His vision swims and he's glad he's sitting down. If he would have been standing, he would have fallen—he’s sure of it. Moving as gingerly as possible, he turns, scanning the area around him for Karen.
She's not here. He slides to his left so he can see down the length of the short hallway leading to the back door. She's not there either—and the door is open.
Something on the floor glimmers, catching his attention.
"No," he chokes, his whisper echoing through the silent building. He drags himself toward the object, every movement sending a pulsing pain through his head. When he reaches it, he picks it up in disbelief, clutches it to his chest, and repeats. "No...Please, no."
He holds it out again, examining it closely—hoping, wishing it would turn into something else—that this is just a trick of him mind. But try as he might, the item never changes shape—a short, rubber coated handle on one end—at the other, a piece of curved metal, like the top of the letter T, one end flattened to use for chipping, the other end pointed and used for piercing.
It was Karen's climbing ax—but, no Karen.
* * *
Finding her backpack behind the apartment complex solidified his fears. The Highwaymen had taken Karen. As fast as his aching head would allow, he retraced his route through the trees, over the creek, and back into Zak’s neighborhood.
Zak is there, but he's not alone. There's a girl with him and Chris can only assume she was one of the Highwayman's prisoners. How Zak ended up with her, he's not sure—and he really doesn't care.
All he cares about is getting his gear together and going after Karen.
There's a major problem though, as soon as he steps into the house, the living room spins. Chris reaches out as if to grab something, takes a few drunken steps toward Zak, then crashes to the floor.
For the second time that day, darkness pulls its shroud around him and keeps him there.
* * *
"Chris! Wake up!"
It's no use. As much as Zak speaks directly into his face and slaps his cheeks, Chris is out.
"What's wrong with him?" Audrey asks, shaking hands still clutched beneath her neck. Chris's less-than-quiet entrance into the house had startled her.
"I'm not sure," he admits. He stands abruptly and rushes through the front door and into the yard.
Audrey calls from inside. "Z-Zak...what are you doing?"
He returns and states, "Karen. She's not here." He bends to the floor again, slaps Chris's cheeks, this time leaving red marks in the shapes of his fingers. Eye's fluttering, his lids crack open only to close almost immediately. "Chris! Where's Karen?"
Chris's brow furrows, the wrinkles appearing on his forehead make him appear much older than his years.
Audrey lowers herself to the floor and looks down at the new stranger. She whispers, "There's blood on the floor...under his head."
Carefully, Zak rolls Chris onto his side so he can see the back of his head. Thickening blood matts his hair to the skull. As careful as possible, Zak searches the wound with his fingers—he can feel sharp bone grinding on bone. The scalp is split in two places—about an inch apart. The cut closest to his neck bleeds profusely.
Chris mumbles and Audrey leans close, trying to make out the words.
"What's he saying?"
She shakes her head. "I can't make it all out...just one word." She leans closer, listening. "Gone...he's saying, gone."
"Karen," Zak says with a fist to his thigh. "They fucking took her." Pointing now at Chris, he says, "And whoever hit him did it with enough force they didn't expect him to get up again."
"They tried to kill him?"
"Yeah," Zak acknowledges. "Lucky bastard...his hard head is the only thing that kept that from happening. He's going to have a hell of a headache for at least a week."
Chris's mumblings have gone quiet and he lies there as if in a deep sleep. "We need to get him off the floor and stop the bleeding."
Audrey nods in agreement, but protests, "I don't think I can lift him, though."
Zak looks her over. She's probably right. He could put every single piece of clothing he had on her, dunk her in the water, and she'd still barely weigh a hundred pounds. He has an idea. "Wait here...I have a small mattress in the other room. I'll bring it in here and hopefully, together, we can work him onto it."
She nods and he rushes toward the hallway. He stops dead in his tracks. The bedroom door at the end of the hallway is open. Lying just inside on the floor, one of the Highwaymen. Beneath the body is a large pool of crimson that glimmers and reflects light from the setting sun.
The body draws him toward it, each step a whisper on the floor until he's standing directly over it. A wicked ragged tear stretches across most of the neck and in the skull, right at the hairline, is a nearly perfect hole about the size of an old quarter.
Karen was here. She killed him while she...
Zak looks up suddenly, eyes glued to the crib under the window and against the far wall.
The baby! Did she...
Leaping over the bloody pool, he reaches the crib in just a couple of steps. The baby opens its mouth in a silent sneer, its tiny fingers flexing, reaching for him. A breath of relief comes out of Zak. But now there's another problem. How is he going to explain this to Karen and Chris? If Karen saw it, then she probably told Chris if she had the opportunity.
"Zak?" The voice comes from the front. Audrey—he'd forgot about her already.
"Coming," he answers. Retreating to the hallway, he nudges the body far enough over enough to close the door. How will he explain all this? He'll cross that bridge when he comes to it.
Moving to another bedroom, one mainly used for storage, he shoves some boxes aside so he can get to the twin-size mattress leaning against one wall. Grabbing an old towel from a stack of linens, he takes it and the mattress into the living room and together, he and Audrey get Chris's body onto it.
