Tallos - Episode Two (Season One) Page 3

Wanna bet? Jim thought. He had no intention of staying here a second longer than he had to.

  The house was typical for the area; a single story dwelling with a porch spanning the entire length of the front. The windows were wide open and the curtains pulled back, revealing that all the rooms were set parallel to one another. Jim knew this was to produce a draft to keep the place cool in summer. On the right side of the porch were several chairs and a small table, while on the left were a matching pair of rockers.

  “Have a seat,” Lindsey instructed, pointing to the chairs. She then stepped into the house.

  Jim did as he was told. The two guards waited a few yards away from the porch, their eyes never leaving him. He could see lights glowing from lamps being lit inside, and hear the clang of pots rattling. A few minutes later Lindsey returned carrying a rag and a bowl of fresh water. After placing these on the table, she disappeared once again without saying a word. Jim took the hint and made an effort to start cleaning himself up, but found that his hands wouldn't stop shaking whenever he tried to use the rag.

  Lindsey returned for a second time, bringing with her a bottle of vodka and two glasses. “You have a concussion,” she said.

  Jim frowned. “Your accent. It’s…different now.”

  She smiled and gave a wink. “It helps when people think you’re a hometown girl.” Her eyes shifted briefly over to the guards. “You boys can take off,” she called. “Jim’s fine here.”

  Jim raised an eyebrow. “Confident, aren’t you?”

  She took the rag from his hand and chuckled. “Just because you don’t see them, doesn’t mean they’re not there. I just don’t like it when they hover.”

  She dipped the rag in the water and began cleaning the blood from Jim’s face. The swelling above his temple was pulsing in time with his heartbeat, and he was only just able to contain a yelp of pain when she touched it.

  “He sure did hit you hard,” she remarked. “Not too many men could stand up to that.”

  Jim was still stunned by the sudden change in her. “What's with the double personality?” he asked. “What the hell is going on here?”

  She squeezed the bloody water from the rag over the railing. “What does it look like? Survival, pure and simple.”

  “You call forcing people to fight to the death survival?”

  She shrugged, then continued dabbing away the blood. “For me it is. How else can I keep this bunch of ignorant jackasses happy? They wanted sport, so I provided it.” She could see Jim’s disapproving scowl. “You don’t know shit. You think it’s easy for a woman to get by nowadays? If people didn’t think I was from Dothan, here visiting my uncle when everything went haywire, I’d probably be dead by now.”

  “If you’re not from these parts, how did you end up in this place?”

  “My college roommate was seeing a guy from around here, and by sheer chance we came to visit right when it all started happening. You know how suspicious country folk can be of strangers, so to help me get along, the guy’s father had already introduced me to the locals as his niece. To tell the truth, I think he'd taken a shine to me.” She spread her hands. “Anyhow, when the whole family all took off for Atlanta, I stayed here and just let everyone keep on believing it.”

  “Why didn’t you go to Atlanta too?”

  She paused to admire her handiwork on his face before tossing the rag into the pot. “Why didn’t you go?”

  Jim could see what she was getting at. He nodded, and instantly regretted doing so as the small motion sent a wave of pain through his skull. “Yeah. I always felt there was something not right about that.” He considered telling her about what Peter had described, but decided to hold it back. It wouldn’t do her any good. And besides, information could be a useful bargaining tool. He wasn’t safely out of this place yet.

  He frowned. “But that still doesn’t explain the blood sport you’re running.”

  She leaned back in her chair and poured them each a glass of vodka. “About six months after most everyone had left, a couple of guys came around looking to scavenge supplies. I caught them stealing my food from the shed. Shot one dead on the spot. The other I tied up. I didn’t know what to do with him so I went to fetch Carl. He’s always liked me and felt bad that I was all alone.”

  She paused to take a drink. “The whole thing was his idea really. Works out for both of us though. He’s too old to keep up with everything, and it was just a matter of time before someone wandered by and raped or killed me. So we set up the arena and I gave Lonnie Junior three bottles of moonshine to fight the guy I'd caught.” A grin formed. “It only took once to learn that the rednecks around here absolutely loved it. From then on, Carl caught the fighters and I took the bets. We split the earnings down the middle.”

