by T. W. Brown
The Toy! The Toy had seen his fear. Even worse, it still showed none itself. Well…that would change. Now.
Storming through the empty house and out on the porch, he glared at the dark, shadowy outline of The Toy and the post. Drawing the knife from its place on his belt, he moved up from behind and placed the blade on one cheek. With a flick he cut the strip cutting into the corners of the mouth.
The Toy coughed, choked, and spat. Then after working the jaw a few times, it spoke in a raw voice, “Get a little on you?”
Garrett stepped around and put his face close, “I am going to hurt you.”
The Toy seemed to consider that statement for a moment. Then, with eyes so fierce it made him take a step back before he’d realized it. It smiled! “So.”
With an angry roar, he backhanded the defiant creature. The head snapped to the side, but just as fast came back, glaring. Again, he struck and once more, it swung back, an awful sneer made worse by the blood trickling from the mouth and nose. Balling up his fist, he punched it in the center of that defiant face. This time, the eyes rolled back and it slumped down. Almost immediately it began making hoarse choking sounds.
“No, you don’t.” Garrett cut the leather thong around the throat. Anger still surging, he cut away all the bindings and tossed the tiny figure over his shoulders. Seething with impotent frustration, he walked back to the dark house.
“Tonight you will scream. Tonight, you will beg.” Garrett vowed as he made his way up the stairs to the bedroom.
***
Kirsten stared up at the ceiling. It was blurry. Still. She remembered a joke she’s heard her Uncle Skip say once during a family barbecue: What do you say to a woman with two black eyes! Nothin’ you already told her twice! She hadn’t gotten the joke then. She’d only been eleven…two years ago.
The two black eyes she currently possessed were the least of her problems. She was pretty sure her nose was broken. She could barely breathe through it. Her entire body hurt. Then there was the filth-factor. She’d been tied naked and spread-eagled on this bed for at least two days. During that time, she’d been beaten, whipped, as well as poked with and sliced by that huge knife that The Big Man carried. Oh yes, and urinated on.
Every time she’d asked for water, he’d climbed up and stood over her and peed. She stopped asking after the third time. So then he started coming in with a bottle of water, drinking it in noisy gulps in front of her. He tilted the bottle her direction and she foolishly opened her mouth. With a fiendish giggle, The Big Man climbed up and urinated on her once more. Since then, she simply stared up any time he came in. At least, that way, it was her own filth she lay in from that point.
“Hungry?” A big, ugly face filled her vision.
No way, Kirsten thought. She fought back a shudder at what that question might imply. She continued to stare straight up, thankful that she lacked the ability to really focus on anything.
She felt something wet and squishy drip on her lips. Horrified, she spat and jerked her head to the side. A rough hand squeezed her cheeks and wrenched her head back. A spoon forced its way between her split, ragged lips, forcing a mouthful of thick, slimy…peaches? The sound of the spoon clinking on glass made her look. She could make out a small jar with a blue label in The Big Man’s hand.
Baby food.
Another spoonful of peach slurry shoved itself into her mouth. This time she swallowed. As much as she wanted to resist…spit it in his face…it was the most delicious thing she could remember. After two jars, The Big Man produced a water bottle.
“Thirsty?” he asked.
Not a chance, Kirsten thought. She pursed her lips and glared, although she doubted he could tell as swollen as her face felt. She felt a trickle of cool liquid splatter on her face. Hopeful, she tried it with her tongue, letting it dart out. Water! Opening her mouth, she gulped greedily. Afterwards, he simply sat there staring.
“I bet you’re wondering why,” The Big Man said after an uncomfortable moment of silence.
Kirsten nodded.
“Because,” The Big Man rose to his feet, the darkness and evil returning as if that calmness and compassion were a mask that he peeled back effortlessly, “I will not let you die on your terms. You’ll die after I’ve broken you. After you’ve begged me to kill you a hundred times, and mean it each time from your very soul. Then…when I decide I’m finished with you…I’ll toss you over that gate…and let them finish you.”
