by Steve Kuhn
Entry 34
We made it! The cleanup crew had even cleared the road from yesterday’s mess and left the bodies in the median, so we rolled right through without any issues. We were challenged by two guards on post at the gates, but they recognized Shorty immediately and had heard about yesterday’s drama through the grapevine. We were waved in and told to wait until Tyler came down to meet us.
I took a moment to survey the grounds. It was an immense piece of land we were on, but it didn’t look as pristine as initially described. The manor house sat in the center and was surrounded by unkempt grass and weeds. On the far end, almost out of sight, was a plume of black smoke.
I asked if everything was all right down there, and the one of the guards informed us that’s where all the waste goes. Shit, piss, trash, and the odd body are dragged down there by the working class daily, and the fire is kept burning constantly.
A few filthy individuals came over and started hauling Shorty’s remains off in that direction. So much for the burial.
About fifty to a hundred yards from the massive fire pit was a patch of ground about the size of a Little League baseball diamond. There was no grass there, just dirt, and it was surrounded by a six-foot, chain-link fence. It was empty at the moment, and no one bothered to comment.
The rest of the grounds looked exactly like one might expect. It’s a gigantic refugee camp. Tarps, tents, and the odd vehicle have been strewn about with a sloppy web of pathways trampled between them. There has to be upwards of five hundred people of varying ages here. Some are in obvious family groups, and others are just ones and twos.
All of this is surrounded by the fence they had mentioned, which is quite an impressive barrier, considering its pieced-together appearance. They even have a catwalk, which is patrolled by no less than eight roaming sentries at all times.
Cutty and Wyatt waited patiently without saying too much, but I could tell they were mentally taking the same notes I was taking.
When Tyler finally made his way down to us, accompanied by Cholo, he greeted us heartily, saying, “God-damn, it’s good to see you guys made it. Heard about Shorty, though. Damn shame about that.”
Wyatt spoke first. “Shorty told us about the operation—”
Tyler waved him off and attempted to explain, offering, “Shorty was great to have in a fight, but his biggest problem was keeping his dick in his pants… plus, he liked to beat on the girls. His explanation probably left a lot to be desired. Let me explain the real situation here. Now, you’re gonna have to leave your weapons with the vehicle—standard procedure. The only people regularly armed are guards on duty. Cholo will take your jeep up to the fleet lot, and your weapons will be with it.”
Cutty and Wyatt looked at Tyler like he was retarded, but Tyler has this way about him that is really a pain in the ass to read. He stands there with a smile on his face, but looks you in the eyes like he’d stab you in the throat if you didn’t smile back. We were all well aware of the odds here, so we opted to just go with the flow until we had the lay of the land.
We handed over our weapons and were ready to walk, but not before Tyler nudged Cutty and gestured to the Leatherman on his belt. Cutty gave it up reluctantly.
Tyler explained as we walked into the encampment, “I know what happened back there on the road looked bad… real bad, but that’s only the second time that’s ever happened since we started this place. Shorty told you about the lottery, I assume?”
We all nodded that we were in the same ballpark.
Tyler nodded and continued, “Every person at the Haven competes for their place. Those who are victorious, while enjoying the finer privileges we have to offer here, put their necks out regularly on scavenge campaigns. We live well here because we’re face-to-face with those lamebrains daily. Those who aren’t fit for the road have to pull their weight back here at the Haven doing the day-to-day tasks around here… It all shakes out in the end.”
Cutty interjected bluntly, “‘Til y’all can’t handle da geeks. Den dey just become geek food.”
Tyler stopped his walking and turned to face us, stating, “Look, we do the lottery once a week or so and only take three to five out with us. Most people have been here for months and have never been out at all. That’s why it works. The few who have been out are so thankful to come back alive, they fight that much harder the next time we have the Arena open.”
The Arena? What the fuck is that supposed to mean? I was just about to ask him, but we were all interrupted by a female voice calling to us from the tents. “Uncle Curtis! Uncle Curtis!”
