Allen swallowed, and the knotted lump of flesh thumped its way down his throat. He nodded at his wife and forced a smile. His wife smiled and returned his nod. Swallowing the rising vomit, Allen sipped from his glass of water, followed that with wine and more wine.
Indeed, sacrifices did have to be made to stay on top.
Chapter Sixteen
Cannibalism for Sport
Then
With a twitch in her left eye, a pull at the trapezius muscle on the right side of her body, Megan felt her mind slide away from her. She had tossed her bottle of YUM in the trash long ago and yet reminders of YUM occasionally trickled her system.
Logical thoughts she once had were replaced some time ago with ideas that were far-fetched even for her tastes. Madam knew then that she should step away from herself, reassess the ideas that pranced around her brain.
She didn’t.
Instead, Madam put away the last remnant of Megan, what had anchored her to some semblance of humanity, and indulged herself completely, compliantly, and even gleefully into becoming Madam.
Megan had invented YUM, and Madam had ignored the side effects. Megan raised Danny, but Madam had birthed Dolly.
Madam had pushed Megan aside when Madam invented the Shaky, and Megan was completely gone from Madam by the time she’d designed the bead cartridges and watched the beads buzz their way into a test subject.
When YUM took over, demand for protein diminished, but the body’s need for it didn’t. Madam pondered that problem and was beyond pleased with her solution: humans as a food source for special occasions.
Madam had also invented The Hunt.
The idea of cannibalism for sport had made Megan retch and Madam smile.
NOW
Madam now pulled all the strings and left no stone unturned. Madam would eventually have the whole world snugly trapped in her grasp. Sitting now at the helm of her dinner table, she sipped her wine and watched her guests ingest pieces of their own breed without question, hiding their disgust, giving her broad smiles brought on not by admiration but by fear.
The sight of Allen gulping down his soup with wide-eyed terror was the icing on Madam's flesh cake.
Chapter Seventeen
The Deal With the Devil
Manuel stood by the door of the trailer he shared with Robert, trying to persuade his hands to turn the knob. He knew Robert was inside with Daisy, but Manuel had a message, a message he dared not read yet.
He should have read it before coming home. That would have helped him prepare for whatever was about to fall in their laps. The message was nothing more than a dirty piece of crumbled paper, but what was written on it could determine so much. Life in the Garden was not peaceful as it seemed; it was precarious. They lived on the head of a nail. Anything, even the words on this foul piece of paper, could kick them all off the edge.
His hand on the knob, Manuel’s stomach lurched; his palms filled with fear sweat. He reminded himself that some messages were good. Maybe this one was a good one. That thought helped his hand turn the knob, and positive thinking gave him resolve to enter the trailer. Message in hand, his rifle slung over his shoulder, Manuel entered the trailer and wondered once again if he was a fool.
Robert looked up at him and smiled from his seat next to Daisy. When she saw Manuel, she almost twitched with anxiety. She had never been well since they’d come here, but since Chandler had arrived at the Gardener camp and challenged them, Daisy was like a nervous dog always about to pee on the carpet.
Manuel thought maybe Robert needed to take Daisy for a walk to the Popper graveyard. That walk and life without Daisy after the walk was Manuel’s latest and best fantasy. To Manuel, Daisy was the human equivalent of a hated household chore.
Daisy was always so needy with Robert, always needing to have her hand held, a pat on the shoulder, to be the center of attention. This caked Manuel’s attempts at a life with her brother Robert with mold.
“How was the hunt?” asked Robert, standing to embrace his husband.
Manuel shrugged and responded, “I ran into Ani.” He held the paper out to Robert; he wanted Robert to carry the burden of whatever was written and the reaction, good or bad, that Daisy would have would be Robert’s to deal with alone.
Robert kept his expression calm when he opened the message and read it aloud.
Mind your manners,
Love, M
Manuel stiffened his legs, making every muscle in them steel. He would stand his ground, not move, not go near Daisy when she reacted predictably: wailing in anguish and dropping to the floor to sob in despair. Daisy was a human circus, all spectacle.
