“Hungry much?” he asked. Mason hadn’t even opened his can yet. Shemika’s performance had amused him so much that he chose instead to watch her.
“I haven’t eaten in days,” she said, wiping the smelly fish water from her chin after she had drunk down the leftovers.
Mason slid his can over to her.
Shemika looked at him with appreciation in her eyes.
“Do you have a wife?” she asked.
“Used to. She ran off on me and Lydia when she was yet a baby. Not sure what happened there. Postpartum depression or something like that, so the doctor said.”
“You raised Lydia by yourself, then?”
“Mostly. I had a babysitter that was killed after the Flash. I guess she was kinda like a mother figure to Lydia; she was single, but young. There couldn’t have been anything there for me to work with. The same men that took Lydia killed Tamara.”
“That was her name? Tamara?”
“It was. I don’t know what I’m going to do if something has happened to my little girl. She’s my world and…”
Mason was starting to choke up, so Shemika came around the table to be by his side. She rubbed his arms and back then rested her head on his shoulder. Neither of them had felt any sort of affection in quite some time, so the moment was awkward, but Mason accepted it and composed himself.
“We’ll find your Lydia,” Shemika said. Mason took great comfort in knowing that she was with him by his side and now willing to help him find his daughter. The moment was quickly interrupted by the sounds of several vehicles approaching from the north.
“They followed our tracks,” Mason said, grabbing his backpack and taking Shemika by the hand. He pulled her toward the attached garage, where he looked out the window and saw them pulling onto the street where the house was.
He hesitated to open the garage door for fear of giving their location away, so they ran back into the hallway between the front room and bedrooms and looked up at the ceiling where the attic access door was installed.
Mason reached up to the ceiling and grabbed the tiny latch to pull the stairs down, then insisted Shemika go up first. He followed right behind her then pulled the stairs up and closed the hatch. No sooner than the latch was closed, two shots rang out and the front door was kicked open.
“We know you’re in here,” a grungy-sounding voice said from the front room. “You left tracks right up to the garage and there’s nothing leaving.”
Mason saw that there was a small rope attached to the inside of the attic hatch. He grabbed it and stood up on the ceiling joists to fasten the other end to the rafter of the roof. The hope was that the counter resistance would be strong enough to fool the Scroungers into thinking the hatch was inaccessible.
“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” the voice said. “I see you left us some grub on the front room floor.”
“It’s still warm, boss,” they heard a second voice say.”
“There’s no one here, boss,” a third voice said.
“There should be at least one more.”
“We checked the whole house, boss,” the third voice said.
“This one’s an Ebony Pistol, boss,” the second voice said.
“Load it up. We’re outta here.”
Mason and Shemika waited for the men to leave. Once Mason was comfortable believing they had left, he switched his position to the attic vent and looked outside. “It looks like they’re all gone.”
Shemika untied the rope that secured the hatch to the rafter and lowered it.
“I’ll go first, Mason said.”
Shemika loved the fact that Mason seemed to be so protective of her. She hadn’t been treated like a lady since just before the Flash. “Have at it.”
“Stay here until I know the house is clear,” he told her right before his head disappeared below the ceiling and the hatch was refastened.
Mason had his rifle butted up against his shoulder as he went from room to room, checking to make sure the Scroungers had left. In the front room, there was a blood trail that extended from where the gangster’s body was lying to the front door, which was still open. The door would not be able to lock even if he were to try. The door was kicked in and the frame was busted.
With only a couple of rooms left to check, he moved to the garage and opened the door. The Blazer was still parked, which was a huge red flag for Mason. He’d left the keys in the ignition so he wouldn’t misplace them and they’d already be there in case of a rapid exit. Any good Scrounger would have stolen that vehicle.
There’s no way Scroungers would leave a working truck behind unless they left Scroungers behind , he thought. For Mason, the stark reality was now that somewhere in the house were at least a couple of murderous cannibals. Figuring the path was clear between the garage and attic hatch, Mason rushed back and called up, “Shemika, c’mon. Let’s get out of here.”
The springs on the attic seemed a thousand times louder now that their senses were heightened. He put his back to the stairs and covered for her as she descended the steps. Once she was down, the two of them raced back to the garage. Shemika entered the passenger side of the truck while Mason manually opened the garage door.
We have to be quick. I didn’t check two rooms , he thought as he lifted the door and turned to open the driver’s side door.
“Nice and easy now,” the Scrounger said.
Mason was looking into the eyes of the Scrounger that had Shemika wrapped in one arm from behind her seat. The arm brandished a machete that was pressed against her throat. The Scrounger was leaning forward somewhat with his nose buried deep in Shemika’s hair. The gaunt-looking man took a huge breath in through his nostrils as if he was savoring the smell of her hair. Mason had his rifle slung over the backside of his shoulder because he’d used both hands to open the garage door.
“I haven’t smelled a woman in a long, long time,” the grungy man said.
