Jury of the Beast

The tar weaved like a snake through the brown fields. The sun came off it in waves. On the side was a previously white ute, now covered in dust and locust. The locust were so thick this season they should’ve been a crop themselves. They would part like the sea for the cattle wandering through them. They were looking for any grass that wasn’t already chewed to the root and scorched by the sun.

The locust split like a torn curtain for the man dragging Linda by the hair. She kicked and screamed, but there was blood in her eyes and she couldn’t make them focus. Everything was a blur of brown and stark blue sky. She could hear heavy, screeching metal, but couldn’t see what it was. She fought to get the hand out of her hair, and her eyes finally settled on something. She could see a bull in the distance, watching from behind a veil of flying locust until she was thrown down concrete steps into the dark.

Everything was a muddy green, lit by the exposed, dangling bulbs overhead. It was some sort of bunker. From the stairs there was a hallway, then a bathroom, bedroom, and kitchen. Everything smelt damp and mouldy. The walls and floors were all concrete, and the pantry was packed with canned food. The man had locked that room though, and Linda was on the strict diet of scraps brought down from above. Sometimes she stood in front of the frosted glass and pressed her face against it. She thought she could see the cans all neatly lined, filled with all the food she could ever want. She tried to break the glass with everything she could get her hands on. Sadly, that equated to her body, a toothbrush, and a bottle of liquid soap. Everything else was bolted down.

These sorts of things were meant to be a joke. They were an American wet dream, and only something for weirdos who thought that aliens were real or some nonsense like that. They weren’t meant to exist in Australia.

Linda wasn’t sure how long she’d been locked away. The best she could do was guess by the weight that was dropping off her bones. Her clothes didn’t fit her anymore and she’d discarded her pants at some point. Her shirt hung over most of her now anyway. It wasn’t the most modest look in the world, but she hadn’t seen anyone except the man since being put down here. The man had brought down dresses for her, but she’d kept the cotton shirt on. She washed it in the bath with herself and dried it next to the heater. It was the only routine she had: eat, clean herself, clean her shirt, wait for it to dry. She didn’t have anything for proper grooming. Her hair was greasy and growing out, her nails only got shorter when they broke, and she didn’t have any moisturiser. She used to like how soft her skin was and was embarrassed by how her clothes fit to the soft folds of her stomach. Now, she didn’t care if her skin was peeling from her face, but she didn’t want to see her bones anymore.

She didn’t worry about her mother looking for her anymore. She couldn’t remember her mother’s face. Maybe she was the one that wore the rose perfume. Every time Linda used the rose scented soap, she remembered something warm and kind, but she wasn’t sure who. She remembered the of smell her friend’s hair, but not her name. She was beautiful, with thick black curls falling over her shoulders. Maybe her name was Rachel or Ronda. Linda was sure she wasn’t looking anymore either. Aside from those two, there wasn’t anyone who would be aware that she was missing.

Metal scraped and the light from above flooded the stairs. Linda sat against the opposite wall where her dried blood stain still marred the concrete. The light was blinding, but warm. His shadow descended into the room. His hands were empty. She wanted food, but he hadn’t brought any for some time. She thought it might’ve been a few days since she’d eaten.

“Linda,” The man stood awkwardly at the bottom of the stairs. He smelt like cut grass and manure. The sleeves of his flannel were rolled up to his elbows, and he held out one of his hands. He looked like he’d gotten bigger since he put her down here, but it was the fragility being built into her bones. He had trimmed his beard and gotten a haircut. His pants were dusty, but they were the ones that fit well. It wasn’t much to look at, but she knew this was him trying to clean himself up. She looked away.

“You’ve got to talk to me at some point.” No, she didn’t. She would die before she did. She clenched her jaw, her teeth pressing together in her mouth, until she was sure he could see it. What she had to do was get out. She wasn’t sure how yet, and it had only gotten harder. He wasn’t feeding her enough. She always thought those stories of people being locked up and wasting away into nothing seemed ridiculous. If ever there was a time to try and work up some muscle it would be then. She had tried, but without the food she didn’t have the energy. It didn’t seem so ridiculous anymore.