“What the hell is she talking about?” Robert asked this not of Manuel or his sister but to the air in the room.
Daisy answered, her voice trembling, “It’s her. IT’S HER! M knows we saved her. She knows she’s here.” Daisy sat up then and grabbed Manuel’s pants leg. He refused to look down at her. “We have to give her back,” Daisy declared.
Eyes steady on Robert, Manuel would not console his sister-in-law. Her lack of a backbone, her chicken-shit nature, her cowardice, her making deals with that devil Madam, her everything was an affront to Manuel. He wanted to kick her, and it took all his mental discipline not to draw his foot back.
“We don’t know that,” answered Robert without an ounce of emotion. Robert met Manuel’s eyes, and Manuel shook his head. He would not take Chandler back.
Robert lifted Daisy off the floor. She hung in his arms like a rag doll, and he had to half-drag her to a nearby couch. When Daisy reached for his hand, he flinched and sidestepped from her reach. He went to Manuel, placing one hand on his husband’s back. He stroked Manuel’s face with his other hand but said nothing.
Manuel, and Daisy as well, waited for Robert’s response, for his leadership, wisdom, truth, anything to make the both of them remember why they followed him, remember why they had become who they were.
Manuel’s patience had drained to an all-time low. He spoke without care of what response he would get, “It’s time we leave or fight. You…” He thumped his finger against Robert’s chest. “…choose which one.”
With a quick spin, Manuel’s back was to his husband, his feet leading him to the trailer door.
No one called him back or tried to stop him, and Manuel left, slamming the trailer door behind him. Slamming it drowned out whatever response came from Daisy, the third wheel in his marriage, a wheel who was endlessly needy but also ruthless and cruel.
Daisy had made the deal with Madam and sold it to Robert. Their silence, their obedience for the sake of all the Gardeners’ safety rose from a back-alley agreement constructed by Daisy and followed through by Robert with Manuel along for the ride. At the time, Manuel had thought Daisy had done the right thing.
After all, they were saving the lives of those living in the Gardener camp. They were the good guys.
Manuel wanted to spit. How could he really believe they were the “good guys” in this hell?
Trying to walk off his anger, Manuel reached Robert’s Popper camp. Robert had a new Popper in a cage. The man was gagged, and Manuel could hear his soft whimpering. Manuel took a deep breath, feeling the chill of the night air hook into him. He wondered if the Popper was cold.
The Popper stared dead ahead of him, but he wasn’t looking at or watching for something. His stare was of apathy. This Popper had given up all hope. Manuel wondered how long before he would help Robert dig and cover up this one’s grave.
Stepping forward, Manuel intended to put this Popper out of his misery now, get it over with like any work duty. He almost had his gun off his shoulder when he noticed movement in the trees next to the Popper’s cage, a slight wiggle and a swaying the branches.
Jen and Chandler emerged from the forest. He stepped back into the trees, out of sight.
Sloppy, thought Manuel. Robert had taught Jen better than to allow both of them to come out of their hiding spot at the same time.
H
e was about to do something to frighten Jen, to remind her of Robert’s lessons on stealth, but both girls headed for the Popper’s cage and knelt beside it.
The fresh night air filled Manuel’s lungs, clarifying his thoughts, and he made a choice. Manuel hated liars. He didn’t want to lie to Robert, but some things it was better to not know. He had seen the girls, yes, but if he left before he could learn why they were there or what they were about to do… You couldn’t lie if you didn’t know. Not knowing wasn’t the same as lying.
With night as his cover, Manuel walked away from the Popper, the girls, the whatever was about to happen. He never looked back, not once.
Robert watched his sister melt into the couch, her face blurred by her tears. He thought of the vials of sedatives he had back at the Popper graveyard and made a mental note to bring some home to the trailer.
Would he need to use them on her? Could he?
