"Don't bother," he said to Marty. "I'm not done."
The Beast stood over her. "You made a mistake coming here. You had to know that. It doesn't matter if I kill you or not; if you're here, you can't seal them. I win." He crouched down next to her, gripping her chin. "If you're here, I torture you. I win." He dug his nails into her skin and she tried futilely to twist away. " If you're here, I impale you and disembowel you and burn you for the Promo, and the world believes you are gone, and I do it all over again day in and day out for my own pleasure. Again: I win."
She gathered a well's worth of spit in her mouth and let it go. It struck him on the nose, where it drooled down to his lips before he bothered to wipe it away. When he did, he smeared it over her mouth.
"That's all the spit you're gonna get, angel, and before I'm anywhere near done with you, you will be begging me for that smear you so callously tossed away. You should have kept it. You're going to need it."
He gave her neck one final squeeze that made her voice box crush against the back of her throat. She wheezed air into her nose but it got trapped at the back of her mouth. He held her gaze for several long moments, almost as though he was trying to prove to himself that she would live, and then he let go. He pulled his suit jacket back down in place and squared his shoulders.
"Take her to the cell, Marty. I'm sure you'll know which one will suit her best."
Chapter 22
They dropped her in a cell wide enough to fit two narrow cots and a slop bucket then slammed the steel door behind her. She fell inside with such force, she swore she cracked another rib. The pain of it screeched up her throat to make her gag. She lay shivering on the floor in the gloom, hugging herself to calm the trembling. The concrete was dry at least, if not cold, and she had enough light from the narrow window that she wasn't in utter darkness. She'd just lay there then. It felt good to rest, actually. She didn't think she had the energy to crawl over to one of the cots and pull herself onto it. So right there on the floor between the two cots was as good a spot as any.
She curled into a ball, thinking how cool the floor felt on her heated cheeks. At least they hadn't stripped her, so the cool air didn't make her shiver too badly. The metal legs of the cot next to her were nearly rusted through and it looked as if she could blow on it and knock it over. She told herself to remember how fortunate she'd felt in the early days after the Apocalypse when she'd found her little concrete grotto. It kept her safe from the elements even if it didn't keep her safe from attack and assault. She'd been happy to have it, then. This wasn't so much different.
She had lain there for a while before she realized she wasn't alone. She wasn't sure what had alerted her, and at first she held her breath, wondering if she had actually heard something or if it was her own movements that met her ears. Another sound came, that of a rheumy sort of breathing, and she traced the source to the cot behind her.
She rolled over onto her back, craning her neck upwards. What she had imagined was a ball of blankets piled onto the cot was actually a person. A very red and inflamed and hairless person based on the forearm that lay on the edge.
"Come to gloat, issat it, mung?" There was a throaty noise that sounded as dry as kindling scratching together, and Theda realized it was laughter.
Theda followed the arm to the shoulder and then to the neck that peeked out from beneath the heap of charred rags. Seeing Kat and the result of the fire she had sent flaming over herself as well as Cain, Theda dug deep to find just one more surge of energy to fuel her legs. She pushed herself to her hands and knees and gripped the edge of the cot, using it to pull herself to a weak stand.
She looked down at the seeping mess of the woman's skin. "Some protection," was all she could think to say.
"Issa flesh wound," Kat said. "I'll be good as new soon enough."
Theda heard the wheezing in the woman's voice, and she doubted the words were more than bravado.
"I would've thought they'd bring you to a hospital," she said, sinking down onto the edge of the opposite cot. It was hard and lumpy, no doubt a mattress left over from Army surplus, but it felt good enough that she sighed. She caught the woman looking at her.
"He's not what you think," she told Kat.
"Don't matter."
"I suppose not." Theda swung her legs onto the bed and eased herself down onto her back so she could stare at the ceiling. She couldn't look at the grisly mess anymore. They hadn't bothered to change the general from her burned clothing. No doubt the woman was only burned as far down as her belly, but seeing it reminded her of what Cain must look like.
