“Which one you think is finer—the tall brunette or the new blonde?” said one of the men from the tower.
“Oh, stop! We got to get them all inside and you’re pervin’ on your new girlfriend again?”
“Just glad to see her. I was so afraid she might not make it back. Go ahead, you two, show us how much you missed us before we let you in.”
The other men groaned and laughed as dead people jostled past Lucy and Carole. Lucy caught her friend’s petrified glance. Lucy wasn’t scared—only enraged again at the living. Carole followed Lucy’s lead in pressing her palm to her lips and blowing the degenerate men a kiss. The whistles and catcalls increased. Carole looked so terrified, Lucy would do anything to take the men’s attention from her friend, so she turned her back to them, bent forward slightly, and gave her ass a little shake for their amusement.
“Oh—she did miss us! Look at her! Neither of them has much of a rack, but blondie’s ass is the best!”
Lucy took Carole by the shoulder to hustle her into the camp. They let the shambling crowd absorb them and carry them along with it. They found Christine, and she and Carole went into their house, motioning for Lucy to stay outside. They rejoined her in a moment, after hiding the bombs, she supposed. Lucy was surprised they didn’t all return to their houses, but remained milling around in the open area near the gate. There must be something more to returning to camp that she didn’t know about.
After a while, when it was nearly dark, a truck pulled up outside the gate and men unloaded a metal tub on wheels. The crowd jostled one another, people trying to see over those in front. Inarticulate cries accompanied the truck’s arrival, followed by a general moaning of pleasure and anticipation. The gate opened and some of the living men came through with torches, driving the dead people back, as two other men pushed the tub into the yard. Then the living men retreated and closed the gate, leaving the tub behind.
The crowd hung back. Apparently there was some order or ritual to this. Lucy still couldn’t see what was in the tub, but she finally caught the scent. Blood. Lots of it, but all polluted and foul. She cringed and nearly gagged. She never thought she could have that reaction to something that would normally be so sensuous and delectable, but this wasn’t the good, clean, hot vapors of life, strength, and need. They’d mixed it with other, lesser stuff. It smelled like animals—maybe dogs or pigs, and that gave it such a weak, stale, but penetrating odor. This must be the feeding the women had mentioned before, and what a wretched, debased version it was of real feasting. These stupid, live fuckers could ruin anything.
Ben approached the tub. In the dimness, Lucy could see him point to Carole and gesture her over. He grunted, rather than speaking, since they were so close to the guards in the towers. Carole led Lucy and Christine with her to the feeding trough. The smell got worse. Even though Lucy stopped inhaling, the stench stung her eyes, it was so piercing and intense. Standing next to the tub, she could now see it was full of blood and scraps of flesh. The slurry was dark, almost black. They must’ve run it through a machine, it was such a soupy and indistinguishable mess. None too fresh, either, by the smell of it, though it was definitely dead and not undead flesh.
The other two women and Ben each dipped a hand into it. They brought these to their mouths and proceeded to slurp and smack their way through the offering, following that with groans of satisfaction and further craving. They plunged their hands back into the stew, this time with more vigor. Lucy slowly extended her hand, easing her fingers into the flesh and blood. Shit—it was icy cold, on top of all its other loathsomeness. How could the others tear into it with such abandon? But Lucy knew. She still remembered eating, and knew she needed it, no matter how awful these people had made it. She would do it, even if she hated it, and hated herself for giving in.
The hideousness was so overwhelming, it limited and contained the hunger, even as the burning need enticed and ensnared her. Lucy drew out her hand, clutching a stringy piece of flesh between her thumb and two fingers. It was tough, sinewy. She rolled it between her fingers till it was a knotty lump, which she placed on the palm of her other hand to consider it a moment. This was hell, when even pleasure was revolting.
Lucy chewed the piece, the flood of energy from it so fleeting compared to the slowly building, diseased simmer it started in her belly. This simultaneously burned and froze her guts, as it compacted and wrenched her soul. As she swallowed, Lucy leaned her head back and looked at one bright star above her. She focused all her despair on that spot of light as she let out a howl that others—living or dead—might mistake for the climax of desire.
