Fresh Flesh (17 page)

"Put it to your neck."

He raised the blade to his neck.

"Now if I told you to kill yourself you'd do
it?"

The two men stared at each other like hungry
tigers. And stared.

Stared.

C is for Conniving.

"Liar. You wouldn't cut your own throat for
me."

Walkins lowered his head.

"Listen you son of a bitch, if you disobey
me, if you try to take charge, I'll cut you into a thousand pieces
and feed you to the ocean. Got it?"

"Yes."

"Now get out of my sight. And tell the others
that the hunt begins again at sunrise. If they aren't caught by
tomorrow night, Walkins, I'll hold you personally responsible."

"Yes, Kyle."

"Go."

Walkins left like the others. Roberts was
pleased.

Roberts plotted and planned in the cave by
himself. Even if Templin and the woman weren't caught by tomorrow,
he'd have to work with one less man. It was the way of his island.
Problem children must always be eliminated.

Yes,
his
island. Roberts reminded
himself that the island was only his. He believed that he would be
the only one left someday. Maybe that had been Sar's secret? He'd
found a place somewhere on the island that showed him the future? A
future when Kyle Kollector Roberts had collected everyone and
everything.

Soon. Very soon, it would all be his. Kyle
Roberts could feel it.

He could see it in the darkness outside.

Kyle Roberts waited with a circus clown's
colorful expression.

That night while others slept, Butch Smith,
the one that Jumping Bat Jackson called Red Man, kneeled on the
beach, lit the Pipe Of The Gods, and entered the highway of
death.

He was lost somewhere in his mind driving a
black pickup that blended with the night. The road ahead was paved
with cold macadam, the air electric and a full, bloody moon smiled
above.

Butch turned on the radio and the Chief said,
"Welcome, my son. It has been several years since your last
visit."

Butch watched the still road. "You still seek
your wife and child, my son?"

Butch nodded, tears welling in his eyes.

"You are close. There is one last test."

Butch leaned forward.

"The crossing of two roads," the Chief
said.

Somewhere in the vast darkness, laughter
began.

"I will not turn back until I've found
them."

"Thirteen years since I last heard from you,
my son."

"I haven't needed to call upon you for the
test. I haven't been ready."

"And now you are?"

"These two I am hunting? Are they my
test?"

No answer.

"If they're not, I know the
consequences."

"Then you
are
ready to cross the
road." His father took a long, deep breath. He had been a chain
smoker and his breathing was loud and raspy. "Very well, cross the
road, and find your answer."

A row of fiery-red serpents with gigantic
fangs appeared in the headlights' glow. The snakes stirred and
slithered in unison, guarding the crossing.

FEAR IS THE FIRST STEP. . .

Butch stepped on the accelerator, watched the
needle soar to one-hundred, one-ten, one-fifteen. . . FEAR. .
.FEAR. . .FEAR. . .

Laughter grew louder in the darkness, a
hysterical mocking.

(AH, HA, HA, HAHAHAHAHA!)

The snakes' forked tongues darted out and
flickered together. A loud hissing joined the maniacal laughter.
Butch's hands began to sweat and fingers trembled.

No. . .NO. . .NO!

FEAR. AH!HA!HA!HA!HA HA HA FEAR!HA!HA!HA!
HISSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Butch covered the brake, but didn't push,
didn't push, DIDN'T PUSH!

He plowed into the snakes at
one-hundred-fifty miles per hour, screaming at the top of his
lungs.

FEAR!FEAR!FEAR!HISSSS!FEAR!FEAR!

He scrambled for the brake and pushed it so
hard it almost went through the floor.

The snakes disappeared.

Darkness became an island with a beach where
he kneeled.

Ha heard his father's voice once more,
echoing through his brain: "You know the second road to be
crossed."

He knew. After fear comes murder. And Butch
Smith had crossed that road twelve times before. He only needed to
cross it twice more.

A band by the name of Bobby and the Crawlers
was playing.