  “Earnings?” Jim laughed. “You mean pigs and goats?”

  “Laugh all you want,” she retorted. “It keeps me protected at night, and my stomach full. I give the boys around here enough to watch my back…and Carl’s of course. If anyone tries to hurt me, they’ll find they’ve bitten off a whole lot more than they can chew.”

  “Sounds to me like that happens to anyone who walks by this way,” remarked Jim. He leaned back and closed his eyes. “How many have died so far in that barn?”

  Lindsey sniffed. “I don’t expect you to understand. Men have it easy. I have to use my brain to get by. You don’t.”

  In spite of it all, Jim found himself having some sympathy with her position. He had seen what could happen to a woman on her own. Not that there wasn’t some tough women around. There certainly was. But no one had ever tried to rape him, nor do any of the other disgusting things that some of the sick bastards roaming about were capable of. No. Aside from his belongings, he didn’t have a damn thing they wanted. And some men would even risk a bullet if it meant they could stick their dick into some poor woman for a minute or two. They were far less inclined to risk it for a backpack.

  “I guess I can’t really blame you,” he said. “But sooner or later people will stop coming around. What happens then?”

  She let out a small sigh. “I have to admit people have been getting scarce lately. I guess I’ll just have to cross that bridge when I come to it.”

  For a time they drank without speaking. The chirping of the crickets under the light of a half moon was relaxing. Through the trees beyond the untended fields Jim could see the scattered lights of Lindsey’s neighbors. It must have been a nice place here once upon a time, he mused. Peaceful.

  Just as this thought was passing, a young man clutching a rifle hurried up from the direction of the shack. He whispered something into Lindsey’s ear. She shot up from her chair, her face twisted into an angry frown. “Well find him, damn it!” she ordered.

  Jim watched the messenger run off into the night. “What’s wrong?” he asked, even though her heated words had already allowed him to make a fairly good guess.

  The scowl on her face deepened. “Looks like your friend slipped his handcuffs and got away. Not only that, he left Carl tied up in his house and made off with all your gear.”

  “That son of a bitch,” Jim muttered, his worst fears confirmed. He got to his feet as well, though it took him a moment to steady his legs and fight off the waves of pain rushing through his head. “Do they know where he went?”

  “Too dark,” she replied. “And by the time it gets light he could be miles away.” She slammed her hand on the porch railing. “Fucking idiot!”

  “I need to find him,” Jim said.

  “You can’t leave,” she said. “Not until morning, at least. The boys will be scouring the entire area. If they see you wandering around in the dark they’ll likely shoot you.”

  Jim growled with frustration. This was his own fault. He should have made sure Peter knew they were being released. Only his dislike for the man and petty spite had stopped him from doing so. Now, the bastard had taken all their gear, leaving him with absolutely nothing. He let out a curse and sat back down hard on the chair.
This sent another great wave of pain tearing through his skull, quickly followed by an intense feeling of fatigue.

  “You shouldn’t sleep for a while yet,” Lindsey told him. “If you have a concussion it could be dangerous.”

  Jim took another drink and said nothing.

  He managed to stay awake for another two hours. Three times they heard shots go off, but Lindsey assured him if they found Peter she would be told immediately. Carl came by looking extremely upset. He cast a distrustful glance at Jim, but didn’t say anything other than to tell Lindsey what happened.

  “Son of a bitch snuck up and hit me in the head with a damn two by four,” he told her. “Next thing I knew, I woke up tied to my bed frame. Good thing Delmar came by to pick up some smoked pork or I’d have been sittin’ there ‘til mornin’.”

  Lindsey took a moment to examine his wound. “Looks like you’ll be all right. Go on back home. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “You gonna be safe with that one?” Carl asked, motioning to Jim.

  “Safer than I was with you,” he cut in before Lindsey could respond.

  Carl glowered, but Lindsey smiled and waved him away.

  “He’s a good ole boy,” she said once the old man was out of earshot. “I’m glad your friend didn’t hurt him too bad.”

