits would be fair. That and the other hundred should get each of you a round or two with one of the average girls, or should at least.”
“That’s it?” James asked.
He grabbed ten chits from a bag, then five from a large, plastic bucket. “You'll have to negotiate with them. I can't guarantee the price.” He slammed the chits on the tabletop. “Enjoy!”
James snatched the flat, gold-colored chits from the table. “This will do,” he grumbled under his breath while doling out half of them to Thomas. “We aren’t lugging this crap around. Just keep them.”
“I want this one.” Thomas took the Aesop’s Fables and stuffed it back into his bag.
A collection of cheers broke through the camp as they hiked back down the hill. Thomas turned, seeing the body drop—a lawn chair tumbling off from underneath his feet. The taut rope vibrated as it snapped into place. It quivered while the man struggled, causing his body to sway violently. The knot groaned and shifted around the thick branch of the old elm tree.
One of the guard's took to pushing the body, and the man tried to fight back. The guard played his sick game—an unnecessary display of power—to toy with a man as he took in his last moments of this world. His jaw worked to curse the guard, but nothing could escape. The path from brain to lungs was cut off, and all the man could do was gasp. All he could do was spin in place.
Chapter Nine
Thomas sat on a wooden bench within the stand of trees surrounding the camp. He kept his head down, watching his half of the chits rattle about in his hand as he shook them. That soft clanging noise couldn't distract him from the sound of the rope creaking from several yards away—the man's feet twisting from south to west to north and back. Most had already forgotten about the hanging. The horde gradually dispersed, and those who were a bit more cautious had left camp altogether. It was only the body and Thomas that remained on that side of the gazebo.
In the moment Thomas acted against the fleeing stranger, he never could have imagined they would have killed him so quickly or at all. There wasn’t a trial, not even an informal statement of facts. There was no one to speak for the man, to tell what little there may have been to say about his life. No one cared to hear it. His sentence had been decided the second that woman pointed her finger at him. Idiot! Why the hell'd he think he could hit her and get away with it?
He kept his head down, maintaining the pretense of mourning, knowing damn well he didn't feel it in the slightest. It was from here he could observe the camp without interruption while James milled around the common area, discreetly brushing against people as he checked for weapons. Only occasionally did James actually stop and speak with anyone. They could never be sure that the scar was universal. It was possible that others could be present working in a covert capacity for the Butcher.
As James continued among the deviants, Thomas riffled through his bag, grabbed the book he saved, and cracked it open. The page didn't matter. It was the letters he needed. He ran his fingertips across them, appearing to read, but in reality, he was preparing for the assault. Two guards in the front outpost. He creased the first two g's with his fingernail, leaving a slight indentation across them. The guard by the stream. He did the same to the next 'g'. Two women and the three kids. Two w's and three k's. He kept tally of weapons—crossing r's for rifles, p's for pistols, and s's for shotguns. With anything noteworthy, he continued his count through the page in this same manner.
Finally, a capitalized 'b'—he looked toward the gazebo where the Butcher had retired for the time being. From how the hill broke, he could just make out a single guard posted at the Butcher’s door. There were several others surrounding the gazebo like dogs in a junkyard. The cook stood at the head of a line that wrapped the hill away from Thomas.
He closed his eyes and sighed while rubbing his hand across his brow. The women are property. Bill’s words reverberated in his head. Without question, they believed this—apparent in how they guarded them, corralled them into controllable positions. Even the common area where the women appeared able to walk freely remained under lock and key. With a guard posted at each cardinal direction, how much freedom could they have? One could observe it in the women’s eyes that stood amongst the crowd as the guards ensured they acted appropriately for the task at hand.
One woman, naked like the others, walked briskly from the Butcher's quarters—her eyes lowered as she circumvented the crowd. It wasn’t until she found herself outside an unoccupied tent that her demeanor changed, winking and pawing at several men that walked by, but there were no takers. Eventually, she gave up and found herself mingling within the throng of men gathered in the middle—the group of strangers smoking cigarettes and nursing warm beers, speaking loudly to one another. One sweet cigarette... just a taste. Wonder how many chits those go for?
An uneasy smile spread across the woman’s face as she tucked herself into the muscly chest of a man that barely paid her any attention. Did James check that guy? It struck Thomas oddly that she would seek solace in the arms of a stranger. There didn’t seem to be any chits to earn from this man. He remained indifferent to the woman as the others chatting around him poked and prodded her casually, grabbing upon her flesh. Even those simply walking past took a piece for themselves. I may need to add him to my count.
Thomas brought his attention back to his book when he realized the scraping across the ‘B’ had worn a hole in the page. His mind had wandered too far into the crowd. He did his best to keep track of the women, counting the travelers would do no use—they would all be gone come dusk. With his tally complete, he tucked the book away. Page 101. He repeated the page number a few more times in his head as he stood from the bench.
