by Harvey, Red
Michael patched her up, but I saw the wounds before he put gauze over them. One inner thigh looked as though a can opener had run across it, creating a jagged seam. The wound is about three inches long. Long enough to need stitches, which is what Michael did for her later. That was something I didn’t want to see. Instead, I rinsed the katana off and put it back on its cradle on the wall in the living room. Through all the craziness, no one had heard True come downstairs and grab it. Glad she did.
There’s no disputing that she saved all of our lives. But why, and why was it necessary? These are only a few of the questions I heard Louise pressing to Michael as she rinsed out bloody rags in the kitchen sink.
“Even though that girl saved us, she could be a problem later on.”
“What do you mean?” Michael asked.
“We don’t know how much her mother messed her up. God, and how could we because the girl won’t say a fucking word!”
“Shh, calm down.”
“I don’t care.” It was odd to hear Louise say these things. Usually, Michael was the voice of dissent. Louise wasn’t after mere dissent, though, she was after a lot more than that when she said “I saw you two, you know.”
Michael started to choke on whatever he’d been drinking. “What?”
“Don’t play dumb. We’ve been through this before. And I thought we had passed it. But when I saw you and Gloria in the pool, I knew we weren’t past it. Then, I saw you push her away, and…well, there might be hope for you yet.” Michael didn’t say anything. “But we can talk about that later. Right now we should finish talking about True.”
“Okay. What else do you have to say?”
“We have this relatively safe house, but I don’t think I can sleep in it anymore with True down the hall. She beheaded her own mother; how expendable are we, strangers to her?”
Music from the sitting room stopped their conversation. True was awake.
I poked my head into the kitchen and mouthed, “I got it.”
It was more than likely that True had heard Louise, and that made me the best person to assess her at the moment. I expected to see a girl with bed head in PJ’s, but True was fresh-faced. She had showered and dressed in shorts and a t-shirt. Her hair was parted by a sparkling blue barrette, and she wore a light pink lipstick. Overall, she didn’t look like someone who had committed matricide the night before.
A voice inside me said that if I ever wanted to hear her speak, I’d better let her alone. Well, I would do that in a sense. I sat next to her on the bench. “Hi,”, “Um,” or any other greeting never left my lips. I didn’t say a word. All I allowed myself to do was sit and stare. Sitting and staring wasn’t bad at all.
True's fingers floated over the piano keys. She was quick and light, seeming to not even touch the keys. She was fascinating to watch. Though I was waiting for her to speak, I didn’t really want her to. It would break the spell of the song. Reality would come crashing back with a roar at her first word.
She opened her mouth and drew in a deep breath. I thought the dam broke then, but I was wrong. Just a sigh. Louise and Michael were in the next room, waiting too. Ten minutes after her sigh, the wait was over.
“She wasn’t my mother.” True had a strong, clear voice.
A million questions came to me, but I stayed quiet.
She continued to play softly. “My parents and I were staying at our vacation home on the coast. Not staying, hiding. One day, a woman knocked on the door, in need of help. When my dad opened the door, three men forced their way in. They killed Dad first, but kept my mom alive. She was passed around in the bedroom. I heard her screams, and their…grunting. I guess my Mom got tired after a few days, because they wanted me next. One of the men was against the idea, and the idiots fought amongst themselves. Another guy went for me, and the man that had protested earlier shot him. He didn’t look behind him, and the other man shot him. Being the last guy alive, he leered at me, but was stopped when Gloria beat him over the head with a skillet.
“I asked her why she had helped me, and she said I reminded her of someone.
“I went to find my mom, who was tied to the bed. The bed was soaked with blood. They’d been beating her, raping her, and barely feeding her. In a couple of hours, she died in my arms. I’d forgotten about the other woman until she tapped me on the shoulder.
“She told me that she wasn’t a bad person, that they had forced her to help them. She said she could be my new family, since my old one was dead. We could take care of each other, she said. I had nothing then, and I believed her. We went house to house, begging for food or stealing it if people refused. Had to escape one madman who tried to eat us. Once in awhile, Gloria would trade herself for food, but people stopped opening their doors even for that. We began to starve. Gloria was desperate, to a point of survival I had never seen. She was willing to do anything, and I can almost understand why.”
Here, she paused. I didn’t prompt her, and thankfully she continued.
“The next house we came to, Gloria killed the people inside. All the food in the pantry wasn’t enough, she said. She…she…ate them. The people, I mean. I never could, would rather have starved, but she would laugh and tell me I’d get over it. Like my not wanting to eat people was a phase.” True shook her head. “To distance myself from the people we would meet, I wouldn’t talk to them. What was the point, when I knew they’d end up in Gloria’s stomach.” A tear came down haltingly. “But I stayed with her. I never stopped her. I was afraid of her, but all the same, I felt indebted to her. When we met you guys, you were like a real family. You seemed like nice people who didn’t expect me or Gloria to ‘trade’ ourselves for food. Just genuinely nice, not wanting anything in return. I begged her not to hurt you. I tried to convince her that we could stay here and live with you, like normal. She said she’d let you live a few days because of how hard I had pleaded, but that was it. Gloria said she had no choice but to kill you. Our survival depended upon it.”
