*****
Walking along the perimeter of the park, I felt uneasy, like I was being watched. I stopped and slowly sank to the ground, making myself very small. Maybe I should get out of here, continue north. The air was still and no sounds beyond my own breathing were audible. I could say it was too quiet, but unless I was walking, Leif was crying, it was raining or the wind was howling, sound was at a minimum these days.
I stood up to better assess the situation. Nothing. Nothing had moved, nothing had disappeared overnight. The fair was as dead as the corpses strewn across its grounds. With a renewed sense of resolve, I made my way carefully across the grounds and into the Fun House, as if something were drawing me there. My heart bursting in anticipation and my head down, I pulled the luggage behind me and passed through the door. Once inside I leaned against a wall and slid slowly down its rough surface.
The walls were all very close, like a labyrinth, and all the mirrors long since smashed or stolen. Just as I was about to move further into the dilapidated building, a crackling sound erupted above me.
“WELCOME, TO CARNIVAL!” A man’s voice blared over the loud speaker. I froze.
“WELCOME, TO CARNIVAL!” It repeated. Okay, this could just be a recording, timed to come on just as the lights had.
“YOU SHOULD TRY THE HOTDOGS.” Okay, I could breathe again. It was a recording. The voice was animated, ridiculous actually. It sounded like a cartoon.
“THEY’RE MADE WITH 100% REAL MEAT. JUST LIKE YOU.” Shit!
“PLEASE, STEP OUT OF THE FUN HOUSE AND INTRODUCE YOURSELF.”
I stood stock still. Panic rose like bile in my throat. There was nowhere to go. I was trapped.
“NO PROBLEM, WE’LL COME TO YOU.” We’ll? There was more than one? Instinct told me to once again make myself very small. I fell to the floor, covering Leif. I realized I was kneeling on something that cut sharply into my knee. My hand instinctively grabbed for it. It was a latch, recessed into the thick plywood. I pulled at it and yanked up hard, pulling a trapdoor loose. I peered blindly into the dark abyss. Seeing a ladder, I climbed down as fast as I could, securing the trapdoor above me.
Trembling, I pulled a flashlight from my pocket and panned it around the tiny space. No more than six feet high and maybe another eight feet long by six feet wide: little more than the dimensions of a grave.
As I was checking the sleeping Leif with my light, I heard the front door snap off its hinges and fall hard many feet from the entrance. I killed the flashlight and buried Leif’s head into my neck, covering his ears. I shook uncontrollably as I pressed my back into the dirt corner of the secret room.
“It was a girl right?” The man had a heavy voice, thick with thirst. “I would like to see a girl again.”
“It was a girl, Thor,” said another, smaller voice. Thor, I thought. Maybe he was the Strong Man in the carnival? I pictured the upturned mustache, the bald head and the heart tattoo on his shoulder.
“Let’s split up,” suggested the small voice. “We can cover more ground that way.”
“Okay.” They stomped off in different directions.
Neither of their voices resembled that of the man on the loudspeaker. That meant at least three men lived in the fairgrounds. Neither were immediately above me at this moment but I knew they might only be gone for seconds. If they knew about this room, surely they would have checked here first. Was I safe for the moment?
With that, the footsteps came crashing back and stopped just above me. “We have to find her.”
Dust poured through the spaces between the plywood slabs as he jostled around. I waved a hand above me to keep the dirt from Leif.
They couldn’t capture us, I reasoned desperately. Leif had a great purpose to fulfill and these starving savages could not alter that course.
“I don’t see her anywhere.” The small voice reentered the Fun House as well. Suddenly there was a loud crash above me. One of them had fallen. Had they tripped on the latch?
“What’s this?” I heard agitation.
“It’s a bag!” shouted Thor. I could hear the zipper being ripped open and a great sigh coming from both men. “Holy shit! It’s full of food and water.”
