by T. W. Brown
The Big Man cut the bindings on her wrists and ankles. She tried to sit up straight and everything swirled as the room swam and her vision blurred. Huge hands scooped her up and carried her downstairs. Unable to help it, her head fell against his chest.
The next thing she knew, she was laid out on the rough, shell-textured concrete that surrounded the swimming pool. A moment later, he was rolling up one of the big wheelbarrows and stopping beside her. She hadn’t even realized that he’d been gone. Am I passing out? she wondered. She didn’t think so. Picking her up again, he placed her naked body in the cold metal basin of the wheelbarrow. The next sensation was the dousing of her body with pitchers of sun-warmed water. Then his hands went to work on her with soap and a washcloth.
Surprisingly, his hands were gentle as he cleaned her thoroughly from top to bottom. At one point, he even cautioned her to close her eyes as he rinsed her so that she wouldn’t get soap in them. Still, she refused to let her guard down.
When he was finished, he helped her stand so that he could pat her down with a towel. He handed her a water bottle which she sniffed before taking a drink from. He’d given her a swallow or two every day, but this was a full bottle. Kirsten drank her fill, savoring every drop.
While she drank, he pushed the wheelbarrow over to the knee-high grass and dumped it. He waited for a moment, then beckoned her to follow him back inside. Her mind raced with all the possibilities, trying desperately to think of anything that she could do. She came to the conclusion that her choices were absolutely nothing. She could barely walk, much less run or climb. And where did she hope to go? Naked, weak, and starving, she stumbled after The Big Man who had already gone back inside the house.
She made it to the stairs that led up to the back entry and stumbled. Struggling to her feet, she made another attempt. This time she fell hard and cried out. The Big Man stepped back out onto the landing and stared down at her. He seemed to consider her much like she would an insect for several seconds before finally scooping her up and carrying her inside.
This time she was certain that she’d passed out. She opened her eyes to find herself back in her bed. All of the linens had been changed. A tray sat on the nightstand beside her bed. It was piled with canned pears, what looked like a bowl of chicken noodle soup, and a pile of barbecue potato chips. Tears welled up in her eyes in unison with the drool that slipped from the corner of her mouth and trickled down her chin. She knew this trick all too well. He would eat it while she watched. Only…after the bath and the clean bed, a kernel of hope had bloomed against her will. Did she dare to hope? With that thought, her body began to shake. The more she fought it, the worse it got. Soon she was crying uncontrollably and trembling to boot.
“Aren’t you hungry?” The Big Man asked, his lips sickeningly close to her ear.
God help her, Kirsten nodded. She felt something cold press against her budding left breast. The knife. She knew its feel very well. Just as she had suspected, this was a trick.
Then, big hands scooped her up and set her on the floor. She looked up and The Big Man towered over her.
“You can have everything you see on that table, and all the water you can drink.” The Big Man gestured with the knife towards the table. “After.”
After? Kirsten was puzzled. Then, The Big Man unzipped his pants and pulled that disgusting thing out.
“Your mouth,” The Big Man said in an excited whisper. “And if you bite me again…I’ll cut off your tit with this knife and make you watch as I feed it to those things out there. But,” he inched closer until it was right in her face, she noticed it was already poking straight up, “do this…and you can eat.”
“Promise?” Kirsten whispered after a long pause where her eyes couldn’t keep from all the food just a few feet away.
“Promise,” The Big Man said.
Choking back the tears, Kirsten rose up unsteadily on to her knees. She looked up, but the candles were behind him and all she could see was blackness where his face should be.
Kirsten opened her mouth.
Garrett sat on the long, plush sofa. The once white sectional was dingy and stained now. He stared out the enormous picture window, watching the rain fall in sheets. A howling wind blew, drowning out the sounds of the dead. A row of empty beer cans stood in silent sentinel down the length of the ornately carved coffee table. Garrett briefly wondered if rich people had a fancy name for coffee tables, then popped the tab on another can and decided he didn’t care.
