The Reckoning - 02

by D. A. Roberts

  As he fell, I stripped him of the sword and pivoted with it. When he tried to stand back up, I cleaved into his neck at a downward angle. The blade sunk deeply into the soft tissue of the throat but hung in the bone of his shoulder. Blood gushed from the fatal wound and he fell onto his back with his mouth opening and closing like a landed fish. His eyes were wide open with fear and shock.

  I fell to my knees beside him, nearly spent. I was in immense pain and my strength was gone. I didn’t even have the strength to yank the sword free from the wound. I did palm the severed necklace that was now lying next to my knee. I slipped it into my cargo pocket and hoped that no one had seen me do it. It might come in handy.

  With a supreme effort, I yanked the blade free and forced myself to my feet. I held the bloody blade aloft and glared at the Boss, defiance in my eyes. I wouldn’t admit it, but I was finished. I didn’t have the strength to fight again. Whatever happened next, it would be my last fight.

  “Drop the sword,” commanded the Boss.

  “Come and get it,” I snarled, spitting out a mouthful of blood.

  To my surprise, he stood up and came towards me. I never would have guessed that he would do it. He always had his bodyguard close to hand and didn’t seem the type to get his hands dirty. The crowd fell silent as he jumped down into the ring and started towards me. I timed his advance and waited for him to reach the edge of my range with the sword.

  When I judged him to be in the right spot, I snapped my wrist over and swung the sword in a rapid slash meant to disembowel him. He moved faster than I could ever have guessed. He leapt to the side, high enough that he placed one foot on the edge of the wall around the ring. Then he spun around in a lighting fast kick that struck me in the face with tremendous force.

  I twisted as I fell backwards, landing on my right side. I lost my grip on the sword as I fell. My vision began to tunnel and I could tell I was losing consciousness. Just before I blacked out, I saw him recover the sword and advance towards me. I wanted to fight for my life, but I was too far gone. The last sight I saw was his fist coming at my face holding the pommel of the sword. Then I was gone.

  Chapter Twenty Five

  Tender Mercies

  “Men ought either to be indulged or utterly destroyed, for if you merely offend them they take vengeance, but if you injure them greatly they are unable to retaliate, so that the injury done to a man ought to be such that vengeance cannot be feared.”

  - Niccolo Machiavelli

  I awoke in darkness. I knew I was bound, but I couldn’t tell how. I tried to turn my head and felt the nausea come again. I vomited and felt my body spasm in pain. Everything hurt. My stomach hadn’t had anything in it for so long, I couldn’t remember the taste of food. I had no strength left to fight. All sense of time had abandoned me and I had no idea how long I’d been here. It felt like weeks.

  “He’s awake,” I heard someone say.

  Then I felt someone touch my head and pull the blindfold off of me. My eyes were stung by the sudden bright light. As they adjusted to the change, I could see that I was naked and hanging from a large steel hoop. My arms were out to my sides and my legs were shoulder width apart. I was bound by the ankles and wrists to the hoop. I looked like a sick parody of the famous image by Leonardo DaVinci; The Vitruvian Man.

  I could see that I was in a barn. Around me were several armed men and the she-beast of a bodyguard. The Boss was sitting on the tailgate of a pickup about twenty feet away from me. On the ground in front of me was a crackling fire. Thrust into the fire was several pieces of metal. The tips were buried in the glowing coals. I really didn’t want to know what they were planning on doing with those.

  “Sheriff,” began the Boss, “it’s time you started cooperating with us. You’re young lady-friend will be next, if you don’t.”

  “I want to see her,” I croaked, my throat dry as sand.

  My lips were cracked and swollen and I could feel where a tooth was missing. Most likely from when he hit me with the hilt of the sword. I could also see that the wound in my side was still oozing blood. That could only mean I hadn’t been out for very long. I could see that it was dark outside the door to the barn, so it must have been a few hours.

