The Human Zoo (Book 4): The Ruin Nation

by Wood, Kolin

  By the door, Frank began to stamp his foot. He looked like a crazed bluegrass player, caught in the swing of a manic song and high on moonshine. Juliana watched as he set the gun down against the wall, and then took the knife from his waistband and held it in his hand as he pulled the filthy green t-shirt over his head. He flexed his engorged muscles proudly.

  “Take it off, mumma. C’mon!”

  His foot continued to bang out the callous rhythm. Juliana looked at the shotgun leaning against the wall and then at the knife in his hand. Her fingers flexed. The rope around her wrists would be a significant obstruction. Frank could parry and block her attack with one movement, leaving his other hand free. Once pinned, she would be fully incapacitated.

  Frank stepped toward her, smiling. Juliana’s face flushed hot as she prepared to drop and grab the knife. She had one chance.

  She allowed him to come closer, counted the steps in her head.

  Three… Two… One…

  Just before she threw herself down, something caught her eye. Another frame filled the doorway behind Frank, and Juliana felt her heart stop in her chest as she realised who it was.

  Chapter 40

  John couldn’t watch as his mother paraded herself before Frank like a harlot, swaying her hips and sucking on her finger. What did she think she was doing, playing up to him like this? Making it easy for him? She might as well throw herself down on her knees and beg.

  Blood thumped either side of John’s temples as Frank, clearly driven on by the show, began to stomp his foot and holler like a madman. Unable to watch, John glanced over to Becca, who was staring up at Juliana transfixed. The cut on her neck looked like an ornate, ruby necklace, and John wondered how much damage had been done.

  From the doorway, Frank set the gun down against the wall and peeled off his t-shirt. The muscles that he liked to show off looked more defined than ever, probably on account of the dirt and grime that covered his body and accentuated the lines. In his right hand, Frank held the knife taken from Becca, and he waved it in front of his body in time to the rhythm of his foot. The gun laid only a few metres from him.

  Excited, Frank began to approach Juliana with the knife, one step at a time, moving farther away from the gun.

  John looked down at his hands. Was it a test? Did Frank want him to make a dash for the weapon, in order to turn and gut him for trying? It was not as if he needed any excuse to do so. And even if he made it—would his hands even allow him to pick it up and pull the trigger? He flexed his fingers, clenching his teeth as bolts of pain shot up his arms. It was too big a risk, but he had to do something. A few more steps and he would be on top of her.

  Think, John, think!

  Maybe if he ran, Frank would chase after him and give the girls a chance to escape? The more he thought about it, the more the idea took root. He glanced up at the door, stifling a shout of shock as he saw somebody standing there.

  The man, his face black with soot, looked on the scene with grey eyes that shone from his dark mask. John noticed that he only had one working arm; the other hung down at his side, dripping blood. The skin of the limb had turned a faint blue colour, visible in the patches not covered by the soot. The man caught sight of the gun and then looked over at John, confused.

  “Tanner, watch out!” Juliana screamed as Frank suddenly turned and charged like a bull toward the door.

  The man, Tanner, barely had time to twist away from the blade as Frank barrelled into him and the pair disappeared from sight. A loud bang followed.

  Juliana didn’t hesitate. Her hands still tied, she dropped down and grabbed the knife from the pocket of her army jacket. “Becca! Grab the gun!”

  Becca scooted across the floor on her knees, reaching for the weapon. John stood up just as another almighty crash rang out, followed by a continuous banging as something slammed on the stairs.

  Juliana rushed through the door and John followed after her.

  “Tanner!” she screamed again.

  At the bottom of the staircase, John caught sight of the two men as they tumbled through the front door and out into the street.

  Becca moved into the space beside him, the gun barrel pointed at the floor.

  “John, hold this!” she said in a broken voice, as she passed him the gun. Reaching for the knife in Juliana’s hands, she proceeded to cut through the thin rope binding her wrists.

