FOURTEEN

New Arroyo

April 3rd

05:22

Chitsa saw Erica and Nathan squat down near a small grove, and hunkered down as well, her fingers still throbbing. At least two of them were broken. Erica peered between the trees for a while, and then the relieving gesture came: a fist pumped twice in her direction. Chitsa sprang to her feet, and set off back to the village. She'd get help, tell them where to go, and then check on Stephen. She hoped he was alright. There was nothing she could do for Angela and Phyllis and Sarah anymore, Erica and Nathan would have to take care of that, and not being able to do anything made her feel terrible and useless, but at least getting help was necessary too, so she might as well do that. As she ran, she briefly looked over her shoulder and just barely saw Nathan's butt and legs before they disappeared in the bushes.

"Where are you going, little girl?"

Right in front of her stood one of the reporters, the tall slim one. She'd seen him once or twice around town, and he'd always creeped her out. His hair, usually stuck to his scalp with loads of hair gel, stood upright now, in a more casual style, and even though it should have made him look less creepy, it did just the exact opposite. He'd looked like a sneaky weasel before, but now, with his hair in its 'normal' style, he looked less like a weasel and more like a wolf.

"I… I'm just – "

"Going for help?" he asked casually.

"I… look, some people took my friends and – " she tried, hoping against all hope that this guy wasn't involved. But how could he not be? He couldn't simply be out there for a midnight stroll.

The grin on his face said it all. "I know. I'm not going to be all devious and wily, that's not my job. See, I'm usually the eyes of our little group." He waved his hand dismissively. "I leave the smooth-talking to Sarah."

"To S…?"

He let out a raucous chuckle. "Your friends have one last surprise waiting for them before they pay."

Shit, that bitch was in on it. That's why she hadn't struggled. And come to think of it, that's how they'd gotten into the sick bay without the code! Shit, and they didn't know. And this guy wasn't going to let her pass. She had to think, and she had to stall. "Pay for what?"

Another raw laugh. "I'm afraid you won't get that movie villain bullshit to work with me, sweetheart. I don't provide villain speeches or lengthy expositions on the complexity and genius of our plans. All I do is make sure nobody tattles." From the pocket of his leather jacket, he produced a strip of braided leather that ended in a small metal ball. Chitsa's stomach heaved violently when she saw it.

She tried a last attempt to stop him, but before she could open her mouth, the metal ball swung faster than she could see, and with a thwock, hit her in the side of the head. Her legs gave out and she smacked down on the ground. The only sense that registered anything was her smell, the scent of wet earth crawling into her nostrils. Then the other senses came back, pounding pain in the side of her head and in the broken fingers she'd fallen on, the sound of herself moaning with every shallow breath she took, and the taste of bile in the back of her throat. Before her eyes stood the boots of the man who'd struck her down.

"The others," he said calmly, sounding far away, "they have their own ways of satisfying their needs. And so I have my own way too. I don't like physical violence. It's so heavy-handed and cheap."

Chitsa tried to push herself up on her arms, but the blow to her head had taken all her strength.

"Killing people outright is also, I don't know, way to easy," he went on. "I prefer something a bit more lasting. Something that scars the soul, not the body."

Oh my God he's going to rape me

"Not rape either," he said as if reading her thoughts, still sounding casual, making the ailing Chitsa feel at least somewhat relieved. "Rape is a selfish form of punishment. And punishment should be all about the victim."

"Just… do what you're gonna do," Chitsa breathed, still incapable of getting up.

The man standing over her let out an irritated sigh. "Fine. Then I'll spare you the psychological motivation behind my intended course of action. I'll tell you one thing though, just because I'm such a neat guy, I'll give you a sporting chance to get back to your village. Hell, I'm even going to let you off without a scratch."

Holy shit he's not going to kill me I'm going to live through this

Shut up he'll probably just give you a head start of one second and then kill you anyway

Maybe but it's better than nothing

"But before I do, I want to give you a little something to remember us by."

She heard the sound of a zipper opening above her head, and realized what was going to happen just in time to shield most of her head with her hands before the stream of sickeningly warm, stinking liquid splashed down on her.

"Put 'em in here. They can share a cell," Jacob ordered calmly. The fat toad reporter was holding a dazed Angela by the upper arm, having to almost drag her along after the tall, slim one had clubbed her over the head with his rifle butt, and Jacob himself carried the unconscious Phyllis, surprisingly gently. He probably wanted to keep her unharmed so he could inflict all the more pain on her when she was back awake. He'd socked her straight in the chin when they'd taken them, though, because she'd been pummeling the fat man, screaming and kicking. Angela didn't know Ian had been in there with her, and so she didn't know he was already dead. She'd seen Gray out of the corner of her eye though, on the ground, but still moving, trying to get to his feet but only half-conscious. They'd probably killed him afterward. Angela felt tears coming up, but she pushed them back. Right now they had to think of themselves and try to somehow survive this. Sarah had come quietly, and that probably had been wiser. She'd even managed to get hold of her glasses before they'd taken her. Angela tried to exchange an encouraging glance with her, but she struck her gaze downwards.

How had they gotten into the sick bay? Phyllis couldn't have given them the code, they'd dragged her out along with Angela and Sarah. How they Hell had they gotten in? Gray would have died before giving them the code, and Chitsa… she hadn't seen Chitsa. Could she have…? Did she even know the code in the first place? Angela thought she didn't. And even if she did, Angela liked to think Chitsa would have been tough enough not to divulge the code just like that. Besides, Gray would have defended her, and never have given them the time to torture anything out of her. That he'd still been alive when they'd come into the sick bay made it pretty certain that it hadn't been Chitsa. Of course, they could have snatched her and then –

Gah, it was useless breaking her head over this. Better to use her energy to think of a way out. She was less dizzy than she pretended to be, but as long as they thought she was groggy, they'd consider her less of a threat. Meanwhile, she could think of a way to get out of here. Overpowering them wasn't an option. These guys weren't choirboys, and Phyllis was out cold . And even if she wasn't, she was pregnant, and not much of a scrapper to begin with. As for Sarah, she seemed totally resigned. Strange for someone who'd, as Angela had been told, slashed some guy who attacked her to ribbons like a knife maniac from Hell.

