by T. W. Brown
He wouldn’t have been surprised if that had ended up not being the case. The last few days had been the most excitement he’d encountered in quite some time. That something so small could fight so viciously had been a surprise.
Yes, this one was a real fighter.
Just remembering the most recent activities of last night had something stirring in the pit of his stomach. He absentmindedly stuffed one hand down his pants, withdrew it, and breathed in that smell. Her smell.
Something as close to sadness as he was capable of feeling swept in suddenly. When he broke this one’s spirit…he would be…what?
Sad?
Angry?
Bored.
Garrett dug through the dwindling food supply. He would need more. Soon. Water was a different story. There was an abundance. During his second day in his new home, he had made his new Toy walk him around the huge grounds. It was during this outing that he noticed a large truck up on the curb of one of the bordering streets. The logo on its side read “Glacier”. There were dozens—if not over a hundred—giant, five-gallon plastic jugs of water.
There were very few zombies nearby, so he’d quickly secured the shivering creature to a tree and retrieved three of the heavy containers before finally attracting enough attention to have to call it quits. Then, he’d taken pleasure in making his Toy carry them back to the house.
That had been quite an event. It had refused, so he dealt a series of backhands that drew blood. The sight of blood streaming bright red from both nostrils had sparked a flare of excitement. He’d simply shoved his pants down to his knees and satisfied his desire.
Garrett crossed the room, thoughts of eating gone. He grabbed a handful of hair and yanked the curled up body from where it lay.
***
Kirsten still felt a burning on one cheek where the carpet had worn it raw. She could still hear his heavy breathing. The attack had ended a few minutes ago and he was still panting like a dog.
The piece of clothesline that bound her wrists had cut into the flesh a little during this most recent attack. It was starting to sting. Then there was the pain down there. He seemed not to care which place he shoved himself in, and both were raw and excruciatingly sore. Tears filled her eyes at the realization that she had to pee. It would feel like fire, and Kirsten could try her best not to, but she would probably cry.
Kirsten hated crying. Especially since that terrible man seemed to enjoy it so much. But, she was learning. If she asked for food or water, he would hit her and then usually eat or drink right in front of her. If she kept her mouth shut, eventually he would toss something her way. As for the attacks…she had no idea.
He just came at her whenever. And the things he did—she suppressed a shiver—there was no way she would give him the satisfaction of seeing just how repulsed she was.
In the few days…had it only been a few?...it seemed like forever…the worst was what he wanted her to do with her mouth. She’d wanted to bite, but he’d held that huge knife against her throat. As it was, he’d cut her right at the end anyway. If she could be sure that she would hurt him bad enough so that he died too…
Then there was his drinking. She knew that his regular consumption of alcohol might lead him to making a mistake, like perhaps not tying her up as well some night. If she got free, she would run. It didn’t matter where to, just so long as it was away from this terrible, mean, smelly man.
She couldn’t hold it anymore. The momentary feeling of relief was quickly replaced by a terrible burning as urine rushed from her bladder and washed down her thighs. Tears filled her eyes, but Kirsten bit down on the inside of her mouth and refused to cry. Mercifully, it finally ended, leaving a steady stinging, but the worst of the burning subsided.
Her breathing slowly began to return to normal, the need to hold it in order to suppress crying lessening. Then she heard him. He was coming back. She steeled herself for whatever was coming this time. Then she felt the stream of warm fluid begin streaming across her back.
Kirsten kept her eyes closed and refused to cry.
***
Garrett stood at the heavy, wrought iron gate, staring at the growing crowd gathered on the other side. Perhaps he should do something about thinning out their numbers. Not that those things could break down the security gate. It was more about the fact that The Toy seemed to know a lot of them by name. Something about that annoyed him.
Crouching down, he looked into the hideous eyes of a girl about the same age as his plaything. It was pressed up against the bars by the crush of bodies gathered behind, all straining to come forward and try in vain to reach the living person they craved to sink their rotten teeth into. In all the pushing, pulling, and jockeying for position, the girl had lost most of her clothing with the exception of a ragged black bra and some disgustingly stained panties that seemed to be welded to the skin. He reached out, swatting aside one cold, dead arm and poked the small, budding breast. The indent of his finger stayed after he pulled away, avoiding the thing’s attempt to grasp at him. It feels like thick mud, he thought.
Picking the fireplace poker up from where he’d set it against one of the brick columns that marked either side of the gated entrance, he jammed it through the right eye of the pitiful thing. The body slid to the ground and another stepped into its place.
Standing, Garrett looked over the agitated mob. Several sets of arms—many missing one of their matching number— thrust towards him like a wall of uncoordinated snakes. Faces smashed against the iron gates heedless of shattered cheeks, busted teeth, or bent noses. He saw what might’ve once been a young Latino man and drove the poker into its face.
Again and again he tried to select ones that sounded like people The Toy had mentioned, or that he knew in his heart she paused to look at whenever they were outside. The bodies began to pile up, but the ones still mobile weren’t smart enough to move them out of the way. Garrett stopped when he noticed that two bodies were now stacked one atop another and a trio of those things were now standing a full head and shoulders above the others.
