by Luis Samways
Some more cars drive by. The blinding light hits my eyes as I start to sober up. My vision becomes clearer as I watch the three boys in front walk on excitedly. Seth looks back at me with a sneer-like grin on his face. He stops dead and turns toward me, waiting for us to catch up.
“What’s up, guys — you look a bit gloomy.”
“Maybe it’s to do with the fact that you are carrying a concealed weapon you just found on the side of the highway. Don’t you think maybe it’s there for a reason? Maybe someone tossed it out of their car. Maybe it was involved in a murder, and now your prints are all over it. It wouldn’t hurt to think a little before doing something stupid like this, Seth,” Elle says, while I look on in awe at her beauty when trying to make a point.
“I don’t think it matters. They’ll never find the gun.”
“‘Why not? Explain it to me, Seth,” I say.
“Because after I’m done with it, I’ll destroy the damn thing.”
“Destroy it?” I ask.
‘Yeah, guns aren’t indestructible, Toby,” he spouts as he walks off, catching up with Mike and Rocco in front. I turn to Dwaine.
“What do you think he means by ‘after I’m done with it’?” I ask as I look on in front of me.
“God knows, but whatever it is, I’m sure when he does what he’s planning, we’ll know about it.”
Sixteen
Seth’s House
We get to Seth’s house after a few awkward hours on the highway. By now I’m ready to go to bed, but the boys, excluding Dwaine and me, are up for party games. Seth eyeballs me as we reach his living room.
“You up for a few more drinks, Toby?” he asks me.
“I was thinking of calling it a night, Seth.”
“Come on, don’t be a pussy.”
He hands me a bottle of beer and points down at the floor. I sit down, joining the rest of the group, who by now are forming a crude circle on the fluffy carpet of the living room. I look around and see the working class style living room filled with sports teams’ pennants and other memorabilia. I look at the large fifty-inch TV propped up on the wall. I see the remote on the couch next to me, so I decide to reach for it and turn the TV on. Seth swats the remote out of my hand.
“Fuck that — we’re going to play a game. Leave the damn TV off.”
I look at him in shock but don’t bother arguing; after all, this is his house. I see Elle watching from the living room door. I signal her to sit next to me. She slowly walks on over and sits down. She gives me a worried look, as if she is uncomfortable in here. I put my arm around her and squeeze gently. I continue to watch Seth scramble around the living room. He’s got three bottles of hard liquor in his hands; he plonks them down on the soft carpet in the middle of the human circle we have formed. He gets some glasses and puts them in the middle of the circle. He looks around and sees the big bay window just in front of us next to the big TV. He cracks a smile and strolls over to it. He closes the drapes and turns back around; a sigh of relief escapes his mouth. He reaches behind him as if he’s fiddling with his belt. He pulls out the revolver and taps it on his thigh as if he’s in deep thought. He’s soon snapped out of his thinking when Elle lets out a moan.
“What are you doing, Seth?” she asks nervously.
He smiles at her and walks on forward. His heavy footsteps push into the carpet as he makes his way toward the circle. He looks down at the empty spot in the circle and sits down, crossing his legs like a child in kindergarten. He scratches the side of his head with the sleek barrel of the revolver. He finally opens his mouth as I prepare for whatever stupid thing he’s about to say.
“Let’s play a game,” he says in a Saw-like tone.
Rocco and Mike laugh in unison as Seth continues brandishing his revolver.
“What sort of game?” Elle asks.
I look at Seth as he enjoys the looks of horror on Dwaine’s and Elle’s faces.
“The sort of game that involves a gun,” Seth says as he bites down on the barrel of the revolver.
Dwaine stands up. His chest is puffed out, and I realize what he’s about to do. I grab him by the ankle, distracting him for a few seconds. Seth shoots up and points the gun at Dwaine’s head.
“Sit the fuck down!” screams Seth as he waves the gun in Dwaine’s direction. Dwaine complies and sits down. He gives me a woeful look as if he’s pissed off at me for grabbing at his leg. I shake my head emphatically at him. He soon drops his gaze back to the floor as I grip Elle’s hand hard. Her sweaty palms touch mine as I look on in anticipation of what could possibly happen next.
