by Walls, Annie
Bailing Out into the Dead
A Famished Novella
Annie Walls
Annie Walls
Contents
1. Now
2. Then
3. Then
4. Then
5. Then
6. Then
7. Now
8. Then
9. Then
10. Then
11. Then
12. Then
13. Then
14. Then
15. Now
16. Then
Living with the Dead
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by Annie Walls
Copyright © 2012 by Annie Walls
Cover Design and Formatting by Annie Walls
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
For all the readers who love Rudy as much as I do.
1
Now
The diverse crowd chants my name as a boney fist flies at me. I don’t want to, but I let it hit me right between my temple and eye. A burst of dots sparkles in my left eye’s vision as the crowd jeers for my opponent. His body odor fills my nostrils, and the overhead lights seem a bit brighter as his fist bashes me in my lip. It catches on my tooth, and I taste the familiar flavor of my own blood. I spit it out between waves of Isaac’s ruthless assault. Clenching my jaw, I shake the sting off. That’s the deal after all, gasoline in exchange for me to throw this fight, but that’s a lot easier said than done.
The worn tread of Isaac’s boot flashes before he lays a kick to my chest, catching me by surprise. Pain splinters up my back as I fall backward on the concrete in the middle of the betting ring.
“Fuck, Rudy!” Someone snarls at me over the crowd in complete outrage. I’d know that asshole’s voice anywhere. As close to a best friend as anyone can have in a famished infested world, Mac’s pissed knowing I’m throwing this fight. I didn’t let him in on it, so he’s probably losing money.
A shadow falls over me, momentarily blocking the harsh light. Isaac looks like a grungy hobo coming back from the dead. Earlier in the fight, I threw a few hits to liven up the crowd. Blood drips from his nose and lips. My own scarred knuckles bleed from roughing him up. He’s not getting away completely unscathed. He shows me a grisly smile with bloody teeth. His long lanky hair sticks to his bare chest sweat. It’s beading down his stomach, getting caught in the elastic of his sweatpants as his foot lifts backward and rushes forward as if in slow motion. When it connects with my face, I go with it as to not take the force. My head cracks against the hard floor. Pain radiates as I face the other way and groan. That’s going to hurt tomorrow. The loudspeaker announces Isaac’s win. Blood pools from my mouth. It should make a good show, but I’m half hoping he’ll just keep on beating me until I die.
“Get up, pussy!” he spits, pissed the fight’s over.
“Is that all you got?”
He laughs, knowing the rules. “Fuck you.”
The time will come again when I’ll need gasoline or ammunition. I’ll get my payback and show him no mercy. When I just shrug, his fists tighten.
If he makes another go at me, I don’t know if I’ll be able to hold back and I need the resource. A calm washes over me. I clear all thoughts as to control my actions. I lie there as the crowd’s words come into focus but drown out when music starts pumping a dangerous beat, enticing these people to get drunk and act obnoxious. The vibrations flow through my body. It’s soothing for a moment before the throbbing gets worse in the front of my skull.
People mill around the rundown warehouse. A place turned into a nasty excuse for somewhere to party. The brightness dims, accentuating the other flashing and blinking lights. Assorted holiday lights hang about, and strobes are strategically placed on the famished bound in various places. People do whatever they want with them, and I stay far away from it. Most of the time, they use the living dead for games of darts and other disturbing activities. I tighten my lips in disgust, but mostly from pain.
I sit up with a sigh. Another day, another dollar. My hair falls in my face as I search for my bandana that must have fallen off in the pretentious fight. I spot it about three feet away. Long red hair touches the concrete as Candy snatches the bandana off the floor. She saunters over toward me. She’s made another attempt to dress as if she attends an all-girls Catholic school. I don’t know why she favors the stereotype, she’s so far off from a school girl with slashed fishnets and impractical shoes. She’s just someone else who will need saving if things go awry.
“Here, sweet ‘em.” She purrs, smelling like bourbon, cigarettes, and overpowering perfume. She bends over me, tying my bandana back on my head, and I get a face full of tits. I watch because maybe they’ll pop out. She must’ve duct taped them together to make them look like that, which I have to admit, are huge by the grace of God. She straightens giving me a knowing smile, but I don’t return it. “Yew so hot. I’ll give yew a discount.” Right. As if she wouldn’t give it for free. I might if my john wouldn’t rot off afterward. Her eyes narrow at whatever she sees on my face, deepening her growing crow’s feet. I don’t think she’s old enough to have them.
Standing up, I glance over the crowd as I hear, “Goddamn it!” Mac screams in frustration at me. I hate doing it to my friend, but if he had bet against me, people would have known. He’s over by a famished, a zombie Guido keeps chained like a statue for his pleasure. Guido’s working girls dress them in obscene ways. I’ve learned to ignore them. Mac’s bright white T-shirt glows violet in the black light. His skin looks deep purple. Mac reaches back behind the gagged famished, bringing its head forward. His elbow flashes with speed, knocking the famished with such a force the head bounces on the post it’s chained to. Dark purple blood spurts on the wall behind it. The scene looks more gruesome as the zombie slumps in its bindings under the black light. Mac shakes his curls out of his face as he stalks over to the bar.
