Desolation Boulevard

by Mark Gordon

Chapter 72

  The Entertainment

  Montana was back in a room she knew too well, but instead of facing the school Principal for truanting, she sat across from a man whose appearance alone was enough to give children nightmares. Before the event, Montana would have felt sympathy for a person as disfigured as her captor, but now she only felt revulsion, as she waited for him to speak. He stared across the large desk, his one good eye studying her as a cobra would a mouse. She tried to appear calm, but the fear was building inside her like a summer storm as she observed him, trying to find some clue that might give her an advantage, if an opportunity presented itself. 

  Montana analysed the man's appearance quickly as she waited for him to speak. He wasn’t dressed like the other marauders she had seen so far. Rather than the post-apocalyptic, biker chic other bandits favoured, Scarface was wearing a black suit and a tie, as if he were the CEO of a multinational corporation.

  “You like my suit,” he stated, as if he had read Montana’s mind.

  “You don’t see many people wearing suits these days,” she replied, trying to hide her fear.

  “No I suppose not. I think it’s important to maintain my image, though, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “I wouldn’t know,” she answered, trying to keep the tone of her voice confident and casual. “What sort of image are you trying to project?”

  “Ah, I’ve found a smart one haven’t I?” he said, smiling crookedly through the mask of scar tissue. “That’s a good question, and someone as intelligent and perceptive as you deserves a honest response. Let’s face it, I’m not exactly surrounded by intellectual giants here am I?”

  Sally kept her gaze on him, determined not to show weakness, as she waited for him to continue.

  “The image I am projecting to these savages is quite simple really,” he said. “I am their leader, and my power is absolute. This is not a democracy, and anyone who attempts to subvert my laws is dealt with quickly, and with extreme prejudice. There are no courts or lawyers, and I am the only judge. If I sense a threat from any of my followers, I cut them out of the group as you would a diseased organ from the body. There is no mercy, nor is there remorse. Within this town, I wield supreme authority, and I am very good at my job. The suit is a simple way to differentiate myself from my followers, and help them remember who is in charge. Now my dear girl, what do you say to that?”

  “I say you’re a megalomaniac,” Montana replied, matter-of-factly.

  Scarface laughed. “Your teachers have done an excellent job! Your vocabulary is excellent, but you’re wrong, I’m afraid. I have no desire for power for its’ own sake. I use it only to get what I need, and in this crazy new world, the critical resource is not material wealth or even food. Do you know what the ultimate prize is now, more than anything else?”

  Montana thought carefully. She was getting the impression that this freak across the desk was testing her somehow, and that her answer would determine the nature of their relationship, for as long as she was to be his captive.

  “The thing that’s most prized now,” she replied, “Is safety from the feeders.”

  “Yes! Safety from the feeders! Very good! Very good!” he said, clapping his wizened hands together. “My feeling about you was so right! You are the clever one, aren’t you! So now, if you’ll forgive some self-importance for a moment, allow me to tell you my story.”

  Despite the horror of the situation she had found herself in, Montana felt that she had just earned a reprieve of sorts. The feeling of dread, not only for herself, but also for Matt and Dylan, was still present, but the threat of immediate danger seemed to have receded somewhat, so she sat and tried to focus on what this lunatic had to say.

  “Before the event, believe it or not, I was a doctor, and a very good one. I was a specialist in emergency surgery - a genius actually. Ironic, isn’t it, that someone with my injuries, would end up in the field I did, but life works in mysterious ways sometimes, doesn’t it? The scars are from burns I suffered at the age of eight. I was coming home with my parents after a party. They were drunk; our car hit a tree and caught on fire. They were killed instantly, but a passer-by managed to drag me from the wreckage and that was that. I spent over a year in hospital recovering. I hated my dead parents for what they did, and I suppose I became quite the cold fish. Once I was rehabilitated enough to be free of pain I started to enjoy hospital life and decided it was where I wanted to stay, and eventually return to as a doctor. Do you realise the power that a good surgeon has in their hands?”

  Montana said nothing, so he went on.

  "I eventually left the hospital I went back to school and did very well.  I was an intelligent boy and graduated high school at the top of my class, despite the bullying that I was subject to almost every day. After that I was accepted into university to study medicine. There was plenty of money from the insurance, so it was easy once I had made the decision. After I graduated I obviously couldn’t go into general practice, looking like I did, so I became a surgeon. I found that my temperament was perfectly suited to the work - I could operate without emotion, like a robot, and work very long hours without becoming tired. It didn’t even upset me when people died. I was just annoyed that I had failed, but I had no concern at all for the victims or their families. Surgery was just an intellectual puzzle for me to solve. I realise now, of course, that I was a sociopath. Do you know what that is?”

  Montana shivered, “Yes.”

  “Tell me.”

  “It’s a person who has no feelings of um, what’s the word? Is it empathy? For the problems of other people.”

  “You’re right again. That’s quite a rudimentary definition, but close enough.”

  “Can I ask a question?”

  “Of course.”

  “How did you operate with those hands?”

  He paused, and Montana felt his eye boring into her. She wondered if she had thrown away the phony goodwill that had just been established, but the man answered, setting her mind at rest.

  “It wasn’t easy, that’s for sure, but I have more movement in these claws than it appears. Most of the damage is only skin deep.”

