by DL Barbur
I realized he actually meant it. He actually thought there was some chance he could offer me something that would make me switch sides. That’s when I got pissed. I’d managed to keep it together through being stripped, hooded, and zip-tied to a chair, but when he suggested there was some chance I could join him, that’s when I started seeing red.
“Fuck you, you piece of shit,” I said. “You were Special Forces, then Delta. You’ve got all the skills and access to help people. Those girls you sold? They’re the people guys like you are supposed to protect. You wanna pull my balls off? Fine. You’ll probably even get me to talk. But you think I’m going to join you? Fuck you.”
I wished Al was here. He was so much more articulate than I had been. He would have certainly come up with something more articulate than two “fuck yous” in a row.
It didn’t seem to faze him. He gave me a look like you’d give to an awkward teenager that didn’t know manners. It was part irritation, part pity, and it pissed me off all the more.
“I don’t know how a man of your age and background manages to maintain so much innocence about how the world really works. Do you really think you’re on the side of justice? Bolle has his secrets, just like me.”
“Bolle isn’t planning on blowing up a water reservoir.”
An expression flickered across Todd’s face that I couldn’t quite place. It wasn’t quite a surprise that I knew about Powell Butte. There was something else there that I didn’t understand.
“You need to grow up and make some choices, Miller. You’re either a sheep or a predator. That’s it. You don’t get another choice. The sheep are here to serve the predators.”
“Does it matter to you that the sheep you’re planning on blowing up are Americans?”
He smirked again. “Sheep are sheep, Miller, it doesn’t matter what flavor they are. The people in this country are fat dumb and happy right now, content to be comfortable and entertained. There’s a whole world of hungry people out there that want what we have, and they are willing to take it from us. The American people need to wake up and harden up, and it’s going to take a big statement to pry them away from their bread and circuses. It took Pearl Harbor to wake people up last time, maybe this time it won’t have to be as big.”
“It’s the job of people like you and me to make sure people don’t have to worry about stuff like that.”
“Sounds like you’ve made your choice to be a sheep. You can be just another sacrifice for the greater good. When my work here is done, you can take that plane ride, and I’ll introduce you to some friends.”
With that, he turned on his heel and walked out of the room. I heard snatches of the conversation through the thin walls. I don’t know if it was because I no longer had the hood over my head, or because they weren’t trying as hard to keep their voices down, but I could hear them better now.
“Are the trucks loaded?” Todd asked.
“They are,” another man answered. He sounded older. I wondered if it was Curtis. “Brody and Dolph are going to stay here with your prisoner.”
“Good. Tell them to keep their distance. He’s still dangerous. They need to stick together and remember, no guns around the prisoner. They need to lock them up.”
“Dolph was an MP in the National Guard. He knows what to do.”
“I’m sure.”
I heard feet on the steps outside, then the crunch of gravel. Then several engines started up. At least one of them sounded like a big diesel truck. I listened as they turned around in the gravel outside, then drove off. I could hear the sound of the diesel for a long time.
I could hear two men still talking in what I guessed would be the living room, off to my right. They were being quieter than Todd and Curtis had been. I heard the clank of metal, and the sound of a heavy door closing. Maybe the safe?
My left hand was asleep. I shifted in the chair, trying to find a way to relieve the pressure on the joint and get some feeling back. I tugged experimentally at my bonds. I could break them, but if I was going to do it, I needed to do it soon, before I was numb in all my extremities. I arched my back and heard the chair creak. I had little doubt I could bust this chair in half if I needed to, leaving my arms and legs zip-tied to it. I just needed to find the right opportunity.
I heard the sound of feet on the carpet, so I quit screwing around with my bonds and the chair. Two guys appeared in the hallway outside the door. They were a regular Mutt and Jeff. The little guy was short, shaved head and all tatted up. He had bright little eyes like a weasel and carried a Taser in his hand. He was wearing the regulation Hammerhead uniform of jeans, a flannel shirt, and a green nylon flight jacket.
