The Nameless Survivor (Valkyrie) (16 page)

              The garden is beginning to come together nicely, the corn and potatoes have sprouted, along with other little shoots of greenery. Mia did most of the worked and stood proud of her accomplishment. She spends day after day crawling through the dirt picking out invading weeds and squashing invasive pests. Summer is upon us, the days are longer and getting hotter and hotter. Which would not be so bad if it wasn't for the thick humidity. We have needed daily baths to wash away the stink of sweat and dirt. Something I was never concerned with in the past, but now that there is a lady present, it is a must.

             
Mia has done fairly well with hygiene considering how she grew up. Her monthly cycles have been rough though, it's not as if we can just go to the local pharmacy for feminine products. I was able to come up with my own product for her though, squirrel hides rolled up and bound in strips of cloth worked well, of course the squirrel population has taken a big dive because of this nuisance.

             
However, each month we endure five days of raging hormones and the raging dead. They seem to be able to smell her flow from miles around, drawing them in like sharks in the water. We have attempted cover scents, but all have failed miserably. Caution during these periods is all that we have to work with.

             
Nova too has done well with her droppings. She learned quickly to go off into the woods and not right at our doorstep. To many nights I would go take a leak only to step in her leavings, swearing in disgust as the soft dung squished between my toes. It only took a couple rampages before pup understood my frustration and found somewhere else to shit.

             
We were happy and content with the life we had. It seemed every day Mia looked more and more like a woman. Some days I find it hard to ignore the carnal thoughts in my head, but I did my absolute best to thwart them. In the old world there were many female distractions walking about, so many that one gets use to ignoring them. Not anymore, now animal instinct takes over, the urge to spread thy seed.

             
“Damn she is beautiful,” I would constantly say to myself, but quickly retort with, “No, she is just a child!”

             
But, she is not a child, she is a young woman, still these thoughts seemed almost worse than the plague that has struck the world. Yet it was that plague that brought Mia to me. Maybe this was part of God's almighty plan, to give mankind another chance to get it right. But why destroy all of his children just to bring Mia and me together. I mean, it's not like I am Adam and she is my Eve. So I spend much of my time keeping my distance when I can, trying to stay away from physical contact as well as keeping her clothed. She seems to be content in her own skin, no lingering modesty whatsoever. There are times that it seems she does it just to torture me, of course it's all in my head. When she feels the need to be close, which is quite often, I try to get her talking and distract her from the need to be on me all the time. It works some of the time, she repeats old stories she heard as a child, old experiences, and occasionally she would talk about her dreams.

             
“The scary man keeps telling me to run away.” She said quietly.

             
“The scary man?” I asked.

             
“Yeah, an old, dead man. He wears a patch over one eye and is always pointing a boney finger at me.”

             
“What else has he said?” I pried.

             
“That's it, that I am not safe here. But I feel safe, and I don't want to run-away.”

             
Damn dreams, I have been having more and more dreams of Bob. His haunting visage clinging to me night after night. I have kept these visions to myself, in hopes to avoid frightening Mia even more. Yet, I myself am frightened, more so now that poor Mia has described the same man from her own visions.

             
I don't generally believe in the myth that all dreams have meaning. But, for both Mia and I to have the same dream, there has to be something more going. Old Bob was talking to us from the grave, driving fear, and his persistent warnings.

             
“Leave now!”

              From the depth of Mia's blackened subconscious arose her own unfortunate past, frantically springing her from a dead sleep. She gasped and flailed violently, as if she were drowning, her skin was pale as a ghost and from her head to her toes she poured a sopping cold-sweat. This is not the first time she has awoken in this manner, full of fear and sadness, but this dream pulled at a repressed agony that she had all but forgotten. Something so vile that she dared not speak of it. Gently I held her in my arms, stroking her hair, patiently attempting to coax her into revealing that which haunted her.

             
Moments passed when from out of nowhere that string of teeth I had recovered awhile back came to mind, and I thought maybe, just maybe it would cheer her up. It took me a moment to remember where I placed it, stuffed away in a box under the kitchen sink. Quickly I retrieved the strand and handed it out to her, hoping to distract her from those frightful dreams. A morbid trinket to take her mind off what plagued her.

             
“Here, this is for you.”

             
She looked up from her pillow with her red eyes instantly dilating as they welled and flowed forth. She snatched the string of teeth from my hand, rubbing the smooth enamel with her fingers as the crocodile tears streamed down her pale cheek. There was a shudder in her breath, her hands squeezed the necklace tight, and for a second she gentle caressed her cheek with it. This was not the reaction I had anticipated, and it was all too obvious that she had laid eyes upon the abnormal jewelry before.

             
“Tommy.” She whispered, “Poor little Tommy.”

