A tittering laugh and Mistress moved away. As she spoke, she threw wide and flowing arm movements. Theatrics that probably had an effect for the people down below, but looked ridiculous to Flynn so close to her. She spoke for the benefit of the crowd. “The people down there need to know who you fuckers are.”
Each footstep slammed down on the edge of the roof as if challenging the decrepit building’s stability. “You,” she said and stopped in front of a man no taller than about five feet seven inches. When she moved close to him, she dwarfed him. “Who are you, little fella?”
Mistress stood aside so the man could step forward. Whilst wringing his hands, he looked down at the people and said, “I’m number two.”
“Not your number, you moron. What’s your name?”
“J—”
Before he could get his name out, Mistress grabbed him by his T-shirt and pulled him to the very edge of the roof. She pointed down at the crowd. “Tell them.”
“Jake,” he shouted, his eyes closed as he shook and cried. “My name’s Jake Schwartz.”
“Anyone got number two?” Mistress called down to the people, her now familiar lear twisting her vicious face.
A group in the crowd cheered in response like they had the first time each of the prisoners revealed their numbers.
Mistress stepped away from the man, looked him up and down, and turned back to the people below, shouting as she said, “I don’t fancy yours much.”
The crowd laughed. Although the small section who’d cheered didn’t. Their horse wouldn’t be coming in today.
A strong pat on his back and Jake thrust his arms out to the sides to prevent himself from falling. “So, J-Jake Schwartz,” Mistress said, “tell us where you’re from. All the people with a number two may win extra food rations if you win, so tell them a little bit about yourself. Help them connect with you so at least it matters to someone when your pathetic life is snuffed out.”
Still with his eyes closed, Jake spoke rapid words. “I left a community about twenty miles away. We only had a few people there and I wanted to meet someone. Thought I could maybe find love.”
Mistress’ laugh boomed like thunder. “Wow.” She looked at Jake and laughed again, her face red, her eyes tearing up with her mirth. “How fucking romantic. Although it would seem—even at the end of the world—that the diminutive Jake Schwartz still can’t get laid.”
The crowd laughed again.
Before Jake could say anything else, Mistress shoved him backwards. He tripped and fell on his arse, some of the gravel kicking up around him.
Because Flynn had his attention on the fallen Jake and watched him get to his feet, he only saw Mistress had gone to Rose when she said, “You! Step forward.”
Flynn’s heart flipped to watch Rose move away from the line. Quick enough so she didn’t need Mistress’ help, she walked right to the edge of the building. A strong gust of wind and she’d fall.
“I’m Rose,” she said to the crowd. “I’m number one and I used to belong to a community that got taken down a month or two back.”
Not a lie, but she didn’t blame the Queen. The wind picked up and Flynn’s heart fluttered to watch Rose rock on the edge of the building.
For a short while, Mistress said nothing. She moved close to Rose and stared at her as if contemplating her fate. She then turned to the crowd. “Who has number one?”
The cheer for Rose rang louder than it had for Jake. It didn’t look like she had any more people in her crowd than he had in his. The louder noise simply showed more confidence in their champion.
“Quite the fan club, it would seem,” Mistress said. After she’d looked Rose up and down, she added, “I can see why.” Instead of shoving her, she shooed her back by waving her hand at her.
Rose glanced at Flynn on her way back into line.
The thud of Mistress’ steps hit the roof again as she walked down the edge of it. Each step drew closer to Flynn. A fierce scowl as she looked at each prisoner until she finally stopped in front of him. “And here he is, the survivor. The one who should have died, but somehow made it up shit hill. Step forward, honey.”
Flynn didn’t challenge her, his pulse racing as he stepped to the edge of the roof. To look down at the people far below made his stomach lurch and his already weak legs wobbled. “My name’s Flynn,” he called out, loud enough to make his dry throat itch. Sweat rose on his brow and ran down his face. “I’m number sixteen.”
