My Angels Have Demons (Users #1) (12 page)

Again Carter was faced with a no win situation. He was going to have to risk it. What alternative did he have?

"Okay, I'll go to the Fortress," he said.

"Don't worry man. The General is a retired vet. He saw action in both Gulf wars, did a tour in Afghanistan. He was a hard drinker after the war, but he's been sober for over a decade, and he knows how to help guys like us. He'll whip you into shape in no time."

"Well that's comforting," Carter said sarcastically.

*****

The ride to the edge of town seemed to go on forever. Rain beat down against the foggy windshield of the General's beat up pickup truck in what seemed a never ending stream. The pair drove in silence. Neither offering more than the occasional cough or grunt the entire trip.

Having left the skyscrapers, condos, and department stores far behind, Carter saw a part of the city he had never seen before. Towering trees replaced the skyscrapers and fields of wet grass surrounded them on both sides of the two lane road. There were no street lights out here, only the faded round beams of the trucks headlights to show them the way. It was like something out of a bad horror movie and Carter wondered if he was about to be the star in the Northwest's version of the Texas Chainsaw Massacre.

Finally, when he couldn't take the silence anymore, Carter built up the courage to ask the General his real name.

"Name's Walter, but I hate the name, so Walt or the General works just fine," Walt said. The old man stared straight ahead as he spoke, never bothering to take his eyes off the road to look over at Carter. This guy was all business and Carter thought he hated him. No, he was sure of it. Something about the old man's no nonsense attitude just irked the hell out of him. Carter didn't ask anymore questions the rest of the way. If the old man wanted silence Carter was going to give it to him.

They passed through an exceptionally thick grove of pine trees down a winding road that turned from pavement into dirt. Carter and the General were jostled around in the truck as they passed over a series of potholes before turning off the road and down a one lane driveway. Overgrown bushes and branches scraped at the side of the truck as they approached a ten foot high wooden gate made of standing logs. The tips of the logs were sharpened to a point, an obvious deterrent to keep anyone from jumping the fence. Carter wondered if that was to keep people out, or to keep the Users in.

"Hey, slow down!" Carter yelled as the General barreled on down the road, not slowing in the least as they approached the gate.

Carter, convinced they were going to crash, clenched his butt cheeks tight and gripped the oh shit handle above the passenger side window, but the doors swung wide at just the right moment.

"Calm down youngster," Walt said with a telling smirk.

The old bastard was getting his kicks by torturing him, Carter was sure of it. They rolled to a stop, but Carter didn't get out of the truck until the gate was securely closed behind them. Looking over his shoulder, Carter watched as pair of figures, one on each door, pushed the two doors together and threw a brace bar behind them. Vince was not joking when he said this place was safe. It was locked up like Fort Knox.

Freed from the truck, Carter was able to take in the compound in its entirety. A high fence made of wooden poles that matched the gate ran the length of the property. It was well past twilight, but Carter could still see the massive fence clearly against the cloud covered sky. To his left was what looked like a log cabin, except much bigger. It was a full three stories tall, built into the side of the hill, with a long deck running its parameter.

"That there's the big house," Walt said.

Carter nodded in agreement, it indeed was a big ass house. To his right were the smaller cabins. They were tiny. The exact opposite of the big house. Carter peered through the window of one of them and saw only a single room with a cot and a rolled up sleeping bag, but there were dozens of the cabins littering the property. Beyond the cabins was a thick copse of trees. Carter couldn't see way lay beyond that, only that the fence went on and so did the trees, farther than he could see.

"General." A young man, maybe not even a man, the boy only looked about fifteen or sixteen, ran up to Walt to take his bag from him.

"This here is Barber," Walt said.

The boy nodded politely to Carter before turning for the big house with an armful of Walt's bag. In the center of the compound was a blazing campfire surrounded by wooden benches. Users, young and old, sat in a circle around the fire.

"You going to join us?" Walt asked motioning to the fire.

"Naw, I'm kind of tired."

