by A. R. Braun
Goggle-eyed, Muffy blanched. She hyperventilated and pointed. “N-n-no! H-how’d you … get out?” she squeaked.
Scout held the gun on her with both hands, ready to blow her head off if she tried anything. In her excitement, she’d forgotten she’d fired the last bullet. “I want you to know something before I punish you. I’m not bisexual. You’re nothing but a no-good rapist. A piece of shit.
“And you’re goin’ down.”
Muffy, the weakling she was, trembled so much Scout thought she’d faint. She put both hands over her mouth and groaned. “P-please, please don’t h-hurt me. I’ll give you money.”
Scout did her best to scowl. “Now it’s time to have mercy on you, huh?”
“Please! I’m afraid of pain!”
“Shut up or I’ll put a bullet in your scrawny head!” Scout uttered a sadistic laugh. “Prison, you should be so lucky.”
“Prison? Haven’t you …?”
What the fuck? Here we go with that insane question shit again.
“Yeah, you’d probably like prison,” Scout said. “You won’t live to go there, though.”
For some reason, Muffy covered up her left elbow with her right hand. Then she folded her hands as in prayer and dropped to her knees before her. “Please! I’ll do anything!”
“Do this, gymnastic girl!” Scout pistol-whipped her, knocking her to the ground, where she lay unconscious. Then she set the gun down and beat the dogshit out of her, punching her in the face and gut as hard as she could. She stood and kicked her in the ribs over and over, hearing a sickening crack. Out of breath, she stopped.
“Let’s see if you like being a toilet.” Scout pulled Lelila’s—well, hers now—shorts and panties off and stood over her, letting go with urine, making sure to soak her from head to toe, for as a diabetic, she had extra reserves of piss to dispense. Afterward, she bent to a squat and took a shit on Muffy’s face, the green stools leaving marks before rolling onto the floor.
Scout made her way to the bathroom and washed her hands and wiped. When she came back into the living room, Muffy stirred, feeling her face and gagging. Scout snap-kicked her in the head as hard as she could like Ronda Rousey on the UFC. Muffy went goodnight again. She had a couple of shiners and bruises all over her face and neck.
It was time to go.
***
Scout didn’t like creeping down the stairs and rummaging through a dead man’s pockets, but she did it nonetheless. She squirmed as the body moved along with her digging.
Shake, rattle and roll, indeed.
Finally, she found what she was looking for and bounded up the stairs three at a time. She ran through the kitchen, but then had the thought that she should check on Muffy. The bitch lay still on the living room floor. Scout called the police and left an anonymous tip on their answering service—why weren’t they picking up the phone, and what was that shit about an execution vehicle for the guilty or some crap?—to come to Mack and Lelila’s address after she checked the house number and street sign by stepping outside with the cordless. She left instructions to pick Muffy off the floor, telling them she’d raped Scout for a week. She also called her parents’ house, but no one answered. Scout let it ring and ring, anxious to talk to her mother and father. The machine came on, saying something about their daughter missing, and if anybody knew her whereabouts, please tell them or the police, because they were out searching for her, adding that the cops hadn’t been much help. The machine beeped.
“Mom, Dad, this is Scout. I was kidnapped, but I’m coming home n-n-nooowwwww.” Scout bawled. She hung up the phone.
She stopped to gaze at an innocent-looking picture of Mack and Lelila, appearing like good teens heading for college in Anytown, USA. It sickened her and she punched a crack in it. As a result, she felt effulgent, powerful, invincible, despite what she’d been through. For once, she was fighting and winning.
Yet when she walked through the entry door, anxiety put her in a stranglehold. Where would she go? Well, if she had to ask for directions to get out of the south side and to her parents’ house, she would. She left the door cracked for the police. Scout climbed behind the wheel of the huge truck with Mickey-Toms, a large tool chest in the cab and a backseat … and realized she couldn’t drive a stick.
She beat the steering wheel with her palms. “God fucking damn it! Son of a cocksucking bitch!”