The slam of the trailer door, followed by the thud of footsteps from his husband walking away gave Robert his answer. He’d have to do something about Daisy before she betrayed them all by telling everyone the truth of why Madam allowed them to stay there.
Chapter Eighteen
The Pure Stuff
“How much?” asked Leo, eyeing the leg that Jeff, the cook's assistant, had brought to him. The leg was meaty, looked female, but once a body was dismembered, it was hard to tell.
“I need some tires for my truck,” Jeff answered, eyeing Leo coolly. He suspected one leg might not be enough, he hoped Leo the street vendor could hook him up.
Leo raised his hands and shook his head, squinting at Jeff. “Do I look like I sell tires, bro?” He turned to walk away.
Jeff knew Leo wasn’t bluffing about walking away, but he also knew Leo could find him tires. He had to win this.
Jeff blurted, “I can bring you the medicine.”
Leo turned around and looked at Jeff, his head slightly tilted as if he needed a moment to straighten his thoughts. “The pure stuff?”
“Yes,” Jeff said, nodding. “The pure stuff.”
Leo walked towards Jeff. “None of that watered-down shit. You hear me. I can’t be giving the watered-down shit to my kids. It’s got to be the real deal.”
Jeff envied Leo. He was a self-made man in the world Nutri-Corp had built. Leo had made a life in Nutri-Corp City’s black market. Leo slithered about, never catching the eye of the Nutri-Corp police. It was as if he feared no one or the body-melting effects of a Shaky.
“I guess I can find you some tires for that raggedy rig you trying to piece together.” Leo smirked at Jeff. “What you gonna do with it? Drive away?”
Jeff’s turn to squint his eyes and tilt his head. “Far, far away,” he said.
Leo nodded. “Legit,” he said. He walked away, beyond the Nutri-Corp worker apartments to the dregs of the city, casually holding the leg, wrapped in an old blanket, under his arm.
Chapter Nineteen
Pretty or Ugly
Both Chandler and Jen squatted outside the Popper’s cage, peering at him as if he’d stepped off his alien spaceship. The Popper lay catatonic on a dirt-crusted mat. His once clean suit was now stained with filth and streaked with things neither Chandler nor Jen wanted to imagine. Should they poke him, smack him, or sweet talk him. How would they get this Nutri-Corp Popper to do what they wanted?
Clearing her throat to get his attention, Chandler spoke first. “Those ropes and that gag look uncomfortable,” Chandler said and looked up into the overhanging trees. She looked at Jen then said, “I bet there are a ton of bugs in those trees. They’ll probably land right on him.”
Jen took Chandler’s bait knowing the lifestyle the Nutri-Corp elite had, and none of it included dirt, outdoors, bugs, or…other things.
“Yeah. Snakes, too. Poisonous ones,” Jen added.
The Popper’s eyes watered. For a split second, Jen felt empathy for him. He was crying. If she couldn’t care when another human showed pain and sadness, what kind of human was she?
Jen reminded herself this was a Popper. Poppers were “Its.” Maybe if she repeated that enough, she’d believe it.
“Don’t cry,” Chandler said, her voice soft and sweet, as if she spoke to a child. She leaned closer to the cage and continued, “We’ll let you out. We’ll even help you get back to Nutri-Corp City.”
The Popper’s eyes grew wide as Jen opened up the cage door. Jen stepped in and freed the gag from the Popper’s mouth. She gently loosened the ropes enough to help him sit.
“But...” Chandler began then paused, “for us to help you, you have to help us.”
Jen exited the cage, leaving the cage door open. She wanted the Popper to imagine the freedom he might have if he listened to them. The door swung slightly in the night breeze, its hinges creaking but not enough to attract attention.
Chandler did not move. Her voice lowered to a purr. “You must behave. If you do, we can make things nice for you.”
Jen went inside Robert’s tent and came back a cup in her hands. With Chandler watching her, Jen held the cup to the Popper’s mouth. She let him drink and drink again.
Seeing how thirsty the Popper was, Jen couldn’t help but direct some anger toward Robert. How was this solving the problem? She’d never understand his idea of purging the Poppers to help them. How was dying of thirst their salvation?