  He held up his hands and flexed his disfigured fingers back and forth as if to prove the point.

  “What’s going to happen to us?” asked Montana.

  “You’ll find out in due time my dear. Aren’t you curious as to how a freak like me came to lead this band of misfits, though?”

  “I guess, I’m more worried about my friends.”

  “I have very exciting plans for your friends. You’ll find out about that later. Let me finish my story.”

  Montana watched in silence as he continued.

  “When the world changed, I was one of the lucky ones, like you. I got out of the city alive and started heading west, like many others. But when I arrived here in Carswell, something compelled me to stop. There was nobody else living here at the time, just people passing through on the way west, and so I had the place to myself. There was plenty of evidence of previous zombie activity, however, and I even discovered a couple of zombie bodies behind the petrol station. They had been shot through the head. I wondered about that, but I couldn’t understand it, so I just moved on. It didn’t take me long to find the school, and I realised straight away that it would be a perfect fortress, so I moved in. Then I got lucky. A group of marauders came into the town while I was gathering supplies, and they had an injured companion. He’d fallen off his motorcycle and had broken his leg. If it weren’t treated, he would have died. I brought him to the school and set his leg in a cast, so he survived. They were grateful and decided to stay with me at the school while he recovered.”

  He paused, waiting for some kind of response from Montana.

  “There must be more than that to this story,” she said. “You wouldn’t achieve power over these people just by fixing a busted leg.”

  “Very astute of you - of course not. Over the next few days more marauders arrived at the school. I
can’t explain how they knew to come here, but come they did. I considered locking them out, but I knew I couldn’t stop them all, and besides, there is such a thing as safety in numbers. Also I felt they might need me because of my skills as a doctor. There was no leader in the camp at that point; everyone was just doing their own thing, living as a group of unruly individuals. But, on the third day an argument started between a new arrival and one of the original group. As the fight got physical, I could visualise the whole situation turning bad, and anarchy developing, which would ultimately force me to leave the school and the town. I didn’t want that. I belonged here, and I intended to stay.”

  Despite her distaste for the man before her, Montana was interested in his story now. “What happened?”

  “I walked into the room where the fight was taking place, and without hesitation, I shot one of the marauders in the head. The survivor was so impressed with my ruthlessness that he became my protector. Since then, I’ve just built on that concept of total loyalty to me, or death. They love it, because they don’t have to think. I provide shelter, medical care, food, entertainment and organisation, and they can do whatever they like as long as they don’t challenge my authority or the unity of the group. I’ve had two more problems with troublemakers since then, and I had them both shot as a warning to the others. So really it’s nothing more than a dictatorship, but it works. Any questions?”

  “Can I see my friends?”

  “Well, that depends. If they’re chosen, they’ll be part of tonight’s entertainment, and you’ll get to see them. But for now, I have things to do. Guard!”

  On that command, the door swung open and one of Scarface’s goons entered the office. He took Montana roughly by the arm and dragged her away before she had a chance to ask any more questions. She was pushed unceremoniously into a dark storeroom, and the door was locked behind her. She stared at the wall and wondered what Scarface had meant by entertainment, and if Matt and Dylan were safe. She slumped to the cold, hard floor and sobbed.

  -

  “They’ll be here soon.”

  Dylan turned and looked at the woman sitting next to him. Number Five. She had dark circles under her eyes and it was impossible to tell whether she was thirty or sixty.

  “Not long now,” she said, almost forlornly. “The waiting is almost worse than the idea of dying, you know. Almost.”

  “Oh,” said Dylan. “What do you think happens to the people who have their numbers chosen?”

  She looked at him with those dark, sad eyes and answered without emotion. “They die.”

  Almost on cue the door was thrust open and Scarface entered, flanked by two armed marauders. Matt and Dylan sensed the change in the room as everyone stood up, their backs to the wall. The boys followed suit.

  “Good afternoon, ladies and gentleman,” said Scarface. “It’s time to choose. I hope you’ve got plenty of energy. My people expect a good performance tonight. I have a special treat, too, because I’m in a good mood. We’re going to have two contestants instead of one- it should make it all the more fun.”

  Matt and Dylan looked at each other. What was this freak talking about? While they were both curious about the game that was being played out, it was important that neither be chosen to for some twisted amusement for a pack of marauders. If they got lucky, and survived the deadly draw, then they would have another day to try to plan some kind of escape, no matter how unlikely the prospect was. If one or both of them were picked out, however, escape would be virtually impossible. Scarface took the black hat from his head and handed it to one of the guards, who held it upside down like a cup. He then reached into his pocket and withdrew a handful of makeshift tickets. He showed the potential victims their number, with some sense of enjoyment it seemed, before placing the piece of paper into his hat. After shuffling the numbers around with his withered hand, he pulled one out and held it up to his good eye. The room was silent and everyone held their breath as they waited to learn their fate.

  “Number five,” he announced, holding the stub out for all to see.

  Matt and Dylan breathed a sigh of relief, but the woman that Matt had spoken to earlier screamed as her number was called. One of the guards stepped forward and slapped her hard across the face, and she fell to the floor in a heap. No one moved to help her as Scarface began to stir the remaining tickets. They watched as his hand withdrew another number from the hat. He squinted at the piece of paper.

  “The second contestant is number...”