Anathema

by Bowman, Lillian

  I tried to be a good person. I tried to do something good. I wanted to help people, help the world. So many things have backfired, but here I am at this critical moment, and it’s here before me again. A choice. Do I do the right thing or do I retreat?

  “I want a guarantee they’ll be safe. An absolute guarantee.” My voice sounds steadier than I feel.

  “Kathryn!” It’s not Amanda’s voice this time. It’s Alexander’s. He’s left the school, and I glance back fleetingly to see them both starting towards me. I don’t have much time.

  “Cross my heart, hope to die,” Wolfman Savage says, hand over his heart, his eyes on mine. “I absolutely guarantee safety to them both for the remainder of this day.”

  Now or never. I do this now or never. Footsteps are pounding up behind me. I’m already moving towards the gate

  “KATHRYN, DON’T!” Alexander shouts at me, so close, but he’s too far to stop me.

  The thought rushes through my head: I’m sorry, Mom and Dad. I spring forward, fling up the latch of the fence and shove my way through it. One yank slams it closed behind me with a fierce rattle.

  For a split second, the wind pounds my face, the sunlight glares in my eyes, and it registers in my head that I am officially off school grounds. My gaze flies behind me through the gap of metal links. Alexander is still sprinting towards me, and for a breathtaking instance, I see the anguish on his face. Beyond him, Amanda is already screaming at the shadows swimming across the concrete, hunters converging upon me.

  And then Death’s Disciples descend.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  I expect to die immediately. I expect it to hurt. My eyes squeeze shut. Then a massive weight slams my jaw, hurling me to the ground.

  Concrete scrapes my arms, my knees, and a foot sinks into my side, cracking something, driving the breath from me, sending acid shooting up my throat. A sharp, sickening pain registers, stabbing at me over and over. It’s not a knife, though. My breath returns in a sudden gush, and I’m gasping, groaning. My arms clutch my ribs. There are faces flashing in the sunlight above me, kneeling over me, voices shouting.

  “Don’t kill her yet.”

  “Back off, Hartman! We’re taking her to—”

  “Not yet, Savannah!” A hand catches the wrist of the slim blonde woman, whose blade flashes down until it’s inches from my eyes. “No fun yet.”

  I squint against the sunlight, and then there are hands dragging me, hauling me to my feet. Pulling me along, all of Deaths’ Disciples closing in on me, a wall of bodies. And then the fence springs open and I shout out, “No, don’t!” But it’s too late, and Alexander has already hurled himself through. He’s off school grounds now, too.

  His blade arcs out, sinking into the nearest hunter’s side. There are too many, though. Even for him. I struggle futilely against the powerful arms around me, screaming at Wolfman Savage, “You swore he’d be safe! You swore it!”

  My voice is lost in the cacophony of shouts, threats. I glimpse Alexander now as I’m dragged away from him. There’s a twine of wire around his throat. Two people have his arms, but he’s putting up a fight. He sinks a kick into someone else’s stomach, catches someone else across the face.

  “No!” The shout rips from my throat. “No, let him go! Let him go”

  Then Alexander is down, lost beneath the swarm of attackers. I see the large man with earrings raise a sword. I scream in horror—but then Wolfman Savage leans forward and swipes the man’s blade aside with his own.

  “Stop,” Wolfman Savage orders.

  The man rears back, red-faced, furious.

  I stop fighting whoever’s holding me, watching with my heart in my throat as I’m dragged step by step from the scene. My urgent gaze is fixed on what’s happening, on the hunters gathered over Alexander. Wolfman Savage looks down at Alexander where he’s still trying to rise. He gives a laugh, and then with a brutal kick, knocks Alexander back inside the fence.

  “Stay in there for your own good, boy,” Wolfman Savage says. “Count yourself lucky.” He shuts the fence himself, then whips around. His hands are upraised in his leather jacket, and he ignores the objections of the rest of Death’s Disciples, saying cheerfully, “A deal’s a deal. We have our girl.”

  My legs give out. It worked. It worked. I didn’t give up my life for nothing. Wolfman Savage’s grinning face swivels towards me and he makes a move-along gesture with his hand, signaling the person holding me.

