by Amy Cross
“That was a good game,” the Governor muttered with a smile, as he quickly loaded one more bullet into the gun. “A little short and brutal, perhaps, but refreshing after the drawn-out machinations of the past week.” He glanced at Gemma. “Don't you agree, Miss Roper?”
“It's so hot out here,” Amanda said, with sweat dripping down her face. “This must be the hottest day ever.”
“Weren't you looking forward to this morning's round?” the Governor asked Gemma, stepping closer to her as Amanda hurried to keep the parasol in the right spot for him. “I was all hyped up, all ready to go, and then I was told that you'd managed to escape. You can imagine my disappointment at the thought of this lost opportunity.”
Gemma took a step back, still trying to work out how to get away.
“There are three bullets in this gun now,” the Governor continued, taking a step forward before turning back to Amanda. “It's okay, my dear. Wait here.”
“But the parasol -”
“Just wait,” he told her. “I can endure the sun for a few minutes, I'm sure. I have quite a strong constitution.”
Stepping away from her, he stopped a few feet from Gemma and paused for a moment.
“Do you think your luck will hold out now, young lady?” he asked, squinting a little as harsh sunlight continued to scorch the ground all around them. “There must be a limit, must there not? Whatever system you've developed for beating the odds, it can't last forever. Whatever sneaky little way you found to make sure it was always an empty chamber when the gun was pointed at you, I'm going to figure it out and then I'll close that opportunity for you. Rest assured, though, you've already provided a great deal of very useful data for my studies.”
“There's no system,” Gemma told him, taking another step back. “I swear, I didn't -”
Suddenly he aimed the gun at her and fired, only for them both to hear another empty click from the chamber.
“Well,” the Governor said with a faint smile, as the morning sun began to burn his face. “So far, so good.”
Turning, he aimed the gun at Amanda and pulled the trigger again. The gun fired, blasting a hole in the side of Amanda's face and sending her slamming back against the side of the golf cart before her body slumped to the ground, letting the parasol fall aside in the process. As blood flowed from her wound, she tried to speak, but all the emerged from her mouth was a slow, pained gurgle before her body fell still.
A brief gust of wind caught the parasol and blew it against the cart.
“What a shame,” the Governor muttered, staring at Amanda's corpse for a moment before turning to Gemma again. “I was rather fond of dear Amanda, you know. It took a while to train her up properly, but after that she was the most wonderful secretary. I don't know where I'll find another like her.”
Gemma took a step back, trembling as she waited for him to make his next move.
“How lucky do you feel now?” he asked, aiming at her again. “Four chambers left, two loaded and two not.” He paused, before a faint smile crossed his lips. “Then again, I suppose the whole damn thing might jam again, might it not? Your so-called luck seems to know no limits. Perhaps the universe itself is reaching down to keep you safe. Or God. Maybe it's God. People have based entire belief systems on less evidence than this, haven't they? Do you feel touched by God, Miss Roper? Do you feel as if God is protecting you?”
“No-one's protecting me,” she stammered, trying to edge away from him. The desert heat was already make her feel weak.
He turned to keep the gun pointed at her, as she slowly made her way toward the golf cart. She had some vague idea of trying to steal it and drive away, but she knew deep down that she'd never manage.
“Tell me your system,” he said firmly.
“There's no -”
“Tell me.”
“There's no system!”
“Tell me.”
“Please...”
“Tell me,” he said again, “or I swear, I will make you suffer.”
“There's no system,” she replied, taking a step back. “I promise, if there -”
Suddenly he pulled the trigger, and another empty click was heard from the gun.
“Three chambers left now,” he continued. “Two loaded, and only one not. Do you still fancy your chances?”
“I don't know what's happening,” she replied, with tears in her eyes.
“Tell me how you do it.”
She shook her head. “I can't. I don't know. I'm not doing anything!”
“Tell me.”
“I'm not -”
“Tell me!”
“Please -”
“Tell me!” he screamed. The veins on his neck were standing out now, and the morning sun was starting to blister his face.
“I don't -”
“Tell me!”
“Please -”
“Tell me!!!!
Suddenly a blast rang out as he pulled the trigger. Gemma slumped back against the golf cart before dropping to the ground, and she could already feel hot blood flowing from a wound in her shoulder. Looking down, she saw that finally one of the bullets had hit her, and the pain was worse than anything she'd ever felt before.
The Governor stared, his mouth open as if he'd been about to say something, as smoke curled up from the gun barrel.
“I'm bleeding,” Gemma whispered, placing a hand over the wound and feeling more blood flowing out. Panic was starting to rise though her chest, and after a moment she realized she could feel ants crawling onto her legs. “It won't stop.”
“It finally worked,” the Governor replied, still in shock, as he held the gun in his trembling hand. “Finally... after more than a week...”
Wincing, Gemma tried to sit up, but she was already starting to feel weak. She brushed the ants away, but more were already starting to crawl up the side of her uniform.
The Governor pulled the trigger again, but this time there was just an empty click.
“One shot left,” he continued. “One bullet. Unless the gun jams...”
