Thirty-six
Caitlin never lost consciousness entirely. She
drifted in and out of a state of shock. When the confusion cleared away,
she found herself covered by a grimy sheet pulled to her chin, her wrists
and ankles tied to the corners of a folding cot. Her black dress had been
getting too tight, so she could tell that they had taken it off.
The cot she lay upon centered the inside of a large
tent. A camcorder on a tripod stood at the foot of the cot, its glass eye
staring down at her. Numerous kerosene lanterns lined the inside wall of
the tent, filling it with a bright orange light and a bluish haze of
fumes.
Derek pushed a flap aside and entered. He pulled a
folding chair around and sat at her side. "You killed five of our best
men tonight."
Which meant that she herself was going to die.
"We break about even," Derek said. "You're worth
five men. What the hell. I recruit en route anyhow."
Caitlin did not understand the game he was playing.
"You notice that the little red light glowing on the
camcorder?"
Caitlin hadn't noticed.
"That means the curtain is up," Derek said. "The
show is on the road. This is where it all starts, where the audience
reads the title and credits and all that crap. Except we can do without a
title, and we don't need a director and all that jazz. All we need is a
star for our picture, a beautiful, ripe, overgrown zombie, and we sure do
got one of those. You're going to make us big bucks."
Caitlin's heart beat a little faster. They were
going to videotape her death. The hunger would be worse than any torment
she could imagine. But at least the nightmare would end here and now. It
would have gotten so much worse had it been allowed to run its course.
Derek gave her an evil chuckle. "I see a defiant
tilt to your chin. You've been through hell. You can take the worst we
can dish out, is that it?"
Caitlin trembled. He had anticipated her. He knew
more about zombies and bugs than she did. He had watched them both die.
In growing apprehension, Caitlin began testing the integrity of the cord
binding her ankles and wrists to the corners of the cot. The cord seemed
to be wire, and the frame of the cot solid metal.
"Excellent! That's a good start! It builds
suspense! Six long hours of rising suspense and excitement begins with a
little tug here and there!"
Derek leaned closer and whispered to her. "You have
no idea what they pay to watch our little features. It was a big thing in
New York before our audiences dried up, if you’ll pardon the pun."
Caitlin paused, rigid with tension, waiting for an
explanation. Why six hours? What did he know that she didn't?
"You've got it, babe. Six long, erotic hours of
top-grade performance. You're going to sing and dance for us, you pretty
little zombie."
"You can't do this to me!" Caitlin shrieked at the
man.
Derek stood. He bunched the sheet covering her body
in his fist. "Yes, I can."
He jerked the sheet away. Caitlin writhed with
humiliation and outrage. She tried to hide her face from the
dispassionate gaze of the camera eye rotating to put the view of her stark
nudity in sharp focus.
"You know how strong the hunger is," Derek said.
"What you probably don't know is how bad it gets. I've seen it with my
own eyes. It's unbelievable. It truly is."
Derek walked around the cot, staring down at her.
Resistance was futile, but already she suffered the first twinge of need.
She needed the caterpillar at her neck. She needed to be fed.
"I'd call it a snuff film, except that we're not
committing murder," Derek said. "Hell, we're not even breaking any law.
You'd think that people would have to be sick to watch such a thing, but
you've caused them a thousand times more pain than you'll ever suffer.
It's like watching a witch burn at the stake. Retribution is almost a
family affair these days."
Derek turned toward the entrance. "Bring it in!"
Two men brought in a wire cage containing a
caterpillar. Caitlin cried out, overjoyed by the sight of the orange and
brown creature. The two men set the cage on a table at the head of the
cot. Then they ambled back out, reluctant to tear their eyes away from
the goddess lying naked before them, but far more fearful of Derek's
displeasure.
"Don't they wish," he muttered as they hurried away.
He turned back to her with a smile. "I can tell
you're surprised. We don't normally keep live bugs in camp, maybe just
one for these special occasions. But you see, experience has taught us
that a zombie gives up too easily unless we place a glimmer of hope within
reach. Besides, our audience may never have seen a bug before. It's an
added attraction. Generally speaking, the public never survives a close
examination. Isn't that true, in your own experience?"
Derek retreated to the entrance, looking about the
tent to ensure that all was as it should be. Then he grinned at her.
"Just so we start things off on the proper note, I'll give you some idea
of what makes this so interesting. Imagine a human body with so much
strength and endurance that it can literally tear itself apart,
convulsions so powerful that they break bones, snap ligaments, and tear
flesh and muscle. You'll break that cot to pieces before you’re dead and
lie writhing in the dirt. I've got a bet made that you last six hours.
That'll be a record for us, true, but it's been awhile since we've seen a
real knock-out zombie as impressive as yourself. I've got faith that you
won't disappoint me."
Caitlin flew into a rage, confident that if she
turned enough anger loose, she could free herself and kill half the
population of the camp with her bare hands. She screamed loud enough to
be heard in Brighton Hollow.
She fell silent when she discovered that she indeed
had the strength to free herself, but only if she crippled herself in the
process. Sharp twinges of pain here and there warned her in no uncertain
terms.
Horrified, she tried to relax and hold at bay
realization of how ghastly it was going to be. Derek had spoken the
truth. She could feel the caterpillar's terrible energy being fed to
every muscle in her body, giving her the strength to literally tear
herself to pieces.
"Somebody help me!"
Nobody would. The show had just begun. The cold eye
of the camera peered down upon her with infinite patience, recording the
pattern of light and shadow on her body as it began its slow dance of
self-destruction. The caterpillar just out of reach, she discovered, was
the same hungry insect that had baited the trap she had fallen into. From
its position just over a yard away, its gray tongue lanced out at her.
And failed to reach by a mere three inches.