             
She looked up at me, her bottom lip quivering with repressed misery. The necklace had significance, both good and inevitably bad. And although her speech and personality has ripened some over the past few months, almost instantly she became precise and darkly poetic with her words. More importantly, she was finally ready and able to talk, for which I desperately jotted down each and every word. For Mia, for closure, so that she may one day unburden her soul from repressed emotions and live out a happy and normal life.

est. 4th Fish Moon thru 4th Cold Moon;

              I was on my own for the longest time, months, a year, maybe more. Walking, always walking, never knowing for how long or even where too. Every town I came upon was hollow and alien to me, as were all the familiar shadows that prowled at night. I mostly searched for food and water, but sometimes people too. Regular people, nice people. People who could watch over me, and tuck me in at night. But most are meaner than the Hungry’s, so like a scaredy-cat, I kept my distance or avoided them all together.

             
Nights were always the longest, the Hungry are thick, and they could see me better than I them. Patiently I waited out the darkness for the morning sun, hiding out in old houses, cars, and smelly old dumpsters. My clothes were worn-out and full of holes, and I carried little food. My only protection was a small red folding-knife, but the blade was so dull that it couldn't even cut a worm. I only held on to it because it was gift from Ol’ Ben, it was the only thing I had left of his.

             
The day-time was what I look forward to the most, the Hungry's are much easier to avoid. I never took chances with entering big towns, instead I stayed just outside of them. As I roamed about the old roads I'd keep my mind busy by playing little games such as kick the rock, and I Spy. I’d even take a look in every mail-box I came across, going through the last bundles of letters those poor people ever received. But I never opened them, I just checked out where they came from and who they were for. I did however open the occasional package or box I had found, but only to look for supplies. I never really found anything of use.

             
The road was always quiet, the kind of silence that was perfect for reading. So road-signs became my books, and I made sure to read each and every word, even those that I did not recognize. Xing Crossings were the most unusual, in my mind I imagined them to represent a land of a king. As if I had wonder for so long I had entered another country, a land of peace and love. But it never was, no matter which road I took or which river I crossed, the land was dead. Each town-sign was but a new chapter in a never-ending book of horror.

             
Food became a treasure hunt, and I couldn’t eat enough of the tiny little strawberries that seemed to grow everywhere, so sweet and juicy. An afternoon of berry-picking turned my fingers a pretty pink, for which I would mush them on my nails, to remind me of when mommy would paint them for me. Mostly though, I just ate or gathered up a bunch to take along with me.               In fact I had a pocket full of berries the day I met Tommy. It was one of those hot and sweaty days. But I didn't let the heat bother me as I skipped down a long stretch of road in the middle of the woods. There were no houses, no nothing, only trees for as far as the eye could see. I remember being afraid that I may have to spend another scary night in the woods.

             
“Not tonight.” I said to myself, and hurried along.

             
The sun had just begun to fall behind the trees when a loud rumble shook the broken pavement under my feet. The roar reminded me of my daddy's old motorcycle, Ms. Hoss, he called it. I use to cover my ears when he started it because it was so darn loud. But my daddy loved it, and the noise. He use to say that it was the sound of true power, the sound of freedom. But to mommy and me, it was just annoying.

             
So, with my father in mind, I skipped ahead in excitement, deep down hoping that it was him. My Dad - searching for me - coming to take me away from all the scary things. But I knew that it wasn't him, it couldn't be. Still I was stupid enough to fall for my own imagination, and proceeded ahead without caution, only false-joy, and as I came around a sharp bend I spotted a large old truck. Rusted and beaten, yet still roaring like an angry lion, and a stream of jet-black smoke rose from its engine as it rumbled louder and louder.

             
There were three men, one inside, and the other two were fiddling under the hood. Quietly I walked towards them, unsure if it was safe, but I was desperate for some real food, desperate for a warm bed. Even if it was just the front seat of a smelly old truck. Maybe it was the sound of the truck, the memories of my daddy that pushed me towards them. Maybe I was just too tired to care anymore, I don't know, but they were the type of people that I usually avoided.

             
It was too late to turn back though, the driver spotted me almost immediately and pointed me out to the others as he jumped down from the truck. The largest of the three men grabbed a big gun from the truck before they all approached me. He pointed his gun towards me, and I stopped dead in my tracks. I knew then that I had made a mistake and I lowered my head in both shame and fear. One of the other three shouted out in excitement.

             
“She ain’t no Gimp, fellas!”

             
“Christmas came early!” laughed another.

             
The larger man lowered his gun and stopped a few feet before me, scooting down to look into my eyes with a big smile on his face. He was a scruffy man, with foul breath, but he appeared friendly enough. I glanced up at him, still shaking, and forced a tiny little smile. In my mind I pictured him to be family man. A wife, kids and maybe even a dog back at his home, awaiting his return. Just a regular guy with a big heart who would look out for me.

