Transformation (31 page)

40.

Sal was surprised when Sherm called Eddie over.

“Hey man, he hurt you?” Sherm looked at Eddie but pointed at Sal.

Eddie was smart, smart enough to see an opportunity and take it.

“No. No. He’s been cool. He could’ve left me to die but saved me. We got separated after Dawn killed Cullen.”

“Good for her.” Was Sherm’s only reaction. “Hope we see her soon.” He’d considered using Dawn as a mother, but she wasn’t right. They’d known each other forever and she didn’t seem to be capable of being a good mother. She didn’t understand what would be required of her.

Matilda clapped and giggled softly.

“Fucker’s dead?” Choco whispered to himself more than anyone else.

Nurse Nancy had no visible reaction. She shifted on her feet.

Virtually every inmate of Agnews and Cullen had a mutual hatred of each other. Cullen had been very useful to Sherm so he was protected, but now he was useless. To Sherm, Cullen’s death was of no importance.

Eddie continued. “We all got separated and Sal stuck with me, protected me.”

“OK then. We still have to have a trail.” Sherm looked down at Sal.

Sal was used to being a big guy in most instances and if another man was taller or bulkier it never made Sal feel small. But Sherm was huge. He was a massive bulk of a man that made Sal feel tiny.

Sal nodded. He wasn’t sure what he should do, but fighting didn’t seem like a good option presently.

“What about the lady?” It was Choco. He slid up next to Sherm.

“Jesus. You smelly fuck.” Sherm gave him a hard shove and Choco flew backwards and landed on his ass. “Stay away from me and don’t ever talk about the lady.”

Sherm turned back to Sal.

“What about the lady?”

Eddie piped up. “I think Cullen killed her.”

Smart kid. Sal was going to tell him that he didn’t know. Now they thought Wendy was dead.

“Asshole!” Sherm shouted at the sky. “Cullen you asshole!” He lowered his head and rubbed his temples for a solid minute. Matilda bounced on the balls of her feet waiting for her master to move, Choco sniffed his fingers and looked at Sal with a creepy smile, and Nurse Dickerson waiting, arms folded, with an air of impatience.

Sherm finally looked up and spoke softly. “I wanted her to go to trial more than anybody. She would have been OK. She’s so pretty.”

“It was self-defense.” Sal started talking, and then stopped himself. Eddie seemed to know what these people needed to hear and he could only make things worse.

Sherm looked up, a little confused. “What?”             

Eddie talked quick in order to stop Sal if he tried to say anything more. “He’s talking about the deaths at the mall as they left.”

That?” Sherm smiled. “Fuck that. You did me a favor killing a few of them.

Them?
Sal thought.

Eddie turned to Sal. “They want to put you on trial to determine if you are worth keeping around. But don’t worry you are strong, not too old, and you saved Dawn’s life.” Eddie knew how Sherm felt about Dawn. They’d been at Agnews together for a long time.

“What?” Sherm looked at Eddie. “Explain.”

“Well, there was a million of those shitbags and Dawn was surrounded…”

“Where was Hope?” Matilda asked breathless.

“Hope.” Choco repeated.

“Shut up.” Sherm glared at both of them.

All eyes were on Eddie.

“Hope was next to Dawn like she always is. Anyway, a million dead shitbags and Sal here wades into them. He’s pushing them down, kicking them. He had no weapon and was like, close to getting eaten. He picked up both girls and ran away.”

Eddie’s story was pretty weak, but he had them enchanted. He finished it off.

“Nurse Cullen…” Matilda and Choco giggled. Even Nurse Nancy cracked a smile. She hated Cullen too and thought it was funny when he’d fuss and fume over being called a nurse.

“He just stood there doing nothing. I think he was crying.” Eddie added for effect and his audience seemed to appreciate it.

Sherm shrugged, emotionless. “OK. Fuck a trial. You’re a hero. You’re one of us.” He turned and started walking. “Let’s get going.”

Sal smiled at Eddie. “Well that’s good news. So what now?”

Eddie shrugged as they all started walking.

“My name’s Choco.” He was next to Sal with his hand out.

