by Weir, R. K.
He reaches down and I think he's going to pick up the baby wipes when he goes for the bag instead. For a moment I'm worried, but it subsides when he reveals a roll of duct tape. I think I'm safe when he begins to fish around in his pocket, retrieving one of the small packets Peter rewarded him with. He pops it open and spills the contents onto his palm. In the wavering light of the candles, his curled fingers cast long shadows, offering a dark place for it to hide where my eyes cannot see it.
"What are you doing?" Jacob asks. He's been standing so still, I had almost forgotten he was there.
Rob doesn't reply. Then, without notice, he swings his hand toward me, his palm connecting with my mouth and clamping over my jaw. My lips part in a gasp but don't shut fast enough. I feel whatever was in his hand slip to the back of my throat, propelled by his swing. He bites off a strip of duct tape and slaps it over my mouth while I splutter and heave, managing to cough it up enough that I can use my tongue to slide it over the roof of my mouth and towards the back of my teeth. I was expecting a pill, but what's in my mouth is flat and square. I poke at it with my tongue. It feels like paper, or cardboard. If I had spent more time in high school experimenting with drugs then I might know what it is, but I have no idea. I'm just grateful that I didn't swallow it.
As if sensing my relief, Rob kneels down so that he is at eye level with me. "Don't worry, sweetheart, you don't need to swallow it," he says.
Jacob is quick to ask the questions that I can't. "What is that? What did you give her?"
Satisfied with his revenge, Rob allows himself a smile. "Just a little something to take the edge off, it'd be a crime not to let her in on her own wares," he says, turning his smile towards Jacob. "Maybe you should take one too, you've had a stick up yer arse from day one."
Ask him what it does! I scream the words in my head, trying to force them into Jacob's. Will it knock me out? Will it make me hallucinate? A cold sweat breaks out all over my body as I feel the reigns of the situation getting out of reach. I had planned for them to be intoxicated, not me. How will things play out now that the roles are reversed? Will I still be able to think properly? Somehow, I don't think I will. While lacking in personal experience, I've seen enough documentaries to know that people don't act coherently. Didn't one man go berserk and eat another man's face off? Or was that the start of the outbreak? No, that was. . .
Stopping that train of thought is a struggle, but I manage to calm myself down somewhat. I need to be alert and prepared. Rob doesn't stop smiling as he picks the dropped baby wipes up off the floor and returns to wiping my face. Irritated by his smug expression, there's nothing I want more than the chance to spit in his face again, even though doing so has proven to be a mistake. Everything I've done has only thrust my fate further and further into the hands of Jacob. A stranger. With no reassurances but a promise.
No, that's not true. Genuine worry has laced his voice every time he has spoken. That's something. Or am I just hearing what I want to hear? I shake the thought away because it does nothing to calm me. There are too many uncertainties, and the only certainty I can think of is how much trouble I'm in.
Rob isn't gentle as he cleans my face. Pressing the cloth against my skin harder than necessary, he does all that he can to make the experience as uncomfortable for me as possible. I make sure to keep his stare, the only act of defiance I can offer. Though neither of us deviate with our glare, I notice Jacob in my peripheral vision inching, at the slowest pace, to move behind Rob. It's now that I remember the gun. Rob must have tucked it in his back pocket. And Jacob must be moving to take it from him!
It takes all I have left not to smile, because I'm sure this must be what's happening. Jacob was only waiting for the right moment to take it, and what better moment than now? When Rob is so fixated on staring me down that his ego probably won't allow him to look anywhere else. I channel all my attention into keeping his glare, willing him not to look away. But just when Jacob begins to reach his hand back, Rob lifts himself up.
"You just gonna stand there, ginger? Or you gonna help me?" Rob says, tearing his eyes away from mine to look at Jacob. He must have gotten bored with our game.
A flash of surprise crosses Jacob's face as he just manages to pull his hand back in time. He stares at Rob a moment, maybe waiting for him to turn back so that he can have another chance at getting the gun. But when Rob doesn't look away, Jacob nods and takes a wipe.
