Flesh Worn Stone

by Burks, John

  “Then do it,” Steven raged, standing. His entire body shook and the pressure of his blood threatened to burst from his veins. “Because if what you say is true, you’re not the only one who’s going to get assaulted.”

  “You know, you didn’t have a choice,” John said, lying back down and staring at the ceiling once more. “You and Amanda. Someone else made the choice for you to come to this place. You were a payment, nothing more, a sacrifice in order to fulfill the terms of the Contract. I’m sorry for that, but your actions now, here…they are choices.”

  “You’re crazy, John.”

  “Father said that might happen. He tried warning me, he tried preparing me for this place. I just didn’t listen.”

  * * *

  The alarm for the Game sounded in the middle of the night, jarring the residents from their slumber. Steven hadn’t been able to sleep anyway, the implications of what John said ringing in his head. He didn’t know if it could be remotely possible, and didn’t want to believe it, but it made a sort of sense. It explained her attachment to the girl and their resemblance. It explained her knowledge of the Cave and even the numbers tattooed on her hand. The more he thought about it, the more it seemed right, and no matter how much he didn’t want to believe it, he did.

  She’d killed his sons. She’d murdered his boys and enslaved him in order to return to this place.

  He wanted to storm out of the shelter and kill her. No, better yet, he thought, I want to kill her daughter. He wanted her as dead as Corey and Lonnie so she could know that pain, that empty place in his soul, the void filled only with two gunshots over and over again. They’d taken everything from him, and now that was the only thing he had left…revenge.

  That he couldn’t kill an innocent little girl never crossed his mind as his rage boiled over, interrupted only by the alarm for the Game.

  The citizens of the Cave were slow to get going, slower to get into the Canyon, so unusual was the time and circumstance of the Game. They just didn’t happen at night. Children rubbed at their eyes while holding their parents’ hands, and the air of festivity that was normal for a Game was subdued. No one even cheered for the Gladiators.

  When the gladiator scene cleared and was replaced by two Cave numbers and the letter K, Steven sighed relief that it wasn’t his. He couldn’t die in a game before he made Rebecca watch her child die.

  It was, however, John’s number, and the Arab man simply nodded as he stepped forward into the Canyon, nearly as catatonic looking as Amanda had been when she was tossed in the Cage. His eyes were distant, and he walked with the slow gait of a zombie, mumbling to himself as he went. One of Block’s former men stepped forward from the opposite side of the arena and ran at the man like a lion pouncing on its prey. John didn’t resist, didn’t put up his arms in protest—he didn’t do anything to defend himself. And the crowd, their anger with the man evident, came awake and cheered wildly once they realized who was in the Game.

  He didn’t last but a few minutes at best, and Steven, as angry as he was, had to turn away from John’s massacre. The man hadn’t even tried, and had, as far as Steven was concerned, committed suicide. There was blood everywhere as the more muscled man beat him to a pulp, then at the behest of the crowd, beat him some more. He could sense the desire of those around him to kill John, to end the life of the man who’d made them go hungry when there was food available. His death was a proxy for Darius’ death, and by the look on the big black man’s face, he knew it. In just a few short days, Darius had gone from conquering hero to the most hated man in the Cave.

  The winner stood, covered in gore from John’s body, and smiled to the crowd, who cheered him on. Darius strode forward, slapping the man on the back. He was uncomfortable, though, and Steven could see it in his face.

  “Good show, brother,” Darius said. “And we’ll eat good tonight.”

  The man shrugged away from Darius. “I’m not eating him. He was a scum bag.”

  “I…” Darius was perplexed and didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t used to insolence out in the open.

  “More numbers!”

  Steven’s heart sank, again, and this time he had reason for it. His number appeared on the screen, quickly followed by another and the letter K. If he died here, in this place, he wouldn’t have a way to kill his wife and her daughter. He wouldn’t be able to avenge the death of his sons, to make her feel what he’d felt. He shook with rage, not at his wife’s actions, but at the thought he might not get to execute his revenge.

  He rushed forward even before his opponent stepped out of the crowd, and when the man did, Steven aimed for him, running at full speed. He was a man twice Steven’s size, heavily muscled, and with two marks on his head. Steven didn’t care about the impossible odds. He thought only of Darius’ quick victories. That seemed to be the key, he thought as he launched himself at the man’s chest. You had to get the fight over with quickly and decisively before your opponent had an opportunity to react. He hit the man, who was still not quite sure what was going on, square in the chest and drove him backwards, into the crowd.

  The people parted as Steven, like a feral cat, lit into the man, scratching as his face, reaching for his eyes. The big man, shocked at the sudden ferocity of Steven’s attack, tried to push him back and regain his composure, but the smaller man’s constant hits, scratches, and kicks kept driving him backwards. The bigger man eventually tripped over a stone and fell to his back and then Steven was on top of him.