Chapter 30: Rachel
Rachel and Shayna were nearly back to their neighborhood when they ran into Ken and another man. “Hey, you two,” Ken greeted them as he gave his wife a kiss on the cheek, then bent down to fuss with Aisha.
“Hey, you,” Shayna answered. “Hi, Roger,” she said to the other man. “Off work early? What’re you two up to?”
“Yeah, we couldn’t keep working until they got some more materials. They said they’d have them tomorrow. Oh, Rach—this is Roger,” Ken continued. “I don’t know if you’ve seen him around the site.”
“No, I don’t think I have,” Rachel said, smiling. “Nice to meet you.”
“Same here,” Roger said as he shook her hand. He was her age or a bit older, and only a little taller than she was. Small, ordinary-looking white guy with sandy hair. Didn’t seem quite as nice as Ken, and definitely not as outgoing, but certainly not as crude as some of the men from work.
Ken held a sheet of paper out to her. “Some kids came by, handing these out,” he said.
Rachel took the paper and held it so Shayna could read it too. It proclaimed that, “Tonight Only! At the Dead End—A Show of Discipline and Violence! See the Savage Threat to Mankind Punished! See the Dead Tamed—Even If It Kills Them! Your Curiosity Will Be Satisfied! Justice Will Be Served! Zombies! Pain! Laughter! As Only Doctor Jack Can Present Them! Free Popcorn! (Beer and Wine Available for Purchase with Proper ID).” In smaller print at the bottom it offered, “Adult tickets—buy two get one free—only with this coupon.”
“That’s nasty,” Shayna said, wrinkling her nose. “Why you wanna go see that? Isn’t that where they knock that big, ugly zombie down? I heard someone talking about that.”
“No. He’s there too, but this is different,” Roger explained. “Some zombie got a little rambunctious, so they’re gonna teach him a lesson. Show him who’s boss. I think they use electricity. It should be fun to watch.”
“Yeah, we haven’t been to anything like that in a while,” Ken said, a little more sheepishly than his friend, clearly ready to defer to Shayna if she gave more of an objection. Rachel thought, not for the first time, that he was a guy who was appropriately deferent to his woman, and yet still so manly. Great combination. “I just thought, you know, maybe you’d like to come along, since it’d be free for you anyway. I mean, if you don’t mind babysitting, Rach.”
“Oh, no, it’s fine,” Rachel said. “Don’t worry.” She really didn’t mind watching Aisha at all, and the show did sound pretty gross and barbaric. But she couldn’t help feeling just a twinge of disappointment, at having to miss some new, unknown experience. It was natural to get curious about something like that. Besides, Will had said they’d taken Truman to the Dead End. Maybe she’d see him while they were going around the displays, and she could put to rest some of her concerns about his well-being—and more importantly, Will’s anxieties. Truman never made any trouble, so he probably was just fine, taking people’s tickets or making the popcorn or something, and she could tell Will about it and get him to calm down and not worry so much. But, well, she’d have to do it some other day, she supposed.
Shayna patted Rachel on the shoulder. “No, you don’t need to, girl,” she said. “I don’t want to go. Just a couple months ago I saw a kid being whipped for stealing. Don’t need to see something like that again for a while.”
�
�You didn’t tell me about that,” Ken said.
“Well, Aisha was still real little, so when you got home I was probably too tired to remember everything we did that day. We were taking a walk, and we went through the park. They had a black boy tied to a post. It was still cold out, I remember, so I didn’t really stop to watch, but just saw them whip him a few times as I walked by. Anyway—I know they have to do stuff like that, but I don’t need to see it all the time. Better they just do it and get it over with and leave me out of it, I say. But you could go, Rachel. You should. It’s good to see different things.”
“You think?” Even though she felt a rush of excitement at the prospect, Rachel started to have all the usual doubts. Would Will be upset about it? He usually didn’t get home until much later than she did, so it wasn’t like she was wasting time they could spend together—not that he’d been any fun lately, anyway. And it didn’t cost anything, so he couldn’t complain about that.
