Taking on the Dead

by Annie Walls

  I throw the itchy wool blanket off and say, “That’s okay. I can find my own way out.” I start to get up, and she points a gun at me. I freeze looking down the barrel. A Glock 22. Reece would be impressed. It looks a little big for her hands, but she doesn’t know that. She probably hasn’t even shot it before. The slide sits in place, not cocked back.

  “Listen you little wench. You are going to sit here, and shut up. I really hoped we could be friends.” Her lips pull into a tight smile as her eyes crinkle behind her glasses. “Honor and obey, you will.” She jerks the gun forward, emphasizing it as I pull back. Maybe when Mac realizes I’ve been kidnapped, he’ll come and find me.

  “People will look for me.”

  She leans forward, lips curled into a sneer, “Not if they think you left of your own free will.”

  I jump to startle her and elbow her in the face. She falls dropping the gun and I dive for it, but Pennywise steps into my sight, picking it up to hand it back to Isabel.

  “They do think that, you know?” The man says, as he kicks the side of my face with a fat leg, packing a mad kick. Pain erupts as I fall, catching myself with my hands. Black spots dance in my vision, and I feel worse than I did a few minutes ago. He points at my pack. “I heard your little argument with your friend. You’re a sinner and need to be cleansed of that filth. My name is Jeremiah, and I will wed you to your new husband, when we can figure out who that will be. They’re fighting over you.” He smiles as if I should be honored. One of his eyes moves to Isabel and the other strays the other way. “You remove her boots?”

  Isabel nods. Did they really think I won’t run without my boots? I’d give it some serious thought, but most likely I will.

  “You will have splendid children. What is your name?” he asks with a smile.

  I say the first thing that comes to mind. “Mary.”

  “Ahh… a name of the Lord. How delightful,” he cheers, sending a cold chill through my nerves.

  Four boys, yes, boys come rushing in toppling over each other on the wooden floor. When they get through the door, they stand straight up side by side. Looking between the ages of nineteen and fourteen, they have the same look about them. All with dark, almost black, crudely cut hair. Black trousers and white shirts with suspenders. One of the older ones has thick coke bottle glasses sitting crookedly on his face. I feel bad for him knowing prescription glasses in this new world are hard to come by.

  Jeremiah shakes his head in shame, his eyes wandering with a mind of their own, and a face pinched in scorn. “I’ve decided the two eldest will let the Lord choose.”

  I choke. How would they know that? The boys nod, looking grim. Jeremiah walks over to my pack and takes out my Smith & Wesson revolver. My mouth goes dry as my stomach sinks.

  “Joshua and Joseph, come here.” Jeremiah drops all the bullets, one by one, on the floor, my stomach dropping lower with the clunk of each bullet. One gleams between his thumb and forefinger as he holds it up. “This bullet will send one of you to our Lord, and you will have the honor of Miss Mary cleaning your remains.”

  My eyes widen in shock at this twisted game of Russian roulette. It takes more than a few moments for it to sink in. I tremble in rage, “No! No fucking way!” I gesture to Joshua and Joseph. They both gaze at me with soft eyes. “One of them doesn’t deserve to lose his life!” I scream. One of them gives me a small smile before casting his eyes downward. I move but Isabel cocks the slide back on the gun.

  Jeremiah ignores me, they all do, as the boys lift their chins in determination. Isabel smirks as if to say, “How do you like it?” Jeremiah spins the barrel, and slaps it shut. Joshua and Joseph sit Indian style facing each other.

  He holds out the gun, butt first, “Joseph, you will go first.” Joseph, the one with the glasses, takes the gun, but instead of pointing it at himself, he points it at Joshua. Joshua breathes rapidly with his eyes closed. The gun clicks, and he lets out a breath.

  Joseph gives him the gun, and Joshua doesn’t waste any time making it click. Joshua turns red, getting frustrated. Joseph smirks taking the gun again, and pointing it at Joshua. “I love you, brother,” he says, squeezing the trigger at a slow, maddening pace, and the gun clicks.

  Joshua grabs the gun. The odds are bad with it being a five round revolver, if it doesn’t shoot now. Joshua will know he’s dead. Maybe this is just a sick game of Jeremiah’s and he didn’t put a bullet in it.

