Ben put down the binoculars and started to lead the mob back toward camp. When he picked the large duffel bag back up, Lucy noticed it didn’t look empty. Perhaps he hadn’t used all the bombs they’d brought, thereby sparing some of the children. It was so hard to judge people in this new place, and Lucy wanted to be away from them, back to Truman, who was so easy to evaluate, so simple in his way. Even Will and Rachel, though they could be annoying, didn’t have the awful ambiguity and complexity of both the dead and living around here.
They marched back the way they had come. It was hot and dusty and Lucy again thought of just leaving. But thinking of Truman’s reliability and innocence kept her going. She needed him. She’d have to tell him that if she ever saw him again. Sometimes she was too taciturn, too noncommittal with him. Lucy remembered, almost instinctually, that was how you were supposed to treat a man, but she also felt she’d gone too far sometimes, left too much unsaid. Now she might die out here on the cracked remains of a highway, or back in the camp in a falling-down hovel, and he’d never know what he meant to her, how important and good he was. And even if she got away, what would be out there, anyway? Dead people who set traps that would maim and not quite kill you? More living people with guns who would enslave you, or leer at your broken, emaciated body? No, marching along was still far preferable, and Lucy continued on through the day.
Sometimes Lucy thought she saw wild people following them, or observing them from behind trees or other cover, but she couldn’t be sure, and no one came out to offer battle to their group. When they got close to camp, they stopped, and Ben came through the crowd toward Lucy and her two friends.
He smiled at Carole and she again showed her girlish, submissive demeanor. “How are you doing?” he asked.
“Okay, Ben,” Carole answered, tilting her head down as she said it. “Tired. Hungry.”
Ben set the duffle bag down. “Me too.” He unzipped the bag and got out one of the bomb packages. He handed it to Carole, who stuffed it up the front of her striped shirt, then tucked her shirt in to hold it in place. There was still a bulge, but it wasn’t too noticeable, since she was skinny to begin with and the garment was so big.
Ben held another one out to Lucy. “You want one, smart, pretty lady?”
Lucy’s head swam, she was so confused and aghast at being offered this horrible thing. “No,” she said as she shook her head. “Why are you giving me that thing? I hate it. It’s bad.”
Ben looked from the bomb to her eye and held her gaze a moment, like he was trying to understand her, and trying to formulate a way to make her understand him. “We save bombs, guns, other weapons. Maybe use them on food men soon. But they search us men sometimes,” he explained. “They’re suspicious. They don’t search ladies. Well, almost never. One time one guy did. Lady had hidden a gun we’d found.” Ben put his forefinger next to his head, extended his thumb, then dropped it like the hammer of a pistol. “Bang. No more lady. Is that it? You’re afraid food men will kill you?”
Lucy narrowed her eye and bared her teeth at him. “Fuck them,” she said slowly, drawing out the “F” sound. “And fuck you. I’m not afraid of you or them. I just don’t want your stupid bomb. When I kill food men, I’ll do it right. With my hands and my teeth.”
Ben grinned. “You are a feisty one. I like you, Lucy. If Carole weren’t my woman sometimes, I’d want you.”
Carole slapped him playfully on the shoulder. “Ben, stop!” she said with a laugh.
“Or maybe I could have you both. Damn, you must’ve been such a hot one when you were alive.”
“Maybe I was,” Lucy said quietly. “It doesn’t matter now. None of that does. I just don’t want that thing.”
“Here, let me have it,” Christine said, stepping forward and lifting her shirt. “No one’s gonna look at my fat, ugly ass or belly.”
Ben chuckled as he put the package in the cavity in Christine’s middle. He pulled her shirt down over it and patted her hip. “Thanks, Christine. And you’re not ugly, either. I’d’ve gotten with you, too, way back when.”
“Yeah, well, that’s what you say now. Who knows? Maybe I didn’t like black guys. Maybe I didn’t even like guys. Maybe you didn’t like girls. You ever think of that? How the hell would we even know?”
Ben laughed more loudly. “No, I never thought of that. But I like you now, big girl, either way. Maybe we’ll leave it at that. Why do you ladies say such funny things? You all think too much. Especially this new one.” He turned to look at Lucy again. “When we fight the food men, you remember what you said. We’ll see how you do.”