The other guy was big and doughy, and as soon as I saw his face, I had him pegged for a victim of Fetal Alcohol Syndrome. His nose was upturned and had a flat nasal bridge. His upper lip was so thin it was almost nonexistent, and the little divot most people have between their upper lip and nose, called the philtrum, wasn’t there. He had a dull, vacant look I’d come to associate with people of low mental function. Unusual for most people with FAS, he was big, and there looked like there were some muscles underneath all that flab. He wore a pair of dirty-looking jeans, and his belly hung out of a t-shirt with a picture of a zombie on it. He was carrying a folding metal chair. He unfolded it clumsily and sat down.
The smaller guy pressed the Taser into his hand.
“Here, Brody. Just like Curtis said. You sit here with this in your hand and if he tries to escape you shoot him with this.”
Since the big guy was Brody, the little guy must be Dolph. He seemed to enjoy being in charge. He gave me an evil little grin and walked out of my view, back towards the living room. I didn’t like the looks of him. He was a type I recognized. I’d known way too many guys like him in the military. They were always supply clerks or motor pool guys, but they acted like they were commando throat slitters. I bet Dolph had a sizable gun collection and an affinity for big, cheap knives he bought at truck stops and gun shows. He probably told people that didn’t know any better he had been some kind of Special Forces operator. He probably knew better than try that on Curtis and Todd, but I would have bet money even his claim of being an MP was an exaggeration.
Brody just sat there, slack-jawed, with the Taser pointed at me. His finger was on the trigger and I hoped he didn’t discharge the damn thing by accident. I had been shocked with a Taser entirely too many times lately.
“What am I supposed to do, Dolph? Just sit here?” Brody asked.
“Yeah. Just keep an eye on him. I’ll come relieve you after a while.” Dolph’s voice came from the front of the trailer. It sounded like he was rummaging around the kitchen.
“But I can see his pecker!” Brody’s voice was a plaintive whine. He sounded more like a little kid than an adult.
“You don’t have to look at his pecker. You just have to shock him if he tries to escape.” Dolph sounded exasperated. I wondered exactly what his relationship to Brody was.
I just sat there and stared at Brody. He added a whole new layer of complication to things. I wanted to escape and was planning on going out of my way to at least maim, if not cheerfully kill, anybody that got in my way. But Brody was a special case. He was pointing a Taser at me, but I was willing to bet he had a borderline IQ. I’d run into guys like him before, had even arrested more than a few for doing some pretty awful things. I wasn’t exactly a bleeding heart liberal, especially compared to quite a few people in Portland, but I always wondered how much people like Brody were responsible for their actions.
“Stop looking at me. I don’t want you to look at me,” Brody said. He lifted the Taser up higher, and I actually saw his finger tighten a little on the trigger.
I dropped my gaze to the floor in front of me. It gave me an excuse to shift in my chair. My feet were tingling a little, but my right arm was fine. It was my left hand that was bothering me. I’d had intermittent circulation and nerve problems ever since I got cut, and right now it felt like a
flipper hanging off the end of my arm.
“Sweet Jesus, there’s no food in here fit for a man to eat!” Dolph yelled from the kitchen. “This bologna looks like it’s ready to grow legs and walk off.”
“Curtis ain’t been around much,” Brody said. “I’ve been hungry a lot. I’m hungry right now.”
So Curtis and Brody both lived here? What were they? Brothers?
I heard the tread of Dolph’s cowboy boots across the linoleum of the kitchen floor, then heard the sound change when he hit the hallway carpet. He appeared in the doorway and stood there with his hands in his pockets. I felt his beady little eyes on me but didn’t lift my head to meet his gaze.
“He’s a big son of a bitch, isn’t he? Doesn’t look so tough all tied to a chair like that though.”
“I don’t like him,” Brody said. “I think you should shoot him like we did the other guy. Then we can get in your truck and go get a chicken bucket.”