I leave Candy standing there in her voluptuous glory. I hop over the ring rail as a few people grumble at me for losing. They lost their money, but Guido made plenty.
Mac doesn’t look at me when I walk up. He knows I’m here, I’m a big guy, most of the time using it to my advantage. A few glasses of moonshine appear in front of him on the bar. I look in time to see Bart, the bartender, toss a bar rag over his shoulder and shake his head at me. The bar itself is huge, made from different materials looted from downtown bars.
“This one was for you.” Mac knocks it back, tossing blond curls. I nod at Bart for a drink. “You threw it,” Mac says, finally looking at me. His bright blues are eyeing me in accusation.
I shrug. “Need gas.”
“Oh, that’s right. You’re not only going to get the shit kicked out of you, but you’re going to get killed as well. Possibly turned into the living dead to kill other people.” He takes the other shot motioning for another one. Bart brings both shots at the same time. “Yeah, I can see you famished. All white teeth chomping down on the arm of some poor unsuspecting girl who thinks she’s getting lucky with your attention.” He says the last jokingly.
“Need to see if I can get to her,” I tell him. Again. I don’t want to think about Jules right now. Nor the circumstances in which I left her.
Mac knows it, too. I take the shot. A small sting indicates a cut inside my lip. The homemade alcohol will make all the pain go away.
He scoffs, “You’re finally free of that cunt, and now you’re risking your life for her. Again, I’m going to add.” He brings his glass to his lips before realizing it’s empty. “Dumbass,” he mutters, slamming the glass back down. I don’t know if it’s directed at himself or me.
I motion Bart for two more. “Doesn’t matter. I’d do it for you, too.”
“I told you, she’s fine.”
Irritation starts to creep in at the familiar conversation. “You can’t know for sure.”
Mac sighs. “Things take time, man.”
“Maybe, but I’m not much on your priorities.” Mac already knows this, but for some reason, I can’t get him to wrap his head around it.
I can tell the moonshine’s working its magic when he doesn’t get pissed off and defend his duty. He isn’t as much of a prick when he’s buzzed.
“You could have told me. I lost a shit load of money,” he says. Yep, the moonshine is working. He changed subjects on me.
“Like you care.”
He shrugs at this, knowing it’s the truth because he doesn’t need the community’s resources. He gets the resources to begin with. He only buys into fights to blend in and pass the time. “Just making sure you know your trip is futile. You don’t have to fight or demean yourself to throwing fights. You got other skills.”
I ignore his last statement. “You can always come with me.”
“You know I can’t.” He shakes his head, staring at his hands and picks glue off them. He makes arrows as a hobby more than anything else and always has glue on himself, or he smells like a bucket of turpentine, which he uses to get it off.
I tense as cold hands snake around my bare shoulders. “Yew think ‘bout my offer, baby?” Candy asks me. No, I haven’t. I can smell her perfume over the moonshine. That’s saying something. Her tits press against my bare back. Mac lifts a brow at her. “I’m givin’ ‘im a discount.” She tells him as she sashays around to my side, leaving her arm around my neck. She thinks a discount is worth something. At least she has a little self-esteem.
Mac bursts into laughter. “Like he needs a discount,” he continues, still laughing. He’s such a dick. I don’t say anything to add fuel to his fire.
She purses her lips. “Fine. Come on, Rudy baby. I’ll ride yew for free.” I move forward away from her arm to grab my shot of moonshine.
“Go away before your crabs jump on me,” Mac says to her with a glare. I put the moonshine down in case Candy decides to shove Mac into the bar, catching me in the crossfire. It’s happened before.
“Asshole!” she spits at him.
He gestures obscenely at her. Mac’s way of rolling his eyes is to jack off the air in front of his crotch. “Thanks for letting me know.”
She looks to me as I shrug at her. She huffs and stalks away. I let out a breath of air in relief. Luckily, he’s had a few shots or he would have been nastier and things would have gotten out of control.
“You need to learn to say no,” he says to me.
I lift my eyebrows as he glares at her retreating back. “I can say no without being a complete dick,” I say, reminding myself Candy is a lost soul just like most of everyone else. Her persistence can get annoying but I understand trying to make your own way, so there’s no reason to be callous.
“Well, Mr. Chivalry, I didn’t hear you speaking up on her behalf. Besides, that crab rumor is true.” Mac smirks as he sips on his moonshine. No, make that my moonshine.
“I thought it was Peaches.” I remember the circulating gossip.
He laughs. “If one has them, they all have them.” That is a reasonable assumption. “When are you leaving?”
“First thing in the morning.”
He stands up from his stool. Mac might be short, but he’s deadly. We could have a fair match against each other in a fight. He looks up at my face, checking it over. “At least I don’t have to doctor your dumb ass.” He tries to smooth the wrinkles out of his white T-shirt. Typical Mac. “You have blood in your stubble,” he says and walks off.
