The Zona (22 page)

Two days passed with no stirring from the gray men’s shack. They remained in their protective hovel, gnawing on bones and letting time do work they wouldn’t have to.

The hunger in Lead’s body grew and whittled away at his reason.  The afternoons were spent burning in the sunlight, staring at the shack that neither stirred nor gave noise.  One of the creatures near Lead died; none of the creatures took action to move the body.  All waited.

On the fourth day the gray men came out.  Lead was still awake from the night before.  Black-robed guards had descended in the night and removed the dead creature.  Lead rose to his feet but was met with the muzzle of a rifle.  He’d stood awake since.

Lead’s legs shook, he hefted the plank but its weight was almost unmanageable, like it was dipped in gold.  It swayed with a life of its own.

The gray men were still, without hunger.  They watched Lead stand on unsteady legs and swing an unsteady board.

“What say you, holy man?  Do you have strength to protect yourself?”

The leader of the gray men strode forward with a fist-sized rock in his hand.

“Can you lift that wood to save yourself?”  He asked.

Lead took a deep breath.  He lifted the plank with both hands and held it in a fighter’s stance.  His arms shook, but the plank finally stood steady.  The hunger dimmed his fear.

“If you want me, come to me then,” Lead said.

The gray men separated and approached from three sides. The leader held his arms and rock outstretched to the sky.  He twirled his wrists and the two others ran for Lead from the left and right.  Lead closed his eyes and swung with his shoulders and back.  The plank missed the first gray man, who ducked, but struck the second soundly across the ear and temple, snapping the plank into two pieces.  The struck man dropped to the ground clutching his head.  His ear had tripled in size from rushing blood under the skin.  The second man tackled Lead to the ground. Instinctively, Lead’s hand went to his chest, for the Van Cleef that was not there.  The gray man gripped Lead’s neck in both hands and squeezed his throat.

Bursts of light danced across Lead’s vision.  The gray man’s eyes were wide and crazed with excitement.  Spittle hung from his white lips.  Lead’s vision tunneled with dark edges.  Time slowed.  He saw flecks of brown in the grey man’s teeth; the yellow coating of his eyes.  Lead balled the fist near his chest and rabbit punched the gray man in his Adam’s apple.  The hands on Lead’s neck tightened and then suddenly slipped off as the gray man sputtered and rolled.

Lead dragged himself into a crouch.  The leader of the gray men gave a primal cry and struck Lead across the cheek with his stone.  Lead’s mouth filled with shards of broken molars.  He flew back in a full circle.  Lead pushed himself up into a crawl. Blood from his face dripped into the dirt, fragments of teeth slopped from his open mouth.

The leader of the gray men struck Lead’s head.  Lead’s scalp split open and sprayed blood on the attacker.  Lead rolled back to the earth, both hands holding his head.

“You are a sinner!”  The grey man yelled and kicked Lead’s ribs.  “You are weak!”

The gray man kicked Lead in the chest.  The impact ruptured scar tissue over Lead’s heart.  Lead put his hand over the bleeding fissure and felt a sharp edge.

“You can’t save these worms!”

The gray man kicked Lead in the back.  Lead pulled the tip of Aaron Century’s knife from his chest and looked at it dumbly. The gray man cocked his foot to kick Lead in the back again when Lead rolled and wrapped himself around the gray man’s leg.

“You can’t beg your…” the gray man started to say but was interrupted by his own animal shrieks.

Lead dragged the tip of the knife through the tendon behind the gray man’s ankle.

The gray man released another warbling shriek and fell to his knees.  Lead pushed the knife tip into the gray man’s left eye.  The grey man dropped his rock and clasped the ruptured cavity.  Lead pushed himself back to his knees.  He picked up the grey man’s killing stone and brought it down over the leader’s forehead.  Both Lead and the gray man collapsed with the force of the blow.  Lead got back to his knees and struck the gray man until his screaming stopped.

