Terrible Cherubs: Tales of Sinners, Mistakes, and Regrets

by Steve Wetherell

  As I sat strapped to a metal chair the night the guards ordered me out of bed, a broken rib and a few bruises sounded pretty good compared to what they’d been dishing out so far. They hadn’t asked me any questions. In fact, neither of the two guards said a word as they took turns pummeling me.

  The fact I could tell they were holding back terrified me more than anything else. I had a sinking feeling things were just getting started and they didn’t want it over too soon.

  I slumped forward in the metal chair bolted to the floor, the handcuffs securing my wrists behind me the only thing keeping me from falling off. Blood dripped from my nose and mouth onto my lap. I actually wondered if it would be enough to earn a fresh uniform. One of those strange and inappropriate thoughts that often go through my head during times of trauma.

  The door opened and I lifted my head to see Captain Renshaw walk in. I still had no idea what I did to earn a trip to the interrogation room, but a visit from Renshaw couldn’t be good. One of the guards placed a folding chair in front of me and the captain sat down. He briefly glanced at the patch sewn to my chest before calmly crossing his legs and folding his hands in his lap.

  “So. Inmate 399462,” he said. “You were seen speaking to a female inmate yesterday morning.”

  It was more of a statement then a question so I just stared at him, waiting to see if there was more. The guard to my right dealt a quick jab to my ribs. After the pain subsided I lifted my head and answered. “I speak to women all the time, Captain. Can you be more specific?”

  The same guard to my right took a step forward, but Renshaw held up his hand and stopped him. “I think you know who I’m referring to,” he said. “A new inmate, yes?”

  “Yeah. I talked to her for a few minutes, I guess. That isn’t against the rules now, is it?”

  Left hook, splitting my lip open in another spot. The splattering blood from my face missed Renshaw by a few inches. He waited patiently while I caught my breath.

  “What did you two talk about?”

  “I asked what her name was.”

  “And?”

  “And...that was about it.”

  “You’re being unclear, inmate 399462,” Renshaw said. “Specifically using the word about implies that you discussed more than just her name. If that’s true, then I can only assume you’re deliberately leaving out details.”

  Before I could respond, the guard to my left struck my kneecap with his baton. The pain exploded like bright light, consuming my entire world and sending every sense into overdrive. Renshaw waited while I screamed in agony.

  “So, tell me,” he said after I finally fell silent. “What details are you leaving out?”

  I tried to replay the conversation in my head and nail down every word that passed between us. All I could think of was her piercing eyes and the feel of her fingers on my arm. “Ah...she wanted to know if it was rude to ask people why they were here.”

  “And what did you tell her?”

  “I laughed. I thought it was funny that she’d worry about being rude.”

  Renshaw seemed to consider my answer for a minute while I panted and waited for the next blow. None came.

  “At the risk of being rude, why are you here, Brother Kamer?” Renshaw asked.

  I looked up and met the captain’s eyes for the first time since he’d entered the room. I couldn’t remember the last time somebody spoke my last name out loud. Except for Ezra and a handful of others who called me Jack, I was inmate 399462. My last name was meaningless.

  I considered my words carefully before speaking. “I’m a traitor to the State.”

  “You freely admit this.”

  “Yes.”

  “Very good.” Renshaw leaned forward in his chair. “Where is she?”

  “What?”

  Open palm to the back of my head, hard enough to fill my vision with stars.

  “The girl told you where she was going. What her plans were.”

  “I don’t understand,” I said.

  “Admit this and I can assure you it’ll be much easier on you.”

  “Wait a minute, are you saying this girl escaped?”

  Left guard stepped up again with another blow to the knee before I could protest or react. More bright light. More screaming.

  Renshaw didn’t wait for me to quiet down this time. “Don’t answer my questions with a question!” he roared. “Where was she headed? Who helped her escape?”

  “I don’t know anything,” I protested.

  “Was it you?”

  “Yesterday was the first time I’d talked to her, I swear. She didn’t say anything about escaping.”

