Blackbirds

Pit Bulls, Ch. 21

"Why did he do it?" Oscar bellowed thunderously.

Stocky, and boasting a height of six foot ten, Oscar was a tremendously impressive specimen. His legs were as thick as pine logs, felled by a hulking lumberjack, whilst his arms looked to be of equal strength. His hair was bleach blonde and had been parted centrally, as if Moses himself had been behind the division. A chasm sat between his front two teeth, and sprouting from his square chin was a clump of stubble.

Kneeled, opposite to this mighty individual, was Tim.

He had been gagged, with a sodden sock, so that his tongue was folded like a ditch. Slits, which were the depth and width of trenches, were carelessly scattered across his body, secreting blood.

He had also been dragged, for most of the day, from Sarah's farm to Oscar's. His wrists had been strangled by the unforgiving handcuffs, and there wasn't a strip of skin that hadn't been torturously scraped against the abrasive, parched ground.

The brute that had stumbled across Tim was perched to his left, panting like a gleeful dog: in his hand was a metal rod, stained with muddy-brown rashes of rust. It was this rod that was being thrust into a furnace. As it darted inside the circular opening, the coals crackled. The flames in the furnace danced, like uncoordinated and unchoreographed children, and then leapt, as if attempting to reach an overhanging ladder.

"I don't know!" Tim shrieked, the musty sock preventing him from distributing his voice.

Oscar caressed his stubble. "Nate," he boomed, nodding at the brute. "Mark him." His voice effortlessly bounced around the room, as Tim began to wail. Tim's tears were plentiful: they did not tumble down his cheeks, or slide with friction – they cruised.

Tim peeked to his left as the rod entered the furnace. The flames flickered and bit at each other, sometimes producing a squeaky pop, sometimes a high-pitched snap, and sometimes a wholesome roar.

In synchronisation with the rod being extracted from the furnace, Tim squealed as the overwhelming, immense heat sailed towards his face and floated across his skin.

Nate scanned Tim's body, identifying where next to blemish his skin. There was little canvas space available around the ribcage; gooey, mushy craters sat where Nate had previously scorched the area. Nate moved on, and spied where he would next disfigure Tim.

Without precaution and with a spiteful swiftness, he slammed the rod down onto Tim's deformed right hand and twisted, as if extinguishing a cigar.

Tim unleashed a bleak, unsettling howl, as he further expended his reserves of tears. He glanced down at where the rod had made contact, for his eyes to be greeted by stringy, elastic-like flesh, with steam climbing from the indent.

"I don't know!" Tim wallowed. "I don't know! I don't know! I don't goddamn know!" He wheezed, before his consciousness began to drain away from him. Before the trauma capsized him, however, he surveyed his surroundings.

Congregated behind Oscar was an army of men whom, although only fleetingly inspected, appeared to be identical in size – that size being monstrous. To his left, beyond Nate and the furnace, were crowded shelves, weighed down by tins and bottles. To his right was a worn stretcher, apricot in colour, a surgical bed with creased, bitty sheets, and a polished defibrillator hooked onto the wall.

And then his head dropped, and his tongue sagged.

Oscar patted Tim on the head, and then rotated – his turning circle larger than that of a tank's – to face his men.

"Tim says," Oscar commenced, in a rousing manner. "That he doesn't know why Evan did what he did to my little girl." Silence flushed through the room. "You know what I say?" A buzz jolted through the crowd, the chatter increasing, as they fed off the nectar coming from Oscar's mouth. "Bullcrap!" Euphoric cheers and shouts now reverberated through the room.

"Tomorrow morning, Tim will take us to Jesse's farm." Oscar's pack of snarling pit bulls slobbered and licked their lips. "First, we kill Evan," Oscar paused, before resuming with conviction and purpose. "And then we kill the rest!"