  A sharp pain jabs my arm. I look down in time to see a needle compressing, and suddenly I’m on the ground, blackness teetering around me. Laughter fills my ears, and then darkness pulls me under.

  Someone is groaning in pain. There’s a dull stabbing moving down my side. I try to raise my eyelids, but they seem to weigh a thousand pounds.

  “Easy there. Easy does it.”

  A familiar voice. One that sends knots coiling in my stomach. I don’t recognize it.

  A glass presses against my lips. My throat is like sandpaper. I swallow the water down. A hand cups the back of my head.

  “That’s right. Drink up.”

  My eyes finally open, unfocused, the world a blur. And then Wolfman Savage’s gleaming white grin registers. Adrenaline jolts me upright.

  I scream out in shocked pain at the stabbing sensation down my side. Sitting next to me at the edge of my sickbed, Wolfman Savage smiles and shakes his head. “Careful there. One of our hunters is a surgeon, he says your ribs have a hairline fracture. Not my choice. I told my boys not to bust you up too early. We haven’t even had a chance to talk yet.”

  I stare at Wolfman Savage, appalled, remembering what happened.

  “What… where…” I’ve pressed back as far from him as I can get, my heart fluttering wildly in my chest. There’s a tight bandage around my torso. Why hasn’t he just killed me yet? Why is he drawing this out?

  “We had to knock you out a few hours, get setup. It’s time to play now.”

  “Where is this place?” I demand looking around.

  “Cozy little beachside house. We rented it out for the killing part.”

  “Um. Oh.” I can hear the waves pounding the shore. Killing. Killing. That’s right. My death is right before me.

  My gaze flies towards the window, the pitch black night outside. I don’t know how long I’ve been unconscious. For all I know, we’re right near my house and I have no idea. My parents might hear me from the house if I scream loud enough.

  “It gets boring for our eleven million YouTube subscribers if we just kill anathemas the same way every time,” Wolfman Savage tells me. “We try to spice things up. Make the hunts look more interesting. We even build sets, obstacle courses, that sort of thing. Today we’ve got a sand maze. It took a lot of work. You better appreciate it!” Then he laughs at his own joke.

  I find myself thinking of his videos again. The first ones, the early ones before Death’s Disciples gained fame, were all similar to Savage Death on Courthouse Steps. The guild always attacked as one, tore their victims apart as Wolfman Savage howled.

  Now that I think about it, though, the later ones did become more elaborate. Chases through boggy marshes, across rocky countryside, always ending in the brutal destruction of the anathema. Apparently even blood thirsty audiences needed more than gore to keep them entertained.

  “First thing’s first. I have this hunch one little schoolgirl didn’t massacre all those Showdown folks. Who did it?”

  “Why should I tell you anything?” I say, my teeth gritted. “You kill me no matter what.”

  His smile is malevolent. It brings out the thin white scar over his eyebrow. “You know these people in my crew? Some of them are real sick freaks.”

  “You’re one to talk.”

  “Hey, I’m a businessman. I have a public image.”

  “You eat people’s hearts!”

  He rolls his eyes. “Someone cuts open the chest, and yanks it out, then sure, I’ll make a big show for the cameras of holding it up, parading arou
nd with it. That’s not blood on my lips, though. Ketchup, cranberry sauce, I just smear it like this.” He rubs his hand over his mouth. “If it was blood, who knows what diseases I could get. You’d be surprised what I can do to convince people I’m as crazy my boys are. Nah, they’re sick puppies who kill for fun. I just do it for the money, the endorsements.”

  “Then you’re worse than they are.” My voice shakes. The wall presses into my back. “They’re seriously mentally ill. You’re just a greedy sociopath.”

  He just seems amused. “Let’s say you’re right, and I am a bad guy. Here’s why you should tell me if there any other anathemas worth hunting down while I’m here.” He leans back, twisting his wedding ring back and forth on his ring finger. “See, one of my guys, Bowman, he just likes to sever the carotid artery, see girls bleed out. But my wife out there, Savannah? She likes to tape up mouths and noses, let them thrash until they’re about to suffocate, then pull the tape off. And do it over and over and over again.”