  One of the guards struck me across both shoulder blades with his baton. You had to hand it to the bastards, they knew exactly where to strike and how hard without inflicting any permanent damage.

  This went on for quite some time. Renshaw barked different variations of the same questions. I pleaded my ignorance. In the meantime, the guards took turns coming up with new ways of inflicting pain.

  After what felt like hours, Renshaw finally sat back in his chair and lit a cigarette. He stared at me for a few minutes, puffing away and not saying anything. I appreciated the reprieve, but didn’t get my hopes up that this would be the end of the interrogation. He confirmed my fears when he crushed the cigarette butt with his heel and muttered a single word before walking out the door.

  “Tube.”

  +

  One of the guards uncuffed my wrists and dragged me to my feet, my battered knees protesting the whole way. My legs buckled. I collapsed to the floor, which didn’t improve the mood of my captors. After a couple of kicks to the ribs, they dragged me into the adjacent room. While one of the guards pulled me into a sitting position, the other approached with a looped length of rope attached to the ceiling by a pulley system.

  So that was it, they were going to string me up. No public execution for inmate 399462. I’d like to say I was grateful that Ezra wouldn’t have to watch his closest friend die, but such selfless thoughts didn’t cross my mind as I faced death. Knowing that I’d be hung by the neck in a dingy room in a dingy corner of the camp left me feeling more alone than I’d ever felt before.

  Instead of putting the rope around my neck, the guard slipped it under my armpits and hoisted me to my feet. When I saw the corrugated metal pipe sunken into the room’s dirt floor, Renshaw’s cryptic command of “tube” suddenly made sense.

  I tried to resist in vain as the guards lowered me into the pipe. By the time my bare feet touched solid ground, I could barely make out any light from the room above and the temperature felt like it dropped at least ten degrees. It was such a tight fit that I couldn’t move my arms, bend my aching legs, or sit down. I tilted my head to look up, but only banged it on hard steel. I couldn’t get enough of an angle to see the mouth of the pipe above my head.

  That’s when panic took over.

  I never considered myself to be claustrophobic, but we’re not talking about a stranded elevator here. I resisted the urge to scream and tried to get my rapid breathing under control. If they intended to leave me down there, then they wouldn’t have bothered to leave the rope tied around my chest. I would get pulled out eventually, and I told myself this several times. Didn’t help much.

  I was actually relieved when Renshaw’s voice echoed from above minutes later. “Inmate 399462! I’m only going to ask you this one more time. Did you help her escape?”

  “No! For fucksake, I didn’t do anything!” I strained my neck, trying to get a glimpse of something, anything, in the room above. After a few seconds of no answers, I finally lost it. “Please! Pull me out of here, I don’t know anything!”

  No answer. I was about to yell again when the first drops hit my face. These were immediately followed by a stream of icy cold water.

  The next few minutes consisted of me screaming, accompanied by pathetic attempts to climb out. All the while, the water level quickly crept up my legs.

  When the wate
r got to my chest, the darkness around me broke when one of the guards pointed a flashlight down the pipe. I hoped for a second that was a sign of something positive, but they only wanted to know exactly when to shut off the hose.

  When the water reached my chin, the flow from above turned into a trickle and stopped altogether. I had to stand on my toes to keep my nose above water. The flashlight stayed as the guards watched.

  I shook uncontrollably and my vision grew dark from hyperventilating. I tried to stand as still as possible, but no matter how hard I tried, water kept getting in my nose and mouth. A layer of greasy film floated across the surface. My eyes stung from the contaminates floating in the putrid liquid. It wouldn’t have surprised me to learn that the guards pissed down the hole just to add to my misery.

  A moment of clarity flashed through my mind as I struggled against the panic of inevitable drowning. Why not just stick my face in the water and take a deep breath? What exactly was I fighting for anyway? Another day of relentless hunger pains? Another freezing night on a plywood bed under a tattered and flea infested blanket? I would never walk out of camp a free man and although I’d refused to admit it, I knew deep down it was true. I could draw it out over months and years of suffering or I could just end it now with a lung-full of water.