“You make sure you do what you have to,” Lucy replied. “You don’t need to worry about me.”
Ben kissed Carole on the mouth before disappearing back into the crowd to lead them the rest of the way to camp. As he’d predicted, the guards trained their weapons on the returning dead people and had the men remove their shirts before going through the gate. Christine was allowed through immediately, but the guards made Carole and Lucy stop. Shit.
“Which one you think is finer—the tall brunette or the new blonde?” said one of the men from the tower.
“Oh, stop! We got to get them all inside and you’re pervin’ on your new girlfriend again?”
“Just glad to see her. I was so afraid she might not make it back. Go ahead, you two, show us how much you missed us before we let you in.”
The other men groaned and laughed as dead people jostled past Lucy and Carole. Lucy caught her friend’s petrified glance. Lucy wasn’t scared—only enraged again at the living. Carole followed Lucy’s lead in pressing her palm to her lips and blowing the degenerate men a kiss. The whistles and catcalls increased. Carole looked so terrified, Lucy would do anything to take the men’s attention from her friend, so she turned her back to them, bent forward slightly, and gave her ass a little shake for their amusement.
“Oh—she did miss us! Look at her! Neither of them has much of a rack, but blondie’s ass is the best!”
Lucy took Carole by the shoulder to hustle her into the camp. They let the shambling crowd absorb them and carry them along with it. They found Christine, and she and Carole went into their house, motioning for Lucy to stay outside. They rejoined her in a moment, after hiding the bombs, she supposed. Lucy was surprised they didn’t all return to their houses, but remained milling around in the open area near the gate. There must be something more to returning to camp that she didn’t know about.
After a while, when it was nearly dark, a truck pulled up outside the gate and men unloaded a metal tub on wheels. The crowd jostled one another, people trying to see over those in front. Inarticulate cries accompanied the truck’s arrival, followed by a general moaning of pleasure and anticipation. The gate opened and some of the living men came through with torches, driving the dead people back, as two other men pushed the tub into the yard. Then the living men retreated and closed the gate, leaving the tub behind.
The crowd hung back. Apparently there was some order or ritual to this. Lucy still couldn’t see what was in the tub, but she finally caught the scent. Blood. Lots of it, but all polluted and foul. She cringed and nearly gagged. She never thought she could have that reaction to something that would normally be so sensuous and delectable, but this wasn’t the good, clean, hot vapors of life, strength, and need. They’d mixed it with other, lesser stuff. It smelled like animals—maybe dogs or pigs, and that gave it such a weak, stale, but penetrating odor. This must be the feeding the women had mentioned before, and what a wretched, debased version it was of real feasting. These stupid, live fuckers could ruin anything.
Ben approached the tub. In the dimness, Lucy could see him point to Carole and gesture her over. He grunted, rather than speaking, since they were so close to the guards in the towers. Carole led Lucy and Christine with her to the feeding trough. The smell got worse. Even though Lucy stopped inhaling, the stench stung her eyes, it was so piercing and intense. Standing next to the tub, she could now see it was full of blood and scraps of flesh. The slurry was dark, almost black. They must’ve run it through a machine, it was such a soupy and indistinguishable mess. None too fresh, either, by the smell of it, though it was definitely dead and not undead flesh.
The other two women and Ben each dipped a hand into it. They brought these to their mouths and proceeded to slurp and smack their way through the offering, following that with groans of satisfaction and further craving. They plunged their hands back into the stew, this time with more vigor. Lucy slowly extended her hand, easing her fingers into the flesh and blood. Shit—it was icy cold, on top of all its other loathsomeness. How could the others tear into it with such abandon? But Lucy knew. She still remembered eating, and knew she needed it, no matter how awful these people had made it. She would do it, even if she hated it, and hated herself for giving in.
The hideousness was so overwhelming, it limited and contained the hunger, even as the burning need enticed and ensnared her. Lucy drew out her hand, clutching a stringy piece of flesh between her thumb and two fingers. It was tough, sinewy. She rolled it between her fingers till it was a knotty lump, which she placed on the palm of her other hand to consider it a moment. This was hell, when even pleasure was revolting.
