“No, this can’t be it,” he whispered. “Not now. They need help; my friends need help.”
He lay on the road, turning onto his back, and without a weapon could only wait for the next shot, the final nail. He smiled as they came towards him.
“Is that all you’ve got?” he laughed, spitting on the ground.
“You’re done this time,” said the man he could see maneuvering the bolt action on his hunting rifle. “‘An eye for an eye.’ Isn’t that what they say, or is it a life for a finger? Yes, I think that is what they were trying to say. Don’t worry; it will be quick.”
“It’s you!” Mike said defiantly, “‘The eight-finger man!’How’s your fishing been?” He was not concerned with showing fear. He had none. “You better hurry if you want revenge. I think I’m going to pass out soon. Come on, let’s get this done,” he enticed.
“Or what?”
“Or you let me go so I can get my message to Colonel Baker.”
There was a pause as the men talked amongst themselves.
“What do you know about Colonel Baker?” another guy asked.
Mike couldn’t be sure and thought it was a long shot, but he assumed they had some form of communication and had heard the man’s sermons, or whatever they were passing for nowadays.
“I can fix him, maybe,” said one man coming up from behind the group with a bag in hand. “I mean, if that’s what you want.”
“The Medic to the rescue again,” said the sarcastic eight-fingered man.
“I took good care of your fingers, didn’t I?”
“They are still missing, aren’t they?” he snarled, holding up his hand. “Now we’re talking about the man who cut them off. Why would I let you help him?”
“What’s the message?” asked another, clearly the leader in Mike’s eyes. “And it better be good, or I’ll end this right here.”
“Tell Baker I have news about the Great Battle for the Valley.”
“Take a look at him,” he commanded the Medic, “and let me know if he can be saved. Let’s get on the radio and see if his story checks out.”
Mike had a plan formulating in his mind when the morning turned to dark in a split second. He came to hours later, sweating and still in pain. This pain he embraced, using it as a drug thinking about Arthur and his sister, Lily. He always thought if he could endure enough pain, it would lessen what he felt with each passing day since their loss. This is my test, he thought. I’m still alive and have a chance at saving my family and friends.
“The Colonel wants to speak to you,” said the man who had saved him from the second shot.
“Where?” asked Mike?
“No, when is the question—when he is back on the line. So, stay awake for me; your life depends on it.”
Mike did stay awake, playing mind games to keep his eyes open and focused on something…anything. He felt that he could go to sleep, drift off, and be done with it. He wasn’t afraid to die and hadn’t been for a long time, but he thought about Sheila and Javi. He thought about his new friends heading towards almost certain annihilation, only to be killed or enslaved.
Fighting to sit up, he took stock of his injury and didn’t remember much about what happened. Did I lose focus, or was it just unavoidable? he thought, not entertaining the what-ifs, had he skipped the lake check and headed straight for his destination. Did he spot me? He answered his own question, eyeing the eight-fingered man looking across the desolate valley through the largest set of binoculars he had ever seen. It doesn’t really matter, he thought.
“That looks more like a telescope,” Mike called out. “Overkill, don’t you think?”
“It made the difference between me seeing your face instead of just letting some random guy pass by on a motorcycle.”
“I see your point,” Mike agreed. “Lucky you, and one hell of a coincidence.”
Minutes turned to hours, and the bandage was replaced by the Medic, kneeling down.
“Sorry about this, man,” he said to Mike. “It’s going to hurt.”
“You don’t look familiar,” said Mike, remembering he had seen nearly everyone’s face at the lake.
“That’s because I haven’t seen you before,” said the Medic.
“So, you weren’t at the lake with those other guys who sold their better halves for food?”
“What? I mean no, sir. I’m not sure what you mean. I’m Max,” he offered.
“Mike,” he replied, shaking his hand with nobody else noticing, as his captors passed around a liquor bottle between them. “I heard you cut that one guy’s fingers off for no good reason,” he whispered.
“Do you believe that?”
“No. Something is off with all of these guys,” he added. “I just can’t put my finger on it—no pun intended.”
“Really?” asked Mike, smiling.
“Well, maybe just a little. Anyway, I was headed for the lake and ran into them. They told me that all of the men have to fight in a hole.”
“Not all of them,” said Mike. “Not any of these guys at least. You can go there now if you want. I was there right before this happened and everything is fine. They are free, all of them now.”
“Thanks, mister…I mean Mike. I’m not with these guys, but I’m going to stick with them until they reach that bastard Bak... Um, well, I’ve said too much. As long as this doesn’t get infected, you will live,” he mumbled, gathering his medical bag and walking back to join the group.
Hmm, Mike thought. Not sure if the Max guy
