by Burks, John
He dug the backpack and shotgun up once again and then returned to the Cage. With the shotgun across his lap, he calmly ate an MRE and sipped at a bottle of water, prepared himself and watched the ocean. In the distance, he could make out lights on the horizon, a ship he thought, and he wondered how close to regular shipping lanes the island was. How could a place like this, so beautiful and at the same time harboring the deadliest of secrets, escape the scrutiny of the world?
The ship didn’t matter in the end either, he thought, as he stood and headed back into the Cave. He didn’t intend on living long enough to see it. There was no guard at the end of the tunnel, and he chastised himself, wondering if there had been those first few days of his first internment in the Cage. Could he have just walked back in and found water at will instead of staying out there on the verge of death by dehydration? There was no guard, and no one saw him enter. The people of the Cave were nothing if not predictable. They would sleep as the sun set, rise with it the next morning. Nothing but the alarm for a Game would rouse them from slumber, but Steven was never the less as quiet as he could be as he made his way through the prone bodies and haphazard shelters.
Steven suspected that, with him safely isolated out in the Cage, Rebecca and Mia would either be in the original shelter he’d built or with Darius. The big black man slept by himself in the ship, and several of his guards slept on the catwalks leading up. He didn’t really want to have to go up there. Steven turned and made his way to their shelter, not far away, and peaked his head through the curtain. Sure enough, Mia lay next to her mother, Rebecca’s arm draped across her chest, cuddling her much like on those Saturday mornings when Lonnie and Corey would crawl into bed with her to watch cartoons. They looked so peaceful there, so serene. He stepped into the shelter quietly and watched them for a long time, his emotions conflicted.
She woke as if she sensed his presence. There was no fear on her face, no shock at seeing the shotgun. Sleepily she reached out to him. “Come to bed, Steven.”
He stepped over her and smiled warmly. Then he raised the shotgun above his head and brought it down, butt-first, to her head, knocking her out. Mia looked up in panic and alarm as Steven scooped her up, throwing the girl over his shoulder.
“I’d tell you not to scream but that would be a moot—or is that a mute?—point, huh?”
The little girl kicked, hit, and bit him, but he didn’t feel any of it as the adrenaline rushed through his body. He wondered if he should have killed the girl right there, in front of her mother. He imagined himself aiming the shotgun at the girl while holding her mother down with his foot, her face turned so she could see every agonizing detail. That would have worked, but it wouldn’t have been nearly dramatic enough, and the people of the Cave wouldn’t have seen his rendering of his wife’s punishment either. It had to be public, and they had to know why he was doing what he was. Most would anyway, he was sure, as gossip was the main form of entertainment in the Cave, and he was sure most would knew of Rebecca’s Contract.
The little girl bit his ear, hard, drawing blood, and Steven popped her in the face, making the already flowing tears double. She quit struggling. He nearly tripped over a sleeping person, regained his footing, and then finally made it safely to the tunnel. He paused at the gate in the Cage for just a moment, still hoping that the little girl didn’t have a tracking device. He knew he could be wrong. Just because she didn’t have a tattoo didn’t negate the other. But when he took a deep breath and stepped through, nothing happened. He turned to his right, towards the dock and the weather station, and took off at a light jog.
The lights of the ship he’d seen on the horizon were closer now, and he could make out the silhouette of the huge cruise liner. It was hard to tell in the dark, but he was sure the ship was getting bigger as he watched it, coming closer to the shore. He could imagine the people onboard, partying late into the night as their ship docked at some tiny, unidentified port to off-load garbage. They’d be oblivious to the pain and agony just a few miles from them, ignorant to the evil of the Game. They would never know that the steak they wouldn’t touch because it had been a bit overcooked could go to feed a family for a few days in the Cave. He didn’t want to know, but he did.
The street lamps around the dock were blazing and he could hear the engine of the garbage truck running long before he neared it. He stuck to the cliff wall, trying to stay in shadows as he went. He neared and saw Jackson standing beside the truck, out of his purple robes and in a blue jumpsuit, staring out to sea. He was right about the ship coming in, he thought, carefully juggling the girl so he could make sure there was a live round in the chamber of the Remington. Sure of his weapon, he quit hiding and walked towards the man, the shotgun leveled at him.
Jackson was surprised to see him, to say the least, “Steven…why are you here?”
There wasn’t an accusation in the man’s voice, but a genuine curiosity. “I’m going to your Castle and sounding the alarm for the Game. Then I’m going to, in that nice little video throne room you have, explain to everyone in the Cave how I came to be here and the price I paid for it. Then I’m going to kill this little girl in front of the camera so everyone there, my wife especially, can join me in this place I’m at.” Both men knew that by place he didn’t mean geography. He wanted them to suffer as much as he had.
“I’m afraid that won’t do, Steven. There will be a Game tonight, no doubt. The viewers are already seated and when the Challenger out there docks,” he said, pointing to the cruise ship, “we’ll have the night’s reward as well. Besides spoiling the Game, you killing that little girl on the screen would throw the entire Cave into chaos. They wouldn’t feel safe anymore if they knew one of their own could kidnap someone and then execute them.”
