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Benny rolled out of his body to drop to the floor. He
snapped out twenty pushups on the fingertips of his right hand, then bounced to
the left and repeated it. He hopped to his feet to grin at the lady therapist,
reaching for her.
Camp Lajuene, North Carolina in the fall was almost
pretty, and the cubana therapist was
even sweeter.
Laughing, she let him draw her into his arms but
warded him away from a kiss.
“Man, you are a puppy. A dog pup, like one I used to
have. Always romping and roaming.” She let him kiss her then, but gave his
hands a light slap and pulled them away from her bottom.
“Phew, but you stink. Go get a shower then we’ll
go to my place. OK?”
“Want to join me?” He pulled at her, but she only
laughed and shook her head.
“With you and twenty other horny guys? No thanks.”
“Could be fun. I mean, when you were in America del Sur you had to.”
“Not like you want to. Beat it before I get . . .
rough.”
Smiling for her and his chest swelling at all the
jealous looks the others in the ward gave him, Benny raced away to grab a towel
and clean sweats.
“How is he?”
Kat glanced up to see Dr. Stern. His hair was mussed
and coat wrinkled from too many shifts in a row.
“Still out.”
“Do you know if the shipment of sulfa came in?”
Kat frowned, shaking her head. “Admin canceled
it.”
“Christ.” He clenched his fists and muttered,
“It’s the only thing that still works on Staph and the blood worms.”
“Tobacco?” Kat glanced at the monitors. One good
thing about the way the old place was falling apart was the damned things were
in just as bad shape.
A small grin came over Stern’s weary face.
“No kark, nurse. Chalmers ‘fixed’ them for
us.”
She
patted her brow in mock relief. “No eye or ears for the Harvests?”
“For now. They catch on too soon.”
Bending over Benny, he frowned. Kat watched, too.
Stern had his own hell to live in. Once, he had a family. What remained was
buried under the rubble that had been Tel Aviv.
“How long, do you think?”
He shrugged. “Who can tell? If he doesn’t come out
in the next few days he’s gone. Edgars was asking about him.” Kat gasped,
but he muttered, “No choice. Some bimbo in the penthouse was a match for the
liver. I know the Harvesters sucked a liter of blood from him already. He said,
too, that someone with eye worms needs a transplant.”
Looking away from them, he said, “Still, it’s only
a matter of time. The police, they were passing a pix around. It looked just
like our boy.”
“Cops?”
“He’s AWOL. The ghouls won’t get a chance to
harvest, either, though. Not after he’s ‘shot’ in public. Not enough warm
bodies for the war.”
“But, they can’t –”
Stern chortled. “Nah, kid. Not if he gets released
first and disappears. After Admin splits he goes to the O-room tonight, and we
get to work.”
He winked, and she giggled.
Sim rolled down the streets backed by power. Three men
and a couple of rottweillers wearing spikes. At her house he stopped, making a
small gesture. One cracked the door, and the next held it open for Sim. Both dogs
went in to stare at Ama. Sim snapped his fingers.
“Come now, or the old bat is rat bait.”
Head down, Sue moved out into the narrow street. A
sheet of paper drifted down the road, but other than that it was empty.
He smiled, took her by the arm and gave a gentle tug.
In his other hand was a needle. It slid in her arm with a gentle prick, and she
was eased down to the damp street.
Sue rolled away from a sea of male faces grinning down
at her. Last night, Sim shot her full of something, and was she stoned and in a
nightmare world of soft music and leering men and pain.
When she finally awoke, she was shivering with pain
lying on a round bed with silken sheets that were red with her blood. Over the
bed a round mirror showed a battered woman with black eyes and scarred body.
Lifting herself up, she rolled and pulled herself to
the edge to tumble off on the floor.
Behind a double set of teak doors a dog whined,
scratching at the wood. A shout called it off, and the dog stopped.
Bathroom. Sue crawled to it and into a shower. The
tiles made her shiver, but the cool, wet floor helped ease the pain of gang rape.
She rested there, crying softly and whispering prayers. A strength of sorts
breathed around her. A song whispered in her mind, and she listened to a soft
voice calling for her to rise and flee.
“Shower.”
With soft, musical Jamaican accents, the computer
whispered, “Me darlin’ lady?”
“On. Cold.”
A flood of icy water poured over her, and she lay
huddled, shuddering, as the water under her turned red, then pink, and finally
clear. The ghost of the nightmare receded into the back of her mind, and she
raised her head.
“Shower, off.”
“Me lady.”
The water was cut off, and warm air breathed over her
until she was dry. Sue pulled herself up and into the bathroom. Off-white tiles
were painted with blue flowers and seaweed. Brass spigots shined with gold and
were shaped like dolphins sporting in the sea.
She made use of the toilet and then the bidet, sitting
over the warm water and gnawing her lower lip raw with pain.
Done, she opened a medicine chest that was a foot deep
and three high. Bottles of pills, a pill maker and cutter. And a black leather
case with a set of straight razors. She smiled at the case, opening it, and steel
glittered back.
Taking one, she raised it to the light and kissed the
blade.
In the bedroom she found no clothing that would fit.
Nothing she would be caught dead in. Her grip on the razor tightened, and she
caressed it.
“Closet, open.”
"Aye, me lady.”
A mirror in the wall slid out to show a room you could
lose small children in with row after row of men’s clothing, suits, leisure
clothes, cut-off jeans and tuxedos. One wall was covered with sneakers, shoes,
and boots.
“Closet, women’s duds.”
The closet whispered with small gears, they still
hadn’t been able to change that.
Walls folded down and others out to show anything that
an old lady might like all the way down to a small girl. Her stomach cramped over
the sight of a tiny gown that a five-year-old might wear.
If he permitted his boys to abuse kids, the Man was no
different from JJ. She clutched the razor.
“Closet, my size. Winter socks, Apache boots, snow
boots, underwear, jeans, tee-shirt, flannel shirt, warm coat, hat.”
“If me lady would please be raising her arms.”
She did and light beams played over her body.
“Down, me lady.”
She straightened and waited while they again moved
over her.
“Would me lady like her hair fixed as she waits?”
“Yes.”
“Please, me lady, be following them lights onna
floor.”
A red light made a discrete flash and she stepped to
it. A second lit, then a third. Sue followed them out to the bedroom. A chubby,
petite woman was there with a salon chair.
The woman spoke with soft British accents, saying,
“I’m my lady’s hair stylist. If I please you, call me Aloè.”
©2003 StoriesByEmail.com
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