             
“You out here all by yourself lil lady?”

             
Reluctantly I nodded.

             
“Well then, it be your lucky day,” he said with a deep belly laugh, the others chuckled too.

             
The big man fumbled in his pocket for a moment before pulling out a small piece of dried meat and held it out to me. For a moment I hesitated, wanting to run back the way I had come, or even into the dark and scary woods. But my grumbling stomach persuaded me to wait, and I grabbed the piece of meat from him, quickly gobbling it down. It was tough, and flavorless, but it helped to easy the pains in my belly.

             
“Well lil lady, my name is Big Paul, and I'm a’gonna be your new daddy.”

             
The other two immediately grabbed my arms, so hard that they instantly turned black-and-blue. Then Big Paul pulled a rag from his pocket and tightly tied it around my eyes before stuffing another dirty rag into my mouth. All my fears came true, he was no family man, and my stomach had failed me. But I didn't struggle or scream as they tightly bound my hands and feet. Even when they carried me back to the truck and tossed into the front seat I remained silent. I just laid there, calm and quiet, as they finished up their work on the truck. In between swearing and calling each other names they would make comments about me. I couldn't hear exactly what they were saying, but they all together roared in laughter after each remark.

             
I'm not sure how long it was before we were finally on our way, the engine grumbled and rumbled with what little life it had. There was not much room inside so I was laid out across their laps while Big Paul drove. All of them stunk of sweat and something rotten, it made me sick to my stomach. As we sped off down the road, the other two men took pleasure in picking on me, tugging at my hair, and even lifting up my shirt and grabbing my breasts.

             
At one point, one of the men slid his hand down my pants. I clenched my legs together, but did not struggle, I was unable to. Instead I bit down hard on that nasty rag as his dirty hand slid into me. It was as if his filthy fingernails were slicing me open from the inside, a horribly-sharp pain, and my thighs tightened down hard on to his wrist. I prayed to die, prayed for him to die, but thankfully he pulled away just as quick as a loud crack rung out.

             
“Let her be, she's mine!” Big Paul shouted. “You boys gonna get a bullet to the head, I tell ya!”

             
The others remained silent for a while, giving Paul's temper some time to cool. But still I could feel them nudging each other in amusement. And before long they were once again giggling to themselves as they taunted me with more pokes and tugs. Still I didn’t struggle, neither did I cry. Quietly I laid in place, letting them have their fun as I cursed myself for being so stupid.

             
“MMMM, hmmm, she is sweet.” One said, “Here, smell my finger!” He continued as the other man inhaled deeply.

             
“Oh so fishy-sweet!” He responded, as they chuckled together.

             
After a long ride I felt us finally turn off the main road before rumbling to a complete stop. Hoots and hollers arose from outside of the truck, many more people awaited us. Big Paul quickly jumped out as the other two hauled me through the opposite door. I could barely see out from under my blindfold, only a crowd of torn shoes with dirty toes sticking out. They circled us instantly, circled me. Their hands reached out, touching me, as they all shouted amongst each other.

             
“I got me some entertainment!” Paul hollered.

             
“Where'd ya find her?” Another voice called out.

             
“She real pretty!” Said another.

             
“I say we share her!”

             
“Yeah, I want a piece of that!”

             
“Fuck off!” Big Paul yelled.

             
Quickly he dragged me into a house and threw me into a cold dark room. He untied my hands and feet before leaving the room and locking the door behind him. Nervously I reached up and pulled the rag from my mouth, spitting out the nasty taste of oil, and then slowly removed the blind fold. I couldn't see a thing except a faint light coming out from under the doorway. A commotion rung out as the group moved in and out of the house, shouting and laughing with one another.

             
“Hey bitch! Get my new pet some food and wash her up.” Paul shouted. “Me and her is gonna have fun tonight.” A select few mocked his words, but there was no response from the person he spoke to. “Don't make me come over there you nasty lil cunt!” He demanded again.

             
Immediately the unknown person began shuffling around and the racket of clanging pots rose above the mayhem of the others. Before long, light foot-steps could be heard heading towards me, swiftly I hugged my knees tightly against my chest. The lock rattled a moment before the door opened and a flood of light poured in, blinding me almost instantly. As my eyes adjusted the shadow of an older lady stood before me. Her hair was thin and gray, and her skin seemed stretched tight over her old bones.

             
Shaking, the woman walked over and set a tray down onto the floor next to me before leaving the room again. Upon the tray was a small pile of mystery food, a cold slop of mushy vegetables and unknown meat. A mug of dirty brown water sat next to the food, smelling of swamp mud with black specks floating on the surface. I held my breath and shoveled the food down before gulping the mug until it was empty. The old lady stood before me again as I set the mug down.