“Don’t shake his hand,” Sherm barked. He hadn’t stopped walking, didn’t turn his head.

Choco looked at his own hand and frowned. He withdrew it and fell back.

“The other two are Matilda and Nancy,” Sherm concluded.

Matilda gave a little wave and spoke her name low.

Nurse Nancy didn’t give him a second glance.

Eddie leaned in. “His nickname is Choco because . . . “

“Yeah, I got that,” Sal smiled. “Smelled it too.” Then louder.

“Where’re we headed?”

Sherm slowed a bit to walk next to Sal.

“We’re going to see your people. You can make the introductions.”

Sal had no intention of leading them to the structure. His plan was to bullshit them and draw them far away from it. But he’d never get the chance to do that. Gunshots from the garage echoed through the still city. The flashes visible in the dark night.

“Someone’s home,” Sherm said as they headed straight across the field of the dead.

Sal pulled his shirt over his nose and mouth to try and filter the air as much as he could. After the gunfire, he had to get to the structure. Nothing else mattered. He wasn’t sure how he’d deal with the crazy bastards with him when he got there.

41.

“Well, well, well if ain’t the runaway slave.” A thin man, a kid really, with bushy blond hair and barely a moustache walked up with a semi-automatic rifle resting on his shoulder. The other two men were older but both looked semi-retarded. One was obese and wore an army jacket that was way too small for him. The other man was bald and had a goatee that was long and twisted into two spirals. His eyes were hard and angry.

“I swear. It’s amazing you people survived at all.”

Ron was hunched over, kneeling on one knee and standing in the trap hole with the other. The pain was incredible. He’d been horrified since he stepped into the trap and realized the seriousness of his injury. Then it only got worse. Whatever Francis saw was bad. Now the Nazis were here standing over him. He was alone and vulnerable.

“Hey boy, the man’s talking to you.” Baldy kicked out.

Ron was in too much pain to reply. Not that he would’ve anyway. A boot tapped him in the ribs. His body didn’t move too much but the pain was incredible. Ron screamed as he looked up. It was then that he saw his tormentors. Three men. Three men with rifles. Odds were he would die if he tried anything, but he wasn’t thinking, he was in full reactionary mode. Pain clouded his senses and judgment. He raised the pistol Francis had given him and fired. The rib kicker, Baldy, looked startled as he fell back, a red hole in his chest. Ron turned the gun towards the skinny kid and fired and missed. Skinny was raising his rifle. Ron was ready to die. He didn’t give a shit anymore.

The third man, the morbidly obese one, screamed as he stumbled into Skinny. Blood pumped from his throat. He clutched at a horrible gash with one hand as he pawed at Skinny for help with the other. Skinny’s rifle went off, the bullet hit the dirt at his feet. Obese went down hard in the dirt. He was dead within seconds of Weed’s assault.

Skinny was regaining his footing and raising his rifle again, only this time it was pointed at Weed who was already charging him.

As soon as Weed had pushed his knife through fatty’s throat, he started pushing him forward and into Skinny, he was right behind him using his fat ass as a shield. Weed was on Skinny before he could get the rifle all the way up and he plunged his blade into the man’s lower abdomen and pulled up hard. He managed a foot long slash. The man fell back in horror, screaming in pain. He dropped his rifle and put his hands on his belly. He looked down to see a loop of his own intestines in his hand.

While the young man was distracted, looking down in horror at his own innards, Weed snatched the pink loop from him and kicked him hard in the cock. Skinny flew backwards screaming as his intestines unraveled from the hole. Weed dropped the innards and grabbed his knife. The bastard was screaming so loud he had to silence him. He did it quickly.

Ron was again bent over and squeezing his leg above the knee.

“Let’s see what we have here,” Weed said as he lay on the ground and once again looked into the hole.

“We need to get you out of here, Ronnie,” he said.

Weed wasn’t sure how he was going to get Ron out of the hole. The poor guy stepped in a bear trap that was somehow attached to the bottom of the ground. It looked like it might be set in concrete. Opening the trap would be ever harder because Ron was in the way. He imagined the people caught in this trap in the past were simply removed in pieces. He couldn’t see too well in the dark hole, but Ron’s ankle looked bad.