Christ, and they were all in their underwear. Angela felt completely naked and exposed, and she guessed the others did too. Maybe that was what had taken the fight out of Sarah. It's not easy, fighting naked. Or half-naked. She cast a brief glance at Phyllis, somewhat relieved that she still breathed. Her eyes were closed and she looked asleep, apart from the red, swollen bruise forming on her chin. Poor Phyllis. Whatever happened, Angela resolved to do everything she could to make Phyllis survive this. It was only fair, and truthfully, she still would have made that decision if Phyllis hadn't broughtell her back from the brink of death a week ago that now seemed like an eternity.

"Seems our other guest has escaped," 'Jacob' remarked, pointing at the pair of lone blue jeans lying on the linoleum floor of the prison cell. They were undoubtedly Chris'. So they'd gotten him too. Angela's heart briefly sunk, but then, he seemed to have escaped, so poo to Jacob and his buddies. A hard push to the back propelled her into the cell, along with Sarah. Phyllis was rather roughly laid down on the ground, and to Phyllis' surprise, Jacob whacked his fat-faced partner over the head with the flat of his hand. "Be gentle, god dammit. They still have to last a good long time."

Any hopes the slap on the head had given Angela, were immediately dashed.

At least Chris had gotten away. Who knows, he might come back to save them. Gotta keep hoping, right?

With a metal bang, the jail door closed.

Chitsa's tears mixed with the stuff on her face as she lay on the ground, her body contracting itself into fetal position. The smell tore into her nostrils and the revolting warmth of the liquid had dissipated and now the weak night breeze on her skin and though her wet clothes made her shiver, but the cold was the least of her torments right now. The bastard had done his business and simply walked off, leaving her where she lay. She'd half-expected to still get a bullet through her head, but that hadn't happened. So at least he'd left her her life, as he'd promised.

get up and find help damn you

I just want to lie here maybe sleep or just lie here until I feel better

it's not about what you want you selfish girl

I'm probably too late anyway

yeah that's a nice cop-out I don't care how bad you feel get up get up get up GET UP

Chitsa clambered to her feet, hugging herself against the cold. The wind bit even harder when she was upright, but she staggered towards the village nonetheless, her teeth chattering, and her muscles sore from shivering. She had to find help, but not like this. Not like this.

When she reached the outskirts of the village, she found herself in Chris' garden. It tore her heart even further to see the gravestone dedicated to Lysanna and her unborn children knocked over, on its side, and with large red letters "CUNT" written on it.

Swaying from side to side, she stopped at the brook at the foot of the desecrated gravestone. She closed her eyes and let herself fall forward. The icy cold of the water smashed into her, freezing her to the bone with its cleansing voracity, and she went under.

His head still spinning, Stephen Gray staggered out of Phyllis' house. He'd left the sarge where he was, even though it broke his heart. The dead could wait, he had to take care of the living now. That they hadn't put a bullet in his head was a miracle, but he didn't have time to thank the heavens or whatever right now. He had to find help, or find Chitsa. Preferably both. She'd managed to escape, of that he was sure. The moccasin left over in the grass just outside the house was proof of that. But that didn't mean she couldn't still be in danger. Blood still ran down the side of his face, but most of it had caked to a sticky warm crust, so that was a good sign. For all that it mattered.

Where had she gone? God dammit, how the Hell would he find her? But just as despair came over him, he saw the print of a bare foot in the earth at his feet. And several more, some bare, some booted, went off in the same direction a few metres to the left. She'd followed them. Good judgment, but also the most dangerous thing to do. And that also meant he could follow them all at the same time. He set off walking, only to slap himself on the head after a few hundred metres for forgetting his shotgun.

"What do you say we get started?" the tall, slim 'reporter' asked his 'colleagues'. He'd just returned from doing fuck-knows-what, but the smirk on his narrow face made it clear it probably had been something immensely satisfying. Angela had resigned herself to sitting in the corner, hugging her legs and looking at the bastards as angrily as possible. Phyllis sat beside her, doing the same thing, only her pregnant belly made any leg-hugging substantially more difficult. She'd gotten her full consciousness back after a few minutes, and it hadn't been necessary to explain to her what had happened. Neither of them knew what had happened to Mills yet. Sarah sat close to them, leaning against the other wall, her legs out on front of her, looking at the ceiling. Angela didn't know what she was doing. Hoping, probably.

"Hey," she said to Sarah, sounding more hoarse than she'd expected.

"Mm?" Sarah turned her head toward her, but seemed to be avoiding her eyes.

Angela extended her hand and took hold of Sarah's. "No matter what happens next, I'm happy we met, OK?"

Sarah only smiled back, feebly and sadly. Poor thing got involved in all this against her will, tried to take care of Chris, and would be rewarded by being led to the torture chamber. Angela couldn't blame her for the silent accusation.

"Yeah," 'Jacob' answered. "I thought we could start with the teacher first? We still have a score to settle, she and I."

Despite Angela's desire to be brave and not give them the satisfaction of begging, and even demanding to be first if they'd selected someone else, she felt her determination drain, and a knot in her belly took its stead. Her heart began pounding and her throat went instantly dry.

"Hey um… can't we do the preggo first?" the fat one whined. "I've never done a preggo bitch before."

Oh please no leave her alone

'Jacob' administered another slap to the back of the fat man's head. "I told you, I don't want them raped. I don't want anyone to be fooled into thinking we did this for base pleasure."

"But I – "

"Shut it, fat fuck," the slim man snapped. "Rape is selfish, and punishment should be all about the victim," he repeated the words he'd told Chitsa. "Remember what we said before we left. You only get to come along if you behave!"

Grudgingly, the fat man was quiet.

"Go on then," Angela bit at them, still determined to do whatever it took to show them she wasn't afraid. Or make them think she wasn't. She stood up. "Do whatever you want to me, you bunch of cowards. Hurt me all you want, but leave my friends alone."

"You know," 'Jacob' told her gently. "In that brief moment we met face-to-face, I couldn't help but admire your spirit. And you impress me now too."