Mason was slowly moving his hand toward his pistol, where he hoped to at least gain an advantage having a gun at a knife fight.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” asecond voice said from the other backseat next [PN1] to Mason. Mason couldn’t see into the windows because they were darkened with tinting. The seat clicked and moved forward. A second Scrounger leaned forward and had a pistol that was pointed at Mason.
“Now, you’re going to slowly step into this truck and start it up. We’re going for a ride. The boss wants to meet the man with cojones large enough to kill an Ebony Pistol.”
“Can’t you just tell him that you met me and you think I’m a really cool dude?”
“No, he’s going to want to see you,” the armed Scrounger said as he looked at Shemika. “He didn’t say anything about the mare, though.” The armed Scrounger looked back to Mason and said, “Now real slow-like, take those goodies off and hand them to me,” pointing at his weapons.
Mason first handed his rifle to the man and looked over to check on Shemika. Her captor was smelling her hair and licking her ear and cheek. Mason felt a rage build up inside him, partially due to the way she was being treated and partially because he thought of Lydia and what she must be going through, if she was even still alive.
“Stay focused,” the gunman said to Mason, who had paused at what he was witnessing in the passenger seat. The quarters were tight and Mason was formulating a plan, but every idea had too many variables with risks too high to attempt, so he reluctantly handed all of his gear and weapons to the man and pushed the driver’s seat back so he could get in. Mason backed out of the driveway and pointed the Blazer back in a northerly direction.
“Now follow those tracks before the wind blows them over,” the gunman said, pointing to the roving Scrounger trail.
Mason looked over at the machete-wielding Scrounger with disgust in his heart. Shemika was afraid, but was being brave. She turned her head toward Mason, who put the truck in drive and was accelerating. Mason turned his head back to Shemika and grabbed his seatbelt, securin
g it tightly across his body. She received the signal he was communicating with his actions and did the same. Mason pressed down hard on the accelerator, and the Blazer picked up speed while Shemika used both hands to grab the Scrounger’s arm that wielded the machete.
“What are you doing?” the man behind Mason yelled. “Slow down or you’ll get us all killed.”
“Not us,” Mason said. “Just you.” Then Mason took a sharp turn towards a tree that was close to the road and smashed into it.
The Scrounger behind Shemika flew over her seat and went through the windshield. The man behind Mason was wedged between the driver’s seat and the front dash. He appeared to be unconscious, as did Shemika. The man outside was awake and crawling along the sidewalk when Mason unfastened his safety belt and opened his door. The gunman fell out on the ground.
The machete was lying on the floor up front. Mason grabbed the blade and the coat of the unconscious man, pulling him towards the crawling Scrounger in the front of the wrecked Blazer. Once he had the two of them together, Mason made sure the unconscious Scrounger was awake and watching when he started hacking the wounded one with the machete.
“This is what happens when you hurt someone I care about,” Mason said, pointing back to the bloody minced Scrounger.
Shemika was now sitting upright, and she saw and heard what Mason just did. His words solidified what she hoped was real. She thought less of the violence by which the message was relayed, but she understood the depth of it all.
“Please don’t kill me, mister…”
“Mason. My name’s Mason Loss.”
Mason went back to the Blazer and grabbed all of his gear. Once he had collected himself, he looked at Shemika and asked, “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine… I think.” Shemika stepped out of the truck and checked herself over. “I seem to be good. Just sore.”
“Can you help me get this savage into that house over there?” Mason was pointing to a house on the corner of the block that would offer them temporary shelter until they could get sorted.
“Sure,” she answered.
“Just don’t touch their skin. They look sickly.”
Entry Three
“Dear Lydia, so much has transpired since my last journal entry. The woman’s name is Shemika, and despite her scarred appearance, she is beautiful to me, inside and out. I think you’d like her. She’s missing her brother and has yet to share the details of her captivity in the Ebony Pistols camp with me. I’m eager to know, but I refuse to ask. When she’s ready to share it with me, she will.
“I risked Shemika’s life today. I feel bad about that, but had I not taken a risky move, most likely we’d both be dead. It’s hard to tell.
“We ran into some Scroungers twice today. Shemika took my backpack in the night and ran out on her own out of fear, I think. Sometimes making hasty decisions to save yourself when you’re unsure about the situation can save your life, but this wasn’t one of those times. She ran off before she revealed her name to me. When I found her, she was hiding from three Scroungers. We worked together and killed them.
“Later, we took refuge in a random house, but some roving Scroungers picked up our trail and followed us to our hideout. In the end, we were taken hostage and told we were being taken to see their leader or something like that. Long story short, Shemika and I put our seatbelts on and the fools didn’t. Smart people score; idiots zero.
“Shemika’s safe now and only moderately sore. I killed one of our captors with a machete. It was different than my Ka-Bar kill. More aggressive and less intimate. The other one is tied to the kitchen table. There’s not much hope that I’m going to let him live either. Before I kill him, I’m going to see if he knows anything about where I can find you. Maybe he can lead me to where you’re being kept. I hope you’re safe… for everyone’s sake.”
...