The slim form of a woman in her mid-twenties ran right past Tyler into Cutty’s huge arms. He spun her around in a hug before landing her on her feet and checking her over for marks and injuries. It’s something we all do these days without thinking about it. She was in good health and unmarked, save for a branding scar on her forearm. It read, ‘1.’
Not a second later, we heard a familiar voice from behind us say, “That’s ma nigger!”
We turned to see none other than Junior and Kylee approaching in a jog with smiles on their faces.
Cutty corrected Junior immediately with, “It’s Nig-ga, Junia… Nig-ga… not Nigg-er. It soun’ all fucked up when you say it anyway.”
Junior chuckled and punched Cutty playfully like a friend he hadn’t seen in years. “I was figurin’ them pussbags got full on yer fat ass,” Junior teased.
Rebecca punched Junior square in the face and knocked him on his ass. She stood over him while everyone looked at them completely stunned. She looked over at Cutty and said, “You gonna take that shit from him?”
Junior got up and laughed it off, but he was clearly blushing. Cutty held his arms out in a calming gesture and said, “Eeeeeasy. Rebecca, Junior don’t mean no harm. He’s just stupid like dat.”
Kylee smiled at all of us and said simply, “I knew you guys would make it.”
Tyler took the hint and jumped in with, “I can see you all have some catching up to do. We have plenty of time for this business stuff. Make camp out here on the grounds wherever you can find a spot. Oh, and Becca, keep that fighting spirit up and you’ll find yourself off the lottery and on a team in no time.” There it was again… that fucking prickish grin of his.
Cutty nodded and kept Rebecca close. They went over to the tent she came from, leaving us to set up shop.
Tyler told us, “I’ll have Cholo bring down whatever you guys need once you’re ready, and we’ll talk later. We’ll need to meet again before nightfall, but take your time until then. Junior, give Cholo a hand, will ya?”
They took their leave and headed back toward the manor. Wyatt and I looked at Kylee for a long moment before I handed her back the picture I found. She looked at it before closing her eyes, smiling her thanks.
Wyatt said what we were all too afraid to admit. “There’s no way this is gonna work. You guys know that, right?”
I told him, “Of course not, but no sudden moves until we know the ins and outs of this place, all right?”
Wyatt nodded, but I didn’t buy it.
Entry 35
We made camp once Cholo and Junior returned with our usual setup from the jeep. Cutty and Rebecca, having broken Rebecca’s camp down, joined us as we got sorted. Once we made it comfortable, a powwow was in order.
On his way out, Cholo informed us that we’d be meeting the Council shortly because the guard shifts change with the light. He beckoned Rebecca to follow him, but Cutty said, “Nah, she’s a’ight with us right now.”
Cholo scoffed and stepped up in Cutty’s grill. He reached down, snatched Rebecca’s arm and held it up so her brand was clearly visible. “See this? This says she’s a’ight with me. Anything and any-one else around here with a one on it is mine. Now back the fuck off before I burn a one into you and this other little bitch of yours.”
We did what you’d expect us to do. Our whole crew stepped in to back Cutty up, and in the shouting match that followed, Cutty and Cholo
did a bit of shoving.
A new face approached us, snapping, “All right, that’s enough! Knock that shit off!” He was an athletic black guy of average height and he wasn’t messin’ around.
Rebecca whispered harshly to no one in particular, “Shit, it’s Trey. It’s all right, Uncle Curtis. I’ll be all right. I’m just gonna go with Cholo.”
Now, you can imagine my confusion based on how quickly she knocked Junior on his ass earlier and now, seeing her relent… almost submit. This little hierarchy they have here is obviously one heavily enforced, as evidenced by Cholo backing off as well.
Not Wyatt, though. The clever little shit took the opportunity to swing on Cholo.
Cholo’s a big dude. He stands about six foot four, and Wyatt’s upward swing didn’t carry any weight. Fucked up is what it was. Cholo managed to see it coming and put a swift kick right into Wyatt’s chest that sent him to the ground hard. By the time Wyatt hit the deck, Trey had caught up, and he was pissed! The shoving broke out again, but Trey broke it up and repeated, “I said, ‘Knock it the fuck off!’”
