Generation Z (Book 6): The Queen Unchained

by Meredith, Peter

  Jenn, on the other hand, was not particularly lucky, she wasn’t a genius, and no one feared her. Her greatest attribute was an endearing sweetness that had only increased during her darkest hours. If she had a superpower, it was kindness taken to the nth degree, a trait that was hardly the proper requirement to lead a shattered group of people in a time of war.

  Still, Jillybean had chosen Jenn for a reason, even if the reason was utterly ineffable. There was something about her that could not be defined. “Neither she nor I have ‘witchy powers,’ or ESP,” she told Ben, “and we don’t need them. The Queen is smart and competent. She’s faced the Corsairs in battle before and held her own. I expect that she will ag…”

  The doors to the church opened and through the hideous steam, she could see the Black Captain. He wasn’t alone. Holding his hand was a child, a girl of seven or eight who barely came to his hip and that was even with her mass of brown hair that had been teased into a shocking, chaotic mass.

  “No,” Jillybean whispered, her huge eyes staring, unblinking.

  “It look like the Captain is up to his tricks,” Ben said, tipping Jillybean a wink. “Might be he think yer sweet on girls. Is that it? Well, I say leave it to the Captain to find yer weakness.”

  Jillybean closed her eyes and tried to steal herself against what was coming. “It’s not me. It’s not me.”

  It wasn’t her. Jillybean latched onto the differences. The child had brown eyes instead of blue and her hair had been styled into the crazed mop atop her head while Jillybean’s wild mane occurred naturally. And the girl’s manner was one of shyness. Even at a young age, Jillybean had known she was different, smarter, better than most adults, which had given her confidence that she had to keep hidden. Adults always thought they were better and more capable than children even when the evidence pointed to the contrary.

  Another difference: Jillybean’s collar was gold, while the girl’s was silver and so thin that it might have been a necklace.

  “Your Highness.” The Captain’s smooth voice rolled over her. The screams and hyena laughter had faded; there was only the crackle of fire and the bubbling from the vat. “I’ve brought a friend.”

  A hundred rejoinders came to mind; she only answered by saying, “Oh?” Reluctantly, Jillybean opened her eyes. She saw two girls; one was her scrawny six-year-old self and the other was this strange, frightened girl. The two tried to merge and Jillybean closed her eyes again, clamping them down so hard that she saw spots. Still with her eyes closed, she asked, “What’s your name?”

  “Leah S-Stewart.” The name came out in a warbling stutter. “I-I am C-Captain Wilton’s.” A shudder wracked Jillybean at this. The girl was already a sex slave, at least she had been a sex slave. Now, she was an expendable pawn, a tool wielded by the Black Captain to break Jillybean. He would boil her alive if he had to, and he would do it with that same suave smile on his evil face, there was no doubt about that in Jillybean’s mind.

  There was a long pause as the girl nervously eyed Jillybean, then, “Are you really a queen?”

  That was the question. A real queen would accept the loss of innocents as nothing more than “collateral damage” on the battlefield; a sad by-product of warfare. A real queen would persevere with an iron will until the enemy was defeated. A real queen would not bend to this sort of threat, knowing that even more lives would be lost if she did. A real queen had ice running through her veins.

  Jenn doesn’t. Sadie had come back. Jillybean cracked her eyes and saw the Goth-girl standing off to the side, partially hidden by Colleen White. Her dyed black hair was spiked and glistening from the steam. Jenn isn’t an Ice-Queen, and I think that’s the reason why you chose her. You want to be like her.

  Jillybean bit back on a nasty, caustic reply. She might have wanted to be like Jenn, but she couldn’t afford to be. Jenn was as naive as she was sweet, and had she been in Jillybean’s place, tied to the throne and wearing Mike Gunter’s flesh for a robe, she would have given in ages ago. She would have crumbled the moment Rat-faced Ronnie had been strung up.

  And she wasn’t even crazy.

  At least Jillybean had that as an excuse. When she snuck a peek at the girl, she saw blue eyes instead of brown. She saw untamed and untamable hair. She saw towering mental strength built on a foundation of matchsticks, half of which were on fire. That fire was crackling and screaming, in her own head, engulfing her mind in the darkest smoke, and that was a good thing. No, it was a great thing. Jillybean craved the darkness. In the darkness, her pain and torment would end. The darkness would keep Jillybean from seeing Leah boiled alive. It would smother her screams. It would make everything alright.

