The Famished 1 - Taking on the Dead

by Annie Walls

  “Git a bitch smacked around, that will,” she eyes me. “Didn’t figure Rudy the type.”

  My eyes widen at her assumption. Saddening me, I hope she doesn’t take any abuse herself. “No, it’s not like that,” I tell her firmly, continuing to look around. “He wouldn’t hit me, ever. In fact, he’s saved my life.” Three times, since I’m keeping tabs. Looking her straight in the eyes, “You shouldn’t let anyone hit you either.”

  She glances away, “Don’t worry, Suga. Guido and I got’s an arrangement.” She doesn’t clarify any more.

  People bob on the dance floor, their bodies a mass of waving synchrony. A flashing strobe light turns the scene into slow motion, but what catches my attention is the cage next to the DJ stand. It holds a woman zombie, and she’s naked. One can’t help but notice this zombie had an enhancement in her old life. A huge enhancement. Someone teases her with a fishing pole – a mouse squirms at the end. My heart jumps at the unexpected cruelty. The mouse jerks up and so does the zombie, and her enormous breasts bounce. A hand reaches into the cage and gropes her. The zombie is oblivious to the assault, only wanting the mouse. The mouse yanks out of the cage, and she immediately sticks her arms through the bars, grabbing at people. An open bite wound oozes on the zombie’s shoulder blade. Whatever zombie bit her took a big chunk with it. Fluid runs down her back in dark, red rivulets. The strobe on her makes it disgustingly eerie, as her assets bounce in slow motion. I tear my eyes away from the gruesome game.

  A song with a fast and easy beat starts playing. The rappers rap about dancing with dead chicks and implied necrophilia. Fitting. The dancers don’t seem to notice the song except for the beat. Dancing and bumping each other, the faces in the crowd turn up in pumping waves, their foreheads shiny from sweat.

  I try to take it all in, and it’s almost too much. In the far corner stands what resembles a boxing ring. On a raised platform, and brightly lit, the ring is unoccupied. On the other side of the ring, a wheel with a zombie strapped to it, is spinning clockwise. People take turns throwing darts at it. The mouth chomps of its own accord. Darts hang out of the body in various ways. When someone hits it in the forehead causing it to slump, a chorus of, ‘awes’ and ‘boo’s ring out as people exchange money. I blink in amazement, not quite believing what I’m seeing.

  “There’s that bitch, Candy! Tha fukkin’ hooka!” Glinda yells, as if she wants Candy to hear her. She points to the far end of the bar, dramatically, where a little stage and stripper pole sits for easy access. A voluptuous woman with curly red hair dances along the pole seductively. She turns around, jiggling her twins, and money lands on the stage.

  I catch a familiar figure from the corner of my eye. My mouth twists in a half smile as he takes a shot of something while Guido talks in his ear. Hopefully, the conversation is about our upcoming plans, and not any more favors for Rudy. He already has enough on his plate.

  A big spray-painted sign hangs behind the stage reads: Mago and Pappers, Tomorrow night! Glinda giggles and I turn to see she’s flirting with the man next to her. Hunched over the bar, he is obliterated. The bartender obviously doesn’t care. The man smiles up at Glinda, and can’t keep his dry eyes from blinking. She must on the clock.

  “Yo Bart!” She yells for the bartender, and he comes right to her. Bart’s a middle aged man with salt and pepper hair, bushy black eyebrows, and beady black eyes. He has a couple days worth of stubble. A big-boned, medium frame houses a classic beer belly, and his denim, button-up shirt is rolled up at the sleeves, and like Popeye, anchor tattoos decorate his forearms.

  Bart wipes out a shot glass with a bar towel. “What now, Glin?” he asks fondly.

  “This is my new friend, Suga. She sumthin’, huh? Git her a drank.” She peers at me in serious scrutiny, “Pick yew poison.”

  Though I don’t really want anything because of my jumbled nerves, I go for it anyway. It might help the sick feeling. “Uh, Tequila?” I throw out as everyone laughs for reasons unknown to me.

  “Atta girl, yew know wut yew want, huh?” Glinda giggles as she puts her arm around me. I shrug, not sure what she means. Bart’s speedy, and slides two shots our way.

  A fair hair guy next to me perks up a little. “Who’s the cutie, Glinda?” Picking up our shots with her perfectly manicured fingernails, painted the color of her lip gloss, she steers us away before I get a good look at him.“Fukket, raunchy whore,” the guy sneers. She flips him off, and hands me the drink. I gulp it, welcoming the burn and hoping it helps me relax.