Lucy chewed the piece, the flood of energy from it so fleeting compared to the slowly building, diseased simmer it started in her belly. This simultaneously burned and froze her guts, as it compacted and wrenched her soul. As she swallowed, Lucy leaned her head back and looked at one bright star above her. She focused all her despair on that spot of light as she let out a howl that others—living or dead—might mistake for the climax of desire.
Rachel and Shayna were nearly back to their neighborhood when they ran into Ken and another man. “Hey, you two,” Ken greeted them as he gave his wife a kiss on the cheek, then bent down to fuss with Aisha.
“Hey, you,” Shayna answered. “Hi, Roger,” she said to the other man. “Off work early? What’re you two up to?”
“Yeah, we couldn’t keep working until they got some more materials. They said they’d have them tomorrow. Oh, Rach—this is Roger,” Ken continued. “I don’t know if you’ve seen him around the site.”
“No, I don’t think I have,” Rachel said, smiling. “Nice to meet you.”
“Same here,” Roger said as he shook her hand. He was her age or a bit older, and only a little taller than she was. Small, ordinary-looking white guy with sandy hair. Didn’t seem quite as nice as Ken, and definitely not as outgoing, but certainly not as crude as some of the men from work.
Ken held a sheet of paper out to her. “Some kids came by, handing these out,” he said.
Rachel took the paper and held it so Shayna could read it too. It proclaimed that, “Tonight Only! At the Dead End—A Show of Discipline and Violence! See the Savage Threat to Mankind Punished! See the Dead Tamed—Even If It Kills Them! Your Curiosity Will Be Satisfied! Justice Will Be Served! Zombies! Pain! Laughter! As Only Doctor Jack Can Present Them! Free Popcorn! (Beer and Wine Available for Purchase with Proper ID).” In smaller print at the bottom it offered, “Adult tickets—buy two get one free—only with this coupon.”
“That’s nasty,” Shayna said, wrinkling her nose. “Why you wanna go see that? Isn’t that where they knock that big, ugly zombie down? I heard someone talking about that.”
“No. He’s there too, but this is different,” Roger explained. “Some zombie got a little rambunctious, so they’re gonna teach him a lesson. Show him who’s boss. I think they use electricity. It should be fun to watch.”
“Yeah, we haven’t been to anything like that in a while,” Ken said, a little more sheepishly than his friend, clearly ready to defer to Shayna if she gave more of an objection. Rachel thought, not for the first time, that he was a guy who was appropriately deferent to his woman, and yet still so manly. Great combination. “I just thought, you know, maybe you’d like to come along, since it’d be free for you anyway. I mean, if you don’t mind babysitting, Rach.”
“Oh, no, it’s fine,” Rachel said. “Don’t worry.” She really didn’t mind watching Aisha at all, and the show did sound pretty gross and barbaric. But she couldn’t help feeling just a twinge of disappointment, at having to miss some new, unknown experience. It was natural to get curious about something like that. Besides, Will had said they’d taken Truman to the Dead End. Maybe she’d see him while they were going around the displays, and she could put to rest some of her concerns about his well-being—and more importantly, Will’s anxieties. Truman never made any trouble, so he probably was just fine, taking people’s tickets or making the popcorn or something, and she could tell Will about it and get him to calm down and not worry so much. But, well, she’d have to do it some other day, she supposed.
Shayna patted Rachel on the shoulder. “No, you don’t need to, girl,” she said. “I don’t want to go. Just a couple months ago I saw a kid being whipped for stealing. Don’t need to see something like that again for a while.”
“You didn’t tell me about that,” Ken said.
“Well, Aisha was still real little, so when you got home I was probably too tired to remember everything we did that day. We were taking a walk, and we went through the park. They had a black boy tied to a post. It was still cold out, I remember, so I didn’t really stop to watch, but just saw them whip him a few times as I walked by. Anyway—I know they have to do stuff like that, but I don’t need to see it all the time. Better they just do it and get it over with and leave me out of it, I say. But you could go, Rachel. You should. It’s good to see different things.”