Jason Frost - The cutthroat

"Careful, my little pretty," Angel cooed, "or I might miss and hit an eye."

Tracy remained still. Except for her left hand, which crabbed along the floor, sliding down her pants to the pocket on her thigh. In the right pocket was the map Angel had drawn. In the left was the small curved knife Eric had made from the steel arches of his boots.

"I have the map here," Tracy said, trying to sound as if she were begging. She didn't have to act too hard. Her hand dipped into the pocket. Slow and easy.

"My, what would dear Eric say if he knew you were bargaining away his precious map? Why, he might shoot you, as he did me."

"Please," Tracy said. The sob in her voice was real.

Angel laughed, flicked her wrist. Tracy felt the blade slice down the side of her neck. It happened so quickly, with such precision, she was reminded of the Japanese cooks at Beni-hana's. Crazy thought, she realized as her hand eased the blade free.

"Do not despair," Angel said. "Think of this as a test of Eric's devotion. Will he still love you after I've made a few alterations? You should be grateful to me. Not many couples have the chance to discover the extent of their mate's love." The blade whisked through the dark again and Tracy felt the skin on her chin part. "Are your ears pierced?" Angel asked, laughing. "Well, it won't really matter anymore- uhhnn!"

The laughing chatter was interrupted by a shocked grunt of pain and realization as Tracy plunged the handmade knife into Angel's stomach, just below the sternum, and sawed through the blouse and skin with all her strength. She braced her wrist with her free hand, forcing the hooked blade down toward the navel. She heard Angel's knife thud to the floor, felt the splash of warm liquid on her own chest. Tracy fought the cloying nausea as she smelled Angel's internal organs sloshing out of her body, spilling onto her blouse. Angel swayed a moment, tried to speak, but managed only a choked rasp. Then she toppled sideways onto the floor.

Tracy dragged herself out from under the corpse, brushing the slippery residue of Angel's innards from her own body as if she thought it too might be alive. She wanted to scream now. Scream so loudly that the whole room would collapse. Scream until the Long Beach Halo shattered like the inner dome of heaven.

Instead, she waited.

Eric tipped the canteen, took a swig of water. "Well, at least we know the map is authentic."

Tracy leaned on her cane. "How do we know that?"

"Angel wouldn't have tried to kill us otherwise."

"Us?" Tracy said.

"You were supposed to be the first. She just didn't know how tough you were."

"Neither did I." Tracy lightly touched the cuts on her forehead and chin.

"I did," Eric said, with a trace of pride.

Blackjack looked up into the bright afternoon sun and wiped the sweat from his forehead. "The three of us are so bandaged up we look like those three Revolutionary soldiers in that painting. You know, one carries the flag, one bangs the drum, and one plays the flute or fife or some damn thing."

"That painting is 'The Spirit of 76' by Archibald M. Willard," Eric said.

Blackjack gave him a disgusted look and turned to Tracy. "How do you stand it."

"Lots of patience," she sighed.

The rest of the eight-member crew took the opportunity to sip water and complain about the hilly terrain.

"Time enough for me to take a leak?" Brad Collins asked. He was a young Australian who'd been visiting California for a surfing competition when the quakes hit.

"Sure," Blackjack waved, "take your time and do it right."

Eric pointed back across three hills they had just covered. Atop the farthest one was Hearst Castle. "Quite a sight, huh?"

Tracy shook her head. "It's a shame that all those great art treasures are being destroyed, but I hope we never see the place again."

Blackjack stretched, rolling his neck until the bones cracked into place. "One more hill and you won't be able to see it."

"One more hill and I won't be able to see anything," Tracy laughed.

Eric looked at his watch, then up at the sun. "Probably a good idea if we camp here for the rest of the day."

"What for?" Blackjack asked. "We can cover a lot more ground before the sun goes down."

"That's the point, Blackjack. We don't want to travel during the day. We dehydrate much faster. We don't know how much water there is between here and the weapons, so we have to conserve our supply." He threw his backpack on the ground. "So we sit here in the shade until dark and move out then. Besides, we have a great view of the castle."

"We don't need a great view of the goddamned castle. We need to move our asses over that hill so we can find the weapons. You want to get to Santa Barbara and find your kid, don't you?"

Eric smiled at him. "In time." Eric sat down next to his pack and leaned his crossbow on a nearby rock.

Blackjack was obviously displeased, but shrugged to the rest of the crew who quickly captured some shade for themselves.

They sat silently for more than an hour. Tracy read a book of Persian recipes that Eric had picked up as they left Liar's Cove. It was the only book he could find, but she was pleased. At least it was something to read.

Blackjack fretted, anxiously checking the sun, as if he could will it down out of the sky.

Eric closed his eyes and napped, occasionally waking up to check his watch. Finally, he kept his eyes open. He was smiling in a peculiar way.

"You aren't turning funny, are you?" Tracy asked him. "I mean, you don't hear messages from God or anything?"

"What?"

"Well, that shit-eating grin of yours. Did you just make a killing in the stockmarket, or what?"

"No, no. I was just thinking."

"About what?"

"Angel."

"Oh."

"Nothing like that. I was thinking how desperate she was to think she could get away with something so dumb."

"You mean trying to kill me? Hell, she almost made it."

"No, not that. I mean the whole map business."

Blackjack sat up. "What do you mean? You said it was real."

"Did I?" Eric said. He leaned back against his backpack, his hands webbed behind his head. "Did you get a close look at those bruises on her neck, Tracy?"

Tracy was confused. She knew Eric was getting at something, but she didn't know what. Whatever it was, she had a feeling she wasn't going to like the outcome. "Yeah, I saw them."

"C'mon, man," Blackjack said defensively. "I did what I had to do to get the map. You knew what was going on, so don't start accusing me of brutality."

"You miss the point, Blackjack. I'm surprised, too, you being a doctor and all."

"Cut the shit, Eric," Blackjack barked. "What are you getting at?"

"Notice the way the bruises were? With the thumb imprint lower than the top finger?"

Tracy closed her eyes, pictured Angel's neck as if she were about to draw it. "Yeah. That's right. So?"

"So there's only one way she could have gotten bruises like that. If she'd strangled herself."

"Jesus," Blackjack said, "the heat's too much for you white boys."

Tracy clutched her own throat, her hand upside down. "I see what you mean. But why? Scratch that question. I have a feeling I don't want to know."

Eric leveled his eyes on Blackjack. "It's simple, unfortunately. Angel knew she'd be forced to talk eventually, so she made a deal with Blackjack here. She'd tell him where the weapons were and split it with him later. In the meantime they'd perform their little act for us, fake a map, and all would be well. Only Angel had no intention of splitting with him. She came back to kill all three of us, but especially him."

"Come on, Eric," Tracy said. "You're scaring me."

"Sorry, Trace, but it's true. Blackjack is still an amateur at this kind of thing, but Angel's been dealing in deceit and double-crossing for years. She knew I'd never believe she talked unless there was some physical damage. Some cuts and bruises. I suspect she talked Blackjack into hitting her, but he couldn't keep at it as much as she wanted. So she made some bruises of her own. There's a lot more power in the grip upside down when you're choking yourself." He smiled at Blackjack. "How am I doing, Doc?"