Flesh Worn Stone (28 page)

“What are you talking about?” Steven asked, attempting to fake being incredulous.

“Where is the shotgun, Steven? Something like that could change the entire balance of power here, worse than you’re arrival mate,” he said, pointing to where Darius stood, waving to people as if he were their king. “He’s already messed things up. The swords and other artifacts from the Mary,” he said, referring to the rebuilt wooden ship hanging in the Cave, “that Darius has armed his men with are bad enough. They change the entire attitude of the people who do not have them. The ever-present threat of violence is intolerable.”

“You are kidding, right? The threat of violence is constant here.”

“In the context of the Game, of course. But the weapons are a game changer, and the shotgun in particular could truly screw up our operation here. And, to be honest, we have a wonderful operation.”

Steven knew there was no point lying to the man. He had to keep him talking while he thought of a way out of the situation. “A wonderful operation? You traffic in people and pain. You bring slaves here and pit them against each other for your entertainment like some sort of modern Colosseum. You kill for pleasure, you rape for fun.” He stopped short of telling him how much he knew about the operation at the top of the Canyon.

“We perform a service, Steven, both for the people who are brought here as well as those who watch, either from the skyboxes or long distances away on the video feed. We take people who need something in their life, some drastic change, and give them rebirth.”

Steven had already heard the sales pitch and wasn’t impressed. “You have people kill in order to come here. You had my wife murder my sons.”

“Yes, indeed, and that was a unique situation. Your wife is the first person, in our long history, who has ever returned to this place. She is the first who wanted to participate in the Game again, and she paid a dear price for the privilege.”

Steven wanted to kill the man right there. “She murdered my sons. I paid the price.”

“And yet you are here, stronger than the day you arrived, nearly reborn. Steven, if you let it, this Game will set you free. And in your service to the Cave, you help the rest of the world as well.”

“Oh really? How in hell do you help the rest of the world?”

“Those people up there, in the skyboxes,” he said, pointing to the one-way mirrors, “who make the requests and suggestions on the Game…what do you think they’d be doing if they weren’t here? They’d be out murdering and raping. Instead, they get to act out those aggressions here.”

“At the expense of the people of the Cave.”

“Who, if they win five Games, not only leave reborn but well compensated.”

            “I didn’t want to be reborn, and I sure didn’t want to be well compensated. I was happy with my life that you guys took from me. No,” he said, reconsidering, “you didn’t take it from me. You raped it from me.”

“But you will be reborn, Steven, or you will die.”

Steven started to walk away, but Jackson stopped him with a gentle hand on the shoulder. “I take it, then, that you are not going to tell me where the shotgun is? I cannot tell you the trouble it will create. If you think Darius is a monster now, then how do you think he’ll be with the shotgun you,” he paused, again looking for just the right word, “appropriated.”

“If you guys are so upset about Darius, why don’t you do something about him?” Steven asked.

“He was picked, as it were, by the people. We don’t control how the Cave is run. The people, contrary to your belief, Steven, have a choice. They can leave anytime they wish.”

Steven wanted to hit him again but instead managed to fake a laugh. “Really? And that’s what the machine guns and alarms are for? That’s why they run out and murder a girl who dared step out of the Cage?”

“Do you see some controlling authority telling the people to do that, Steven? There is an alarm, yes, but for their own safety. That the people of the Cave choose to punish escape with death is quite their own choosing.”

“That’s bullshit. What about the machine guns up there?”

“Completely inoperable, as I’m sure you already know. There is no one keeping them here. They choose to be here. They choose to live this way.”

“You’re saying you wouldn’t do anything to them if they didn’t carry out their end of the Contract? After you’ve went through the trouble of getting them here?”

“Their Contract executions, whatever the payment may be, are watched and recorded as well. Once payment is made our requirements are fulfilled.”

“And you’d let someone just walk away? I find that hard to believe.”

“It’s happened before. We do not hunt people down and force them here, Steven. As I’ve said, everything here is the choice of the people who live here. We merely suggest and watch from above.”