“Can you get me out?” Ron asked.

“Yeah. I’m just not sure how to do it and keep you alive.” He was serious. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

Weed left and came back shortly with a two by four.

“I’m going to have to pry those jaws open. Oh, and I found this.” He handed Ron a bottle of some hard liquor.

Ron didn’t even read the label, he twisted off the cap and drained it.

Weed worked the board down into the hole, past Ron’s leg, and into the jaws of the trap. He could barely fit the board between the jaws they had sunk so deeply into Ron’s leg. Weed knew his next action was going to hurt.

“I want you to be prepared to pull your leg out when I tell you to.”

Ron nodded and grunted, “Okay.”

“This might hurt.”

Weed twisted the board, nothing. Ron groaned.

“Hold on brother. I have to take a closer look.” Weed lay down and carefully put his face between the edge of the pit and Ron’s leg. He could see the trap better now. There were two massive flat springs, leaf springs that exerted force upwards and snapped the jaws of the trap shut. The springs also locked the trap shut. It would be hard enough to force one spring down so Ron could pull his foot out but two would be impossible. Weed sat up.

Ron grunted. “What now?”

“I don’t know. I need to think.” Weed sat looking away from Ron, wondering what he could do. He was getting really worried about Ronnie’s chances of getting out of this alive. He turned back and rolled onto his stomach.

“Oh good you’re still here.” It was automatic for the old man. “I’ve got to try something.” Weed reached down and placed a hand on the spring closest to him and pushed. It was rock hard, seemingly immovable.

“How the fuck do people normally open these things?” he asked no one in particular.

Ron was panting, sweating, and moaning. “How’s the thinking going?”

“Shit Ronnie, the trap’s a monster. There’s two big ass metal spring things holding it shut. I’ve got to put a shitload of force on both at once to get the trap open. I don’t know how I can do that.”

Weed described to Ron what he saw. The pit was dark and Ron could barely see the trap, but he could make out parts of it.

“It looks to me like . . . just like some of the clamps we use in the office. In the dental . . . “ He grimaced. “Sometimes the clamps get clamped down too tight and the assistants can’t release them. They use another clamp to . . . “

Weed jumped to his feet. “That’s it. Don’t go anywhere I’ll be right back.” He jogged back over to the camo warehouse.

Ron waited for what felt like an hour. It was probably more like three minutes.

Weed came back and he held up a giant C-clamp, he had an identical one in his other hand. They were literally large metal C shapes with a threaded screw going through one end.

“I wondered how these pussies got that thing open,” he smirked. “Let’s get that fucking thing off you.”

Weed dropped down and placed the clamp over the first spring and tightened it down all the way.

“Easy as pie.” He said as he set the clamp on the other spring and tightened it down. Finally, the jaws loosened and Weed could push them open.

Ron fell back and elevated his leg. Blood soaked his foot and now it ran up his leg as he elevated it.

“We’ve got to clean that and get the fuck out of here as soon as possible. I’m surprised the gunshots hadn’t brought more assholes down on us.”

“We’ll clean it later,” Ron said as he tried to stand. His body gave way to pain. He fell back to the ground, but he didn’t cease his efforts to leave the place.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” Ron said as he used his hands to push up from the ground to a standing position. His face was covered in sweat, his expression a twisted mask of pain, but he kept fighting to hobble away.

“Hold up. You’re going to hurt yourself man.” Weed came over and took one of Ron’s arms. He had another humorous gem on the tip of his tongue, but realized the poor black bastard had been through so much more than he had, more than he could imagine being a fly in a bowl of milk so to speak.

“Don’t you worry. I’ll get you out of here. I’ll get you to safety and come back.”

“What? Oh yeah.” Ron remembered the mission. “Look. You load the truck, and I’ll clean myself up. Then we can go.”

“Okay.” Weed wasn’t going to ask twice. He helped Ron move forward. “C’mon brother, let’s get you inside. I think I saw some shit in there you can use to patch yourself up.”