Scout hopped out and slammed the door. She gave the door a few good kicks.
She’d have to walk. They’d placed her vehicle in the garage, and the stupid truck was blocking it.
She didn’t know where she was going.
On trembling legs, she proceeded.
***
As she started walking across the driveway, the thought hit her that she should wait for the police. She just knew Lelila was still alive and would come up behind her and grab her by the neck, pulling her back into the dungeon. Still carrying the gun under her belt and shirt, she could fire a round into her head—if there was a round left; she just now remembered there probably wasn’t—but she wanted to get out of there, not sure whether the police would pin it all on her. They’d think she went on a killing spree.
That got her moving. Nothing was as sweet as the birds chirping, the wind ruffling through the trees and the inner-city children at play: laughing, squealing and yelling. She took a right turn at Elm Street and headed for the liquor store. Elm, that figures. Last time, she’d gone through the alley, so a couple houses down, she headed in that general direction.
But why should she go that way? Maybe there was a better path. Scout didn’t know. She just headed out, wanting to get as far from that small house as possible.
She cut through someone’s yard and barely made it out of the backyard before a huge black dog could take a chunk of her. Sweating like a pig in this heat, Scout moved through the alley. She power-walked past the tenement houses, ignoring the screaming and yelling coming from the ghetto. Before long, the liquor store was before her.
What a sweet sight!
She ran for it.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Scout burst through the door of the liquor store and hurried toward the crowd of people who snapped their heads her way. She reached the group, skidding to a stop right before them. They recoiled, then righted themselves. A group of older and younger African-Americans, plus a couple of plump Caucasian women and a white cashier with a shaven head, goggled their eyes at her.
She fought to catch her breath as she hoped her mother and father had arrived at home. “Let me use the phone to call my parents! I’m a kidnapping and rape victim!”
“Why should I?” the pale, thin cashier answered.
The crowd furrowed their brows at her, then looked the cashier’s way.
He turned to Scout and scowled. “Yours a church-goin’ family, kid?”
She gaped. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“Everything. If so, they’re probably at the camp.”
Scout’s mind was a whirl of confusion. “What camp?”
“The death camp.”
Their eyes bored holes into her soul.
Scout noticed the same tattoo on their right hands as Mack and Lelila had. She pointed at them. “What is that tattoo, anyway? My kidnappers had it.”
A young black with a cap on sideways laughed. “Yeah, people get away with kidnappin’ now. You were probably safer there.”
Terror bit its incisors into her mind like a wendigo. “Safer in there?” she yelled.
“Yeah. And these ain’t tattoos.”
Oh Lord, I do not like where this is going.
She was afraid to ask.
Thunder rumbled, as if God were displeased.
“See?” The young man came out from behind the counter and stuck his hand in her face.
It looked like some kind of microchip bored into the skin. The flesh around it was jaundiced.
“What is that?” Scout trembled.
“It’s the RFID chip.” The c
ashier held up his hand. “We all got ‘em.”
“Better have one,” the young man added, “or you’re in a lot of trouble. Worse than your wildest nightmare.”
“You never answered my question,” the cashier went on.
Scout heaved a heavy sigh. “Yeah, Baptists,” she whispered.
“What? Speak up!”
“Baptists,” she yelled. “Fucking okay?” Scout wept. “Please, I’ve gotta call my parents.”
“Like I said,” the cashier answered, “they’re in the camps. That is, if they didn’t go up in the rapture.”
The rapture?
Insanely, Scout thought of Lelila’s warped Bible study.
“Lookie here,” a plump Caucasian lady said, walking over and standing next to her. She put her arm around her waist. “You’re better off joining up with us.”
Scout was speechless. She could only shake her head.
The young man got in her face. “You got to obey him, or die.”
“W-who?” Scout squeaked.
“The chancellor.”
She looked at him.
The cashier shook his head. “The Antichrist, young lady. With the microchip, they know where you are every second of the day. That way, they can find you if they need you. Lot of work to be done for the chancellor.”