“And you kill someone who doesn’t participate in the Game and then reward those who do with garbage.”

“There is abundant food on this island, as you’ve surely seen on the way to and from my cabin. The gate to the Cage isn’t even locked.”

 There was no arguing with the man, and he felt like he was having a flame war on some anonymous message board on the internet. The people in the Castle not only felt they were saving the citizens of the Cave, they thought they were doing the world a favor. They were righteous in their pursuits, and any guilt they might have was completely negated by believing it was the people who made the decisions to live this way. Steven turned away in disgust.

“You will not reconsider the shotgun? As I said, it’s a game changer here that the Castle does not think appropriate.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Steven lied, knowing full well that the lie would not save him as he turned and walked away. None of this had anything to do with avenging his sons and was merely a waste of time.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Jackson said, raising his right fist in the air and then motioning down with his thumb. “I truly am.”

* * *

Darius was literally on cloud nine. His little speech had worked so well he actually had people asking to take out more loans to fund whatever stupid little business idea they had. If Sally wanted to sell seashells by the seashore who was he to get in the way? It had gotten so bad he had two men creating more chits full time and had to use scraps of napkins and paper towels from the garbage hauls to keep track of all the chits. Now that John was dead, he knew they were worthless, if they’d ever been worth anything, but it didn’t matter. While he was here, the system would keep him in charge of the serfs and well fed. When he won, and left the Cave, he’d be a rich man anyway, not needing John’s money.

It was the perfect set up.

That the system was already creating a crime spree didn’t bother him either. People had soon realized they could make multiple trips through the food line as long as they paid. That led to people stealing other people’s chits or belongings in order to trade with Ernie and Max and get more to eat. Darius didn’t care about that either, knowing the ultimate penalty was death, and a person’s death meant meat in the pot which meant more product to sell the idiots to keep them fighting among themselves. If the thieves were caught, they went into the pot, and if they weren’t caught, there was that much more fear in the Cave.

And fear, really, was what kept things going.

He managed to say a few conciliatory words as the first three people were brought forward for execution, and the line of citizens took an agonizing hour to work their way around the three, kicking them to death. There was little left, afterwards, but the remains were carted off by his trusted employees for the pot later.

“And on to the Game!” he screamed to the cheering fans as the gladiator cartoon was replaced by one citizen’s number and the letter A. It took him several seconds to realize that the number was his and everyone in the Canyon was staring at him.

“Oh,” he said softly, “that’s me. But what the hell does A mean?”

A hundred arms shot up at once, and he realized that he’d made a mistake and underestimated Jackson, along with the people of the Castle. They’d not managed to kill him in a Game, so they were going to do the next best thing. “That has to be a mistake,” he said, hearing the fear in his own voice. “That’s not my number.”

His own men, Block’s former men, began advancing on him, and he backed away. “No, god damn it. I’m the leader. I make the decisions here, not them.” He was scared and shaking, panicking. “You do what I tell you to.”

The men swarmed Darius, and there was no amount of struggling he could do to get free. Six of them hoisted him into the air, carried him to the center of the arena, and then let him flop to the ground. He sat up, looking around wildly. “Traitors…I’m paying you. You can’t do this to me. I run this place!” he screamed.

Looking up, he saw the glint of steel of one of the cutlasses, a cutlass he’d provided the man. This wasn’t fair and he tried screaming at them, reasoning with them…he tried to threaten the men holding him down, his right arm outstretched at a right angle to his body. They wouldn’t listen, they didn’t care what he said. He watched in horror as the cutlass was raised in the air and then screamed out in agony as it came down, connecting with his arm in the bicep, between the shoulder and the elbow.

Unfortunately, the man hadn’t bothered sharpening it and it was still dull. It took a half dozen more swings to separate the arm, but Darius had only been conscious for the first three.