They laughed together for a time as I silently cried for Leif and I. We would be utterly destitute without it. We couldn’t go far without water at the very least. Then I remembered. I wasn’t completely helpless- I had a gun hidden in my waistband. It was never far from my body.
“Wait!” ordered the small voice. “Let’s eat what we want now and then take the rest back to split with the Master.”
“I think we ought to just take it all back. But let’s hurry: I’m starving.”
“What about the girl?”
“She’s gone,” thundered the big voice.
“We don’t know that. We shouldn’t leave here without her.”
“We didn’t find her, so she must be gone, must have snuck out.”
They seemed to be leaving the Fun House, dragging my sack behind them.
“Listen! We haven’t looked long enough. If we go back now with just the bag he’ll be pissed.” The little voice was spiked with fear.
“Fine, but I’m eating something while we wait.”
“That’s all I’m saying.”
I crept silently up the ladder and raised the trapdoor. I could see that my interpretation of what they would look like was not far off the mark. The Strong Man was not so much muscle as just plain huge, but the other man was all of three feet tall. They stood on the veranda. A semi-transparent yellow corrugated plastic roof let the light pour in, while the wooden side walls offered them the privacy they seemed to require. Their Master must be watching them from above.
I crawled out of the secret room and got to my feet, setting the door down carefully. I raised the gun, white-knuckled, and pointed it at the Strong Man. I hated the idea of killing anyone like this, in cold blood, but letting our precious bag of food go was not an option.
“What’s this?” complained the Strong Man. “Fucking baby food?” He held the tin up to the little man. The midget, bearded and dressed in something that resembled a young girl’s summer dress with a belt around the middle, looked longingly at the tin.
“A baby!” he exclaimed. “Now, that would be a treat!” The tall man grinned evilly, saliva dripping from his toothless mouth, his tongue extending out in a sickening thrashing action.
I shot him first, having decided that he was more of a threat to me than the little man. I hit him in the shoulder and he cried out, dropping the tin. He turned toward me, his eyes squinting against the darkness. What he saw next would be a bright orange flash as I pulled the trigger again and hit him square in the chest. His chest heaved up and down twice as he fell backwards, letting out a final cry as he hit the ground with a thunderous thud, dust rushing out from under him.
My gun was trained on the little man next. His hands were up and eyes wide.
“Listen-” he began. I fired several times, approaching with each squeeze of the trigger. His tiny body convulsed as the bullets pierced his torso. He fell onto his back, arms out, bleeding. The parched wooden porch sponged up the blood thirstily as it exited his lifeless shell.
I had made a lot of noise, so I instantly gathered up Leif and then the bag and ran for it. How many bullets did I have left? How many did a pistol like this hold? I knew it had a magazine, and I knew I had two more just like it full of bullets. But I had no idea how many bullets one held. How many had fired off? Five? Six? Once I had Leif back at my chest I zipped up the bag and peeked beyond the wall.
Chapter Thirty Two
I had proven that I could kill out of necessity. I looked down at the two Carnies in disgust. The blood bubbled from the Strong Man’s chest as air escaped his lungs. I was a much better shot than I had given myself credit for. I had no sympathy for people who saw no other recourse than to eat other people. Sure, the thought had crossed my mind. What if we ran out of food? But the idea for me was unimaginable. I
would starve to death first.
I peered again around the corner of the veranda, praying that I wasn’t being watched, praying that the Master hadn’t heard the shots. Not wanting to face him with only one or two bullets left in my gun, I reached into the side pocket of my bag and pulled out a fresh magazine. Releasing the old magazine, I placed it in the luggage pocket and jammed the new one up into the handle of the gun. I pulled back on the barrel until I heard the click. I was ready.
“WELCOME TO CARNIVAL,” the loud speaker proclaimed again. I jumped at the voice.
“YOU HAVE BESTED THE STRONG MAN AND SIDEKICK,” he continued. I felt a heat rise across my neck, cheeks and temples.