She didn’t have a plan. All her plans had fallen through so far. She knew she wasn’t going to just roll over and let this happen, but she couldn’t let herself starve to death trying to figure it out either. She couldn’t rush him; he was bigger and stronger. She couldn’t try to seduce him; she’d never been a good actor. She had nothing left but her pride. Worst case scenario she was going to get out with that.

He clenched his fists at his side. “You know I’m doing this for you right?” She said nothing. Something inside her was kicking and screaming, a rage boiling in her ears. Her muscles tensed and flinched, wanting to rip into him. “I’m looking after you! I’m taking you away from all the shit out there, and I’m giving you something better! You should be grateful!” His raised voice didn’t faze her even remotely. He settled himself and knelt down to her level.

“Listen, I know what you want.” Food. “It’s the same thing all women want. When you take away everything else, they all want it. It’s instinct. You want to be a good wife and mother, and you will be. First,” He reached out and brushed her cheek, “I have to make you beautiful.”

SNAP

Her pride. She leapt at him. She knew it wouldn’t work, but that part of her was locked away. She scratched and kicked and screamed. She was all rage and blood. He fell backward. She crawled on top of him. He could kill her if he wanted but she was taking his eyes. They popped under her overgrown thumbnails. Blood oozed over his screaming face. The empty hole of her stomach overtook her mouth and she bit into his neck. She could taste the sweet iron in his blood and meat.

She scrambled up the stairs on all fours toward the blinding white of the sun. The cold concrete slammed into her knees and scratched at her palms. A searing pain shot through her but she ignored it. She felt a hot wet hand grab her ankle and turned, a screaming growl ripping through her throat. She saw him gripping her with one hand and pressing into his neck with the other. She kicked at his red face until something cracked. He roared, falling back from her and she turned back to the sun.

She broke past the concrete and made it into the light. The grass crunched beneath her feet, sharp points pushing into her skin. The sun burned her eyes and skin and she could feel hot tears on her face. The sky was brilliantly blue and cloud free. The paddock was a stretching mass of flat green, spotted with brown.

The bull was in the distance. It was meandering toward her, like a man curious what stray cats were doing in his yard.

Behind her, the man’s grunts were getting closer. She turned. He was walking up the stairs. His legs were shaking, his nose was broken, and his eyes were bleeding, but he was still walking. Step by step. One of them was going to stay in the bunker, and she wasn’t ready for it to be her again. She grabbed the metal door. It was heavier than she was prepared for and the first tug didn’t budge it.

The man’s head was above the ground. She pulled again and it almost lifted. His torso was up. She tried again and the metal scraped loudly. The man’s blinded eyes turned to her and she dropped the door and started running. Her wobbly legs gave out and she fell into the grass. It scratched her already broken skin, leaving itchy marks all over her. She forced herself on her hands and knees and crawled along the ground. He found her and kicked her in the stomach. The air heaved out of her body. He pushed her onto her back and straddled her hips.

His hands covered her entire neck. She kicked her legs at nothing and scratched his face but she couldn’t breathe. She heard a thumping sound in the distance. She wondered if that was her heart in her ears. Spots were forming in her vision. She swore she could smell the damp of the bunker. The bull’s horns impaled his side. His mouth dropped. His eyebrows raised and what was left of his eye lids lifted. Fresh blood fell down onto her face. His hands released her neck and she gasped in and coughed. The bull pulled its horns out of the man’s side and he fell to the side holding his side, trying to stop the bleeding. The bull put itself between her and the man, stomping its hooves again.

The man tried to stumble away. The bull didn’t follow, but he still ran like he was being chased. Linda watched him drag himself to the stairs and fall down. She heard him hit every single one with a mix of screams, groans, and cracks.

Linda saw herself panting like a frightened animal in the bull’s black eye. She reached up with a shaking hand. The bull snorted but didn’t flinch when she made contact with his coat. The hairs were rougher than she expected. She petted him, feeling the muscle of his cheek beneath her fingers. She forced herself up on her shaky legs. The man was screaming something that was almost words, but was too guttural for her to understand. She put her arm around the beast for support, picked a direction and hoped the road would be that way.