  But it wouldn’t come. It remained a shadow in her mind, just out of reach, and nothing was right, least of all the torture of a child.

  Jillybean’s shoulders slumped with the final realization that she could not hide from reality. Does that mean I’m getting better? She laughed at the thought, her eyes blurring with tears. When she blinked them away, she saw only Leah. Her own tiny image was gone.

  “Yes, I am a queen,” she said, at last. “I am the Queen of the Slaves. I am your Queen, in fact, and maybe I can grant you one wish.” The Captain’s eyes narrowed at this. Jillybean ignored him. “Come here, Leah.” The girl came right up to the throne. She shook in fear as she realized that her Queen was wearing human flesh and that her crown was adorned with teeth and bone.

  In a whisper that was only heard by the guard, Ben Jagar, Colleen White, and the Captain, Jillybean asked Leah, “Would you like to be free of Captain Wilton?” The girl’s head bobbed by the tiniest fraction of an inch. “And would you like to be my Lady-in-Waiting? It’s a fancy way of saying you’d be with me and serve me in all things.”

  The girl was frightened right down to her twittering heart. The flesh robe was sickening, as was the foul, ugly crown. Beneath it, the Queen was little better; she was bloody and bruised, and her eyes were sharp, as if she could cut someone to pieces with them. Leah hesitated, unsure which was worse, the scary Queen or Captain Wilton, who was evil and nasty and did bad things to her.

  While Leah weighed what seemed like two awful choices, Jillybean looked over her head at the Black Captain, who nodded, but reservedly, suggesting that he was giving his consent, but only if Jillybean cooperated fully. She knew this already. Her good behavior would forever be held hostage by Leah.

  “Do I gotta wear clothes like that?” the girl asked.

  “No. This is for me only. I am special, Leah. I am Queen. You will wear a black dress from here on. It will mean that you are not to be touched. And you will wear a gold collar like mine. Would you like that?”

  Leah suddenly grinned and nodded in excitement. She looked like a child at Christmas and that was so devastatingly sad that Jillybean had to take a deep breath before she said to her, “Take Colleen and Mister Ben outside so I can have a word with the Captain.” Leah hesitated; they all did. “Don’t be afraid, Leah. You are the Queen’s Lady-in-Waiting. In this you speak for me…and the Captain, of course.”

  When Jillybean was alone with the Captain, she stared into the flames beneath the vat and explained in a soft voice what Operation Otter Pop was. His reaction was one of complete skepticism. “You’d destroy your own wall? I really find that hard to believe. Do I need to bring that girl back? Maybe just dip her in up to her knees? Is that what you want?”

  “It won’t change my response. What were Deanna’s words? Her exact words when she threatened you with Operation Otter Pop? Yes, I know who told you and I know it was a threat. She still thinks you have Emily, doesn’t she?”

  “Yes,” he answered slowly, gazing intently at her, trying to pierce her mind, and failing. “But how do you know the rest?”

  Guilt spread over Jillybean’s face. “The only other people who know that code phrase would never tell, not under any torture. And I know Deanna threatened you because how else will she get Emily back?”

  The Captain considered the q
uestion, his eyes gazing past the vat and the screaming man whose genitals had been just submerged with a sizzling hiss. “She said to tell me that I have one week to give up Emily or face her wrath. I just can’t believe…she’d really blow up her own walls?”

  “Yes. As far as I can fathom, it’s the only way to get them on the warpath. I know you view my people as sheep, but I think a better analogy would be to a herd of cows. They’re peaceful creatures, but if you throw a scare into them, they can stampede and stomp you into the ground.” She was being perfectly honest for a dishonest reason: she needed the Captain to focus on Bainbridge and not the Bay Area. Jenn Lockhart needed all the time Jillybean could give her to prepare for war. Jenn’s people would not stampede. They would melt away, choosing to hide instead of fight, which would result in them being hunted down one by one.