“ALLOW ME TO INTRODUCE MYSELF. I AM THE RING MASTER. YOU’VE GUESSED BY NOW THAT ALL THE ANIMALS ARE GONE, CONSUMED MANY MONTHS AGO.
THE CLOWNS WERE NEXT, AND THEN THE BUSKERS AND SO ON.”
“IT WAS THE FREAKS THAT SURVIVED, UNDER MY GUIDANCE. AND NOW, TO BE BESTED BY A LITTLE GIRL WITH A GUN… SHAME ON US.”
This guy was long gone, a long time ago. The patients were running the asylum, so to speak. I pictured him surrounded by human remains somewhere in a little room that overlooked the fairgrounds.
I set down my bag and was deliberating on what to do next when the speakers crackled on again.
“I WOULD VERY MUCH LIKE TO MEET YOU.”
It was an invitation to dinner, no doubt. Where Leif and I would be the main course.
“I WILL BE DOWN MOMENTARILY.” Then the speakers went dead. Again, silence. I had to act, or take cover. I panicked a moment, unsure of how to face this enemy. He was clearly nuts. He had probably been so since the moment he swallowed human flesh for the first time. I wondered which direction he might be coming from. It was impossible to tell. The speakers carried throughout the park. I looked toward the front gates. No one. Then I looked toward the back of the park, where an amphitheatre, five stories tall, acted as the focal point. Rows of seating overlooked a central dirt pad where, I’d guess, the Ring Master ran his Circus.
Suddenly, a violent breeze had picked up the dirt, swirling it in the air. The roar of an engine echoed off the seating, the amphitheatre magnifying the sound. It was deafening.
If his intention was to scare the living shit out of me, mission accomplished. It sounded like he was riding some hellish creation with seven mufflers, eight wheels and an open engine. I was stuck in place, my nails digging into the wooden wall. I couldn’t take my eyes off the spectacle. He tore down the grounds toward me, running over the corpses, crashing through the dilapidated food stations and games tents.
I pulled myself away from the vision, backing off into the Fun House. I thought about hiding underground once more, but the idea of being trapped there with no escape plan save shooting my way out frightened me just as much as facing him head on.
The vehicle rushed past me, spewing dust onto the veranda. It was obnoxiously loud. He began circling the Fun House entrance in quick successive right turns. On closer inspection of the vehicle, I could see it was some kind of motorcycle with two massive wheels in the back and one in the front, connected to the bike by a long chrome leg. The man’s appearance was blurred by the amount of dust and dirt he was kicking up. Likely a tactic he was using to flush me out. Instead, I decided to take aim.
Leif was crying at my chest, still attached via the sling I’d made over two months before. I curled both hands around my pistol and fired recklessly into the circle of flying debris. I counted my shots until the barrel stopped firing. The motorcycle continued to circle outside the front entrance.
I pulled out another clip, palmed it up inside the handle and took aim, but the cycle’s circling ceased, the engine whirring at a lower decibel. I stepped cautiously onto the veranda, the smoke and dirt clearing. I squinted my eyes. Was anyone left on the bike? Had I managed to shoot him off? As surreal as the circumstances had become, I flashed back to a childhood memory of the carnival. I’d spent my allowance for that week firing a water rifle at moving targets for most of the afternoon, desperate to win the pink, stuffed pony. Had I won the proverbial pony here?
The smoke had cleared and the bike continued to hum without its rider. Side-stepping to check the far side of the bike for a body, I carefully rounded the back, gun still drawn. Jesus, Sara! Don’t go any further. The voice in my head was right: why didn’t I stop? I had a screaming baby strapped to my chest. But the curiosity and adrenaline had gotten the better of me, and I couldn’t seem to stop myself. Leif was wailing – the deafening gunshots had probably hurt his ears, hopefully not irrevocably, but I dared not set him down. I ignored his pleas to be coddled. I needed to end this twisted chapter in my trip.
“I will blow your head off!” I blindly threatened the Ring Master over Leif’s frightened cries.