A flash of lightning turned the world an electric-blue for a second…one…two…three…BOOM. Thunder vibrated the cans as well as the windows and everything else. Garrett loved storms and this had the marks of a doozy. It might even be a hurricane for all he knew. The Weather Channel had gone off the air a long time ago.
A sudden thought wiped the drunken smile from his face. What if the gate collapsed, or a tree fell and crushed a section of the brick wall that kept those things out? Yesterday he’d gone out with the intentions of going to look for food. However, there was a problem; the entire property was surrounded. Those things were dozens deep at some of the thinner spots. In other places, they were all the way across the road and in the yards across the street. The hedge that had stood between the sidewalk and the narrow strip of grass was completely gone, no evidence remaining that it ever existed. At least nothing visible.
Garrett had checked everywhere, becoming more and more frantic as he did so. He’d passed The Toy tied to her post three times before realizing it. There would be no more food runs until those things left. Only it didn’t seem those cursed abominations would be leaving any time soon. From the numerous upstairs windows, every place he could see out past the wall, the numbers continued to grow.
Perhaps, if this were in fact a hurricane, it might brush these things aside. Tipping the can, Garrett drained another beer in two great swallows. As he set the empty can down, a shadow flickered across the big window. Garrett yelped and jumped to his feet. The sudden movement caused the room to swirl, sending a bolt of pain to his head. Once it subsided, he staggered to the front door, the poker from the rack beside the fireplace in his hand.
A line of slobber dripped from his mouth and down his stubbly chin, hanging for a second before cascading onto his sweat-soaked shirt and vanishing in the big, dark stain already in place. The side of his face pressed against the coolness of the door, and he listened. All Garrett heard were the howling wind and the pebble-like cacophony of giant raindrops pelting the ground, roof, windows.
Slowly he turned the knob. The door slammed into him and Garrett was certain that dozens if not hundreds of those things were pressed against it. He pushed back with all his might and the door shammed shut. Staggering back, he cocked his arm, ready to shatter the head of the first one of those freaks that came through the door, but nothing happened. He waited to hear the sound of dead hands pounding on the door, but all he heard was his heart hammering in his chest in sync with the pulsing sensation in his head.
Garrett staggered to the window, peering around the edge of the curtains. The swing on the porch had toppled. Nothing more. He could see that the rain was coming down horizontally now. And as it hit the windows, it sounded as if somebody were throwing handfuls of gravel.
Garrett laughed; at first in a nervous chuckle, then in all out hysterics. He was safe. Those things were stuck on the other side of the wall, and that’s where they would stay. His kingdom was safe. Returning to the cardboard box on the coffee table, he shoved his hand in and fished out the last can of beer. Popping the tab, Garrett guzzled it down and then belched loudly.
Stomping over to the door, he turned the knob once more, this time letting it fling open. Rain and wind pummeled and pelted him, but Garrett didn’t care. He stepped out onto the porch, instantly soaked to the skin as if he’d plunged fully clothed into a swimming pool. Lightning flashed and thunder rumbled almost immediately. Stepping down off the porch, he turned his face to the sky and roared his defiance.
> He staggered along the walkway, the wind amplifying the weaving path he took as he stomped down the driveway. By the time he reached the gate, Garrett had transformed all the fear of just a few minutes ago into rage. He thrust the poker through the bars into the face of one of the hellish creatures on the other side. It dropped as soon as he withdrew. Again and again he stabbed. Sometimes in the face, other times in the body. All the while he screamed obscenities or roared challenges. Arms reached through and were beaten and broken. On and on it went until he was exhausted. His screams of anger became sobs of frustration as his efforts showed no sign of making the slightest dent in the numbers gathered just on the other side of the gate.
In a final and futile act of desperation, Garrett unzipped his fly and urinated. Of course, the raging wind blew it away—in reality he probably got more on himself—but it was the act of defiance itself. Yet, even that brought him no comfort or contentment.
