Life Sentence (20 page)

“Screw you, bitch.”

Rhodes eagerly seconded the dying man’s sentiment.
“Oh, don’t you worry, Bart, my man. We’ve got that part
covered.”

I watched impassively as Bart’s brains sprayed onto
the wall behind him and he fell backward into the warm, wet stain
of mortality on our floor.

Rhodes turned to me. He took a step closer. Fran
must’ve hit him a few times; his face was florid, and blood still
poured from the side of his mouth. Good for her, I thought.

“Yeah, you are a hot, feisty little piece of ass.
Too hot for poor Bart there.” He ran the tip of the gun barrel down
my left cheek. It was slightly warm from being fired. “But not too
hot for me, baby doll.” Again the sick, soulless smile. “Yeah,
that’s what you look like, all bald and shit—a little baby
doll!”

For once I thought how my eyes weren’t so ugly, as
his were a sicker, paler shade of brown, tinged with yellow and
rimmed with red. They seemed unusually small, especially the
pupils, which was odd since it wasn’t that bright inside the cabin.
He slid the gun barrel down my left side, then across my belly.
Training would let you withstand levels of pain you never thought
possible. Training would let you watch a man have his head blown
off and not blink an eye. But there was no training for humiliation
and degradation; that was always personal and real and
undiluted.

I thought of grabbing the gun, but he would have
just added a pistol whipping to the inevitable “fun” he had planned
for me. And there was that inexorable inertia of life that I had
seen with Ms. Dresden, and I knew it would keep me conscious during
way too much of the beating for it to be a preferable option.
Though as Rhodes’ stink of years-old sweat stung my eyes and made
me nearly gag, I thought that passing out might come blessedly
sooner.

The gun barrel slid up my belly, between my small
breasts—which I had only just begun to notice in the past year or
so; the barrel lingered under my chin, and then he traced my mouth
with it. I still didn’t feel fear so much as regret, though it was
no longer just a feeling that I had failed Fran and Vera, but also
a bitterness about my own impending loss—regret that I’d never have
children, never hold hands with a boy, never know so many of the
meager but precious joys of our world. The thought still wasn’t
exactly fear, but an intense pang of remorse and worthlessness and
hopelessness, enough to make me hiccup a little as I caught a
rising sob in my throat.

Rhodes rested the gun barrel on my lips. “Not much
of a talker, either. I like that. That’s the main thing I don’t
miss about bitches—all that talk before and after. I can go weeks
out there with the boys and not hear ten words. But don’t get me
wrong—I do miss bitches’ mouths. I sure do. You’re gonna find that
out, so long as you want to stay alive.”

All I could do was glare at him. Rhodes took a step
back, and I thought maybe his version of “fun” had been postponed.
Then he smiled again, and I knew it hadn’t. It still surprised me,
though, when he kicked me in the stomach. It seemed such an odd
gesture—not obscene like his fetishistic poking of me with the gun,
and I could tell he hadn’t kicked me as hard as he could have, so
it wasn’t a blow intended to hurt me badly—but as I staggered back,
doubling up and choking, it occurred to me what it was. It was how
some people could kick a dog, how they would use casual violence to
show something smaller and weaker that they were the boss and its
pain was only amusement, its needs or feelings as unimportant and
worthless as air or dirt.

He bent over me, close enough that I felt the bloody
spray of his words on my cheek and ear, smelled the rot of his
teeth and whatever vile, diseased thing he’d eaten recently. “I
don’t think you’re old enough to realize what a hard-on I have for
you, bitch, but you best learn one thing: that won’t stop me from
putting your brains all over the ground if you don’t jump when I
say jump. Now get up and let’s get going.”

Once I’d stood, he shoved me out the door, then
stepped up behind me and shoved me again, so that I fell on the
hot, dry dirt in front of our wrecked cabin. I landed on my knees
and fell forward, catching myself with my left hand. I stayed
there, panting with rage and humiliation. Bart’s punch must’ve cut
my face a little, because blood mixed with my sweat and ran down to
the tip of my nose. Three long drops fell into the dust, turning it
an ugly, loveless brown.

