by N A Broadley
His green eyes were wild with terror. Brian moved the knife one more time lightly across his stomach, slicing a thin line of red. A soft groan escaped his lips.
Brian grinned. He could keep this up for hours and would until he got the information he wanted. He didn’t mind the knife at all. In fact, as his hand gripped the handle and his fingers tightened for the next cut, he let himself sink into the familiar feel of it. The tiny, shallow cuts were the worst. They inflicted the most pain. He chuckled while he looked deep into the man’s eyes.
“I wish I could say this is gonna hurt me more than you, but then, I’d be lying. It is gonna hurt you a whole lot.”
He would get what he wanted from this man. “So, tell me. Where are they keeping the women?”
Glaring, he raised his eyes and spat at him. “Go to hell! You’re gonna kill me either way, so why should I tell you a thing?”
Brian nodded. It was true. He would kill him. And Hell would be where he’d end up for sure. With a flick of his wrist, he once again let the blade inflict another long, shallow pass along his stomach; this time lower, along the beltline, and he heard a tortured moan.
His mind flashed with memories, distant, yet still painful, as they gnawed at his gut. The same knife blade that, a long time ago, had left scars burning on his own back. The dank, musty cell with no windows; his home for over a month before rescue. The hiss of pain, something he couldn’t hide behind clenched teeth.
Shoving these memories away, he concentrated on the task before him. With each pass of his knife, he went lower and lower, leaving Ernie no doubt where the final cut would end up. Yes, he’d learned from the best. And that best had nearly driven him to insanity.
“Ahhh, you are so right. But what you don’t know is that I can either do it quickly or very, very, very slowly. That just depends on you, my friend. The question is, how much do you want to suffer? Because ya know… I am damn good at making people suffer.”
A defiant grin met him. He looked down into the man’s eyes.
“Okay then,” he murmured. Skillfully he set to work with his knife. “I guess we’ll be doing this the hard way.”
Sweat rolled down Brian’s back, and he sighed heavily. It hadn’t taken long before he had the man spilling his guts, telling him everything he needed to know. With a steady hand, he wiped the bloody blade of his knife on the man’s pant leg and took a step that brought them together, nose to nose. He stared deep into the man’s eyes; his face so close he could smell the foulness of his breath. He whispered one last question.
“So, the new girl? Where did you say Bobby is keeping her?”
He just grinned and spat out a wad of blood. It mixed with the dirt and pine needles on the ground. Panting, he lifted his eyes to Brian’s and looked at him with malicious glee.
“At Gregory’s house, on School Street. But you’re too late. Your girl is about as good as dead. Gregory likes to hear em’ scream, ya know.”
Brian shook his head and sighed, not showing the man how much what he’d just said, rattled him.
He calmly placed the tip of his knife gently between the man’s eyes. Fear flashed in those eyes, just before his open palm worked like a hammer, driving the knife in deep. Giving it a hard twist, he watched the life drain from the man’s face. Removing the knife, the body sagged against the ropes holding him.
A bird chirped loudly, and Brian smiled as he glanced up into the trees looking for it. He paid little heed to the flies that lightly landed on the bloodied face.
Chapter Two
Sarah walked along Main Street with her head down and shoulders slumped. Hatred and rage tore at her heart. She scuffed her boots against the pebbles and dirt that covered the dark tar beneath. Gregory followed behind her, strutting as proud as a peacock, puffed up and in his glory. He had a reputation for being cruel and sadistic; the man had been assigned, by Bobby, to train her. She belonged to him now, along with Rose, a young woman of what Sarah guessed to be in her mid-twenties.
It boggled her mind thinking about how society had become this; how the event had turned normal citizens into these monsters. Was it the event that had unleashed all the twisted, cruel, and perverse in mankind? Why were people turning on each other, like rabid and vicious animals? Or had mankind always been this savage, this cold-hearted, and the event had only brought it out in them?
