Flesh Worn Stone Page 6

  “I suspect you’re right, Darius, and I also suspect we will either find it in ourselves to survive this madness or we will perish attempting to do so.”

  Chapter Three

  Sleep came hard for the newcomers; their first night in the cavern was full of anxiety, fear and doubt. Steven, at first, dreamt of nothing but death—death at the hands of the Samoan followed by the pot, death at the hands of Darius, death from falling from the slick cliff face behind the Cage and into a vat of boiling blood. He died a hundred times in his dreams that night, and contrary to popular mythology, he didn’t die in real life.

  Though, perhaps, had he his life would have been simpler.

  He only slept because he was exhausted. As soon as he’d laid down on the mud, trying to keep his head out of the muck by resting it on his elbow, he’d passed out, but the sleep, and the dreams, came fitfully. The sounds of sleep in the cavern were diverse, from snoring, crying, fighting and lovemaking, peace and hate. He awoke off and on and listened.

  Sometime, late in the night—though he really had no sense of time in the Cave—he awoke and noticed Rebecca and the girl were gone. Her warmth at his side had been his only comfort and he wasn’t sure how long she’d been gone. He stood and stepped to the side of their little group and relieved himself.

  He wanted to call out for his wife, but he didn’t want to either alert potential attackers or wake his friends. He stopped for a moment, looking down at the sleeping forms of Darius, John, and Amanda, and wondered, in the space of a day, how one could consider anyone friends.

  He wandered a bit, looking for his wife, keeping quiet and trying not to step on the hundreds of sleeping people, the few torches scattered about tied to the rocks jutting from the floor his only light. He found her, along with the girl Mia, standing near the cook fires, her arm stretched out and holding a half eaten apple. Block stood in front of her, his arm extended, and Steven couldn’t tell if he was taking or giving the apple.

  “What’s going on here?” Steven demanded, finding a voice he didn’t actually know he had. “Rebecca?”

  She turned to him, the hint of a smile fading, replaced by a look of surprise, “Steven? You should be sleeping.”

  “What the hell is going on?”

  “I…” she stammered. “He wanted to take this apple I found.”

  His wife never stammered. Rebecca just didn’t. She was as self confident and assertive as most men. The big Samoan and apparent leader of the Cave looked confused, staring back and forth between Steven and his wife. Steven wasn’t sure, but he thought she winked at him.

  “Give me that goddamn apple, bitch. You know I get mine first.”

  She handed the rotted apple over dutifully, a properly shameful look on her face, and again Steven wondered what had happened to his wife. She was never dutiful—she had an independent streak as wide as the continental United States, a fierceness in everything she did, and yet here she was, bowing down to the biggest bully on the block.

  “Leave her alone.”

  “What are you going to do about it, little man?” Block asked mockingly.

  Steven, of course, wasn’t going to do anything about it. Even telling the big Samoan to leave her alone had gone against every cowardly fiber of his being. Instead of escalating the confrontation, he took his wife by the arm and started to lead her away, but Block stepped in front of him.

  “You really have no idea, do you?” Block asked. Steven was perplexed. The man’s tone wasn’t hostile, only curious.

  “I don’t want any trouble.”

  “That’s not what I’m talking about…” Block started to say, but was interrupted by Darius and John joining the fray.

  “Leave them both alone,” Darius ordered. “They’ve done nothing to you and the man says he doesn’t want any trouble.”

  Block turned to him. “And I suppose you’ll do something about it?”

  Darius was quick, much quicker than a man of his size should be, and snatched the apple from Block’s hand. When Block tried to retaliate, balling a fist and driving it towards the black man’s head, he easily stepped to the side, took his shoulder, and used the Samoan’s momentum to fling him forward. Block landed face first on the mud-covered stone floor. He got up quickly, fury on his face, and rushed Darius again. The big man sidestepped him once more, this time tripping the Samoan, who came crashing down once more.

  “I’m going to kill you,” Block told him from the floor, anger blazing in his eyes. “We’re going to meet in The Game and I’m going to kill you.”

  “I doubt that,” Darius told him. “You’re big and strong, yeah, but you’re not coordinated. You don’t have any speed. That and you’re full of shit.”

  Block’s men, armed with the glass and aluminum-can tipped spears, finally roused and stepped to their leader’s side, spears thrust towards the newcomers.

  “I could kill you now,” Block said.

  “I don’t think so,” John, seemingly emboldened by Darius’ strength, said. “It would be a rule violation as far as I see. You were, after all, the attacker.”

  “He took the apple,” Block said, his voice teetering on screaming. “Stealing is a capital offense. You don’t steal from the Cave. I’m within my rights to kill him.”