  With the gun now in his grasp, John wrapped his bandaged hand around the stock and pushed his finger into the trigger guard. His hands felt swollen and hot; like two, over-full, water bottles. It would hurt like all hell, but he felt certain that he would be able to squeeze the trigger; he would make himself do it!

  Without waiting for approval, John started down the stairs with the gun, taking them two at a time.

  “John, wait!”

  But John didn’t listen. He cleared the steps in several large bounds and ran out into the street, the gun pulled up under his chin.

  Outside in the front garden, Frank had pushed Tanner against the low, front wall and now sat astride him, hammering down on his face with a big, clenched fist.

  “Go… Find… your… own!” he shouted in time with his punches.

  “Frank!” John shouted.

  But Frank didn’t listen. He continued to bring his arm down in a vicious arc, over and over again. Fresh blood glistened on his knuckles.

  “Frank!”

  Frank reached forward with both hands, grabbed Tanner by the lapels of his shirt and lifted him up, at the same time driving down his forehead into the middle of the man’s face. There was a sickening crack.

  “No!” Juliana cried as she ran into the garden with Becca on her heals.

  This time, breathing like he’d just run a marathon, Frank turned to look at them all. Fresh drops of blood ran down his face and dripped from his chin. His eyes were wild and stark white against the bloody mask. He smiled, and his usually slicked back hair hung in long loops of black over his face.

  John felt every muscle in his body tense. He stepped around Becca and his mother so that he was shielding them from Frank’s crazy and lecherous gaze. His hands pulsed with pain and the barrel of the gun wobbled.

  Frank looked down at the prone body of Tanner, whose face was hidden in the long grass, spat and leaned back, running bloody hands through his greasy hair.

  “Friend of yours?” he asked, breathing heavily.

  Juliana screamed.

  It was then that John saw the handle of the knife sticking out from Tanner’s midsection.

  Frank laughed and reached to touch his forehead. “One-armed fucker has a head like a lump of rubble,” he said, mockingly. And then, pushing from the floor, he stood up and sucked in a breath.

  With a guttural cry, Juliana barged past John and lunged forward with her knife.

  But Frank was far too quick for her. He parried the blow and met her attack with a well-timed punch that caught her on the side of the head and sent her sprawling face-first into the grass below the wall.

  Juliana crumpled and didn’t move.

  Frank turned back to John. His face twisted into an evil grin as he looked down at the shaky gun pointed at his chest. “Whatcha gonna do with that, then?” His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides and, brazenly, he took a step forward. Blood streaked his face like camo paint. “C’mon now, Johnny Boy, think this through. You ain’t man enough to survive out here without me. We could team up.” He glanced over at Becca and smiled. “Share the spoils.”

  “Fuck you,” Becca spat from somewhere behind him.

  Another step forward.

  The pain in John’s hands was all consuming. Imaginary flames singed his flesh. He couldn’t feel the trigger, or even tell if his finger was still in place upon it.

  “Shoot him, John!”

  John looked down at his mother lying still in the grass, and then into Frank’s dark and evil eyes.

  “You ain’t gonna shoot me, John. We’re practically family.”

&nbs
p; John squeezed the gun tight against him and applied pressure to his finger.

  The blast was deafening.

  The recoil caught John in the shoulder, spinning him to the side. Unable to maintain a grip, the gun clattered down onto the broken paving slabs.

  Righting himself, he glanced back just in time to see Frank fall backward over the wall, a look of shocked surprise on his face and a scattering of bleeding holes covering his chest. Then he was gone.

  Becca screamed as she ran past, dropping to her knees in the long grass beside Juliana. Tanner had still not moved.

  John swallowed, suddenly aware of the excessive, fowl tasting saliva that had flooded his mouth. His stomach contracted painfully and he leaned forward, both hands aflame and wrapping his sides tightly. The world around him spun, blocking any sound and rendering his sight to a whir of light and dark. He moaned but was unable to hear the sound escape his lips.

