“I done it, boss.”
“You sure did. You saved our lives. You know something else? There were two little girls on the other end of that tunnel that you saved too. They’re out waiting by the truck.”
“Ah, that make me happy. You know, I think I done a pretty good job just now. Maybe I’m more like Marshall Dillon than Fescue. At least I was today.”
The next moment the eyes closed. The chest didn’t rise again.
Pablo laid his friend out on the ground in a more dignified position, then reached for the bolt ring and clicked on his flashlight.
He was down the steps and at the T-section of the passageway in seconds. Without hesitation, he turned right. Again the image of his grandmother’s casita flashed through his mind as a pleasant aroma flowed over him, but this time the nostalgia was tainted. Thoughts of the meat that was in those stew pots stirred something to life...summoned an uncoiling from its place deep within the aggression-controlling amygdala part of his brain. Cold rage ejected the nausea from his belly, replacing its weak siblings – logic and restraint – with ruthless determination. With every placement of boot heel on dirt floor, it grew.
The man that flew up the concrete steps at the end of the tunnel and through the trap door wasn’t the Poet Fellow Maddie knew.
The first sight he encountered as he sprang from the tunnel was two women and a man in a cramped kitchen. He glanced past their surprised expressions to see Jack and Missy gagged and tied in the space beyond. His shotgun pumped buckshot into the people standing next to the huge stockpots.
The man reacted quicker than the women, diving behind them into the adjoining room. Blood jettisoned from the females onto the yellowed wallpaper; chunks of bone and tissue splatted onto roosters and teapots. He stepped over their bodies as he followed the escaping man. When Pablo emerged into the room, the man was crouched behind Missy, holding a knife to her throat. Jack sat two feet away, his wrists and feet bound. A blood-stained rag covered most of his lower face.
Pablo lifted his shotgun again.
“You do that and you kill her too.”
He hesitated.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” The man was enormous. Even squatting down, he seemed to fill half the room.
“You must be the giant Rebecca told me about.”
“Oh, you’ve met the girls then?”
Pablo felt the adrenaline coursing through his veins, demanding action NOW! He ignored the directive, forcing his body to remain still. The last thing he wanted was to lose another crew member.
“Yes. They’re safe now.”
“No worries. I’ll find more. Once you’ve eaten the tender flesh of a prepubescent girl, it’s tough going back to other types of humans, let alone stringy goat.” The giant grinned.
“You’ll be doing it on your own. All your buddies are dead in the barn.”
There was a flinch of emotion, then it vanished and the grin was back.
“I’ll find more of them too, then. Right after I deal with you people. This female feels pretty good...not too muscle-bound like some of them get. The best way to soften them up is to keep them caged without any exercise. Just like veal. I’m telling you, once you’ve tasted it, you’re ruined for any other kind of meat.”
Pablo knew he was being taunted. Knew the man wanted to get a reaction from him so he could take advantage of anger-evoked carelessness. Two could play that game.
“Something tells me you have a taste for cock even more than little girls. Perhaps the reason the girls are saved for the stew pot is because the boys are tied up in a bedroom.” He saw an angry spark in the man’s eyes and the blade pressed deeper against Missy’s throat.
“Look, asshole. You have a shotgun. There’s no way you’re going to use it in tight quarters like these. You know it and I know it. We’ll make a deal. Set the gun down and I’ll put the knife away. You all can just walk on out of here and go on about your business. I’ll go on about mine. No harm, no foul. What do you say?”
“Right. We’re just going to pretend you don’t have human flesh simmering on the stoves in there?”
“Why should that concern you? You didn’t know them. And besides, you killed my women. And my buddies in the barn, if what you say is true. I don’t think you have the moral high ground here.” The man grinned again, pleased with his little speech. He had hit on a nerve, though; something in Pablo’s demeanor must have given it away. “You’re one of those self-righteous fucks. Is that it? Too goddamned high and mighty to stoop to eating people, yet you’re willing to commit murder.”
“Self-defense isn’t murder.”
The man’s booming laughter filled the small space. “Yeah, the women were threatening you with a soup ladle...is that it?”
Jack stirred, drawing Pablo’s attention away from the man for a split second. Next, three events occurred simultaneously. One would haunt him for the rest of his life.
Jack shifted from a sitting position to lying flat on the stained rug.
At the same time, something smashed through the window of the small living room striking Missy’s captor in his right temple.
But what would be branded into Pablo’s memory was the image of the shiny blade sliding across Missy’s throat, then the white gap that followed just before her life’s blood rushed to escape through the opening, turning it crimson.
The front door of the small living room crashed open. Bobby ran to his brother who lay unharmed on the carpet.
Missy and her assailant slid sideways onto the floor together in a grisly embrace.
###
“You did everything you could, Pablo. Please don’t keep beating yourself up about it.” Maddie pressed her lips against his, willing him to forgive himself. He would do anything for her – anything for his Angel Girl – but not that. He turned on his side, away from her, and pulled the heavy wool blanket over his head. He didn’t want her to see the tears of a weak man.