  “No, I love you, brother. I’ll think of you when I’m wed to Mary.” Dizziness overtakes my sight as time slows when Joshua squeezes the trigger. A shot echoes through the room as blood and brains spray the wall. Joseph falls back onto the floor, legs still crossed, his glasses askew and sprinkled with blood. At his angle, blood runs from the bullet hole into his hair, spreading into a puddle on the floor. The witnesses congratulate Joshua, and proceed to pray.

  Tremors take over my body as I stare at Joseph with a blurry sight. “May the Lord give him peace.” Jeremiah says. They were brothers. He shot his brother. A surge of anger erupts from my depths for allowing it to happen, for being weak, when I was needed the most. I would rather Isabel shot me than have this haunt me for the rest of my life.

  They leave the room, taking my pack with them. I curse under my breath as Joshua stands, staring at me. Walking over to caress my face, I flinch back from him. “Sorry, my father hit you. I will take good care of you, Mary.” He thinks I flinched because of my aching head. A youthful, joyous smile crosses his features and I feel sorry for him. His dark eyes are compassionate.

  “Sorry about Joseph,” I offer.

  “A good spirit you are. He is with the Lord now.”

  “It could have been you.” I state the obvious for the second time in a few days. Rudy is rubbing off on me. My eyes sting at the thought of Rudy and the way we left things.

  “I guess I’m not the Lord’s favorite, but I have you. We will be wed tomorrow. I will see you then, sweet Mary.” He pauses, “Joseph would have rather I shot him than become forsaken.” After he shuts the door behind him, I bend over the bed to puke, turning over afterward so I don’t have to look at Joseph’s dead body. Isn’t there enough going on in the world? Why do people have to be so stupid? I peer at Mac’s shirt still covering my body. Tears slide down my face as I smell him on my skin, and taste him in my memory. I have to bide my time before I run. Earn a little trust first. That would take time, but I don’t want to sleep with a kid looking to bust a nut. Maybe he could be manipulated? I didn’t really want to do that, since that has already been done.

  Isabel strolls in with a bucket of water. Two unfamiliar men pick up Joseph’s body and carry him out, leaving a trail of blood.

  “Get this cleaned up in memory of Joseph. You would have been honored to have him as a husband,” Isabel huffs, pushing her glasses up and blinking. Anger surges though me, and what I do next makes no sense, having to lash out at something. Jumping up, I kick the bucket over, and watch as it spreads through blood and bits swirl into a pink river. The bed bounces from me jumping back in it before getting my socks wet with Joseph’s watery blood.

  ***

  A couple of hours later, Jeremiah walks through the door and immediately slaps me. The sting resonates over the entire left side of my face as I glare at him.

  The cold steel of the gun touches my temple. “You will clean the floor. If not, I will shoot your knee caps, then make you clean it while you bleed from your bloody stumps.” I’ve never felt such humiliation and belittling in my life. Managing to hold my tongue and churning stomach, I wipe at the remaining bloody water. I want to kill him, but Jeremiah’s a husky, robust man, and will probably either break or shoot me first. Deciding to save my strength to run when the time comes, I take the abuse. He stands over me, and when I’m not fast enough he kicks my rear, and I fall face first to the floor in the nasty puddle. Getting back to my knees as watery blood drips from my face, I weep silent tears, and daydream of one of my arrows through his head. By the time it’s over,
I start feeling detached. Almost as if I’m having an out of body experience.

  I can’t sleep that night. My thoughts are full of Mac, and our last moments. We thought we would see each other again in an hour or so. I don’t know if I love him, but he makes me happy. In every way a man should make a woman happy. Did he believe I left on my own? Surely not. I didn’t say good-bye to my friends, or even good night. I have friends for the first time in four years, and took it for granted, and I desperately want it back. Will they go on with their plans? I hope so. The flashes of Rudy’s pain cuts me, knowing it goes deeper than he lets on.

  ***

  Before I know it, several women of varying ages flock in the room to strip me naked, and I let them. I don’t care about them, or want to talk to them. They chat happily about how I’m going to marry a prominent bachelor, about how I’m lucky. Joshua’s good at killing the forsaken and getting food. He will take care of me and spoil me.