  A moment of clarity, but only for a second. The primitive and reptilian part of my brain fought for the oldest instinct we possess. Survival.

  “I did it!” I screamed. “I helped the girl escape. Do you hear me? I did it!”

  The rope dug under my armpits as I was slowly lifted from the water. A minute later, I dangled above the mouth of the pipe, shivering and exhausted. Beaten and battered. Renshaw held up a clipboard and a pen.

  I signed the bottom line of my confession without reading it. It didn’t matter. Changing my mind would only earn me a trip back down the tube, or something worse. Renshaw would always come up with something worse.

  +

  I probably gave you the impression earlier that public executions always start by an inmate getting pulled out of line after roll call. Sometimes it happens like that. Other times the unlucky son of a bitch is dragged into the yard from solitary and back into general population just to get a blade across the throat or a bullet in the head.

  My jumpsuit was still damp as the guards led me across the yard behind Captain Renshaw. It was another cold morning under a grey sky, the last I would ever see. I trudged toward the Death Post under my own power, my fate accepted. As Renshaw took his place in front of the line, I stood with my back against the post. My wrists cuffed behind me, legs secured tightly above my sore knees with the old bloodstained leather belt.

  I scanned the crowd as Renshaw made his speech declaring the crimes I’d committed to earn my execution. I searched for Ezra but didn’t see him. I wondered what Kim was doing at that moment. If she was lining up at roll in a camp of her own or if she was free, living with our daughter or son somewhere out there. I closed my eyes as a single tear rolled down my cheek, the realization slamming into me that they’d never know what happened to me. Somehow I always knew that one day I’d find them both if they were still alive. The harsh reality of knowing it wouldn’t, hurt more than any physical pain the guards could dish out.

  The yard fell silent as Captain Renshaw finished and turned to approach me. His face vanished in a mist of red, a second before a single rifle shot echoed through the camp, and collapsed to the dirt.

  The dazed guards by my side had a second to look at each other before one of them went down from a rifle shot to the chest. The other guard quickly did the math and sprinted in the other direction, only to be gunned down a second later.

  Everything happened so fast that the inmates continued to stand at attention. Only a handful risked muttering in confusion and exchanged glances. Despite our main tormentor lying in the dirt, half his head missing, most of us wouldn’t have put it past the State to stage some elaborate test to judge our conditioning. If I wouldn’t have been bound to the post, I probably would have been frozen in my tracks as well.

  A massive truck with a snow plow attached to the front, smashed through the main gate and broke our collaborative state of shock. Two pickup trucks followed, their large mounted machine guns blazing at the guards taking defensive positions inside the wire.

  My fellow inmates scattered like roaches to escape the gunfire that seemed to come from every direction. I stood helpless and watched as armed men and women poured through the demolished gate.

  Soon the chaotic violence tapered off, plunging the camp into eerie silence. It didn’t take too many guards to keep the hundreds of inmates in control - only twenty or so. I counted that many dead or dying on the ground. Inmates who had run for cover in the barracks slowly appeared in the windows and doorways.

  A man stepped out of the snowplow truck brandishing a pistol in one hand, a bullhorn in the other. “This camp has been liberated by the People’s Libertarian Militia,” he shouted. Two canvas covered troop transport trucks pulled up to the gate behind him. “Come with us if you want freedom!”

  Some of the inmates rushed for the trucks, a good number stayed where they were, frozen in fear and uncertainty.

  “Jack!” Ezra limped over to me as quickly as he could, one arm draped around Malachi’s shoulder. “Hold on, we’ll get you out of here.”

  “Quickly!” the man with the megaphone shouted from across the yard. “Reinforcements are just minutes away.”

  Malachi and Ezra searched the dead guard at my feet for the handcuff key. “Hurry!” I pleaded. “They’re going to leave without us.”

  “This guy’s got nothing,” Malachi said. He turned to Ezra. “Check Renshaw.”