  “We’ve been staunching the flow of blood from your side with pressure,” explained the Boss. “It just won’t seem to quit bleeding. You need a doctor. Unfortunately, you killed ours when you blew up the ammunition plant.”

  “I’m sorry you weren’t there to join him,” I gasped.

  The Boss looked at me with a measured look on his face before nodding at Patty the she-beast. She walked over to the fire and selected a red-hot piece of steel and held it up in front of my face. She smiled cruelly as she twisted it around for me to see.

  “Ah’m goin’ do endoy heawing you squeem,” she hissed through her ruined mouth.

  I would have spat in her face, if there had been any moisture at all in my mouth. Instead, I glared at her and thrashed against my bonds. I had so little strength left that I wouldn’t have been able to break free if they had bound me with string. Patty smiled as she lowered the glowing piece of metal and pressed it against the wound in my side.

  Instantly, I felt the searing heat and smelled burning-meat from my flesh being cauterized. As bad as I wanted to deny her, she got what she wanted. I screamed. I prayed that I would black out, but I didn’t. The wound in my side was long enough that it took three tries to seal it completely. By the time she finished, the entire area reeked of burned flesh and I hung limp in my restraints.

  I wanted to sob, but I refused to give them the satisfaction. I wanted the darkness to come and take me, but it refused to come. I hung there, thinking of my family and friends. I knew that I suffered to protect them. If I broke, they would all suffer similar or worse fates. I thought of my faith in the Gods. I remembered the tale of how the All-Father had hung from Yggdrasil the World Tree for nine days. Pierced in the body, he gave up his eye for wisdom. I would give up my life for my family. I would endure.

  Lifting my head, I let my gaze fall on each of them in turn before glaring into the eyes of the Boss. He had his arms folded across his chest and a look of smug satisfaction on his face. I wanted to wipe that look off of his face.

  “I am going to kill you,” I whispered. “If it’s the last thing I do.”

  “Brave words,” he said, laughing. “You’re all but dead, now. You couldn’t take me with a sword in your hand.”

  I swallowed with difficulty. My parched and dry throat hurt with the effort. I was starving and dehydrated. My strength was gone and I was wounded in almost every part of my body. He was right. There was nothing I could do to him right now. But things have a way of changing. I would survive whatever they threw at me just to get the chance to kill that son of a bitch.

  “Let’s leave the good Sheriff to consider my offer,” said the Boss. “We can check on him in the morning. He’s not going anywhere.”

  They all started heading out. The fire was in a small pit and they left it going. Once I was alone in the barn, I let my head fall to my chest. I felt like I drifted off to sleep when I heard movement. I slowly raised my head to see an old man of about seventy walk in through the door.

  He was wearing tattered clothing and had a bandage wrapped around his head, covering his left eye. He was emaciated and malnourished, with stringy long gray hair and a scraggly gray beard. He must have been one of the poor unfortunate people that they had taken as slaves. He had an old messenger bag slung over his shoulder and looked around furtively like he was afraid he might get caught.

  Satisfied that no one else was here, he came over to me and looked up at me with an odd smile on his face. Then he picked up a wooden box and laid it on the ground in front of me to use as a step stool. Once his face was almost even with mine, he reached over and gently patted me on the cheek.

  “You really pissed them off good, son,” he said, cackling softly.

  “Cut me down, old-timer,” I managed in a
hoarse whisper.

  “Then I take your place,” he replied, chuckling again. “Not sure I want to do that.”

  He was right. They’d kill him for helping me. I couldn’t ask him to risk his life for me. He didn’t even know me, and I wouldn’t leave someone else to suffer like this.

  “Besides,” he said, “it’s not your time.”

  I looked at him, perplexed at what he meant by that. Slowly, he reached into his bag. Then he glanced around before removing a bottle of water. It was a clear glass bottle with a lid, but the water was brown and dirty like he’d filled it in a mud puddle. I felt a wave of pity for the old man. They treated him worse than an animal.