  “Then you should be killed for stealing the apple from Rebecca,” Steven said softly but firmly. “Because that is what happened, right Rebecca?”

  His wife looked uncomfortably from Block to Steven to Darius to her feet. The little girl Mia looked wide-eyed and frightened. “Yes, that’s what happened.”

  Block’s demeanor changed in an instant, going from full-blown kill mode to laughter. “That’s what happened, is it, Rebecca? Fine. Have it your way.” He stood and snatched a spear from one of his men, thrusting it towards Rebecca. “Here, take it. If that’s the case, you are to be the executioner. Take my life, woman, for your apple.”

  Rebecca knocked the wooden spear to the ground, took the little girl’s hand, and stomped off into the Cave, heading back towards where Amanda still slept. Block laughed aloud. “No, I didn’t think so. Get the fuck away from me!” he ordered to everyone. “There may be a Game tomorrow and I’m not losing because I was up all night dicking around with you assholes.”

  His men obliged and the trio of remaining newcomers backed away slowly. They then quietly followed Rebecca back towards their own camp. Darius clamped his big arm around Steven’s shoulder and whispered into his ear, “Don’t worry about it, champ. I’ll help you take care of your wife.”

  Steven didn’t know what to say, but instead of sleeping, he spent the rest of the night wondering why his wife had lied.

  * * *

  “I have to go, Steven,” Rebecca told him as she madly stuffed clothing and toiletries into a small backpack, “I’m sorry.”

  “I understand you have to go,” he said. “No, wait…I don’t understand. I don’t understand any of this. You get a phone call in the middle of the night that you won’t tell me about and now you have to go to some undisclosed location and you can’t tell me about that either? Am I supposed to understand that, Rebecca?”

  She paused and turned to him, a lone tear snaking down her cheek. “No, you’re not supposed to understand, and I’ll understand if you’re not here when I get back.”

  He stepped to her and looped his arms around her shoulders, looking into her eyes. “You’re also crazy. I didn’t marry you to up and leave you at the drop of a hat.”

  “But this is big.”

  “Yeah.”

  “And I’d understand.”

  “It’s not happening, Rebecca. I’m just worried about you, and I don’t understand why you can’t tell me what’s going on. Are you in some sort of trouble?”

  “No.”

  “Then what is it?”

  His wife was torn and he couldn’t understand why she was hiding this. She’d never hid anything from him—they’d never hid anything from each other. “Steven, pleas—just trust me.”

>   “I don’t have any other choice. I love you.”

  “I’ll be back in a couple of weeks,” she told him, stroking his cheek. “And everything will be right by then.”

  He nodded grimly and watched as his wife walked out the door to destinations and situations unknown to him.

  * * *

  Morning in the Cave was simple. People woke and relieved themselves, generally close to wherever they were, and if they had any food stashed away from the evening before, they ate. Children played as if the world they lived in, the Cave and its atrocities, was the right world, the proper place. Steven wondered if any of them actually managed to escape what they’d think of a school, or video games, or just not having to eat garbage and each other. Would they reject that life in favor of long pork?

  Rebecca stirred, standing and stretching. Mia sat cross-legged, watching her and Steven.

  “Good morning,” he said, forcing a smile.

  “Hey.”

  “Did you manage to sleep any?”

  The right side of her face was covered in dried mud from where she’d slipped off her arm and landed in the mud, apparently without realizing it. Her hair was a tangle of knots and mud chunks, and the blue jumpsuit that she’d arrived in was already torn down her right leg.

  “I slept like Corey does after playing video games all day.”

  He stared at her, saying nothing, and it took several more seconds before she realized what she’d said. “Oh my god…they’re gone, Steven. They’re really gone.”

  He’d been trying not to think about his children, not to think about the two gunshots and the ensuing silence, a silence filled only by the rapid thumping of his heart. “We don’t know that. They could have done it just to scare us.”

  “This isn’t scary enough?”

  “Well…”

  “They did it to send us a message, Steven,” she said, staring at him coldly.

  “And what’s that message?”

  “They are in control, period, and we have nothing left to live for.”

  “We have each other,” he half asked, half said, hoping that was true.

  “Hey, good morning,” Darius said, walking up. “I found a little food that still looks edible in the trash heap out there,” he said, passing out half-eaten slices of moldy bread and some pulpy-looking vegetables that might or might not have been tomatoes at one point in life. “It was a mess and you really had to dig. There’s people out there now cleaning up the rest of it.”

  Rebecca took the slice as John and Amanda sat up, stretching. She handed it to Mia, who deftly tore the mold off and ate what was left. “Thank you Darius.”

  “Yes, thank you,” John said. “And if you’ll wake me next time, I’d be more than happy to help you look for more.”