Soon he felt her breathing regulate, deepen. He was thankful that she had fallen asleep early tonight. He wanted to watch her sleep. Wanted to see the rise and fall of her chest. Wanted to know that, for the moment, she was safe. He turned over so he could witness the dream emotions flit across her face: a quick grin, then a furrowed brow. A faint moan escaped the barely-parted lips. Pablo held his breath, then released it when the moans turned to soft snores. Better to watch Maddie than to close his eyes and see the face of a dead girl.
###
Down the hall, Jessie whimpered as she dreamed. Amelia was awake instantly. Ever since losing Thoozy, her slumber had been troubled and non-restorative. It was no hardship to leave it. If she survived this ordeal above ground, when she returned home she intended to sleep for a decade. She turned on her side and studied the child in the gloom, thinking about her conversation with Tung a few hours earlier; they had engaged in numerous discussions since the passing of Thoozy, yet they were no closer to gathering enough compelling evidence to justify the continued existence of human life on the planet. If anything, after hearing of Pablo’s experience with the cannibals, they had lost some ground. She almost wished Tung hadn’t needed to be told of that development because it nudged him more in the direction of advocating for humanity’s obliteration. But there were few secrets between their kind. Their scythen directed the most important thoughts not only to each other, but down to the Cthor – the Ancient Ones. The details would be delivered in person when they were summoned below for a full disclosure of everything they had seen and experienced these recent months. And since Fergus was who-knew-where and doing who-knew-whom, she sometimes felt like humanity’s solitary champion.
It was a tremendous burden and one she could have born more staunchly if she could get some decent sleep.
Jessie moaned again. Amelia slid her feet out from under the warm covers and sat down beside her. She brushed the tousled hair away from the elfin face and cooed in a language the child would not have understood.
Moments later, the eyelids flutter
ed open. Even the sepia tones of moonlight couldn’t diminish the brilliance of the sea-green irises. They practically glowed...a lighthouse beacon reflecting off tropical waters.
“Were you dreaming of the Smiling Man?” Amelia whispered.
“Yes. I thought he saw me at first, but I think he was looking at someone else.”
“Is he still coming?”
“Yes. He’s closer now, but not so close that he can see where we are. Not yet.”
“That’s good. I wonder how much time we have?” she said more to herself than the child.
“I don’t know, but I saw a sign on the side of a road. I think I was seeing it through someone else’s eyes. I think his name is Lootinent Martin. Anyway, the sign said G-U-T-H-R-I-E.”
“Guthrie? As in Guthrie, Oklahoma, no doubt.” She drew her flannel robe tighter around her small body. “What else, child?”
“There are a lot of people with him. Some of them are bad people and some are just scared people, but they do bad things.”
“How many people?”
“I don’t know. I couldn’t really count them,” Jessie said, squirming under the intense gaze.
“Think about the space those people would fill up. Don’t worry about counting them. Just tell me, if all those people were squished together in one room, what kind of room would it be? The size of the living room?”
“I think those people would need ten living rooms. Is that bad? What does it mean?”
The soulful eyes lifted toward the moon framed by the window casing. “It means it will soon be time to tell Steven. Before too much longer, we’ll need to start preparing for battle.”
Chapter 23
Oklahoma
Martin sat next to his general on the cold ground. He studied the sleeping face of the man who held the power of life and death over himself and everyone else in the army, which had burgeoned since the massacre at the barricade near Norman and the subsequent conscription of two dozen survivors. Now the I35 corridor was open to whomever had the desire to pass through.
Nobody would stand in the way of Isaiah and his reckoning.
Martin watched the firelight lick the contours of the chiseled features; planes and hollows carved from obsidian. Lips so full and eyelashes so thick, any female would be envious. Only a few of Isaiah’s most trusted followers were given the privilege of guarding him while he slept. He bestowed the honor upon individuals as a reward for their unquestioned loyalty. But in this instance, as in all others, Isaiah was no fool. Martin wasn’t the only person in attendance. He flicked a glance at the creature sitting a coffin’s length away. Lily’s ascent had been the swiftest so far. Besides himself, there was no one Isaiah trusted more. Martin often wondered if that trust were well-placed. For him, not an hour passed without thoughts of escape, freedom, even mutiny. When he observed Lily watching the sleeping Isaiah, all he saw on the homely face was adoration. Was it an act, or did the strange woman truly love him? He couldn’t be sure, and he certainly couldn’t ask.
And therein lay the brilliance of Isaiah’s system. Executions weren’t a daily occurrence, but not a week went by without one or two people shot while trying to escape or hung from a nearby tree for treason. Treasonous acts might be as minor as grumbling about latrine duty or a hungry belly, so who in their right mind would risk confiding in another person? Not him, that was for damn sure. If he were going to escape, it would be a well-planned, meticulously orchestrated party of one. And because of the rule about never being seen alone, it was a formidable problem.