Mason put his journal into his cargo pocket and walked over to where they were keeping their prisoner latched to the kitchen table. Mason had the Scrounger lying on his belly, on top of the table, with ropes from the bedroom curtain set tying his hands together under the table. He had done the same thing with his ankles and knees with ropes from other curtain sets. The man was tightly bound, and there was little hope of him breaking loose without making a ruckus in the process. When Mason felt comfortable knowing his prisoner was secure, and that Shemika was sound asleep, he went to work interrogating the man.
“Right after the Flash, my home was invaded by some punks called Slasha, Frenzy, and Smoka. Have you ever heard of ’em?”
“No, should I have?”
“I want to be perfectly clear. You’re trash to me. Absolute vermin and there’s nothing lower on the face of the earth. Even animals don’t eat their own under similar circumstances. So when I say to you that if you don’t cooperate, I’m going to kill you, you might want to heed the warning. Not a fast death, either, but slowly. It will hurt. But if you cooperate, you have a chance to live.”
“I’m not hiding anything. Ask your questions and let me go.”
Mason looked at the man with disgust. His face was thin and pale. Bumps covered his body like he had a sickness he’d never seen before. All Scroungers had the same thing going on. At first, they were just pale looking, but later they developed almost a gray-hued complexion that was accompanied by bumpy sack-looking things. They smelled bad, too. Not like the usual musty body odor that was on almost everybody surviving the apocalypse, but a dank, putrid odor like a new and unclassified type of disease.
“When the Order comes to you with children, what do you do with them?” Mason asked.
The man started to laugh.
“Keep your voice down. My friend’s trying to sleep. Tell me, what’s so funny?”
“Kids taste especially sweet.”
Mason grabbed two dirty towels from the kitchen sink, lifted the man’s head up from the table by tightly grasping his forehead with one, and stuffed the other deep into the man’s throat and then pulled his Ka-Bar out, driving it into the meaty portion of the back of the man’s right leg. He let out a loud muffled scream, so Mason adjusted the towel and used it to pinch the man’s nostrils tight so that he couldn’t breathe. He struggled for a minute until he went limp; then Mason released his nose and pulled the towel out of his mouth. The man came to and gasped for air.
Mason’s knife was still protruding from the man’s leg.
“I’m only an inch from the femoral artery. A little twist and another push, and you slowly bleed to death. Now, be honest with me. Did you eat a little girl named Lydia?”
“The Order brought some kids to my group before they were called the Order. I think some gangbangers consolidated their gangs to survive the Flash. That consolidation came to be known as the Order. That black kid you killed, the Ebony Pistol, I saw him before.”
“Quit distracting me,” Mason said, flicking the Ka-Bar with his middle finger.
The man let out a grunt.
“Tell me what the Order does with kids.”
“At first they let them go, because nobody wanted the responsibility. Later on, when people began to starve…”
The man hesitated to tell Mason what they did with kids after starvation hit. Mason couldn’t even fathom the thought of his little Lydia being hurt, much less killed for food.
“You said ‘at first they let them go,’ did you mean right after the Flash?”
“Yes, later on down the road, Haven began dealing in children.”
“Who’s Haven?”
“Not a ‘who,’ but a ‘what.’”
Mason rolled his eyes. “What’s Haven? What do they do with children?”
“I don’t know. Its walls are high and made of thick sandstone, and it’s completely surrounded by fencing covered in concertina wire.”
“A prison? Is it a prison?” Mason said, frustrated that the man was trying to buy time for his life.
“Just inside the barrens, in Joliet, the old prison is where you will find Have
n. I don’t know much about them, only that—”
Mason pulled the knife from the man’s leg and drove it through the back of the man’s neck, severing his spinal cord and killing him.
...
The next morning, Shemika woke up from a much-needed sleep. She sat up, yawned, and stretched her arms, looking around to see that Mason was still fast asleep on the floor just a foot away from her.
She quietly got out of the bed and strolled into the kitchen. She came to a dead stop when she saw that their prisoner was gone. A quick study of the area revealed bloodstains on the table and a few blood spots on the floor next to the table that led to the back door.
She slowly walked to the door and peeked through the veneer blinds. There, she saw the body of a man lying in a pool of blood. Shemika thought she saw the man’s jaw moving, so she focused her eyes on what she could see of his face. She moved her forehead even closer to the glass window so that she could be as close as possible without having to go outside. The man’s hazy-colored eyes were darting around in his head as he lay there. There was so much blood on the ground, making it an absolute impossibility that the man could still be alive.
Shemika was startled by Mason. “He told me everything I need,” Mason said, causing Shemika to jump and turn around to face him in a panic.
“You scared me,” she said.
“Sorry about that. We need to head to Joliet,” he said. “The Scrounger said the Order controls Joliet. Not all of it, only the barrens and some of the territory around the area. There’s a place in Joliet called Haven. It’s where we’re going. I think they have Lydia. At least they’d better have Lydia,” Mason said as he gathered his belongings together.
“Haven it is,” she said, trying to shake off what she thought was her eyes playing tricks on her. Mason was oblivious to what she had witnessed.
Haven
AKA Joliet Penitentiary
No Light Beyond Page 3
