Flesh Worn Stone Read online

  By the time Steven got around to her, the girl’s midsection was mostly a bloody mush. Her intestines were trailing on the floor, stomped flat, and he could see her spine through her chest cavity. She’d thankfully been dead for quite awhile. He hesitated, and Block, who stood by and watched the proceedings said, “You either join in or you join her. The choice is yours.”

  Steven nodded and then kicked her as hard as he could muster. He slipped in the blood as he did and wound up on his back, his head hitting the ground and immediately beginning to throb. Unknown hands helped him stand and continue down the line.

  It took an hour for every resident of the Cave to kick Amanda, who’d been dead a long time. There was nothing left but a reddish stain on the ground and bones by the time it was over, not even enough to make a meal out of that evening. When the event was finished, they all turned to the giant billboard and waited nervously for the hand to appear. It only took a few seconds, but then the thumb turned upward.

  There was no cheer, though, and the food chute did not open. They were all being punished for Amanda’s transgression, and Steven, who’d arrived with the girl, felt all that anger and hatred directed towards him, guilt by association. He was happy to be returned to the Cage, because he feared that if he stayed among the starving residents any longer he would be their next meal.

  * * *

  On Steven’s fourth day in the Cage, it rained enough that he was saved from death by dehydration for one more night. His skin was burnt to the point it was brown and leathery, with large portions flaking off, revealing pinkish skin beneath, only to start the process all over. The rain was cool and nearly a shock, and he hollowed out a bowl in the sand, allowing the water to fill it. He even soaked the remains of Amanda’s jumpsuit in it, hoping he’d be able to suck the moisture out later.

  As he was digging another pool, he pulled his hand back in sudden pain from something sharp that had cut it. He sucked at the droplets of blood from his forefinger and, with his other hand, dug out around the object. It was a small piece of metal, no bigger than his palm, square-shaped and covered in rust. He sat back and stared at it, wondering what it was and what journey had brought it to this beach at the ass end of nowhere.

  There was a lot he could do with a sharp piece of metal, he thought. He could use it as a weapon in the Game, if he could get away with it. He could slit Darius’ throat while he slept. But there was only one thing that was important. He lowered his jumpsuit to his waist and fingered the long incision on his side. There were scabbed over spots where he’d picked at it, hoping to open it and pull the tracking device out. He imagined himself running free down the beach, away from the madness, away from everything. But his clumsy attempts at opening the incision had only lead to extreme pain and agony, so he’d stopped. The piece of metal changed that. With it, he was sure he could reopen the wound.

  That it was rusty and would quite likely lead to his death through tetanus didn’t mean much at that point. Even with the rain, he was still half crazed, on the verge of insanity.

  The rain still poured and he gulped, plunging the squared into the top of the incision and then slicing down. It wasn’t nearly as easy as he’d dreamt, and the pain was the most agonizing thing he’d ever felt. He had to stop several times before he blacked out. His blood rushed out into the sand only to be washed away by the rain, and he wanted to scream out but was afraid to do so, possibly alerting the people in the Cave to his plan.

  After what seemed like hours, he had the incision open enough to put his hand into it. He did pass out the first time he felt around inside his abdomen for the device. When he woke he was even weaker than before, the blood running from his body and carrying his life with it, but he sat up and tried again to find the device.

  It wasn’t a large thing, maybe the size of a quarter, and it was stapled to the inside of the cavity. Panting heavily and on the verge of passing out once again, he got it between his thumb and forefinger, took a deep breath, and pulled it out in one, quick, violent motion.

  Steven did pass out again, but when he woke the next time, the sun having set and the moon high above, he was free.

  * * *

  John couldn’t create enough chits to buy a scrap of bread because, after so many days without a Game, there simply wasn’t one to be had. So when the alarm for the Game sounded, he cheered along with everyone else and filed into the Canyon ecstatically. He still dreaded actually participating in the events, sure he would die in his first Game, but the prospect of acquiring something to drown out the protests of his ever shrinking stomach killed those fears. He’d either play the Game or lose, or there would be food of some sort. Either way, he was going to either be hungry or not care.

  “Outstanding,” Darius said, rubbing his hands together. “It’s about time to eat and I’m ready for some meat.”

  The big man giggled at his rhyme. John could tell he was losing muscle mass quickly without eating, and he feared for their arrangement if he couldn’t perform in the Game if he were called. With one more mark, he should be able to sway a few more of the two- and three-timers to their side. With one more mark, they could rule the place. Of course, Darius had to be selected by the Cavers, but John was sure he would be. Darius was the Samoan’s single biggest threat at the moment, and he was sure that if he really did have the ability to suggest who was in the Game, he’d waste no more time trying to kill Darius.

  The crowd’s festivity was muted and their hunger evident as they watched the two gladiators fighting. There was a cheer at the finale, as there always was, but it was softer and not nearly as exciting. People were weak and hungry, and they just didn’t have the energy to be very enthusiastic.