  Opening the bottle, he stuck it to my lips. I was beyond caring that it wasn’t clean. I was desperate for a drink. It was gritty and tasted like slime, but I drank until I choked. He pulled the bottle back a few inches and smiled at me.

  “Easy there, son,” he said, smiling. “You’re gonna have to take it slow. You’re in bad shape.”

  I didn’t argue. When he placed the bottle back to my lips, I forced myself to go slowly. It took several tries, but I drank the entire bottle. It tasted terrible, but I felt better. At least I could swallow without gagging. Then he took out some food. It must have been all the food his cruel captors would let him have, because he was half-starved himself. It was a piece of a moldy sandwich and an apple that looked like it had gone bad.

  “You need to eat,” he said, offering the food.

  My heart nearly broke. Here was this poor old fool, almost starved to a skeleton himself, and he was offering me what meager food he had to give. I couldn’t help it, but I broke down crying. It was the most generous act of kindness I’d ever seen. I was deeply humbled by it.

  “I can’t take your food,” I said. “You eat it. I wish I had more to give you.”

  “I’ll make you a deal,” he said, grinning. “We’ll share it.”

  It wasn’t much food, at all. Not enough to nourish either of us, let alone both of us. I was starving, but I knew he must be too. I wanted to refuse, but I didn’t want to insult him. I didn’t want him to think it was because it wasn’t good enough. That had nothing to do with it. I simply felt guilty to be taking away from him when he had so little. Reluctantly, I agreed by looking into his eyes with as much gratitude as I had ever felt in my life and nodding.

  He tore the sandwich in two pieces and poked half in my mouth and the rest in his. I didn’t think about the flavor and instead just chewed. I swallowed it down and smiled. He produced a small knife from his pocket and cut the apple in half. It was soft, but still very sweet. I think it was the best apple I’ve ever eaten in my life. I ate it core and all, then licked the juice from my lips.

  “Thank you,” I whispered, tears stinging my eyes.

  Reaching into his bag, he produced one more miracle. It was a plastic jar filled with a dark substance. Proudly he lifted it and removed the lid. Whatever it was, it stank.

  “What is it?” I asked, curious.”

  “Mud,” he replied, in a tone that implied he seemed to think that everyone carried mud with them all the time.

  He then proceeded to dip his fingers in the jar and coat my wounds with it. The cool soft earth was soothing to the burns and the other injured areas. Then he patted me on the cheek and climbed down off the box. Putting it right back where he found it, he looked up at me and smiled.

  “Thank you,” I said, nearly choking on the words.

  He had risked a great deal to come help me. I was more grateful than he would ever know.

  “Don’t thank me yet, son,” he replied. “This isn’t over.”

  He slipped out of the barn and vanished into the darkness. I felt myself growing drowsy and finally drifted off to sleep. I didn’t dream that night. But I did feel strangely at peace. I could feel my strength trying to return, from even that tiny amount of food. I would not give up. I would not fail my kindred.

  I awoke in the light of day when they returned. The Boss resumed his place on the tailgate and the others fanned out. Patty had a coil of something in her hand and a sneer on her ruined mouth. This time, however, the Boss did not look so happy. In fact, I would have to say he looked downright angry.

  “Alright Sheriff,” he began. “Things have changed. It appears that your friend was not as injured as she led us to believe. She overpowered a guard last night and escaped.”

  I smiled at the news. It was the best I’d heard in days.

  “Don’t be too excited,” he sneered. “My men are searching for her, now. They will find her and bring her back. But until then, we have only you to interrogate.”

  “I’m not telling you anything,” I said, with more strength than I imagined I could muster.

  “I’m impressed,” he said. “It seems a good night’s sleep has given you newfound energy. We’ll have to do something about that.”

  “Do your worst,” I snapped, suddenly energized knowing that they couldn’t hurt Spec-4.

  “This is how it’s going to work, Sheriff,” he said, contemptuously. “I will ask you a question. Answer it and nothing will happen. Fail to answer or tell me what I know to be a lie and you will be punished.”

  “Go fuck yourself,” I snarled.

