The Sons of Liberty

by James Tow

butt meet the back of my head.

  Blackness.

  3. Existence

  When a certain period of time has passed after losing someone, it’s almost like they never existed in the first place. I haven’t hit that point yet. And I won’t. He isn’t dead…

  I knew I was awake but I had three reasons why I refused to open my eyes. First, for some strange reason, I was totally relaxed. I was chained to a cold concrete wall. My ankles are bound together and heels touching the wall with my hands tied above my head. I could feel the blood trickling down my forearm from the tight bounds cutting into my wrists. This is when I realized: I shouldn’t be relaxed. But I was. Second, I was scared to see where I was. I didn’t want to open my eyes and see piles of dead bodies next to me. I’d probably vomit. Third, I didn’t want the two men, who are talking in front of me, to know I was awake.

  Ugh!

  I guess I was thinking too loud. The bastard must have worn brass knuckles, and I’m pretty sure one of my ribs cracked.

  I couldn’t help but open my eyes now. The man who hit me was an over-sized ball of muscle. The same ball of muscle whose neck I nearly ripped out earlier. I started to smile until I realized the bastards stripped me naked.

  Now, I was beyond scared. I have a certain method for when I’m scared like this—laughter. Laughter cures anything. Make fun of something or someone; think of a funny moment, make jokes, et cetera. But I couldn’t laugh just now. The other man I heard talking is wearing a Russian military dress uniform. Complete with medals, loads of awards pinned to his chest, and the rank insignia that made my stomach drop. On his shoulder, lay an impressive star, on a pentagon, with a hammer and sickle. The Marshal of the Russian Army, Sergei Federov, was standing ten feet away from me. A boy, seven or eight years old, stood next to Federov, with tears streaming down his face.

  I couldn’t focus on anything at the moment, for Jack Dempsey was wailing on my ribs. My breathing began to come out in pathetic whimpers. Then I saw his unibrow and began to laugh. He started to yell gibberish then stopped for a second, looking as if he was waiting for something.

  “Nice eyebrow,” I managed through clenched teeth. He cocked his head over to his boss, and Federov looked at me and nodded. And the beating continued.

  “So, does my being naked have a purpose? Or were you just curious as to what a real penis looks like?” I directed this toward Federov.

  He smiled and was talking to me in his foreign language.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that,” I told him.

  “Do you know who I am?” he asked in his heavy Russian accent.

  This question reminded me of our failure out in the desert. This man should be dead.

  “Yes, yes I do.” I told him.

  “Good, it will save me the introduction,” he said. “And do you know where you are?”

  “No.”

  “You’re at the Seventh-Gate Prison, where all of your kind are taken, tortured, executed, and all of the above.”

  I shuddered at the thought. I’ve only heard of this place. ‘An even worse hell than the one we live in now,’ I was told.

  He studied my face as I was deep in concentration. “Are you wondering how I’m standing here, alive, in front of you?”

  Then it dawned on me—it was set up…all of it. From the moment we took the truck to the moment I punched the trigger. “You knew we were coming,” I whispered.

  “Very quick Mr. Reed,” he was smiling now. I was not.

  “So who was the man we did take out?” I asked, a bit shaken. I was afraid of his response. Federov was barring his teeth with a huge grin now.

  “The man you killed was this boy’s father. The only family he had left.” He walked over to the boy and rustled his hair. My body went cold.

  He crouched next to the teary-eyed boy, put his arm around him and began to talk to him in Russian. Federov was rubbing the boy’s shoulder and pointing at me. The boy fell to his knees and began crying.

  “I’m sorry.” I told him, but I knew he wouldn’t understand my foreign tongue.

  Federov stood and began to laugh. My head dropped with despair, but I heard the hammer cock on a pistol and I snapped my head up yelling “NO!” as he pulled the trigger.

  The boy’s limp body now lay in a pool of his own blood. I’ve lost all feeling. The anger hit as if it was an oncoming locomotive.

  “His father caused us serious problems, you see. He, and his group of followers, decided to sabotage our base in Japan. And he nearly succeeded. So, in a way, he was an ally of yours.” He said, with his chin held high and grinning at the ceiling. He was pacing back and forth. Then he turned toward me. Being inches away from my face—his smile gone.