Dolph cuffed Brody on the back of the head, and I tensed, waiting for the Taser barbs to embed themselves in my skin. Somehow Brody managed not to pull the trigger.
“Shut your mouth, Brody. You know we ain’t supposed to talk about that.”
Dolph stepped into the room, partially blocking Brody’s shot. I calculated whether I should make my move now. With any luck, Brody would shoot Dolph in the ass with the Taser, and simplify my problems a little bit.
“It’s going to be hours before Mr. Todd’s people get here to take this fellow off our hands. I don’t much like the idea of sitting here starving while we wait. We can’t shoot him, but I do like your idea of a chicken bucket. You sit here and keep an eye on him. I’m gonna take the truck and I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
“He scares me,” Brody whined.
Dolph took a step forward. He was uncomfortably close. I kept my head down. I wanted to break out of the chair and wrap my hands around his scrawny little neck, but I held off. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Was he really going to leave me alone here with Brody?
“Oh, I don’t think you need to be scared. He’s a big old man but he ain’t gonna go nowhere. He’s buck naked and barefoot. His shit is pretty wea.k”
There was something in his voice I didn’t like, and involuntarily I looked up. Brody’s eyes were dilated and he had a smile on his face that creeped me out.
“Me and you will have some fun when I get back, don’t you worry. I can’t shoot you like Brody wants, but I got some latitude about what shape you’re in when we hand you over to Mr. Todd. I got plans for you.”
I realized two things. One, that I was right at eye level with Dolph’s belt buckle. Two, that evidence of his plans was evident right at about belt buckle level. Shit.
It was a struggle to not bust the chair and launch myself at him then, but instead, I just dropped my head and stared at the floor. Dolph took another step forward, and for just half a second, rubbed himself against the top of my head. I stifled a growl that built in the back of my throat. I could maybe take both of them now, but my odds were much better if I waited until Brody was alone.
Dolph gave a little giggle, then stepped back out into the hall.
“See, Brody, big guys like that think they’re tough, but you can make them your bitch if you want.”
With that, he all but skipped down the hall. I heard him whistling as he crunched his way across the pavement. Then a car door slammed and he drove off.
“How long does it take to go get a chicken bucket anyway?” I asked Brody. It was worth a shot.
“It’s down by the gas station,” Brody answered. “Hey. You ain’t supposed to talk to me. Be quiet.”
He shook the Taser for emphasis. That didn’t exactly answer my question. I didn’t know how much time I had, but I needed to err on the side of guessing Dolph would be back soon.
“You know that guy that you saw Curtis and Dolph shoot? He isn’t really dead.”
“Curtis and Dolph didn’t shoot him. I did. Curtis tole me to do it. Let me use his favorite gun. The man’s head went splat all over.”
Jesus. They were using Brody as their executioner. If they ever did get caught, that would make a fine legal mess.
“You ain’t supposed to talk to me. Shut up, I don’t want to talk about that.”
I let it ride for a minute. Brody was agitated. He was clearly scared to be alone here with me. I wanted to build on that fear just enough to occupy his mind, but not enough that he just went ahead and Tased me.
I started scraping a fingernail on my right hand against the chair.
“Stop that. I don't like that noise,” Brody said.
I quit for a minute, waited for him to lower the Taser and watched his breathing slow down. Then I started scratching the chair again.
“I said stop it!”
“It isn’t me Brody. That’s the guy you killed.”
“Nuh uh. He’s dead. I saw his brains, and me and Dolph put him down in a hole.”
“He clawed his way out of the earth, Brody. He’s a zombie. He looks just like the one on your shirt.”
He actually looked down at his shirt for half a second, and I almost went for it then, but his head, and the Taser snapped back up like they were on puppet strings.
“You’re lying. He ain’t no zombie.”