Damn! He was so close too! Even though I'm still drenched in anxiety about the situation, I feel a little better now that I know Jacob is on my side for sure. It'll only be a matter of time before he tries again. But for the time being, he joins Rob in scrubbing the grime from my face. They even clean behind my ears. I don't understand why they are being so scrupulous with my hygiene, or why they are bothering to clean me at all. I wouldn't have thought that Neanderthals had standards, especially when they appear so dirty themselves. I make a mental note to ask Jacob about it later when we're out of this mess.
I must have been dirtier than I thought – which isn't a surprise considering I haven't bathed in who knows how long – because they scrub away for what seems like hours. Rob cut my top off but, for whatever reason, didn't seem interested in removing my bra. They've just begun cleaning my hands when I feel the first effect of the drug.
My mouth has gone numb.
I want nothing more than to spit whatever it is out into Rob's face. I was hoping I would have the chance to before it started taking effect, but obviously that isn't going to happen now. Pushing the small square around in my mouth, I manage to position it between my teeth, hoping that this will staunch, or at least slow, the release of whatever it is imbued with. Maybe numbness will be its only effect. If that's the case, then it will be a welcome relief. But I know that there is more to come because the rest of my body doesn't feel numb. It feels sick. Not the usual type of sickness. A strange sickness that leaves me trembling.
At this moment I'm more terrified of the drug than what the men upstairs might do to me. Maybe thinking it's something else will help to calm me down. I shut my eyes and pretend I've gone to the dentist. Ignoring the hands that wash my body, I imagine that I'm leaning back in the chair with my mouth open wide. It's my first time getting a filling and my stomach is nervous with butterflies. The dentist – I've imagined her as the nice lady with the hijab and kind eyes, the one who gave me the knife – has just injected my gums with anesthesia. That's why my mouth is so numb. It's a similar feeling so the lie is easy to believe.
She's just begun working on my teeth when the door of the hotel room bursts open and the fantasy is ripped from me. Two men are tripping over each other as they stumble inside. Their eyes find me, and even in the barely illuminated room I can see the size of their pupils, like an eclipse has taken each iris. It's clear the party has begun. How long until the rest of its patrons come down here for its encore?
"There she is!" one shouts.
"The party girl!" the other choruses.
A flash of surprise crosses Jacob's face. He looks at me and I can tell this isn't a variable he's planned for. The odds just keep stacking themselves against us. Any chance we had surely must have drained from the room at the arrival of these two men. I can't imagine getting out of here if they stay.
Rob jumps to greet them, already happier in their company.
"What are you two doin' down here?" he asks, grabbing the two of them and enveloping them in what might have been intended as a hug, but quickly develops into a playful scuffle. One of them is pushed and almost topples over me when he manages to right himself and they begin to settle down.
"Well we just thought we'd come down and see how you and Red are gettin' along," the fatter of the two says.
"Yeah." The lanky one smirks, revealing the absence of his two front teeth. "And see if we could lend a hand."
It's now that the two men take the opportunity to leer at me. But I don't notice the malice in their eyes because I've become too enraptured with what they'
ve become. Morphed by the wavering light, the two men aren't men anymore. The fat man is just a mound of . . . flesh, while still managing to maintain human qualities. And the other man with no front teeth is a large rat, his greasy fur bristling with every snicker. It takes a moment of intense staring to see through this, and I realize that the drugs second effect must be hallucinogenic. Either that or I'm going crazy from all the stress.
"What's the matter with her? She stupid or somethin'?" the fat man asks.
"Nah, I just gave her something to trip on, she's probably in outer space by now," Rob says.
Not quite outer space, but definitely somewhere in orbit. It's becoming increasingly harder to focus now because I just end up trailing off into a million other thoughts. And if I trail off, I'll forget what I'm talking about, and I'll forget what I'm supposed to be focusing on. . .
What am I meant to be focusing on?