  Yes, Bainbridge had to be perceived as the larger, more immediate threat. Even without walls, Bainbridge would not be an easy nut to crack. They were well founded in ammunition, clean water and food. They had a large, unified population, and they held a naturally defensible island. The only question was over who would lead them? Wayne French? He had been a reserve Naval officer at the outbreak of the Apocalypse, but his specialty had been high-tech communications, and he had not impressed Jillybean during the yearly training exercises conducted on the island. He set them up unrealistically with the “Opfor” coming in brutishly dumb, attacking into the teeth of a thoroughly prepared defense.

  Although this did happen in wartime—and it was a commander’s prime duty to trick his opponent into making just such a disastrous move—there was little to gain in training for such an event. It was far better to prepare for obstacles that were more likely to arise: ammo shortages, unexpected flank attacks, feigned retreats, ambushes, etc.

  But did the Captain know the island’s weaknesses? Did he care? Did he think they would just sit there, walls or no walls?

  The two enemies sat in silence, each visualizing different scenarios. He spoke first, “Otter Pop is an interesting idea. Too bad it won’t work. Look at what you did to the Guardians. You took down their wall and they haven’t budged; they’re still a bunch of pussies. It’ll be a cake walk taking them apart, especially now that I know how low on ammo they are. And that silly little queen you installed is in almost the same straits, all thanks to you.”

  He added insult to injury by bowing deeply. “Without you, they would still have a massive fleet, all the ammo they would ever need and a couple hundred torpedoes. Now they have nothing and they’ll fall like dominoes.”

  Jillybean knew it didn’t have to be that way; she could still defeat the Corsairs. Even with the disadvantages before her…Eve broke in on her thoughts, Prove it! she cried out, laughing. All you have to do is break free, then you can show us all that you aren’t a joke. It could be your great comeback. Just get us out of here!

  Jillybean didn’t like to appear crazy in front of the Captain and so she only answered Eve by yanking on one of the chains that ran from her collar. Escape was impossible.

  Not for you. I know it. You’re holding back and I want to know why. Is it because you’re afraid to face the people you screwed over? Are you…

  “What, you don’t like your chains?” the Captain asked, with a chuckle. “Don’t worry, you’ll get used to them eventually, and maybe, if you’re lucky, someday I might take off one of those weights. Or I might add one. It’ll depend on whether you cooperate or not.”

  “I told you about the operation…”

  “And that was good. That was smart. You saved that girl, at least for the moment. What about tomorrow? What will you do to save her tomorrow?” Jillybean started to shake her head. “It’s okay. I know what you can do. You can build me some bombs. And I’m not talking about smoke bombs either. Those we can make. What I want are rocket-propelled bombs; missiles to be precise. They’ll need a range of about five hundred meters and I’ll need them strong enough to topple a wall—if you know what I mean.”

  “What about Operation Otter Pop?”

  He stood and stretched. “I’ve decided to cancel that, one way or another.” He let the implications of that sink in—Deanna’s life was now in danger.

  Eve cackled, Because of you, Jillybean. You and your big mouth. It’s all your fault. Ha-ha!

  The Captain went on when Jillybean’s eyes dropped to the floor. “I happen to like the walls of Bainbridge. They’re one of the reasons why I decided to take the island in the first place. I’ll make some small holes, maybe bring down a section or two, just to show that I can. Chances are they’ll see exactly how fruitless their defense is and they’ll give up. What do you think?”

  Jillybean’s jaws were clenched so tightly in anger and frustration that she couldn’t speak. She shook her bald head.

  “Oh, you’ll build my bombs, one way or another. You could envision how many innocent lives you’ll be saving in the long run, or I could bring back the girl and give her a nice hot bath. And if she doesn’t get you to behave, there are always more. Hundreds and hundreds more. I’ll cart them up from San Fran. Do you remember Lindy Smith? What about Ida Battenburg or Ryanne Walker?”

  “Please don’t,” Jillybean begged in a whisper, the air in her lungs seemed as thin as the wisps coming from the vat.

  He laughed. “Oh, since you said please. Ha-ha! Let’s see if we can get you to beg me for the privilege of making my bombs. Someone bring me the girl! Leah, honey, time to get wet.”