  Patty the she-beast moved around behind me. I lost track of her and couldn’t turn my head far enough to see her. Whatever she was doing, I knew it wasn’t going to be good.

  “Now, Sheriff,” said the Boss with a velvety tone, “how many entrances are there to the Underground.”

  “Piss off,” I snapped.

  There was a swishing sound, and then a sharp crack as a whip sliced across the flesh of my lower back. I could instantly feel the blood welting to the surface. It stung like a tendril of flame had just touched my skin. I screamed out in agony.

  “How many entrances?” asked the Boss, softly.

  “Go to Hel,” I screamed.

  Again the whip snapped and tore into my flesh, this time across my shoulder blades. I screamed, again.

  “How many?” demanded the Boss.

  “NO!” I screamed.

  The searing pain was instantaneous. My voice was growing ragged from the screaming. I refused to yield. I would rather die that give him my family and friends.

  “Never!”

  This continued for what felt like eternity. I lost count of the number of lashes. They continued until I just hung there limp in the restraints, unable to even scream anymore. I was dripping blood, sweat and tears. I still wouldn’t answer him.

  “We’ll continue this tomorrow,” said the Boss as they all filed out. “Good night, Sheriff. Sleep well.”

  That night, the old man returned. I was too weak to speak to him. He covered the wounds with more mud and then gave me water. I was too weak to eat, so he crushed up two tomatoes and poured them into my mouth like a soup. I gagged and retched, but managed to get part of it down.

  The old man sat with me and spoke to me. I couldn’t make out the words. I was delirious from the pain. I was also running a fever. He continued talking or possibly singing until I passed out from sheer exhaustion. I slept and didn’t dream.

  This continued for days. I don’t even remember how many. There would be questions that I refused to answer followed by beatings. Later, the old man would come. This became my entire world. The only driving thought in my brain was “tell them nothing.”

  One night, the old man didn’t come. I mourned him. I figured that they had caught him trying to sneak in to see me. I hung there, weeping for an old man whose name I never knew. I refused to let it break me. I knew without his food and mud, I would likely die today. His care and mercy had been the only things keeping me alive. I was ready to let the suffering end. It was time. I would go to whatever end knowing I did not betray my family and friends. At least there would be that for me to hold on to.

  When the door to the barn opened, I almost jumped for joy thinking it was the old man. The men that entered were like nothing I expected.
There were five of them, clad head to toe in camouflage. Their faces were blacked out with dark colored pigments and their mouths were covered in digital camo shemaghs. They were all armed with assault weapons and fanned out to clear the barn.

  One broke away from the others. They all walked carefully to avoid making noise. When he stood in front of me and looked up, I could see the color of the eyes. They were the pale blue of glacial ice. Tears welled in my eyes as Spec-4 removed her shemagh and boonie cap. There were tears in her eyes.

  “Oh my God, Wylie,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “What have they done to you?”

  I wanted to answer, but my throat wouldn’t let me form words. My mouth was beyond dry and I was fading in and out of consciousness. I was afraid that I was dreaming until one of the other figures in camouflage removed his cap and shemagh. It was First Sergeant Gregory. He looked at me like he’d seen a ghost. He reached out and put his hand on my shoulder and squeezed it gently.

  “Let’s get him down and get out of here,” he whispered.

  They cut me loose and lowered me gently to the ground. Spec-4 poured water from a canteen into my cracked mouth. I gagged but drank several mouthfuls. Then I reached out my hand and grabbed the First Sergeant by the shirt and pulled him closer to me.

  “I told them….nothing,” I croaked. “Not…a…fucking…thing.”

  “We know,” he assured me.

  Then I passed out. I had the sensation of movement for a few minutes, but then nothing. I was dead to the world. I just wished I could see the looks on their faces when they came back in the morning and discovered I was gone. I wonder who the Boss was going to blame. I hoped it was Patty. Let her have a turn in the hoop.

  Chapter Twenty Six

  Hearth and Home

  “There is no greater love than this.