Will moved fast down the other road, following the
tire tracks, as Lucy and I struggled to keep up. He gave us a
second to catch up. “I don’t have time to take you back to your
place,” he explained. “And I don’t want to leave you out here by
yourselves. Someone might see you and shoot you, or even other
zombies might attack you. So you’ve got to follow me. And do what I
say. I don’t know what’s going on, but I think it’s bad. So just
follow me and be careful.”

We kept following the road. Up ahead a fence led off
as far as I could see to the right and the left. But straight
ahead, a section of the fence had been removed. The tire tracks
were a jumble there. They went off to either side, along the path
of where the fence had been, and they also continued along the road
we had been following. The fence itself was lying on the ground,
the support poles bent over.

Will said, “It’s like they just drove along the
fence with a big vehicle, crushing it as they went, like they just
wanted to destroy it for no reason. Then they went back to
following the road.” He looked at us. “There are good people down
there. This time of year there are lots of kids out there, too.
They’re all armed and careful, but the farms are spread out, not
close to each other. And they’re not expecting people to attack
them, only zombies. I need to help them. Can you keep up and help
me if I need you?”

I looked to Lucy and we both nodded immediately.
Will had been so nice to us that, as frightening and unexpected as
all this was, I couldn’t imagine refusing his request for help,
especially if people were in danger. I still couldn’t conceive of
what might be going on, but we followed him regardless. When the
road and tracks turned slightly to the left, we kept going straight
into some trees. Lucy and I had a hard time negotiating the roots
and branches in our way. “It’s not much farther,” Will whispered.
“Stay quiet.”

I heard voices off to our left, and we moved more
slowly until we were at the edge of the forest, looking out on an
open area. I couldn’t tell exactly what had happened there, but the
way the people sounded and looked, it seemed clear that they were
being uncaring and violent in ways I couldn’t understand or
imagine.

There was the wreck of a building in front of us.
Two big, wooden poles held up the right side of the building,
though the poles had bent over and the house had tilted so far to
the left it touched the ground; the stilts on that side stuck out
from under the building, connected by a large chain to a dump
truck. The truck had a snowplow, and sticking out of the back on a
pole, a white flag rippled in the breeze. I could make out two wavy
blue lines down the middle of the flag. On one side of the blue
lines was a red handprint, and on the other a red sun.

More telling and alarming to me were the people I
saw. Among them were two girls. The smaller of them was sitting on
the ground, and the larger girl was on her hands and knees. Oddly,
the bigger girl was bald. Further from where we stood, there was a
tall, blond woman with her wrists tied behind her to the back of
the dump truck.

Both the girls and the woman appeared to be hurt,
especially the bald girl. She breathed hard and her face was
bleeding. A man stood near her, holding a pistol. He didn’t seem
the least bit concerned with her injuries, and he made no move to
help her.

Two other men came out of the house, carrying things
to the truck. They ignored the two girls, but stopped a moment to
maul the woman in a gross and sexual way. Though I couldn’t make
out what they were saying, I could see her kick and struggle as
they pawed her and laughed. Then they went back into the house. I
assumed they were getting more things, whatever the things
were.

“I don’t think they’ve killed anyone yet,” Will
whispered, “but those men are going to start hurting those girls
soon. I don’t know if you remember what men like that do to girls,
and I know that zombies don’t do that kind of thing, but it’s a
very bad kind of hurting, believe me.

“I’m going to circle around to the back of the
house, because if I shoot from here they might be able to make it
to the house or the truck before I can get them all. I only see the
one gun, but they may all have them, and I’m sure they have more in
the truck. You two just stay here. Don’t come out, don’t make any
noise. I’ll come and get you when it’s done. If I don’t, then just
run back the way we came.”

All we could do was nod. I felt so sorry we couldn’t
do more.

Will disappeared off to the right and I returned to
watching the people. After hauling out another load of stuff, and
after another round of pawing the woman tied to the truck, the two
men joined the one holding the gun in front of the house.

