Carry the Flame (33 page)

The guards led them past the infected women. None of them reached through the bars. A few muttered curses, but with barely the breath to be heard.

“Maybe we should feed those bitches,” said the lean African, who generally teamed up with Jessie's tormentor. “They're more fun when they're fed. There must be some kind of truce going on. No one's getting eaten.”

“They're tired, that's all,” his buddy said. “Lots of excitement.” He slapped Jessie's back. “We'll toss them some bones later, and then we'll have all kinds of fun seeing them in the pit tonight.”

Doing what? Jessie wondered.

The guards hurried them through a labyrinth of shadows to the Mayor's office, where she noticed a dirty carpet with the presidential seal hanging on a wall.

Guards pushed them onto chairs at a large table. The African opened a door on the other side of the room. “They're here,” he announced.

A moment later the Mayor stepped into his office. So did his emissary, Linden, who avoided Jessie's eyes.

“I trust you have eaten well,” the Mayor said, standing across from them.

“We haven't eaten at all this morning,” she answered evenly.

The Mayor turned to Linden. “Why have they not been fed? These are my finest gladiators.” He chuckled, holding up his arm as if looking at a watch. “It is almost noon.”

“She spit on me last night when I fed them.”

“That is not good.” The Mayor's exchange with Linden sounded rehearsed to her. “But they must be fed,” he said tiredly, as if speaking of household chores. “Give them their chicken, and make sure they get vegetables and biscuits, and a lot of water.”

He turned back to his prisoners. “Is there anything else you would like for your last meal? Chateaubriand? Grilled asparagus spears in wine sauce? Peach mango sorbet?”

He laughed so hard he had to sit down. After he coughed and cleared his throat, he leaned forward. “It was the custom in your country, was it not, to give the condemned the right to choose their last meal? I always liked the story of the retarded man who asked for ice cream, and then saved it for later. He was black, so they killed him anyway. Savages. But you two, you are smart. You will eat your smoked chicken. Maybe you have even figured out how to kill Chunga and Tonga.”

Burned Fingers nodded. “Got it wired, boss man.”

The Mayor clapped happily. “I like this man. He has mighty balls. So how are you going to slay my dragons?”

“I'm going to throw you in the pit, and watch them choke to death on a big fat asshole.”

The Mayor didn't laugh. “You should not make such jokes. I do not like them.”

“Who's joking? And what are you gonna do to me, boss man? Toss me to a couple of man-eating lizards?”

Nobody spoke. They Mayor stared at Burned Fingers for the longest minute Jessie could recall before he laughed again, but this time his mirth sounded forced.

“I could send you to the larder and take your arms and legs and testicles one at a time, all fresh and juicy for my pets.”

“But you know I'll put on a show for you. And you want to know why? Because I can't wait to finish off that stupid goddamned freak. I started on his tongue, and I'll finish with his tail. You wait and see.”

“If you do not watch what you say,” the Mayor unsheathed a foot-long knife from his belt, “I will start on your tongue and finish with
your
tail.”

Burned Fingers tilted his head and peered down his nose at the Mayor, jaunty mood undiminished.

Tempting fate, Jessie thought. She wished she could kick him under the table, shut him up. He'd been just as maddeningly cocky before the assault on the Army of God. But they'd been attacking depraved men then, and now they were prisoners facing monstrously powerful reptiles.

“You are going to meet my guests,” the Mayor said. “It is a perk I extend to some of them for Fight Night. Watch
your
tongue, or I will start the festivities here.” He laid his ample blade on the table. “Go get them,” the Mayor said to the African.

The guard darted out the door behind them, returning in moments with five men. The biggest wore an open, sleeveless leather vest. His thick arms and naked chest crawled with crudely rendered tattoos of spears and knives, barbed wire, and chained women raped by armor-clad beasts with long claws.

“I would introduce you,” the Mayor said to Burned Fingers, “but I don't think this is necessary. When your old friends heard you were going to fight my dragons, they could not get here fast enough. Is that not right, Pie?”