He’d have to solve this problem. He was in no hurry to leave this comfortable little haven. Here, behind these walls, he, Garrett James McCormick, was king. He was the master of an island of his creation, separated from the ocean of terrible monsters by a fence that would deny them until the flesh finished rotting off their bodies. From here, he could launch his raiding missions and retrieve all he would require. Here, he would break the will of The Toy. And perhaps, over time, she might even be able to be molded to serve him properly. Perhaps, over time, she would want to serve him properly.
Turning his back on the wall of arms, Garrett walked back to the house. He still marveled at its size. It was bigger than the entire apartment building he and his mother had lived in…before the terrible parade of boyfriends began.
Garrett stopped, tilting his head to one side. He had a vision that made him pause. The Toy was standing in the open main entry door. She was wearing a pink dress and white apron. Under one arm was a large mixing bowl which she was stirring slowly. She saw him and smiled.
“I’ve been waiting for you, honey,” she said, stepping forward. Garrett leaned forward to kiss her and stumbled in empty air. The vision was gone.
He spun, looking everywhere, but he was alone. The only “people” in sight were the horrible creatures down at the entry gate. Well, he thought as his face slipped into that harsh scowl he wore more and more often as his inexplicable anger seemed to grow every day and consume him further, he knew where the real flesh-and-blood version of his vision was at this very moment.
“Time for another lesson, bitch,” Garrett snarled as he stomped up the stairs.
***
Kirsten leaned against the wall. Its coolness soothed her raw, burning cheek. Of all the abuse The Big Man inflicted, it was the regular slapping of the face that angered her. Sure, there were vile and degrading things, too, but those fostered feelings of shame and violation. The face slapping flat-out p
issed her off.
Kirsten wasn’t stupid. She’d known about sex. Even some of the weird stuff. She hadn’t been brave enough to let any of the boys do much more than a little rubbing and squeezing, and she’d absolutely chickened out when it came to touching their—
She shuddered.
The Big Man had told her last night that she would be putting that disgusting thing in her mouth again. He would be holding his knife against her temple, and if she tried to do anything like bite him, well, then he’d be sticking that knife into her head. She’d given it serious thought all day. Would dying be so bad?
No, Kirsten scolded herself, you can’t think that way. The Big Man would probably survive. And then he would find somebody else to hurt. She’d already been hurt in about every way possible. She wouldn’t let this happen to somebody else.
Shifting her weight a little, Kirsten tested the rough twine that bound her hand and foot for probably the hundredth time. It tightened and bit into the already raw flesh of her wrists and ankles. She winced but didn’t cry. It had been days since she’d actually cried. It was like her body had gotten used to the pain…pain from abuse…pain from violation…pain from hunger and thirst. Besides, she’d quickly learned that, when she cried, it made him want to do more things to her.
Lately, The Big Man had seemed to change just a bit. He still never used her name, still called her “Toy.” Only, now when he said it, it was almost like he was talking to a pet dog or cat, not a piece of poop he wanted scraped from the sole of his boot. He’d even taken her outside for walks in the sun. And while she still wasn’t allowed to wear clothes, he had given her a clean blanket at night. Even more noticeable, he’d only been hitting her during sex. The random, out-of-nowhere attacks had basically stopped.
She heard the large entry doors slam. It made her jump, which caused the bindings to bite into her flesh again. Taking a few breaths, she tried to calm down. She had to be able to empty her mind for what was surely coming. The heavy stomping sounds of the approach of The Big Man squeezed her bladder tight. Kirsten bit her lip and focused. It would be bad. It would be terrible, but eventually, The Big Man would make a mistake.
Then, she would kill him.
***
Garrett walked out onto the porch. The sun was just rising. There was enough light now. He tugged at the clothesline he had wrapped around one hand. A pained whimper sounded as his Toy limped forward. He glanced at it briefly to ensure it was following. It limped from the shadows shielding its eyes from the sunlight.
“Come, Toy,” Garrett ordered and started down the stairs. There was only the briefest tension from the line, but it did as it was told.
He heard the winces and sharp inhaling of breath as he led it across the gravel and to the long driveway. As they neared the end, it was obvious that The Toy had an idea what was about to happen. The whimpers and pleading began, and the tension on the line increased, but the choking sounds were quickly followed by the line going slack again. The Hangman’s Noose-style knot around its neck really limited the amount of resistance that the pitiful thing could put up.
Garrett stopped at the four-by-four wooden post that he had planted in the ground to the left of the entry gate just barely an arm’s length from the horde of terrible creatures that strained to reach through every available inch of space that the twisting iron bars allowed. He grabbed his tiny Toy by the hair and slammed it against the wood. That earned him a yelp of pain.
Good, Garrett thought, it is breaking to my will. As he began wrapping the twenty-five feet of clothesline around and around to secure The Toy to the post, he couldn’t help but admire the bright blooms of purple that colored the pale, nude body of his Toy. One eye was swollen shut, and flakes of dried blood still clung to the corners of its mouth.
