Warpaint

He gave me a half smile. “An American white girl.”

“Yeah, well, this girl went American white girl all over your ass one time, if I remember correctly, and you didn’t do so well, either.”

“Yeah well …,” he said, looking around the corner of the pool house towards the back door, “… I was having an off day. You wouldn’t get the drop on me a second time.” He turned back and gave me a truly devilish smile this time. He was almost beautiful with it.

“Challenge accepted. For another time. We’ve got some canners to waste first.”

“Right. I’m going to go get that door open,” he said, before disappearing around the corner.

***

I heard chains rattling and decided I was better off standing by Trip’s side helping him rather than watching out for canners from behind the shelter of the building. I got there in seconds and immediately saw the frustration on his face.

“What’s wrong?” I whispered.

“These chains have a key lock on them!”

A tapping came at the glass, and the pressed flesh of a finger was visible through the tinted film on the surface. It was pointing to our right.

I looked over and saw a nail with a dirty string hanging from it. At the end of the string was a small key.

I grabbed it and shoved it into the lock while Trip grabbed the chains and got ready to unwrap them from the two handles that were holding the two parts of the door together. Someone had bolted in some weird rings of metal to keep the two sliding doors together, when normally there’d be no lock at all on this side of it.

As soon as I got the lock off, Trip took the chains out and threw them into the yard. I cringed at the sound of the metal clanking as it landed in the tall weeds, but it was too late to suggest a less obvious form of removal.

The door slid open and the first thing that hit me was the smell.

***

My stomach rolled with it - the unmistakable stench of rotting human flesh. I’d smelled it before from a distance, as my neighbors had died inside their homes to be forever forgotten and neglected by the authorities who no longer did their jobs, overwhelmed with the task of delivering the dead to the places where they were supposed to rest in peace.

I had thought those days were behind me and that I had forgotten what death smells like. But I was wrong. Here it was again, hitting me in the face with its sorrowful odor, making me want to vomit up the food that I’d not so long ago eaten with a smile on my face, obviously not fully appreciating what I would be dealing with on this day.

There were kids on the floor, some of them sitting, some lying down. Peter and a black girl I assumed was LaShay were the only ones standing. Everyone but Peter was missing at least one limb; some of them were missing several.

Tears stung my eyes as my stomach burned to turn itself inside out. I shoved it all away in favor of survival, gritting my teeth in determination and facing Peter.

“I told you they would come,” said Peter proudly. He grabbed me by the arm, shaking me gently. “Bryn! I’ve done a triage. We have seven kids who can go, including me. The rest are too far gone to save.”

“Bullshit! You can’t leave anyone here!” said LaShay, her shoulders telling me that even though she was missing half an arm, she was ready to fight anyway.

“We have to,” said Peter calmly. “We don’t have enough room for everyone, and we can’t waste our time taking people who are going to die soon anyway. I’m sorry if that’s harsh, but that’s the way it is.”

I was taken aback by Peter’s matter-of-factness. He was absolutely right, but I had expected him to be a puddle of loose doodles right now instead of piss and vinegar.

“He’s right,” agreed Trip. “Get the ones who can go up, right now. We’re going in less than a minute.”

“There’s no way out, though,” said LaShay, now sounding more panicked than angry. “We’ve tried. All the doors are locked or the dogs are there. And we can’t go through the house, they have tons of guys with guns in there.”

“We got a wall door open. Our truck is waiting for you. Let’s go.” Trip grabbed her by the shoulder and pushed her towards the door. “Line up! Whoever’s going, get up and move it!”

He didn’t have to say it twice. Five kids got up, some of them quicker than others, and lined up at the door behind LaShay. One of them had to hop because he was missing his leg below the knee.

Peter got busy helping them, lending a hand when needed for support and then covering the ones who were left with whatever blankets or sheets there were. I watched one of them speaking to Peter in low tones. He had no arms left and only one leg.

Peter stood up suddenly and came over to me, his face white.

“What?” I asked, almost afraid to know what he was going to say.

Peter leaned in and whispered in my ear. “He wants us to shoot him before we leave. He wants us to end the misery now.”

“Can he make it out?” I asked.

Peter shook his head.

“Are you sure?”

Peter nodded. “His wounds are green. He has a really high fever. He’s not going to live no matter what we do.”

I turned to Trip. “Give me the grenade from your bag.”

“What? No!”

“Yes.”

Trip growled at me, but shook his bag off, reaching inside to get the wrapped weapon out and hand it to me.

“Tell him, if he and the others want, I’ll blow this place to heaven when we go.”

Peter nodded once and left us to go back to the kid who I soon saw nodding weakly. Peter went to the other kids each in turn, either receiving a nod or nothing because the kid was unconscious and unable to respond.

He came back and said solemnly, “They all agree to your plan. And they also said thank you.”

The tears would not stay away anymore. I sobbed once and turned away, unable to ignore the fact that I was being given the difficult task of killing innocent children and that they were thanking me for doing it. The cruelty of this world was too overwhelming.