I was flexing and relaxing all my muscles, trying to limber up. I guessed I’d been in the chair for a couple of hours. My left arm was a lost cause, but everything else was as good as it was going to get. I made sure the locking bar on the zip ties around my wrists was as close to the center as I could get it. They were on pretty tight, but I still managed to roll them around on my wrists until I had the locking bar where I wanted it.
I started to scratch the chair again.
“Stop it!”
I shook my head. I wanted him used to me moving.
“It isn’t me, Brody. It’s the zombie. That’s him scratching at the front door now.”
This was it. Brody looked involuntarily to his left. I stood, popping my arms up towards my shoulders, keeping my wrists close together as I did. The zip ties bit into my skin and broke. I lunged towards Brody.
I didn’t manage to break the chair or break the zip ties around my ankles. I flopped forward right as he triggered the Taser and the probes flew over my head. I landed half in Brody’s lap with my elbows on his knees. He looked down, confused.
I reached up, grabbed the back of his neck with my right hand, and rolled, peeling him out of the chair. We both landed on the floor, side by side. I drove my right thumb into his eye and he squealed. His hands flew to his face, and I managed to roll over onto my stomach, fighting against the chair that was still zip-tied to my lower legs.
My left hand was still numb, and I had no fine motor control, but I could still slap it like a big flipper into Brody’s groin. He shrieked and grabbed his crotch. I used that as an opportunity to roll him so he was facing away from me, then snaked my right hand between his neck and the carpet, so I could wrap my forearm around his neck.
It was the world’s sloppiest choke. If he’d had the slightest bit of skill he could have dropped his chin and rolled out of it. I had my right arm tight against his neck, but my grip on the back of his head with my left was weak, and I couldn’t wrap my legs around him because they were still zip-tied to the chair. He made the mistake of an untrained person: he tried to pull my arm away from his neck with both hands. He wouldn’t have won that contest on a good day, and it didn’t help that my arms were slick with my own blood from busting the zip ties. Also, my fear of being corn holed by Dolph when he returned was fueling my adrenaline rush.
I increased the pressure on his carotid arteries. The harder he fought, the quicker he was depriving his brain of oxygen. He made one last effort, digging his fingernails into my arms, then his heels drummed on the floor and he was still. I held the choke on for a few seconds more. I wanted to make sure he was out, but I didn’t want to kill him. I’d made that mistake before. I’d held a choke on
a man for too long and killed him by accident. As messed up as Brody was, most of this wasn’t his fault, and I wanted to give him a shot at living.
I let go of him and fought to sit up. The zip tie holding my right leg came off easy. I fought with the one on my left, twisting, and turning and giving myself a nasty gash before it finally came loose.
On wobbly legs, I managed to stand. I took stock. My left hand had gone from being numb to feeling like it was being jabbed with a thousand little needles, but I could use it. My right wrist and left leg were bleeding, from where the zip ties had dug into my skin, but I’d live. Brody was on the floor, snoring, he wouldn’t be out for much longer. I needed to find something to secure him with.
I heard the crunch of feet on gravel, then the front screen door banged.
Shit.
I’d been so focused on Brody, I hadn’t even heard the truck pull up. It was called auditory exclusion. It happened under stress, and it was no one’s friend.
“Brody? What the fuck!” I heard Dolph yell. Dolph was no doubt looking at Brody’s overturned chair in the hallway, but not seeing Brody.
I looked around for the Taser. It was probably lying somewhere in the piles of clothes and stacks of comic books, but I couldn’t see it.
“Brody? You better not be fucking around.”
Dolph was getting closer. Popping out into the narrow hallway and charging him wasn’t a bright idea. I assumed he had a gun. He could close his eyes and jerk the trigger and still hit me in the narrow hallway.
I looked for some kind of weapon. The room was too small to swing the busted chair.
The door opened in and to the right. The bed would be on Dolph’s left.
There was a narrow space behind the open door. I slid back there, looking about for a weapon. I grabbed one of the baseballs off the wall rack. It was better than nothing.
“Brody? I’m gonna kick your ass.” Dolph was right outside the door.