The bed shifts and I look to my side to see that Jacob has sat down beside me. Then I remember. I'm meant to be focusing on how to get out of here. But I'm so dizzy now and everything keeps changing. The air itself is wavering, like we're underwater and particles of dust are rolling in the currents, swimming with the waves. I can even feel the water lapping against my skin. It's warm.
Something pokes at my hands. For a second I think I've imagined it, like the water, but it persists with its numb prod. I unclench my fists and feel a cool metal being pressed into my palm. Only when I catch Jacob's eye do I realize that this is him. He's given me something. He closes my fingers around the object, gentle and slow, and I feel its sharp edge.
A knife.
He's given me a knife. My stomach sinks with this revelation, because I realize that this is his way of passing the baton. As if he's tried all that he can and now it's up to me. A flare of anger sparks and I find it an effort to hold my tongue so as not to give away our alliance. But that doesn't stop me from cursing him out in my mind. He had this knife all along and he didn't bother using it? Coward! He didn't need the gun, he could have easily taken Rob down with one carefully placed stab.
"Look at this!" Ratface exclaims, jolting me out of whatever train of thought I was on.
"Red's getting a little cozy with her," the fat man says. Without another word he steps forward in a flash, moving much faster than a man of his size should be able to, and knocks Jacob off the bed. "He'll have to get in line."
This receives a chorus of laughter from his cronies. I ignore him as he looks down at me, and focus instead on cutting the wire from around my wrists. Positioning the knife has sliced my palm I think, but I can't feel any pain, only a warmth akin to the water.
Things are made of shapes now, like everything has its own unique geometric pattern and I've just never noticed before. The carpet doesn't look as soft as it normally should, it looks like thousands of ovals from a poorly rendered video game. I've just begun cutting the wire when the fat man pushes me back on the bed and starts to get on top of me. With my hands wedged between my back and the mattress, it becomes almost impossible to continue cutting the wire. So I arch my hips up the smallest amount, ignoring the fact that I've moved myself closer to his groin, and continue cutting.
The man on top of me is fumbling at his belt and lowering himself over me so that he can press his lips to my neck, like a pig slobbering over its gruel. His tongue has just begun trailing along my skin when the wire finally snaps. Wrenching my arms out from under me I grab his head with my left hand and sink the small blade into his neck with my right. Shock flashes in his eyes as he tries to lift himself up, pulling away from the knife and allowing the blood to spill over me.
For a moment everything is quiet, and then I hear a loud crash followed by a shout and a BANG! The man on top of me feels like he's melting, his skin and blood oozing over me. For a few seconds I forget how to move. When I remember how, it takes a tremendous amount of effort to push his weight off of me. He rolls from the bed and hits the ground with a loud thump. The floor trembles from the impact.
When I finally lift myself up, everything is chaos. Big things are wrestling about, blurry and fast. The room is shaking with them. The entire world is shaking. Ripping the duct tape from my mouth I spit the drug out. Panic swells within me and I launch from the bed to run but find myself tumbling towards the ground. I'm falling for an eternity before I collide with the hard carpet and my vision explodes. I feel so fragile I'm afraid I might have shattered. But I'm able to lift myself up and see that I'm still in one piece. Everything is just shapes and colors, all blurry and attacking me. Somewhere in the haze of terror I manage to remember that my legs are tied. Is that why I'm on the floor? How did I get on the floor?
I cut the binds loose and move to stand, my legs as shaky as the world around me. My heart palpitates wildly, its beat wracking my entire body and pulsating in my ears. Something grabs at my arm and I thrash out with the knife. It sinks into something soft and I stab out again. I lose track of the motion but I think I'm still stabbing, stabbing and moving. I've shut my eyes but I see things running at me in the darkness.
Stabbing and moving, stabbing and moving, stabbing and moving.
The world is still when my eyes snap open. Big lumps lie on the ground, like there are grassy hills underneath the carpet. My gaze locks with the door and I move towards it, stepping over the hills as I go. The walls are breathing with me, gentle enough that I'm able to steady my heart with it.