“Here, use this.” I turn to see Glinda standing there holding a clean rag. I take it from her as she glances at Mac’s retreating figure. “Fuckin’ asshole, he is.” Her glossy lips pinch together. Her blond hair is piled high on her head, the curls draping in some kind of girlie way. She favors boots that make up for the lack of a skirt she has on. Her bright red tank top matches her lipstick. She’s older than Candy probably by ten years but looks younger. I think it’s why Candy hates her so much. They’re known to get into fights. I’ve never witnessed one myself, but I hear they’re interesting to watch.
“Thanks, Glin,” I say, scrubbing my face. The rag is cold and feels good.
She smiles, looking me up and down in appreciation, not bothering to hide it. “No problem, Rudy doll.” Something catches her eye behind me and she rolls them in aggravation, putting her fist on her hip. I turn to follow her gaze.
Guido’s men are taking down the dead famished Mac had taken his anger out on. Guido struts his way toward me. Damn, I should have left when Mac did. Bart slides another shot to me knowingly. Glinda scoffs, walking the other way. I don’t blame her.
“Purty boy, juice head. My, my yew did gewd.” He smiles, flashing his teeth. His dark hair seems to be thick with extra pomade tonight. His button-up shirt is undone, showing off. What he’s showing off, I don’t know. I suspect if I rip the gold chains from his neck, his chest hair will come with it. “Made me some money, yew did. I git that gas fo yew. Jocko have it at yer truck tomorrow.” Jocko is just a dumb lackey and he always takes his time with shit.
“In the morning,” I say, feeling my stern words rumble from my chest. “I’m not throwing any more fights, either.” He smiles at the confirmation of more fights.
“Say, yew wouldn’t bring me another dead ‘em, would yew?” His head jerks toward the dead famished being removed.
“No.”
He laughs. “Send ‘em my way, yew know yew’ll be smashing into ‘em.” He slinks off to bother someone else. I watch the dance floor and people dancing close together. Ty, another friend I’ve made here at the community, is with his girlfriend, Felicia. They’re both laughing at something and silently communicating with just their eyes. I almost scoff. But… what must it be like to have someone that looks at you in complete recognition and understanding? Even more, to look at that person the same way?
Then
I sat in my Dodge staring at my apartment window in Baton Rouge as if I had some kind of x-ray vision. The light was on, but I knew she wasn’t alone. Damn her. I’d never hated anyone as much as I hate her. I made a promise to her father, and I was going to keep it. I just hated her actions. Not that she was screwing someone else, but that she made it harder for me. She didn’t know I knew about him. I didn’t know the scrawny bastard, but I knew of him. She picked him because she could control him. To do whatever she wanted.
At the time, she thought I was in class at LSU. That’s what I did. Work, so we could live a decent life. Go to school, so I could work. I skipped class thinking I would bust her. To end it, finally be free. I couldn’t. My hands tightened around the steering wheel, feeling my jaw grind together.
No, I wouldn’t go. Maybe I’d go to the archery range. I hadn’t been in so long, I was out of practice. One of the things I love put on the backburner. For Julie. A shadow passed by the apartment window, followed by another. Definitely not alone. No, I’d just go to a bar. I shouldn’t drive. I already had two strikes against me. A third had the potential to ruin everything I’d worked so hard to accomplish. Screw it. I needed a drink and a woman. No. Two women.
2
Then
On the way out of town, I never noticed anything off. I thank Jules for that one because waking the next morning in the drunk tank might have been what saved my life. A massive hangover in a backwood
s jail cell because I decided to go to a backwoods bar was my payback for the bad things I’d done the night before. My fuzzy memory glossed over a fight and a bathroom rendezvous with a brunette in a short skirt. Worry sliced through me at the vagueness of it all. I sighed, relieved with the memory of wrapping my john and only a little disappointed it was only one woman and not two.
I rubbed my head with my hands feeling the short hair underneath my fingertips. Grabbing it with my fists, I held it. A clear indication it needed a cut.
Where was everyone? I wished they would hurry so I could make a phone call. Julie was going to be pissed she had to come bail me out. I didn’t care. She had her fun last night.
“Hello! I’d like to make my phone call now!” I screamed for someone, anyone, but no one came. It was a useless effort with my slurred words. Still drunk.
As time passed, no one brought me food or water. I laid there for a good part of the morning. I stared at the ceiling from the cot and sang a song, sang it loud. A song my mother used to play after her untold mischiefs. The times when she seemed really down on herself. Lee Hazelwood’s, The Night Before. My fingers moved in time with guitar chords as lyrics about empty whiskey bottles and wanting to turn back the clock bounced from the walls.
I’d never forget the last time I saw her. It was a year after hurricane Katrina, and I had volunteered to help raise houses from their foundations above sea level. I had sworn to myself it’d be my last time back at the swamp.
The sun was torturous as sweat dripped down my back and stomach. The house we were raising would be a cinch compared to the last one that had been on a concrete slab.
Something ice cold pressed to the small of my back and I jumped. Jules cackled hysterically and waved a water fresh from the cooler at me. She helped keep everyone hydrated.