  My stomach turns.

  “I’ve got this crew around me because we make good money together, and because they’re all sick freaks. They all get a turn at a kill, their way, their method.” He bares his teeth in a smile. “I decide which of them kills you tonight. That means I decide how awful it’s gonna be. So this is your chance to buy an easy exit. Give me names. Who killed the Showdown folks? I need some new anathemas to hunt.”

  I swallow hard. I’m dead anyway. Whatever happens, it’s going to be awful. All I can decide now is who to bring with me. I’m tempted to name Liam, but I’m worried that if the Wasters get in Wolfman Savage’s crosshairs, they’ll have nothing left to lose. They’ll have no reason not to kill Alexander and Noelle, anyway.

  “I didn’t know their names. They were just passing through town and I made a deal with them to bring them the Showdown people. I think… I think they were anathemas like me. But I’m not sure. It really was me. I was the mastermind.”

  “You sure about that?”

  “I’m positive,” I say firmly.

  I expect him to be upset. But Wolfman Savage just breaks into a ferocious smile. “Good girl. That’s all I needed you to say.”

  He strides over to a side table, and turns off a camera. It occurs to me dully that he just filmed that. That when he uploads his vide of my murder to YouTube, my confession will be there with it. Just for audience entertainment.

  He rubs his hands together and turns to me. “You know, I think I’ll give you to McNeely and his chainsaw.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  Death’s Disciples are all about setting the scene. I’m dragged out the back door and onto the beach, where there’s a hastily constructed maze of sand dug out of the beach. Lights are strategically positioned along the balcony behind the house, pouring bright rays across the field of combat. I caught a glimpse of my reflection as I passed through the house: makeup was plastered on my face while I was unconscious. Heavy, dark stuff that gives me a smoky-eyed vixen look. I’m in a slinky red dress I never would have dared to wear to the school dance tonight. They’ve dressed me up like a villainess on a TV show.

  Savage’s wife, the murderess Savannah, halts me at the last minute to arrange my hair. For a disconcerting moment, I’m reminded of my mom cutting it… was it just two weeks ago? But Savannah’s eyes are dilated, strangely murky like she’s on some sort of drug. She’s breathing so fast, I can hear it over the waves.

  “Excited, sweetie?”

  I stare at her. I’m about to die horribly. Why would I be excited?

  I’m marched before a table strewn with weapons, and lights are blaring into my eyes again.

  “Pick a weapon,” Savannah orders me, watching eagerly.

  I freeze up, eyeing her warily. Is she serious?

  “You get a chance to fight back,” she says. “We’re going to spread out through the maze.” Her grin is savage. “Don’t worry, we don’t get to kill you. McNeely and his chainsaw get to do that.”

  An array of chainsaws, whips, swords, daggers and other weapons I don’t even recognize are sprawled on the table before me. My eyes raise automatically up to the balcony behind the house, where Wolfman Savage stands framed against the light from inside. He has a drink in hand, and he raises it to me. My gaze roves to the sides, the wind whipping cold and fierce through my hair. Light spills from nearby beach houses, even a restaurant. Curious onlookers are dark silhouettes, gazing down, ready for a show. They must’ve spent the day simmering in anticipation over this. I’m sure construction of the sand maze on the beach attracted some notice.

  “Just grab something,” Savannah urges me.

  Somewhere in that maze, there are cameras ready to snap images of me for YouTube. Wolfman Savage’s band of serial killers waits, with their own sadistic methods of destroying someone. But my fate is already set. I have no chance against any of these people. I find myself staring at the window leading from the beach to the basement. My own reflection swims in it, a vixenish girl in a scarlet dress standing over a table of weapons. A dangerous anathema who has already confessed her murderous ways, destined to die after an exciting hunt by brave hunters fighting for justice.

  Sickness curdles up inside me. That’s the reason for the makeup, this dress. The elaborate setup. I have no power in this situation. I don’t even choose my murderer. It’s going to be some psycho named McNeely with his chainsaw. They’re making me perform like a puppet in their sick little game with its predetermined outcome.