  “I wouldn’t call him my friend,” Jim remarked sourly.

  Lindsey laughed. “Yeah. He did sort of leave you hanging. It’ll be rough traveling with no supplies or weapons.” She took a long drink. “Of course, you could stay here if you wanted.”

  Jim coughed a laugh. “And what would I be expected to do? Fight for you?”

  She shook her head. “No, no. We still have Lonnie Junior for that. It'll take a while, but he’ll mend. No, I was thinking that a man like you could do really well around here. You’re smart, tough…and to be honest, sooner or later I’ll run out of travelers to catch. You and the other guy were the first in two months.”

  “Sorry, but I can’t hang around,” Jim said. “Supplies or not, there are things I have to do. Besides, something tells me you’ll figure out a way to get by, even without your redneck coliseum.”

  Lindsey regarded him for a moment and then shrugged. “Suit yourself. It’s your funeral. But don’t say I didn’t warn you. From what I hear, the further north you go, the worse things get. And you with no gun and nothing to trade...” She clicked her tongue. “You won’t last very long.”

  “I’m sure you’re right,” Jim replied. “But I don’t have a choice.”

  After a few more minutes Lindsey showed him to an unused bedroom. “I’ll get you up early,” she promised.

  Once she had left, he stripped off his shirt and pants. His head was easing a little, though the rest of him still ached badly from being kicked and thrown to the ground. He stretched out and sighed. Lindsey was right. Without weapons or supplies, making it to Atlanta would be almost impossible. People preyed on anyone they thought to be vulnerable. And without a gun, he would be more vulnerable than most. He considered trying to steal a sidearm or rifle before leaving, but rejected the idea. He didn’t know where to look, and now that Peter had escaped they were sure to be on extra guard. After a few minutes brooding, he forced all negative thoughts from his mind. He needed to rest, and his problems would still be there in the morning.

  As he woke several hours later, he heard the creaking of the floorboards outside the room. A moment later there was a soft knock at the door and Lindsey poked her head briefly inside.

  “I have some coffee and eggs ready if you want them,” she told him.

  That was music to Jim's ears. He quickly dressed and went outside to the porch where he could hear Lindsey moving around. She looked tired as she plopped down at the table, on which was already set eggs and coffee for two people. He took a seat facing her and cupped a steaming mug in both hands. He hadn’t smelled coffee in a long time. Everyone on the platform had run out almost a year ago.

  A smile formed as he drew in the delicious aroma. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed this,” he said.

  Lindsey merely grunted and began eating. Not a morning person, he thought.

  The call of roosters crowing in the distance, along with a few much closer crickets chirping merrily away, had Jim’s mind drifting back to when he was a young teen. His uncle had taken him to his fishing camp at the Black Water Creeks in central Alabama. The sounds of dawn combining with the cool morning dew was refreshing. Clean. Pure. Even when he was young he could appreciate the wholesome nature of a clear, brisk morning. Now, knowing the difficulties of what lay ahead, he wanted to take in every second of it.

  He sipped slowly at his coffee, leaving the eggs untouched until he'd almost drained the cup. Once they had both finished eating, Lindsey got up and gestured for him to follow. They walked at a leisurely pace down a small trail that ran parallel to an open field. After twenty minutes he saw Carl’s home come into view from between the thin line of trees just ahead. The old man was waiting in front of the building with a bitter expression on his face.

  “They never found your friend,” Carl told him.

  Jim was really starting to dislike having Peter being referred to as his friend. Ignoring Carl, he spoke to Lindsey. “So I guess this is it.”

  “Guess so,” she said. “You sure you won’t stay?”

  Her offer was clearly not well received by Carl. The old man huffed and stormed inside.

  “I can’t,” replied Jim. “But I wish you luck.”

  Lindsey simply nodded and started back the way they had come. After a few yards she stopped and smiled over her shoulder. “Would it have made any difference if I'd offered to fuck you last night?” she asked.

  Jim could not hold back a laugh. “No. But it's a nice thought.”

  Her smile broadened. “I didn’t think so. Sorry for the whole Lonnie Junior thing. Glad to have met you though.”