Zak looks over the wounds again, dabbing away as much blood as possible without putting too much pressure. As much as it’s bleeding from the scalp, he's afraid it might be just as bad internally.
If that's the case, he might just be in for the fight of his life.
* * *
Karen didn't care about the volume of her screams or if her voice would draw the Tainted—she didn't care about anything but Chris.
He led the way down the stairs and as soon as he reached the bottom floor, a Highwayman stepped into view between them. His spear struck swiftly and accurately—not piercing him, but smashing Chris on the back of the head, causing him hit the floor in a heap where he remained still—dead to the world.
The Highwayman turned toward her and without hesitation, used the butt end of the spear to strike her hand as she reached for her ax. Under the force of the blow, her fingers snap like twigs and she jerking her hand away, clutching it protectively against her chest. The pain brought immediate tears to her eyes. In another blur of motion, the man was on top of her. His fist connected with her chin. It didn't knock her completely, but it dazed her so much that, before she knew what was happening, she was outside, tied up, and carried a ways before being thrown into the back of the same cart used to load the supplies.
Despite multiple warnings, Karen screamed, calling Chris's name until the one Zak had met with came to her and stuffed a dirty rag in her mouth. It smelled of urine. Nausea hit her like that fist to the chin. She reeled and choked back the bile that threatened to fill her throat and choke her. Her nose and throat stung, bringing still more tears.
When she finally felt she wouldn't throw up, she focused on her surroundings. They were on the outskirts of town, passing the stadium where they left Pete to graze. She looked that way, hoping—willing Chris to appear, riding Pete, swinging his machete's as he rode, striking the Highwaymen down as he came to her rescue.
Instead, when the center of the stadium came into view, all she was Pete's skinned bones catching the light of the setting sun. Buzzard, dozens of them, picked at the bo
nes like parasites while above, a hundred more threw moving shadows across the landscape.
Her gaze shifted relentlessly, left and right, hoping she would catch a glimpse of Chris hiding, watching for the right moment to spring out and save her. She just needed to see his face. If she saw his face, she'd know he was okay and that he would come for her. No matter where she looked, Chris wasn't there—just the Highwaymen, their faces sneering back at her, stripping her and violating her with their hungry eyes.
The horizon seemed to suck the light from the sun in a matter of seconds, plunging the surrounding land in darkness so deep, she couldn't see her hand in front of her. How is it the Highwaymen could still press on while not being able to see? All around her, twigs snapped, men coughed or sneezed, while others whispered secrets to one another. Their voices carried, but the breeze blended their words so that when they reached her ears, they lost any coherency.
Shifting position, she cried out as her hand reminded her of the injury to her fingers. She wished for daylight again so she could see and evaluate the damage.
Sleep came in fitful spurts. Either her broken fingers woke her, or the dream.
She dreamed of Chris—that he was coming to her rescue. She could hear him approaching from behind the group of Highwaymen, calling her name. He's so close she can feel him—she can hear him. He's riding Pete.
When she finally sees him, he's cresting the hill behind them, but something is wrong. His head is bashed in, scalp split with fragments of skull and seeping blood so dark it's like oil; his eyes, bloodshot and wide, the iris's no longer black, but as gray and lifeless as his skin—he's Tainted...
...and he's riding a fleshless horse of clicking bones.
That’s when Karen wakes.
19
The next morning, a gentle hand shakes her awake. It was one of the other women, the ones that had been tied together.
"Hey," she says. "Are you injured?"
Karen holds up her right hand. The middle, ring, and pinky fingers ballooned to twice their normal size overnight. The pain throbbed and every time the cart jostled during the night, she'd wake with a start, causing stars to appear in her vision where no stars should be.
The woman addresses the man accompanying her. "Can I take the fucking rag out of her mouth?"
He nods.
"And what about some food!" It wasn't a question and he eyes her up and down, obviously pissed off at being spoken to in that way by a prisoner—but apparently, a superior told him to give her some leeway because after giving her a sideways look, he nods and says he'll go grab something.
Before leaving, he calls to the front of the cart and has the horses stop for a moment so the woman could climb up.
Squatting beside Karen, she drops a large bag between her feet, holds out her hands, and orders, "Let me see it."
Karen hesitates. She doesn't know this woman and is reluctant to put herself in a position where another person can cause her pain.
The woman, sensing her apprehension. She sighs. "I'm sorry. I'm just a little pissed off at my new reality." She turns and spits, coming exceptionally close to one of the men escorting them and the supplies. "I should be dead, you bastard." She spits again, but the man ignores her. If the stories Zak told her were true, a little spit won't bother any member of the Highwaymen.
The woman turns back to Karen. "My name is Helen...I was once a general practitioner before the world went to shit."
Karen looks at her, confused.
Helen clarifies. "I was a doctor...now, let me see your hand."
Karen shifts her body and slowly extends her hand. The skin of her fingers seems to stretch to the point of splitting. For what seemed like the hundredth time, nausea floods through her. Somehow, she swallows, forcing the bile back down.
"What's your name?" Helen asks.
"Karen." She studies the woman. She's the oldest of the group—by a lot of years. Threads of gray streak her brown hair and the years etch her face with tiny lines at the corners of her eyes.