“Give it back to me, Bryn. I’ll do it,” said Trip in a roughened voice, tears streaming down his face too.

I cleared the goo out of my throat and stood straighter. “No, it’s on me. I’ll do it. Just get these kids out of here. I’ll stick around until you’re out. Send me the hawk screech when it’s time to throw it in. I’ll get to the truck on my own. Where is it?”

“It’s parked two blocks southwest of here. Go down that street out back and take your first right. Do you know where I mean?”

“Yeah. I got it. Just go.” I swiped the back of my hand across my face. “Peter, you too.”

“No, I’m staying with you.”

“Bullshit. Get the hell out of here,” I said dismissively.

“No.”

I traded my sadness in for anger. It was the only way to make sure he’d be safe. “Peter, I’m only going to say this once more. Get. The hell. Out. I don’t have the time or the energy to take care of your skinny ass when those canners come, so beat it.”

“Nicely said. Now come on,” said Trip, grabbing Peter by the arm and dragging him to the door. “I need your help moving these kids.”

One of them swayed just in time, causing Peter to have to grab him behind the back so he wouldn’t fall. Peter looked over and glared at me. “We will discuss this at home,” he said firmly.

I grimaced back. “If we’re lucky. Now, go.”

I turned away from him, carefully unwrapping the grenade, letting the cloth that had secured it fall to the sides.

Trip opened the door cautiously, looked out, and then led all the kids out of it in a single-file line.

LaShay was the last one out, and she hesitated, looking back at me. “I don’t know who the hell you are, but whatever. Thanks. Do me a favor would you? If you have another one of those? Pull the pin and put it in that guy Dave’s pants. No one deserves to have his dick blown sky high more than that guy does.”

I nodded. “It will be my pleasure to serve him his dick on a platter.”

She smiled. “You and I are gonna be friends. If you live.”

“I hope so,” I said, trying to smile back. I was afraid it came out as more of a frown, but she was gone before I could fix it.

I turned back to the kids, moving cautiously over to the one who had talked to Peter about the grenade. I didn’t really want to, but it seemed wrong to be planning to do a mercy killing without at least saying goodbye to the person first.

He was the only one awake now, his head towards the door and his lower body facing the opposite wall. I wasn’t sure if the others had just fallen asleep or died, but they were still, their eyes closed.

“Hi,” I said as I approached, crouching down by his head.

“Hi,” he whispered back. His face was a grayish-white, a sheen of sweat glistening on his upper lip and forehead.

“What’s your name?”

“Julio.”

“Hey. Nice to meet you, Julio. I’m Bryn.”

“You from around here?” he asked, a pitiful chuckle making its way out of his throat. “I’m trying to pick you up. That’s my best line.”

The tears were going down my cheeks again, but I smiled through them. “Nah. I’m from up near Orlando. Maitland. And your line’s pretty good. I’ll bet when the world was a different place, you were quite the charmer.”

He smiled weakly. “Yeah, I was. I played soccer on our school team. Center forward. I had a girlfriend, and she was the prettiest girl in our school. She helped the soccer coach, that’s how we met. She said she liked being with the guy who had the highest scoring average in the district. Her name was Yasmine. She was beautiful. Like you.”

I couldn’t think of anything to say except thank you.

“I’m gonna see her again, when you drop that grenade in here. So thank you for that. I’ve been looking forward to seeing her for weeks now.” He looked down towards his lower body. “Only thing they haven’t taken from me yet is my kicking leg. I guess I still have that going for me.” He lifted it up and wiggled his foot, laughing a little, I think at the ridiculousness of it all, before he started to choke.

We both sat there waiting for the spasms to subside. He had a lot of fluid in his lungs. I ignored the difficulties he was having in favor of admiring the leg he was proud to still have. It was still muscled and strong-looking. It had to be some kind of miracle.

“Are you sure?” I whispered, now doubting Peter’s triage and wondering if we could maybe save one more kid - the soccer star with his kicking leg and heart still intact.

He nodded just barely. “Yeah. I’m done here with this life. You’re doing the right thing, putting us all out of our misery. We’ve been tortured enough. Just let us go.”

I nodded, now no longer able to speak. He was so much braver than I would have been in his situation. I took some hiccuping breaths to try and get myself under control, resting my hand on his chest.

He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, in and out. I felt his body rise and fall with the effort.

He opened his eyes again and said softly, “Don’t beat yourself up about this, okay? You’re a good person, I can tell. The world is a different place than it was before. You gotta do what you can to survive.”

“Not like these guys did,” I said.

“No. Not like these guys did. Never lose track of your humanity. That’s their problem. They’re not human anymore, they’re animals. They’ve just gone bad. Rabid. They need to be put down.”

The sound of the door opening felt like my signal to go, so I drew my hand back and moved to stand. But the look in Julio’s eyes as he tipped his head back caused me to freeze in a half-crouched position, the grenade held down near my lower belly. ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">