  Eve’s mad cackling filled Jillybean’s mind. The dark creature swelled in size until she stood a head taller than the Captain, and when she stuck her hands on her hips, her fine, three-quarter coat flared and rippled as if a wind had caught it. Inside the inner lining of velvety ebony were faces. Among them was Sadie’s, looking determined, fighting to get out, and there was Jillybean’s father, handsome and deeply sad, and Ipes was there, too.

  The little zebra had been forgotten and with a quick nervous look around, he leapt out onto the ground. You can’t do this, Jillybean. It’ll be worse if you make those rockety things. You can’t let…Eve reached down with one huge hand, snatched up the toy, and bit its head off. It began to snow as soft fluff came down on Jillybean. Eve tore up the remains of the zebra and as she did she went on cackling, laughing up torrents of fluff, an entire blizzard of it, until the white, cottony bits were knee-deep and a mantle of it crusted everything and everyone.

  And Eve went right on laughing. The tremendous, booming noise filled the church, swirling the fluff in a vortex, and Jillybean knew this was it. She was going truly and completely crazy—and what a relief it was. The insanity in her mind was so much more preferable to the madness of human reality. Jillybean even sighed before puffing up her cheeks and giving the fluff a little puff as though she were blowing the head off a dandelion.

  NO! Eve yelled. Down came the huge hand. It struck Jillybean on the back of her neck and drove her to her knees so that she was eye-to-eye with the terrified little girl.

  “I don’t want this,” she whispered. “Don’t make me.”

  Then escape. Get us out of here.

  Eve didn’t understand. There was no escaping hell. She had already tried three times, and each time something had pulled her back. And now a fourth attempt was impossible. Before she went into her cell, she was always stripped to nothing and searched inside and out. Completely searched; she could still feel the dirty fingers wriggling inside of her. She shuddered just as Leah began to whimper. Ben had grabbed Leah by the arm and now she looked at Jillybean with such stark fear that Jillybean felt her heart breaking into pieces. The shards of it were like razors, cutting her. It was a pain she couldn’t endure.

  “Please, please don’t,” she begged.

  The Captain’s laugh mixed with Eve’s, and it rolled on like thunder. “If one please didn’t work, you think two might? Ha-ha! Let’s get the little rat strung up. We’ll start with her little piggies. Awe, look how cute they are. Look Jillybean. Look how small they are. T
oo bad they’ll blister and swell like little sausages. Ha-ha! And, when she’s boiled, I want more of them. They’ll go in one by one. I want them lined up around the block. And…and, here’s an idea. I want them to come and kneel in front of you before they get dipped. And I want them to beg you to personally save them. How does that sound?”

  It sounded like torture. Jillybean scrunched her eyes down tight, knowing she wouldn’t be able to take even the first. “No. I-I’ll do it. Just don’t hurt them, please,” she said, selling a little more of her soul.

  Chapter 11

  Puget Sound, Washington

  Time was one of those strangely malleable concepts that seemed to expand or contract, depending on the space it filled. There, in the implacable, unmoving fog, Neil’s world had shrunk to a strip of beach, a small stretch of dark water and half of a black boat. The bow was altogether lost in the mists and the mast seemed to end not far over the head of the Corsair.

  The man’s Corsair name was Back-hair Bob, and he was dressed casually in an old t-shirt and grey sweats, both of which were stained and wrinkled. Bob was just as stained and wrinkled. He was a gritty veteran and thought he knew trouble when he saw it, however the sight that greeted him: a gray, gargoyle of a man and a tall confident Guardian, seemed at such odds with each other that he didn’t know what to think.

  Even when Neil had given their names, Bob seemed stuck between thoughts, which was entirely due to the fact that he was an alcoholic and that he’d left Hoquiam with four gallons of potato mash moonshine and that now, three days later, he only had a quart left. “Where are we?” The last thing he remembered was anchoring because of the fog.

  “Puget Sound,” Neil replied helpfully, or so he thought.

  Another head emerged from the galley and with it came another gun. “Who the hell is this jack-ass? And what’s his deal?” By “deal,” this new fellow was referring to Neil’s face. Although the fog blurred his features, it couldn’t completely hide the hideousness of it, and the Corsair squinted mightily in disgust.