Flesh Worn Stone

by Burks, John

  He wandered away from the beach and into the jungle, finding trails and paths that he knew weren’t made by animals. There were boot prints in the sand, and he’d occasionally find a discarded candy wrapper or soda can. Seeing the evidence of human occupation put him on alarm, and he slowed his pace, trying to listen to the sounds of the jungle. The paths lead inward in meandering fits and eventually led to a freshwater creek. Steven knelt and drank, throwing up again because he’d done it too quickly and it was a shock to his body. He went more slowly the next time, savoring the unpolluted water in his mouth.

  As he was drinking, he noticed a pipe running down a hill and feeding into the stream just down from him. Soapsuds flowed out, along with brackish, gray water smelling of laundry detergent and sewage. He decided to get off the path and follow the pipe, open on the ground and not buried, up the hill. Several minutes later, he squatted at the tree line overlooking a clearing with a small cabin at its center. It wasn’t ancient, but it hadn’t been built in the last ten years, either. The white paint was faded and chipped, the glass at the windows dingy from never having been cleaned. Anywhere else, it would be a dump, nothing at all special, but here it was like looking at the White House. It was the epitome of luxury. Solar panels dotted the roof, along with a satellite dish, and he could see the flickering of a television inside. He wanted to run to the house, to scream for help like the proverbial blonde girl who always died in the horror movies, but he resisted the temptation. He knew there was no way the person or persons who lived in the house could not know about the Game. They were more than likely connected to it. He sat and watched the house instead.

  The sun was peaking over the eastern horizon before he actually saw anyone moving in the cabin, and when he did, he was glad he hadn’t rushed to the door. Jackson moved about the interior, naked with a coffee cup in his hand, reading a newspaper. Steven watched as the man proceeded to work out on a treadmill and then lift weights. Jackson was amazingly wealthy, by Steven’s new standard of measurement. The fact that he was exercising on a treadmill, when just miles away people were starving on a regular basis, was the ultimate injustice. He added Jackson to the ever growing list of people who just plain needed to die.

  After a quick breakfast, Jackson donned the purple robe—Steven now understood how it was always so clean—and set out the front door, walking up a path Steven hadn’t noticed before that lead into jungle away from him and towards the mountain, circumventing the long walk down the beach. He figured it was a path up to where the Castle was, and soon enough, he thought, he’d explore up there as well. But for now, he wanted to see the inside of Jackson’s cabin.

  He waited for an hour or better, to make sure the man didn’t return, and then walked into his cabin.

  * * *

  The interior of the suspended pirate ship was awe-inspiring. He didn’t think there was that much wealth in all of the Cave, but the ship was packed, starboard to port, with objects accumulated over hundreds of years. There were swords and muskets along with armor from Conquistadors stacked neatly in one corner. There was treasure, from cold coins and ingots to necklaces and bracelets, gold plates and cups, and even a crown. There were tons and tons of books, from ancient, leather-clad tomes to new, modern paperbacks. Block’s bedroom had a real, honest-to-god bed as well as tons of clothing. Much of it would fit Darius, he knew, he and Block being of similar proportions. John walked with him as they explored in a kind of daze.

  “Some of this stuff has to be worth millions,” he said, fingering a gold chalice encrusted with diamonds and rubies. “And most of it looks vaguely Aztec. I remember seeing this,” he picked up a golden rendition of the Aztec calendar, “on a trip to Cancun.”

  Darius fingered one of the long cutlasses, admiring the workmanship in the blade and the still sharp edge. “That stuff is worthless, here. This…this is the real power. Do you know anything about muskets?”

  “No,” John said. “But I think you’re wrong. With this stuff, you could actually back the chits. You could actually make them worth something for real.”

  “Instead of a worthless promise for your father to pay later?”

  “He’ll pay,” John insisted, though Darius knew he didn’t even believe himself. “But yeah, sort of. You could have an actual gold-based economy with this. Money would be worth more than the wood I’ve carved the numbers into.”

  “Why?” Darius asked. “What exactly would the point be?”

  “I…”

  “The point would be your worst nightmare, right? What if someone actually showed up at daddy’s door with a story and a handful of chits? Would he actually come here to kill you or would he wait, figuring the Game would?”

  “No,” John said, staring at his dirty feet. “He’d probably kill the person with the chits.”

  “He wouldn’t have someone else do it?”

  “He’s always done his own…” John paused, shuffling, “…dirty work.”

  “My kind of man. Well, you still don’t get the point. These wooden chits have nothing to do with the outside, nothing to do with real value. This is just another method for keeping these people in line. This is to subjugate them, to control their behavior, and to make me more comfortable than they are.”

  “Us.”

  “What?”

  “You meant us.”

  “I meant me. Us only applies if you remain useful. We’ll continue on, as planned, and you won’t tell anyone about this stuff,” Darius ordered, returning the cutlass to its rack.

  “I’m sure quite a few of them already know. It would be hard to keep all this a secret.”

  “That doesn’t mean we have to advertise it any more than it already is. Like I said, keep it quiet.”