  “Be careful wit that nasty. He sniffs cherry pies two miles away. He gave Precious dim itches. Crabs, yew knows?”

  I grimace, not wanting to hear about someone’s crab problem. “What’s a cherry pie?” I honestly don’t know.

  She laughs, “Depends on who sayin’ it. My case, I say yew a virgin.” Oh. Why would she assume that? Glancing at her, she watches me carefully. Ah, she’s fishing, so I just shrug it off. She booms with laughter, emphasizing the shots she’s already taken.

  “Sorry, not my bizz.” Yeah, no shit, but I smile at her. “But yew gotta notice not many chickie’s here yew age.” I glance around. She’s right. There are men, men my age, older men, and a few I would call boys. I spot one or two females who might be under thirty, and a few more dancing on the dance floor.

  “That’s strange. Why?”

  She shrugs, “Dey come, dey go. Some stay, some don’t.”

  Before I can comment further, a loudspeaker comes on from the DJ stand. “Five minutes ta beat down, so place yo bet now!” Every person in the place echoes the DJ in excitement, as cheers accompany the announcement. The DJ waves his arms in the air. Looking toward Rudy, he’s still in the same spot, but has gained Candy. Massaging his shoulders, she talks so close to his ear she could be licking it for all I know. Her bright red lips glisten in the dim light. Scratches adorn her face, the color of her lipstick. I almost smile with satisfaction, seeing the damage Glinda inflicted. With narrow eyes, I tighten my lips. I don’t know why, really. Rudy shakes his head at whatever Candy says. She grabs him by the arm, pulling him up.

  I try to stay out of sight, but it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t notice anything around him, and stares at the ring. Rudy doesn’t want to do this, but he has to because of me. The guilt following this thought makes me want to go back to the room, where he asked me to stay. They walk through the crowd as people gather around the raised ring. Just like the woods, he dominates the space as the crowd parts for him.

  Candy struts the room, attempting to look like a naughty school girl. Glinda notices too, because she gags beside me. She wears a pleated skirt, with platform Mary Jane’s and knee stockings. Her enormous breasts squeeze together tight – pushed up awkwardly. They look ready to pop out at any moment, and the mystery of them staying still this long baffles me. Her red hair flows down her back. I shake my head, taking a deep breath as Glinda leads me to a secluded spot.

  Smoke drifts like a hazy dream in the bright lights. I gasp, noticing the famished tied to support beams around the warehouse for the first time. The crowd walks around them without paying much attention despite the wiggling and groaning they’re doing. Bonded in various ways and dressed in what I suppose should be a provocative manner, they look crude.

  The famished closest to me is tied around the waist and neck with leather belts, his hands raised above his head and bound at the wrist. Studded straps wrap around his body like clothing, but leave his abnormally large endowments on display against the top of his inner thigh. With his head whipping back and forth, his bloodshot eyes are wild with the grinding and snapping of teeth. Thick blood courses down his neck with each movement. I can’t even begin to fathom why people want to look at the living dead in bondage gear. My stomach churns at the vulgar display.

  I gulp, moving my attention back to Rudy as he approaches the ring. Pulling the sweatshirt and undershirt off in one quick motion, female catcalls erupt as a small smile appears on his lips. I know how he looks, sure, but
now I can really look at him. Following the lines of his stomach to the little patch of brown hair trailing down, I let my imagination go farther than his jeans will allow my traveling gaze. Fingers catch his belt as his thumbs slowly stroke his happy trail. Unbuckling the belt makes his abs and forearms flex temptingly. In one jerk, he pulls it out of the belt loops, and his jeans slide dangerously low. The contoured V inside his hips is especially appealing. Finding it hard to catch my breath, I think my imagination has run off with me until more female whoops and screams follow.

  Including Glinda’s. I peer sideways at her, and she shrugs with a cocked brow. “He’s easy on tha eyes, is all. No worries.” She raises her hand, clasping money. I can’t help but stare at the old, crumpled bill. It looks like something I wouldn’t touch in fear of contracting the clap. A man appears out of nowhere. “Twenty. On Rudy, doll,” she breaths. He takes her money, writing something on a small flip pad. He goes to another woman who has money up. The woman’s hungry gaze never leaves Rudy as she speaks her bet. Peering around, I see other women are betting as well.