Jessica was sitting in a dimly-lit tavern. A
small, red candle burned in the middle of the table. Other people,
sitting at similar tables, also waited for the show to begin but
couldn't make out their faces. She peered closer, closer and saw,
from the neck up, they didn't have human heads. They were
eggheads.

The spotlight was on a mike stand, center
stage. Another egghead figure shambled out from behind the silver,
glittering curtain.

No, not egg-headed,
Richard
. Dressed
in his out-of-place rags, torn jeans, blue prison shirt riddled
with holes.

Emcee Richard grabbed the microphone, "Put
your hands together folks, they've traveled through miles of dirt
and earth: BOBBY AND THE CRAWLERS!"

Incessant applause. She looked down and saw
her hands clapping. She wasn't clapping, they were clapping
themselves. She tried to stop them and couldn't.

Her eyes were pulled back to the stage. The
silver curtain slid open. Three more perfect eggheads, one held a
shiny red bass; another boasted a battle-axe shaped electric guitar
the last sat down amidst a ton of drums.

They started playing eerie, distorted music.
Another figure came on stage. Not an egg-head. It was the genteel
man who looked like T.C from Magnum PI. Only he was a mean version
of T.C.

Bobby
.

Jessica tried to leave her seat but something
kept her from moving. She tried to scream but instead it came out
as—

(a blubbering catcall)

"OH, BOBBY!"

I'm in a nightmare. All I have to do is wake
up. WAKE UP.

Bobby stepped into the spotlight, his
dirt-and-blood-caked face with penetrating white eyes stared
through her.

Wake up! Somebody turn on the goddamn
lights.

Bobby started singing a song solely dedicated
to Jessica. The lyrics coming from the nothingness of a ghoulish
hole in his head:

"Gonna skin ya, skin ya baby,

Right down, to your bones

GOnna t-t-touch ya, with my snake tongue

Be the best you've ever known."

(
NO. PLEASE
)

. . .and so the chorus went.—

"Mirror-ahge, mirror-ahge,

Don't you know you killed me?"

. . .and all the eggs-heads cracked in
unison. CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

. . .and spewing from each head came
thousands of tiny, wriggling black bugs.

Noooooooo!

The words to Mirror-ahge:

"Baby, take my hand. . ."

On a sparkling dinner plate on the table
Jessica saw Edward's crushed hand crawling toward her.

Screaming.

It was still night and Richard leaned over
her with his hand on her mouth.

She pushed his hand away. "It was terrible. .
.Richard. . .
terrible
."

She struggled to her feet, choking away the
tears. It was only a nightmare. Richard couldn't see her cracking
like this bad, he'd be positively convinced she'd lost it.

"The bugs, Edward's hand, Bobby . . ."

"It's ok, Jessica. The shipwreck and Bobby
are enough to give anybody nightmares. We all have bad dreams
here."

Yes, but there's a big difference between bad
dreams and nightmares. She nodded, comparing his birds carrying him
off to the dark island to her Bobby & The Crawlers egghead
tavern. No contest, Bobby's crew wins.

Richard pointed up at the sky. The blue-white
light of dawn had appeared. "It's good that you woke when you did.
I was just about to wake you anyway."

"Did you get any sleep at all?"

"Maybe a wink or two."

"When are you going to sleep?" She felt
bummed depriving him of sleep. She should have stayed awake. He
needed to be strong and alert, not tired.

"When we're safe, I'll sleep."

"It's not full light yet, why don't you get a
little slee—"

"No, we must get moving. Our hunters will be
coming soon."

"What's this secret you have that might help
us?"

"I will show you in a little while." He
flashed a half-hearted smile. "No faith?"

"I can't help it," she replied. "Ever since I
came here my fear has grown and faith has dwindled."

He leaned in and paused, his face hovering
near hers. It was a natural reaction for her to lean in too. And
then they both pulled back, caught in an awkward moment.

He tugged her arm. "Come on. We've got a long
day ahead."

Jessica remembered those words coming from
someone else's mouth. They were, she realized, the exact words
Edward had used the morning they left in the yacht from San
Francisco.