Exhausted, Garrett turned and made his way back to the house. Somehow, the journey seemed longer and the wind felt even more powerful. He stumbled through the front door and fought for a moment against nature to get it shut.
Peeling off his soaking wet clothes, Garrett made his way up the stairs. He paused in the doorway and stared in at The Toy, still bound by wrists and ankles to the four corners of the bed. Then, he staggered down the hallway to the master bedroom. Crawling into his bed, he wrapped himself in the blankets and drifted off, grateful that, at least for tonight, he could fall asleep to something other than the sounds of the dead.
***
Kirsten listened to the storm outside as it continued to grow stronger. The windows of her bedroom rattled as the wind and rain sustained their onslaught. The flashes of lightning and rumbles of thunder had long since ceased in making her start.
She’d never been afraid of the weather…until now. The world had become a more frightening place; storms—like darkness—held an entire new mystery to them. Something outside clattered on the balcony, but Kirsten couldn’t see what it was.
She lay still, her focus on keeping calm. It did no good to let fear overwhelm her. She needed to keep her head clear. The Big Man had changed in the past few days. In fact, he hadn’t touched her since that day he’d made the bargain resulting in her actually eating her fill. She shuddered involuntarily at what she’d had to do.
It was after she ate that Kirsten realized that The Big Man had just sat quietly. He’d left her be. Even going so far as to let her get up and walk around a bit. She kept waiting for him to spring his trap, but it never happened. After about an hour, he’d tied her back up, but still, this was completely out of character.
Laying in bed, staring at the ceiling, Kirsten felt the kernel of hope begin to sprout anew. What she had to do now was ensure that she watched for the opportunity. Perhaps she could lull The Big Man into making a mistake. She’d finally done that disgusting thing with her mouth that he’d wanted so badly without causing him injury. Maybe he thought that he’d won.
Could it really be that easy? Was it really as simple as pretending that she’d given up fighting? Kirsten thought about it. Since that evening, he hadn’t hurt her, done any of those terrible things to her, or so much as laid a hand on her. Instead, he’d given her water, food—not much, but some—and untied her a few times a day and taken her downstairs to the library which was where he kept the toilet bucket. She hadn’t been forced to lay in her own filth. And, the one day she’d been left alone too long and peed the bed, he’d taken her out back for a bath and let her change the sheets.
She heard the front door open and it startled her back to reality. The door slammed and continued to bang against the wall. The sound of the storm drifted up the stairs and the rain sounded like the television had been turned to a channel of all static and set to full volume.
Another sound struggled to be heard above the storm. It sounded like The Big Man screaming. Kirsten felt a chill that had nothing to do with the wind that now whipped through the house. The storm was unlike anything she’d ever experienced. It dawned on her that perhaps this was a hurricane. If that were the case, it was possible something had happened to the wall. That might mean some of the Monster-people had gotten in; and that scream…had they gotten The Big Man?
Laying in bed helpless was not the way Kirsten wanted to die. She struggled to hear anything that resembled feet coming up the stairs. Dead feet slapping along the hardwood floor of the hallway, coming for her. She considered which would be worse, seeing The Big Man turned into one of the Monster-people walking through that door to eat her, or a bunch of complete strangers?
Kirsten struggled at her bonds. This couldn’t happen. She felt tears well up, stinging her eyes. She lay still again and listened. All she heard now was the door banging, swinging on its hinges as the wind howled and the rain poured. Still no sound of approaching footsteps. In that moment, Kirsten realized she wasn’t actually afraid to die. What she was afraid of was dying helpless.
She renewed her struggles, trying desperately to free just one arm. The tears changed from ones of frustration to those of anger. That feeling welled up and overflowed as she screamed. This couldn’t happen. She couldn’t die this way. Kirsten struggled, feeling the bonds cut into her, but she didn’t care.
The front door slammed and suddenly it seemed almost silent. Even though she could hear the wind outside and the rain hammering against her window, the door being shut cut down on the noise tremendously. Kirsten froze and listened. She was almost positive that the Monster-people wouldn’t have shut the door.