When True stopped talking, she looked at me. I looked at her. Now I was the one who had nothing to say. Nothing I could think of to say would have meant anything in that cluster of awkward seconds.
Pulling her against my young chest as gently as I could was better than anything I could have said.
* * * *
29
“Why do you gotta kill yourself?” The girl asked while trying to stand up.
Juniper ignored her and walked into the convenience store. It had been twelve hours or more since her last meal. The candy bars, bags of chips, and soda looked like a spread fit for a king. She tore into a chocolate bar one-handed without further acknowledging the girl behind her. However, she kept a tight grip on the shotgun.
“Hey, if you’re gonna eat ma food, answer ma question. Why’re you gonna kill yourself?”
Juniper chewed as she answered, “I already told you. We’re infected. And there’s no cure; not in this shitty world. The only cure I could think of would be falling in love,” Juniper laughed at that, “or finding some hope. Hope would be equally as impossible to find in a world full of killer fairy-freaks, werewolves, or assholes who mercy-kill husbands.”
“Infected with what? How?”
The girl took several steps back from Juniper, as if Juniper might be emitting radioactive particles.
“Oh infected with the majors like hate, rage, and violence. Sooner rather than later, we’re going to transform into fucked up monsters.” Her sentences came out between bites of chips. “I want to worry about one time bomb, not two.”
“I don’t understand what you’re talking about…”
Finally, Juniper turned away from her snacking to face the girl. “How long have you been hiding out here? Couple of weeks?” Nod. “Well, you’ve missed an important world fucking development, one which you’re bound to find out about firsthand. See ya.”
Quick as her words, Juniper walked out of the store and back to her car. After gaping, the girl followed her again.
&nb
sp; “Wait.”
But Juniper wasn’t waiting. She was putting up the gas pump and climbing into the sedan. When she started the car, the girl yelled.
“Please don’t leave me here alone, miss! Please!”
“I’ve already saved a girl like you. And it didn’t even matter in the end. Have a nice, short life.”
Juniper drove away.
****
She wasn’t feeling remorse for leaving the girl behind. In fact, Juniper wasn’t feeling much at all. “It’s the end of the world as we know it, and I feel fine!” The world as she knew it was over. Everything belonged to them. What was the point of sticking around if her only option was to be raped, eaten, or both simultaneously? She would prefer to exit the world in a more graceful manner. Mouth, gun, insert here. Juniper was aware that Peter’s mercy killing of Christopher could have been an influencing factor in her suicidal decision. Didn’t matter. She was going to do it anyway.
As soon as Juniper stuck a few bullets in Peter’s head, then she could rest. It was 45 miles to Peter’s house, which normally would have taken an hour by car. On the partially clogged country roads, it took half a day. By nightfall, she had reached her destination.
Juniper parked one house away from Peter’s to increase her chances at surprising him. All that she took with her from the car was her shotgun and handgun. After a moment’s indecision, she left the keys in the center console. Taking them would mean that she intended to return to the car alive. But, that is exactly what Juniper did not intend.
During the ten minute walk to Peter’s home, Juniper was vigilant. Though, vigilance was not easy in the pitch black of night. There were no street lights to guide her way, just the solitary flicker from the back window. Therefore, it was a tense walk. Juniper kept expecting a hand to fall on her shoulder, or to hear the swooping of wings from above. Neither of those scenarios came to pass. She made it to the backyard alive.
A wooden fence enclosed the back of the house. Juniper walked along the side, where she saw a dark opening. The basement window had been removed. She saw no glass shards, but the bent security bars and smears of blood were two indications to her that it was not to be used as an entrance.
On she went to the front of the house. What she found there made her want to turn back, but she forced herself to move forward. Demons, (seemingly endless in their mutations) were staked on the front lawn. Row after row, amounting to at least one-hundred different monsters. None of them were squirming, though some had open eyes. They looked secure enough, and so Juniper went around them to get to the front door.
The front door was like the basement window had been, open. She couldn’t see much inside. There wasn’t a light in the entryway. Juniper held up the shotgun in her left hand, with the handgun out in her right hand.
Something had happened here, for good or ill. Brian could be gone, or dead. Juniper didn’t know what to feel about either possibility. If she wanted to find out, she would have to go inside the dark house. Juniper was not afraid, because she could not sense anyone inside. Unless they were in the basement, or of the monster persuasion. Then she was in trouble.
Not intending to get caught off guard twice in the same day, Juniper entered the home quietly. At the threshold, she slipped off her shoes to creep onward with silent feet. The two front rooms were empty. Juniper could see a door that led invariably to the basement, but she didn’t want to open it yet. Light from beyond the great room prompted her to investigate on the right side of the house. That led her to Peter’s study, which she could see from the faint candle light. Immediately, her powers heightened, filling the room with a buzz. A burning candle meant people. But she still did not feel anyone else in the house. There was the faintest flicker of ‘hunger’ and ‘fear’. It was an animal broadcast that she recognized. The dog. The closer she got to the study, the louder the broadcast.