Lead crawled to the gray man he’d punched in the throat.  The man was on his hands and knees, struggling to find his wind. The gray man looked pleadingly at Lead.  Lead felt no emotions.  His body ached and moved with the strength of adrenaline and nothing else.  He brought the killing stone down on back of the gray man’s head and again on his jagged spine.  Lead turned to look for man he’d struck with the plank.  A tranquilizer dart pierced his left shoulder.  

Lead woke in a bed, clothed in white linen.  He was in a medical tent with rows of beds like his but empty.  A door flap whipped in the breeze; canvas walls glowed with sunlight and breathed with wind.  Lead tried to sit up, but his hands and feet were tied to the bed with thick leather straps.  He looked up at the clicking of solitary steps.  A beautiful Mary dressed in white robes approached him.  A red cross crowned her white paper cap.

“How are you this morning?”  She asked in genuine kindness.

Lead was unaccustomed to speaking with women, especially attractive ones.  He remained silent.

“Be at peace,” she said.  “I have bound your wounds and said a prayer on your behalf.”

She reached out and stroked his forehead.

“You have a strong will to live.  You will keep living as God wills it.”

Lead looked into her blue eyes.  She was beautiful in a way he had never seen.  She was middle-aged, maybe seven years older than him, but not damaged by the sun. She was dark-skinned, with dark hair, but her eyes were bright and shone brilliant through the darkness of her features.  He tried to speak but his throat caught.  He tried again.

“What is your name?”

“Beatrice, you may call me Beatrice,” she said.  Beatrice reached down and felt his wrist.  She looked up and counted silently with moving lips.

“You’ll be fine, Goodman.  Just keep living and breathing.”

Beatrice checked Lead’s bandages.

Lead’s chest stirred, he wasn’t sure what to say when Beatrice finished and started to leave.

“Come to see me again, soon, please.”  Lead said.

Beatrice responded with a smile.

Lead woke to Beatrice looking down at him again.

“You need to eat now, Goodman,” she said.

The tent was saturated with the aroma of roasted beef and vegetables.  Lead’s mouth salivated uncontrollably.

“Here, just one bite at a time,” she said, lifting a spoon to Lead’s mouth.

Lead tried to open his mouth, but the movement erupted pain. His tongue traced the empty gums along the right side of his jaw. His entire mouth swelled and throbbed.

“Please,” Lead whispered.  “My teeth…”

Beatrice dipped the spoon into the bowl.  She gently pushed broth past Lead’s lips.  His stomach twisted and fought the strange food.  His eyes watered.  He suppressed a retch, partly to keep the food and partly to not embarrass Beatrice.  Beatrice rubbed the stitched seam where Lead’s forehead had been sewn together.

“You poor Goodman,” she said

Lead woke in the night air.  A stoic man in white robes was undoing Lead’s restraints.  The man lifted Lead out of the cot and onto his feet.  He presented Lead with a waste bucket and watched him empty his bladder.  Lead looked around the empty tent.  The white-robed man gripped Lead’s arm and led him to a different bed.  

“Why are you feeding me?”  Lead asked on his third day in the medical tent.

Beatrice smiled at him.  She put the spoon of warm stew back in the bowl.

“So you won’t die,” she said cheerfully.  “You are my charge and I’m to take care of you.”

“Am I to be released?”  Lead asked.

“I don’t know,” Beatrice replied.  “I don’t think so.  You come from the traitors.  I don’t know of any traitors who’ve ascended to freedom.”

She spooned more stew into his mouth.

“It’s all fine.  Your body can be purged here and ascend to Heaven in spirit.”

Lead chewed the food with left side of his mouth.  The stew was the best he’d eaten since joining the Church.

“Why are you here?  This seems no place for a Mary.”

“Ah, Mary I am not, Goodman.  My husband resides in the hereafter awaiting my return.”

Beatrice spooned more stew into Lead’s mouth.

“I am a Goodwife and will be until I too pass on.”