Ron was loathe to go back into the building. Maybe it was his imagination, but the place had a really bad vibe and he was nervous about being left alone in it.

Before he left, Francis swept the old desk clean with one arm and helped Ron into the chair. He patted his back.

“Sit tight Ronnie. I’ll be right back.” Weed didn’t leave the room but knew the man needed some old Mother Francis’ tender care. He came back with several bottles of drinking water and most of a half-gallon of cheap dark rum.

“You can start on the rum,” Weed said as he knelt down. “We’re going to need to get your shoe off.”

Francis helped Ron remove his shoe, sock, and cut his pant leg at the knee.

“You got it from here?” Weed looked at Ron like a father might look at a son on the first day of school. Ron appreciated the concern but after witnessing Francis in kill mode it was a disparate experience. Maybe Francis felt the specter of the victims that filled the gloomy corners and deep shadows of the accursed place. Maybe he was on his best behavior, just as Ron was, because he too had a strong sense that he should remain reverent while in this place despite the fact that he didn’t believe in ghosts and spirits.

Ron nodded and let Francis leave. He focused on the task at hand to keep his mind off the spirits. The alcohol content of the rum was high enough that Ron knew it would kill all the bacteria in his wounds, but it was going to burn like hell. It was probably going to hurt worse than the bear trap did. He took a few big swallows of rum then went to work.

When he was finished the rum was almost gone and there was a pile of gory napkins in a puddle of blood under his leg. He wrapped his wounds in some gauze and a few strips of duct tape. He hesitated to look in the drawers of the desk but when he did, he found some over the counter pain killers and washed them down with the rest of the rum. He stood, endured the pain, and hobbled to the door. He wanted out of the building.

Ron made it out of the building and lay right on the ground. He propped his foot up on an old milk crate and let the booze and the pain killers do the rest.

A few hours later Francis woke Ron. His leg throbbed but the pain wasn’t as acute as he’d expected it to be. The shadows were getting long, the chill evening wind was picking up. He wanted more kibble.

“Time to go,” Francis said and helped Ron to his feet.

“Now that’s funny.” Ron said as Francis helped him hop to the truck.

The truck bed was piled high with big loose bails of weed. An enormous amount of the stuff was lashed and tied in tarps and boxes. The bed was full and there was even a good bit on the roof of the cab.

“This outa hold me for a spell,” Weed chuckled. “C’mon Ronnie, let’s get the hell out of here.”

Weed helped Ron into the truck and jumped in the driver’s seat. “How’s the leg?”

“Pretty good all things considered,” Ron said.

Francis put the truck in gear and started forward. He drove slow with one hand, opened a small box with the other that was on the seat between the two. There were many joints already rolled, a new fire stick, and a half bag of beef jerky.

“I ate my half.” Francis said. “It’s all I could find in the way of foodstuffs. Help yourself. Oh and there’s some waters too.”

Ron ate the jerky, drank water, and kept an eye out to make sure they weren’t followed. He watched their cargo flapping and blowing in the wind. A little fell off here and there. Francis had tied things down pretty tight.

A piece of plant blew into the window and landed on Ron’s lap. He picked it up and held it out. “I hope we don’t get pulled over.”

Weed laughed. “I can talk my way out of it, don’t you worry.”

Ron smiled. “Like I said earlier, I should be mad at you. But now that we survived all that shit. I don’t know, I feel grateful for the diversion, the distraction.” He lit up another joint and hit it hard to ease the throbbing in his leg.

The sun was down and it was dark as pitch on the highway. Ron and Weed made it about fifty miles before the truck sputtered and died. They were out of gas.

“Only one thing to do Ronnie. I go for gas you wait here”

Ron didn’t like the idea of being alone while injured. He wondered what he would do if Francis didn’t return?

“Okay,” he nodded reluctantly.

“See you soon.” Francis left the cab and was swallowed by blackness, invisible even before the door shut.

Ron made sure the doors were locked before he laid down. He hoped for sleep but it never did come, not really. The windows were down an inch for ventilation and Ron listened to the sounds of the night. Once or twice he thought he heard a distant scream but couldn’t tell if it were human or animal.