  I don’t say anything, just let them scrub me in a tub. They pray cleansing prayers because, of course, I’m not pure. Anger sparks, but fizzles out as my female parts are washed and checked over, and they reprimand me for sinning. Humiliation doesn’t begin to describe it. I am being violated.

  Washing the blue out of my hair, the tinted blue water runs down my body, coloring the tub water light blue. Glinda. I wonder how she fares with Reece. Tears spring to my eyes – I will see them again. I’m biding my time to strike, in a detached way.

  I’m left without shoes after they dress me. Guns train on me throughout the whole ordeal. They fuss with my hair as it’s pulled back into a bun. I’m starting to sense a theme.

  After they leave, I sit and stare at the wall, sipping a glass of juice, unfocused as the burgundy walls seem to wobble. How did this happen? Why am I sitting here, like a duck? I can’t remember, that’s bad. Struggling to remember the events of the day overtakes everything else in my drug addled brain. Pistol-whipped and kidnapped. Joshua. Joseph’s blood. A sleepless night.

  Yes, that’s it. Isabel came in with a drink during my tossing and turning. I haven’t been clear headed since then. Focusing on the juice, I tip it over with my finger. It spills across the vanity, dripping a puddle onto the floor, and spreading to my feet. They drugged me, and I’ve been foolishly drinking everything they give me. Anger seeps into my fuzzy brain, but I can’t bring myself to care or do anything about it. Eating and drinking is out, if I can help it. No wonder everything seems so hazy and unreal. No wonder I can’t keep my thoughts focused.

  Jeremiah stalks in with a few others, and they pray while flicking water in my face. I flinch when it gets into my eyes.

  I’m escorted out, they grip my arms to get me down a stairwell. People and children amble all around with purpose. The room shifts as I attempt to assess my situation. Everything is hazy, like a dream around me. I can’t get a grip on my situation or what’s happening. What did they give me? Men with guns stand all around me, and I flinch back. I find women, wanting to make eye contact to see if they are in the same state. Something important wiggles my brain. I need to do something.

  “Father, give her space. Mary is good.” Joshua’s voice resonates through the room, standing beside Jeremiah. My stomach rumbles as I take in the basic wedding setup. I can’t take in anymore details than that. It could be a wedding for Frankenstein’s monster and his bride for all I know. I just don’t have it in me to keep striving to focus.

  Jeremiah makes a gesture and the men back off, but stay in my line of sight. I try to ignore them, but I want to run. That’s what I need to do, run. I make it to the altar without tripping over this white cotton dress. It’s too long, and it itches. Strong hands release my arms.

  “The purpose and conditions of this marriage are what follows. You will bear a child within a year. If not, this marriage will be annulled and you will be married to the next in line.” Jeremiah flatly states, his face a blur. My eyebrows shoot to my forehead, even though my eyes are heavy. All this doesn’t mean anything to me. I don’t plan on being here the next twenty-four hours, let alone a year.

  Everyone stares at me. I’m supposed to say something, but I don’t know what so I just shrug.

  Jeremiah glares at me, but goes on anyway. “Do you Joshua, take this woman, Mary, to be your wedded, even though her soul is not pure? Will you make her obedient as you will be her husband?” Jeremiah asks Joshua as he comes to hold my hand. It’s sweaty and disgusting as the scent of mothballs drifts to my nose.

  Joshua nods, “I do, father.” He looks at Jeremiah and this is all wrong. Not just the words being spoken. I’m not a person to them, but something to be passed around. Sorrow for these women and children gets the best of me.

  Jeremiah turns to me, “Do you Mary, take Joshua to be your wedded? Will you be faithful, as your soul has proven not to be? Will you honor and obey?” I notice that he did not ask Joshua these questions, but it doesn’t surprise me.

  I shrug, and Jeremiah’s face blazes red. Gun’s cock, one points directly in my face.

  Joshua’s eyes plead at me, “Please do not temp him, Mary?” he whispers to me, trying to show an intimacy that isn’t deserved from him. Lifting my hand to kiss it, his cold lips do not move me. My face goes slack as I try to keep it blank.