"Does it hurt?" she asked.
"Like a bitch."
"Good."
Theda wanted to fall asleep, dream perhaps; at least then she could find some escape from reality. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine all of the things she might be doing if she were free, but all that would creep to her mind was either a horrific image of Cain as a burnt mess like the woman next to her, or a memory of Ezekiel and his touch. Once again, he'd abandoned her, but this time she didn't feel betrayed by it. This time, she understood that Ezekiel really had done it for her safety. He'd realized what she had only just come to know: that there was no escaping what was to come. But while Ezekiel had believed that if he was ignorant of her whereabouts, the Beast couldn't use him to harm her, she knew that it was really Ezekiel who needed to be saved.
The Beast could hurt her, yes, but he couldn't rid the world of her. The best he could do was keep her from sealing the chosen ones by imprisoning her here.
And, besides, Cain was out there, regenerating. He'd find them. And either with Ezekiel or without him, she would make it her mission to find the rest of the chosen and seal them against harm. Then the wrath of the god could come, and this stinking cesspool the Beast called New Earth could be cleansed and people like poor Salima, the girl who so badly wanted a redo back in the spitters' den, wouldn't have to suffer the worst of mankind's evils again. It almost sounded ridiculously zealous, and Theda caught herself smiling at the irony of it all. Imagine: Theda the drug addict, the abandoned-by-the-god derelict, the girl who survived the Apocalypse by selling religious visions without truly believing in the hope they offered actually finding some divine purpose.
It could have been hours that she lay there listening to the rattling breathing of the woman in the cot next to her. She tried to wait it out, that sense of indignation, that murderous rage that crept into her chest, telling her that if she couldn't be free, that she could at least take vengeance.
She found herself standing without realizing she'd got up. She was aware of lashless eyes staring up at her, a bald pate shining in the hall light that streamed in through the single window in the door. Something in the back of her mind took note of the painful way the lips curled back over white teeth. More than that, she didn't process. Her hands went of their own accord to the woman's neck, found the wound there that Cain had inflicted with the ice pick. As Theda's fingers went around the back of Kat's throat, her thumb went into the wound, and she squeezed. She squeezed as hard as she could, until the sweat broke out on her forehead, until she thought it was strange how Kat wasn't even fighting to beat the hands away. The entire time, all Kat did was keep her gaze. She didn't blink. She didn't try to resist.
"Fight me, damn you," Theda growled. "You fucking demon bitch. Fight."
Drool trickled into the corner of Kat's mouth and then sent a wet trail down the inflamed skin of her cheek.
Theda let go and pulled her hands back as though they had been burned by Kat's skin. The woman wheezed out a chuckle.
"It's because you don't deserve a quiet death," Theda told her. "That's all. Don't kid yourself."
She sank back down onto her cot and curled into herself, facing the wall.
When she woke again later, it was in the same position. At first, she wasn't sure what had rattled her from her slumber, but when she heard Marty's voice, she realized it was because someone was in the room with them. Without
thinking about how much it would hurt, she shot to a sitting position, ready to scramble, ready to bite, ready to gouge at eyes, to do whatever she had to do.
She wasn't ready to see Marty emptying the slop bucket onto the half-recumbent Kat. The general had obviously gotten up at some point, made water, and then managed her way back to the cot.
"What are you doing?" Theda demanded, grabbing the bucket from him.
"She wanted us to empty it," he said, then looked down at Kat. "It's empty," he said.
"That's disgusting. You'll give her an infection."
He pushed Theda hard enough that she fell backwards onto her cot. "You say that like it's a problem."
"It will be a problem for you soon enough," she said.
"From who? The boss? If he cared, the bitch wouldn't be here."
Theda stole a glance at Kat and noticed the way the woman was trying to look away. She wasn't holding anyone's gaze. Theda threw the bucket to the floor. It struck the far wall with a resounding clang.