“Yeah, come on,” coaxed Ken. “It’ll be fun. We won’t stay long.”
“Okay, sure,” Rachel agreed. “Just let me run in the house and leave Will a note.”
She trotted inside the entryway of her house. As she set her purse down, Rachel considered hiding it in the closet and leaving without it, she was still so scared of losing it or leaving it somewhere. But then she’d have to strap her shoulder holster back on, and she didn’t feel like that. So after scribbling a short note, she grabbed the handbag and headed out.
After that brief detour, the three of them started walking. They chatted about the job and what might be built next in the city. Rachel wondered if she’d even be here for the next building project. She’d need to discuss things more with Will. This whole fixation of his with getting out of the city as soon as possible, and his depression with being here—all of it was starting to annoy her. It didn’t make sense. If she saw Truman this evening and he was fine, then she’d present that evidence to Will and he’d have to start thinking and acting more reasonably. Rachel didn’t want to think about the possibility of leaving him, or even about having a big fight over it, but she had to be practical, had to look out for her own happiness. That was just normal.
They passed through the gate into the Dead End, a tent city just outside the walls of New Sparta. Stepping outside was a bit of a rush, even to Rachel, who hadn’t been in the city that long. It wasn’t like when she was on the job—there were guards and stuff then. This was more naughty and thrilling—not a place like work that you had to go to, but a place you weren’t supposed to, but chose to anyway, even with that knowledge. Once when she was little, her brother had taken her to an abandoned factory near their home, and this place reminded Rachel of that—somewhere forbidden, broken, dangerous, and wrong.
The smells of tobacco and beer were pervasive as they walked among the tents and ramshackle buildings. They were accented with an occasional whiff of urine, gunpowder, and marijuana, all of it swirling into the nastiest but most compelling mixture Rachel could imagine. Every smell and sound drew them to explore further. Roger dropped off some money on zombie blackjack. Ken playfully covered Rachel’s eyes, making her laugh, as they walked past a tent proffering the allures of zombie strippers. This was a lot more fun than she’d had in ages, but it also made Rachel angry that Will would probably never consent to come to a place like this.
“Hey—it’s getting late,” Roger observed. “We don’t want to miss the show. Where is that Doctor Jack’s tent?”
“Don’t know,” Ken said. “I haven’t been here in forever.”
“They should’ve put a map on the flyer they handed out,” Rachel added.
“Yeah. I think it’s up here,” Roger said. “Let’s hurry.”
They found the right tent, indicated mostly by the size of the crowd lined up outside it. The two men paid for their tickets, gallantly refusing Rachel’s offers of helping to pay. That was just as well, since she’d splurged on the bag, but she felt like she had to be polite. They also offered to buy her a beer when they got two for themselves at a stand outside the tent. Rachel had enjoyed the drink when she had it at Ken and Shayna’s house, so she was tempted, but she had to decline this time. As heady and alluring as the scents of the Dead End were, they were starting to get to her a little, making her feel pretty nauseous at the thought of drinking beer. She joined Ken and Roger in laughing at the dead man who gave them their beers, because he was so intent, and seemingly so proud of his ability to pick up a bottle, open it with a metal opener, and hand it to the next customer, repeating the same motions over and over.
The line into the tent snaked past another stand, where a dead man handed them the promised bags of free popcorn. He was dressed in a blue uniform and wore a paper hat. They’d put gloves on him, and no one seemed to mind being served food by a zombie, so Rachel hid her surprise and slight distaste. She didn’t want to seem boorish or uncivilized.
The popcorn was cold and too salty, making Rachel’s lips sting as she bit into the first handful. But she was really hungry, so she grabbed another handful as she stepped through the entrance of the tent. She was chewing that mouthful when she saw Truman in the center of the tent, strapped to some metal frame.
