Skin Game

by Tonia Brown

  “Stop fooling around and just kill us already,” she said.

  “Kill you?” Dillon said. “My lady, why would I want to kill you when there is so much more work to be done? Now, be a good girl and apologize for cussing at me.”

  Chambers snorted, drawing up a huge wad of snot. She attempted to launch this in his direction but Dillon wouldn’t be fooled by the same trick twice. He stepped aside and nodded to one of his men. The fellow came forward and punched the doctor in the gut, hard. Chambers doubled over with a whoosh of air escaping from her lips.

  Dillon approached her and grabbed her by the hair, lifting her face to his. “If you’re going to act like one of the men, I will treat you like one of the men. Now, apologize like a fucking lady or I will have Mack break your nose. Again.”

  She glared at him for a moment, as if weighing her choices, then said, “I’m sorry.”

  “Of course you are,” Dillon said, and tossed her away from him.

  A few men rushed forward to catch her. I sensed while their instructions included being rough with her, somewhere in there they were also warned that she wasn’t to come to any permanent harm.

  “Take her to the infirmary,” Dillon said. “Give her whatever she needs to get ready for surgery.”

  “Surgery?” she said in a wheeze. “What surgery? On who?”

  With a wave of his hand, Dillon’s men carted Chambers away without another word.

  Dillon turned his dark gaze on Bowden. “Uncle.”

  “Nephew,” Bowden grunted.

  “It’s so good of you to finally join my cause.”

  “How could I turn down such a kind invitation?”

  “You are an old cuss, aren’t you?”

  “Quit playing games, son. Just do whatever it is you’re going to do. I’m far too old and far too tired to listen to your smart mouth.”

  A tension rose from the men around us. No one talked to Dillon in such a manner. At least no one did and lived to tell the tale.

  Dillon ignored the man and continued to grin in that eerie way of his. “Allow me to be the first to welcome to pair of you to Truth. From what the men say, neither of you have visited our fair town before. What do you think of it?”

  “To be frank,” Bowden said, “I never thought much of it. Which is why I never came here, you nitwit.” He nodded to the wooden structure in the distance. “What’s that hunk of junk supposed to be?”

  “That’s a project I have been working on for some time,” Dillon said. And that was all he had to say on that matter.

  Bowden grunted in disgust. “You gonna try and make us guess what it is? That the kind of torture you’re gonna put us through, huh?”

  “Oh, no, uncle. I have a different brand of torture in store for each of you.” Dillon breathed deeply, as if enjoying the heavy odor of pig poop lingering in the air, and turned his gaze to mine. “Smell that, Theo? Remind you of anything?”

  “Faintly reminds me of you,” I said.

  Bowden grunted a small laugh.

  Dillon kept on grinning. “Witty. Very witty. Hide behind your humor all you want. We both know I was referring to your upbringing.”

  I furrowed my brow. “Excuse me?”

  “Your upbringing? Your childhood. You were born and raised on a pig farm. Yes?”

  He could’ve shot me with a rifle, right in the head, and not had knock me in the noggin any harder than those words. I felt my mouth fall open. I couldn’t help it. Showing the man weakness was the last thing in the world I wanted, but hearing him refer to my childhood was the last thing I expected.

  Dillon held out his hands. “Welcome home, Theo. I know it’s been a few years since you plied the trade, but I have lots of men who will be glad to refresh your-”

  “How did you know?” I finally found the wherewithal to say, and nearly bit my tongue in two the moment I asked.

  “What? That you spent the first few years of your life on a pig farm? A mutual friend of ours told me.”

  I searched my memory. We didn’t have any mutual friends, even sarcastically. There was no one in the world that knew so much about me. Not even Sam. “Who?”

  “Who? Surely you haven’t forgotten poor Mortimer Tinsdale?”

  “Tinsdale?” I asked, surprised by the mention of his name.

  “He was such an interesting person,” Dillon said. “It’s a shame he died the way he did. He knew so much about you. So much information he willingly shared.”

  “You mean you tortured it out of him.”