  The transition into power had been easy enough, and he soon knew that the Cave had to have a leader, though it didn’t matter who that leader was. The Rules were pretty much set in stone and easy to follow. You didn’t steal, you didn’t kill, and you did everything in your power to win the Game. That was it. The community dished out the punishments and Block was more of a figurehead, like putting a Hollywood Oscar winner up on a pedestal. Though rumored to have the ability to suggest players to the Castle for the Game, Darius wasn’t sure how you went about doing that. Things were simple and, as long as everyone behaved, the leader didn’t have much to do.

  Or so most residents thought. With Darius in power, the rules were about to change. Everything was going to change.

  Rebecca came up the wooden and rope catwalk, past the guards, and stood next to him, his apparent queen, and Mia his princess. Their relationship has quickly blossomed, as he realized that she could be trusted simply because they were exactly alike. She had but one goal, and that was to make sure her daughter got out of the Cave. Darius understood that, and as long as their paths led to the same exit, she was more than welcome to stand at his side. That she wasn’t bad in the sack didn’t hurt either, though the girl constantly being around, even during sex, put a bit of a dampener on things.

  “I take it you’re the de facto leader of the Cave now?”

  Darius turned to look at the old man in the purple robe who had just waltzed past the guards as if he were the leader of the Cave. He had long flowing gray hair and an equally gray beard that reached down to his chest. His face was weather-beaten and old, but he had a look of health about him that most of the pale and paltry people in the Cave did not. There was something about the guy that Darius plain did not like. He usually trusted his gut on new people, and right now his gut was screaming for him to get rid of the guy.

  “What do you want?”

  “I asked if you are now the de facto leader of the Cave. Please answer, my time is valuable.”

  “Well, fuck me,” Darius said laughing. “His time is important.” He turned to the other men who were standing around him. They didn’t join him in his laughter as he thought they would, and instead nervously averted their eyes.

  “Darius, this is Jackson,” Rebecca told him
, smiling.

  “Hello, Rebecca. I wish there was a reason to say I was happy you are back, but there isn’t. I objected most vehemently, I want you to know.”

  “I had to come back for her, Jackson,” Rebecca told him. “I couldn’t leave her here.”

  “And yet you did so willingly the first time. Never the less, welcome back. I hope you have as much luck as you did the first time around.”

  Rebecca lowered her head in shame, the guilt at leaving her daughter behind the first time evident.

  “So exactly who does this guy think he is? I’ve met Marlon Brando, or Richard Nixon, or whatever he’s calling himself this week, but I don’t remember this guy being anyone important. Nice shade of purple and all, but who the fuck are you?” Darius was nervous. The way the men bowed their heads in reverence to this old man couldn’t possibly be good.

  “Jackson is a representative of the Castle, Darius.”

  “Bullshit. I’ve seen him around at the Game. He’s one of us.” And when I say us, he thought, I mean you people. I will always be more than you are—better, stronger, and smarter.

  Jackson pushed up both sleeves of his robe, one at a time, to show that he had no numbers. “And you will see me at future shows. I am your only connection to the Castle, so I ask you one more time. Are you the de facto leader of the Cave?”

  “Yes,” Darius said, still sensing that the man was trouble and feeling the power there.

  “And you are, at least at this point, undisputed?”

  There had been no resistance to his stepping into Block’s shoes, though at dinner the first night, when people found out they were going to have to take out a loan from John in order to eat, there had been unhappiness. Still, the people’s conditioning, from the Rules, prevented them from questioning the authority of the leader. You just didn’t, or you might find yourself in the pot that night.

  “No. No one opposes me.”

  “And yet there are three-timers who have been here much longer than you. Interesting.”

  “Get on with it, Jackson.” Darius spat. “What do you want?”

  “You and the Arab,” Jackson said, pointing to John who sat just off to the side, his face buried in a bowl of gruel, “have set up a scheme that deprives the majority of people from sustenance. Sustenance is vital to maintaining the people’s readiness to play in the Game, along with the steadiest modifier of their behavior. It is, as I’m sure you’ve discovered in your short time here, an earned reward for participation in the Game, the reason we are all here. You, and the Arab, are to stop at once. It is unacceptable.”

  Darius burst out in laughter and the men around him, who knew who Jackson actually was, cringed back in fear as if lightning were about to strike. “Really? We should stop? Tell me, why should I do that? I’m having so much fun doing it this way. Seriously, you should see the hopelessness on these people’s faces as they line up to John for a loan. A loan of fucking wooden chits in the asshole of nowhere. Can you believe that? That, in itself, is worth watching,” he roared. “This is the most fun I’ve had since prison, and I have to tell you, I don’t plan on changing it anytime soon.”

  Even Rebecca was shying away from the big man as Jackson said, “You do realize that the true power here lies in the Castle, and not in this faux throne? You serve the will of the Castle.”