"Maybe he doesn't care, but I'm quite sure she has a long memory."
He shrugged. "Time is a subjective thing for her now."
"At least clean her up so I don't get sick."
He looked her over and nodded at his comrade. Five silent moments later, the comrade pulled in a hose that snaked out into the hall. Fire hose, Theda realized. Enough to peel the skin off a burn victim. Without thinking, she threw herself in front of the stream when they turned it on, and the force of it thrust her backwards onto Kat's cot. She felt the woman clutch at her wrist, holding her like a shield. The two horsemen satisfied themselves after several seconds and left, closing the door with a clang.
Theda had to heave herself back to her feet, and wobble to her cot, soaking and shaking from cold.
"I told you you'd end up smelling like piss at some point," she said to Kat then rolled onto her side, hoping sleep would come and dampen the sound of the woman's clogged breathing.
She did sleep. And she woke with a hand over her mouth.
Chapter 23
She struggled against the palm that sealed her lips, pressing them together so hard she thought her front teeth had drawn blood. No sooner had she started fighting back, then she realized her hands were also pinned beneath her back, that a solid weight on her chest held her against the mattress. It was pitch black in the cell and she felt her eyes straining to see what was accosting her. Panic bloomed like a thorny vine in her chest.
A rasp of sound against her ear sent a chill down her neck. "Quiet."
Like Hell. Theda groaned against the hand, trying to force some sound through their fingers. Instead, the fingers squeezed tighter still, clamping into her cheeks, the thumb shoving into her left nostril, pinching off even more air.
The dry husk of sound came again to her ear, and it was no less commanding than the first time.
"Be still."
She tasted blood and something else as she worked her mouth around the palm, trying to break free. Was it char, smoke?
As Theda realized it was Kat holding her down with her seeping, boiled and burned hands, her stomach recoiled and she dry heaved, bucking so that she ended up wrapping herself around Kat's knee.
"You want them to take you, issat it?" Kat demanded, pushing with her knee hard enough that Theda straightened back out.
Theda dug her head into the mattress, forcing it back and forth in answer. She could hear a sound in the darkness that could have been Kat grunting her satisfaction. Theda went limp, because the woman was still ferociously strong, and struggling was painful.
The next Theda knew, the woman had placed her mouth against the crest of Theda's cheek, the teeth grazing her skin in an almost intimate fashion. Theda froze beneath the sensation. Then excruciating pain fired its way down her jaw and up into to her temple as Kat bit down into the flesh. Theda screamed into Kat's hand until she had no air left to feed her consciousness.
When her eyes fluttered open next, light was streaming in again through the door's narrow window. Her cheek was on fire and she knew before she even lifted her fingers to explore the skin that she hadn't dreamed the assault. She swallowed as quietly as she could, turning to see whether or not the woman was on her feet and whole. If she was standing over top of her, waiting.
Kat lay on her bunk face up. From the angle, Theda could see one perfect shell of ear unburned and pink, but rather than looking as though it were healing, it looked like it had never been touched by the flame in the first place. The wheezing of Kat's breath had turned to a rattle.
From the corner of her eye, Theda caught sight of someone outside the door. Marty again. He worked the lock for several seconds before he pulled the door open. He stood in the door frame while his comrade stood just behind him wearing riot gear and holding the hose.
"Let's see what we have," he said, spreading his feet hip-width apart and planting his hands on his hips. Theda watched him examining Kat and took note of the look of disgust that replaced the initial one of trepidation on his face. He'd obviously been worried the woman had found a way to heal up overnight. Fat chance of that. She didn't have the same kind of protection that Cain did. Of course, perhaps Marty didn't know that.
"Looking lovely," Marty said. "Need to pee?"
Kat offered him a single raised finger and he chortled at sight of it. "Guess you shouldn't have stuck your nose where it didn't belong."
She made a twisting motion with her hand.