The length of the candle was minimal, as was the light it was putting out. It must have been burning for some time, if the puddle of wax beneath it was any clue.
“Where are you, you son of a bitch?” Juniper murmured.
In a shadowed corner of the room, she heard the dog panting. The dog huddled in pad-locked in a cage much too small for it. Yay! Joy emitted strongly from the dog at seeing Juniper.
“Poor thing. I’ll find something to get you out of there.”
She looked around the room for a weapon. The shotgun wouldn’t work because while the pellets would tear the pad-lock asunder, it would tear apart the dog as well.
Directly in front of her was a row of monitors. Their appearance made her forget about the dog’s captivity. The monitors were each labeled. “Basement 1”, “Basement 2”, and “Outside”. Out of habit, Juniper flicked the ‘on’ switch. The blank status of the monitors didn’t change.
“No power, dummy.” She told herself. “Might as well go down to the basement for a---,”
She stopped talking when she heard the electronic buzz that always accompanied a television turning on. Only one screen came on, and it was “Basement 1”. On the screen, Juniper could see wooden beams, a stairway, and a cement floor. Peter lay face down on the floor, naked. She had seen him naked enough times to recognize his flat ass. A puddle of blood seeped underneath him.
Instead of vindication, Juniper felt anger. Someone had taken away her purpose, her glory. The bastard died and she hadn’t even been allowed the satisfaction of seeing his aura light up bright green with fear before she had pulled the trigger. She wanted to go downstairs and kick his body over and over until she felt something, anything but emptiness.
There was a whirring noise, accompanied by a click. Juniper looked up from the floor to see that a tape had popped out from beneath the “Basement 1” screen.
“Well, well, well.” She said.
It seemed as if she might get to see Brian’s last dying breath after all. She pushed the tape back in and pressed rewind. A second later, the VCR stopped. The tape was ready. Juniper pressed play and watched.
****
At first, the tape was fairly boring. People shuffled back and forth across the screen, unaware that they were being watched for the pleasure of their kidnapper. So far, Juniper had counted five different people, none of them Brian. When a boy of about eleven years old crossed the screen, Juniper finally felt something. She felt pity. Tears stung her eyes.
“Peter, you sick fuck.” She whispered hoarsely.
The boy was filthy, like his companions. How he kept his pants on was a miracle. He was sticks and bones, only a hair healthier. Every time he walked into view, he was unconsciously hitching his pants up. That action, above all others, broke Juniper’s dam of tears. That boy had gone through hell, at the hands of a monster. She hoped he had survived. It did not seem likely.
Juniper held down the fast-forward button until she saw Peter come down the stairs. He took a pretty girl off screen. Fast-forward. The little boy and a young man crouched in wait with homemade weapons. Fast-forward. Brian came back on screen naked, bleeding from his crotch. Juniper smiled. He was hit from behind by the pretty girl from before. She hit him over and over again, like Juniper had imagined herself doing. Only, the girl didn’t look as brutal as Juniper thought she herself might have looked in the same situation.
It was more of a look that said, “I need to survive you.” Still, there was no blood, so Juniper fast-forwarded. He must die later on, she thought. Later on there was a monster, Peter, and the group of insurrectionists. After much struggle, a man got a hold on Peter. He told the girl and boy to run. They hesitated, but they left. More struggling, and then Peter fell on his own knife. The man got up from the floor and stood over his body. Juniper expected him to spit on Peter, but he didn’t. Instead, he began to cry.
The man shouted, “Thank you! Thank you!” Tear-filled laughter followed his outburst.
Beside herself, Juniper cried right along with the black and white stranger. She found that she felt not a sense of victory in Peter’s death, but a sense o
f hope. Like a bright light, it warmed her, and she could feel the void being filled up.
Peter’s captives had endured much
[The thought of the little boy hurt]
and they had known monsters had been waiting for them Outside. Yet, they had fought with all that they’d had, sacrificing for one another, struggling to live.
Juniper felt a flicker of shame at her original plans. Blood vengeance and suicide? What a waste that would have been. How angry Christopher would have been at her early arrival in Heaven, or wherever he was now.
No, Juniper found that wanted the struggle. The coarseness of life paled to a more comfortable annoyance. Those strangers she watched had been starved, beaten, raped, and tortured, but they had held on. Well, so could she. Juniper would start by freeing her dog, and ransacking the house for all the supplies to be had. Then, she would get in the car and pick up the girl she had carelessly left behind. Hopefully, she was still alive. If she was, Juniper would help the girl to find her own purpose. Without purpose, the girl would fall into darkness. Juniper didn’t want that for her, or for anyone.
Jesus, there is so much to do, Juniper told herself. She knew she should focus on opening the dog’s cage, but her thoughts scattered. She couldn’t stop herself from wondering, I wonder how many bullets it’ll take to get me to England?
****
30
June 8th
Well, I’d like to say I kept up with this journal, but I haven’t. It’s been 7 years since I’ve opened these pages. I’m a young man now.
After True told me about her family, and the truth about Gloria, I realized that I didn’t want to chronicle my life anymore. Nor did I want to chronicle the lives of the people around me. They deserve better than that.