"Were you living back there?"
"Hmm?" Karen asks, wincing at Helen's gentle probing. "No, we were just passing through."
"We?" Another delicate touch, this time to the pinky.
"Yes, my..." Karen pauses, thinking. What was Chris? Her boyfriend? Lover? Both for sure. She settles with, "My close friend, Chris."
Helen nods, making a sound of acknowledgement that says she knows what Karen's talking about even though she didn't say it out loud.
"Okay. It looks like your middle and ring finger are definitely broken. Maybe the pinky too, but I can't feel the break. More than likely it's just severely sprained." As she speaks, she reaches into her bag and begins removing items. Rolls of gauze, pieces of flat wood, and a roll of yellowing tape. Taking Karen's hand, she measures pieces of the wood and snaps them to size. "Put your fingers together for me." Karen does and Helen puts the wood underneath. "Hold those there while I wrap them up."
Using her left hand, Karen holds the flat pieces of wood underneath while Helen wraps her fingers with gauze. The wood extends the length of her fingers and ends where the palm meets the wrist. As she winds the gauze, Karen realizes that her fingers are going to be immobilized.
"Wait," she says, pulling back her hand. "How am I going to fight?"
"Karen," Helen says, her voice taking on a motherly tone. "You won't be fighting with that hand for several weeks. With or without the bandages. The bones are snapped...you couldn't hold a weapon if you tried." She nods toward their escorts. "Besides...I don't think their plans include you taking up arms to protect them."
Confused, Karen says, "What are you talking about?"
"You really don't know?"
Karen shrugs. "I guess not."
"Honey, your only job now is to breed."
Karen's eyes widen. "What?"
Helen motions toward the other women. "You see all those women over there?"
Karen nods.
"Of those women, which one is the oldest and how old do you think she is?"
Karen scans the group, then says, "The tall one on the far side...the one with the black hair. She looks like the oldest and I don't think she's much older than me."
"That's exactly right. They killed all the other women. Do you know why?"
Karen shakes her head.
"They did away with any woman that couldn't bear them children for at least another ten years."
Karen scans the group again, focusing on every face for several minutes. Helen is right—they are all young. A few of them are so young they've probably not had their first monthly cycle. Karen touches her belly—her own cycle should be starting any day now.
Visions flash through her mind—she sees each woman at the hands of the Highwaymen. They have their way with them—making them scream, making them cry. The visions bring back the nausea and she fights to keep it at bay.
"Are you okay?" Helen asks.
"Yes," Karen says, nodding. "I'm just hungry."
As if waiting for her to mention her hunger, the Highwayman returns and hands Helen a couple pieces of dried meat. Helen takes them and passes one to Karen.
She rips into it, realizing that what was an excuse just a minute ago, was in fact, reality. She was starving. The meat is fresh, recently cooked. It reminded her of the deer jerky Zak always carried around—but this was a little less gamey. She takes another bite.
The Highwayman smirks. "Glad you're enjoying that," he sneers and takes a bite of his own strip of mean. "Best horse I've had in a long time."
Karen throws up.
* * *
They reach the Highwayman's stronghold on the middle of the second day after her capture.
Stronghold—it's the only way she knows how to describe it. It reminds her of the enclosure build beneath the overpass between Martinville and Carson's Crossing—except this one is ten times as massive and encompasses not one overpass, but seven, each of varying heights.
How is Chris going to find m
e in all that?
She looks to the road behind. She's looked back countless times over the past day-and-a-half, expecting to see Chris—but her eyes always fall on disappointment.
"How's the hand?"
Karen turns, startled. She hadn't heard Helen approach. "The swellings gone down considerably. I'm not looking forward to seeing the bruising, though." She shows Helen the tips of her fingers sticking out from between the wooden splints and the gauze. "I bet you half my hand is as black as my fingertips."
Helen nods toward the complex built withing the highway interchanges. "Once we get settled in, I'll come examine it and change the bandaging."
They walk in silence for a few minutes, watching the complex grow larger as each step brings them closer. Karen glances around, they are relatively alone for the moment. "I was thinking about you and the others. It's not that you’re..." She pauses, glances at Helen closely. She stammers, "Well...we're not the same age or anything."
Helen cuts her off, "You can say in, Karen...I'm old."
"No, it's not..."
Helen holds up a hand. "I know where you're going with this and to answer your questions...yes, I can still have children, but no, that's not why they spared me."
"They found out you were a doctor and decided to keep you alive?"
Helen nods and says, "However, I really wish they would have just killed me and put me out of my misery."
"Do you think they'll want to...?” Karen nods towards Helen's lower body. "You know..."
"Yeah, I know...but I don't think so. Being a doctor, I think they'll treat me like a queen." She cuts a sly grin toward Karen. "At least, they'd better."
Karen smiles too. She can't help it; Helen's positivity is contagious.
Again, she casts a glance in the direction from which they’d come.
"You expecting company?"
Karen shakes her head then changes her answer by saying, "I don't know...yes?" She lowers her head and admits, "I'm not sure."
"What happened?"
Tainted Souls Page 11
