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 The tree was gone, and he had been replaced by a young woman and a small girl, the child not more than ten or twelve.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.”
“Want it, Mommmy!” the girl shouted, her face reddening, beginning to throw a tantrum.
“No.”
“Yes! Yes! Yes!”
The mother backhanded the daughter across the face. “I say no! Clorg get it! He always do.”
The girl fell silent, glaring at Blade.
“Come.” The mother walked away, the girl in reluctant tow.
Dear Spirit! It had been close! What did the woman mean, saying Clorg would get it? Blade’s mind drifted, focusing on Jenny. How he missed her!
If he managed to make it back to the Home, he would never leave again.
He’d relish Home life, with Jenny keeping him warm at night, and lots of little ones underfoot to provide some spice for their domestic life. Maybe he’d quit the Warriors. After all, who needed this aggravation? This unwarranted grief? He should never have agreed to this foolish venture in the first place! Why had he let Plato talk him into it?
Wait a minute!
What was the matter with him? A little hardship, a bit of adversity, and he’s ready to buckle, to give up every value he’s cherished?
Blade concentrated, resisting the negative, defeatist thoughts. His battered condition was starting to take its toll, sapping his strength and his mental equilibrium.
There was a growing commotion around him, an increasing number of voices and movement.
What was going on?
Blade glanced in both directions, surprised to see the Wacks converging into a group, surrounding him on three sides. They had staked him in the center of a grassy area, the grass stunted by the frequent stomping of their feet and the weight of their bodies. This grassy tract was a congregation point, a meeting ground, for the Wacks. During the day, at any given time, no fewer than a dozen would be resting or conversing or be engaged in ridiculous antics on the grass. At night, they went inside the building and left him alone. The first night of his captivity he’d stayed awake the entire night, fearing an animal would creep up on him in the dark and feast on his defenseless body. Inexplicably, he hadn’t been attacked. Not a thing had disturbed him then or since, and he continually asked himself why.
There had to be a reason. What would keep predators out of this area?
Another predator? Or something they dreaded even worse?
The number of Wacks gathering about him grew.
Blade roughly estimated those present at one hundred. Based on the activity he’d seen the past several days, he guessed the total Wack population stood at between one hundred and fifty and two hundred. He hadn’t seen this many together at one time before.
Clorg emerged from the crowd, carrying the Commando in his right hand. Six of the Wack men followed him as he came up to Blade and angrily waved the Carbine in Blade’s face.
“Not work!” Clorg fumed. “Why?”
Blade wondered where the rest of his arms were. Scattered among the Wacks, no doubt, along with his clothes and moccasins.
Clorg pounded on his chest. “Clorg want to know why?”
“It’s jammed,” Blade told him.
“What?”
“Jammed.”
Clorg gripped the Commando in both hands and stared at the gun, confused. “What is jammed?”
Blade realized there was no use attempting to explain. “It won’t work,” he answered.
Clorg shook the Commando. “Want it work. Make it work!”
“I can’t,” Blade said. “Not with my hands tied.”
“Make it work!” Clorg roared. He swung the barrel at Blade and pulled the trigger.
Instinctively, Blade tried to twist aside, unable to move because of the ropes.
The Commando was still jammed.
Enraged, Clorg brought the barrel of the Commando down on Blade’s injured left thigh, on the arrow wound.
Blade thrashed and squirmed, gritting his teeth, the pain washing over his brain in successively weaker waves of agony. Damn that crazy bastard!
Clorg smiled, watching Blade writhe. “Serves right!”
The other men were laughing.
“Is time for Fant,” Clorg announced, turning to face the assembled Wacks. “Time to call on great one! Time for feed on Big Man!”
The Wacks cheered, clapped, and uttered cries of delight at the prospect of another feed, a subtle frenzy transforming the already insane crowd into demented demons.
Blade, sensing his time was running short, tried to break his bonds again, to no avail. What was happening? What did it all mean?