Seventeen
Let the Games Begin
“We are going to have a little fun here, boys and…girl. Now, let’s start drinking and get this game started,” says Seth.
I look at him as he downs a full bottle of Bud and wipes his mouth dry. He clicks the safety off the revolver and looks at me.
“You have any idea what we are going to play, Toby?”
I remain silent as I try to gather my thoughts. Can this really be happening? Has my best friend Seth lost his mind? Is he dangerous?
“Answer me, you no-good piece of shit!” he screams as I jolt in shock at his outburst. Seth gets up from his spot in the circle and starts waving the revolver around. Elle grabs at my hand as she winces in fear. He comes up to me, still pointing the loaded gun. I look around and see the now-scared faces of Mike and Rocco as they struggle to comprehend Seth’s actions.
“Get up!” Seth screams while grabbing at my collar. I oblige and hastily make my way to my feet.
“Are you ready to play?” he asks as I stand firmly in place.
I think to myself for a little, preparing myself for anything drastic or out of the ordinary.
“Sure, ready as ever,” I say as cautiously as possible.
“Good,” Seth says while moving in closer, as if he’s about to whisper something into my ear.
He hits me hard in the ribs. Turns out he’s good at knee lifts, as I find out when I hit the floor in pain. Man, it feels as if someone has driven out all the air from my lungs and replaced it with hot lava as I struggle to breathe face down in the carpet. I’m so close to the floor that I can actually smell the carpet freshener that was freshly put on in the last couple of days. Hmm, lemon fresh, I think to myself. I struggle to look up as I see his feet towering over me, taking steps backward and forward as a child would do when needing to go to the bathroom. I hear Dwaine get up from beside me. I dread to think what will happen as I shut my eyes tightly. I hear a loud pop. As I regain the courage to open my eyes, I see Dwaine holding his nose. Looks like he just got socked in the face. I get up, using all the strength I can muster, and make eye contact with Seth. He looks on in an enraged state. He grabs me by the collar again.
“You want to die tonight, Toby?” he screams.
“What are you talking about?” I ask.
Suddenly my vision slows down as I see Seth’s head lean forward at high speed. The force of the head butt knocks me out. Everything goes dark.
Eighteen
End Game
I finally come to. The ceiling looks dirty as I blink a few times. I can practically hear the dryness in my eyes as my eyelids struggle to unstick. It’s extremely hot. I grab at my face and feel the cold blood. I shoot up as I recall the situation that led to this. The silence in the room is deafening as I look around. No one is in the living room. The huge TV that I was admiring before is now broken and cracked. I get up and steady myself. There’s a strange smell in the room, an odor of absence. I turn around and make my way to the hallway. The stairs that lead upstairs look disturbed. Not in the sense that there are chunks missing out of them (Seth’s parents never got to fixing them, I guess), but the scattered clothing on the banister looks out of place. I don’t remember any clothes being on the stairs when I entered. The kitchen to my right catches my attention. The lighting from the bulbs in the kitchen is flickering like candles in a church. I notice the sparse light esca
ping from a crack in the door. That, too, wasn’t there before. My heart starts to race. Something just doesn’t feel right as I make my way to the kitchen door like a moth to a light source. I feel powerless but determined to find out what’s going on. If only I’d just walked out of the house, I wouldn’t be talking to you now.
I reach the door and touch the handle. I can just about see the tile floor through the inch-wide crack.
“Hello?” I say as I slowly open the door. The scene is one I wish I’d never witnessed. I have heard my dad spout about how he wished sometimes he wasn’t a court bailiff because he would have to hear about the crimes that the defendants committed while he was ensuring their stay in the courthouse. Well, I kind of feel the same way in this situation. If only I weren’t Seth’s “friend,” then I wouldn’t be witnessing this.