Then, she heard it: footsteps on the stairs.
In strange, awkward sounding thuds, she heard them climb the stairs. Then, after another pause, she heard a sound she could definitely identify; the sound of belted jeans dropping to the floor. So…the break was over. As she’d suspected, it had all been a trick. Well, she would try a trick of her own this time. She would pretend. Yes, Kirsten thought, I’ll make him believe I like him. She swallowed hard and prepared herself, closing her eyes, doing her best to clear her mind.
The footsteps stopped at her doorway. Kirsten took a few deep breaths. She tried to imagine how she should act to make The Big Man think she liked what he did. Then…the footsteps continued down the hall. Tilting her head up, Kirsten stared at the empty doorway. A few minutes later, the sounds of snoring could just be heard above the storm.
Garrett stood in the kitchen. Even here, in the rear of the house, he could hear them. Sleep only came now when complete exhaustion set in. Yesterday, he’d sat down on the steps of the pool intending to wash up. He awoke only when his body slid down the rough concrete stair and his head hit the aluminum handrail.
He tried to go inside to lie down, but it seemed the more he worked at it, the more elusive sleep became. To make matters worse, The Toy was apparently unaffected by the noise, because it had no difficulty sleeping.
As was usually the case anymore when his mind drifted to The Toy, anger began to boil up. It was a physical anger that churned his stomach and made his hands start to tremble. Lately, nothing he did had any visible effect. This would usually be his signal that it was time to swap out and hunt for something new, but he couldn’t actually convince himself that he’d broken this one’s will or spirit. No, he wasn’t being treated with fear and complete submission; this was more like…indifference.
He considered going up there and forcing The Toy to serve him with its mouth; but yesterday, when he’d used the plate of food as enticement, and then eaten it himself…
If he allowed himself to be honest, he feared those teeth. If he was hungry, then that scrawny creature must be starving. He easily ate four meals to every one he allowed it to have.
Garrett shuddered. He could not imagine the pain or just how terrifying it would be to actually be eaten alive. Taking a deep breath, he opened the cupboard. His shoulder slumped at the sight: two cans of beef soup, four cans of green beans, one box of macaroni and cheese, and one bag of unsalted peanuts. T
hat represented the last of the food.
He’d never been terribly bright. It was a fact that he accepted. For the first time in his life, he cursed that aspect of himself. With all of this open ground, he could have easily started a garden. Instead of waiting until supplies were practically depleted, he should have been out there gathering everything he could. And wasting precious space in his backpack by putting booze so high on his list…well…that had perhaps been the stupidest of his mistakes. As if in agreement, his stomach gurgled loudly.
Water certainly wasn’t a problem. There had been plenty on that truck, plus there were the swimming pools and that huge fountain. Besides the fountain—or more accurately the concrete pool at its base—he had set out numerous pots and pans to catch some rain (it didn’t matter that it had been The Toy’s suggestion that he do precisely that). Supposedly, the body could do without food longer than it could without water; at least that’s what The Toy said.
Garrett stared at his meager food stores and let his anger build. His stomach growled even louder, competing with the moans, groans, and cries of the undead gathered around the entirety of the brick wall that surrounded the property. Their desire to feast on him echoed inside his head.
That’s it, Garrett thought. Grabbing a large meat cleaver from one of the drawers, he stormed out of the house, a grim expression etched on his face. Walking up the path, his resolve began to waiver. Hearing them was one thing, but seeing them in such huge numbers pressed against the fence, was another. Their dead faces, horrific injuries, and then there was the stench. It had become so prevalent that he had gotten used to it…somewhat. But after that storm a few nights ago, it had seemed to intensify. Out here, the smell was far worse.
He stopped a few steps away from the gate and stared. The injuries on some of the ones he could see threatened to turn his bowels to liquid. He remembered the sounds of his mother’s screams the night this had all begun. His mother, a woman who had never shed a single tear to his knowledge, had screamed in agony. That, for him, was the most frightening thing he could imagine.