  Jim watched as she vanished down the trail. Even though he had been captured and very nearly killed, he had to admire her. She had found a way to thrive in an unforgiving, brutal world where women were often made victims by the filth of mankind. And as for Carl: it made little difference whether he was helping Lindsey because he genuinely cared for her, or if he was using her to help his own survival. Their system worked, and that was all that mattered. An old man’s cunning and a young woman’s adaptability clearly made for a potent combination.

  Staring down the empty road before him, Jim breathed a heavy sigh. Time to go. He had looked down an open road many times before, and felt the fear of the unknown at the onset of each journey. But without so much as a pocket knife for protection, this particular road was looking more like a gauntlet. One that he was now having severe doubts about being able to pass through.

  The first few steps were particularly difficult, almost as if he had lead weights tied to his ankles. For a brief spell he even considered taking Lindsey up on her offer. But once he'd made a hundred yards or so his courage slowly began to return. He quickened his pace. At least without a backpack weighing him down he'd be able to cover more ground. And he could probably come up with a knife from somewhere. Guns were hard to get your hands on, but blades could always be found in the rubble of some abandoned house or store. He knew how to trap as well, so he wasn't completely helpless. Who knows? He might get lucky after all.

  The sharp crack of a branch from the woods over to his left halted him. Instinctively, he reached to his belt, then cursed his own stupidity when finding no weapon there. He heard voices coming closer. Behind him and to his right was an open field with tall grass. He thought to make a run for it, but the source of the noise appeared just as he was about to set off.

  Two men in their mid-twenties, both of whom he recognized as spectators from the fight, stepped out from behind the brush.

  The shotgun toting man on the left spoke first. “Well looky here, Darrel.” He was wearing a ripped pair of jeans and a Harley Davidson tee-shirt. His straggly hair was partly covered by a cap
with the words 'Bikini Inspector' written across the front in attention grabbing hot pink letters.

  The other man – Darrel apparently – was in a pair of sweat pants and had no shirt on. A .22 rifle was strapped across his back. He nodded. “That there's the fella who done lost you two whole hogs. Where you off to, boy? Lindsey cut you aloose?”

  He turned to his companion before Jim had a chance to respond. “Hey, Tater. I hear the other one done run off with all his stuff. Took his guns and everything.” Having said that, he made a very deliberate point of sliding his rifle free.

  “That right?” Tater responded. “Ain't that a cryin' shame?”

  “I don’t want any trouble,” Jim told them. His eyes flickered around, searching for a way out. But they were too far away to jump by surprise, and there was nowhere safe close enough to make a run for.

  A harsh laugh slipped from Darrel's mouth. “You hear that? He don’t want no trouble.”

  “Naw, I guess he don’t,” Tater added. “Well, I hate to tell you, boy, but you done got you a whole heap of trouble anyway. You shouldn’t have beat ole Lonnie Junior like you did. No sir.”

  “I didn’t want to hurt him,” Jim protested. “But it was him or me. I didn’t have a choice.”

  Tater snorted. “That don’t matter none. Way I figure, you owe me for two hogs. And seein’ as you ain’t got nothin’, I guess I’ll just take it out of your hide.” He leveled his weapon.

  Jim was now getting desperate. “Lindsey said I could go free. She’ll know if you hurt me.”

  This gave Tater pause. But only for a second. He cracked a crooked smile and took deliberate aim. “I’ll just tell her you tried to steal my gun. Not like you’ll be around to call me a liar.”

  Jim's teeth clamped firmly together. This was it; there was nothing he could do or say to get out of the situation. While bracing himself for the end, thoughts of Laura and Meagan flashed through his head. He’d failed them…again.

  A shot rang out. But it didn’t come from Tater’s shotgun. Jim immediately recognized the distinctive sound of an AR-15. Tater gave a violent jerk. His cap was sent flying off his head. In the same instant, a red spot appeared just above his right eye and a cloud of pink mists spewed out from the back of his skull. He crumpled to his knees, a line of blood pouring down his face. A second later he pitched face down into the dirt. He had inspected his very last bikini.