Cholo puffed his chest and spat at Cutty’s feet, stalking off to the manor with Rebecca in tow.
Trey helped Wyatt to his feet and leveled his eyes to Wyatt’s, saying, “You got balls, kid. You’re lucky Cholo didn’t make an example outta you, but if I see you swing on a Council member again, you’re going up for corporal punishment.”
Kylee spoke up and asked, “Corporal punishment?”
Trey nodded towards the fenced-in area in the distance and said simply, “Docket’s full for tomorrow. You’ll see. Now, head up to the manor. The Council is ready to see you.”
Entry 36
The manor was a fucking pig pen, first of all. Frankly, I’d rather be out at camp, but Junior made himself at home. The Council members were as follows: Tyler, Trey, Cholo, and three other guys: Nicko, James, and Devin.
They called James ‘Gunner.’ The dude was a fucking walking army. He kept a shotty strapped across his back, and he had three pistols: two in shoulder holsters and one on his hip. And this was just when he was walking around the Haven! They run shit, straight up.
We sat there as they laid out the rules and expanded on what Tyler had told us earlier. Everything they said went in one ear and out the other. We were all so fired up about the situation earlier and the fact that Rebecca was nowhere to be found at the moment. When they finished their briefing, they gave us the opportunity to speak and ask questions.
Cutty went straight for the jugular and told them, “Rebecca’s ma niece. I wan’ her cut loose.”
Cholo laughed outright.
Trey rolled his eyes as he realized what we were beefing about earlier.
It was Devin who answered him, saying, “Property is property. Now you can make an argument about what’s right and wrong to the outside world, but here, at the Haven, that shit don’t fly. Rebecca was won fair and square. If you want to challenge Cholo in the Arena for her, that’s a score you two can settle for yourselves.”
Nicko interjected, “After the games, that is.”
Kylee jumped in. “Games? What games? We came here because we thought you offered shelter and safety in exchange for help on the road scavenging and such. No one said we’d be subjected to some crazy new government: slavery, using people as bait, keeping these people here, us, unarmed and at your whims—”
She was cut off abruptly by Tyler with his signature grin. “You’re free to leave at any time.”
This was the part where we all sort of shut up for a sec and weighed the options. It was obvious that Cutty wasn’t going anywhere without Rebecca, which meant we weren’t going anywhere without Rebecca. Hell, I remember thinking at the time about the simple choices, like was I going to poop in the public bathroom or try to hold it until I got home from work? Times sure had changed. I was thinking we could just wait for Cutty to beat Cholo, win her back, and then we’d get outta there, but then they dropped the bomb on us…
Tyler continued, “On foot, of course. You can walk right outta the gates now, if you wanna.”
Gunner smirked, but remained silent.
On foot? Aw, come on! Yup, you guessed it. “You see, people, property is property,” Tyler continued, “and your weapons… and your jeep… and your camp are all our property now. The choice is yours.”
Nicko read our names from the list and addressed us one by one. “Kylee, I see you’re a sniper and a helluva shot. You won’t be competing tomorrow as your role is settled. Junior, you’re also a rifleman, so you’ll be training for watch duty with Gunner tomorrow at sunup. You’ll be staying in the manor tonight so we can wake you at first light. Your role is set. Now… Cutty, Wyatt, and Dext, by all reports, you three were dead if it hadn’t been for Shorty, rest his soul, so tomorrow you compete. Your roles will be announced, following the games, based on your individual performances. You are all dismissed. One more thing, people. Do. Not. Fuck. With. Us. Executions are rare here, but we will not tolerate insubordination. Your role defines your rank, defines your place, and defines your privilege. Remember that.”
None of us were happy about this, save for Junior. He was all smiles. He whispered to Cutty, “Who’s the house nigger now, eh Cutty? Don’t worry. I’ll check on Rebecca whilst I’m here. You jes’ be sure an’ win tomorrow, ya hear?”