I walk in and see Dwaine sitting down with his face resting on the dining table. His body looks relaxed enough, as if he’s fast asleep across the hardwood dining surface, but the blood dripping from the table to the floor gives it away. As soon as I see that, I know he’s dead — that, and the knife in his head. I dart my eyes to the right and see that the door leading to the garden is wide open. I slowly make my way over to the door. Its fresh breeze hits me like a ton of bricks. I flick the switch next to the frame. It lights up the garden. I see Mike and Rocco on the garden chairs with beers in their hands. Their grips are tight around the Budweisers as I step in closer. The light from the kitchen escapes my back and lights up Mike’s and Rocco’s faces. I stop in terror as I see what stands before me. Both Mike’s and Rocco’s necks are slashed open. I can see the sheen of their spinal columns as they penetrate through their severed skin. I puke — granted, I’m a bit fucking shocked.
I rush back into the kitchen and grab one of the idle knives stuck into the knife block. It’s the biggest one in the kitchen; it glistens in the strobe lighting as I exit the kitchen and rush to the stairs. I take one step forward on the creaky stair and then hear a scream. It sounds like Elle. My immediate response is to rush up and follow the screams. I do. I clear the thirty-odd steps in what I imagine to be record time. I reach the landing and see Seth’s door. I fling myself into it and crash through the other side. I see Seth on top of Elle, who’s crying into a pillow. He quickly turns his head and sees me. He reaches for the revolver on the bedside table. He gets off her and faces me, his back to the wall. He stands twenty feet away from me, but it feels as if he’s right in my ear; the pure sight of him and what he’s doing to her makes me angry. I grip my knife’s handle tightly as he stares a hole into me.
“Looks like you brought a knife to a gunfight…amigo,” he says.
I grip my knife even harder and walk forward. My strides hit the floor in his room like loud thumps of a war drum; each step I take is a step closer to battle. He gives me a sadistic smile as he unclips the revolver and spins the chamber. He quickly snaps it back in and raises the gun toward me as I come within arm’s length. The steel cold hits my skull and sends a nervous tingle down my spine. He laughs.
“There’s only one in the chamber, Toby. Six to one odds of you dying. Even those odds make me happy. Ever since you came into my life, you’ve been nothing but a burden. I lost three good years of my life in high school because I was hanging around with you, and now this? Now you take my girl! Elle is mine, Toby, you know that. You know I get what I want, and you know I want Elle. So tell this dumb bitch that if she doesn’t do as I say, it’s nighty-night for her.”
“Fuck you, Seth — she’s my girl. I love her!” I shout as I grip my knife tighter. He pulls the trigger; nothing comes out.
“Lucky boy!” He laughs.
He pulls the trigger again. Still no bullet.
“Ooh, four to one now.”
Elle starts screaming as he pulls it again. This time I close my eyes, expecting the worst, but still no bullet. With my eyes shut, I grip the handle of the knife even harder.
“Three to one.”
He pulls again; no bullet. I swing the knife and hit his side. The knife goes in like butter, and he lets out a scream. He drops the gun as I open my eyes. I quickly bend down and pick up the revolver. He looks at me from the floor with scared eyes.
“You fucking stabbed me!” he screams.
“What about Mike, Rocco, and Dwaine? You stabbed them, you sick bastard!”
“They got in the way,” he says calmly.
“Well, so have you…. Two to one odds, Seth — how do you like those odds?”
“I’m feeling flustered. I don’t want to play this game anymore,” Seth says as he tries to regain his escaping breath.
“Two to one,” I say as I squeeze the trigger. The revolver bounces and fires. A loud thumping sound bellows through the room as Seth’s head snaps back and explodes. Elle screams as she is splattered with blood.
The next thing I know, I’m down here. Like I said before, I didn’t mean to kill him. He threatened me with the gun and pulled the trigger four times. What was I supposed to do?
Officer Mullins looks at Frank McKenzie, who then looks at Toby, who’s handcuffed to the table. The interview room lights echo off Toby’s sleek brow as sweat streams down his face.
