Flesh Worn Stone (21 page)

“Block,” the man said, looking as if he were about to cry, “I’ll shut it down. You can have everything. We didn’t mean to start any problems…we just missed our shop back home.”

“Shut up,” Darius ordered, stepping between the two men and then turning to Block. The big Samoan was as angry as he’d ever seen him, which was good. When he was angry, he made mistakes. “You don’t have any right to interfere here, Block. There aren’t any rules being broken. Trading is allowed, and using these chits is just that…trading.”

“They are worthless pieces of wood with a number carved in them. The wood is more valuable for starting a fire than it is for trading.”

“But the people assign value to them,” John interrupted. “Just as you do back home with paper money. It really isn’t any different.”

“Money back home is backed by gold,” Block said. “Yours is backed by nothing.”

“No, it isn’t,” John told him. “And it hasn’t been backed by gold for a good, long time. It’s backed simply by the credit of the government and the ability to control the supply of the money.”

As soon as he’d said it, Darius could tell he regretted it. Block caught on fast.

“And you want to control that supply here, so you control the people. I won’t stand for it. And as far as I’m concerned, this is over. Finished. The chits will be rounded up and destroyed.”

“Not only do you not have the right,” Darius told him, “you also don’t have the manpower. I hold all the cards. Your men are turning away from you and the people support me. They support the right to earn their keep. There isn’t anything you can do about this.”

Block laughed, which Darius hadn’t expected. “Really? You hold all the cards? Well, I guess we’ll see about that, won’t we?”

He turned away, still giggling, as the bell for the Game sounded.

“Come on,” Darius said, dragging John away, “we’ll settle this later. And you,” he said, pointing to Ernie, “either get on the bandwagon or get run over by it.”

* * *

Steven wasn’t sure what would kill him first, the starvation or the hunger, and he suspected Amanda, her chest heaving as she struggled to breath, would be gone long before he would. He’d tried using the girl’s remaining clothing to shelter her face from the blistering sun, reflected back up by the white sand, but it had done little to help. Her previously pale skin was red and blistered, and he wondered, again, how she still lived.

When the three men entered the Cage, scooping up Amanda, he thought it might be to save her. But one looked at him and said, “Get up. It’s time for her execution and everyone has to participate.”

“What did she do?” Steven said, standing as quickly as his weakened state would allow, not caring about Amanda as much as he did about getting something to eat and drink in the Canyon.

“She stole.”

“And the penalty for that is death?”

“There is only one penalty.”

Steven quietly followed the men through the warren of tunnels leading into the Cave, and then into the canyon. He managed to scoop a handful of water from a muddy puddle on the ground, and he was sure his stomach was going into revolt over the foreign invader. He managed to hold it down and fell into lockstep with the people heading into the Canyon.

His skin was blistered and sunburned, and he was weaker than he’d been since waking up on the beach that first day. It didn’t take the body long to start breaking down without the bare minimum of sustenance, especially water. Though he’d heard this wasn’t a Game, just Amanda’s execution, he hoped that there wouldn’t be a follow-up Game, or, if there was, he wouldn’t be involved. He’d surely die from any combat right now, and could easily imagine being raped as he’d raped the old man.

The three men dragged Amanda into the center of the Canyon where Block waited, hands on his hips. Steven was left alone, so he wandered into the back of the crowd, looking for more of the muddy pools of water to sip from.

There was no celebratory mood in the Canyon that day, no cheering for the Gladiator cartoon. The air was laced with hunger, and, if not shame, then pity at the coming event. Most people evidently knew what was going to happen and shuffled their feet, looking at the ground or into the distance as Block spoke.

“Brothers and sisters, today is a sad day. One of our own, a Game winner even, has stolen from us. She attempted to take the very food that would feed us through the drought between the Games, intent on feeding herself instead of the community.”

There were a few groans from the crowd as most knew what had happened. Many thought that Ernie and Max were the real thieves, hoarding their food like they did and only parceling it out in trade. Many thought that it just wasn’t right or fair, but if Block didn’t do anything about it, there was little they could do. Even Block looked uncomfortable in describing the event as they had happened. But he had to follow the mandates of the Cave for the sake of the community. Still, he looked like a politician trying to spin the truth to a more palatable taste.

“Amanda came to us, dead in her soul, a nothing, an outcast from the outside. She was well on her path to rebirth and redemption in her Game, and, in return for that great favor, she rewarded us with cowardice and thievery. Her punishment is nearly done now.”

The three men tied Amanda, spread-eagled, to four stakes driven into the mud and stone. She was still in her catatonic state and didn’t react in the least. Steven figured that was probably a good thing. He didn’t know if he could stand her screaming right now. Block stepped up to her and kicked her violently in the ribcage. Her body shuddered with the momentum, but she didn’t cry out. Steven hoped she’d stay unconscious until she died. Block’s men stepped up, one at a time, and kicked her as well, and then a line of people from opposite the cavern filed by, each man, woman and child kicking her. It was like an assembly line, slow and emotionless. No one took any pleasure from adding their assault to the girl’s death, but it was their way and the rules had to be obeyed.

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 anything but simply pointed at the big Samoan man in the middle of the canyon.