"Well don't I feel flattered," Angela spat.

"Who knows," the man mused. "In another life, in other circumstances, if my heart still lived, we might even have been friends. It's a shame I have to do what I'm about to do, but you didn't give me any other choice."

"Why the Hell are you even doing this?" she shouted. "What kind of sick, crazy fucker are you?"

He smirked. "I'll tell you everything, and everything your ears can register above your screams, is yours to understand."

"Come and get me then," she barked at him. "if you dare."

"No need," Jacob said calmly, taking the rifle thin guy handed to him. "You're going to approach the bars on your own, or we start blowing some extremities off your pregnant friend here."

Phyllis shifted in fear, but with a trembling voice, she said, "Don't listen, Angie. Don't do a single thing they say. Let them shoot me. With any luck I'll bleed out before they can start work on me, and they'll do me a favor."

"You're going to torture her to death anyway," Angela snarled. What fucking difference does it make?"

Jacob grinned, the thin man behind him doing the same. "You're right. My threat doesn't make a single difference." He lifted the rifle. "Until it's real."

A loud bang sounded, and with a flawless shot, Phyllis' left hand burst apart into unrecognizable blood and bone. The blow smacked Phyllis' arm backward, slapping it into the wall along with the splatter of blood that had been part of her hand. At the same time, Phyllis screamed, a long, horrible scream, a loud "Aaaauuuuuaaaaahhhaaaaahhh!" that made Angela's breath stop. Phyllis clutched her destroyed hand with her remaining one, rolled to her side and rocked back and forth, kicking her feet, her eyes shut tight, still wailing out her agony in sobbing, piercing screams.

Without knowing what she did, Angela roared and launched herself toward the bars, her vision blurred by her tears, clawing at the man that had dismembered her best friend. Her fingers cut the air, and with a deft move, Jacob grabbed her hands and twisted her arm so she turned around, trapping her with her back against the bars, her arms over her head. Still raging, she kicked the air and struggled frantically to get loose, but the hands held her fast, locked around her wrists in an unbreakable grip. Phyllis had stopped screaming now, still rocking, but only sobbing loudly.

Angela's burst of frenzy was over, and now she felt her limbs slowly going powerless. Poor Phyllis.

"I didn't expect you to come over here quite like this," 'Jacob' said calmly, "but you're here, that's what matters."

One of the hands holding her wrists was replaced by another, and the hand that had held her came floating before her face, a switchblade shining eagerly.

"Remember?" 'Jacob' whispered in her ear. "I said I'd start with your nose, didn't I?"

Angela kept quiet and clenched her teeth, breathing hard through her nose. Don't show them you're afraid. Don't show them you're afraid.

But she was. She wanted to pee her pants and sob like a little girl because who knows maybe if you beg they'll let you go sometimes they do sometimes all they want is for you to beg.

The edge of the switchblade set itself against her nose, and quietly, almost lovingly, the mouth next to her ear said, "Savour it, no cut is felt more intensely than the first." Those same words he'd said to her in her classroom, before he'd killed Kevin and shot her, obliterating one of her ovaries, like Phyllis had said. Phyllis, who was now letting out quiet wails as the slim man tossed a first aid kit to Sarah and told her to "Fix her up, and do it right. Don't want her bleeding out."

"I said I'd tell you everything," the man with the knife whispered, "and I will. Once I'm done with your nose, your tongue, your ears, your tits, and your clit. Or would you prefer I start with that?"

"No!" Sarah suddenly screamed loudly, jumping to her feet, the first aid kit clattering to the ground before she'd used it on Phyllis. "If you have to do it, do it quick! Not like this!"

About time she started putting up a fight. And begging was better than doing nothing.

"Gah," the slim man snorted. "I can't believe this. I fucking told you this would happen."

Tears welled up in Sarah's eyes and her hands were balled into fists. "Not the torture. Please, Dad."

… Dad?

"Dad?" Angela echoed her own thoughts. "DAD?"

The mouth next to her ear sighed, ignoring her. "For fuck's sake, girl. Way to spoil it. I thought I told you to shut up until she was almost dead, and we'd tell it to her then to give her a nice extra to take with her to Hell?"

"Dad, please," Sarah begged. Angela felt her mouth, with its broken teeth, fall open and her legs went weak, but the hands held her up. Oh God no say it isn't true.

"Sarah?" Angela asked with a reedy voice, fresh tears welling up in her eyes. "Sarah, please tell me you're not one of them." And before she knew it herself, she shrieked, "Tell me you're not one of them!"

Sarah merely lowered her head. "Sorry, Angela. Sorry, Phyllis. But even though I hate myself for using you like that, you can't be forgiven for what you did. You need to die, but… not like this. I don't want it to be like this."

The man holding Angela actually sounded intrigued. "Really. And what changed? You didn't use to mind manipulating and killing?"

"These people are real, Dad!" Sarah shouted. "The others were bastards, idiots, scum. They didn't have feelings, only needs and wants and must-haves. I've never… taken advantage of someone who actually… honestly loved me."

Now it was Angela's turn to let out a long, wailing scream. The hands let her go and she fell to her knees and hands. The barrel of the rifle was set roughly against her lower back, as the cell door opened.

"Get out here, you disobedient girl."

Like a whipped dog, her head lowered, Sarah exited the cell. "I'm… sorry, Angie."

"To Hell with your sorry," Angela growled. "And to Hell with you. If I could, I'd wring your rotten neck."

Sarah slowly walked out of the cell to rejoin her father.

With another disappointed sigh, 'Jacob' ordered Angela to, "Get that first aid kit and patch your friend up. Since my darling daughter here spoiled the surprise, might as well explain who we are and why we did it."

"Shit, door's locked," Nathan hissed to Erica. They were both hunkered down in the stairway leading to the sunken prison.

"We need to break it down," she said grimly.

"Yeah, and walk right into their bullets? Don't think so. Getting mowed down doesn't help anyone."

"Fuck, then get my lockpicks out of my backpack," Erica told him, turning her back to him. "It's been ages since I used them, but I'll work as fast as I can."

"Was that a shot?"

"What?"