The Big Man stood, looking her over. She thought she saw him wince before he turned and stomped angrily out, leaving her to her pain, leaving her to lay in her filth.
“Wanna bet?” Kirsten whispered to the empty room.
Garrett stood on the balcony. He pulled another can from the box at his feet and popped the top. Warm beer would never be his favorite, but it was better than nothing. He looked down the long driveway at the sturdy iron gate. His eyes followed the fence—a nine foot high brick wall—that circled the property. More of those things came every day. The last trip outside searching for supplies had been a bust. He’d returned with barely a full knapsack.
Glancing over his shoulder, he could hear The Toy stirring. He puzzled over his inability to make it beg. The others had given in so easily. He remembered the night the world had crumbled, leaving him to rule. He’d been outside, in front of his house, staring up at the living room window. What was left of his mother had been just standing there, torn open, her guts spilling out of a hole in her enormous, sagging belly.
A car had pulled up and a young woman inside it had asked for his help. She’d been crying. Moments later, he’d climbed in, and they drove through the chaos overwhelming the streets of North Charleston; he’d seen. Empty police cars, ambulances, and even a deserted military troop truck at an abandoned roadblock. Then, he’d known.
The world was dead.
He’d taken her to the baseball stadium. Breaking that one had taken less than a week. It’d been more than a month with this one. And even though it was younger by at least half of the last one, this whore would not break. It wouldn’t beg for food or water, or for him to stop. Sure, he thought, it would cry, but that wasn’t the same. And on the rare occasion that he was honest with himself, he feared her. In those brief moments, she wasn’t The Toy. And she frightened him with her defiance.
Tossing the empty can aside, Garrett pulled out another. Tomorrow he would have to go back out there. Food was almost gone and this case of beer was all that remained besides a large, half-gallon bottle of Southern Comfort that he was saving for a special occasion.
The moans of the growing number of those things carried up to the house. Garrett shivered. That was another thing; there were so many now that he could hear them sometimes when the wind blew the wrong way. Hear and smell them. Even if the windows were shut.
He’d seen up close what those monsters did when they got their hands on you. Lately, those things had replaced Ennis—the boy who’d done things to him—in the nightmares Garrett had every night. Even when he wasn’t honest with himself, those things terrified him. He’d kill himself before he’d let those things get their filthy, cold hands on him and rip open his belly like they’d done his mama.
Reaching into the box, the big man’s hand found the last can of beer. He’d consumed the whole case, and it wasn’t even breakfast time. The dull buzz from the alcohol felt good. He heard another cough from the bedroom. Garrett knew better than to try and go out for supplies today after drinking so much. Well, he thought as he finished off the last can in three huge swallows, there were other ways to keep entertained.
“Hey there, Little Red Riding Hood,” he began to sing in an off-key rumble as he tossed the empty can over the balcony railing to clatter on the rocky walkway below.
***
Kirsten stared up at the ceiling. The sounds of The Big Man’s snoring grating on her every nerve. He’d been incredibly drunk for so early in the day—which she didn’t mind. When he was drunk, the episodes didn’t last
nearly as long. Also, the violence wasn’t as prominent. For instance, this time, he’d kept calling her “Kimmy.” Also, he kept asking why she always laughed at him. Then there was something about the police, but Kirsten wasn’t really paying attention. She did what she always did during these sessions. She stared at the ceiling and thought about nothing.
At some point, she’d realized it had stopped. But The Big Man was still on top of her. He was up on his hands, his head looking around with… He was scared! Something had frightened The Big Man. Then she heard it, the low moans, growls, and cries of the Monster-people. But they couldn’t have gotten inside. The wall was too high and the gate was too strong.