In what seemed to be her theatrical fashion, Mistress held the bottom of her chin and watched Flynn. “And tell us where you’re from, sweetheart.”
“Biggin Hill.”
“The what now?”
“Biggin Hill,” Flynn said and looked down at the dead Samantha. He lost his words for a second before he said, “I went there with my parents and their friend when the plague started. We found high ground and waited it out.”
“And where are the others now?”
Flynn sighed as he said it. “Dead.”
“Wow, I should start calling you lucky from now on.”
The crowd laughed, but Flynn didn’t respond as the pain of Vicky’s death burned through him. He’d dealt with his parents’ passing, but since Serj had told him how Vicky had died, it had pulled up what he’d previously believed to be processed emotions.
At that moment, Mistress placed a hand in between Flynn’s shoulder blades. A firm enough pressure to show him his life belonged to her now. One shove and he’d fall. “Who has number sixteen?”
The loudest cheer yet.
“They like you, sweetheart.”
Flynn looked down at the people as they continued to shout and cheer.
“I suppose they saw what you did on poo hill. No one’s fallen that far and still made it. Maybe there is something about you.” Mistress then applied a little more pressure to Flynn’s back.
Flynn pushed his toes into the roof against her gentle shove, her press getting harder with each passing second and the gravel slipping beneath his feet.
When the pressure got to the point just before Flynn could fall, Mistress let go and he stumbled backwards.
Once Flynn had pulled far enough away from the edge, he let a relieved sigh go. He could feel Rose looking at him, but he didn’t look back. Instead, he watched Mistress turn to the crowd and bow, leaning out over the edge of the roof as if she had no fear of falling. Of course he wanted to push her off at that point, but it wouldn’t serve any purpose. They wouldn’t get through the metal door behind them before they were overwhelmed by guards.
As if reading his thoughts, the sound of footsteps approached from behind. Before Flynn could look around, someone pulled yet another hood over his head. It turned his already sweating face hotter. The thick fabric and the heat of the day combined to turn the air in his dark space so heavy he struggled to breathe.
When the guard behind Flynn pulled him back towards the stairs, some of the tension left his body. Fuck knew where they planned on taking them next, but at least they weren’t throwing him off the roof like poor Samantha.
Chapter 32
The rattle of metal against metal clattered through the prison. It took a hold of Flynn’s already frayed nerves and electrocuted them, waking him from his uncomfortable sleep.
Not only did Flynn have a headache and a backache, but he had such sore muscles he doubted if he’d be able to travel far. It took slow and tentative movements, but he unfurled himself from Rose.
Mistress stopped hitting the bars with her baton and opened the cell door.
Despite how many times he’d heard locks opening on large doors over the years, Flynn still hadn’t gotten used to the sound. The crack of the bolt snapped through him—a sharp reminder of his incarceration.
Mistress stormed into the prison, her heavy boots slamming down against the hard linoleum floor. The way her apron glistened in the light suggested she had yet more fresh blood on her.
“Get up, you lazy fucks,” Mistress boomed and kicked one o
f the prisoners. The woman yelped from the blow.
“By the end of the day,” Mistress continued, “there will only be one of you left. We don’t have much room in our community, so you need to prove you’re worthy of the spot.”
Flynn managed to sit up by the time Mistress drew close, so he avoided her kick. His brand throbbed and it felt as if the infection had gotten worse overnight. How long before he got blood poisoning from it?
They’d spent the night in an abandoned jail cell in an abandoned police station. A hard linoleum floor was covered in grit and dust, but at least they weren’t put in that cursed damp dungeon again. They remained in the town they’d been in the previous day. The town that the people surely didn’t live in, but it served as a good place to host their sick games.
Early the previous evening, when they’d first been locked up, Flynn and Rose had spoken to one another. But the brute and the guards told them to shut the fuck up very quickly, so they did. As the night drew on and it got darker inside the cell, they moved close to each other for comfort. By the time they’d both fallen asleep, they were wrapped around one another as if holding on for dear life.
