David Robbins - Twin Cities Run

“Good. You can leave in an hour. There is plenty of daylight left.” Paul walked from the room, pausing at the door. “You will take care of yourself?

We can’t allow anything to happen to you.”

“I will take care,” Joshua promised.

Paul nodded and left.

Joshua smiled, surprised at himself. He had deliberately deceived a brother, a fellow son of God. What in the world was happening to him?

First he’d killed. Now he’d lied. What was next? Would he lust after a woman? But his deception was justified, he mentally noted. And he hadn’t lied in every respect. He would go with them to the point where the Wacks had attacked. Then, when an opportunity presented itself, he would sneak away from his escort and find the Porns. It shouldn’t be too terribly difficult. If he headed west, and avoided the Wacks, sooner or later he would meet the Porns. He would convince them to take him to their leader, and he would prevail upon this Maggot to arrange a meeting with Paul. It could be done! Paul was too pessimistic. The Porns couldn’t be that bad! There had to be a glimmer of decency remaining in their jaded souls, and there was only one way to find out.

Joshua smiled.

Hickok would be pleased. This type of devious action was his forte.

Yes, sir! He was really getting the hang of this Warrior business.

Besides, the Spirit would preserve him. What could possibly go wrong?

If they didn’t kill him soon, the blistering heat would.

Blade tried to avert his eyes from the sun, now directly over his head, at the midday position. Another hot August day was halfway done, another day of baking and sweltering and suffering.

How much longer would they keep him in suspense?

Blade recalled his shock upon awakening after the attack on University Avenue. He had found himself completely naked, tied to four stakes imbedded in the earth, his body spread-eagled, face up. Before him had loomed a large gray structure, six stories in height, with most of the windows broken out, the entire building in disrepair. Twenty feet off the ground, no doubt still intact because it was out of reach, had hung a faded, dirty sign. Some of the letters had been smudged, others missing, but sufficient had remained to inform Blade that he was outside a division of the Minnesota State Hospital, a subbranch called The Minnesota Hospital for the Criminally Insane.

Damn!

For over two days he’d lain there in the open, exposed and vulnerable, waiting for the Wacks to finish him.

Why hadn’t they?

A shadow fell across his face and he squinted up, recognizing Clorg, the Wacks’ leader, a lumbering mass of solid muscle. Clorg wore tattered rags, and his body reeked. Blade doubted the hulking lunatic had taken a bath in his entire life.

Clorg flashed a toothless grin at Blade. “Big Man hungry? Big Man hungry?”

Blade frowned, angry. Clorg came by several dozen times a day to ask questions, to tease him the way a child would tease an adult. He refused to respond.

Clorg drew back his right foot and kicked Blade in the side.

Blade squirmed, pain spinning his vision, the tight ropes around his wrists and his ankles tearing into his flesh. He wondered if he would lose the use of his extremities. Whoever had tied him to the stakes while he was unconscious had done an excellent job. The rope was so secure, so taut, his circulation was almost cut off. His hands and feet were numb.

“Is thirsty? Is thirsty?” Clorg leaned over the captive, leering.

Blade elected to avoid another blow by answering. “I could use some water,” he admitted.

Clorg roared with laughter. “Funny! Funny! Funny!”

If I could just break free, Blade thought, grimacing, I’d throttle your stinking neck!

Another Wack joined them, a weasel of a man with a twitching walk and a missing left ear.

Clorg slapped the newcomer on the arm. “Big Man wants some water!”

The other man grinned. “Does he now?”

Clorg glared down at Blade. “Fant come soon!” he bellowed. “Won’t need water! Won’t need food! Be our food!” He ambled away.

“I’m truly sorry about all this,” said the weasel.

“You are?” Blade’s throat was parched and dry, his tongue swollen. He had to strain to talk.

“Any decent person would be.”

Blade smiled, his dehydrated, split lips stretching in agony. “My name is Blade,” he offered. “What’s yours?”

The man drew himself up and, with a flourish, placed his right hand on his narrow chest. “I, sir, am a tree!”

“What?”

“Can’t you tell?” The Wack bent his arms and legs at bizarre angles from his body. “My leaves always give me away.”

Blade closed his eyes, sighing, frustrated again. How much longer? Who the hell was Fant? When would he get there? What would happen when he did?

Someone giggled.

Blade looked up. The tree was gone, and he had been replaced by a young woman and a small girl, the child not more than ten or twelve. The woman had long, filthy black hair, and wore green shorts and a blue top.

Holes had been cut in the front of the blouse, permitting the woman to stick her nipples out. Her left nipple was partially gone, and there were teeth marks on the visible portion of her breast. The girl had on a brown smock.

“I show you,” the woman said to the girl. “Watch me good and I tell you.”

“Okay, Mommy,” the girl replied.

The mother knelt next to Blade, pulling the girl down beside her.

“This important,” the woman stated. She glanced at Blade and grinned.

Blade smiled in return. He tried licking his lips. “Hi. My name is Blade.”

The mother hauled off and slapped him across the face. “You shut up!”

Blade could feel blood trickling from his mouth.

The girl reached out and touched a finger to his lips. She raised the finger, covered with blood, and placed it into her mouth.

“Watch!” the mother ordered.

The girl nodded, sucking on her finger.

What in the world did they want? Blade lowered his chin so he could keep an eye on them.

The mother, without warning, grabbed his flaccid penis and held it for the daughter to see.

No!

Blade surged against his bonds, heaving, his muscles bulging, hoping this time the ropes would break.

They didn’t.

The woman punched him on the chin, knocking him back to the ground.

Dear Spirit! Don’t let them mutilate him!

“See?” The mother pointed at his organ.

The girl nodded, still savoring the blood.

“Man,” the woman said, shaking Blade’s manhood. “Man.” She reached between her legs and touched herself. “Woman.”

The girl watched her mother’s hand.

“Woman not have sticker,” the mother stated. “See?”

The girl removed her finger from her mouth. “I see.”

“Good.”

The girl leaned over, touched Blade, then herself. “Like that?”

“Yes,” the mother nodded, releasing Blade’s penis.

Blade exhaled a sigh of relief.

“Why, Mommy?” the young girl asked earnestly. “Looks very yucky to me!”

The mother considered the question for a moment, finally smiling.

“Feels fun,” she said.

“Really?”

“Really.” The mother stood, drawing her child up.

Blade didn’t like the way the girl was staring at his organ, as if an idea had occurred to her.

“Mommy.” The girl grinned at her inspiration. “Wanna keep it.”

“What?”

“Want to cut it off and save it,” the girl stated. “Show it to friends.”

“No,” the mother replied, turning away.

The girl stamped her left foot. “Want it, Mommy! Want it!”

The mother glanced over her shoulder at her offspring. “No.”