  “Nobody has been as successful in their attempts as you and your ignorant brother. You’ve gained many fans.”

  I was still clenching my teeth, the anger was unbearable.

  “Your fellow cellmates deny that we have captured you. ‘Lowering their morale’ is what I believe they’re accusing of me.”

  He started to laugh without humor, “One man even went as far as saying: ‘The invincible brothers can’t be stopped!’” He said this mockingly. “I shot him in his knees after that, of course, but that’s beside the point. The point, Mr. Reed, is that I have to make an example of your death. A very firm example. Even if I only have half of the pair.”

  He was grinning again, and I was tired of it.

  “I’ll fucking kill you pig,” I hissed in his face. It’s all I could manage to say due to my locked jaw. I can’t stop looking at the body behind him either. It’s exactly this reason as to why I got into this ‘business’.

  His smile disappeared and he paced away, pulling a large elaborate knife out from his belt. He walked slowly toward me and gradually dug the tip into my chest. As I was screaming, he began to draw a line across my chest.

  Pain sucks. It’s just that simple. Many people have their own way of dealing with it. Usually, I laugh. This time, I just grind my teeth with my eyes shut and think ‘this could be worse’. I suppose I found it deserving to hear my own screams bounce off the wall.

  He pulled the knife out of me and paced away screaming more gibberish. The blade was what I needed to release some of the anger I had. I was a little more loose and able to talk.

  “English, moron.”

  He strode to me and hammered the butt of the knife into my collarbone.

  HUGGGHHH!

  “Where is your brother!?” He yelled in my face.

  My head snapped up. The pain in my collarbone temporarily subsides.

  Paul is still alive. It took a bit for this new information to sink in. ‘Only half of the pair,’ I repeated to myself.

  I realized I must look like a kid on Christmas, and Federov didn’t like that much.

  “Where?!” he pressed.

  “He’s out ordering pizza. I hope you like extra cheese and pepperoni.”

  He slowly dug the knife into my chest again, but on the opposite side. I stuck to my usual method for dealing with the pain and laughed. It was a little easier this time. When he pulled the knife out I looked down in my chest and noticed he made an ‘X’ on my chest.

  “That’s going to be a kick-ass scar,” I mused.

  He then stuck the knife into my left shoulder, all the while yelling more gibberish. The pain seared all the way down my body, followed by numbness.

  “How the hell should I know where he is? I’ve been locked up, if you hadn’t noticed!” I yelled.

  He glared at me, accepting what I just said, I hope. There was no way of me knowing where Paul was. Any idiot could see this.

  Federov yelled some more Russian, and his Russian ape stepped up again.

  This should be fun.

  Next scene: Hairy fat fist in my face. Again, again, and again.

  I woke up and saw nothing but black. I’m curled up, very uncomfortably. I’m sitting up with my chin on my knees and arms limp at my side, but my shoulders are pressed against a
cold wall. My back was pushing hard against a wall, and my feet mashed against another wall in front of me.

  A prison cell. A very small prison cell.

  At least I’m wearing clothes. I can’t stand being naked. Even in my dreams. The clothes wreak of something out-of-this-world. I can’t complain. Any clothes are better than naked.

  I realized I could hear the men to my left and right. I couldn’t understand what they were saying, but I figure my ears will adjust.

  I could only think about what Paul was up to. So many questions ran through my head: How did he survive that blast? Would he know where to find me? And how the hell did he escape? Either way, he was alive and, hopefully, well.

  I could follow the inmates’ conversations now. They were talking about their families.

  “How long have I been in here?” I asked. I didn’t recognize my voice, and it hurt to talk. They stopped their chatter.

  “The man to your left has been keeping time, and you got here right after we did, so about two days now.” The man to my right had a calming voice. Somewhat cheery, if that was possible. His cell must be bigger, with a bed and a toilet.

  “What’s the point of keeping time?” I asked cynically.

  “So we know when our time is up.” The man on my left had a deep, hoarse voice. It hurt my throat even more to listen to him.

  “What do you mean?” I asked

  “They keep us three days, then take us out to the field and slaughter us. We lie down, face up, and look into the barrel before they shoot.” The man on my left said.

  My breathing got heavy. I have one more day.

  “How do you know this?” I said with denial in my voice.

  “I used