Martin darted another covert glance at the woman. They had picked her up at the ranch house where they had camped recently; she had been living in a heap of tornado-ravaged debris just down the road. She dressed in rags and carried a collection of knives in every shape and size, tucked away in hidden pockets throughout the tattered layers of clothing. She looked like an animated pile of dirty laundry, but she moved like a spider...unseen, unnoticed, until you felt a sharp pinch above your collar bone and realized your carotid artery had just been nicked. And the doll she carried with her at all times added to her overall creepiness factor.
In her way, she was as terrifying as Isaiah.
Martin watched as her absorbed focus shifted away from their general and toward him, as if just now sensing his presence. Irises, twin bottomless pits set far apart in the pallid nondescript face, latched onto him like tractor beams. Tiny hairs stirred on the back of his neck. His rectum puckered.
“He’s dreaming.” The whisper was gravelly, rusty and rough from lack of use. “Think it’s one of those dreams.”
The closer to their ultimate destination, wherever that ended up being, the more frequent and detailed Isaiah’s clairvoyant dreams became. At least that’s what he claimed. Martin wasn’t convinced it wasn’t just more grandiose posturing.
“Let’s hope it’s a clearer picture of where we’re going,” he muttered.
The bottomless pits narrowed.
“Not that I’m complaining, mind you,” he hastily added. “I just think our general will feel better and rest easier when he’s able to pinpoint the location. I think it distresses him, don’t you?”
Flames from the campfire reflected in the black, unblinking orbs. She seemed to be pondering his words, weighing their sincerity on some inner lie detecting scale. He held his breath.
“Yes, I think that’s true. The woman vexes him. He will have his reckoning.”
“Yes, yes. He deserves it too.” He breathed a sigh of relief. He noticed the woman slip a knife back into whatever pocket it had come from – it had materialized into her hand seemingly from thin air. In its place was the doll now, immaculate against the grimy fingers. She began stroking the curly synthetic hair.
Perhaps there was an opportunity here to gain the woman’s confidence.
“Lily, that doll must be quite special to you. Was it yours before? I mean from your childhood?”
“She’s not a doll. She’s my baby. Come near her and I will skewer your eyeballs, roast them in the fire, and eat them with hollandaise sauce.”
He turned away from the woman and gazed into the dwindling flames of the campfire, swallowing hard several times.
Honeyed laughter came from the direction of Isaiah’s pallet. When Martin turned around again, he could see the whites of the man’s eyes in the darkness.
“I guess she told you.” The perfect teeth flashed in the moonlight. “A smart person would keep his distance from Lily and her baby. I suspect they don’t need anyone in their world but me. Isn’t that right, Lily?”
The dirty laundry pile nodded. “Did you have one of your dreams, dearest General?”
Nobody else spoke to Isaiah with such familiarity; it was not prudent to do so. But Lily did and had done so practically from day one. Isaiah tolerated it with an air of kindly indulgence.
“Yes, as a matter of fact I did. I hovered above their town, crept through their streets, peered into their bedrooms like the Angel of Death. Seeing the remarkable progress and knowing the girl is allowed the privilege of living under such cozy circumstances further fans the flame of my fury. But it also made me realize that our task ahead is multi-pronged. Not only will we pluck the girl from her warm bed and bask in the glory of her painful demise, we’ll take the town for ourselves. They’ve done all the work for us...all that’s left is to move in – after we’ve disposed of every man, woman, and child in residence there, of course. Think about it Martin,” Isaiah sat up, excited to share his new plan, “Sleeping in your own bed every night, drinking fresh water that isn’t crawling with cooties,” he giggled at the silly word. “Eating vegetables instead of the garbage we’ve been consuming these months. They have a greenhouse. It’s beautiful! I saw it in my dream. And a well that pumps clean water and runs on windmill power. Brilliant, really. The man in charge must be quite extraordinary. I may consider letting him live. Anyway, that will give the troops a morale boost. We’re not just marching north to kill a girl, we’re going there
to establish a stronghold for what will become a new world order – Rome of the Great Plains. From that location, we’ll branch out in all directions, expanding our dominion and rebuilding the fabric of society in a way that is practical and orderly. We’ll have none of that democratic nonsense of our former government.”
These ramblings weren’t a new development. Isaiah had always planned to create an empire, but until the girl came into their lives, Texas was to be the epicenter.
Martin’s disappointment was profound. He hated cold weather. If he ever did manage to get away, he knew exactly where he would go. He liked to imagine himself sitting on a beach, his feet covered in golden sand that made them look like catfish dipped in cornmeal ready to slide into a deep fryer; squinting from the sunlight sparkling off the turquoise sea and feeling the warmth on his body that would turn it first red, then eventually a delicious leathery bronze. Screw skin cancer. He would rather die from melanoma than at the end of a noose.
“Martin, did you hear me?” The general’s sharp tone sliced through his reverie.
“Yes, sir. You said Rome of the Great Plains. Will we call the city Rome, or will you name it something else?”
Isaiah frowned. Martin felt a sickening rush of nausea. It was never good when he frowned, and it was very bad to be the cause of it.
“That’s a good question. Unfortunately, I was not able to see the name of this mecca. Not yet. But soon. I feel it. Whatever its current moniker, we shall change it to something worthy of its importance. You’ve given me food for thought, Lieutenant.”
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