  “Get the fuck off me,” the prone man screamed as the smaller Steven scrambled for his eyes. Why change what works, he thought evilly as his thumb found the left, soft orb and he pushed it in until he heard it pop. The man went spastic on the ground and screamed, but he could do nothing to dislodge the hurricane that was Steven ripping at his face. Steven eventually got his forefinger in the man’s eye and pushed into the brain, swirling it around until the man finally stopped convulsing, dead.

  He got up and the crowd stared in shock at the abruptness of the battle.

  “That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it? You wanted death and you got it,” he said, holding up his finger with bits of brain and blood still on it. He flicked the goo at the nearest adult. “There, have it. It’s all yours.”

  Steven stomped away, leaving the crowd still gasping. One person started clapping, and then another, and then the entire population was cheering.

  The people loved the underdog, and, for the moment, Steven, with three marks, was their champion.

  * * *

  Darius didn’t know what to think about John’s suicide by Game—and that’s exactly what it had been—nor the refusal of the people to add his corpse to the pot. From what he could tell, hearing the mumblings among the crowd, they were going to let it lay there and rot. He was also pretty sure that, given the choice, they’d have preferred him to be in John’s place. After Steven’s sudden victory, when all odds seemed stacked against him, even Rebecca distanced herself from him, taking the girl with her. He tried to remember how many other three-markers there were in the Cave, besides himself, but could only come up with a couple of faces, minus the names. The man Steven had killed had been one. Would the little pipsqueak challenge his authority now? That would be rich, he thought, considering everything he’d done for the man.

  And he knew, even before the thumb went up and the steel doors opened, the rush of garbage flowing like manna from heaven, that he’d lost all the respect he’d worked so hard to earn in the span of a few short days. It didn’t matter to him, though. If they wouldn’t respect him, they would damn well fear him. He ordered his remaining men forward and cordoned off the area around the food.

  “No!” said, his voice bellowing like a bullhorn. “You will not tear into this pile. There will be a regular dinner tonight, as usual. We will make this last.”

  “And you’ll charge for it!” someone, somewhere in the crowd, shouted back.

  He scanned the crowd, looking for the person. “Who said that? You
r cost just doubled again, whoever you are. The rest of you get a discount tonight because of the two victories.”

  The cut in their cost didn’t seem to excite the people as much as he thought it would. “Did you not hear me? You get to pay less tonight!”

  There was still no response, no applause, no cheering, nothing. That they were paying less didn’t do anything to negate the fact they were paying at all. He didn’t care, knowing the new way would take some getting used to. They’d get used to it or he’d die.

  He had all the time in the world.

  Chapter Twelve

  Steven still shook as he returned to the shelter, as he tried to avoid the adoring fans that flocked around him in the Cave. The adrenaline coursed through his body like crank, and he fought the urge to throw up. He couldn’t believe he’d won the fight, and the memory of it was a haze of rage and anger. It gave him three marks, though, on par with Darius, and he half wondered if there was some method of challenging the man’s leadership in the Cave. He’d even heard people talk about it, in hushed whispers when they thought no one was listening. He didn’t know what he’d do with that power, though, and wondered how much power Darius actually wielded. He ruled at the consent of the people, as John had said, but whether they understood that or not, he didn’t know. It wouldn’t take much pushing of the people for the big man to end up in the pot.

  Still, the third mark could get him closer to Rebecca and ending her daughter’s life. After that, it didn’t matter.

  But it turned out he didn’t have to get near Darius to be near his wife. She was waiting for him in the shelter.

  “Hello, Steven.”

  He wanted to race forward and rip her eyes out, as he had his opponent during the Game, but that wouldn’t solve anything. Besides, her daughter wasn’t there, so he’d be unable to force her to watch him take her apart limb by limb.

  “What do you want?”

  “I…” Her face was sullen and she’d been crying. “I’m sorry about all this. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

  She obviously didn’t know that he knew the price she’d paid to come back to the Cave. He sensed a ploy, a trick to get back on his good side now that she sensed the tide in the Cave could be shifting in his favor, but he didn’t say anything.

  “I went to Darius because I was scared, Steven. I was frightened for mine and Mia’s life. I didn’t think you could…” She paused dramatically. “I didn’t think you could protect us.”

  He still didn’t say anything, but he bit down hard on his lip, the salty taste of blood flowing over his tongue, and kept his arms locked at his side in an attempt to hide the trembling there, caused by the rage and anger that racked him. He couldn’t believe she had the gall to stand here and try to smooth things out. She stepped up to him and caressed his clenched cheek. He couldn’t believe she’d had the nerve to even talk to him at all since murdering his sons.

  “I see I was wrong. You and I were put here together for a purpose, to take care of one another, and to take care of Mia. I was just wrong, Steven. You do have the fire in you to run this place, the power to bend the Cave to your will. You can win this Game, and you can get Mia and me out of here. I’m sorry, Steven, can you ever forgive me?”

  He couldn’t hold the rage in any longer. “Are you fucking crazy, Rebecca? You killed my sons!” His scream was loud enough that people around the hastily built shelter stopped to listen in. “You took my boy’s lives to pay for your Contract, and you brought me here to this evil, vile place for your daughter. How can you even look at me with a straight face?”