"I think I heard a shot in there. Fucking sound proof doors."

"Shit," Erica hissed. "Come on, give me my lockpicks!"

The water had been knives stabbing Chitsa to the bone with its cold first, but now it had made her numb and sleepy, all in the few seconds she'd been under. The brook wasn't deeper than a metre, but it was all she needed. And during those few seconds, it felt like she forgot everything, all the pain, all the fear, all the bad things that had ever happened. They were the most blissful seconds of her life, and though she'd known intense joy in the years she'd been alive, she'd never felt like this, completely unconcerned and carefree. Maybe she had, once, but she hadn't been conscious inside the womb, so she couldn't possibly know.

The moment was shattered by two hands reaching into the water, grabbing her shoulders and pulling her up. The sound of the water splashing around her as she came up and her lungs reflexively pulled in all the air they could.

"Chitsa, what the Hell?"

Stephen?

"What the Hell are you doing? You trying to drown yourself? At a time like this? In water that's only a few feet deep? Are you crazy?"

Chitsa opened her eyes, blinked the water out of them and saw him standing in front of her, his fingers still hooked around the fabric of her shirt.

"Answer me!" he yelled, shaking her hard.

"I wasn't… wasn't…" she stammered, "trying to drown myself. I just…"

"Just what?"

"Just… needed this, okay?"

Gray opened his mouth to speak, checked, and then just grunted, "Whatever. I can't waste time trying to figure what could have possibly possessed you." He threw his jacket over her. "Come on, we gotta go help the others. Where'd they go?"

"I…" Chitsa stammered again, shivering from the cold, "I know where they are."

"Where?"

She pointed at the grove where the sunken prison lay, her teeth chattering. "Over there. Erica and Nathan are there now, keeping… keeping watch."

Gray thought for a minute, frowning at the place Chitsa had pointed to. "Alright, let's go back into town, get help."

"Where… where is everybody, Stephen?"

It was a good question. There had been shots fired, people yelling, people being taken from their house, and not a single soul had stuck their head out the window or come to investigate the sound. That just wasn't right. "I… don't know," was all he could say.

"I'm… I don't feel right about this."

"Neither do I. But we need to go get help. Come on."

Phyllis' and Chris' houses had been located somewhat at the edge of the village, and when they made their way to the centre, they saw that the police station was dark.

"What the…?" Gray muttered.

"What's wrong?"

He pointed at the windows. "Station shouldn't be deserted. There should be lights on, even at night."

"Door's ajar." Chitsa said, her good hand emerging from Gray's jacket and pointing at the door.

With a stifled "Shit", Gray pushed the door open and turned on the light. The only officer present sat behind the reception and dispatch desk, his upper body lying on the desktop and the handle of a knife sticking out of his back. It was Sean, the night dispatcher, a friendly guy who said he'd known Lys when they'd both enlisted into the Enclave. His face was on his dispatch notes. The last entry said, full mobilization at 04:29 for reliable information about butcher suspect whereabouts, sgts Pearson and Delko in command, lt. Mills unreachable.

"What the f…"

"Stephen," Chitsa called out from the doorway.

He couldn't possibly waste time trying to figure out where everybody'd gone and why someone had stabbed the poor dispatcher in the back, but when he'd seen the dead officer, he knew this was even better planned than anyone could have predicted. "What's wrong, Chitsa?"

"I… think I know why there's no people in town."

Through her tears, Angela opened the first aid kit with shaky hands and turned it over, emptying it on the linoleum.

"Phyllis, what do I do?"

Phyllis said nothing, just holding her destroyed hand, lying on her side and sobbing.

"Phyllis, come on. Please."

"Just let me bleed," Phillys whimpered.

Angela shook her head. "No way. Every minute we can stall this increases the chance of getting rescued."

"Nobody's coming, Angie."

Angela leaned in and whispered, "Chitsa got out."

Phyllis' red and teary eyes briefly went up to hers, but then they closed again. "Nobody's coming, Angie," she repeated.

"They might still come. If you won't fight for me, then do it for the kiddo in your belly."

Sharply, Phyllis' eyes again fixed on Angela's. "Damn your emotional blackmail, but you're right." She took a breath and laboriously said, "Take the pressure bandage. White-and-blue pack."

Angela scanned the clutter on the ground for the pressure bandage, found it, and tore the pack open. "Let me see your hand."

Phyllis only stared at her good hand holding the injured one, and let out a sob.

"Phyllis. Let me see."

Closing her eyes, Phyllis slowly removed her fingers. The damage was terrible, but her whole hand hadn't been destroyed as Angela had feared. Her ring and little finger were gone, the metacarpal bones blasted in half, bright white shards of bone sticking out of the red flesh. Blood streamed from the remains of Phyllis' hand, but Angela couldn't tell if it ran fast enough to be lethal. Phyllis opened her eyes, and Angela realized why she'd been so reluctant to let Angela see the injury. She hadn't dared to look herself either. She let out a quiet moan when she saw the damage, but she hung in there.

"Place… pad on bleeding."

As Angela followed Phyllis' instructions and bandaged her hand, the leader of the three men (and one woman, rotten fucking bitch!) spoke. "So, while you're doing that, we might as well tell you who we are and why we're doing it."

"By all means, asshole," Angela grunted from between clenched teeth. "Tell us what we did to deserve this."

"Well, it's not about deserve," the man told them. "It's about the consequences of what you've done."

Angela pulled the bandage around Phyllis' hand tight and with her eyes, looked for a painkiller among the junk thrown out of the medkit.

"Because of you people, you two, the walk-tough cop and that man-bitch that got her brain pulped in San Fran, my family lost everything."

Angela didn't know why she felt the need to say it, but she did it regardless. "Lara died trying to help the people of San Francisco. Don't call her a man-bitch or vulgarize how she died."

"I just did," the man simply returned. "Now, to fully explain what you did and how it led to so many things, I need to start at the beginning."

"Start by telling us your real name." A blister of heavy aspirins caught her eye and she picked it up, but Phyllis shook her head and quietly whispered, "No. Aspirin's a blood-thinner."