  Steven was a bit jealous, which was another emotion he just wasn’t used to. The look of appreciation his wife had for the big man, both for the food and for breaking up the fight before it happened the previous night…it wasn’t comfortable. He’d never had a reason to be jealous before. She was the ultimate dedicated wife, happy to be with him and his sons, and he was sure she wasn’t doing it intentionally now. It was just the situation.

  “I don’t know if you want to dig through that mess, but I’d appreciate the help. I don’t want to eat human, just yet.”

  “They ate Cassandra last night,” Amanda, her eyes still blank, said. “And it was like a Thanksgiving Day feast.”

  John put his arm around her shoulder. “I know it’s hard, Amanda, but try to imagine that your friend, in her death, helped feed these children.”

  Amanda pulled away from him in disgust. “You are one sick fuck, aren’t you?”

  Ashamed and shocked, John said, “I’m sorry, I was just thinking that…”

  “Stop thinking. Stop thinking for me,” Amanda said, storming off. Several nearby people laughed and giggled at the exchange.

  “You think this is funny?” Darius bellowed.

  “You’re damned right, skippy,” a toothless hag said. “Newcomers are almost as much fun as the Game.”

  “Fuck you,” John spat in disgust and it was the first time Steven could remember him cursing.

  “Calm down,” Darius ordered. “Anger isn’t going to get us anywhere here. In fact, I think we need to save that energy for the Game, if we’re going to survive this.”

  “What is this ‘we’,” Steven demanded. “I don’t know any of you from Adam. As far as I know, you could be the reason my wife and I are here—some sort of sick, twisted fucking game rich boys play.”

  “I’m not rich. I work at a damned grocery store, and I don’t know if you’ve noticed or not, buddy,” Darius said, the bile in his voice rising, “but we’re all in this together. You can go your own way if you want. I don’t care. But we have a better chance of surviving if we stick together.”

  Steven wasn’t so sure. “What’s the point of surviving? They took my boys from me, they took everything.”

  Rebecca stared up at him with a touch of sadness. “You still have me.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said, instantly feeling guilty and going to her side. She shied away from him, standing and taking Mia away. He watched them go and felt a wall of tears threatening to crumble over him. “You see?”

  “There is always revenge,” John said calmly and seriously.

  “What?”

  “If nothing else,” he repeated, “live for revenge.”

  * * *

  Steven wandered the Cave, watching the people go through their daily motions. Had he not seen the Game, not seen these people eat the girl who’d arrived with them, he’d have thought they were normal, despite the conditions. It would have been easy to maintain that illusion. Children played between the shelters, danced naked in the small pools of water, and generally were as mischievous as children were. Adults cleaned what they could, which wasn’t much, washed clothing, and prepared what little food they’d managed to scavenge from the food drop. Life went on, despite the Game.

  It all could have been normal, even happy, and he might have maintained that silly notion had he not stumbled upon the tannery. An old man and woman, maybe husband and wife the way they argued, worked the human skin from the meals. Racks of it were strewn around their area, along with clothing and shoes produced from it. The area stank even worse than the rest of the Cave, a byproduct of the vats of boiling skin and bones.

  The old woman was smoothing out a section of tanned human skin on a table made from wooden planks and plastic buckets. The old man hovered above her like an angry Catholic school nun.

  “Damn it, Erma, you’re doing it wrong. Twenty-five years and you still muck it up every time you do it.”

  “Why am I doing it at all? This is your job.”

  “My job is telling you what my job is. Your job is to obey. Remember, that’s what the vows said. Love and obey and obey and obey.”

  “I don’t think that’s what the vows said,” the woman said, letting the section of skin drop to the stone floor. “I’m pretty sure they did say, however, that you need to piss off.”

  “Piss off? Really?” the man said. “You’ve been spending too much time with the Englishmen again.”

  “The Englishmen, at least, are polite when someone is trying to help them out.”

  “I don’t need your help.”

  “Then why did you ask for it?”

  “Hello?” Steven asked meekly, not really wanting to get involved in the conversation, but wondering, as he stared down at his filthy bare feet, what he’d have to do to get a pair of shoes.

  “Oh, hello there,” the woman beamed. “You’re one of the newcomers!”

  “I guess the jumpsuit gives me away.”

  “Every single time,” the older man said, coming around the table and sticking his hand out. “I’m Glenn and this is my longtime, eternally happy wife, Erma.” He pointed to the woman, who stuck her tongue out at him. “What can we do for you?”

  “I…you’re talking to
me. Hardly anyone will talk to us.”

  “The Rules are the Rules,” Glenn said, agreeing. “Not a lot you can do about it, but not actually a lot they can do to me. Who else is going to make their stinkin’ shoes?”

  “You don’t participate in the Game?”