  “No, I rule,” he said, correcting Jackson. “Because I am the toughest son of a bitch in this Cave, and there isn’t a thing you can do about it. There’s nothing anyone here can do about it, or they would have already. The power here has changed. Like a hurricane or a fucking tornado, there isn’t anything you can do about it.” Darius heard his own words through a tunnel, as if it were someone other than him screaming at Jackson. “I’m here, and now I’m here to stay.”

  “Perhaps they were right, and I should appeal to your reasonable side, as opposed to threats,” Jackson said, mulling it over aloud as if Darius wasn’t there. “You are a reasonable man, are you not?”

  “I can be.”

  “You know the stipulations of the Contract that you agreed to, correct? And you understand the purpose of the Cave.”

  “You want to make people stronger, better…” he said, his tone mocking.

  “Correct,” Jackson said. “We give people that opportunity. The motto, rebirth or death. is quite literal. A person here will find themselves in the chaos or they will simply perish. There is no better form of personal training in the world. Once you’ve survived this place, you can survive anything.”

  “Bullshit. What you want to do is have an all-out spectacle to watch. You sick fucks up there want to watch us kill and rape because you’re too afraid to do it yourselves. You’re living out your twisted fantasies through this place, behind the machine guns above and those glass windows. You keep us alive, just barely, so we can perform for you. Sure, your sales guys make a great pitch. Come to us and sacrifice, burn down your old soul and build a new one—crap like that. Hell, I fell for it. But what I didn’t know is that I’d be the main attraction in a freak show.”

  “You’re not getting the point of the Game,” Jackson began, but Darius cut him off.

  “Sure I am. I’ve seen it time and time again in my life. You fuckers that have something always want to leach off those of us who don’t. Well, I’ll tell you what, asshole, come on and try. You control the Game…sure. Who gives a fuck? There’s nothing you can do to me there that I can’t win at. You can’t beat me in the Canyon.”

  “But we could prevent you from playing,” Jackson told him. “And you could die an old man in these caves.”

  “And so what? I’ll still run the place and you won’t for all that time. You could try to have me killed, but that’s against the rules of the place you set up. No, I figure you’ll hurry me through a couple Games just to get rid of me, and that’s fine to. I’ll leave here a richer man for it.”

  Jackson was apparently speechless.

  “Now carry your ass out of here before I decide that I’m hungry again.”

  Jackson turned and left, and Darius tried to figure out why the man looked amused.

  “This will not end well,” Rebecca told him, stepping away, taking Mia’s hand, and disappearing into the crowd.

  * * *

  Jackson’s small one-room cabin was an eclectic mix of varying styles and periods. There were posters on one wall about Woodstock, photos of WWII-era bombers on another. Books were crammed into floor-to-ceiling shelves, and a cursory glance showed topics from farming, solar power and first aid to vast swaths of fiction. There were tons of DVDs, some that had just come out before he’d arrived, as well as a flat screen television. There was the treadmill and the weight bench he’d seen the old man working out on earlier. There were piles of foodstuffs, MRES, canned food, and even a small refrigerator. He opened it, and, much to his delight, saw bottles of Dos Equis. He took one and drank it as he looked through the rest of the man’s stuff. There were newspapers from several major American cities, as well as London and Hong Kong. There were periodicals and magazines of all sorts. There were stacks of what Steven could only call artifacts—sacks of gold and silver coins, along with loose precious stones. Gold and silver ingots. There was even a stack of linen-wrapped paintings, their wooden frames very old. There were weapons from every era imaginable, from long, slick swords to bows and crossbows and piles of metal armor. What gave him pause, though, was the corner with modern weapons and ammunition stacked up. There were at least a dozen rifles and shotguns, mostly military grade, along with stacks of ammunition containers next to them.

  He picked up a Remington 870 12-gauge shotgun, much like one he had in the old world, and slid the action back and checked the receiver. It wasn’t loaded but there were boxes of 00 buckshot next to it. He picked up several, along with several packs of MREs, and then decided he needed a bag of some type.

  Looking around, he found a desk with dozens and dozens of passports in it, along with credit cards, checkbooks, and dozens of wallets.
There were piles of modern money from every corner of the world. Next to that were backpacks of every size and shape, and he suspected that many hapless campers had ended up in the Game. He picked a sturdy looking green one and loaded it with shotgun shells, MREs, and bottled water. He made sure the shotgun was loaded before he left the cabin, and tried to make the stuff he had touched look like it was before he’d messed with it. He didn’t want Jackson to know he knew his secret just yet, though he knew it was possible the old man would see the absence of the gun right off the bat.

  He wouldn’t be able to carry the stuff into the Cave with him, of course, but he could bury most of it near the entrance if need be, which prompted him to find a couple large, heavy-duty trash bags. He was tempted to just walk into the Cave, the shotgun ready, and take his wife out of it. The shock and awe would be perfect and, unless they swarmed him en masse, there wasn’t a lot they’d be able to do about it. But he didn’t know where they were, and he didn’t have a clue how to get out of the place. He still didn’t know if it was an island or just a hard to find location. He was beginning to suspect it was indeed an island, but he hadn’t had enough time to confirm that one way or another, and there were no maps with convenient you are here arrows in Jackson’s cabin.