The large inked man offered no response, tiny pink eyes already pinned on Burned Fingers. His bald pate was encircled by a moat of frizzy blond hair, but the most prominent feature on his round, bearded face was his rapidly reddening skin. Jessie watched him flush all the way to the crown of his head before he exploded with anger.

“You fucked-up, asshole,” he yelled at Burned Fingers. “You burned down our best customer. You fucking killed them. I would have swam through a lake of your stinking piss to see you get eaten alive. And we got nineteen more guys coming, and every one of them wants to see you die.”

“Nice to see you, too, Pie. When I'm through with the Komodos, I'll waste you.”

Pie lunged across the table, bringing the reek of booze with him. Burned Fingers jumped to his feet and smacked his forehead—his only weapon—into the much larger man's face, mashing his lips. Pie rolled away and spilled to the floor. Guards seized them both. The Mayor chortled.

“Oh, it is good to see men with such fire in their bellies. But I urge you to calm down. We will have our entertainment tonight. And this one,” the Mayor nodded at Jessie, “will have motivations galore. Bring in the girl.”

Jessie scarcely had time to register the Mayor's last words when Ananda was hauled into the room by another guard.

“Mom,” she cried out, but the rugged-looking man held her firmly.

“No, let her go,” the Mayor said. “This is a good thing.”

Ananda raced around the table, breathless when she hugged her mother. Though fettered, Jessie tried to hold Ananda close while her youngest gripped her tightly and wept. Jessie's eyes also moistened. The marauders laughed, and Pie turned away in head-shaking disgust.

“There is a good reason for the mother and daughter reunion,” the Mayor said. “And these tears are good, too.” Jessie looked up. “I like your little one very much.”

“Don't you dare touch her.” At the Army of God, the Mayor's comment would have been followed by a marriage announcement.

“Do not speak to me like that. You have no power. Look at your chains. But what I said is not what you think. I like her so much that I am sad about what I will have to do to her tonight.”

“Do what?” Jessie demanded.

The Mayor peered at her for several seconds before shaking his head. “You do not listen when I talk. You still speak to me like I am your slave, so I will tell you nothing.”

“You're the one with slaves.”

“Because I have earned them. You have earned nothing, not even word of what I will do to your daughters tonight.”

Ananda hugged her mother in terror. Jessie whispered, “Don't worry, nothing's going to happen. It's just talk,” wondering how many more lies she would have to tell before death ended her duplicity.

“But I will tell you this,” the Mayor added. “You will see your girls once more, before the fight. And maybe
during
the fight.”

What are you talking about?
But she didn't ask the question aloud. Ananda didn't need details. Instead, Jessie tried to live forever in the touch of her daughter. Ananda suddenly seemed so young for a girl who had been so brave and endured so much.

A stout guard burst into the room. The Mayor glared at him. “What is it?”

“There's no water.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing's coming out of the taps. We didn't want to bother you, especially today, but we can't get it going, and the men are getting thirsty.”

“Who gives a shit about water?” Pie bellowed. “We've got hooch.” He pulled out a dented metal flask and offered it to the Mayor, who brushed past him, stopping at the door only long enough to order the prisoners returned to their cells.

As Jessie's tormentor hauled her from the chair, she saw Pie drinking. His faced flushed again; but with his tiny eyes fixed back on Burned Fingers, she couldn't tell whether he reddened from liquor or rage, or the unruly eruption of both.

H
elena crawled into a tunnel off the main cavern, ducking dozens of stone roof supports. River water no longer rushed through a five-inch pipe by her side. Earlier, she and her daughter had shut off the flow to the City of Shade. Now, pale light from her candle-fired lantern reached Miranda, who rested where the coupled pipe formed an el and ran straight up to the city.

“Have you heard anything?” Helena asked. Miranda was monitoring the pipe for any sounds of digging.

“Nothing. They're not even cranking the pump anymore.”