  “Speak girl!” Jeremiah literally stomps his foot, and I’m aware of the flash of triumph going through me for getting a rise out of him. I focus on him, wanting to come up with some smart ass retort before remembering I need to play along, and be trusted, especially by my new spouse.

  I smile wide at Joshua and look him in the eye, “I do.” It comes out slow and slurry, not sounding like me. That detached, out of body experience again. A pleased expression crosses Joshua’s face, and he turns to grin at his father. Jeremiah’s crazy eyes narrow. I think he’s looking at me, but his eyes seem to be taking in the room. I guess you can’t manipulate a manipulator.

  Jeremiah picks up our clasped hands, and puts a band on my finger. He doesn’t put one on Joshua’s. He says a prayer that feels odd. Something flickers in the back of my mind. I don’t get goose bumps, like I normally do when praying, or feel the accepting presence of God. Usually I don’t talk to God through prayer, but more like I’m speaking to a friend on the phone.

  I have faith, but it isn’t an overwhelming, take over my life, kind of faith. In truth, I haven’t had the nerve to talk to God in a while, but that’s God’s business and mine. These people wouldn’t know His presence if He came out and bit them on the ass.

  “Husband and Wife!” Cheers erupt all around, and Joshua kisses me. I stand stock still as his teeth press hard against my lips, and his tongue swirls around jack-rabbiting in my mouth. A kiss where even if I’m into it, would be terrible anyway. My body heaves from a gag reflex, but I think I hide it well. Maybe? All I know is, I’m going to have nightmares for life, and try not to dwell on the coming night. A shudder ripples through me.

  Joshua smiles at me, and then a small reception with cake follows. Wanting to eat some of it, I claim an upset stomach from the drugs they gave me.

  Finally being able to sit at a table, I do drink some wine freshly opened from a large jug, drinking several glasses, but Joshua tells me not to drink anymore. I almost slug him in the face. Alcohol is the only thing available, but I do need to keep my wits about me, suddenly realizing I can think a little more clearly.

  “You look so miserable, Miss Mary.” I look up to see who dares speak to me – a guy about my age, smirking. I glance around. “No one watching. I must say, I’m jealous of Joshua. You think you could hold out a year?” I glare at him. He laughs, “I’m kidding.”

  Interest perks as I take him in. His tall form bends down to me, searching my eyes. They are as dark as his pupils, dark as his hair. Someone who didn’t know what they were doing cut it for him. Just like the other men here. “You’re a tough one, you can take him. I don’t think I’ll have to worry about you.” He wears the same homemade clothing as everyone else. Thin, dark
, expressive eyebrows furrow at me. This man has sharp cheekbones, and a strong jaw line that’s covered in dark stubble, and full lips. Even with the crude haircut and weird clothing, he’s exceptionally attractive. Handsome.

  “Who are you?” I ask and he put a finger in front of his lips. Someone drunkenly fills their cup up with wine, and I want some myself, and pour some. When the drunk leaves, the guy bends down. “I’m Michael, but my real name is Dalton. I’m here to keep surveillance.”

  Taken back a little, I ask, “Surveillance? By whom?”

  “The government Coalition, I’m a soldier in the National Guard.” A thought forms in my mind.

  “Really? I don’t believe you.”

  He shrugs, “It’s a way of keeping track until we can get things back under control.”

  “Why tell me if you’re undercover?”

  “There are a few women here who know. It looks like you need a little hope. I don’t agree with this lifestyle, and want to be stationed elsewhere. Haven’t got a choice. They’re fucked up, you know?” I nod. “Most of these women were kidnapped just like you. I can’t leave them. I can’t really do anything about it yet either, without killing someone anyway.”

  This new information astounds me.

  “Do you know Mac?” I blurt.

  Tension visibly assails his body, and he looks at me with wide eyes. A grin spreads across his face. “The arrow. Is that why you have an arrow tattooed on you?” I guess he knows Mac, but how would he know about my tattoo? He must see the question on my face because he laughs. “It’s the scandal around here. Your tattoo, blue hair…” he trails off, looking embarrassed to mention it.

  “Um, no. It’s something that Mac and I have in common though. Archery.” I look down at my hands, wishing for the billionth time I would have waited on him to go target shooting.