  Chapter 41

  “Juliana.”

  The side of her head throbbed. She could taste blood in her mouth when she swallowed. A voice called to her, but it sounded faint beneath the overwhelming sound of her own breathing, as if she held her head under water.

  Pressure was applied under her neck, and the pain in her head increased.

  “Juliana.”

  She tried to open her eyes but they rolled in their sockets, unable to focus. The voice sounded so far away, echoing in the darkness all around her. She felt as if she were floating in space, tethered to a line with too much slack. A small pin of light spun at the edge of her vision and she tried to focus on it.

  Suddenly, it was as though the pressure had popped in her ears. In a flash of white light, Juliana came too. She opened her mouth, sucked in a deep breath and opened her eyes. More light, far too bright for her, raked across her face and she turned her head in an attempt to shy away from the discomfort.

  “Oh, thank god.”

  This time she thought that she recognised the voice. It belonged to the girl—Becca—but it sounded deep and hoarse. Soothing fingers stroked across the top of her head. Thick bloody phlegm caught in her throat and she turned to spit it away, groaning as the throbbing pain struck in her temple once again.

  What happened?

  Her brain struggled to compute the flashes of jumbled images.

  John.

  As memory of her son rushed in, she opened her eyes again, wide this time, uncaring of the inrush of light. “Where’s John?” she cried.

  A shape appeared on the left, casting her into shadow.

  “I’m here, Mum,” the voice that she recognised as her son’s said. “Are you, okay?”

  Relief washed over her. Juliana coughed again and rolled in the direction of his voice. She nodded and propped herself up on her elbows. Her lank hair hung over her face. She felt a hand rub her back.

  “What…?” she began, just as memory of the attack rammed itself home like a spear to her chest.

  Tanner.

  “Tanner!”

  She spun around and sat up. Her head swooned. Images, blurry and unclear, presented themselves to her and she struggled to make sense of them. She took in John and Becca, their faces frowned with concern. She saw a pair of boots, dark trousers and shirt, blood, and the handle of a knife.

  With a low, mournful cry, Juliana scrabbled forward on her hands and knees. Her fingers caught in the long, damp fronds of grass, further hampering her movements.

  Please, Tanner.

  She clasped a hand around his ankle. The flesh there felt warm but he didn’t move. She clawed up his body, flicking her eyes over the knife stuck in his stomach and the wet patch of his shirt then tearing them away and pulling herself along him until she saw the bloody pulp of his face.

  Oh, god. No.

  Tanner’s mouth hung open and slack. Split lips revealed the stumps of several broken teeth protruding from bleeding gums. His nose lay buckled against his face, askew at an unnatural angle and both eyes were puffy with blood and bruising.

  With her stomach twisted and a breath caught in her lungs, Juliana cradled his face, smearing blood across his cheeks, and cried.

  “Why?”

  Two hands touched her shoulders and then rubbed them gently. Her neck ached as she leaned in and set her forehead against his, ignoring the slipperiness of the blood that coated his skin. Tears fell as she squeezed her eyes closed and screamed, gripping his hair tightly in her fingers.

  “Why?”

  She heard a noise and felt movement beneath her face. She drew her head back enough so that she could focus. A pair of bloodshot eyes with an almost pure grey centre stared back at her.

  “Tanner?” she asked, in shock and disbelief at her own voice.

  Tanner coughed, spraying blood which dripped down both sides of his face. When he drew a breath, it sounded congested and raspy. “What’s all the screaming for?”

  With her eyes swamped by tears and unable to see, Juliana laughed. The hands on her shoulders gripped her more tightly.

  “I thought you were dead,” she said, wiping her dripping nose with the back of her arm. His swollen face came into view. She smiled at him and then looked down at the knife protruding from his stomach. More tears fell and her mouth curled downward to hold back the flood. He was in a bad way.

  “What were you thinking?” Juliana asked, running her fingers across his hairline. “I… I tried to find you. Saw the barrow burned to ash…the building still smoking. I saw a body…in the room and I… thought you were dead.”