Again Gemma tried to get to her feet, but she knew she was losing blood too quickly. Reaching up, she tried to steady herself against the side of the golf cart, but she let out a gasp of pain as she touched one of the vehicle's metal poles and felt a searing pain against the palm of her hand. Having been left in the sun, the cart's metal edges were now far too hot to touch, and all Gemma could do was drop down to the ground again. At least she was in partial shade, but she watched as the Governor stepped closer.
“Tell me how you were doing it,” he said calmly, with blisters starting to form on his face as the sun burned his flesh.
“I wasn't doing anything,” she replied. “Please, you have to believe me.”
He shook his head. “It can't have been coincidence. I mean, technically it was possible, but there has to have been something else.”
“I swear,” she continued, still holding her wounded shoulder in a vain attempt to keep herself from bleeding out. “I was just coming to the room and... You were the one with the gun. You were the only one who could influence anything.”
“I did nothing different,” he replied, with a hint of contempt in his voice. “The only variable was you, Miss Roper, and I demand to know what you were doing that caused the chamber to always be empty.”
“I didn't do anything,” she whispered, starting to feel faint. “I swear to you, I wasn't...”
Her voice trailed off as she felt herself starting to lose consciousness, but she managed to lift her head and focus.
“Do you really expect me to believe that?” the Governor asked, turning and walking away for a few paces before stopping and looking at the bodies of the four women near the access shaft's entrance bay. The harsh sunlight had burnt his nose bright red now, and the skin on the rest of his face was starting to peel. “You had a system,” he continued confidently, “I know you did. I refuse to let you die before you've explained it to me.”
He waited, before turning and s
eeing that she was almost unconscious.
“Tell me!” he said firmly, aiming the gun at her with his trembling, black-gloved right hand. “Tell me how you did it!”
She opened her eyes, but no words came from her mouth.
“I'll work it out eventually,” he continued. “I have more than enough data. Wouldn't you prefer to see my reaction before you die?”
Her lips moved, but she could only manage a whisper.
“Tell me,” he said again.
“There was no system,” she whispered.
“Liar.”
“There was...” She was losing consciousness now, barely able to keep her eyes open as ants crawled up her neck. “There was no... system...”
“Liar!” he shouted.
With that, he pulled the trigger. As he did so, however, his trembling hand jerked slightly, causing his aim to change. In the blink of an eye, the bullet missed Gemma, instead hitting one of the golf cart's support poles, which in turn sent the bullet ricocheting into one of the other poles, and that sent the bullet whizzing back away from the cart until it blasted through the Governor's soft belly. Missing his vital organs as he fell backward, the bullet nevertheless glanced against his pelvis and then shot up through his body, slicing millimeters from his heart and then crashing straight through his spine before blasting out through his left shoulder and hitting a boulder, which finally sent it thumping into the sand just as the Governor collapsed a few feet away.
Still leaning against the golf cart, Gemma stared in shock as the gun fell from the Governor's hand and landed harmlessly on the desert floor.
For the next half a minute, silence prevailed. Gemma could still feel blood leaking from her wounded shoulder, but she was just about able to stay conscious, watching as the Governor's body twitched slightly. Convinced that he was still alive, she nevertheless could see a fair amount of blood on the front of his shirt, although she couldn't see his face properly since his head was bowed.
“I can't...” his voice whispered finally. “I can't... I can't feel my legs...”
She waited, as ants crawled over her chin, but still he didn't move.
“My arms,” he continued. “I can't feel them at all...”
Reaching up, Gemma again tried to pull herself onto the side of the golf cart, but again her hand was seared by the cart's burning hot support poles. She paused for a moment, blowing ants from her lips, before grabbing the cart's rubber bumper and hauling herself onto the seat. Looking at the pole for a moment, she finally came up with an idea, so she pulled her prison-issue uniform away from the wound on her shoulder and for a moment she looked deep into the mess of flesh and meat. Spotting the glint of the bullet, she took a deep breath and then reached her fingers into the wound. The pain was immense and she let out a grunted cry, but she forced herself to keep going and finally she managed to pull the intact bullet out, before slumping back against the seat. Blood was flowing more freely now, running down her arm. After taking a couple of deep breaths, she leaned forward and pressed the wound against the golf cart's pole, using the burning hot metal to cauterize the wound.
She screamed as she felt her flesh being seared, but she forced herself to keep going until finally she pulled back. There were strips of burned flesh stuck to the pole, but when she looked at her shoulder she saw that the wound was now sealed. The pain, meanwhile, had brought her back from the brink of oblivion.
“I can't move my legs,” the Governor said again, still in a heap on the desert floor. “Or my arms. I can't feel anything below my neck.”
Spotting a bottle of water tucked in a plastic bucket beneath the cart's main wheel, Gemma took a moment to drink. After slipping the bottle back into place, she leaned down and – despite the pain in her shoulder – she managed to pick up the parasol from next to Amanda's dead body. Finding the slot on the back of the cart, she put the parasol in place, providing a little extra shade.