  I laugh, figuring Rudy uses sex appeal on purpose, and turn my attention back to him. Easy on the eyes – that’s one way to describe it. He knows what he’s doing. Shaking my head, I watch him subtly show off his features. Candy walks around to face him, blocking my view. Rubbing her hands all over him like a cougar, I wouldn’t be surprised if her butt finds its way in front of his face, like a bitch in heat. He doesn’t want her attention because he shrugs her off. That’s what he gets for being a tease. I chuckle to myself. Candy looks unmoved, and steps away.

  The square ring is enclosed with steel rails. Grabbing the rail, Rudy hops over in one bound. Everyone cheers as another guy hops over the rail bouncing on the balls of his feet, boxing the air. The man is scraggly, with long, nappy brown hair tied back in a low pony tail. I swallow because he’s as big as Rudy, if not bigger, and looks like he lifts weights, a lot.

  “Don’t worry so much, Suga. Rudy doll got this on Russell.” I nod, still watching the ring.

  A scratchy voice comes on the loudspeaker. “Yo! We ready to rumble, tumble, and see some blood!” The crowd screams and jumps up and down, yelling at whomever they’ve placed their bets on. An odor of sweat, perfume, and B.O. drift to my nose. After the clank of a cowbell, Russell charges. Rudy stands and watches Russell’s approach, looking bored.

  Rudy must have counted on Russell’s charge, because he feigns away as he sticks his foot out, tripping Russell. Russell isn’t able to control his momentum and goes sprawling chin first into the rail. The crowd wails as I smile. He hasn’t even touched him yet. Russell gets up with blood spouting from his chin. Rudy says something I can’t make out over the crowd, baring his teeth in a menacing sneer as his mouth moves. I recognize this tactic. Rudy’s trying to make him angry so Russell will lash out and make mistakes.

  Russell takes his time, feeling him out, absently wiping at his chin with his forearm. They dance in circles, and Russell takes a swing from his right. Rudy isn’t fast enough at ducking, and instead of hitting his eye, temple, or nose, Russell’s fist connects with the underside of Rudy’s jaw. The same place I elbowed him mere days ago. He recovers quickly, and bounces around Russell, looking for an opening. He takes his first swing and hits Russell in the gut. Russell bends forward to catch his breath. Rudy shows no mercy, and slams his elbow in Russell’s face. The trace of a smile comes to Rudy’s lips.

  This only pisses Russell off, and he makes a low dash, taking Rudy around the waist with his shoulder. The audience cheers and jeers loudly. They fall backwards with Russell straddling Rudy, punching his face, first right, then left. I flinch. The sound they make going down isn’t pleasant. I cringe as Russell’s arms go back and forth with speed. I imagine spots are dancing in Rudy’s vision. Rudy grabs Russell around the neck, squeezing. Russell’s arms falter and Rudy flings Russell to the side without letting go of his neck. I take a deep breath as Rudy gains a squatted stance over Russell, and spits blood in his face. Russell breaks the chokehold as he hits Rudy in the ribs, hard. Rudy visibly gasps and most of the crowd jeers. Rudy backs away to catch his breath as Russell stands up straight. Being hit in the midsection changes Rudy’s demeanor, and he drops to a defensive crouch.

  Russell smiles. It’s a grisly sight, with blood and spit smearing his face. When he gets close enough, Rudy straightens, swinging his body and foot. The momentum of Rudy’s foot lands a roundhouse kick making Russell’s head whip back with blood spraying the concrete and Rudy’s boots. He falls to the ground as Rudy strides over to him. Russell gets to his knees, but Rudy kicks him and he falls to the concrete. Using his boot, Rudy rolls him over. To make sure he stays down, Rudy crushes his boot into Russell’s throat.

  Rudy’s lips move as he speaks to Russell as he struggles, clawing at Rudy’s leg. Rudy is unsteady, striving to keep his balance through Russell’s advances. After a few seconds the bell clangs. The scratchy voice booms, “Finished! Rudy’s still got it!” Apparently, keeping your opponent down and on their backs is needed for a win.

  The crowd screams and cheers for Rudy. Blood runs from his nose and left eyebrow, his jaw is shiny red. His lip is cut and plump, but otherwise, looks fine.

  I turn to beam at Glinda, but come face to face with a pock marked and skinny framed guy. His chin is at my eye level, and his breath smells like alcohol, fish, and some other stinky, foul substance that reminds me of a dumpster. A bumpy nose dominates his face. Dark, greasy, and limp hair clumps on his head.