  Tanner tried to respond but coughed again. More blood spilled down his chin, only this time it was darker, almost black. After a few painful-sounding hacks, he managed a breath. “I woke up at the bottom of the steps…” He took a slow intake of breath. “… at the back. The fire and the smoke must’ve…” Another rattling breath choked him. “…scared them off. When I came to, I felt better, like some of the heat and fever had passed. I made it into the square… somebody had seen you leaving. I came after you, tried to call out but… you were too far away.”

  Juliana sobbed more, unwilling to look down at the knife or growing patch of blood on the grass beneath him. His damaged arm looked black and blue at his side. “I’d never have left you.”

  Tanner smiled. Gaps revealed gory stumps and the teeth that remained were covered in blood. “I know,” he said, his eyes fixed on hers. His head dropped back and the expression on his face changed for a moment. “Charlie?”

  Juliana lowered her gaze from his and shook her head.

  Tanner nodded and closed his eyes.

  “We wouldn’t have made it without him,” she said, tearfully. “He helped us to escape. Found us at the church.”

  “Us?”

  Juliana’s look softened. She twisted around to face John, who was standing awkwardly to one side, and held out a hand to him. Her fingers were encrusted with dried blood. Awkwardly, John shuffled forward.

  “Tanner, this is my son, John.”

  Tanner’s eyes opened wide once more as he looked up at the boy.

  Juliana broke into another sob. For a second, she saw a look of genuine happiness in Tanner’s eyes. He alone knew the depths of what she had been through. He alone knew how twisted the idea of her son’s death had made her, and how long she had lived with that torment.

  Tanner coughed again. “Pleased to meet you, John. Your mother has told me all about you.” He tried to move, but immediately his face contorted in pain and he kicked out with his legs. The back of his head fell to the ground with a thud.

  Through fresh tears, Juliana shook her head. “No, Tanner. Just… lay still.”

  She stroked his hair until, finally, his face found peace once more.

  “Gone and fucked up this time, huh?” he said, looking up at her with a serious, wide-eyed expression.

  Juliana shook her head. “No. You did good.”

  “Where will you go?” His voice sounded strained, as if he were forcing it out against the pressure of his own chest.

&n
bsp; “The far north. John came down from a farm on the coast. Said it’s safe there.”

  Tanner smiled again. The beard of blood thickening the dense growth of his face. “Sounds nice,” he said. “Sounds real nice.”

  Juliana threw her head back and looked up at the sky. She wanted to scream until her lungs ached, to curse god or whoever it was responsible for what was happening, the pain and the loss, but she found herself without words. How much more could she be expected to suffer? What twisted form of cruelty was it to have her find one, only to have another taken away?

  “Juliana,” Tanner said, more quietly this time.

  She looked down at him and held his head in her hands. He suddenly looked peaceful. The frown lines had gone, leaving his face looking younger, even in its damaged state. One of her tears fell onto his cheek and ran toward his ear.

  “I’m pleased you found your son.”

  Even as he said the words, the smile fell from his lips. His eyes looked past her up into the sky and a long breath hissed from his lungs.

  Juliana waited for his chest to inflate again, but this time no movement came.

  Tanner was dead.

  Juliana threw back her head and screamed until there was nothing left.

  ***

  The three of them walked without talking, Juliana out in front, John and Becca stumbling and bleeding, a few paces behind. Their faces covered against the wind, which carried a constant stream of stinging dust and the faint smell of burning on it.

  The Refuge lay behind them, several miles as the crow flies. Plenty of bodies there to hold the pack for a while, Juliana thought as she concentrated on lifting her legs and setting them back down again. If the girl was right then the people there had a few hours to prepare until the next wave of the attack; more rats and more crazies. She wondered how many of them would live to see the morning. The battle was not winnable, and she’d tried to warn them as such, but her warnings had largely fallen upon deaf ears.