Rose got to her feet first, seemingly nimble despite what they’d been through the previous day. Her blonde hair sat wild and out of control. It reminded Flynn of straw—not that he’d tell her that. She pulled a tight-lipped smile at him and held her hand in his direction.
Flynn took her surprisingly strong grip and let her pull him to his feet. She’d been a rock for him over the past day; she must want something in return.
Mistress didn’t say anything else, but she stalked around the cell, walking close to each person as she held onto the metal baton she’d used to wake them with. The non-verbal threat did enough to force all nine prisoners into a line.
Chapter 33
Instead of leading the prisoners out the front door, Mistress took them up several flights of stairs within the building. They must have travelled three, maybe four storeys up.
At the top of the stairs, Mistress kicked a door so hard it broke off its hinges and clattered down to reveal another roof beyond it. The bright summer sunshine flooded in and Flynn recoiled from the glare but continued walking.
On the roof of the police station, the heat made Flynn sweat and he gulped against his dry throat. The last water he’d tasted had been when they’d hosed him down, and he’d only taken a mouthful then.
It took several blinks for Flynn’s vision to clear. When it did, he wished it hadn’t. His stomach lurched to look at the sight before him and he muttered, “Fuck.”
Maybe he’d said it a little too loudly because Rose turned to look at him before she looked back at what lay ahead of them.
A thick rope had been anchored against the edge of the police station’s roof. It had been stretched taut across a gap of about twenty metres to a building on the other side of the street. Rings hung down from it at regular intervals. Each ring hung from a length of rope about a metre long. If they wanted to get across, they’d have to swing from one ring to the next.
The crowd from the previous day had returned. If anything, there looked to be more people than before. Flynn did a double take when he saw a large chair amongst the press of bodies. A woman sat on it. She looked to be in her forties, had a slim figure, shiny black hair, and a pretty face. Pretty in an objective sense. Pretty like a vase could be pretty. Pretty like a statue. He saw nothing attractive about her. Nothing at all.
Before he could look at the woman for any longer, Mistress shouted at the prisoners, loud enough for the crowd below to hear. “Well, my lovelies,” she said. “This is your next challenge.” She walked to the edge of the police station’s roof and looked down. She tapped the stretched rope with her foot. “Not quite the drop you had yesterday from the office block, but enough to kill you. Especially when …”
Mistress didn’t finish her sentence because she didn’t need to. The squeak of large wooden cartwheels called out through the abandoned town. Flynn looked down to see a group of people move several carts into place. Each one looked like it had once been pulled by a tractor. Like something that had been used to move large bales of hay. Now they had stakes on them, much like the ones at the bottom of the shitty hill. The stakes pointed straight up and were sharpened into points. The carts and stakes were covered in bloodstains.
The now familiar grin split Mistress’ witch face as she stared down at the people moving the carts. When one of them gave her a thumbs-up, she cackled and turned back to the prisoners. “Nine of you left. Let’s see how many there are by the time we get to the other building. Line up in numerical order.”
When Rose glanced at Flynn, he reached out and touched her forearm. Only fleeting. He didn’t need Mistress picking up on it. Any connection the prisoners had would be exposed and exploited for her sick pleasure.
The prisoners fell into line and Flynn ruffled his nose at the smell of flatulence from one of them. Nerves hung thick in the air.
“Right,” Mistress shouted, her call echoing through the town. “We don’t have all fucking day. You”—she pointed at Rose—“get on those fucking rings now.”
Flynn looked at the bloodstained stakes on the carts then at the crowd and their expectant faces. He looked at the Queen amongst her servants. He looked at Mistress and her clear giddiness at what they were about to witness. Finally, he looked back at Rose.
Rose sat down on the roof and dangled her legs over the side. She reached down and pulled the first ring up to her. Her cheeks puffed from where she exhaled.
