They stood on either side of him, facing the crowd. Anita was quiet. Her head was down - shoulders slumped. Lisa couldn't get eye contact with her. The man raised the girl's head by the hair. But instead of cheering, the crowd booed. He presented Lisa to them instead, and they booed again. He dragged them over to face the female infected and they booed louder still. The mood had changed. The jeers and insults took on a lewd tone. They didn't want more bloodshed. Now they wanted something else entirely. Lisa's blood ran cold.
The man pushed them away from him. Anita fell to her knees and stayed down. Lisa dropped down beside her. She couldn't see her face, but she whispered to her and hoped that she could hear.
"It's ok. We're going to be ok. I'm here. I'm with you … I'm sorry."
The noise was building again. Cheers of approval and encouragement. Lisa looked up, just in time to see the man swing his sword in a wide circle and decapitate the infected woman in one stroke. Its head hit the platform with a dull thud and rolled off the edge. Its body slumped at the knees and dangled loosely from the chains. More cheers of approval.
He moved back to the women and yanked their heads up by the hair, so that they were facing the crowd.
"Highest bidder! Two for the price of one! Let's go!"
Lisa looked defiantly at the faces leering up at her. Anita kept her eyes closed.
After more frenetic money waving and shouting a winner emerged. A small wiry man in dirty jeans and a Led Zeppelin tee-shirt came up onto the stage. His wide grin revealed a mouthful of crooked and discoloured teeth. He stank of sweat, smoke and stale whiskey. He put a hand on each of their shoulders in a gesture of triumph. Lisa shook him off. He slapped her on the side of the head. Her ears rang and stars appeared around the edges of her vision.
Then they were being led down from the ring and away from the crowd into the nearby building.
The air in the room was stale and sour. The torchlight from outside flickered through the slats of the window blind, sporadically lighting up sections of the room in an orange glow. There was a desk in the middle of the floor, a couple of filing cabinets against one wall and a, lumpy, leather sofa against the other. With a grunt, the man threw Anita onto the sofa.
"You can watch this time," he sneered at Lisa. "No offence, but I like 'em a bit younger."
He took a large, serrated knife from his belt. Its vicious blade was at least eight inches long. He pointed it at Lisa, ushering her to the end of the sofa by Anita's feet. He prodded her into position, until she was facing down its length, where Anita lay on her back with her eyes closed.
"Stand there! Don't move!"
"Nita! Nita! Look at me," Lisa said.
"No talking!" the man said and waved the blade in her face.
But Anita opened her eyes.
Lisa stared at her. Hard. She tried to say everything the girl needed to know with just her eyes. I've got this! Hold on! Don't give up! They held each other's gaze for just a fraction of a second. But it was enough. Anita nodded imperceptibly.
The man started to undress. He unbuckled his jeans and stepped out of them. He bent over Anita and started tugging at the waistband of her trousers with one hand while he held the knife to her throat with the other. She pushed him away.
"No! Stop!" she screamed.
He climbed onto the sofa and straddled her. Unable to control her one-handed, he stabbed the knife into the arm of the sofa above her head, and using both hands, yanked her trousers and panties down in one violent movement that pulled her body half-way down the seat.
Lisa's eyes rested on the knife. It was upright, still shuddering from the impact of the blow, its tip embedded in the leather. She took a step towards it, at the same time as she snapped her wrists free.
Anita screamed, kicked and fought, arching and bucking her hips to try and throw him off.
"A feisty one, eh?" he laughed.
He put his hands on her shoulders and pressed her down.
Lisa took another step.
The man lowered his body onto Anita's, fumbling with his crotch. All of his attention was focused on subduing her enough to achieve his aim.
Still, she screamed and struggled.
Another step and Lisa lunged for the knife. The noise of her movement was masked by Anita's screams, and the sounds of the wild party that was still going on outside.
The man was focused on his struggle with Anita.
With both hands, Lisa raised the knife over his writhing back.
She struck him between the shoulder blades. The blade went in more easily than she'd imagined. Slicing deeply up to its hilt, through skin, muscle and gristle. He yelped in pain. He let go of Anita. His hands clutched at his back. Lisa pulled the knife out. Blood gushed from the wound. She backed away.
Anita pushed him off her and jumped up. She backed away, too. They watched in silence as he struggled to his feet. Blood was pooling on the floor beneath him. His face was a mask of astonishment. He took a step towards Lisa. His lips parted and she thought he was going to speak, but instead frothy, bright red blood bubbled from his mouth and dribbled down his chin. Then it began to gurgle and pour down the front of his tee-shirt. He took another step towards her, then his legs buckled, and he fell onto his knees. A vacant look