* * *

Steven watched Darius struggle with serious satisfaction. The man had most literally gotten what he deserved and, when he was awake later and eating his own flesh, Steven would enjoy that as well. The only thing that would have made it better would have been if it was his wife instead of Darius. Or her daughter, but her daughter couldn’t be selected. She didn’t have a number. He was unsure of the people’s cheers, though, unable to decide if they were happy the dictator had been taken down a notch or that another Game had been won and the potential for dinner was there.

He didn’t have long to think about it as another set of numbers popped up and he instantly recognized his own next to the letter K. Jackson had struck, he knew, though he wondered how he’d gotten a message up to the people in the Castle. He wondered, as he stepped forward without any signs of hesitation, if he’d agreed to return the shotgun if he’d be in this Game right now.

He raised his arms above his head like a champion and tried to look confident, though he figured that Jackson was arranging someone for him to fight that would have no problems killing him. After his last Game, he had no doubts that whoever it was would be prepared for a rage-filled, lightning quick attack like he’d executed the last time. He’d have to think of something different if he hoped to survive. He pretended to be a gladiator, shouting at the crowd, but inside he felt like a little kid who was afraid to drape his feet over the bed less some monster hauled him away.

Minutes passed and no one showed. Finally, one of the newcomers, the Asian man, was shoved forward, his sleeve rolled up to his elbow, exposing the fresh tattoo of numbers matching the billboard. The man was scared, confused looking, his eyes darting around so frantically that Steven assumed his wife, like Rebecca, had paid her trip to the Cave with his life. The man’s wife was crying in the sideline, looking pretty authentic, but Steven didn’t buy it, and wondered how good the sales pitch could possibly be to sell your husband into slavery.

Steven strode to the man and took him by the hand. “I’m really sorry about this.”

“I don’t know where I am,” he pleaded, gasping for breath. “I don’t know what happened to us and I can’t find my asthma medication. Can you help me?”

The man looked at him with pleading eyes, and he finally understood. Jackson hadn’t sent someone he’d be able to kill without issue; he’d sent an innocent for Steven to murder. He’d sent someone that would bond him to the Game…someone he really, truly knew was innocent. He was no better than anyone else on the island, but that didn’t matter to Steven. He already knew that. In fact, once he’d murdered the child, he’d be a million times worse. “No, I can’t help you, but your pain is about to be lessened.”

He hit him hard in the face, busting his lip and knocking out a tooth. The Asian spat it out and screamed, “Why are you doing this? I didn’t do anything to you.”

“I know,” Steven said, hitting him again, “and it isn’t your fault.” He hit him twice more and the man stumbled backwards. “You didn’t do anything wrong and you surely didn’t do anything to me. You are truly innocent in this.” He kicked the screaming man in his side as he tried to crawl away. “I’m glad you’ll never know what your wife did to get you here.” He stomped the man’s gut then and the crying and wheezing Asian’s eyes bulged wide. “Not only are you innocent, your being here, right this very moment, is a signal to me to conform.”

The Asian, surprisingly, managed to turn over and crawl towards his wife, who was being held back. She screamed in agony watching the fight, and Steven was sure, or at least he hoped, that she now regretted her decision to come to this place. “They think that your murder will make me one of them, ruin my innocence, so to speak, but they’re wrong,” he said, kicking the man and once more flipping him over onto his back.

He squatted down on the man’s heaving chest and caressed his hairless cheek. He leaned down and whispered, “This really will hurt you more than it will me. See, I’m past the point of caring. I’ve already sold my soul to the devil.”

He drove his fingers into the man’s eyes, repeating what seemed to be the easiest way to kill a man on his back, and was genuinely thankful when he finally quit squirming. His wife never quit screaming, though, and he’d remember that scream until the day he died.

Chapter Thirteen

The Marking ceremony was subdued, at least for Steven. There was no clear-cut leader to speak to the masses, and everyone kept looking at him for answers. He didn’t have any, but walked straight to the dais. The knife was there, next to the cauldrons, and he picked it up and cut his own head as best as he could, giving himself four marks. Darius, still unconscious, was dragged forward, and Steven cut his head, returning the favor of the last ceremony, feeling the bone scrape under the dull blade with some satisfaction.