  “Let’s dance.” He grabs my arm and propels me forward with more force than I would have thought possible. We hit the dance floor with him still gripping my arm. I let him only because I don’t want to draw attention. People start crowding around us to dance. Turning me around, he gropes my hips and grinds into me in time to the music. Bile stings my throat as I look around. Bodies mash together, bumping and shoving. I finally locate Glinda as she searches for me.

  I nonchalantly switch the crossbow into my left hand. No longer caring about drawing attention, I ball my fist tight, and hit him in the eye. He falls backwards, tries to catch himself, but bumps people, and the bodies part to allow him to fall. Triumph surges through me, even as I shake the pain from my hand. Stinky rubs his eye and sneers at me.

  I spot another guy with curly hair, standing there, looking from me to Stinky, who still sits on the floor. So much for not drawing attention.

  Curly wears a fitted pristine white shirt which glows from a nearby black light. Green canvas pants tuck into polished, black combat boots. A gun sticks out from the front of his pants.

  He taps Stinky with his shiny boot to get his attention. “Get the hell out of here!” he snaps, surprising me with his vehemence. Stinky jumps to his feet and scurries off into the crowd.

  The white of Curly’s teeth flash as he smiles at me. Even being short for a man, he’s very attractive with an athletic build. His smile is charming and contagious. When I return his smile, he disappears into the crowd.

  I stand on my tip toes to call out to him when Glinda steps in front of me. “No time fo fun, girl! We got to git yew back,” she says, as if I came out to dance and have a good time. She snakes her arm in mine and scowls in the direction Curly went. We walk hurriedly through the crowd to the door through which we first entered the Clap Trap. When it opens, she looks around. Her lips tighten, but she propels me forward. A chill seizes me from the night air. I follow her gaze to several putrids creeping along, starving, and mashing their blackened teeth. I point my crossbow, getting ready to shoot.

  “Don’t worry ‘bout it, Suga.” They groan when they see us and she quickens her pace, pulling me along to cross the street.

  Something inside me screams to kill them. Suddenly, shots erupt. I instinctively duck, looking toward the putrids as they hit the ground with soft thuds. I glance to where the shots are coming from, spotting several men on the rooftops. I look to other nearby buildings, noticing men along the edges. Lookouts
guarding the community. Perfect. I soften my grip on the crossbow.

  When we get inside the other door, she slams and bolts it. “We ain’t should use that doe. It’s quick, anyhow.” I assume there are safer ways to travel through the community.

  I take a chance with, “Hey Glinda, can I get a shower?” knowing I’m out of bounds when she eyes me.

  “I got to git that money fo Guido…ta pay rent.” Okay, so maybe she doesn’t have time. She worries her hands together, glancing down the hallway before she lets out a sigh. “I always got one I can go to. Big ‘ol fat fuk. Nasty. I’ll do ‘im real good fo yew. Yew do need a shower, yew fukkin’ stink anyway.” She shrugs. Unashamed.

  I gape, realization dawning on me. Not that I stink, but her way of referring to her lifestyle. “No. Glinda, you don’t have to do that.” I shudder.

  She purses her lips, which aren’t as glossy as before. Her gaze turns hard. She sniffs before looking away. “Let’s go, I’ll show yew tha ropes.”

  I almost apologize for mentioning it, but I can tell she doesn’t want my pity.

  ***

  Going into the room, I find Rudy isn’t back yet, and I’m worn out, but I want a shower badly. Hoping I can finish before he gets back, I grab my pack and Glinda takes me down the corridor in the opposite direction of our earlier path. Traveling through a maze of hallways, passing doors, hearing voices, music, and muffled sounds of pleasure, I snort. A few days more and nothing will surprise me. We walk through invisible walls of pot and cigarette smoke to a locker room – complete with lockers, toilets, mirrors, and a big shower with multiple shower heads. She leaves me to it, promising no one will bother me, after I express my gratitude to her. She seems to have forgiven my lapse in hooker etiquette.

  The water can barely be considered warm, but as the first shower I’ve had in four years, it’s heaven. I shave, wash, and brush my teeth, again, and rinse my hair of dried blood, then dry off quickly and dress in clean jeans. My green shirt sports a recycle symbol that says, I support recycling, I wore this yesterday, something I wore on lazy weekends in my old life. Now it’s soft with wear and has a few small holes.