"Oh, my name's Jacob alright," the man replied. "But nobody knows me by that name. Anyway, I could just say I'm doing it because you killed my daughter."

"Killed your d…"

He chuckled. "You're a clever one, right, teacher girl? Nobody caught up on it, but maybe you will. Would you know who I am if I told you the fake last name I used while I stayed here? I told everyone my full name was Jacob Kermett."

Angela blinked. "Jacob K… Fucking Hell, of course!"

The man's grin widened.

"How could you not realize?" Angela blurted at Phyllis. "How could you not realize?"

Phyllis only looked at her, her face strained but her eyes not-understanding.

"Kermit the Frog! Kermit the fucking Frog!" Angela shouted. "Frog fucking Morton!"

To his fellows on the other side of the bars, the man proudly said, "See? I told you she'd get it right away."

"We killed his daughter, Phyllis. We killed Jessica Morton when we freed Lys' people in Redding," Angela whined, defeated. How could she not have seen? How could they not have seen? Phyllis closed her eyes, and Angela knew she felt the same.

"That's right. Jacob 'Frog' Morton at your service." He pointed at the slim man and the fat guy. "And may I introduce my brothers, Snake and Toad? And of course my other daughter…" he let Angela complete the sentence.

"… Newt," she breathed feebly. "Newt Morton."

His grin appeared again. "Exactly. Sarah Morton, affectionately known as Newt by most of the Wastes."

Sarah only stood looking at Angela, guilty eyes behind her glasses.

"The reptile nickname fits you," Angela spat. "Bitch."

Frog Morton merely said, "Amphibian. Anyway, now you know."

"Hadn't pegged you for the type to care about anything, Morton," Angela grunted, popping two ibuprofen tablets out of their package for Phyllis. "Not even family."

He gave a raw chuckle. "Well, you'd be correct. Jessica – or Skink Morton as our many admirers nicknamed her – was stupid and it killed her. And she wasn't much good for anything other than bringing in pussy money anyway." He said it with such ice cold nonchalance, not even sounding disapproving or disappointed, just stating it as fact. Sarah, on the other hand, visibly shrank when he said it. Good.

"So why come after us then?" Phyllis breathed, taking the pills Angela gave her with her good hand.

He sat down on the old sheriff's chair. His two brothers simply stood next to him, motionless and silent. They seemed content to let him do the talking. Making himself comfortable, with one ankle on his other leg, he explained, "See, I wouldn't bother to actually look all over for you for scragging that worthless tart and then plan all of this. Sure, I'd shoot your legs out from under you and then cut you up in small pieces and keep you alive as long as possible, but I wouldn't be bothered to set up this whole piece of theatre."

"So why then?" Angela asked. Having done all she could for Phyllis, she suddenly realized her state of undress and again felt completely naked. The air was cold on her thighs and calves and she felt her nipples stand up hard against her shirt.

Morton rose again and came closer to the bars. "Because of what it set in motion. After we'd dragged her out of the water, dismembered, her legs entangled in her own bowels, we found our friend sheriff Marion too. And they came looking for him. When they did, word spread about Jessica."

"And your enemies smelled blood," Angela grunted.

He pointed a confirming finger at Angela. "They'd always thought we were invulnerable. Nobody messed with the Mortons, because they knew if they did, they'd be praying for death very soon. But now, someone had killed one of the family, and nobody knew who'd done it. Nobody'd been caught."

Angela felt Phyllis' good hand taking hold of hers. "And that meant other people could do it and get away with it too."

He nodded. "Exactly. One by one, we lost men. Killed at first, then injured or tortured to send a message, and finally even bribed. Bribed." He seemed genuinely bewildered at the thought. "Morton gang members, who'd rather eaten their own bowels than get caught taking bribes before, were now selling themselves out. They were more afraid of the others than they were of us."

"And that was the end of it," Snake Morton said, at last speaking. Angela felt compelled to say his fly was open, but she didn't. "Competition in our line of work is like a pack of wolves. Long as they think they can't hurt you, they won't. Gotta keep 'em too scared to realize there's much more of them than there are of you."

"But as soon as they ewise up, they'll tear you apart, and there's nothing you can do," Frog Morton finished. "And you killing my daughter, worthless trollop that she was, that was their wake-up call. That was what made them realize they were simply being too scared."

"Was nothing we could do then," Fat Toad Morton remarked.

"Once a single stone starts rolling, can't stop the avalanche," Snake offered as wisdom. Sarah – Newt Morton – still stood looking guilty.

"In the end, all we had left was family," Frog Morton finished. "And now it's time to make you both pay. You're the last."

"There's still Chris," Angela said defiantly. "You didn't get him, did you?"

Morton chuckled. "Oh, we don't have to. Not only is he the New Arroyo butcher to the whole world, but he'll soon get a nasty surprise."

"If he hasn't gotten it already," Snake added cruelly.

Angela's heart sank, but she didn't show it. Stall! Keep stalling! "I still don't understand wh – "

"No," Morton cut her off. "No more talking. Leave the nurse and come here. Time to finish what we started in your classroom."

"I still have qu – "

"No questions," Morton said, calmly but finally, extending his hand towards his brother for the rifle.

Scared though she was, Angela couldn't bear to see Phyllis get maimed again. "No. No need. I'll come." Be strong. Do it for Phyllis. Slowly, she approached the bars. When she did, Morton's hand deftly grabbed her wrist and he forced her back into the position he'd held her in before. Again the knife came up.

"Uncle, please – " Sarah's whiny voice came from behind her.

"Shut up, Sarah," Morton snapped. "You know this has to be done."

"Sarah," Phyllis said hoarsely from the ground. "You can still stop this."

Sarah remained silent.

Morton's knife slowly, gently came to rest on the bridge of Angela's nose. Angela's sight blurred with tears, and before the first cut came, she said, "I love you Phyllis. Please don't look. Cover your ears."

Her eyes pressed closed, tears pushing out between them, Phyllis said, "I love you too, Angela. They can't torture that out of us."

As the pressure of the sharp edge of the knife slowly increased, and the blade drew a single drop of blood, Angela closed her eyes and prayed for a miracle.