  The tears and regret were gone in an instant, replaced by cold determination. “Who told you, Steven?”

  “That’s it? You care more about who divulged your secret than what you did?”

  “There isn’t any use in denying it, at this point, I suppose,” she told him, her tone instantly changed. She was no longer the regretful, sorrowful wife. She was now the calm, calculating Game player. She wasn’t ashamed in the least, and seemed to be more annoyed that someone had told him. “John told you, didn’t he? He just had to get it off his chest before he died, cleanse his soul and all that bullshit, right? I’m sure he didn’t even care about all the trouble he’d cause. But he wouldn’t care, would he, planning his death as he was.”

  Steven slapped her as hard as she could, connecting with her left cheek but not knocking her down. She stood there defiantly, “Is that all you have, Steven? That’s it? I killed you sons and all you can do is slap me?”

  “You killed Corey and Lonnie,” he seethed. “You killed my sons to come here.”

  “I thought we just established that, Steven. I did it to save my daughter, and to help you. I did this for us. Don’t you see? You’ve been reborn here. You are a god among men. There is nothing anyone can do to you that is worse than this place. You’ve seen the absolute worst man has to offer and overcome it. I’ve done you a favor. When you win two more games, you will be immortal, Steven, because not even death scares you.”

  He grabbed her by the throat with both hands and squeezed. She did not fight him, and she did not take her eyes from his, staring at him hard.

  “I’m going to kill you,” he vowed. “And then I’m going to kill your little girl.”

  So swiftly did she move, in reaction to what he’d said, her arms coming up and breaking his grip on her throat, then going to his shoulder to steady him, and then finally her knee coming up to his groin. He didn’t know what was happening until he was flat on the ground, gasping for air.

  “I thought more of you, Steven, than this petty revenge. I could have given you more boys when this was all said and done, when you were a god. But you are a weak and pathetic little man, worth nothing more than the mud you’re lying in. Goodbye, Steven.”

  She walked out on him, again, and left him wondering if she was, in fact, completely insane.

  * * *

  The grumbling of the people continued, but after Darius had armed the men with honest to god weapons from the ship, there was a decided drop off in anger directed at him. At least no one was saying things to his face any more. He wished he had been able to get the muskets working, but there was no powder around, and neither he nor any of the men he talked to knew the first thing about using one of the antique rifles anyway. The swords, from cutlasses to broad swords to Middle Eastern-style scimitars, were intimidating enough, though, and the men wore them proudly. He suspected that trusting them with the cutlery had endeared one or two to him even more.

  Darius wasn’t happy at the marking ceremony, especially when Steven stepped forward, not a trace of fear on his face that he could see. He cut the man’s head as hard as he possibly could, down to the skull, but he didn’t even flinch. In fact, he grinned the whole time like a cat with a dead bird in its grasp. With that cut he’d put the man on an equal basis with himself, in terms of the Cave and the Game, and that just wasn’t right. He leaned in close as he cut and whispered, “She said you couldn’t fuck for shit.”

  “She also murdered my children,” Steven whispered back. “So I guess I don’t quite give a shit what she said.

  Steven started to step away, smiled, then turned back to Darius and whispered, “Did she tell you she had AIDS?”

  He left Darius silent, and the big man wanted nothing more than to lash out and break Steven’s neck. He knew the man was just messing with him, or so he hoped.

  “Brothers and sisters,” he said, trying his best to hide the frustration and anger in his voice and, at the same time, sound as reassuring as Block, “we come together tonight to celebrate the victories of two brothers in the Game. They’ve done well, done the will of the Castle, and the will of the Cave. In their victory we shall, once again, feast and remain strong for the next Game.”

  There was no cheer, and even to Darius he sounded like a crooked televangelist. If he couldn’t convince himself, how could he convince them? “Are you ready to eat?”

  Still the crowd stared bac
k at him, angry.

  “Fuck it,” he told them.“Line up and eat if you want. I don’t guess I give a shit. Sign them up,” he told the guy he’d hastily arranged to replace John. The big man, more brawn than brain, was visibly nervous as he sat to record how much each person owed for his or her meal.

  When no one lined up, he turned to them. “What, are you not hungry?”

  “They’re simply not paying for what is already theirs,” Steven told him. “And I don’t blame them.”

  “You people don’t understand, do you?” Darius said, turning to them, inspired. “This is not my will. It is the will of the Castle. You have become weak, here in the Cave, and broken. Under Block’s babying, you’ve become fat and lazy. Did any of you come to this place for a hand out? Did any of you come here to wallow in your own filth and beg for food? You’ve lost the spirit and determination to succeed, to win the Game.” There was a murmuring among the people as they began talking about what he was saying. “I don’t want you to not have food. I share in your hunger when there is none,” he lied. “But the Castle has deemed it necessary so that only the best and the brightest, those willing to earn their keep, so to speak, should succeed. The people of the Cave have become fat and lazy, and only through hard work and diligence can we become what we were meant to be. You came here to be champions, did you not? To be reborn?”