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Anna stood to one side while the men unloaded the truck. They
cracked jokes and shared coffee from a thermos. One of the men thrust a package
at her. Taken aback, Anna took it.
Before she could speak, he said, “Got a stove upstairs. Cook
it.”
She glanced at the shotgun. The man gave a slight shake to his
head. Following the direction of the butcher, she found a set of rickety wooden
steps and took them up to the ground level.
A man armed with a sawed-off shotgun glanced at the package.
"There,” he said, nodding at a door but eyeing her in a way
that had every warning nerve in his body screaming.
Behind the door was a cramped kitchen. She found the stove, a
methane burner with an oven. A sack of potatoes sat near it. She took a pot
down, filing it with the venison and peeling potatoes.
The door opened. It was the guard, staring at her.
“You do the dirty dog, lady?”
Not looking up, Anna said, “Only with my husband.”
“Who dat?”
“Carl Ivanovitch.”
“Sarge?” There was awe in the man’s voice. “He dead,
ain’t he, though? Need ya a man–?“
“After him, what man is worth the effort?”
The man chuckled. He backed away, and the door sighed shut.
Anna’s head bent over the table. Carl wasn’t dead. It was far
worse than that.
Tommy put a slice of datura in his mouth and chewed it. He turned
to the dead woman. He pried open the jaws and dropped the datura in. Tommy
lowered the knife between the judge’s outstretched legs. The feet were
stretched a yard and a half apart, strapped to the rack so any movement of the
judge’s body produced knives of pain in his hips and groin. His arms were
strapped over his head.
Tommy checked the wide bands of leather before continuing. Four
inches wide and a half-inch thick, they were elephant hide, blackened with human
blood.
“This is going to sting a little. After that, we’ll let you
have some fun. OK?”
Eyes pleading but with a hound’s sad trust, Harrison gave a
slight nod.
“Huh?” Tommy leaned over the man’s face. “Can’t hear
you, Judge. What did you say?”
He pinched the rubber gag and laughed. Tommy raised the knife and
began to whisper.
Circling the body three times in a counterclockwise pace, Tommy
returned to his position to kneel between the trembling legs. He raised the
knife.
“Dark lord of the night, come,” he cried. He lowered the knife
to the groin but raised the blade before it could twist and drive itself into
the judge’s quivering flesh.
Twice more he raised the knife, shouting to the dark gods.
The last time he lowered it and smiled at Harrison.
“Just a minute, Judge. Sorry for keeping you waiting.”
He lay the knife between the judge’s knees. Tommy raised his
hands over the knife. The eye in the haft opened, staring at him.
“Tell me, dark sacrifice, where is the Wolf Bitch of God.”
The knife inched towards Harrison’s groin. Neck straining,
Harrison saw it move. He shook his head in a violent motion at Tommy.
“Knife, obey.”
The tip neared Harrison. Tommy clapped a hand on the half.
“Anna Wya. I want an address, or you can go back in the
skins.”
The knife shuddered. An audible groan came over Harrison’s
blunted screams.
The lips of the corpse moved. Leather
Corner Post, at the house of O’Fallan. She is there.
He waited and the woman whispered again. Smiling, Tommy released
the knife and ran from the room.
“Sorry, Judge,” he shouted. “I gotta find a phone.”
The vault door eased shut. The tip slid through the judge’s
groin, and the judge bit through the rubber gag. Shrieks echoed through the
playroom and went on and on and on, and from under them came the greedy noise of
a chuckle, and the corpse smiled. The only witness was the dead.
Anna checked the roast. It was nearly done. An itch developed in
the back of her. She rubbed at it, then glanced at the guard.
“Brain fart,” she said.
He grunted. “Know the feeling.” Frowning, he tapped the back
of his head. “Me, too. Dis not cool, lady. Something up?”
Anna closed her eyes and let her vision wander.
Creator? May I look?
The vision narrowed, and Anna saw airships running silent and dark
towards the farm.
“Raiders,” she said, opening her eyes. “Cops.”
He took a deep breath and jumped at a lock, slapping it.
“Cops,” he shouted. “Company, bro. Break out big armor an’
don’t be no fool.”
To Anna, he said, “Be chillin’ up here. Place be armored to
the hilt, dama. Any rattle o’ grind, go to the closet.” His face grew grim.
“But ain’t nothin’ fool proof.”
She nodded, but he was already racing out the door and through the
barn.
©2004 StoriesByEmail.com
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