In denial, Scout shook the woman free of her waist and backed away. “You’re all crazy! It’s not true.”
Roaring laughter came from the group.
“Go on out there and find out,” the young man cried, “you don’t believe me.”
Scout ran. She had to get somewhere where people weren’t insane. It couldn’t be true, that while she was in captivity, the Day of the Lord had come, sucking the believers up to heaven, then the antichrist taking over the world. She’d never see her parents again, and she’d just escaped the most horrible ordeal of her life, to enter another one even worse?
No motherfucking way.
Scout ran like a woman possessed and wouldn’t stop until she arrived at the north side of Mowquakwa and rushed into her parents’ driveway.
***
As Scout sprinted out of the south side, she recognized the bus station, but it wasn’t doing business for some reason. She kept her maddening pace up Main Street and turned right at the west side, not letting herself stop once she reached Sheridan Street. She dodged traffic at University Street. She gagged on the way, but swallowed her spit and kept going. She had a stitch in her side. She passed the mall; she garnered wide-eyed stares from the people in the parking lot.
Once past the mall, she had to stop. Out of breath with her side now screaming in pain, she needed to get to a pharmacy and pick up some insulin. She scanned the area, spying out the businesses: Red Lobster, McDonald’s, a sub shop, a beauty parlor, but no pharmacy in sight. Oh well, her parents would get her all the insulin she needed when she got home.
She stopped in mid-search when a police car drove by, the officer inside thankfully not seeing her. By reflex, her right hand went into her pocket, because this was no regular police car. It was a tiny vehicle like the traffic cops drove in the suburb of Mowquakwa called Wampum. Square in the front, just enough space for the officer and, in the back, lurked … a … a guillotine. Big black letters announced the type of car she was gawking at: EXECUTION VEHICLE.
Then she understood the police’s phone message.
This can’t be happening!
A taxi pulled into the parking lot of McDonald’s. Scout ran for it, yelling at the driver as he stepped out of the car.
A huge man with thinning hair frowned at her. “Hey, lady, this is my break. I was gonna get somethin’ to eat.”
“I’ll wait.” Out of breath, she put her hands in front of her to keep from crashing into the hackie. “I really need to go somewhere.” She reached into her purse and pulled out her wallet, taking out a twenty. “I’ll pay you extra.”
He pointed her out. “You wait right there.”
Scout nodded, still trying to catch her breath. The sky was overcast and rain sprinkled down.
When the hackie finally wobbled his lard ass out of the restaurant holding a bag and sipping on a soda through a straw, Scout had been drenched. He made no effort to run to avoid the rain: probably couldn’t.
He unlocked the door.
“Oh, thank God,” Scout said, not thinking.
He snapped his head her way. “What’d you say?”
She shook her head. “Never mind.”
He hit a button and she opened the door.
The hackie craned his head to glower at her. “Just gonna eat my meal real quick, then we’ll go.”
She nodded, wiped rain off her face and pulled her hair over her shoulder. She wrung the water out onto the mat.
“Great,” the taxi driver said with his mouth full. “Gettin’ rainwater all over my cab.”
“Sorry.”
He took another drink of his soda as thunder rumbled and the sky turned black. Rain continued to fall in sheets. “I better not have heard you thankin’ God a few seconds ago.” He turned his head to hex her with his beetle-browed eyes. “Ain’t no God no more, just the chancellor.”
Her heart sunk. She leaned back.
Oh shit oh no oh fuck.
“Charmingly,” the ugly man finished his meal and burped as loudly as he could. For an encore, he lifted his leg and farted. He finished off his drink, slurping the last of the soda, of course. He craned his head again. “Okay, we’re good to go. All you gotta do is show me the mark … whoops … I mean, the chip, and we can leave.”
She looked at him.
“Well? You got it or not?”
Rage consumed her. “Why do I have to have a fuckin’ chip to ride in a cab?” she yelled.