  Dillon shrugged. “Six in one hand, half dozen in the other. You could say he was, oh, a bit obsessed about you. He was convinced you’re the key to the world’s salvation, so he made a study of you. Tinsdale went through great lengths to get to know every little thing about you. Every. Little. Thing.” Dillon drew closer to me with each of those last words, until he was an inch or so from my face.

  “He knew nothing about me,” I said.

  “I know you, Theo. I know you inside out. I know you because we are just alike. We both think that our way is the right way. Only one of us can be right. Which of us do you think it is?”

  I growled, but didn’t argue the point. I didn’t see the use. Arguing with him was like arguing with a snake; he wouldn’t listen and you were more than likely to get bit for your troubles. Dillon remained in my face for a few more moments, frosted eye to frosted eye with me.

  “Yes well, guess what, smartass?” Bowden said, “We know things about you too. Such as how you supposedly survived.”

  “Is that so?” Dillon said.

  “Don’t you think your men would love to know that you aren’t as special as you make yourself out to be?”

  “Special? I never said I was special.” Without taking his eyes off of mine, or backing away, Dillon asked, “Mack? How did I survive the virus?”

  “Under the experimentation of Doctor Chambers,” the man said.

  “Gerald?”

  “Under the experi… experi-men-tation of Doctor Chambers,” Gerald said, tripping over the long word.

  Still locked eye to eye with me, Dillon went down the line of his men, calling each by name and each answered in turn, declaring the truth in short order. I was stunned. I hadn’t expected Dillon to spill such a thing to his men. It was a smart move on his part, however. To make known privileged information about one of his closest secrets before his enemies could use it against him. Damn, if he wasn’t ten steps ahead of us all.

  “As you can see,” Dillon said as he finally backed off of me, “that’s old news around here. I have kept the sad story of my survival close to the vest for so long, I felt it was time to share my tragic tale.”

  “Do they also know you have had access to a cure for a while now?” Bowden said.

  “What do you think keeps them at my side?” Dillon said.

  I glanced to the line of men. None seemed the slightest surprised by the doc’s words.

  “Fear is a great motivator, uncle,” Dillon said. “And while I relish its effect on people, there is one thing that works far better. Can you guess what it is?”

  Bowden and I both stared quietly at the mad man.

  “Hope,” Dillon said. “I give these men hope. Doctor Chambers has been very selfish with her knowledge. With Chambers in my hands, and under my strict supervision, we will soon have a common cure for everyone. Well, those who are worthy, at the very least.”

  More than one man straightened at this thought. Everyone wanted to be special. Everyone wanted to matter.

  “And you get to decide who is worthy,” Bowden said.

  “But of course.” Dillon gave a little chuckle, then looked to me again. “Why so quiet? You still brooding over there?”

  “Don’t let him get to ya,” Bowden said softly to me.

  “Too late,” Dillon said. “I’ve alre
ady gotten to him. Imagine my delight to learn of Theo’s former work experience. And me with just the kind of place for him to work. It’s almost ironic, isn’t it?”

  I didn’t know if it was irony or just plain old bad luck. “Did you learn this interesting bit of information about me before or after you sent Tinsdale ’round my place?”

  He lightly applauded again. “Finally figure that one out? Took you long enough.”

  “Why? Why send him to me?”

  “To draw you out. I needed you in the open where Clint could grab you. After you took down Boudreaux, I was fairly sure you would hole up in that cabin of yours until you decided I had gotten over it.”

  Which is exactly what I’d wanted to do. Before Tinsdale arrived. Before Sam begged me to head for the border. Though, at heart, I supposed I knew it was time to go. I had overstayed my welcome in this place. I should’ve left a long time ago. Should’ve ignored what Boudreaux was doing to those young men. Should’ve left Dillon to his build his little army. Should’ve minded my own business and moved on.

  Dillon clucked his tongue as he looked off into the distance, lost in thought. “My mistake was not letting Clint in on everything. His instructions were perfectly clear. Grab Jackson as soon as he comes out of his damned hovel. I never imagined he would actually trade you for Tinsdale. The thought never even crossed my mind. That’s the trouble with being surrounded by nothing but outlaws, you can’t properly trust anyone.”