  The only power I have left lies in a single choice: do I play my part?

  And I won’t.

  “No.” I step back from the table.

  The lithe blonde stares at me, astounded, then anger contorts her face. “I said pick a weapon!”

  “No,” I repeat. The icy ocean breeze chills my skin. I can still feel the onlookers gazing down from the other beachside properties. Wolfman Savage is looking down expectantly, waiting for his moment to dance around my body and howl. I can’t change any of this, I can’t stop them, but I will never, never agree to play this sick game.

  Savannah’s hand lashes out. Her backhand catches me across the cheek, whips me around to the ground. “Pick a weapon!”

  “No!” I scream at her from where I’ve fallen in the sand. “I won’t do this. I can’t stop you from killing me, but you don’t get to hunt me. I’m not performing for you. All you get is an execution.”

  There is a silence, and then footsteps beat down the stairs, Wolfman Savage bellowing for an explanation. A few of his killers wander out of the maze, one in his hockey mask, chainsaw in hand. Another with what looks like a pair of pliers, another with a hot poker. I tear my gaze from them and stay kneeling there in the sand, my fingers curling around the fine grains.

  “Get up.” It’s Wolfman Savage.

  “No.”

  This time, I’m hit with something that draws a bright, hot scorch-mark across my back. The scream tears from my throat, but I screw my eyes shut and stay right there.

  “You stupid girl, what are you doing?” Wolfman Savage’s voice grows coaxing. “Don’t you want a chance to live? To fight back?”

  But I am not playing this game. I won’t legitimize what they’re doing here by going along with it. I am going to die on my terms. More shouts split the air, and I realize they’re not coming from Wolfman Savage or Death’s Disciples—but from distant onlookers.

  “Where’s the fighting?”

  “Come on already, we’ve been waiting for hours!”

  Wolfman Savage yanks me up by the hair. “Get up!”

  A yelp splits my lips as he drags me towards the maze and shoves me back down. He throws a machete at my feet. I set my jaw. I don’t touch it.

  “GET UP!”

  And then he charges forward and sinks a kick into my side. Pain explodes through me, a shriek escaping my lips. Even through the pain, though, I feel a certain grim triumph. I’ve just discovered that my will is iron and even these terrifying hunters can’t break it
. Wolfman Savage keeps trying. He smashes his boot down on my throat and presses, cutting my air off. He stalks away. Then there’s a hiss of a whip and a burning slash across my skin. I shout and cry but I don’t pick up the machete. He stomps down on my left hand and tiny bones crack painfully. He kicks the machete towards me again, but I still don’t take it. I won’t cooperate in this sick game, however much pain they cause me.

  Whatever they do to me, whatever, I know I am winning. I am winning this. It bubbles through me, a hot, victorious triumph, because they don’t own my will. No matter what they do, no matter how much those people up there complain or whine, my actions belong to me.

  Then Wolfman Savage kneels at my side, so close I can smell his aftershave. “If you don’t get up and fight, this is no fun. I’m going to kill you as slowly and painfully as I can.”

  “Do it, then,” I rasp. “Execute me. I’m not fighting.”

  He grabs my arms so hard, his hands seem ready to crush my bones. His eyes are wild, crazed. “Do you want me to just stab you here? Just kill you dead right now?”

  Even now, he won’t get my consent to any of this. There is a strange hush on the air now. “I won’t fight. What part of that don’t you understand? All those YouTube subscribers have to settle for a grown man killing a defenseless teenaged girl in cold blood. I won’t play anathema for your entertainment!”

  “Fine. Fine, that’s what happens here, then.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a large hunting knife. I stare straight ahead as he raises it into the air, because this is the moment. This is it right here. I am about to die. I accept it. It’s on my terms. My terms. My heart pounds furiously, the blood and adrenaline and rage and fear mingling inside me, waiting.

  My terms.

  The blade swings down—but it never touches me. Suddenly our surroundings plunge into darkness. Silence ripples over the beach. People murmur, confusion rippling over the crowds above us. The beach is totally black.