"What the Hell?" Gray breathed as he looked at the town square, and the lights dancing on it. It was a night for what-the-hells. In the square, a few hundred meters away, the lights of torches could clearly be seen. And not just a few. It looked like a large mob had gathered.

"We have to go see," Chitsa said quietly, pulling Gray's jacket tighter around herself. "Some of them might be able to help."

"Whatever it is, we need to get over there," Gray agreed, breaking into a run. Behind him, he heard Chitsa do the same, but regardless, he still said, "Stay close to me no matter what happens, alright?"

They cleared the distance to the square quickly. As they closed in, they saw that the group of people was an actual mob. Gray counted about two hundred people. Almost the entire town population. And as they got closer, they heard them shouting and cheering. What in the hells was going on?

"Stephen!" Chitsa breathed. "Look! That's… that's…"

Being dragged through the mob, bloodied and beaten and dressed only in his boxers and a torn T-shirt, was Chris Wright. He had been thrashed to within an inch of his life, and looked only half-conscious.

"Hey! What the Hell is going on here!" Gray shouted at the mob. They promptly fell silent and stared at him, the flames of their torches flickering red and yellow on their faces, in the shadow of Lysanna's statue.

Chris was being held by two people, one male and the other female. And Gray instantly recognized the woman. "Rebecca! Are you insane?"

"What are you doing, Rebecca?" Chitsa called out next to him.

"Stay out of this, cop," the man holding Chris snarled in her stead. "You people did nothing for us! You couldn't catch the butcher, one of yours, and we did! We're the law now! The people are the law now!"

"Damon, for God's sake," Chitsa called to him. "You've got the wrong man!"

"Bullshit! He did it!" the man shouted back. "You know he did it! The evidence – "

"There is no evidence, only rumors," Gray yelled. "Let Chris go, he didn't do it!"

"And even if he did," Chitsa attempted. "Will that bring Kevin back? What you're doing right now?"

Shit, Gray realized. It was Damon Elger, the father of Kevin, the kid that had been killed when the butcher had gone after Angela, those millions of years ago.

"Nothing will bring Kevin back!" Elger spat. "But the man that killed him is going to Hell tonight, and if Kevin won't come back, then at least he can see his murderer burn while he looks on from Heaven!"

"This isn't justice, Elger!" Gray shouted. "Rebecca! Stop this madness!"

"He killed my Christina!" Rebecca shrieked. "Shot her like a dog and didn't even bury her!" Her eyes were hysterical.

"Chrissy was killed by a laser p – " Gray began, but Elger pointed a finger at him and shouted, "Get them!"

Before Gray or Chitsa realized what happened, several members of the mob flew forward and were upon them. Chitsa was tackled to the ground by four men, and Gray had five people body-slamming into him. He struggled to stay on his feet, but the weight and force were too much, and he was down before he could even stagger backwards.

"Hold them!" Elger shouted over the clamor, and thankfully, the men that had taken them to the ground did as they were told, content with immobilizing their new captives. Gray felt a knee press hard into his back and an elbow in his neck, but apart from that, they didn't injure him. Chitsa wailed, "Ow! My fingers! My fingers are broken!" and they promptly let her free one of her arms. Gray's heart broke when he saw her hand with the swollen fingers. The men on top of her immediately immobilized her again when her hand was freed. They thankfully weren't crazed enough to hurt them. At least not yet.

"Good," Elger panted, assuring himself that they were both securely immobilized. "Don't hurt them. They can watch or close their eyes, whatever they want."

With that, Elger turned back to Chris and rammed his fist straight into his face, whipping Chris' head back. "Now it's time to mete out justice!"

Angela could do nothing but hope for a miracle, an intervention, divine or not, she didn't care, but anything! But she felt the pop of her skin as it gave way and the knife drew its first blood. He'd start sawing now, cutting off her nose. Again she told Phyllis, "Close your eyes, Phyllis. Don't look."

"Be strong, Angie," came her tearful reply.

Please help me whoever or whatever you are help me through this

The knife was pulled sharply away from her nose, making a small scratch as it did so, when the bang of the door to the prison being thrown open made Angela open her eyes.

"Fuck!" the thin man shouted, reaching for his rifle. Erica Tilman and Nathan Brooks (where the fuck did they come from?) fired simultaneously, one shot tearing off a chunk of Snake Morton's throat, the other hitting him in the front teeth, passing through his head, and destroying his brain stem. With lightning reflexes, his brother threw himself to the side, knife still in hand, and flew through the doorway leading to the adjacent room. Toad Morton was less fortunate, reaching for the pistol at his back too slowly, Nathan placing a bullet perfectly in the center of his forehead, blowing his brains out the back of his head. Sarah did the same as her father, only throwing herself to the ground to avoid the bullets.

"My God are we happy to – " Angela began, but Erica curtly shut her up. "No time. Let's get you out of here."

"Take care of them," Nathan barked, then disappeared through the door Frog Morton had leapt through.

Angela picked up the pistol dropped by Toad Morton, holding it awkwardly in both hands like she always did, and snapped at Sarah, "Keys, bitch."

Sullenly, Sarah rose and did as she was told, tossing her the key ring.

"Fuck," Nathan grunted, coming back through the door. "Collapsed police line-up room with a long-ass tunnel. Pitch dark, I'm a sitting duck if I go after him."

"Okay," Erica said with a nod. "Let's get these two out first."

"Can you walk, Phyllis?" Angela growled.

"I… think so."

Angela briefly nodded. "Then stay outside and wait for me there. I'll be right there."

"Angie – "

"Do it, Phyllis. I have some questions for Sarah, and I want the answers."

"You sure, miss Bishop?" Erica asked.

Angela nodded curtly. "Angie's fine. And yeah, I'm sure. I need to know some things."

"Alright."

Nathan helped Phyllis to her feet. "Geez, Phyllis, what did they do to y – "

"Doesn't matter, Nathan," she cut him off gently. "Thank you for saving us. They were going to…" her voice trailed off.

"It's alright, come on," Erica said, taking her good hand. "Let's get you out of here."