Cutty nodded solemnly as we stood up to leave, defeated.
Cholo spoke up over the murmuring in the room. “Oh! And Cutty…? You and I will have that fight tomorrow, but the stakes are going to be much higher than some little bitch.”
Cutty just smiled at him.
Entry 37
We had some time last night to try and wrap our heads around the situation. Wyatt ran off for a bit and returned with some good info—said he met some girl named Elizabeth who let him in on the actual number of people here at the Haven.
My initial assessment was way off. Turns out, the common area is closer to two hundred people, mainly family and friend groups. The Arena is also not some big, public event. Apparently, a few people are up for ‘punishment’ for minor offenses such as stealing food and fighting in the camp. They’ll be in attendance, as will their families. The only time it really gathers a crowd is when the ‘games’ start.
Bizzy, as Wyatt called her, explained to him that Cholo remains undefeated. When asked about the punishment portion, she said that the charges are read, and the accused gets to speak. After that, the Council reaches a decision, and the punishment is issued. It can range from a few lashings at the hands of Cholo to worse.
Wyatt pressed her for the details and was able to learn that some have been exiled and dropped off alone and empty-handed a few miles away while others have suffered outright execution. Execution is a nastier affair than it has to be because it’s not quick. Directly behind the big fire pit on the outside of the gates is a pen full of biters (everyone calls them something different). Cholo has been known to drag people up on the guard catwalk and toss them over the fence, into the pen. We’re talking about some seriously sick shit here… but these people stay because it’s the lesser of two evils. As long as they play by the Council’s rules, they are fed and safe.
I don’t know if I want to live that way. I really don’t.
Stockholm Syndrome… that’s what Kylee called it. She told us that it’s common for people in hostage situations and prisoner scenarios to reach a point where they actually sympathize with their captors and begin to believe that their captors are right in their actions. The trauma on a mental level is so heavy that, in extreme cases, the afflicted person will actually try and fight off rescue attempts. I had never heard of it. Fuckin’ sucks, though. It’s becoming readily apparent that Kylee is more than just good with a rifle, so hopefully she’s been trained for that type of shit.
We were awakened in the morning by the sound of gunfire from the catwalk. No one else in the camp seemed spooked by it, but I jumped up like a bitch. Apparently, Junior was getting to take his first shots
at some stinks off in the distance.
We milled around the coals of the fire and ate a meager breakfast that Bizzy brought over for us, but she didn’t stick around. Junior joined us about an hour after that and immediately told Cutty, “I don’t know how ta tell ya this… so I’ma jes’ say it. I heard Becca las’ night after lights out. It was bad, Cutty, real bad. Cholo… that sum’ bitch.”
Junior always lacked tact. He’d also always managed to smile in the most awkward moments. Junior wasn’t smiling. Cutty’s eyes narrowed, and he stalked off towards the Arena.
We hurried to catch up, and that was the first time the reality of the situation really kicked me in the balls.
Right smack in the middle of the Arena was Cholo beating some dude with a bamboo cane. The guy was vomiting and shit, and Cholo just kept at him until Trey called out, “Enough! Get his wounds patched up, and let him out.”
Cholo kicked him in his back one last time and sent the guy sprawling into his own puke in the dirt. I think we all just had to take a moment and absorb what we were seeing.
The Council was on the outside of the fence with a few random people here and there and what I could only assume was the man’s wife. She was sobbing and begging for them to stop. A couple guys went in and began dragging out the injured dude.
As soon as the gates opened, Cutty stormed in and headed straight for Cholo. Cholo didn’t even budge. He stood his ground and took up a fighting stance.
Tyler shouted, “Cutty! Get the fuck out of my Arena!”
Cutty squared up on Cholo, and it looked like some shit straight outta the Wild West. They stood there, eyeing each other up.
Tyler shouted again, “Cutty! You’ve been warned. Now get outta there! You’ll get your chance when the games begin. This is a legal matter and does not concern you!”