“Self-defense?” asks Frank
“From what I saw when I stopped you guys before this shit went down, it seems like you already knew about the weapon. That alone is a felony crime. But from how you described it, Toby, the prosecution could lean towards self-defense for the knife wounds Seth received, but as for the gunshot wound to the head, that was cold-blooded murder. I’m sorry, kid — you made a bad decision. That one bullet has cost you the rest of your life, no matter how many people Seth took with him before you fired that gun. It won’t bring your friends back, nor will it give you and Elle the life that you want. I’m afraid I’ll have to charge you with murder.”
Frank gets up and grabs the paperwork on the desk. He sees the tears in Toby’s eyes as he realizes the consequences of his actions. Mullins and McKenzie make their way out of the interrogation room and shut the door behind them.
“Poor kid,” says Frank sympathetically.
“Be that as it may, sir, he still killed someone. He stuck the dude with a knife. If he’d just let him be, the paramedics said he would have bled out. Either way, though, he shot Seth in the head. End of story.”
“Still, the guy was trying to get it on with his girlfriend.”
“She isn’t the dead one, though.”
“It’s just sad, that’s all.”
“Why?”
“Because I would’ve done the exact same thing,” says Frank.
“Yeah…I know. But you’re a whole different kettle of fish, my friend.”
“How?” asks Frank.
“You don’t get caught.”
Luis Samways
Das Death
Part 1
Author’s note:
Das Death is a fictional series based in an alternate universe where the Germans won the Second World War. It contains subject matter that some readers may find objectionable. In no way is this book an endorsement of any of its content — it is merely a fictional story like any other form of entertainment, i.e., movies and TV shows. It has been written in a way that may seem direct, and doesn’t shy away from political correctness, because if the Germans did win World War II, political correctness wouldn’t exist. This book contains references to Nazis and Jews. Again, in no way does this book condone any of the acts described herein. It is just a story. If you as a reader do not feel comfortable with such a storyline, then please feel free to not buy this book. As a writer, I don’t want to offend anyone. Thank you for reading, and if you do purchase this book (you may be reading the sample, or you may have already bought it), then thank you. I wanted to try something different. I hope you enjoy it.
Luis
The year is 2013. The month is September. The date is the second. It’s been sixty-eight years since the end of World War II, or, how it is known now, as the day the Germ
ans came.
The Germans won on that fateful September day. Sixty-eight years later, they still hold the world to rights. All the Jews have been exterminated…. Well, nearly all of them….
Prologue
My name is Abel Brewer. I am the last Jew, the last living Jew in the world. Over the past sixty-eight years, the Germans have confiscated our freedom and our lives, taking both our blood and our souls. My mom and dad died a long time ago — about thirty years, if my memory still serves me. I myself am forty-six. I turned forty-six yesterday. Before, I used to celebrate my birthday with my wife, Diana. Now that she is dead, and has been for ten years, all that remains is me. There used to be more of us. Many more, to be precise. We used to live in the turned-out trenches of Maryland. Maryland itself used to be a state that was in the United States of America. Now, however, like the entire world, it’s collectively known as New-Germania. I find myself writing this memoir to correct some wrongs that have taken place. Being the last Jew on earth makes me certain that the world needs to know what happened. Even if the world we live in now is a world that is one-dimensional, I believe that one day the world will be full and free — 3D, if you will.
You may ask yourself, how do I know I am the last Jew in the world? The sheer fact that my whole family is dead and the community I used to live in is extinct isn’t really enough to justify such a moniker. I am not big-headed enough to assume that there aren’t more of my people out there. I certainly am not big-headed enough to assume that I am the only one to survive, the only one who managed to escape the German claw of death. I know that I am the last Jew on earth because the Germans broadcast the last execution of said Jew. They thought that the person they were feeding to the dogs was the last Jew. So much so that they actually called it “the last execution.” I, of sound mind, know that the person they killed on live TV wasn’t the last Jew, for I knew that he was the second. It was my brother Jacob, and I certainly know that I am the last, for it is only right that I should be the last to die. The last Jew to live and the last to fight….
