BJ Knights - The City Burns

Mike set the bucket down. Bob ripped off the soaked cloth and threw it over his shoulder. Brian let go of his hair. The prisoner violently coughed in an endless motion that was painful to listen to. He vomited water over his chest as snot dribbled down his nose. He felt the uncomfortable slosh of his own blood, sweat, and dirt trickle down his legs.

Barely recovered from the most recent ordeal, a smashing blow came to his stomach, causing more water to spew from his mouth. He doubled over and gasped for breath, but he couldn’t find any. Mike sent another blow to the side of the prisoner’s face. Blood gushed from his open wounds and splattered on the ground. The prisoner spit out a tooth as his head hung limp on his shoulders. Mike went and picked up the tooth on the ground. Blood pooled from his battered knuckles as he held the tooth up to the light. “Well now, you should keep this under your pillow tonight.”

Mike spun his head around to Brian and Bob. He started to laugh. “Maybe the tooth fairy will bring you something nice.” He tossed the tooth over to Bob. Mike put his hands on his hips and tilted his head to the side as he looked at the naked, beaten, and bloody man in front of him. “Well?” The man’s head just swayed in delirium. His thoughts were jumbled. There was a sharp pain in his side whenever he took a breath. He started to wheeze as his head finally came to a rest.

Mike rammed his fist into Jim’s face. He hit him again and again. Each time more blood flew to the ground in red droplets. The cuts across the prisoner’s face gushed open and he moaned as he spit up blood. Brian walked up and pounded away at his gut. Every blow that hit him made him feel as though his insides were collapsed. Brian threw one final punch into the prisoner’s stomach and there was a loud crack. Mike and Bob started to clap. “Sounds like you cracked his ribs, Brian. Well done,” said Mike.

Mike shook his head as he wiped the blood from his knuckles on his shirt. “Okay, it looks like we’ll have to try something a little different.” Bob walked over and handed Mike a file. He flipped open the vanilla cover and turned over several pieces of paper. “It doesn’t seem that I’m going to be able persuade you to tell me what I want to hear.”

Blood dripped from two fingers on his left hand. He could feel everything in those exposed fingertips. It was like knives were driving through them. Mike smiled as he took out a picture from the file. He held it under the light to get a better look at it. “Oh, here we go,” he said. “Hey, buddy, this might lift your spirits up.” Mike tilted the man’s head up so he could get a good look at the picture. A young girl sat playing with a cat outside of a tent.

“You’re little girl’s looking like she’s doin’ pretty good,” Mike said. “You think if we bring her over here it’ll refresh your memory?” The prisoner’s heart was thumping out of his chest. “If you hurt my daughter I swear to God—“

Mike cut him off. He flipped another picture in front of him. “Then how about your wife? I’ve gotta tell you, man,” he said while letting out a long whistle, “she’s got a nice little ass.” Mike leaned in to his ear and whispered again. “I’d hate to ruin those pretty little nails of hers, Mr. Kearny.” Matt Kearny pulled against his restraints as he summoned what was left of his strength, but it didn’t amount to much. He was weak. He was beaten. His family was in trouble. He stared at the picture of his wife and little girl in front of him.

Then he saw something. He saw someone in the picture he thought he recognized. The man was in the top right hand corner of the picture. He should have made the connection when he saw his daughter playing with the cat. Once he knew who it was he started to laugh. It started slow, but grew louder. It sounded like the laugh of a mad man.

“You think this is a game?” Mike threw the file across the room. He leaned into Matt as his laughter winded down. “When I bring your wife, along with that little girl of yours and her fucking cat I’m going to hurt them. Do you understand me?”

Matt smiled. “That’s not my daughter’s cat.”

Tigs lied curled up next to Annie as she slept. Samantha sat on her cot as she stared at her daughter. She watched her little chest slowly rise and fall. The inside of the tent was gray with light as the sun outside struggled to break through the dawn. She rubbed her eyes as she rested her face in her palms. Two weeks. It’d been two weeks since they arrived at this refugee camp. They were plucked from their home in Phoenix and sent here. She had no idea where her husband was and no idea when she would ever see him again.

Jim Farr, her brother, poked his head through the tent door silently. His morning stubble peppered his face as he spoke, “Hey.” She whipped her head around and threw her hand over her mouth. “Jim, you scared me,” she said.

“Sorry,” he replied. He stepped inside as Tigs tilted her head up and ran over to him. He reached down to scoop her up and scratched her ears. Jim placed her back down and glanced over to his sister who was still watching her daughter. Her eyes filled up as he walked over and sat next to her on the cot. He wrapped his arms around her. “We’ll find him, Sammy,” he said. She leaned her head into his chest as he rested his chin on her head. “Once they get their communications back up here they’ll be able to give us some more information,” Jim reassured her. Samantha believed that lie about as much as Jim did. “Yeah, because they were so willing to share before everything went to shit,” she said.

“I thought we weren’t supposed to say that word,” Annie said as her eyes slowly opened. “You told Uncle Coyle he couldn’t say it,” she said accusingly. Jim looked over at his niece. “That’s because Uncle Coyle’s met his life quota for bad words,” he said. “Your mom hasn’t.”

Annie tilted her head up and rubbed her eyes as she yawned, “Have I met my quota?”

Samantha smiled and walked over to her. Annie held her arms out and Samantha lifted her onto her lap as she sat back down on the cot. “No, but that’s because you haven’t been given a quota yet,” Samantha said.

She looked up at her mother and gave a front tooth missing grin. “When do I get mine?” she asked. “When you’re thirty,” Jim said, “And that’s also when you’re allowed to get married.” Annie gave a frown as her mother laughed. “Uncle Jim’s just kidding.” Samantha set Annie back on the ground. “It’ll be when you’re forty,” she said smiling.

Coyle tore open the tent flaps and stepped inside. He had his eyebrows raised and his wild hair stood out in all directions. He looked like a mad scientist. “Breakfast line’s getting long,” he said. “I don’t want to have to wait thirty minutes like we did yesterday because somebody couldn’t get out of bed,” he looked accusingly at Annie who giggled.

“What’s over there today?” Jim asked.

Coyle cocked his head to the side, rested his hand under his chin, and thought really hard. “Well, Monday was gray mush. Tuesday was white mush,” he rubbed his chin and then looked at Jim with over exaggerated excitement on his face. “You think we’ll get the charcoal mush today?” The line was starting to get long, but Coyle was satisfied with their spot once a group of thirty people appeared out of nowhere and stood behind them.

People were slowly crawling out of their army issued relief tents and stretched their bodies in the morning sun. More people were arriving every day. Los Angeles, San Diego, Phoenix, Las Vegas, there wasn’t a major city in the southwest United States that didn’t get hit by some sort of attack.