Spoon

The Man Who Wouldn't Die – Episode 8 | Flash Fiction #37

Last time on The Man Who Wouldn’t Die…

Uther takes our two hunters prisoner and gets rid of the rest in a most gruesome fashion.

If you haven’t read any episodes, please find Episode One linked below.

The Man Who Wouldn't Die (AV Edition)

And now for the continuation…

They arrived in Brae, the setting sun sending its golden beams across the ragged edges of a shallow ditch, the earth torn open, filled with countless corpses, men, women and children, frozen limbs shimmering crimson red in the fading light, their gnawed and mangled cadavers preserved by the frost.

The remains of a girl, emaciated, clothes torn – she must have been about the age of my daughter, Bee thought – were sprawled at the very edge of the mass grave, staring at her with eyeless sockets, clutching something, a small plush animal, a rabbit, tightly to her chest, while crows circled and cawed above.

Apart from the scavengers occupying some houses in the centre, the town was deserted. They kept the few remaining people in cages like animals, enslaved to serve the Unmaker.

Seeing the dead, she remembered Samson’s words. No one ever comes back, Bee. She replayed his last moments before her mind’s eye, over and over, as her bound hands felt for the little sock in her pocket, the last remnant of a life long forgotten, a soft shell, and hidden within, the cold steel of her spoon, her new life, brutal and ruthless.

The impulse to cut their captors down right there and then burned hot inside Bee. She tensed; she could take him; one well-placed stab… a gentle touch on her arm, she stopped, frowning at Vee. Not yet, Vee’s eyes whispered.

The exchange did not go unnoticed. Smiling, Uther sauntered up to Bee, smacked his lips, and eyed her with amusement. With a quick step, he closed the gap between them and grabbed her chin with his massive, brutish hand.

“You want to kill me real bad, don’t you, Hunter beetch?” He didn’t wait for an answer and sniffed her neck. “What’s that smell? Desperation, is it? Oh, my little Bee, don’t fret. Everyone fears the end.”

He squeezed her jaw so hard that tears ran down her cheek. “Aw, crying for your daddy? For that old sod, what was his name? Did you see how he soiled himself when I cracked his skull open? Boom! Crazy!”

Bee’s hands were still in her pocket, and she clutched the spoon so tight the metal cut through her skin. She tried to free herself from his grasp, but he now had her by the throat, choking her.

“Ahhh, hard to breathe, is it? Do you feel it? Life… so fragile. You’re wondering if you can do it. Kill me. Right now. One quick stab. And all will be over. Why don’t you try? Go on! TRY!”

Bee’s fist sprung from her pocket, spoon in hand. Vee cried out. Uther grinned madly. The sharp end of the spoon’s handle nicked Uther’s neck, his eyes wide, baring his teeth, knocking Bee in the face with his fist so hard, she saw stars and then nothing more.

“Whooo! Did you see that? The girl has spunk. I told you! Shit just got real. Will you look at that!” Uther bent down and wrenched the spoon from her fist, sock and all.

“Uh boss, he’ll want her alive,” one of the scavengers said shaky.

“Yeah, yeah,” Uther waved him off, looking perplexed at the sock. “What’s this shit?” He examined the sock, a little child’s puppet, one button for an eye and a sewn-on smile. He put his hand inside, looked at it with a stupefied expression, then raised the sock.

“Look at me, I’m little Bee’s Soggy!” he mimicked in a high-pitched voice. His men didn’t know what to do. Some let out uncertain laughs. Most stared at their feet.

“Ah, pathetic.” He tossed the sock into the pit amongst the corpses and tucked the spoon into his breast pocket. “Pick her up. Let’s go.”

Two scavengers heaved Bee off the ground, dragging her along between them, and a third pushed Vee, pulling on her shackles.

They came to the town centre, where the rest of the scavengers were gathering prisoners, preparing a transport to head out onto the ice to the east. 60-23-44: Coordinates out on the ice, from whence there was no return.

“Uther, you mad dog. You made it back! More bodies? The master will be thrilled.” A tall man wearing the top of a bear skull on his head, wrapped in a coat made out of animal fur, laughed.

“Hilgar, you son of a motherless whore! Yeah, we got lucky.”

Hilgar inspected Vee. “Hmm, she’s half dead, that one.” He stepped up to Bee. “That her?”

Uther nodded. “Careful, she’s a feisty one.” He pointed to his bitten-off earlobe.

“That why she’s out cold?” Hilgar asked.

“Had to show her what’s what,” Uther grunted.

“Well, well, well. Better hope she’ll be back in shape when she meets the Master. Otherwise…” Hilgar winked at Uther knowingly.

“Yeah, she’ll be. So, you’re heading out?”

Hilgar nodded. “Master asked for a fresh supply of workers. This here is the rest of them. Drilling is slow – these weaklings don’t last long down in the ice. He’s growing increasingly impatient, and now our scouts report the Maker is on the move,” Hilgar said with a stern expression on his face, eyeing Bee as she stirred.

“Then we better get moving,” suggested Uther.

“Ah, you must be exhausted. We can take those two off of your hands,” replied Hilgar.

“Wouldn’t you like that? Not a chance. Bee is mine. The master promised me.”

“Alright then,” Hilgar nodded, ordered his men to prepare the hunters for transport, and offered Uther to ride with him in the front.

They sat atop the waggon, gazing into the night sky as they headed east towards the Unmaker. None of them said a word, listening to the creaking of the wheels and the horses’ hooves on the dark tundra stretching out before them.

Inside the steel cage covered in a thin tarp, Bee sat beside Vee, surrounded by prisoners who looked at the two hunters with reverence and newfound hope.

And deep beneath the ice, the sleeper awakens.

The Unmaker awaits, the Maker is on the move, and the sleeper awakens. Everything will come to a head. Stay tuned for the final episode next week!

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