A shove to her back caused her to stumble, she snapped her head up and anger blazed in her eyes. Gregory pushed her roughly and she clenched her small hands into fists. Hatred burned in her eyes. She whipped her head around and stared at him. The sun cast long shadows, bouncing off his greasy dark hair.
“Stop dawdling.”
Rose, beside her, shook her head and whispered, “Don’t fight him, he’ll only make it worse.”
They were both bound together with a long, bright red dog leash, which had silver, tinkling bells attached to it. The sound of the bells when they moved, as abhorrent as the man who held the leash.
Sarah cut a glance toward Rose and pressed her lips together in anger. Fight him? She’d kill him the first chance she got.
In the past several days she’d learned what life would be like with these monsters. Scraps of food, thrown to her like a dog. Given tepid, dirty water from a rusted can. Tolerating leers and grins, while Bobby paraded her in front of his men like some prize heifer at a fair. She’d rather die than suffer day in and day out being their prisoner, than to be sent to the library where Bobby held the women and children he’d taken prisoner. A place where the air reeked with the stench of human misery; dark and filthy.
Every night, while bound and huddled to Rose with ropes so they wouldn’t escape, Rose talked and told her about the library and how those girls and women suffered much worse. Sarah found it hard to believe it could be worse than this.
The door opened and Gregory shoved her roughly inside. She stumbled, waving her arms for balance. The odor of stale cigarettes wafted in the air. She longingly glanced over her shoulder at the sunshine out the door just before Gregory slammed the door behind her.
The first punch took her by surprise when it landed on the side of her face. Pain rocked her jaw and she crashed to the floor. She spat out a wad of blood and crawled away in shock, trying to catch her breath. She turned her head and looked through a veil of hair to see Rose crouched in the corner, tears spilling from her eyes. Her teeth clamped around her closed fist to keep from screaming.
Sarah lifted her eyes to her and shook her head. Blood ran freely from her nose, spattering the floor. She silently screamed in agony as hatred saturated her heart. Fat, bright red droplets stained the black and white mosaic tiles—her blood. A kick to her back pushed her deep toward the edge of passing out, and she collapsed when sharp pain fired through her body, leaving her gasping for just a teaspoon of breath.
She panicked, struggling to breathe. She looked up to see Gregory standing over her. His beefy hands planted on his hips, breathing hard and laughing. She stared at his fingernails, her mind grasping to focus on anything other than the pain that zig-zagged like lightning through her body.
He looked down at her with a grin. “I’m just getting started, my little blue-eyed girl.”
By the time he finished with her, she would be subservient and docile. Just the way the customers liked the girls to be.
In two steps, he towered over her. She back crawled, steeling herself for more pain. She heard him laugh and a shiver ran down her spine when she heard the hiss of his leather belt sliding from the loops of his jeans. The smell of sweaty leather wafted to her nose, and a chill crawled down her spine and tightened the muscles in her stomach. Tears stung at the back of her eyes, and her mind screamed with pain, when the first biting lash landed against the bare skin of her back, then another and another.
“Let the training begin.”
Curling herself into a ball, she choked, fighting for breath. She focused on the hatred that burned in her chest, while her mind spun with agony and fear. Biting dow
n on her bottom lip, she winced when another blow landed on her back.
She dug her fingernails into the linoleum and struggled to crawl away, blinded by the pain that flayed her back with each blistering sting of the belt. A gasp tore at her chest. Silent screams and bitter bile erupted from her throat to spatter the floor in front of her.
She turned her head and sank to the floor, her cheek lying in the hot vomit. Through the haze of pain, her gaze met Rose’s. The look of helplessness and despair tortured the other woman’s face.
Blow after blow racked her body until she sank flat to her stomach, gasping for air. She felt him move beside her and kneel. She listened numbly, her breath hitching in and out in little gasps, tears flowing down her cheeks. He whispered in her ear.
“This is just a taste of what you will get if you step out of line. Now, get up!” Gregory growled.