“That’s just about everything,” one of the
scavengers said. “These people don’t seem to know how to live much.
No booze, no weed, not much food—just a bunch of books and
guns.”

The man with the pistol nodded. “Yeah, some people’s
priorities are all ass backwards. They got a generator? I didn’t
see any vehicles.”

The third man nodded. “They had some diesel for a
generator. Dickhead here said I could have dibs before him if I was
the one to siphon it.” He spat. “Shit always burns your mouth like
hell.”

The other two men laughed, and the gunman said,
“Yeah, well, he likes to watch anyway. Gets him all worked up for
his turn. I figure we got a little time to break these bitches in
right before we get a move on. So, ladies, nice little place you
have here. We don’t usually get up this way, but pickings have been
getting a little thin. I’m sure glad we came.” He ran the barrel of
his gun across the back of the neck of the bald girl on the ground.
“We’re real sorry we broke your little tree house, but we were
afraid you might not welcome us with open arms—or legs.”

More laughter, low and dry.

“That’s a real big fence we passed on the way here,
so there must be more of you people around. I was wondering if some
of them might be coming by?”

“They’re supposed to drop off supplies this
afternoon,” the woman tied to the truck shouted. “Real men, not
some pieces of shit who beat up little girls.”

The man with the gun smiled. I couldn’t imagine mine
looked worse, his was so ugly, and I didn’t sense any happiness
behind it. “Funny how people who don’t know how to live right don’t
know how to lie good, either. Just got to take our chances, I
guess. Oh, and I can be as gentle or rough as I need to be, you
big, Amazon bitch. My new special little friend here is the one
that likes to play really rough. Aren’t you, baby doll?”

The girl on the ground didn’t respond. The blonde
shouted again. “A real man would want to get off with a woman. Or
are you too embarrassed for me to see what a dickless piece of shit
you really are?”

I think she was taunting them to distract them from
the two girls. Like Will, she seemed very brave. I wondered how
everyone in his community could be so good, and I was embarrassed
at my own inaction and fear.

The man with the gun looked over to the woman.
“Yeah, big bitch, I’m sorry you’ll have to settle for one of these
two sorry-ass bastards the first time, but your little friend here
gave me such a hard-on, being all hot and feisty and fighting back.
That was quite a show she put on in there. And you and her killing
three guys kind of makes things work out perfect now—three of you,
three of us. No lines, no waiting.”

A chuckle from the other two men and they nudged
each other.

The man with the gun stepped toward the younger girl
sitting on the ground. “Of course, we don’t want to leave you out
either, sweetheart. Little half-nigger might be fun.” He turned to
the other two men and gestured at the seated girl with his gun.
“You’re so right that these people’s priorities are all messed
up—no booze or fun, ladies out by themselves with no respect for
men, folks mating with niggers. Damn, what a world.”

All three men shared in the laughter now, letting it
rise in pitch and intensity.

The girl he was taunting stood up and glared at him.
It seemed forever that she decided what to do next, but then she
slapped him and spit on him.

“Don’t!” the blond woman shouted. She’d managed to
get partly to her feet and was straining against her bonds.

The bald girl on the ground also let out a rasping
protest as she got up on one knee and one foot and started to
stand.

The man with the gun grabbed the wrist of the girl
who was slapping him. “Oh, boys, I am
so
glad we came up
this way!” he laughed. “I didn’t think there were three bitches
with this much spirit left in the whole damn, zombified world! Now
we just got to get them to mind!” He twisted the girl’s wrist
behind her back, making her howl with pain, then he shoved her
away. When she faced him again, he kicked her in the stomach,
doubling her over. Then he turned to the girl who was standing up.
He didn’t kick her; he just put his foot on her chest and pushed
until she fell down.

I heard the shot then. The man with the gun spun
around and dropped to his knees next to the bald girl. Blood spread
out from his left shoulder, but he began to get back up.

Will emerged from the bushes to the right of the
house, walking forward steadily—not running, just marching with his
arm stiff and steady in front of him, sunlight glinting off his
gun. His arm barely flinched as he fired again. This shot hit one
of the other men, and as he fell, brains and blood sprayed from his
head.