The Dead Land: Chapter 12

12
“So what you’re saying is…these people plan to overthrow me?”
“Yes Agatha.”
Chelsea Denning knelt at Agatha’s feet, her head bowed to hide her tears. She lived down the same street as Zara and Ian Crawley. And she had just snitched to Agatha Redknapp about their plans to overthrow the government.

“Agatha, if I may be so bold as to ask-”
“You are fond of your daughter, Miss Denning?” Agatha interrupted.
“Of course, Miss Agatha. Or else I would not be here.”
“So tell me. Would you do…anything? Anything for her?”
“Yes, Agatha. I would. I have nothing else, nothing…”
“What about your friends?”
Chelsea shook her head, trying to blot out the faces of those she was betraying. Ian. Zara. And of course, those children…
“N-no. I have no friends,” Chelsea lied.
Agatha cackled “Well that doesn’t surprise me. You are a horrible woman. You’re a bitch.”
Chelsea said nothing, didn’t even flinch. She knew Agatha’s words were designed to hurt her, and though they did, she didn’t show it.
“Still. You have brought me good information. You will have your daughter back.”
Chelsea’s face split into a huge smile and tears threatened to spill on her cheeks “Oh Agatha, thank you, thank you!”
“But first. You have one more job to do for me.”
Chelsea’s face crumpled “What? You said, you promised-”
“Shut up, stupid bitch!” Agatha snarled. “I keep my word. One more thing is all I ask. But you’re going to like it.”
“What is it?”
“You say that your neighbours plan to try and kill me and my army? That can’t be allowed. You are staying here with me. And then, you, you personally, are going to blow your friends up. After that? You will have your daughter back.”
“I can’t, I can’t…I won’t.”
“Suit yourself.” Agatha said, her face twisting into a smile. “Then perhaps this will change your mind. Jordan! Bring her through.”

Jordan entered the room, clutching a small girl in his arms. Her legs were bound by black tape and her eyes were teary and wide with fear. She was seemingly unharmed, but she was obviously upset, and snot ran down her face. It might have been funny if Chelsea didn’t know what Agatha was capable of. The girl, whose name was Phoebe, cried silently, her wide blue eyes staring at her mother. She was just three years old.
“No, Agatha, you promised!” Chelsea wailed. Jordan placed Phoebe next to Agatha’s chair and Agatha almost softly took Phoebe’s hand in hers.
“There, there, Phoebe. We’re friends aren’t we?” Agatha cooed, tracing her sharp nails across the young girl’s hand.
“Yes Agatha. The best of friends,” Phoebe replied robotically, wiping her tears and snot on her grubby sleeve and then putting her free thumb into her mouth.
“And silly mummy over there,” Agatha said, gesturing at Chelsea wailing “She is silly, isn’t she? And it’s her fault that Jordy had to hurt you.”
“Yes. Silly mummy,” Phoebe said uncertainly.
“What have you done to my girl?” Chelsea screeched.
“Just taught her some things that she should know. She is a very bright child. She catches on quickly. So what do we do with traitors, Phoebe?” Agatha asked.
“We punish them. We kill them. We destroy them,” Phoebe recited, as though her words were a nursery rhyme.
“Good girl. There is one more thing we have to do. To show the silly lady. This is going to hurt, so I’m sorry,” Agatha purred. Phoebe nodded.
“That’s OK, Agatha. Coz you’re doing good. Mummy is bad, very bad.”
“Stop it, stop it!” Chelsea cried.
In a split second, Agatha had whipped out a knife and butchered Phoebe’s little finger. She began to cry instantly, long gasping wails that echoed throughout the room. The finger lay on the floor like a little pink sausage.

“And unless you follow my orders, each and every finger will go chop, chop, chop,” Agatha grinned, acting out a slicing motion with her hand, her eyes glittering with manic pleasure. Chelsea collapsed and sobbed into the floor.
“I’ll do it,” she whispered “I’ll do it.”