She thought back to the last time she’d been tied to the post out by the front gate. It seemed like there were more of those things. She couldn’t see over the heads of the first few rows, but it had seemed like more. Not only were they louder, but she remembered thinking they looked smashed in pretty tight.
This couldn’t be good. If there were enough that she could hear them from her room on the backside of the house…there must be lots. Then, she remembered feeling that sensation that was both disgusting and a relief. She felt The Big Man shrink and slither out of her. He was finished. Only…he hadn’t. Then, he rolled off of her. Now, he lay there, snoring on his back beside her. She could smell the beer.
An idea began to form. It had been a while since he’d tried to make her use her mouth on him. In fact, he’d only recently healed from that encounter. He’d untied her for it. For some reason, he wanted her untied and kneeling. If she could wait until he got really drunk next time, perhaps she could convince him she was ready to try it. It would be gross and disgusting, but if he passed out, like he was now, maybe he would forget to tie her up. Or, if he did tie her up, maybe he would be so drunk that he would do a bad job of it. Then, she could get away. She didn’t care to where. Just away from here.
The Big Man made a noise, almost like a soft cry, in his sleep. She heard, then felt the warm wetness as his bladder let go. All she could do was lie there helpless. For now.
Garrett wedged the pry-bar into the doorjamb and leaned into it. The sound of wood splintering seemed like an explosion to his noise-sensitive hearing. The world had become such a silent place that everything seemed much louder than he remembered.
A musty smell rolled out with the heat that had been pent up inside the modest house. Well, modest by the standards of the one he lived in now. There was no telltale stench of the undead to give him any reason for concern.
He’d had to travel almost a mile to find this place. So many of those things had gathered outside the walls of his home that he couldn’t even get to the other nearby houses on the street that ran along the front where the main entry gate was located. Any attempt would not end well. He would be trapped and cut off from The Toy, and he couldn’t have that.
He’d seen enough to know that if he wanted to search for food—or booze for that matter, they’d run out of beer two days ago and he’d finished his bottle of Southern Comfort last night—he would need to search for locations farther away from home to be safest. Climbing over fences and creeping through back yards was a lot of work, but he’d eaten the last of the canned food this morning. Canned beets. His mouth made an involuntary grimace at the thought.
Stepping into the house, he looked around cautiously. Even though he couldn’t smell anything, he still worried that somehow one of those abominations would be lurking in the shadows. As he neared the kitchen, he could definitely smell the stench of spoiled food. Also, he could hear the all-too-common buzzing of the swarms of flies that were no doubt becoming one of the most plentiful creatures on the planet.
When he peeked his head into the kitchen, his eyes were drawn to the stain on the floor in front of the refrigerator. It had long since dried, but the flies still swarmed the smear, along with the defunct, yellow appliance.
Garrett knew better than to open it and went over to the cupboards. He found plates, glasses, and finally, food. He scooped packages of Ramen noodles, macaroni and cheese—the good stuff in the blue box—and Hamburger Helper into his pack. Next were the soups, canned fruits and vegetables. Afterwards, he found the pantry closet. He spied something that made him grin and was sure to put it in the bag last of all.
Finished, he wandered through the empty house looking for liquor. In the living room, in a fancy cabinet that fit neatly in one corner, he discovered a few bottles containing names he’d never heard of before. Some were names he couldn’t even pronounce, and after giving them a sniff, he tossed them aside. One smelled like candy, another like licorice. Garrett wanted good old fashioned—
“Patron?” he mumbled and picked up the bottle. “Tequila, now that’s more like it. Don’t know why folks can’t just be happy with some José Quervo. I guess this’ll have to do.” Garrett unstoppered the bottle and took a drink. He gave the bottle an appraising glance. The stuff was actually quite good.
He went to the bedrooms and bathrooms next. He didn’t find anything except for a toothbrush that was still in its package and a half a tube of toothpaste. He added that to the pump dispenser of soap he’d found earlier. The Toy was starting to smell almost too rank to touch. This would help.