Rachel choked and could not keep her balance as she realized what was happening. The curiosity she’d felt when first hearing about the show no longer seemed natural or normal, and the pleasure she’d felt earlier in the evening at all the sights now turned into a cold, bitter pain in her stomach. Ken had to grab her to keep her from falling down, as she stumbled into him and began shivering uncontrollably, her popcorn spilling on the ground.
Ken’s big arm held her—and although the grip was comfortable and strong, it didn’t seem at all reassuring now to Rachel. She managed to rally enough to look at what was going on in the center of the tent. Truman appeared unconscious. She couldn’t really tell what the big man in the suit was saying, but he clearly was in charge. He towered over a small black girl. What was she doing in this terrible place?
“What’s wrong, girl?” she heard Ken say next to her. It was probably his normal tone, but it sounded petulant and accusatory.
“They can’t do that!” she sobbed. “What is that thing? They’re electrocuting him?”
“Yeah, too bad we missed most of it,” Roger said through mouthfuls of popcorn. “But they’ll probably let him come back around and zap him some more. It’s still early.”
“No!” Rachel shrieked and threw herself at the man in the middle of the tent. She had to punch one guy in the face to get to the larger man, who was turning toward her as she howled and gave him a left to the side of his head. She raked her nails along his nose and cheek, but then the first guy she’d hit, along with another assistant, grabbed her from behind.
“You get outta here!” the big man with the goatee shouted as he and the assistants, joined by others, started pushing Rachel from the tent. “Crazy woman! Upsetting normal people! Now get!”
Rachel had dug in her heels and was thrashing around, screaming the whole time. “No! You can’t! Let him go!”
“Look, lady,” the man said, “that’s just crazy talk. If you have money, that’s something we can discuss later. But you’re nuts if you think you can come in here and try to make me give you something just because you say so. Now go!”
“He doesn’t belong to you! He’s not your property!”
“The hell he isn’t!”
“Come on, Rach,” Ken said, taking hold of her and trying now to shield her from some of the pushing and shoving, but at the same time helping to hustle her from the tent.
“This your woman?” the man in charge said. “You oughta keep her under control. You people on drugs, out here with law-abiding folks?”
“No, she’s just—” Ken didn’t seem to know how to continue, and he turned toward Rachel. “Rach—you got to calm down. I don’t know what’s wrong with you. This isn’t right.”
“Of course this isn’t fucking right!” Rachel howled, still swinging
with her purse and her fist. “They’re torturing someone! What’s wrong with you people?”
“Nothing! What’s wrong with you, crazy bitch?” the man yelled as they finally got her outside the tent. It was drizzling outside. The rain felt good on her face, helped clear her thoughts a bit, though it didn’t diminish her anger and frustration at all.
Rachel turned to face him, panting from the exertion. The large man and his assistants stood blocking the entrance to the tent. Rachel ran her tongue around the inside of her lower lip and tasted blood. Must’ve cut it in the struggle. She was pissed enough and high enough on adrenaline to think of pulling the .38 out of her bag. She knew, of course, that it would accomplish nothing and just get her killed or arrested, but there was a part of her that wanted to see that moment of fear on his face, wanted him to realize that pushing her around might end badly for him.
Ken kept trying to calm her down. Maybe he sensed how close she was to taking it too far. “Come on, Rach,” he said again. “You should calm down. We should go.”
They were backing away from the tent. “You definitely need to keep that woman under control,” the man called to them as he waved dismissively.
Rachel tensed and almost made a move to spring again, but Ken gripped her more firmly. “Stop it,” he said in a low voice. It was the first time Rachel had ever heard him sound really angry, and the change was as disappointing as it was unexpected. “Just stop it, or Roger and I will go and leave you here and I don’t know what’ll happen to you.”
Rachel let herself be led farther from the tent, then she turned on Ken. “Go ahead and leave, then,” she said, looking from him to Roger and back. “I don’t fucking care.”
Ken didn’t look angry anymore, but more hurt, confused, almost scared. “What’s going on with you?” he said. “We were having a good time and you went nuts in there. I don’t get it.”
Dying to Live: Last Rites Page 18