As the far side of the bike came into view I saw the man, curled over on his side, arms crossed over his stomach, rocking back and forth. He wore leather chaps over faded jeans and cowboy boots whose soles had long since fallen off. His torso was bare save a cape he had tied around his neck. It was his face though which captured my interest. Nothing should have surprised me anymore. But this did.
He wore a red rubber clown’s nose torn down the center. His eyebrows were gone. Deep scars split his cheeks, travelling from the corner of each eye down to his jaw. His head was covered in a ridiculous orange fuzzy wig. He looked up at me, and as he did blood rushed out of his mouth, mixing with the dusty earth. He tried to say something through a painted smile.
I shot him in the chest without hesitation. Blood splattered across the ground as his heart exploded from the impact. His head fell hard and fast, his eyes staring into the abyss. Whatever he had to say to me I didn’t want to hear. I lowered my arm and spun around, careful not to leave myself vulnerable to another attack.
Then the immensity of what had happened hit me like a ton of bricks. My face hurt as it contorted and I screamed out, stomping my feet. Leif was stunned momentarily into silence, and then cried harder than before. I knew I had to get away. I couldn’t be in this place any longer. The motor bike was still running and I thought it looked simpler than a regular motorcycle to operate. I looked the machine up and down. I had ridden dirt bikes before, and this couldn’t be much different. I grabbed my bag, tied it down to the wide back rack and climbed on. Leif continued to protest, but getting us free of the carnival was my priority.
I pushed down on the clutch, revved the handle and toed at the gears. I popped the clutch when I had decided I was in first and jerked forward. I was moving! I pushed the clutch again and toed at the gears to second and rallied through the grounds on approach to the front gates. Slamming through the maintenance gate, I made a hard right following my original path, heading north. Whatever lay to the north, it couldn’t be worse than this.
Chapter Thirty Three
I drove the entire day, stopping in spurts to feed Leif and myself. The freedom I experienced riding in the open air was exhilarating. The wind in my face and hair, billowing against my jacket and long pants offered a welcome reprieve from the world at large. I was able to reconnect briefly with a younger me, who used to ride my father’s dirt bike in the field adjacent to our house. Leif was lulled to sleep by the motion each time we got back on the road. I kept my speed to a minimum in order to conserve gas, never actually turning it off as we stopped, for fear of it never starting again. I worried about the level of noise the bike created but convinced myself that it would accelerate our path to Leif’s destiny. Who knew how long I had until I got to where I was going.
That’s the thing about destiny. It seems to know where you’re headed, even if you don’t. So I assumed we were heading to something, somewhere, north. The devastated landscape was little more than an endless graveyard of rotting forests, still ponds and fields of radioactive dirt. As I moved past them, the forward motion in my peripheral blurred the scenery into torn grey curtains. If others had headed north on this highway, they had done so long ago. There was no sign of lif
e on the road.
*****
After roughly eight hours on the deserted highway I hit a wall. I was exhausted, my eyes burned, and my arms ached from navigating the bike around countless obstacles. Even my back throbbed from the angle I was forced to sit at. I followed the first off-ramp I came to, located a rest stop, and pulled in. Hesitantly I pushed the red stop button on the bike’s dash. If it started again, great, but if it didn’t I guessed I could chalk that up to destiny. All I knew was that I couldn’t ride it anymore. As I stepped off the bike all the blood seemed to rush back into my thighs, igniting a pain so severe it felt as though I had run the whole way. I rubbed my legs and arched my torso, palms pushing against my lower back. Leif remained comfortably in his wrap strapped to my chest, sleeping.
It wasn’t a truck stop or anything elaborate, but it met our needs and I was thankful for it. A rest stop this far north normally had a well that could be manually pumped for clean water. This stop was also small enough to be overlooked by most. Though it may offer water, it would offer little else, I noted. Even the information building had been vandalized beyond recognition for the contents of its vending machines.
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