A thud made Garrett jump. Something had slammed open the front door. Pulling the three-pound sledge from the loop on his belt, he went down to investigate. What was left of a man in what looked a postal carrier’s uniform had stumbled in and was wandering around the living room, bumping into the furniture. A lamp tumbled from an end table and crashed to the floor.
Garrett walked up behind it, setting his backpack down on the arm of the sofa, and brought the sledge down on the crown of the thing’s skull. Thick, dark goo squirted from the octagon-shaped impression that sank almost two inches into its head. Garrett wiped off the hammer and slipped it back into the loop on his belt and turned to grab his pack.
At least a dozen more of those things were shambling across the front lawn and headed for the open door. Garrett briefly considered dealing with the closer ones before making a run for it; then he saw another twenty or so coming in their wake. In fact, as he paused to take a better look from the doorway, he could see more. They were coming through yards and around cars, and there were a lot.
He grabbed the pack and ran for the back door. The back yard was empty and he stood on the deck looking into some of the adjacent back yards. He had five to choose from; only two were totally empty. Where had they all come from? Garrett wondered. They hadn’t been there when he arrived.
By the time he reached the wall of his kingdom, there were well over a hundred coming on his heels in a stinking tide of undeath. He had to fight the urge to stop and kill some of them. Especially one particular girl who looked to be about nine or ten; she looked fresher than the others, and somebody had done him the favor of removing all her clothes.
As he climbed over the wall and pulled up the rope, several of them crashed through the hedge. He hadn’t swung his left leg over yet and one of them managed to get a hold on his ankle. With an uncharacteristic squeal of fear, Garrett brought his other foot back around and drove his heel into the upturned face. It took three solid kicks to free himself from the dreadlocked, ashy skinned zombie with piss-yellow teeth.
Swinging the rest of the way over and dropping to the ground on the other side, it took him several minutes to calm down. He remembered seeing his momma torn open that first night by several of the neighbors who had burst into their tiny house.
Eventually, his mind shifted to one particular neighbor: Kimmy Vanderwall. He remembered standing over her on his bed. Most likely, that was where she was right this moment, his seed having turned into a dried glaze on her blue-grey skin.
Recovered from his terrifying experience, Garrett picked up the pack and walked through the shadows cast by the late afternoon sun. He’d untie The Toy from its post and let it watch while he ate dinner.
***
Kirsten felt a trickle of
saliva spill from her mouth and dribble down her chin. She’d lost track of the days a long time ago, and couldn’t remember the last time she’d had something to eat. The Big Man sat beside her on the bed with a bag of barbecue potato chips, crunching loudly. She could smell the tangy, salty sweetness of them. It made her stomach churn, making noises that could almost pass for the same ones coming from the Monster-people.
He’d been back for a few hours now. When he’d untied her, she noticed how skittish he was of the wall of hands reaching though the iron entry gates. He’s afraid, Kirsten thought, and immediately her mind went to figuring how she could use that to her advantage.
“Hungry?” a voice snapped her back to the present and the never-ending gnawing feeling in her gut. It was as if one of the Monster-people were inside her belly trying to get out.
Kirsten glanced over at the hulking figure beside her. The candlelight from the nightstand flickered, adding to The Big Man’s already frightening appearance. She mulled over the idea of actually answering, but decided against it. This was simply another of his tricks.
“I’ll only ask one more time.” He waved a big, unbroken chip under her nose.
“Y-y-yes.” She cursed herself for sounding so frail and weak.
“I’m gonna cut you loose.”
Silence.
“You gonna do what I say, or I’m gonna finish my dinner while you watch. Then…I’m gonna toss you over that gate.”
She believed every word that he said. And, for a moment, she considered the possibility. There would be pain, but then …nothing. It would be over. Only, that would leave The Big Man alive. He would win. She’d already decided against allowing him to win. She didn’t know how yet, but somehow, she was going beat him.