Swishing the water in his mouth before swallowing it, the Popper looked at Jen. Chandler’s role was to be the Popper’s succubus, whispering entreaties to elicit his cooperation.
“Nice?” It asked.
Jen’s turn to play seductress to sway the will of one Nutri-Corp elite greed in their favor. “Danny...” said Jen, noting the instant gleam of recognition in the Popper’s features, “...is a good friend of mine.”
The Popper leaned forward, taking another small sip from the cup of water. For some reason, this amused Jen, but from Robert’s training she knew It thought It could buy itself time to answer, as if he had the upper hand.
“I’ll get to meet Danny?” he asked, looking at Jen but not Chandler.
Interesting, thought Jen, he doesn’t trust Chandler.
“Of course,” answered Jen.
Chandler nodded and added, “We’ll also let him know how sweet and cooperative you’ve been with us.”
“He’ll like that.” Jen took her turn at purring. “He really likes us. You know what I mean?” She winked, fighting her repulsion for sounding like a love-starved sex doll, but it worked. The smug gleam in the Popper’s eyes betrayed his lust.
The Popper smiled and answered, “I bet he does.”
Chandler shot to her feet. A knife in Chandler’s right hand seemed to come from nowhere. Jen stayed still, washed her face of expression in anticipation of what Chandler might or might not do to the unsuspecting Popper.
Chandler’s arm stabbed between the cage’s bars and held the knife at the Popper’s neck. The purr in Chandler’s voice vanished, no trace of soft and sweet or sexy left. “And if you decide to be bad and not listen, we will hurt you.” Chandler dug the tip of her knife into the flesh of his dirt-caked neck. “And we’ll make it last for a very long time.”
The knife disappeared as quickly as it had appeared, and Jen was awestruck, as if she’d seen a comet shoot through the night sky.
Chandler motioned for Jen to put his gag back in place. Jen looked the Popper in the eye as she did so. He winced—not a tic—as Jen tightened his ropes.
Jen patted his head, like she might a caged dog. “We’ll be back soon,” she said and stepped outside again. Jen securely locked the cage door, catching sight of a line of black ants march into the cage. Maybe they thought he was food. They were small black ants, nothing more than a bother, but even a small bother was worth the mental anguish their presence would put on this Nutri-Corp Popper.
Once they were well away from Robert’s Popper camp, Chandler let out a small laugh. She slapped her hands over her mouth, but more laughter erupted from her. Turning to J
en, she said, “My mother used to tell me, we can do this pretty or we can do this ugly. You choose? Pretty? Ugly?” More laughter, bordering on hysterical now.
Jen nodded, not sure where Chandler was going with this and double not sure why what they’d done was funny.
“I kind of hope that piece of work Popper goes for ugly,” Chandler said. “I felt like a badass holding that knife to his throat.”
Chandler laughed again, shook her head, and took the path through the woods to their trailer. Jen’s brain prickled, like a red flag waving across her thoughts. Should she worry? Or should she be grateful that Chandler was brave, far more than her melt-down at the library would indicate? Was Chandler simply brash? A pendeja? A savior? Inherently a sadist who hadn’t found her calling until now?
Chandler was different, so different that Jen couldn’t put her finger on it. Chandler was a spectrum of a human being. There was no one side of her, no definition of her in any book.
The realization, when it struck, almost stopped Jen in her tracks. She understood the emotion Chandler evoked in her.
Envy.
Chapter Twenty
The Gathering
The Gardeners sat in chairs, on folded blankets, and bent at the knee in the Gardener meeting hall. The meeting hall was the trailer of an old abandoned truck, covered in rust and kudzu. The truck was not what it seemed, not a worthless thing shoved into a patch of woods. The truck only looked like that because that was what the Gardeners had done to it.
The Gardeners took things and cloaked them in blight as a disguise, a decoy. You wouldn’t want what they had because what they had looked ready for the junk yard.
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