Steven laughed. “Safe? Do you think they feel safe?”
“Of course they do. Now, if you want to kill the girl here, I’ll be more than happy to help…”
Jackson didn’t get a chance to finish. As he was stepping forward, Steven squeezed the trigger. The blast caught the man in the gut and flung him backwards. Mia started struggling again and Steven sat her down, keeping a hold on her clothing as she squirmed.
“I’m not going to be able to do everything I need to do if you keep fighting me like that,” he said as he reared back and hit her in the face as hard as he could. She slumped backwards, knocked out, and Steven scooped her up and threw her in the passenger seat of the running truck. He then took Jackson’s body and laid it over the rails of the truck.
He’d never driven a truck that large, but managed to grind the gears into first and head up the narrow road towards the weather station, then once there, turned to the Castle. There was a man standing at the loading dock, waving him down, a surprised look on his face. He ran up to the cab and jumped up on the step.
“Hey, Jackson, where’s the…?”
Steven shot him in the face before he got a chance to answer. He got out of the truck, dragging the awakened Mia with him, and made his way into the tunnels. All the lights were on this time and he could hear men and women laughing and joking in one of the skyboxes. There was music playing and he wondered why no one had heard the gunshot. A man in a tuxedo carrying a tray of appetizers stepped out of a doorway, saw Steven, and tried to run. Steven shot him, but was low as he was bringing the shotgun up, and only managed to cut his left leg in two. The man fell to the floor, his tray scattering, and started screaming.
The laugher stopped and changed to fear and panic. Steven put Mia down in front of him, and pushed her forward like a human shield. He pumped the shotgun, loading a live shell into the chamber, as the door opened and a portly man in an expensive tuxedo stepped out.
“What is going on here?”
From the gold weighing the man’s manicured hand down and the pristine cut of his hair, Steven could only guess that he was one of the spectators, flown in to suggest Games and then watch the result. He shot the man in the gut, and then, as he passed out, kicked him in t
he face for good measure. The women in the skybox, dressed in expensive eveningwear, screamed when they saw Steven and Mia.
Another man, thinner but looking enough like the first man he shot to be his son, begged, “Please…we want no problems with you. I can pay you, I can give you what you want.”
“But isn’t this what you want?” Steven asked. “How much do you pay to come here and watch someone die? Is it charged by the act? Is there one fee for rape, another for murder?”
“My father,” he said, pointing to the prone man who still screamed in the hallway. “He paid for it. I did not want to come. I don’t want to see the Game.”
“Sure you didn’t,” Steven said, pulling the trigger again and, along with catching the man in the chest, blowing out the one-way glass. Wind rushed in and kicked up the women’s hair and dresses. One screamed and the other sank to her knees, pleading with him.
“Jump,” he told them, motioning to the window with his gun. “It’s only a couple stories. You might live.”
The standing woman shook her head no and Steven shot her, forcing her over the windowsill and into the dark Canyon below. “Are you going to jump?”
The other woman nodded, rose to her feet and took off her shoes. She looked back and forth from Steven to Mia a few times before saying, “I’m sorry.”And then she leapt into the night. Steven heard her hit the Canyon floor, and then, moments later, began whimpering. He looked out the window and watched as she tried to crawl with two broken legs, and he couldn’t help but giggle madly.
He turned from the room and kicked the first spectator, who was already bleeding to death, for good measure and then made his way to the throne room where the camera was. He shut and locked the door behind him, and then sat Mia, who was so scared she was petrified, on the throne. She didn’t move an inch, but her eyes were wide and she watched every move Steven made.
The console, which he’d looked at before, was easy enough to operate. He pushed the button that was labeled Game Alarm, and listened with satisfaction as it rang through the Canyon and the Cave. Soon the people, rubbing sleep from their eyes, began filtering out of the small tunnel on the monitors behind the video camera. It pleased him to him to see his wife running around helplessly looking for her daughter. He pushed the button for the live feed and then stood next to the throne.
“Good evening,” he said, nearly giggling. He sounded like some 1970’s reporter on the nightly news. “I’m sorry to get you up out of bed this late, but they were going to do it anyway. You were going to have another Game tonight so that four people could drink wine and watch two of you kill or rape each other. They may have even wanted someone to cut some part of their body off…I don’t know. It doesn’t matter now. They’re dead. I killed all four of them, along with Jackson, who actually isn’t one of you and works for the Castle.”
He could see Rebecca screaming on the monitor, waving her arms madly, but he couldn’t hear her.
“Hey, there’s my wife and, as most of you know but failed to tell me, Mia’s mother. Say hi to mommy, Mia,” he said, picking up the girl’s arm and waving it for her. “Most of you also know how I came to be here. My wife, my darling Rebecca,” he waved at her again, “hi, baby…anyway, my wife killed my two sons as payment to come here. I know not all of you made a payment on a Contract for the so-called privilege of coming to the Game, but even you know those who did. You’ve killed and raped, stolen and lied to get here, and for what? So that you can kill and rape here for the entertainment of others. Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not here to judge you. I don’t care what you’ve done to get here, and I certainly don’t care what you’ve done since you’ve been here. I’ve done worse, no doubt.”