  It didn’t take long for John to realize he was right, seeing Darius’ number come up on the screen. The big man smiled. “I told you they’d pick me. Everyone loves a champion.”

  He didn’t recognize the other number next to the letter K, and as Darius made his way out onto the Canyon floor, he scanned the crowd for someone else stepping out. A hush fell over the citizens, and he began to hear the whispers. Block’s name rode the wind as he stepped forward, smiling broadly. The crowd went wild, their lack of energy overridden as their two favorite champions approached each other, circling like wild animals about to attack. There were none of the customary pleasantries; the men did not shake hands, did not smile. There was an air of electricity about them as the two most powerful men in the Cave looked at each other.

  “Block can decide who’s in the game, can’t he?” John asked Rebecca, who’d been less than forthcoming with details about her past life in the Cave. She didn’t want to talk about it at all, and when pressed would clam up as silent as the mute girl Mia.

  “He can ask and he can make suggestions,” she said, nodding, “but it is up to the Castle. He will probably only ask if the person is somehow affecting the situation in the Cave, like Darius is. Unless he wins and takes tenure in the Castle instead of freedom, he will never actually do the choosing, though.”

  “You were offered tenure in the Castle?” John asked, not looking at her.

  “And I took it, for awhile.”

  He looked sidelong at the diminutive woman and wondered what sort of atrocities she’d foisted upon her fellow Cavers in her time in the Castle. He could almost understand wanting to stay there, as opposed to leaving. He imagined it was like a prisoner so used to the prison system and its trappings that he couldn’t imagine life free on the outside. John then wondered what he would do, if he ever managed to win five Games. Would he leave that place of ultimate power? Why had his father left?

  “What made you leave?”

  Rebecca turned to him and smiled. “I couldn’t watch my daughter in the crowd, watching the Games I helped start, and I couldn’t do anything to take her away from it. I…I had to leave. I couldn’t watch it anymore.”

  “Rebecca,” John asked as a rare tear trailed down her cheek, “who is her father?”

  She didn’t say anyth
ing but simply pointed at the big Samoan man in the middle of the canyon.

  John nodded solemnly and then worked his way to the front of the crowd to try and hear what the two men were saying to each other. He knew his life, as well as both of theirs, was on the line at this very moment.

  “So what happens if you lose, Block?” Darius asked as the two men exchanged a few preliminary punches, feeling each other out. “Have you thought about that?”

  Block avoided a quick punch, darting to the side like a boxer, and said, “A three-timer will take my place, and my men will make sure it isn’t you. It doesn’t matter, though. I won’t lose.”

  Darius laughed out loud. “I like the confidence, I really do. But after I kill you, the men that are not already on my payroll will be. I will be in charge, and I can tell you, I’ll be making some changes around here.”

  “I guess if I’m dead, I won’t care, will I?”

  “I’m going to enjoy eating you, Block.”

  “We’ll see about that.”

  The crowd hushed in anticipation, expecting a brutal, no holds barred fight that they’d be talking about for weeks to come. But as Block stepped forward, Darius simply hit him in the nose, palm forward, and drove his nose into his brain. It was a simple way to kill, and Block fell backwards, dead before he even hit the ground. The crowd was absolutely silent as Darius turned to them, arms outstretched over his head in victory.

  He smiled at John and winked. It was the most anticlimactic thing the Arab could think of after all the sudden anticipation. The crowd had expected a duel to the death, blood and tears, and it was over in the space of a few seconds. There was finally a person clapping, then another, and then, as the people felt the change that had just occurred, there was a violent outburst of applause and the people chanted Darius, Darius, Darius.

  As the crowd recovered from their shock, John jogged to Darius’ side. “You could have at least made it interesting.”

  “That was interesting,” Darius insisted. “I hit him and he died.”

  “But what if they don’t approve of it?” John asked, pointing to the giant digital billboard and the box windows. “If the Cave goes hungry again, right now, it could go badly for us. They could select someone else besides you to lead the Cave.”

  “Then I’ll kill him too,” Darius said, his adrenaline rush not yet spiked. “I’ll kill any motherfucker who gets in my way.”

  They didn’t have long to wait for an answer as the billboard lit up, showing the outstretched thumb. John wondered who the person that sat in the stone throne was and what satisfaction they could get from governing over the Game. He could see the power of it, the sensation of ruling other people’s lives, but the endless violence had to get tiring. The thumb turned up as the steel doors above the garbage chute opened and the crowd roared.

  Darius was quick to beat the people to the pile of muck as it landed with a wet thud on the canyon floor. The few of Block’s men that they’d managed to hire were already there, and it was only a few more seconds before the rest stood next to them, forming a wall between the people and the food. Darius raised his hands, stopping them.

  “No, people…that’s not how it’s going to work now. Not this time. You’re not just going to dig in and eat everything at once,” he said. “Who knows how long it will be before another Game, and how long we’ll have to survive on this.” He pointed to the pile of steaming garbage.