He stuck a sausage finger her way. “Don’t be gettin’ no attitude with me, bitch, especially if you ain’t got the chip. Show it to me or get the fuck out of my cab!”
Sobbing, she covered her mouth.
So it is true. The end came and I got left behind.
“Look, bitch!” He opened his car door. “If I got to toss you out, ain’t a thang. We WASPS don’t take any shit!”
She got out. “What the fuck’s a WASP?” She backed up.
“WE ARE SATAN’S PEOPLE! AND YOU’RE ABOUT TO BE ONE OF THE HEADLESS CHILDREN! NOW GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE.”
The rain abated and a stream of sunlight fought its way through a cloud. It gleamed off the tire iron he held.
She got the fuck out of there.
***
So much for not taking Christianity seriously. Fat lot of good that had done her. As Scout jogged to her parents’ house—now getting a better idea of where she was—she wouldn’t stop for anything, short of a heart attack.
Like that’s gonna happen at my age.
Then she remembered the news report about the high-school volleyball player who had suffered cardiac arrest.
Besides, her age meant nothing now. Oh, how she wished she would’ve listened! Her parents had loved her more than she knew, taking her to that church. At least she had the comforting assurance that Mack and Lelila were in hell. They’d been left behind, too, and sure hadn’t been up to anything good.
No wonder they were so savage with me. It’s the new way.
Scout wouldn’t let herself believe her parents were gone. It was too much. After all she’d been through, to not even get to be reunited with her mother and father, why, she’d go insane!
Her shirt was soaked with sweat in the back, the rain already drying off, to be replaced with perspiration. It stuck to her. She wiped sweat from her face, breathing heavily again. After turning a couple of corners with torque, she booked down her street as if running the 100-yard dash.
There it was, the most beautiful sight she’d seen in a week. But no car sat in the driveway. Maybe the sedan’s in the garage. Finally reaching the yard, she slowed. Neighbors came out to stare, but none of the kind kids or gentle older people she’d come to love inched out of their ho
uses.
She thought she knew why.
The sun shone vehemently. Scout covered her eyes. The glare hurt, after being shut in that dark basement for so long. She reached the small concrete porch and stopped on a dime.
The front door stood open. The screen door, too.
Oh no. No, no, no, NO NO NO NO NO!
Inside, birds flew hither and yon. She ran up the few steps of the porch and power-walked into the house, looking around frantically. “MOM? DAD?” Scout hadn’t realized she’d started running until she almost bashed into a family portrait where everyone looked sweet, innocent and happy. No one in the TV room, no one in the guest room. She ran upstairs and found no one in the bedrooms, either. Nope, they’d been taken, in the rapture or to the prison camp. She ran through the hallway and down the stairs. In the living room, she fell to her knees, grabbed her head and screamed.
Glaring at her, the police stood in the doorway.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“Freeze,” a burly cop with short black hair cried.
“Show me your RFID chip!” a chunky policewoman with curly black hair tied in a ponytail said.
Scout put her hands up. “I-I …”
The male cop scowled. “Do you have the chip or not?”
Scout tried not to flinch. What could she tell them? Be honest and say no so they could take her to the camp or lie and claim she just got out of the dungeon and hadn’t had the chance to get the chip implanted? The quintessence of integrity: the first option, but she was afraid.
Maybe if I go, Mom and Dad will be there. But to be in a concentration camp like the Jews in the ‘30s is … horrid.
“I just escaped from a young couple who kidnapped and raped me,” Scout cried. She trembled.
“So?” the male cop asked.
The policewoman laughed. Yet the officers lowered their weapons.
“I’m Officer Johnson,” the male cop said.
“Officer Brodie, ma’am,” the female cop said.
“So, you haven’t had time to get the chip yet, is that it?” he asked.
Scout sighed. She wanted more than anything to blurt out no, but she couldn’t … yet. She shook her head. “Where are my mom and dad?” Perhaps they’d killed them and they weren’t at the camp. Maybe they went up in the rapture.