The group of guards unwinding near the gazebo had taken notice of Thomas’s fake grieving—a couple of them mocked him with fake sobs, another gesticulated as if he were being hanged. They erupted into laughter, patting one another on the back in crude celebration.
“You guys alright?” Thomas asked.
“You’re the one cryin’ like a bitch.” A guard slipped from his seat atop the banister of the gazebo and tossed an empty beer bottle into the grass. “Why you cryin’ over this dude? You’re the one that fuckin’ slammed him.”
“I didn’t know you guys operated like this.”
“What’d you expect?”
Some punishment, I guess, but not killing the guy. You guys probably beat on these girls harder than he ever could have. Thomas chose to keep his comments to himself. Instead, he grabbed his bag and moved toward the body.
Two more of the Butcher's men l
eapt from their perch, coming to the side of the man that started the altercation. “Whatchu plannin' to do?” One of the men patted the side of a burly AK-47.
Thomas stopped dead in his tracks and put his hands up. “I don’t want any trouble.” He was unarmed and clearly outgunned. Even if he had his normal complement of firearms, he would’ve been at a disadvantage. He gritted his teeth, knowing there was no use in pushing the issue. No matter how badly he knew it was the right thing to do, he had to let it go.
“Man, sit yo’ ass down.” The rest of his cohorts laughed uncontrollably. “Go on!” He shooed Thomas with both hands, trying his best to embarrass him.
All Thomas could do was turn away. He knew starting something he possessed no chance of winning served without purpose. Hoping that if he left without pushing the matter further, he could simply integrate himself into the crowd and vanish from their radar.
“That's what I thought.” The men roared with laughter once again and traipsed back toward the gazebo. They clanged together a few bottles of beer and resumed their conversation.
That guy’s trouble. Thomas glanced back over his shoulder once or twice to ensure they no longer posed a threat—only the man with the AK maintained his watch over Thomas while he threaded his way into the crowd. If he didn’t have that damn AK... Wonder how many more of those they got. Definitely a good thing we came in here—good to know they'll have some serious fire power when we hit it.
He found James in a familiar position, a curl of people wrapped around him, taking to his wild stories. A couple of women entangled themselves in the arms of two of the men listening—faking their enjoyment. It was only because they had to that they acted this way. Their entire performance given for the worst audience of all.
“Find anything you like yet?” A stranger’s voice shot up as the woman that hung on him plunged her hand down the front of his pants. “Feisty! Just like I like it.” He slapped the woman on the ass, and she shrieked.
“I’m seeing plenty.” James played along, his eyes giving the woman an alluring once over.
“He ain’t got no way to pay for all this,” a brunette woman said. She winked at James, took her hand from the man’s pants, and plopped her backside into James. She leaned forward and gyrated herself further and further back, almost knocking him to the ground.
Thomas caught the grin on James’s face—his eyes fixated on her waistline—the woman seemingly with no intention of letting up. When James finally broke his gaze, Thomas was able to gain his attention and signaled for him to come over. James nodded.
“Who wants to earn some chits?” James took them out and began counting them in his hand.
The woman shot up and spun around. “Oh, please. What do you like?”
“Either of us will do, or both of us if you'd like it that way,” the other woman chimed in, ensuring she wouldn’t be forgotten when the chits exchanged hands.
“Meh, you two aren't my type.” James chortled. “I'll find one that better suits my needs.” He turned from them and made his way toward Thomas.
“I can do whatever you want!” the brunette called to him. “Both of us can!”
“What’s up, man?” James asked.
“The big guy in the middle—you check him?” Thomas rubbed along his mouth and chin, keeping his voice discreet. “The one with the girl hiding in his chest.”
James turned to see who he meant. “Well…” James seemed uncomfortable. “The thing about that guy. I—“
Thomas gave him a stiff look.
“He doesn’t look the type. There’s no scar, man.”
“Wasn’t sure if there could be an exception,” Thomas offered.
“No one’s treated him any different than anyone else. Maybe he’s the strong, sensitive type—maybe he’s paying her to cuddle with him.” He shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“I’m not buying it. Did you check him or not?”
“I got close enough not to be killed. He ain’t one of them. I’m positive. Just another guy, trying to get whatever it is he needs from this place.”
“How certain are you?” Thomas pressed him.
“Bullets will still go through him if he’s here after sundown. It’s not the end of the world if we miss one from the count.” He scanned the crowd. “My biggest concern is that AK. You see that?”
“Couldn’t miss it. It looks like he can handle it too.”
James nodded.
“Doesn’t seem like they’re formally trained,” Thomas said, “but they may be able to handle themselves. In the meantime, keep doing what you’re doing. Don't do anything that might draw attention to yourself.”
“Alright.”