  “What are we going to do now, then?” someone hollered. “We’re starving!”

  “There will be a meal tonight, of course, and we will feast on our proud friend Block, but we will do it right and conserve what we have. You’ve waited this long to eat, you can wait a bit more.”

  John didn’t want to burst out in laughter. What Darius wasn’t telling them was that each bowl of slop was going to cost them, and if they didn’t have any chits, they could come see John, the First National Bank of the Hellhole, for a little loan. It would have been cosmically funny if it weren’t so sick.

  He thought at first that they were going to ignore him and rush the pile anyway. He wasn’t their leader, at least not officially, and at the moment had only two marks on his head. It wouldn’t take much, right here and now, for the citizens to end Darius’ coup, to assert themselves as their own masters. It could be done. He’d seen similar revolts on smaller scales. They could just trample him and take what they wanted, as was their way, leaving him without any real authority. He might still become the number one man, if one of the other three-timers didn’t object, but it would really just depend on the mood of the crowd. If he could hold him here, though, they had it made.

  No one tried to step forward, and many moaned and groaned, but they retreated, heading for the entrance to the Cave, mostly wordlessly. John stepped forward and took Darius’ hand. “I can’t believe that worked. I seriously can’t believe that. They could have just run right over you, if they’d wanted to.”

  “People are cowards, at heart, and sheep. They want to be led, they want to be told what to do. Why should they complain much if there’s the promise of more food on a regular basis?”

  “But when they find out what they have to do in order to get that food? All hell could break loose.”

  “It will be fine. They’re not going to do shit but what I tell them. Welcome to the new reality.” Darius smiled. “And welcome to power.”

  Chapter Ten

  The fifth night in the Cage Steven woke, his side throbbing, but recovered enough from his self-surgery to stand. The water had long evaporated out of the sand, but he’d discovered that if he dug far enough down there was salt water. He took it sparingly, only enough to quench his thirst, knowing that otherwise it would kill him. When the moon was full in the sky and he was sure that the people of the Cave were sleeping, he took his first tentative steps outside the gate.

  All sorts of things could go wrong, he knew. There could be a second device in him somewhere, there could be someone watching somewhere up the slick cliff face. But when he stepped out of the gate, nothing happened. There was no alarm, no rush of people coming to punish him for breaking the rules. It was as quiet as the beach and ocean at night could be.

  He stepped all the way out and walked down towards the water’s edge, confidence in his plan building. Putting a tentative foot in the ocean, the water still warm from the day, he flung himself into it and floated there for a few moments, face down in the water, letting the saltwater carry away his pain. It burned at the newly opened wound in his abdomen, but maybe the salt would be good for killing any infection that might be setting in.

  Bringing his head back out of the water, he turned and looked at the Cage. Still no one had come to stop him, and it looked like no one even knew he was out of the Cage. He went back to the Cage and stripped off his wet jumpsuit, stuffing the arms, torso, and legs with sand and then trying to arrange it so it looked like he was lying down, asleep. It wouldn’t pass anything but a cursory glance, but he was hoping no one would check on him until his seven days were up.

  Rebecca hadn’t, and he was pretty sure she wouldn’t. He tried desperately to ignore the implications of that but couldn’t put the image of Darius screwing his wife out of his mind.

  He tore the remains of Amanda’s suit in two and wrapped them around his feet. Then, naked, he stepped back out of the Cage and, picking the direction randomly, headed south. He could see down the beach in either direction for miles, but he was sure that the cliff face didn’t go that far. He prodded along, enjoying the freedom more than anything else. There were no stone walls here, no bamboo cage—no one to force him to do something, or, if he refused, become dinner. It was just him and the open air.

  He didn’t know how many miles he’d walked until the mountain started trending downhill along the beach. He was exhausted, but he knew he had limited time before someone came to check on him. Steven was half tempted to just find a way off the island, and to escape the insanity, but he wanted to give Rebecca one more shot. A lot of
what was happening was pure survival instinct, he knew, and he could, on a certain level, accept her behavior. She was clinging to the strongest there was, Darius. And in that, she was hoping to survive another day. Now that Steven had something to offer, a possible escape from the Cave, maybe his wife would come back to him.

  Just a few miles from the Cage, the slope of the mountain finally turned from rocks to jungle, and just in the area illuminated by the moon’s light, there were enough coconut and banana trees to feed the entire population of the Cave. He set to work cracking a coconut that had fallen to the ground open on a rock and then drank the warm milk. He then followed that up with half a dozen green bananas shoved into his mouth like the champ at a hot dog eating competition.

  Before he threw it up it was the best meal he’d ever had.

  He went slowly the next time, gathering up a few bananas and sipping at the cracked coconut, and after thirty minutes, he felt like he was mostly whole again. He needed fresh water, but the meal had gone a long way to strengthening his body and resolve.