man faded from consciousness for a moment.
“And you, Thomas, native born son of the Cave, this is your first Game, your first win, a win that I knew that you would win,” he said, taking the man’s shoulder. “I had no doubts, none at all. You are now truly a son of the Cave.” He sliced the man’s forehead above his left eye. As the other men helped him stand, he handed him Cecilia’s hand. “And here. She won’t be needing it anymore.”
The man grinned and took a large bite out of the palm of the severed hand, turned, and showed the crowd a mouthful of fleshy skin. They roared in response and the music started up once more, along with the dancing.
As the music and the party resumed Steven watched as the old man, Richard Nixon, the only name they had for him, went and tended to the two victors. He first had Block’s men hold Thomas down and, after painfully stretching out his broken leg, tied a stint from his ankle to his thigh to keep it in place. He shoved the bones back in the best he could and, thankfully, the man finally stopped screaming and passed out. The old woman he took by the arm, and, as gingerly as a nursing home attendant, led her to where one of the large fires burned. He guided her down to her knees and then produced a wooden stick from one of his many pockets, giving it to her to bite down on. When she nodded that she was ready, he thrust her arm into the fire. The woman’s eyes went wide and she bit down on the stick until Steven was sure she would pass out as well. She didn’t, and when she finally removed her stump, it was blackened and smoldering, but no longer bleeding.
“This is sick…” Steven said aloud, to no one in particular. “I have to find my wife…we have to get out of here.”
“She’s over there,” John said, taking Steven by the arm and pointing to an area away from Block. “See her? With the little girl?”
Steven looked and saw Rebecca kneeling with a small girl whose thick mane of black hair contrasted oddly with her dingy yellow sundress. Rebecca held the girl tightly, hugging her and whispering in her ear like they were long lost relatives. He went to them and saw fresh tears on his wife’s face.
“Rebecca?”
“Hi,” she said, wiping away the tears and loosening her grip on the girl. “I…I met this girl.”
The little girl looked up at his with dark brown eyes, much like his wife’s, and managed a smile. She was missing teeth and he was unsure if it was from the fact that kids lost teeth or if it were something more sinister, which he wouldn’t doubt in this den of cannibals. How any of the children had avoided Block’s pot amazed him, and as he thought about it, he wasn’t sure that they had. He also noticed that the girl, along with the other children he’d seen, didn’t have the tattoos on their arms.
“Hi, there,” he said, trying to hide the fear and panic that still gripped his voice. “My name is Steven.”
She smiled again, showing the expanse of missing teeth, but didn’t say anything.
“Her name is Mia,” Rebecca said flatly. “But she doesn’t talk.”
“You act like you know her,” he said, wondering how his wife would know the girl’s name if she didn’t talk.
“How would I know her, Steven? I just arrived here with you.” There was something different in his wife’s tone, something new and separate from the grieving mother of just a few hours earlier. She stared at him coldly as if daring him to counter or even ask something else.
“I don’t know…”
“She’s all alone here, Steven. She needs someone.”
Steven felt as if he were barely there, barely part of the conversation. She held the girl’s hand for a moment, and as the two locked eyes and souls, Rebecca pulled her close again. Steven wanted to break them up, worrying for his wife’s sanity and safety. For all he knew, the girl might be buttering her up to get her in the pot later. John, who’d followed, gently pulled him
“And you, Thomas, native born son of the Cave, this is your first Game, your first win, a win that I knew that you would win,” he said, taking the man’s shoulder. “I had no doubts, none at all. You are now truly a son of the Cave.” He sliced the man’s forehead above his left eye. As the other men helped him stand, he handed him Cecilia’s hand. “And here. She won’t be needing it anymore.”
The man grinned and took a large bite out of the palm of the severed hand, turned, and showed the crowd a mouthful of fleshy skin. They roared in response and the music started up once more, along with the dancing.
As the music and the party resumed Steven watched as the old man, Richard Nixon, the only name they had for him, went and tended to the two victors. He first had Block’s men hold Thomas down and, after painfully stretching out his broken leg, tied a stint from his ankle to his thigh to keep it in place. He shoved the bones back in the best he could and, thankfully, the man finally stopped screaming and passed out. The old woman he took by the arm, and, as gingerly as a nursing home attendant, led her to where one of the large fires burned. He guided her down to her knees and then produced a wooden stick from one of his many pockets, giving it to her to bite down on. When she nodded that she was ready, he thrust her arm into the fire. The woman’s eyes went wide and she bit down on the stick until Steven was sure she would pass out as well. She didn’t, and when she finally removed her stump, it was blackened and smoldering, but no longer bleeding.
“This is sick…” Steven said aloud, to no one in particular. “I have to find my wife…we have to get out of here.”
“She’s over there,” John said, taking Steven by the arm and pointing to an area away from Block. “See her? With the little girl?”
Steven looked and saw Rebecca kneeling with a small girl whose thick mane of black hair contrasted oddly with her dingy yellow sundress. Rebecca held the girl tightly, hugging her and whispering in her ear like they were long lost relatives. He went to them and saw fresh tears on his wife’s face.
“Rebecca?”
“Hi,” she said, wiping away the tears and loosening her grip on the girl. “I…I met this girl.”
The little girl looked up at his with dark brown eyes, much like his wife’s, and managed a smile. She was missing teeth and he was unsure if it was from the fact that kids lost teeth or if it were something more sinister, which he wouldn’t doubt in this den of cannibals. How any of the children had avoided Block’s pot amazed him, and as he thought about it, he wasn’t sure that they had. He also noticed that the girl, along with the other children he’d seen, didn’t have the tattoos on their arms.
“Hi, there,” he said, trying to hide the fear and panic that still gripped his voice. “My name is Steven.”
She smiled again, showing the expanse of missing teeth, but didn’t say anything.
“Her name is Mia,” Rebecca said flatly. “But she doesn’t talk.”
“You act like you know her,” he said, wondering how his wife would know the girl’s name if she didn’t talk.
“How would I know her, Steven? I just arrived here with you.” There was something different in his wife’s tone, something new and separate from the grieving mother of just a few hours earlier. She stared at him coldly as if daring him to counter or even ask something else.
“I don’t know…”
“She’s all alone here, Steven. She needs someone.”
Steven felt as if he were barely there, barely part of the conversation. She held the girl’s hand for a moment, and as the two locked eyes and souls, Rebecca pulled her close again. Steven wanted to break them up, worrying for his wife’s sanity and safety. For all he knew, the girl might be buttering her up to get her in the pot later. John, who’d followed, gently pulled him
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