Struggling to her feet, she turned and pulled herself up, using the stove for stability. There sat a cast iron frying pan. She grabbed it and with a grunt of fury, swung it hard against his face. Blood splattered as his nose crushed. Her arm sang with pain when the blow connected. She heard him grunt in surprise.
Tripping, she fell backward over her own feet, weakness tangling her legs together. Gregory lunged for her. He hit her again with his fist, and the blow felt like it shattered her cheekbone.
She fell to the floor, gasping and writhing in pain, while her body danced with the fire of agony consuming her. She couldn’t seem to find enough air to fill her lungs as one blow after another slammed into her. She heard screams, from Rose, as Gregory pummeled her into a bloody mess. Darkness danced at the edge of her vision.
She felt his hand wrap in her hair, jerking her to her feet. She stood swaying, her chest heaving, and her legs barely strong enough to hold her up. Her eyes felt swollen into little slits; she could barely see. She let her head fall forward, limply, as she watched the dance of shadows and sunlight tease the edge of her vision. He spun her roughly to face him.
“You are now the property of the Alliance. All the men of the Alliance will be your masters. You are no more than an object to us, one that we will use at will. You have no rights here. None, whatsoever! We are in a new world, baby, and in it, you are nothing! Do you understand?”
Raising her eyes, she nodded. She let herself fall into him. He grabbed her roughly, but she wrapped her arms around him. She grabbed the gun in the waistband of his jeans, all while staring into his surprised eyes. She pressed the barrel against his back, flicked the safety off, and pulled the trigger.
The bullet tore through him and she felt it slam into her shoulder, sending burning pain, ripping into her. He fell backward, and she felt his arms tighten, dragging her with him. She landed hard on top of him.
She smiled with blood-stained teeth, and kissed him deeply, then screamed into his face “I would rather die!”
Finally, she’d found her voice.
Rolling off him and onto her back, she stared up in shock at the ceiling. Her lungs burned as she fought for air. The ceiling was dotted with specks of dead flies, dust, cobwebs, and yellowed from cigarette smoke. She felt Rose kneel beside her and heard her sobbing. With a tug, the woman helped her to her feet.
Sarah staggered and leaned heavily against her. She gazed down at the blood staining the floor, then to her hands, which were bright red with both his blood and her own. Shifting her gaze, she stared down at Gregory. Hatred burned in her heart, dark and consuming. He was no more than an animal carcass to her, staring at her through dead, wide eyes. She brought her booted foot up high and smashed it down on his face, smiling in victory as she felt his bones crush beneath it and watched as an arc of blood spurted upward.
She screamed, bending over with her hands on her knees, pouring all her pain and rage into empty air. Taking a deep breath, she straightened up and turned to Rose. They needed to move quickly. Once someone discovered that Gregory was dead, their lives wouldn’t be worth a plug nickel.
Choking back a sob, she reached for her shirt on the living room chair and felt Rose’s rough, calloused hands against her skin as she helped slide it on. She winced when the material brushed lightly across the welts on her back. Her left arm hung uselessly by her side; blood dripped from her fingertips to the floor.
Glancing around the kitchen through swollen eyes, she spied a blue and white terry cloth towel hanging by the sink and grabbed it. Bunching it into a wad with a shaking hand, she pressed it hard against her shoulder to stem the flow of blood. Her head spun with dizziness, and she grabbed Rose for support.
“Shit, we gotta get you some help!” Rose hissed between sniffles as she steadied Sarah.
Sarah shook her head, violently. Getting help would get them killed. She pointed to the back door and made a motion for Rose to follow her. Her legs shook as she opened it and stuck her head out. Seeing no one, she took Rose’s hand and led her out into the weak afternoon light.
The sky above threatened rain with storm clouds billowing dark and ominous. Holding Rose’s hand for support, she limped her way toward the woods at the other end of a long field. Wet grass pulled at her legs and she wondered if she would ever be able to run far enough to rid herself of the terror that sang through her veins.