He kicked at the rusty leg of the cot and the corner dipped down, threatening to collapse. "See, the trouble with you, Kat, is you think you're special. You're not special. Not anymore." He kicked the leg again, and this time the leg let go, dropping the cot and spilling its occupant onto the floor in a heap.
At that, he swung his gaze to Theda. "Only special people get beds." He stepped closer to examine her. "Now," he said. "Let's see how you're doing."
When he put his hands on her forehead, Theda wrenched away from him. She'd be damned if she'd let him pick at her like some damned slave inspector. Unconcerned with her reaction, he shoved his fingers into her rib cage. Surprisingly, she didn't wince in agony. "Healing up okay?" he asked. "Let me see your face. That's where the money shot is."
This time he used both hands to grip her by the head, and he pulled at her hard enough to bring her to a near sitting position. He twisted her face back and forth toward the light. He grunted.
"Still a ways to go, then." He dropped her back onto the mattress, but his expression was still pensive. "Maybe as little as a few hours." He crossed his arms as he looked down at her, seeming to be thinking so hard Theda worried he'd blow a gasket. His gaze swung back and forth between her and the heap of grisly mess on the floor. Seeming to come to some kind of decision, he lifted his booted foot as though he meant it for Kat's belly.
Theda fully expected him to drop it down on to the woman's stomach, to hear the exhalation of the force behind his kick pushing all the air from Kat's lungs. She didn't expect to see the woman's hands shoot out and grab the man by his foot, twisting at the same moment, pulling him toward her.
Marty fell by first striking his head on the concrete before any other part of his body landed. The sound of his skull cracking was enough to make the last bit of bile purge itself from Theda's stomach. It burned from her nose and pooled into her ears as she gagged, and all she could hear after that was Kat's dry, rasping laughter, and the sound of a baton thumping down on shattering bone. Theda counted to five before the second horseman left off the beating. She noticed he was careful to stay out of the way of any one of Kat's limbs.
"Why don't they just kill you?" Theda asked her when the suited-up horseman dragged Marty's inert form from the cell and slammed the door.
The woman was lying where they'd left her, a fresh pool of blood seeping from her mouth onto the floor.
"Kat?"
The woman groaned and rolled over onto her back. At first, Theda didn't think Kat would answer, but she could make out the gulping sounds of
the woman trying to swallow down mouthfuls of fluid and realized she was trying to clear her mouth to speak. It was several long moments before Theda heard anything that resembled words, and even then she couldn't make out what they were.
"I can't understand you," she said.
Kat gulped and then rolled onto her side to face Theda. She licked her lips, moistening them.
"I thought he was an angel."
It was such a surprising statement that it shook loose an admission. "He was," Theda said, not sure what else to say.
"Oh."
No more comment than that, but Theda read within her response a sort of disappointment. Disappointment and pain might have made the woman vulnerable; Theda could take advantage of that
"Where's Ami?"
"Safe from you."
"From me? He was always safe with me."
"Issat so?"
Even through the dusty sound of Kat's voice, Theda could hear the sarcasm. She thought of the first night Ezekiel had found her and arrested her. She'd managed to escape and had run to Ami for help. He'd ended up repeatedly Tasered by Ezekiel and left at the mercy of any other horsemen that were on their trail. Later, Ami had tried to convince her to run with him and when she had refused, he'd ended up assaulted by Kat and held prisoner, then brought to the spitters' den, where he'd been shot by Cain and drugged by Theda.
It wasn't much of a leap to realize that he'd never, since she'd known him been safe because she was always in danger.
"Are you sure he's safe?"
The woman nodded. "Hospital." Blood spattered from her mouth when she pronounced her Ss. Theda remembered that Cain had shot Ami because he'd believed Kat was concerned about him. It was Theda who guessed the woman had been concerned for him. And yet, this woman had done unspeakable things. Despite the evidence of Theda's own eyes, she had a hard time believing Kat could feel true affection for anyone, let alone Ami. Kat's own past, witnessed through the forced vision, was evidence of it.
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