  “We meet again.”

  I turned to the woman’s voice. “You.”

  She took off her olive drab cap to reveal the short stubble on her scalp and those unforgettable eyes. She slung her submachine gun over her shoulder and smiled. “Yeah, me. Jack, wasn’t it?”

  I nodded.

  “What do you say, Jack? Wanna get out of here?”

  “We can’t find the keys to the handcuffs,” Ezra said.

  Another girl in fatigues strode over. “Holly, what’s the hold up?”

  “Holly?” I asked. “I thought your name was Melanie.”

  She winked. “I wouldn’t be much of a spy if I used my real name, now would I, Jack?” She nodded at Ezra and Malachi. “Don’t worry, boys. Head for the trucks. We’ll get him.” She disappeared behind me and fired her gun, breaking the chain to my handcuffs.

  The other girl slung her rifle around her shoulder and took me by the arm as Holly unfastened the belt at my legs. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s get you out of here.”

  The girls took me by the arms and helped me to the trucks as several of their comrades lit Molotov cocktails and tossed them into the compound’s buildings. I climbed into the back of one of the trucks just as the last of the inmates jumped in. We were on the move.

  The girl who helped Holly handed me a canteen and I drank greedily.

  “Slow down,” she said. “Don’t worry, you’ll get your fill.”

  “So are you some sort of spy too?” I asked her.

  “Jack, meet Libby,” Holly said from behind. She crouched down on the bed of the truck besides me as we rocked back and forth. “She’d have to get those pretty locks cut off in order to infiltrate the camps, so the answer is ‘no.’”

  “Very funny,” Libby said. “Don’t forget, I outrank you.”

  “Yes, ma’am!” Holly saluted Libby who just smiled and shook her head. She moved on to check on the other inmates huddled in the back of the truck.

  “Where are you taking us?” I asked.

  Holly smiled and gently touched my cheek. “Some place safe. Some place free.”

  I looked out the back of the truck as the road slipped by underneath us. The last time I’d left the camp was in a similar truck to mine for coal. Now I was leaving as a fugitive.

  “Wh
at if we’re caught?”

  “Don’t worry,” she said. “We’re getting pretty good at this. They haven’t found a way to stop us yet.”

  “You’ve attacked other camps?”

  “Third one this year. It’s our way of trying to make a difference and fight back.” One of the inmates shouted out in pain from the front of the truck, arm wrapped in a blood-soaked tourniquet.

  “I better go see if I can help,” Holly said. She caressed my face again. “Rest.”

  I watched the dark smoke billow into the sky as my prison for the last eight years burned to the ground. For eight years I had a feeling I pushed down and kept dormant, knowing that embracing it in the slightest could break me.

  As I sat in the back of that rickety truck and watched the smoke as the miles slipped by, I let that feeling escape, if only for a second.

  Hope.

  Continue reading or return to table of contents.

  Flesh and Blood

  Renee Miller

  ONE

  Francine decided she should have sex more often.

  The gentle friction of a man’s cock sliding in and out of her body cooled the embers in her mind, although only temporarily. If she moved her hips to the side, just so, the intensity of her pleasure increased, but she wouldn’t do that just yet. It’d been a while since Francine enjoyed a sexual encounter, so she wanted to prolong the experience. Part of her whispered she should prolong him as well… but the fire balked at romantic whims like that.

  “Faster,” he urged, thrusting his hips.

  Francine opened her eyes, the moment ruined. She could go faster, but then he’d get off first. This wasn’t about him. “Shut up, or I’ll gag you too.”

  He smiled, pulling at the cuffs that secured his arms over his head. “I should spank you. Bet you’d like that.”

  She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “Shut up.”

  His soft chuckle stoked the flame in her belly. Francine picked up the pace. She ground her hips over him and then, leaning forward, tilted them just so. So close. Francine slid her gloved hand beneath the mattress, touching the worn wood handle. The fire blazed, urging her to end it. End him.