When I reach the door I drop the knife, because I need two hands to operate the handle and I don't know where else to put it. Once the door is open I look down to retrieve the blade, but it has fallen too far for me to reach. I've become a skyscraper, impossibly tall and so far away from the ground. Despite knowing my perception of distance is drastically altered, that I'm not actually a thousand feet tall, I still can't fathom bending over and reaching for the knife. So I leave it and step out of the room. One thought has managed to stay with me, rising above all the madness.
You need to get out of here.
But as I look down the hall, it seems to sway and stretch on forever and I don't think I'll ever reach the end.
CHAPTER FOUR
Logan
The grave is too shallow.
I'm sure of it. But the only shovel we had broke half-way through digging it, and no one, not even Joey, was bothered enough to use their hands for the rest. They didn't want to bury him at all and I suppose I can understand why. Ever since promising to Aaron that he'll take everyone up to Canada, Joey has been adamant on leaving and proving that he is capable of fulfilling that promise.
It was my idea to dig the grave and bury Aaron after he died from the infection. Partly because I think he deserved a proper send off and partly because I wanted to buy time. Time for Rocket to fully repair the bus, but also time for Stella to change her mind and come back. It's been what, almost two days now? I know with how stubborn she is that it was always going to be a long shot. But I would hate myself more than I already do, if she came back and we weren't here.
Now, with everyone packing up their things and getting ready to board the bus I'm trying to think of any way to stall them for a little while longer. Because two days isn't a very long time, and there's still a chance that she could come back.
This is why I think the grave is too shallow. Already filled with dirt, you'd never be able to tell now but I'm certain that we didn't dig deep enough. I'm no expert, but I'm sure graves are a certain depth for a reason. The dirt in the backyard was already softened from being dug up long ago when I had attempted to build a pool. It would be easy to dig it up a third time using only hands. I briefly wonder what my ex-wife would think of having a body buried in her backyard. That thought is quickly waved away.
Deep down I know I'm lying to myself in a weak effort to try and make the idea of digging him back up seem more reasonable than it is. And now I find myself overwhelmingly angry at Stella and kicking at a mound of dirt beside the grave. Angry that she left without so much as a goodbye. Angry that she
has me even considering the idea of digging up Aaron's body so that I can have more time to wait for her. And above all else, angry that she's made me care about her.
Damn that kid.
I've kicked up enough dirt that there's a sizable dust cloud overtaking the majority of the backyard. Someone clears their throat and I whip around to find Rocket standing by the back-door, watching me. How long has she been standing there? Long enough to catch my tantrum most likely. She doesn't say anything, but she catches my eye and raises her brow. As the dust settles around us she inclines her head forward the slightest bit, prodding me with her stare.
"What?" I ask, averting my gaze from hers as my face grows hot. I turn to look back down at the grave. She waits until the last particle of dust has settled before replying.
"You still think she might come back." The way she's phrased it, it's not a question and it's left me with no room to argue.
"Yes," I say. I contemplate giving her the weak excuse that the grave is too shallow, but there's no point. I don't even believe that lie.
"How long would you wait for her, Logan. Really?" she asks. I look at her and I hate the pity that's in her eyes. I don't need her pity and I sure as hell don't want it.
"I don't know," I say, "a week maybe."
"A week?" she asks. "You think she's gonna come back here after a week?"
"I don't know!" I snap and kick up another mound of dirt. A gust of wind comes in through the broken fence and picks up the dust, throwing it violently in every direction. I find myself blinking it from my eyes when Rocket places a hand on my shoulder and gently pulls me back around to look at her.
"We can't wait for her, Logan, that isn't fair to us," she says. Despite sense and reason ringing in her voice, I still find myself hesitant to agree.
"But what if she—"
"There is no but, Logan!" she says, cutting me off. "She chose to leave! We can't sit around here waiting in case she decides to change her mind!"