"Barber will show you to your cabin then." And before he even finished speaking the young man came running out of the big house and over to them.

"This way," Barber said leading Carter toward a cabin along the wall.

The door creaked open as Barber entered the room, leaving the door open behind him for Carter. He stepped in and took an inventory of the cabin. It didn't take long. There was next to nothing to look at. A single window with a view of the big house, the door, and four walls were pretty much all there was to see. Carter ran a hand along the cot testing its firmness, it was stiff as a brick, but Carter was exhausted.

"Hey, what's with the bonfire anyway?" Carter asked as he unrolled the sleeping bag.

His question was met with silence. Carter turned to repeat the question to Barber, but the boy was nowhere in sight.

Carter sighed and closed the door.

#

Chapter 11

That night Carter had a dream about using drugs. He often had dreams of smoking pot or drinking, but this was different. Vivid images of cooking heroin on a spoon, the bubbling black tar, the flick of the lighter, it all seemed so real. He was back in his dingy apartment, alone and afraid. He waited for that sweet release as he drew the obsidian colored liquid into the syringe. Without tying off, he slapped a vein and plunged the needle into his skin with methodical precision. Carter drew back until he saw a swirling mix blood and heroin in the syringe. Confident he was on a vein, he slammed down the plunger.

The dope rushed through his veins like water through the roots of a tree. His skin tingled, his head went light, and he fell back onto the bed. A ringing, quiet at first, grew louder by the second until it was ear piercing. He heard it inside his head. It resonated through his entire body. It was tearing him apart. He tore at his skin in an attempt to free whatever was pulling him apart. He thrashed about and fell off of the bed.

He hit the hardwood floor face first and was abruptly jolted from his dream world and back into reality. But the ringing in his ears did not diminish. The sound buzzed in his chest, reverberating in his lungs. He struggled, but finally managed to free himself from the sleeping bag. He burst out the door to his cabin and into, what would have been for a non Scorcher, the bitter cold, but it didn't bother him in the least. What did bother Carter was the General, standing atop the deck of the big house, ringing a massive bell.

"What the fuck is going on here!" Carter shouted, but Walt either couldn't hear him or more likely didn't care, and he just ignored Carter's outrage.

Much to Carter's surprise the entire camp was up, dressed, and standing at attention in front of their cabins. Worse still, in his rush Carter hadn't bothered to put any pants or shirt on, and was now standing in his underwear in front of God and everyone.

"Son of a bitch."

The sun had not even begun to crest the horizon. The sky was a mix of sparse clouds with a pink background.

He marched angrily back into his cabin and slammed the door behind him. The bell stopped its ringing almost immediately after he had closed the door behind him, and having no desire to be up at this unholy hour, Carter scooped the sleeping bag from the floor and crawled back into bed.

He pulled the sleeping bag tight around his face and was just about to fall back asleep when a loud bang erupted from the door of the cabin. Before Carter could open his eyes he was lifted free from the cot and banged his hip on the cabin floor.

"What the hell!" he roared and thrashed, but he was trapped in his sleeping bag as he was dragged across the floor, out the door, and across the lawn where he was unceremoniously dropped on the dew covered grass.

"What the fuck is your problem?" Carter asked as he erupted from the bag.

Waiting for him was Walt. The general got nose to nose with him.

"Everyone does the exercises," Walt growled.

"Why?" Carter asked plainly.

"Because it clears the mind and cleanses the body. It washes the body of any lingering toxins," Walt explained.

"I've been sober for five god damn years!" Carter yelled, not backing down in the least.

"Everyone does the exercises." Walt said again.

"God damn it!"

Carter stomped back into the cabin and threw his pants and shoes on. He stomped back out just as everyone else was getting in line across the yard in front of the big house. He took a place at the very back of the group. Walt began spouting off commands like some kind of Drill Sargent. Shouting for them to do push ups, sit ups, and all kinds of different calisthenics. Worst of all, Walt paced the lines eying them like a hungry dog staring at a meal.