  “That and Sam threw you for a loop,” I said.

  Dillon’s nostrils flared a bit as he came back to the moment. I enjoyed rubbing her salt into his wounded ego. “Sam was, a distraction. An unfortunate yet welcomed distraction. Still, she served her purpose well enough. I have you exactly where I want you.”

  “And where is that?”

  “Come now. You know where this is going as well as I. Do you want to start in the fields or in the slaughterhouse? Because I am not sure I can trust you with sharp instruments in either place.”

  I laughed. Long and hard and loud. I laughed and laughed and laughed.

  Dillon blinked a few confused times, but didn’t seem too disturbed by my humor. “Care to share what you find so amusing about all of this?”

  “I have no intention of working your damned farm,” I said.

  “You forget, slave. You promised to serve me. You gave me your word.”

  “You forget, Massah Dillon. I agreed to be your manservant. Not your pig farmer. Just as you agreed to let Sam go, not let her live.”

  Bowden chuckled. “That’s showing him who’s boss.”

  “Who’s boss?” Dillon said. “That’s right. Who is the boss here?” He waggled his fingers at one of his men.

  The fellow stepped forward, brandishing a large axe and a length of rope.

  “I am going to ask you one more time, slave,” Dillon said as he took the axe from his man. “Will you return to your roots and work the farm, or am I going to have to punish you for your defiance?”

  I glanced to the axe. “You don’t scare me with that.”

  “That’s fine. That’s just fine.” He fingered the sharp edge of the blade. “Now, answer my question.”

  “Don’t pander to him,” Bowden said. “Tell him to go jump in a lake.”

  I wanted to say far worse than that, but I settled for a simple, “No.”

  Dillon’s horrific, rictus grin returned. “I was so hoping you would say that.” He nodded to his men.

  Next thing I knew, Bowden was tossed to the ground. He floundered there, trying to right himself like an overgrown turtle.

  “Son of a gun!” Bowden growled.

  Dillon’s men descended on him in force. Two men held the doc down by his shoulders and arms while a third hung onto his good leg by the ankle. The soldier with the rope lashed the thing around Bowden’s thigh, pulling it so tightly the doc cussed aloud in pain. Bowden thrashed and bucked, though not much considering how tired and sore the man was.

  “What are you doing?” I said, leaping forward. I reached the end of my tether and strained there, wriggling against my bonds. “Let him go. Leave him out of this.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t,” Dillon said. “After all, I gave you my word that I would hurt those closest to you should you defy me. My word, Theo. Unlike you, I like to keep my word.” He nodded to Bowden. “Hold him down, and keep clear.”

  The two men holding the struggling Bowden’s shoulders leaned away from the roped off thigh. The men holding down Bowden’s kicking leg leaned in the other direction.

  Dillion hefted the axe a few times, from hand to hand. “I have been looking forward to this for a long, long time, uncle.”

  “You won’t do it,” Bowden said. “You don’t have the balls.”

  “Watch your mouth, or I might take those too.”

  It took me till then to realize what Dillon meant to do. I think perhaps I knew from the moment his men knocked the doc down and tied off his thigh, yet I didn’t want to believe it was happening. Dillon lifted the axe over his head, with every intention of loping off the doc’s only remaining leg. As the axe rose, a look of utter terror and absolute surprise gripped Bowden. He truly believed his nephew didn’t have it in him. I knew better. After watching Dillon shoot every man in Convergence at nearly point blank range, I knew better.

  “Wait!” I shouted. “Wait! I’ll do it!”

  Dillon froze, mid swing, and glanced to me. “Do what?”

  “I will work your fields. I will work the slaughterhouse. Anything. I will do anything you want.”

  He lowered the axe. Thank God almighty, the maniac lowered the axe. In a childish pout, he said, “You will?”

  “I will keep my word and obey you.”

  “You promise?”

  “I promise. I swear. Anything. Please. You don’t have to do this.”

  “I know I don’t have to do it. I do, however, want to do it.” This said, Dillon raised the axe over his head again and brought it down before I had time to blink.