Flynn looked away as Rose slid from the roof. The crowd cheered and he stared at his feet. He couldn’t watch.
Chapter 34
Although Flynn didn’t watch Rose, he might as well have. In fact, from the sounds the crowd made, it probably would have been better than trying to judge her progress based on their response. At least he would have seen the reality of it. Instead, he lived his own imagined horror for the entire crossing.
When the crowd cheered, Flynn looked up to see Rose climb through the window on the other side of the gap. Nine rings and she’d gone across every one of them. He smiled to see her safe. It quickly fell at the realisation he’d be making the journey soon.
A look down at the crowd and Flynn’s eyes went to the Queen in amongst them. The huge red seat looked like a mobile throne and she relaxed in the luxury of it.
“Number two,” Mistress called out. A smirk lifted her twisted face and she laughed as she said, “Jake Schwartz, how nice it is to see you again.”
Like she’d done on the roof of the tall building, Mistress bullied Jake with her superior strength. A tight grip on the back of his shirt and she shoved him towards the edge of the roof like he was no more than a child. Flynn’s heart raced to watch it and he listened to Jake whimper at what he must have assumed to be his end.
But Mistress stopped before she launched him off.
For the next few seconds, Jake cried and stared at his feet.
A look from him to the crowd, and Mistress said, “Come on now, Jakey-boy, I was only playing.”
The crowd laughed, including the Queen, and Jake continued to sob.
Mistress stepped back from him while shaking her head. “You need to stop blubbering, Jake. Time to swing across, fella.”
At least with Rose both going first and making it to the other side, it gave the others a blueprint to follow. As she had done, Jake sat down on the edge of the roof and dropped his legs over the side. The crowd clapped in time as he pulled the first ring up. They started slow, increasing in speed until he had a tight grip on the wooden circle.
Maybe the crowd couldn’t see it, maybe they could, but from where he stood, Flynn saw the violent shake running through the man.
“Jake! Jake! Jake! Jake! Jake!” the crowd chanted and Flynn wanted to look away like he had with Rose. But he didn’t. Instead, he watched Jake drop from the edge of the roof with a tight grip on the first ring.
As Jake swung t
hrough the air, the crowd cheered. He reached the end of the rope’s long swing and Flynn muttered, “Let go.” But Jake didn’t.
A second too late and already on the back swing, Jake released his tight grip. He flew away from the next ring and dropped with a scream.
The crowd fell silent as he plummeted.
Chapter 35
The entire cart shook with the impact of Jake’s landing. A loud crash sounded out and the large wheels rocked back and forth before the crowd cheered.
When Flynn saw Jake impaled on the spikes below, his stomach lifted in a heave. He watched some of the crowd edge towards the cart. When they got close, a section of them threw their white slips of paper on him; most of which stuck to his bloody corpse.
The next few seconds lasted an age as Flynn stared at Jake’s wide eyes. They showed a snapshot of his complete fear from falling. His mouth had been forced open by a stake that punctured through the back of his head. Blood glistened on what seemed to be the freshly sharpened stakes. It pooled on the flatbed of the trailer and ran off the sides of it.
Flynn looked at Mistress to see her stare down at the Queen.
When the Queen nodded, Mistress turned back to the line of prisoners yet to cross and called out, “Number four.”
A young boy stepped forward. A teenager at best, he’d turned chalk white and Flynn saw the sun glisten off his sweating brow.
The kid looked less able than Jake had, but he surprised Flynn when he reached down and grabbed the first ring, slipping from the roof in one fluid movement. A gymnast, he moved from ring to ring as if he’d spent his entire life training for that moment.
At the end of each rope’s swing, Flynn winced to watch him let go and catch the next ring along. Even the bloodthirsty crowd seemed to appreciate his effort, cheering while he moved across all nine rings as if he’d been born to do it. He jumped through the window frame on the other side to the applause of the crowd, Mistress, and even the Queen.
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