The east side of the island had more foliage
and rocks. There were swampy sections as well. It seemed with each
passing half-mile the scenery changed, opening even more dense
foliage. The temperature felt colder the further east they
traveled. The rocks were like the mandibles of a huge savage beast,
hungrily waiting to lock upon her flesh.

Kyle Roberts' camp was surrounded by a
jungle-like section of the island. No beach or ocean in sight. Once
in the area she better understood why Kyle Roberts seemed to be the
only person who thrived on being imprisoned here and why Richard
chose to claim the west side instead. It wasn't a prison in the
woods to Roberts, it was home.

Richard told her that they were circling
Roberts' camp and going north of it. She was hopeful whatever he
had to show her would give them some upper hand.

They passed the camp without incident, never
getting close enough to see how the east side island convicts
lived. He led her to the northeast beach where they stopped for a
brief break. The sun began to rise.

"I don't like this side of the island,"
Jessica said. "Even in the daylight it feels wrong."

"Yeah, circling and crossing back are the
only way we're going to stay ahead of them."

She felt her heart sinking. "Do you have some
hiding spot for us over here?"

"There are some caves not far from here that
I haven't explored in awhile that might offer us cover for a
bit."

She watched the tide roll slowly in on a
beach which looked like the southwest beach. She wondered for a
moment what would have happened if she'd drifted here instead.

The thought, like her Bobby nightmare, was
disturbing. The beach used to be a serene place. Somewhere she
could come and enjoy the soft ebb and flow of the tide rolling in.
Today, here, the beach reminded her that the ocean served as the
fence surrounding the island prison.

She looked into Richard's eyes. He eyes held
some hope. Fear dominated the air, thick like a blanket. Richard
may have come to the island prepared, but he was still a frightened
young man. Instead of growing up in a normal prison or being
executed, he'd been given the chance to reach his full adult
potential here. Alone until she shipwrecked and became his sole
companion.

She looked at him and wondered who was
frightened more.

She was about to say something when she heard
it.

There were gruff voices coming from the
ravine behind them.

Jumping Bat Jackson couldn't believe his
eyes. Here it was daylight, when the arena should have been vacant,
and Forenza and his partner were waiting in the ring. Forenza had
never entered the ring last night and now, first thing in the
morning, he was ready for the re-match. Bring it on. Bat had waited
too long for the rematch.

"Grab the ring girl, Red Man," Bat Jackson
cried to his tag-team partner. This was no boxing match, no place
for girls walking around carrying numbered signs. There were no
rounds to count except the number one. Getting her yanked from the
ring would leave only Forenza and him. Like it had been before in
Madison Square Garden.

And then Bat realized she was not a ring
girl. She had no sign.
She's Forenza's tag-team partner
.

Forenza and his tag-team partner—

(
A woman, how pitiful
. Forenza didn't
even have the balls to put a man at his side!)

—tried to leave the ring. This was no co-op
sport. Let the girls wrestle the girls, preferably in tight bikinis
in mud.

Red man was too fast. He leaped out and
grabbed the woman with huge red hands that reminded Bat of lobster
claws. He pinned her to the canvas. She would not be interrupting
the re-match.

No referee to stop them here.

No one would stop them.

"Forenza, you Mexican worm!" Bat pointed.
"You think you got me ejected from the ring forever, but here we
are again."

Forenza, forever unsportsmanlike, drew a
knife.

"Put down that knife. You know they're
against the rules."

"S-stay away from me," Forenza's eyes
widened.

His tag-team partner, the woman screamed for
the referee. Sorry, Bat's partner had a hold on her, and had agreed
to let Bat take it to Forenza. Bat must finish Fearless Forenza for
good, before they dealt his tag-team partner her fate.

The wrestling commissioner, Mr. Roberts,
wanted her. Forenza waved the buck knife. "Let her go or I'll gut
you."

"You make me laugh, Forenza," Jumping Bat
Jackson moved closer, watching Forenza's every move. "Fearless one,
huh? You called me a dumb nigger from the south, remember?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, my
name isn't—"