Twenty-three

He wandered casually down the hall to where his tormentors slept.

"Look at these bastards," he thought as he watched them, "sleeping while I freeze to death. Or, as far as they know."

Benny Peters slept calmly, in front of Carl. There was no sign of remorse, no thoughts of their torture and evil. Carl couldn't stop himself as his hands moved around Benny's throat. The boy jumped as he woke in a panic, but Carl held tight. The boy lay in his bed, kicking furiously and trying to break carl's grip. Eyes wide, carl watched the light fade from benny. Every ember of the boy's existence died in that bed, and carl had been the one to snuff it out. He snarled deep with hatred that seemed to drip from his bared teeth and squeezed every ounce of life from his victim then he squeezed some more. His eyes crept into squints with the effort and his hands ached white. The pain radiated through his arms and Benny got cold. The heat flowed from benny's body until Carl released his grip. From the shoulders to his hair, Benny was frozen solid.

Carl smiled as he looked closely at the victim, "that is new."

Tightly grasped in Benny's hand was a small, red, knife; Carl snatched it up. He turned on his heel, stuck his hands in his pockets and calmly walked away. Back through the hallway and out the double doors he strolled smiling. He would need to find a new place to sleep, but this was going to be the most fun he'd had in his entire life.

Patrols were out doing a sweep of the grounds and Carl slid through the shadows into the trees. He hated being forced to sneak around like some kind of intruder. The leaves and thrice-frozen snow crunched dully under his boots as he slinked through the tree-line toward the supply shed. The weapons were supposed to come before murder but, he laughed to himself, "accidents happen."

Only one man stood outside the shed's entrance. It was a large steel building with concrete floors and no convenient windows to slip through. Being small can have its advantages after all. Carl walked, slowly, toward the guard and smoothly slashed Benny's small knife through the guard's throat. The man's life drained from his neck, faster than Carl had ever thought possible. The crimson river sprayed across the soil deep and dark. There was no fight, no screaming, just some gurgled sounds, and splashing. He was amazed at the display spraying with the poor man's heartbeat.

 "Insulting." He thought, "Or it would be if they knew they were guarding it from me."

The boy sheathed his knife and grunted as he dragged the body inside. This was the first time that Carl had seen such a display of weaponry. His eyes went wide with wonder, as he smeared the guard's blood from his face. He quickly snatched a bag from the cubby and began stuffing knives, guns, and as much ammunition as he could justify inside. Two lanterns and some grenades joined his stash, and he shouldered the load. It was time to disappear for a little while.

The boy turned the handle and let the door fall open just enough to allow a sliver of the morning light through. The coast seemed clear, and he slipped outside to run back into the trees. This time he kept running, through the brush and over fallen logs. His mind raced as fast as his legs did. He needed somewhere to go. Somewhere safe, where he could think and work. He needed to see how he had frozen Benny with his bare hands. He needed to plan how to destroy the others. Revenge, but not that alone, there was the definite white-hot surface of revenge, but the core was punishment.

The sun continued to rise as he made his way through the forest, moving deeper into it. With each step he searched the area for shelter, something hidden and natural. His fingertips moved along the stone of a cliff face and foxholes were explored. There was nothing natural that would suit his needs. Carl leaned on the stone to catch his breath and reorganize his thoughts.

When he slid into a squat a wind blew coldly on his ankles and moved the leaves irregularly. He let the bag slip from his fingers, and he dug at the stone and mud. There was a small opening, just big enough for his shoulders if he scrunched them and turned slightly sideways. The soil was scraped away enough for a little wiggle room. He crawled into the crevice after his tool bag. A space slightly narrower than the entrance gave way to a small craggy cavern. Once he was able to sit inside, Carl flicked the lantern on and smiled a long, thoughtful smile. He had finally found home.