Ryan Westfield - Fighting Rough

“I’m torturing them to death.”

“We can give you want you want. Name it.”

“I don’t need anything.”

Max didn’t understand. But he didn’t have to. All there was to know that this man couldn’t be bought. Otherwise he would have had a demand ready. Otherwise he would have acted completely differently.

“Max, is that you?” It was his brother’s voice.

Max didn’t respond. He didn’t want to give the stranger too much information.

“You’re all alike,” shouted the stranger. “Your emotions get you killed. I assume you’re friends, maybe relatives. One comes looking for the other. It’s the oldest story in the book. And I’m the spider, just waiting patiently. You can’t fool a spider. Now come out from behind that tree with your hands up. I won’t shoot you.”

“What will you do?” shouted Max. He wanted to know more about this man’s mind. His intentions.

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”

“Don’t believe him, Max!” shouted John.

“He’s torturing us to death!” shouted Cynthia.

“Don’t think I’m going to believe that. That you’ll do nothing.”

“Are you trying to prove you’re a little smarter than the rest of them? These two fell right into my trap.”

“You want to torture me?”

“That’s right.”

The stranger’s voice sounded like it was getting closer. Was he trying to sneak up on Max?

“If you come out,” shouted the man, “what I’ll promise you is that it’ll take me a long time to kill you. One of your other friends might come to rescue you. It’ll work for both of us. I get to be the spider and catch another fly. You’ll get to hold out hope as you die.”

“No good,” shouted Max.

“That’s disappointing.”

The voice was closer.

Max knew now he was dealing with someone with an altered mind. He had to approach the stranger on that same level. He had to appeal to something inside him.

“I’ve got a proposition,” shouted Max.

Silence.

But no footsteps nearby. The stranger wasn’t dangerously close. Not yet. Was he trying to sneak up on Max or wasn’t he?

Max charged ahead with his plan, thinking rapidly as the words tumbled out of his mouth. “We fight. You and me. No guns. No knives.”

“We’re already fighting!” Laughter roared out of the man. It was chilling laughter, as cold as the air.

“You want to inflict pain, right?”

Silence.

“You don’t want to shoot me. At least, not kill me. Otherwise I have a feeling I’d already be dead. You’re a good shot, but you’ve been missing on purpose.” Max didn’t know if it was true, but flattering never hurt. “What I’m saying is you against me. A personal experience. Personal pain.”

Max’s throat was sore from shouting so much.

Still silence.

“Fine. You’re not like the others. You understand me.”

“Let’s just get this over with. Your hostages will confirm whether you have a gun or not.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll toss everything into the snow.”

Max knew he might have been making a huge mistake. He tossed the rifle away from him, into the snow, where it’d be visible from the stranger’s point of view. Without his rifle, he’d be at a disadvantage if it came to another long-distant firefight. But he was already at a disadvantage.

Silence. Some distant footsteps.

“He’s put the gun down. Twenty feet away. His handgun too. He’s got a knife still. He’s putting the knife down. Ten feet away. To the east.” John was shouting out all the information he could.

Apparently Max had read the stranger right.

“Don’t do this, Max!” shouted Cynthia. “He’s some kind of monster. Don’t trust him.”

Max didn’t answer.

“He’s standing behind a tree,” shouted John. “He’s waiting for you. I don’t know if he’s armed. He might have had a hidden gun.”

A flurry of noise, footsteps. Max heard a strange sound. And screaming. Horrible screaming.

Max stepped out from behind the tree, moving rapidly, running towards the stranger, his brother, and Cynthia.

The stranger was bent over one of the bodies. Probably John. Blood was on his hand. Blood was on the snow.

Max threw himself onto one knee, partially covered by a tree, his Glock in both hands held out straight in front of him.

The stranger had a handgun too.

But Max was faster.

He squeezed the trigger once. Twice. A third time.

The stranger went down.

“He’s down!” It was Cynthia.

John was moaning in pain.

Max walked forward slowly, aiming the Glock at the stranger, who was on the ground. He was making small sounds. Blood poured out from his body onto the snow.

He wasn’t yet dead.

Max aimed, his gun arm stretched down at an angle, and pulled the trigger.

John sat there, at the edge of camp, with the remains of his ear throbbing. The pain had dulled somewhat.

Max had cut John and Cynthia loose. The three of them had taken all the gear they could carry and left the body there in the snow. When they’d gotten to Mandy on the way back, they’d had to make a stretcher to carry her back on. She was sleeping now, as were most of the rest of them. Only Georgia, Mandy, and John were still awake, keeping watch. Georgia was on the other end of camp, hidden in the woods.

“The aspirin doing anything?” said Max. He was fiddling with the radio John had brought, adjusting the knobs. So far there’d been nothing but static.

“Not much. I wish we had something stronger.”

“Maybe it’s good we don’t.”

“What’s that mean?”

“Nothing,” said Max. “But caffeine might help.”

“It relieves pain?”

“I read something about it,” said Max, in an offhand way. John knew that meant that Max knew what he was talking about, but didn’t see the need to go too much into it.

“Never would have thought of it.”

“I’ll get you some coffee. We need to save the caffeine pills.”

“Max, wait, I need to…”

“What?”

“I just wanted to say… I don’t know. I’d be dead if it wasn’t you. I’ve got to admit, I was starting to doubt you. But you’re the reason we’re all alive.”

Max shook his head. “I’m not the reason,” he said. “The truth is, I’d be dead if I were on my own.”

“But you keep risking your life trying to save everyone else.”

“You don’t get it,” said Max. “The only way we’re going to get through this thing is with each other. All of us.”

“Sounds kind of cheesy,” said John. “But I guess it’s true.”

Max nodded.

“I still don’t think you’d be dead though. You’re made of tougher stuff than that.”

“It could happen,” said Max. “I’m sure it will at some point. Haven’t you read how long people lived in hunter gatherer times?”

“About forty, right?”

“The average is low,” said Max. “So you’ve got to imagine that a lot died well before whatever the number was. And that was before guns, back when the population was minuscule compared to now. The population must be thinning out, judging from what I saw, and what you’ve told me about the city. But, still, it’s dense compared to any other historical period.”

John didn’t know what to say. “Hell of a thought,” was all he could muster. He was exhausted, and he felt like he’d never been rested. Sleep was only a memory.

John turned his hand over, and examined the fingers on his left hand, where the nails had been pulled off with pliers. It still hurt like hell. Cynthia, fortunately, hadn’t gotten the plier treatment. Just a couple light cuts on her skin.