“There are ants,” the Governor continued as ants crawled across his body, making their way into the folds of his suit as they tried to get to his flesh. “Lots of ants. Someone has to make the ants go away.”
Hitting a button on the golf cart's control console, Gemma felt the engine come to life. She knew the cart wouldn't have much range, but she figured it might be enough to get her to the nearest town. She had no idea what she'd do at that point, but she hoped that maybe she could come up with a plan along the way. After taking a moment to figure out how the various pedals worked, and to brush the last of the ants away, she began to ease the cart forward, bumping across the rocky ground until she stopped next to the Governor. When she looked down, she was shocked to see that he was already badly burned by the sun's glare, and that little black ants were swarming across his body.
He tried to blow the insects away, but some of then were already managing to get into his mouth and nostrils.
“I didn't have a system,” she told him calmly. “If you keep playing a game like that for long enough, someone's bound to get a little run together. No system. Just luck and chaos.”
“Just tell me how you did it,” he replied, spitting out more ants. “Please, you have to...”
“There was no system.”
“Liar!” he hissed. “I know you had a system! You have to have been using a system!”
“No I don't,” she replied, “but... I don't have time to argue with you, so we'll just have to agree to disagree.” With that, she began to drive the cart forward, heading in the direction of the town. “I guess I was just lucky. Or maybe it was nothing to do with me at all. Maybe you were just unlucky the whole time.”
“Come back!” he shouted. “Help me! Take me back to my office! I have to study the ledger!”
She ignored him, instead focusing on the horizon. After a moment, she reached down and grabbed the bottle of water.
“Get back here!” he screamed. “They're eating me! Come back! I have to know how you did it! You'll never make it! You'll die out there in the desert. Even if you get to the town, you'll just be sent to another prison!”
“Maybe,” she muttered to herself, as his screaming voice receded behind her. “But I think I'll take my chances.”
Left alone on the desert floor, his skin charring in the desert heat, the Governor continued to call after her. Powerless to move, however, he could do nothing to stop the swarm of ants. They were flooding into his mouth now and scurrying down his throat, where they were starting to chew through the soft tissue. As the hours went by, the ants worked with extreme precision, as one line scurried into his mouth and the other line scurried out with chunks of meat. And while the ants themselves worked with great order, they hurried in and out of random cracks in the ground, which led down to their vast, carefully-built colonies beneath, where their fat little queen waited. She had no idea where the foot came from, or why huge, tasty humans kept appearing in the desert above, but she spent no time worrying about it. She was just happy to get more food for her colony.
Stay Up Late
One
“Are you staying up again tonight?”
“Just for a couple of hours,” I reply, joining her in the doorway and kissing her gently on the forehead. “I need to get some things done. I got kind of behind during the day.”
“Did you say goodnight to the kids yet?”
“Yeah, while you were in the bathroom.”
“Okay.” She hesitates for a moment, as if she's about to say something, but then she simply kisses my shoulder and heads over to the bottom of the stairs. “Don't stay up too late.”
“I won't.” I watch as she makes her way upstairs. At the back of my mind, there's a nagging voice telling me I should just go with her and get to bed early for once, but I wasn't lying a moment ago: I really did have a slow day, and I'm five hundred words behind my target for today. If I want to get that new book finished by the end of next month, I'm going to need to pull a few late-nighters and I absolutely have to meet my deadlines.
After Rachel has disappear
ed upstairs and I've heard the gentle bump of the bedroom door, I turn and make my way back over to the desk. My laptop's open, with the screen casting a faint glow on the wall behind, and I'm all set to start working. Five hundred words isn't that much, and I'm right in the middle of a chapter where the guy goes to have a chat with the girl in his basement, so it shouldn't take long to pound out what I need. I can always edit tomorrow, but the important thing is that tonight I at least get the words down.
Fortunately, now that Rachel and the kids are in bed, I can have a glass of wine. Just something to help things along. As I head to the cabinet in the corner, I remind myself that I need to make sure I don't spend the next three hours on Spotify, jumping from song to song, building playlists for parties that'll never happen. I grab the corkscrew and open a bottle of Spanish red, and then I pour myself a glass and turn back to look at the desk. Damn it, I really just need to focus and write. No distractions, no procrastination, just good solid work. Hell, I can be done in less than an hour.
And that's when I hear it.
A faint scratching sound at the window.
Even before I look over and see his grinning face, I know what the scratching sound is all about, and I feel a weight in my chest.
Bartleby's here.
Two
“Hey man,” he says as he wanders across the hallway, stopping at the foot of the stairs. “Rachel and the kids asleep?”
“They are,” I reply, closing the door as quietly as possible and sliding the lock across. I turn to him. “Try not to make a noise. I don't want to wake them.”
“Would I make a noise?” he asks, holding his hands up as if to show me that he's unarmed. “I just popped by to see how my favorite horror novelist's doing, that's all. Still bubbling away on the verge of a mid-life crisis that never quite comes to the boil?”
“I have five hundred words to finish,” I tell him, heading to my office.