∞
Kevin heard the thud and then the sharp muffled sound of a gunshot. Turning, he looked at the door and hesitated. No one entered Gregory’s home without permission. His job? To wait until Gregory finished with the women then he would take them to the library; or the pit, as everyone called it.
They would stay there until he received instructions to get them again. He hated this place. He hated Bobby. But, with nowhere else to go, he stayed. He stayed and he watched, in silent misery, the brutal treatment of the women and children. He participated in the raids on other towns although everything in him wanted to turn his gun on those who were so willing to commit these violent acts against the innocent. He’d lost weight since he arrived. He hitched up his pants, that sank low on his hips, and tightened his belt another notch while he cast nervous glances toward the front door of Gregory’s house. He didn’t want to go in there. He’d rather do anything else than have to knock on that door.
He’d wandered into this town a month ago, on a cold and wet day. He’d been hungry, sick, and weak, and had lost everyone who meant anything to him to the virus. Alone, he left New Hampshire and went in search of people. He couldn’t be alone. He wouldn’t survive and he knew it. He’d been an accountant, for God’s sake! His life had consisted of sitting behind a desk, shuffling papers and crunching numbers. Then the virus came. No more job, no more family, no more life as he’d known it.
When he stumbled into town, Bobby took him in. What he didn’t know back then was the price he would have to pay for being part of Bobby’s gang. If he’d known then what he knew now, he would’ve avoided the town and made a full circle around it. He would’ve gladly accepted death on the road rather than live this life. He was not a killer. He was not like these men. His old life was one of normalcy, and this was anything but normal.
Sucking in a deep breath, he knocked on the door and waited. After a few minutes, he tested the doorknob and opened it with a shaking hand.
“Shit!” he muttered when he gazed down at Gregory lying on the floor in a pool of blood. Drawing his weapon, he glanced around nervously while he walked from room to room. The kitchen floor looked like a horror scene out of a movie; blood smeared across the tiled floor, chairs knocked over, a frying pan lying on the floor with a hunk of what looked to be hair and flesh clinging to the side of it. Did one of the women bash Gregory’s head with the frying pan? This thought almost made him laugh.
Looking up from the disgusting mess he noticed that the back door was cracked open and he walked toward it, his eyes darting nervously around the room. Nudging it with his foot, he stuck his head out and saw the two women running across the wide-open field. His heart thudded in his chest, and he swore softly.
“Damn!”
He couldn’t bring himself to pull the trigger. To shoot two innocent women in the back like some sniveling coward, he just didn’t have it in him to do that. Sighing, he pulled the door closed and walked back through the house, giving Gregory a passing glance as he stepped over his body. Nervously he ran a hand through his dirty hair. He struggled to come up with a plan. Bobby would be pissed. But the bastard Gregory, he got what he deserved. Somehow, he would figure out a way to provide the women with a good head start, a fighting chance, before he’d report what happened to Bobby.
He walked the short distance to Bobby’s house. He hated going there about as much as he hated standing guard outside Gregory’s. Knocking on the door, he waited nervously for Bobby’s shout to come in. Hearing it, he sucked in a deep breath and entered. The foyer was cast in shadows, dark and gloomy, and smelled of stale booze, cigarettes, and piss.
“Dude, what’s up?” Bobby asked. Laughing, he came down the stairs buttoning his shirt. Kevin looked at him, taking in the blood that dotted his knuckles and the snide grin on his face. Behind him at the top of the stairway stood a young girl of what he guessed to be, fifteen or so. Her face appeared swollen, her eyes teary. Averting his eyes, he looked back at Bobby.
“We got a problem, boss. Gregory’s dead and the two girls escaped.”
He watched Bobby’s face grow dark with anger.
“The girls escaped?”
Kevin nodded.
“And they killed Gregory?”
“Yup.”
Bobby shook his head in disbelief. How could a ninety-pound mute girl take down one of his best men? Gregory was a towering, massive dude. He stood six foot two inches tall; with legs as thick as tree trunks and arms that could crush those girls easily. Glaring into Kevin’s eyes, he snarled, his lips curling in disgust.