Thomas walked along the curb, hunks of mud scraped from the bottoms of boots hung from them like a well-used welcome mat. This crowd is definitely larger than yesterday. I bet this place just grows as more people catch wind of it. Where the hell are these people coming from? His thoughts continued to drift. A few women may have said something as he passed by the rustling tents—past the quiet banter and sensual moans that came from inside.
“What's your story?” A woman, raven-haired with rugged beauty, reached out, pulling Thomas’s hand into her own. She began stroking his palm with her fingertip. “Care to share?”
“Not really.” He could see how some men got carried away with this. She was pretty and had that effect of a woman. Her soft voice could make a man feel important and needed for something much more primal than their usual responsibilities.
Thomas knew she didn't care what his story was—that she would forget anything he told her the second he left. He needed to pull his hand free—Mission first—but the slide of her fingertip along the ridges of his hands prevented it. It felt good to be wanted, desired, even if he knew deep down that it was all a farce. He felt himself falling into this trap. Play along. Maybe she'll prove useful in other ways.
“How much?” Thomas wasn't sure that it was an act at this point, his lower half beginning to get the better of him. He bit his lip, but quickly released it.
“How much you got?” She leaned back, causing him to snap hold of her to prevent her from falling. “Those strong hands could hold a lot of chits—a lot of quality time.”
“You like to play games, huh?” Thomas bent an awkward smile to her. “I'm not falling for that. What's your time worth?”
“I can't tell you what my time's worth if I don't know what you're wanting to do.”
“Let's start with talking.”
“Then let's start with a chit.” She smiled.
Thomas hesitated. He took his hand from hers, slipped it into his pocket, and shuffled the chits between his fingers. “Will this do?” A chit rested in his palm.
“You're focusing on the wrong things right now.” She pulled her elbows in toward each other, pushing her breasts up and in. Thomas couldn't help himself but look. “There we go,” she said, as the chit slid from his hand.
“This one yours?” He pointed to the red and gray tent behind them.
Retaking his hand, she pulled him toward it. “It's yours now.”
She unzipped the door and pulled it to the side, wafting an overwhelming plume of floral perfume from inside—an obvious attempt to mask the underlying foulness. The stench straightened Thomas up before he poked his head into the slumping tent. Cautious—his feet mindful of the filth wrapped in a heap of blankets and pillows. Plastic shells of water bottles littered the back. A few crusted bowls. He sighed. A creeping sense of indecency rose from the nylon floor of the tent and along his spine as he finally placed both feet inside. The woman followed. She let the door drop back into place, and the rolling sound of the zipper sealed them inside.
Thomas kicked the blankets to the side, and with a loath descent onto the floor, he perpetuated the ruse. Any desire he had felt toward this woman and her coerced need to please him quickly evaporated, dissolving within the burst of perfume the woman just released from a tiny, heart-shaped bottle. She smiled, put the bottl
e down, and took some lotion from a plastic stand. She worked some of it into her hands. “How does this do you?” Her hands inches from Thomas’s face as she lay down beside him, both of them on their sides.
He inhaled, and not surprisingly, it smelled of lavender. “Fine.” Thomas forced a smile as she put the bottle back.
“Just fine?” She placed her hands upon his chest and ran them down his front, stopping at Thomas’s belt, using it to pull them together, her chest now heaving into his own. “Is this fine?”
A thin line of sunlight squeezed its way through a partially uncovered window. It fell across her face, highlighting her scar. His nerves began to get the best of him. This isn’t for you. She began to undo his belt, but his hands grasped the buckle. She released him, her eyebrows knitting as she did so.
“I told you I just wanted to talk.” He fed the belt back through its buckle. “I wasn't lying.”
She shook her head with a confused look, dejected, but he sensed some relief in her eyes. “I've heard that before, but never... I've never had anyone actually stick to it.”
“It's just been awhile for me.” She smiled from the explanation. And while that was the truth, it was far more complicated—Thomas couldn’t bring himself to subjecting these women into this form of slavery any further. Play the game. “I can't jump into something like this without... I don't know.”
“No, it's okay.” She retrieved his hand once again, holding it within both of hers. “Believe me, it's okay. I'm here to do what you want. If that's all you want, then I'm good with it.”
Thomas exhaled. “Good.”
“Let's just talk then. I’m Cindy.” Her finger traced the veins on the top of his hand as she brought it into her chest. She then kissed it lightly, leaving a smudge of pink lipstick. “And you are?”
“Can't you stop for one second with this crap?” He jerked his hand away. “This isn't you!”
The woman's eyes went wide—her body wriggled away from him as swiftly as she could. Thomas raised his hand to reassure her, but she covered her face in defense. “Please!”
Days Since...: Thomas: Day 758 (Almawt Virus Series Book 1) Page 13