  The head of the axe came down in a swift crack against flesh and bone. Bowden screamed aloud, nearly splitting my ears with the shrill sound of his pain. The copper tang of blood touched my tongue as Bowden’s life splattered across my face and into my open mouth. The smell of piss and shit hit the air. The axe came down again and again, each pass bringing a louder cry from Bowden. I shouted with the man, begging Dillon to stop this madness, yet my words were lost under Bowden’s shrieks of pain. Somewhere in the fifth or sixth swing, Bowden went silent. He stopped crying, and I stopped begging, and Dillon kept on chopping.

  Then it was done. Bowden’s lower leg lay separated from his now quietly twitching body. I collapsed beside of him, what little life and love I had left for this world dragged out of me with each bloody chop. What cruelty this was. What inhumanity. What madness.

  Dillon handed the axe off to the closest man as he wiped down his crimson brow.

  “Well then,” he said between gasps. “That was invigorating.”

  I leapt to my feet and lunged at the devil, gnashing my teeth and barking like a mad dog. I intended on tearing out his throat for what he had done to my friend. Dillon merely took a few steps back and motioned to one of his men. Gerald came between us and belted me a sound one on the chin, knocking me back into the arms of the waiting men. I hung there, dazed for a moment.

  “Take my uncle to Doctor Chambers,” he said. “Tell her if he dies, she dies.”

  They hustled the moaning Bowden away, into the house, trailing a line of red behind them. Dillon kicked at Bowden’s leg with a little giggle, moving it back and forth on the blood soaked ground. He was insane. Pure and simple crazy.

  “I am going to kill you,” I said. “Mark my words, you crazy bastard. I will kill you for this.”

  “That’s no way to talk to your master,” Dillon said. “Unless you
want me to take one of his arms too? Is that what you want? Just say the word, slave. Speak! And I shall reward you!”

  I swallowed my anger as well as a generous amount of Bowden’s blood. This wasn’t the time. Not now. Soon. But not now.

  “I thought as much,” Dillon said. He snapped his fingers at me. “Take him to his room. Strip him and shackle him there. And don’t lay a hand on him otherwise. He’s mine. Do you hear me?”

  A resounding ‘yes sir’ rose from the men.

  “What about working your fields?” I said. I winced at the sound of my own voice. I wasn’t trying to antagonize him. It just sort of slipped out.

  Dillon laughed a bit. “Work the fields? I have no intention of letting you run around here like that. What do you take me for? A crazy man?”

  I gaped at him, confusion all over my face.

  He must’ve seen the question on me. “That was just a bit of fun. No. I never intended on making you work this farm. I just wanted you to say you would work it for me.” Dillon waved at me which prompted the men on either side of me to drag me away.

  As my feet pulled furrows in the soil behind me, I begged God for an understanding of this madness.

  He didn’t bother with an answer.

  * * *

  True to their master’s command, none of the men took a shot at me on the way to my cell. Sure, if dirty looks could kill, I’d be deader than the revenants. Yet none of them abused me more than the manhandling it took to get me downstairs and strip me and get me into the shackles while I lay limp in their arms. I remained chained to a wall in the basement of that farmhouse for the rest of the day and well into the next. At least, as far as I could determine. I had no visitors. No food. No water. No break in the monotony. No relief. Dillon probably knew my limits and would intervene before I dehydrated or starved to death, both of which were a ways off. Either that or he really didn’t care if I lived or died in that small room.

  I must say, I was impressed with what they had done to the place in my honor. Two gas lamps sputtered a pair of weak flames, on opposite sides of the room, barely lighting the place. The back wall which held me prisoner sported a four point set of manacles, one for each wrist and ankle. There was also a heavy metal band for my waist, as if the restraints weren’t enough to hold me. The walls themselves were all bricked over with the metal set into the brickwork by spikes like those found on the railroads. The door was made from a large slab of wood as thick as my forearm, reinforced with metal bands and studs. A narrow slot rested about eye level. I assumed it was a peephole of sorts. Nothing else adorned the room. Not a chair. Not a shelf. Just the door, the restraints, the lanterns, and myself.