They went up the stairs and left Angela and Sarah alone in the room, Angela still in the cell, Sarah on the other side of the bars. Both in their underwear, Angela's short white boyshorts and top, smeared with Phyllis' blood, and Sarah in her azure panties and T-shirt.

"Angela, I'm s – "

"Not interested," she cut her off. "I just want to know one thing. What part of it was real?"

"Part of wh – "

"The feelings you said you had!" she snapped. "Was it all just a lie? All of it?"

Sarah sighed and looked at the ground. "You have to understand. I didn't want to use your feelings against you. They told me how you were responsible for all that had happened, and when we decided to execute our plan, I didn't know anything about you!"

"So it was all fake?"

Quietly, Sarah simply said, "Yes."

She didn't know it was still possible, but Angela felt her heart break even further. Not a single bit of it had been real. All she'd wanted was to just be with this girl forever, and it had all been a lie. She'd felt so immensely happy resting her head on her chest, and it had all been fake. Fresh tears welled up in her eyes and she wiped them away. The pistol slipped from between her powerless fingers and clattered to the ground, bouncing through the bars, out of Angela's reach. She didn't even care.

"But I swear, Angela, if I'd known you'd feel this way, I never would have – "

"But you did."

Sarah's eyes went to the pistol on the ground and she saw her chance. "Angela, I'm going to walk out now. I'm going to follow my father through the tunnel and meet up with him at the end. I'm sorry for everything, but we're simply not on the same side. I don't think we'll meet again." She kicked the pistol away and turned to walk away. "Don't come after me."

It was as if time slowed when Sarah turned around, and Angela knew what she had to do. It was not a question of wanting, it was simply the fact that Sarah had to pay. Like the others. She'd taken advantage of the purest, most honest feeling Angela could possibly feel, and now she announced that she was going to walk out and vanish, unpunished. Angela had never been a hateful person, but letting this woman leave would be emotional suicide.

With a lucidity and speed of thinking she was too hateful to be amazed by, she snatched up Chris' jeans by the ends of the legs and threw the crotch over Sarah's head, noosing her neck, and then pulled as hard as she could.

With a surprised "Urk!", Sarah was pulled against the bars, the crotch of Chris' jeans closing off her windpipe as the back of her head hit the bars with a loud ding. Sarah's arms flailed in front of her for a brief moment, then her fingers tried to get themselves in between the jeans and her throat, but Angela simply pulled harder and began twisting the jeans in her hands, twisting and twisting again and again until the pair of jeans had become a tight light blue spiral constricting the woman in their grip. Sarah began to make choking sounds, clawing at the noose around her neck and at the bars she was pulled against, but Angela only pulled harder. While she did so, she felt the muscles of her face contorted into a horrible insane grimace. She set her foot against the bars and pulled harder.

"A…ng…e…" Sarah managed to croak. "Pl… ease."

But no pleading, no begging, nothing could have stopped Angela. She twisted the jeans again, and she saw the strength go out of Sarah's legs. They gave a few more kicks, and abruptly, with a loud, wet farting sound, the back of Sarah's panties was soaked brown as she filled them up with the wet, stinking contents of her bowels, the final fitting indignity for this evil, manipulating, beautiful woman.

Angela's fingers let go of the jeans, and Sarah's weight pulled them out of their helix, the legs of the pants describing circles as Sarah's dead body dragged them off the bars. Her dead legs crumpled up beneath her, and she fell forward, her face smacking into the floor, breaking her cute oval glasses with a single clink.

Then Angela's legs gave out as well and she collapsed to the floor, bursting into tears. How she'd wanted to be with her. And like with Lysanna, she'd never even had a fighting chance, doomed from the start.

As if rehearsed, the entire mob surged forward, engulfing Chris. Gray tried shouting for them to stop, but with the men holding him down and pressing on his lungs, only a feeble wheeze came out.

"They're going to kill him, Stephen!" Chitsa moaned. And then to the mob, "Please stop! STOP DAMMIT WHAT ARE YOU DOING?"

Gray could only look on as the mob, under Elger's command, dispersed again, and he saw Chris, beaten even worse than before, with what little clothing he'd had left torn from his body. Elger stepped forward, lashed his wrists together with the rope one of the mob members had on him, and threw the rest of the rope over one of the iron bars of a lamp post, pulling until Chris was completely pulled upright.

"This is enough!" a young man with round glasses and blond curls shouted from inside the crowd. "You can't do this! We don't even know if he's guilty!"

Gray had seen the man before. He was a young historian, come to settle in New Arroyo with his writer girlfriend to chronicle the founding and expansion of the town.

"Silence!" Elger shouted, and with a hand gesture, he commanded several men to grab the historian and his girlfriend, and they were dragged to where Chitsa and Gray lay, only they were allowed to stay on their feet, only restrained by their arms.

"My God," the historian breathed. "This is a lynching."

"It wasn't supposed to be like this," the girl panted. "We were going to drag him to the police station," she explained to Gray, "to have him put on trial. But then Elger and Rebecca – "

"Quiet," one of the men holding her shouted into her ear. She promptly shut up.

"Now let justice be served," Elger intoned, pointing at the man they'd originally intended to take to the police station.

Gray, Chitsa and the young couple were completely powerless, forced to watch as Chris, utterly naked, was drenched with two jerrycans of gasoline, suspended from the lamp post. His face was completely bloody and swollen, and the rest of his body was riddled with bruises, chafes and even scratch wounds.

Kevin Elger's father grabbed the hair clinging to Chris' forehead and pulled his face up. "Do you have any last words before we give you a taste of what Hell has in store for you, you murdering bastard?"

The crowd had fallen completely silent, waiting for Chris' answer. Only half-conscious, Chris slurred from between broken teeth and with burst lips, "Get it… over with so I can… go see my children… and their mother."

His face hard and merciless, Elger nodded and lit a match, holding it between their faces. "Then let this fire take you into the abyss!"

Both Gray and Chitsa closed their eyes as Elger stepped back and dropped the match at Chris' feet. All they heard was the roar as the flames and the one being consumed by them formed a single voice.