It had dared to bite him! The long slash of his knife across one small breast had forced the scream that had allowed him to pull himself free from its mouth. He’d considered killing it right then and there, but when Garrett looked into those defiant eyes, he’d known: it must be broken. He’d wanted to turn it onto its stomach and take it as violently as possible, but his thing hurt. Garrett knew what his thing was called, but he couldn’t even think the word. Mom had called it filthy, vile, and dirty.
He’d first heard the word penis in school. When he got home that day, six-year-old Garrett McCormick asked his mother what a penis was. She’d broken three wooden spoons on his bare behind that day. Later, he’d heard other names for it. Many of them from Ennis while he was telling young Garrett what to do with his. He couldn’t think of that, especially when he wanted to do things with his Toy. If he did, his thing would not work.
Right now, while he healed from the wicked bite of The Toy, those memories actually served him well when he felt a stirring down there. It made the feelings stop. Times like right now when he was on his knees, tying The Toy to the post, his face right in front of that soft, dark triangle between The Toy’s legs. When he could smell her.
Standing, Garrett backed away and looked at his handiwork. He pulled another piece of cord from one pocket and forced it in the mouth, then tied it securely to the post. This would keep its mouth open part way the whole time he was gone. Yes, Garrett smiled, it would learn to keep its mouth open.
He stood behind it for a moment. He watched the writhing wall of pale, dead arms strain to reach the squirming figure fastened to the splintery post. It learned quickly that moving caused two very unpleasant results: the noose would tighten and sharp slivers of the dry wood from the post would sink into its tender flesh.
Satisfied that it learned enough to be still, he loosened the noose just enough so it could once again breathe freely. Now, if it did anything to tighten the cord, it would die. He sensed that The Toy did not yet want to die. Not yet.
He grabbed his two tote bags and walked away. Occasionally he glanced over his shoulder. He’d made certain that none of those arms could actually reach. They would come close, but that was all. Perhaps when he came back, it would be happy to see him. It would be thankful that he would take it away from the dead faces it had known in life.
Reaching a tree, Garrett climbed and looked. It was clear. Those stupid things were all headed to the gate where they would not even get close enough to see inside because of the size of the crowd already gathered. With a quiet chuckle, he secured the knotted rope, dropped it over the wall and climbed.
It was time to go shopping!
***
Kirsten stared in horror at all of the familiar faces that pressed against the sturdy gate. So many mouths opening to reveal broken teeth, black tongues, and ropy strands of goo slobbering forth. So many sets of white filmed eyes shot full of squiggly black lines. Then there were the injuries, the open, gaping rips and tears in flesh. Mouth-sized chunks missing from arms and legs. Strands of guts hanging limply like the sausages she’d seen at her dad’s favorite deli. And other things, terrible, terrible things.
She could feel the vile breeze of the hands that swiped at her over and over with no concept of the definition of futility. All they were managing to do was to force a continuous wave of stench to wash over her.
She had to force herself to focus on the monsters to avoid thinking of other things. She did not want to allow in the pain of the clothesline biting into her flesh. How it seemed as if tiny lines of fire were burning every inch of her body. And then there was the scratchy, uncomfortable sensation of the wooden post at her back. Her mouth was a little more difficult to ignore. The Big Man had made a couple of wraps with the clothesline to tie her head to the pole. The line cut into the corners of her mouth, but it also made it impossible to really close it. Plus, she was drooling like those terrible things on the other side of the gate.
There was more than her current discomfort to try and block out of her mind. There were the events of yesterday and last night. The Big Man had returned…angry. She had no idea about what, there didn’t seem to ever be an identifiable reason to explain his rages and outbu
rsts. If anything, he mostly reminded her of a spoiled-rotten child—like her cousin Rikki.
He’d stomped into the room with the look. It was the look he always got when he was about to…rape her. That was the word she’d tried to avoid but couldn’t. Kirsten was no dummy. She certainly knew the difference between rape and sex. The Big Man had walked up to her and pulled the wicked blade he kept on his hip. Then, he’d unzipped his pants.
Kirsten shuddered, and then forced herself to be still when the cord around her neck tightened just a bit. She wanted to spit. The memory of that flavor returning uninvited. The drool trickling from her mouth tainted with the disgusting taste. Kirsten smiled just a bit. She remembered the sound of pain and surprise when she’d bit. Of course there was the sudden flash of pain from the knife slicing her. She’d screamed. And that would not be her last scream of the day or night. He’d whipped her with his calloused hands.
But, and this made her smile even though it hurt as the clothesline cut deeper into the corners of her mouth, he hadn’t been able to rape her again. He’d beaten her into unconsciousness more than once, but he had not been able to satisfy his other needs. If only she’d been able to bite it off. Let him try to rape her without a penis!
She felt sweat trickling down her body, wincing as the salty fluid found every cut, tear, and abrasion. The day was going to be hot. All of the pain was merging; making it seem like her entire body was dipped in flame, what was a little more pain? She tried to let her mind go to that place it went when The Big Man was doing horrible things to her. It wasn’t much, but it was a tiny relief from all the pain and misery.