He paused, watching their reaction on the monitors. They stared blankly up at the big screen. Only Rebecca struggled to get free of the grip of the men that held her. “No, I don’t care what you’ve done, but I can tell you one thing now. You are free. The people who ran this place are dead.” He didn’t know if Jackson, the one waiter, and the man outside on the ramp for the truck made up the entire staff or not, but he didn’t care. “I’ve killed them as they’d have us kill each other. You no longer have to participate in this Game. There is a ship about to dock just north of the Cage. They will not be able to turn you away if you want to leave.”
Steven watched as the people turned and talked to each other in confusion, “Jackson and John both told me this place, this system of life, was a choice, and I thought them both insane, but they were right. They were absolutely right. You don’t have to live this way. There is no shame in quitting this game and going home. None.
“Okay, now for my grand finale. I was going to execute this little girl live on the screen so that you could all watch, but now that I think about it, it would be better if you just hear it. See, that’s how I participated in my sons’ death. I heard the two gunshots and then silence. I’ll hear that silence for the rest of my life.”
He went back to the console and turned the video feed off, leaving the audio on.
* * *
The single shotgun blast jolted the people of the Cave as one, sending a collective shiver down their spines. Rebecca dropped to the ground wailing, a mix of anger and agony, sadness and defeat. She beat her fists on the stone floor until the flesh worn stone was maroon with her blood.
“Well, that was interesting,” Darius said in a wavering voice. The blood flow from his arm had never quite quit and he was wavering back and forth from consciousness to oblivion. He too was sad, but not for the same reasons Rebecca or even Steven were. He wasn’t angry anymore, and he knew that at the rate he was losing blood, the next time he passed out he might not wake back up. No, Darius was sad because it didn’t look like he was going to be able to win. If the people in the Castle were dead, then there was no one to run the Game, and if the Game were dead, there would be no winning.
People shuffled about the Canyon, staring up at the now blackened screen as if waiting for it to give them some instruction. Some wanted to leave the Cave and see if there really was a ship there, but more thought that would be instant death, and no one knew if they could trust each other enough not to eat the person trying to escape.
“Is there going to be a Game? I’m getting hungry,” someone said.
Rebecca stood and walked to where Darius was wobbling. “Aren’t you going to do something about this?”
The woman was wiping the tears from her eyes, and Darius could see the absolute rage behind them. “What do you want me to do? It’s all over. The Game is done.”
“Bullshit,” she said, taking hold of his amputated arm just above the tourniquet and squeezing hard. He screamed and sank to his knees, but she didn’t let up until her hand was covered in blood.
“What are you doing?” Darius asked, his own tears flowing over his face.
“The show must go on.”
She walked to the opposite side of the Canyon, below the billboard, and used the blood as paint to write her own number on the wall, the letter K, and then that of another woman’s. The other woman stepped forward, hesitant at first, but at a brisker pace as the crowd started cheering.
* * *
Steven watched, knowing he’d set the masses free, expecting a stream of people to rush out of the Canyon, out of the Cave, and to the dock. He was going to meet them there, if not their savior, then a hero anyway, and together they were all going to demand passage on the ship to a safe harbor. There would be more food than they could stand, real food, and not each other, showers, and ultimately, freedom. He had a reason to live now, a sort of redemption to make up for what he’d done in order to survive. Maybe God, if there was a God, would forgive his actions if he helped free the Cave.
When the crowd didn’t move, didn’t race to the tunnels, he was disappointed. When his wife put her number on the wall, the letter K, as a cheap and ready substitution for the board, and the crowd roared, his heart sank. And as he watched his wife lock in mortal combat with another woman, h
is spirit fell even further.
“Your mother is verifiably insane, Mia,” he said, turning to the still petrified but quite alive little girl sitting in the throne. “I can’t do anything for these people. I can’t do anything for you but get you out of here.”
There wasn’t any way he could have killed the girl, and somewhere deep inside he’d known that all along. He didn’t even think he could have killed his wife, because somewhere, also hiding deep within his soul, he knew he still loved her. He couldn’t watch her battle on the screen for her life and the life of the Game. He still loved her. He’d always love her.
Mia didn’t struggle this time as he took her by the hand and led her out of the Castle. He expected some resistance, but there was no one around, and he could only assume that if there were more employees of the Castle, they were at whatever other residences there were on the island. He was sure there were some lodgings near an airstrip that the elite spectators stayed at. And he was equally sure there was probably an air plane there, with a pilot. He imagined forcing the man, at the end of the shotgun, to take them to Texas, but he knew that not only would there be issues upon arrival with a hijacked plane, he wouldn’t be able to stay awake the entire trip as exhausted as he was. And if he couldn’t stay awake, the pilot could easily get rid of him and the girl.
