Chapter Thirty-Six

Mick was roughly thrown onto a bed of sheets and blankets that hadn’t been cleaned since Nixon was president. He tasted Vent’s blood. It stung his eyes and filled his ears until it sounded as if he were underwater.

The Melon Head leader stepped inside the room, a side chamber made by nature, not man.

She quickly got on the bed and straddled him, her weight pinning him down. He barely saw her. He kept replaying Vent having his throat slashed over and over in his mind.

She moved just enough to fumble with his jeans. He didn’t protest as she pulled them off, followed by his underwear.

He’d never been smart, but he knew what she wanted.

He had been chosen, all right.

Maybe she realized the clan had become too inbred. That there would be no future if things kept on going the way they were. Genetic mutations would only get worse, more debilitating, until they were nothing but a collection of mentally incapacitated cripples.

That’s where he came in.

She fumbled with his cock, roughly tugging on it. He remained soft as warm butter. What other way could he possibly be? She grunted with obvious dissatisfaction.

Mick turned his head, unable to continue looking at that horrendous face. How long would she try to get blood from a stone until she killed him? It couldn’t come soon enough.

As she rubbed herself on him, he saw his crumpled jeans. The quarter stick poked out of his pocket.

I could….

He reached out for it but was too far away. The leader hadn’t noticed.

Mick had never had sex, despite what he told his friends. One thing he never thought he’d have to do is fake it during his first time. It looked like this would be his last as well.

He grabbed her hips and tried to squirm under her. She responded by growing hotter on his limp crotch.

Just a little more.

Mick touched her breast, eliciting a coo of pleasure that was both feminine and animal. It made him sick. He willed himself to get hard, but it just wasn’t happening. He needed to make her think this was going to happen, to keep her focused on the areas between their legs.

It only took a couple of minutes to move her enough so he could grasp the quarter stick. The lighter dropped from his pocket.

Think of Marnie.

He conjured up a vision of Marnie atop him, gloriously nude and wanting him. His cock immediately responded. The leader sensed it and jammed it inside her, groaning and drooling.

The image of Marnie blinked away and he stared into the face of the Melon Head.

No! Don’t look.

He closed his eyes. Slowly, Marnie came back to him.

He wished he’d told her how he felt. Then again, by not doing so, he’d saved himself a painful rejection. Of course, that would have been a lot less painful than this.

The Melon Head leader started to build a rhythm, her hips grinding into his. Mick needed to end this.

He put the firework and lighter in one hand, reached behind her and transferred the lighter to the other.

It was simple. He’d light the quarter stick, grab onto her so she couldn’t break free, and wait for it to blow a hole in her back. It would take his hands, and his life, with it, but he’d been ready to die anyway. There never had been a future for him, even before their run-in with the Melon Heads.

His thumb flicked the lighter. He’d have to guess where the wick was. This could take some time, not that he was in danger of finishing any time soon.

His hands jounced up and down and now he didn’t even know if the lighter held the flame. He felt himself start to soften.

Marnie. Marnie, I always loved you. I hope somehow you know that.

He flicked the lighter again.

Wait.

Marnie.

If he killed the leader now, what would become of Marnie and Chuck? They would be killed, more than likely.

“Fuck!” he shouted. The leader mistook his aggravation for ecstasy.

Mick chucked the quarter stick and lighter aside.

I can save them. It’ll be worse than dying, but I can save them.

The Melon Heads needed him. If the leader needed new offspring, she had to keep him alive. And if he was more than compliant, maybe he could be her equal. Or if not equal, at least less than a sire or subject.

He squinted his eyes closed and let her take him, take everything from him, and when it was over, he whispered, “Marnie,” into the filthy pillow.

* * *

The same routine was repeated for what felt like days but was probably only one. Mick was red and raw and exhausted. He’d been brought food and water, only eating food from cans or packets and not the bowls of red gruel that he was sure was the remains of Dredd.

When he could no longer perform and the leader was lazing beside him, he got up and left the room, walking unsteadily back to the main chamber. She let him without dragging him back, proof that he’d made the right decision. He was hers now. He belonged to the entire Melon Head community. He could be their hope for a future. That thought didn’t fill him with an iota of pride or satisfaction.

Chuck and Marnie were still tied up, both asleep.

Several Melon Heads were in the room with them.

“Go away,” Mick said, swiping at the air so they got the point. To his amazement, they skittered out of the chamber.

It was hard untying their knots with numb fingers. Everything was numb now. Even his brain. It was a miracle he’d come this far.

“You’re alive,” Chuck said, waking from his stupor. His voice was weak and dry.

“I’m kinda hard to kill,” Mick said. Chuck looked down at his nakedness. Mick didn’t care. He was way past that. “Help me with Marnie.”

This time, Chuck undid the knots while Mick held on to Marnie. When she was free, she fell into his arms. Her eyes fluttered open. “Am I dreaming?”

“Not in this place,” he said softly. “Only nightmares here. You and Chuck go. Dream someplace where dreams matter.”

“What do you mean?” She was groggy, rubbing at the sores on her wrists.

“Let’s get out of here,” Chuck said, grabbing on to them both.

Mick pulled away. “No. I have to stay.”

“No, you don’t.”

Mick nodded slowly. “I kinda do.”

“We’re not leaving you down here,” Marnie said.

“No choice. Now go.”

Neither moved. “We can’t,” Chuck said.

“Yes, you can. They won’t bother you.”

“How can you know that?” Marnie asked.

He thought of the horrible ordeal he’d suffered all through the night and the many more to come. “I just do. You have to trust me. You trust me, right?”

“Not really,” they said in unison.

That made Mick laugh. Not a happy laugh. Just one of fondness for the way things used to be.

Marnie took his hand. Her hand was so cold. “Come on. You’re not staying down here.”

“I have to. It’s the only way. Trust me, I wish there was another.”

“But why?”

“They need me. And while I’m with them, I can maybe keep them under some kind of control. Hopefully. Besides, no one’s gonna miss me. No one ever would.”

Chuck put a beefy hand on his shoulder. “I will, you stupid idiot.”

Marnie opened her mouth to say something and buried her head in his chest instead, her tears hot and welcoming. He waited for a bit and willed himself to separate from her. “We’ll see each other again. I promise. But for now, I need you to get the hell out of this place. Please. For me.”

He looked to Chuck and his friend nodded with understanding. Chuck put his arm over Marnie’s shoulder and led her out. She kept throwing pleading glances Mick’s way, each look an arrow in his heart.

And then they were gone.

He sat on the leader’s throne, his feet atop her bone armor. Melon Heads quietly filtered into the room, staring at him with fascination.

He felt like screaming until something vital burst in his brain.