“They've given up, then. They'll start digging any time now.”

Almost a year ago, after the cavern people had hatched plans for an attack, they cut off water to see how long it would take the city to drain the old prison pipe. Just two hours. As soon as Helena had heard the pipe ring from shovels, she'd released the flow. The digging stopped almost immediately, which was no surprise, given the arduous task of hacking through almost twenty feet of earth to investigative the short-lived shutoff. Besides, most systems had a blip sooner or later.

The Mayor had seen it as a “one-off,” according to his emissary, Linden. The dry run had told Linden and his co-conspirators in the caverns that cutting off water could be their first salvo on the city, a silent, invisible assault.

Helena rested the lantern on the ground. “You okay?” she asked Miranda. “Not too cold?”

“No, it's nice in here. But I've been wondering if cutting off the water is really a good idea. Isn't it going to make them think something's up?”

“Sure, that they've got a water problem. But that's happened before and the problem went away, right? So they're probably hoping that'll happen again. Only this time it's not going away, and they're going to have to figure out what's wrong at the same time that we're planting bombs. But this isn't just a diversion, hon. It's going to force a lot of slaves to start digging, and as soon as the slaves have picks and shovels, they're going to have to put guards around them. Which is great because it uses up manpower and makes them work harder in the heat, and that'll use up whatever water they have even faster. We figure it'll take at least a day and a half to dig all the way down here, and they don't have that much time.”

“Don't they store any water?”

“Not from what we've heard.”

“That's stupid.”

“Hold on,” Helena said. “Do we store water?”

“No, but we've got a whole river.”

“And they've had all the water they wanted for as long as they can remember. From everything we've been able to find out, they don't even bother to keep their canteens full, unless they're chasing people on the desert. They'll get thirsty.” Helena patted the silent pipe. “Real thirsty. And then they'll start drinking other stuff. It'll be one big party, and that's exactly how we want them—hot, dry, and drunk.”

“For the extermination,” Miranda said excitedly.

Helena nodded, wishing more than anything that her child had not inherited this earth.

J
ester figured he'd all but found iddy biddy bitch. He hadn't seen her yet, but she was in that trailer. Had to be. Along with a bunch of other secrets.

He couldn't be happier. He'd just keep hiding and biding his time in the old Suburban, as long as no one came a-peeping. Sipping his water in a shady backseat. Getting his strength back.

Would you look at that.

Damn if another group wasn't oozing out of that thing, looking around like they'd jump if he said “Boo.” Four men and three boys. Even the kids had guns. Jester hated little bastards with guns. They didn't have any maturity. They might go blasting your head off for the fun of it. Who raised those monsters? Anyway, that's why you had to shoot them first. Fact of life.
And there they go.
Running off like there was a fudge factory around the corner.

Nothing came quickly to Jester, so he had to sit there awhile longer before it occurred to him that a rebellion might be getting under way—and that he ought to hightail it back to the city and warn everyone. Be a hero. But then his coolest reasoning prevailed. If the yard scum caught him while they were heading out to attack the city, he was as good as dead. And if his Royal fucking Highness saw him without iddy biddy, same difference.

Nope, he'd be better off taking his chances with the trailer. Least he could get the jump on someone down there—and get himself a gun. Looked like they had some kind of arsenal in there. Even the kids got guns. How fair was that? But he had the keys to the kingdom—and perhaps a joke only he could appreciate.

Knock-knock . . . Who's there? . . . Jester . . . Jester who? . . . Jest you and me, iddy biddy.

J
aya raised his guns as Esau tried again to start the motorcycle. The slave's hands trembled as he held the battery wires together. The tips crackled encouragingly, but the Harley's engine didn't turn over.

Thunder from the armored cars rose from the flank of the broad dune that he and Jaya had run down moments ago. Hunt's body burned only feet away, a steady stream of oily black smoke.

The youth hoped the Russians would bog down, but based upon their detour around the dune—and the healthy growl of their engines—they understood desert terrain.