EPILOGUE

Stephen Gray and Chitsa were released unharmed by the mob after Chris Wright's lynching. After the fires died down and the police force returned, Gray immediately arrested Damon Elger, Rebecca Davis and several other ringleaders of the lynch mob. All of them came willingly, the madness having left them, leaving their fate in the hands of the still-to-be-erected New Arroyo court. Stephen Gray would go on to become the new Chief of Police, and under his leadership, the New Arroyo police force slowly recovered from its failure.

Chitsa never told anyone about what Snake Morton had done to her, not even her future husband. Despite the pain of bearing the secret alone, she and Stephen Gray shared a happy and fulfilled life together, marrying a year and a half after the week of the butcher, and growing old together until one day, on a cold but sunny spring morning, an eighty-two-year-old Chitsa rested her head on her sleeping husband's shoulder, closed her eyes and didn't wake up. Her husband awakened, closed his eyes again and without regrets, followed his wife to a dreamless and eternal sleep.

Kingsley Delko and Rob Pearson were devastated when they found out they'd led the entire police force away on a wild goose chase and allowed the lynching to take place. Rob Pearson would never recover from the guilt, committing suicide by gunshot several weeks later. Kingsley Delko fared better, forgiving himself after a long and painful process and becoming promoted to lieutenant, performing his service to the people of New Arroyo in an exemplary and inspiring manner. He died of cardiac arrest at the age of sixty-seven.

Erica Tilman and Nathan Brooks, after taking Phyllis to safety, helped the completely disorganized police force secure and clean up the town. Both would continue their scavenging and trading ways, providing invaluable service to the town until their age forced them into retirement.

Damon Elger, Rebecca Davis and the other prominent lynch mob members were convicted to ten years in prison. After the evidence clearing Chris Wright of the butcher murders was released during the trial, none of the convicted appealed their sentence. Damon Elger committed suicide in prison, Rebecca was released after five years and lived out her remaining years troubled and tormented.

Randle's image as mayor had been forever stained by the ineptitude with which the city had handled the butcher murders, and he didn't even appear as candidate for the next mayoral elections, instead slowly and intentionally fading into obscurity, taking a job in construction and after the shame faded away, becoming happier than he had been as mayor, his inner peace at last allowing him to issue a belated but well-received public apology, and to finally leave it all behind him. No one ever knew exactly what his relationship with his late sister had been, and those who suspected were content to leave the past alone.

Snake, Toad and Newt Morton were left where they'd fallen, three carcasses left to rot in the old sheriff's office buried under tons of bulldozered earth.

Jacob 'Frog' Morton was never found, and never returned. Rumors reached New Arroyo periodically about his whereabouts or supposed demise, but none of them were ever confirmed. The New Arroyo butcher had simply disappeared, some of the more tenacious stories claiming that he'd gone east, into the desert, and vanished there.

Phyllis Brannigan buried her husband with a serene and small service, inviting only close friends. Stephen Gray felt torn between his sense of honesty towards Phyllis and his sense of loyalty towards his fallen life-long friend, and despite a severe crisis of conscience, he kept his sarge's secret, sparing Phyllis the pain of knowing the truth, and Ian Mills the posthumous disgrace. Phyllis' supposed daughter would unexpectedly turn out to be a son, but the child was born perfectly healthy and just as welcome. The name Phyllis chose was, as could be expected, Christopher. All the love she gave him was returned ten times over, and as she cared for him during his childhood, her son cared for her in her last years.

From the prison she'd been held in by Frog Morton's band, Angela Bishop emerged empty inside, her heart broken. For the second time, she'd thought she'd found the love of her life, and for the second time, her love had been out of reach, denying her every chance from the very start. Even for an optimistic, resilient individual like Angela, it took time to recover. She moved in with Phyllis Brannigan for a while, both finding strength in each other. Gossiping tongues found their close friendship a juicy subject, but neither of them paid a lot of mind to it. A year later, Angela met a traveler from the old Mexican region, and while teaching her the language, fell in love with her, finally having her dream of finding someone to love fulfilled when the other girl returned her affection and they both found the missing piece of themselves. The pieces would stay in place for the rest of their lives.

As the years passed, Lysanna, Kyle Daniels, Cassidy MacRae, Lara Bayley, Matt Daniels, Yuna Kachiko, Sheriff Marion, Ahreen, Jessie Anderton, Chrissy Davis, Matthew Frobisher, Ian Mills, Chris Wright, and all the others who had lost or given their lives in the time between the old Arroyo drought and the end of the New Arroyo murders, and without whom, each in their own way, the existence of New Arroyo had been impossible, were forgotten, gradually becoming names on tombstones or monuments, until their names had no more meaning than the names in history books. The emotions, hopes, dreams, fears, and pains they'd all felt slowly faded until eventually, the memory of the memory of them had become nonexistent, taken, as all and always, by the unfeeling cruelty of time.

The young historian and writer couple who'd tried to stop the lynch mob remained in New Arroyo, deeply scarred from the occurrence, as all people in New Arroyo were, even those who'd given in and joined the lynching – especially those – and completed a book on the entire history of New Arroyo, with Phyllis and Angela as their two main sources concerning the town's founding and the events leading to it. Both Phyllis and Angela had demanded that the full story of Lysanna's travels be included. The book ended with reflections on the events during the week of the butcher, and the dangers of judgment without knowledge of facts. The couple, popular and well-liked in the town, soon had their first and only child, a tomboy with an unexpected aptitude with tools, electronics and machines, and no interest in history, to her parents' loving chagrin. The child soon became a teenager whose resourceful nature quickly landed her a job repairing and delivering items. On her sixteenth birthday, she was contracted by a large courier company to deliver a very small package deep in the Mojave desert and was never seen again, but that is a story of its own, deserving of its own telling on its own pages. It is a story of cold-blooded murder and warm-hearted salvation, of a bullet in the head and a hole in the heart, of whiskey in the jar and stars in the eyes, of ghosts and shackles, of friendship and hatred, of betrayal and vengeance, loneliness and companionship, greed and altruism, slavery and freedom, egotism and selflessness. And as all stories do, it will lead to one inevitable and eternal conclusion: that of human beings senselessly destroying each other in the fires of war.

Because war… war never changes.