"What the fuck is your problem?" Carter asked when Walt finally came around for a pass on him.

"Don't got no problem," Walt said.

"Then why do I gotta do the exercises?"

"You don't want to do the exercises?"

"No."

"Then you don't have to. The gates that way," Walt said pointing to the front gate. "See yourself out."

And he didn't wait around to see if Carter was coming or going. Walt just kept on walking. Carter grumbled under his breath, but he stayed in line with the others and did the god damn jumping jacks.

*****

Later that afternoon, when the sun was at its highest point, Walt came out from the big house to grace them with his presence once again. Carter, still exhausted from the rigorous workout from earlier that morning, lounged with his back against one of the logs around the now empty fire pit. Walt's face was scrunched up in disgust as he approached from across the yard.

"Get up," Walt said without breaking his stride.

"Exercises again?" Carter asked dreading the general's response, but Walt didn't answer.

The gray haired old man just kept on walking, heading toward a sandy hole in the ground. Carter rose to his feet, dusted off his jeans, and sauntered on over to the pit.

"Gather round," Walt hollered.

The other users nearby trotted over and circled the hole. The user next to Carter was wearing a wry grin. Then he took a good look around and noticed that many of the users present wore shit eating grins. More and more users came out of the wood work, appearing from within the trees and running out of their cabins. Apparently this was something they didn't want to miss, but Carter couldn't figure out what was so special about a fucking hole in the ground.

"Get in the pit," Walt said cocking his head to stare Carter in the face.

"You talking to me?" Carter put a finger to his chest.

"Yes, get in the pit."

"Why?" Carter asked.

"Get in the pit," Walt repeated a third time.

"Fine, whatever. I'll get in the damn pit." Carter half stomped half slid down the sandy pit.

The hole was shaped in a circle and concaved like an upside down dome.

"Okay, I'm in your pit. Are you happy?"

"Barber?" Walt asked.

"Yes, sir?" Barber appeared beside Walt like an obedient dog.

"Get in the pit."

"Yes, sir." Barber climbed down into the pit and stood across from Carter.

That's a good dog, Carter thought, and he almost laughed aloud at the absurdity of Barber and Walt's relationship, but he thought better of it at the last second.

"All right. You two ready to fight," Walt said.

Carter's gaze shot from Barber, to Walt, back to the kid, then back up at the old man.

"Wait, what?" he asked incredulously. Then he did laugh aloud. "You've got to be kidding right? You want me to fight a kid?" Carter asked.

"I asked if you're ready to fight," Walt said.

"Old man, you're crazy. I'm not going to beat up some poor kid just for you're sick enjoyment."

Carter looked to the other Users for help, but they were all straight faced or smiling as if this was a perfectly normal thing for someone to do. Barber on the other hand wore a grimace. The kid's fists were put at his face protectively, and he paced back and forth like a wild animal in a cage.

"This is crazy. You're all crazy."

"If you don't fight then you're not training. If you're not training then you're not learning to defend yourself. If you're not going to learn to defend yourself you might as well walk out that gate, find Alaric, and get it over with," Walt said. "You might as well let him kill you and be done with it."

Carter was really beginning to hate this old man.

Without another word of protest, Carter slowly brought his hands up to his face and began to circle Barber. He didn't want to pummel the poor kid. He decided he would go easy on him.

"Hey kid, why do they call your Barber anyway? That can't be your real name," Carter said bantering a little before he put the kid down.

Barber just stared back like a pit bull eying a piece of fresh meat. When Barber didn't answer, Carter closed in on him. The kid was within his reach. Carter cocked back his right arm.

Barber smirked as he bent his hand down to reveal a nasty spiked bone which emerged through his wrist at the backside of his hand, one from each arm.

"What the fuck!" Carter stated more than asked.

Barber plunged down with a nasty jab, sticking the spiked barb right into Carter's thigh. He didn't scream, not at first anyway. Carter just stared down at his leg and the bone that was not his, sticking in one side of his thigh and clear out the other.