The Cave Dwellers, Christina McDowell [ap literature book list .TXT] 📗

their house burned down… or something,” she says, nervous she might say the wrong thing.

Marty returns with the drinks. “Shots! Shots! Shots!” he yells, passing them around the group.

Billy raises his shot glass. “In honor of Audrey.”

Bunny scoots closer to Mackenzie. Raises her glass: “To Audrey!” She throws her shot back, slams the glass on the table, leans over and whispers to Mackenzie, who shivers and slams her shot down next, “They beat her with her dad’s autographed baseball bat, then chopped her up in little pieces. We could be next.…” Someone passes Bunny a joint; she takes a hit and blows O’s into the air, leaving Mackenzie alone with the terrifying unknown and her imagination of bloody body parts.

“Whatever kind of piece of shit did this deserves the same punishment as Saudi Arabia or Iraq… sick fucks,” Billy says, slamming back another shot. “No one fucks with us.”

“Actually, dude, the Senate Intel Committee released the report that proved the US’s use of torture post-9/11 was entirely ineffective,” Marty says. He takes a shot, then sits next to Mackenzie and starts rubbing her back.

“Oh yeah?” Billy turns his entire body to face him. “Let’s try it.” It is only when Billy is obliterated that the rage rears its ugly head. “Go get Stan’s snowboard, you’re gonna waterboard me,” he tells Marty, “ask me if I fucked Ashley Waterman sophomore year.”

“Fuck you!” Bunny replies.

“Come on, you know what I mean, baby,” he says to Bunny, “it’s just a game.”

Bunny pouts.

“Oh, like you didn’t lose your virginity to Charlie Nolan.…” he says.

“Okay, we gotta get this on film in case he beats the stat,” Stan says, handing Bunny his iPhone, since everyone else’s has been confiscated and placed in the silver bucket guarded by the Kremlin. She rolls her eyes and presses the red Record button.

“Okay, I’m filming…”

“Okay, dude, but you do know that if it’s done wrong the person can die.” Marty’s is a rhetorical question, and he is nonetheless intrigued by the dare.

“I am aware that you can die from waterboarding, yes.” Billy looks to Stan. “Yo, Putin, go grab your snowboard.”

“And one of your karate bandannas,” Chase pipes in.

“What is waterboarding?” Mackenzie asks.

“Uh…” Marty looks at her and kisses her cheek. “You’ll see.” He looks back to Billy. “Okay, so in all realness, I was watching one of the videos online after Mr. Haight’s twentieth-century American history class, and all these research experts were trying to see if they could reach fifteen seconds.”

“I bet I can beat that,” Billy says. If he’s being forced into the military, he might as well prove himself right fucking now. To everyone.

Stan comes sauntering back with his snowboard and an unlit joint dangling from his lips, Billy carves another eight ball into lines, snorts a few.

Bunny zooms in on Billy doing lines but says nothing, noticing how many he takes.

Marty takes the snowboard from Stan and leans it against the couple of steps dividing the two levels of the living room.

“Let me do the honors,” Stan says, tying his bandanna around Billy’s eyes.

Billy lies down on the snowboard, propped up by the split-level steps. Marty pulls up the demonstration video on YouTube from Stan’s computer, which is hooked up to the surround sound.

“We need straps, we gotta strap him down.” Marty adjusts his glasses up his nose.

“I have dog leashes!” Stan says, excited, then runs to go get them.

“What is going on?” Mackenzie whispers; everyone ignores her.

Stan leaps back into the room carrying two red dog leashes. He’s got two black Bouviers that have to be groomed at least once a week. Chase grabs one of the leashes from him, Stan takes the other, Marty directing them.

“We need something for his face,” Marty says. He leans down to do a quick bump, then pops back up. “To drown him.” He wipes his nose.

Chase walks over and plucks the white handkerchief out of Stan’s jacket slung on the back of a couch. “This should do it,” he says.

“Wait, we need a jug of water,” Marty says.

“Fuck water, give me champagne!” Billy replies, blindfolded, his torso being tied to the snowboard and the leashes then looped around columns on either side of the steps.

“I got the Cristal, baby!” Stan says as he finishes tying, then runs into the kitchen to grab the jeroboam bottle he was saving for the end of the night.

“Holy shit,” Mackenzie says as Stan struggles to carry the jeroboam out by himself. He pops the cork, spraying champagne all over the living room.

“Wait, wait, wait, we need to give him something to hold in his hand to drop as a sign of surrender,” Marty says.

“Here.” Chase leans over and grabs a porcelain horse off of one of the side tables. “His mom won’t notice.…”

Marty puts the horse in Billy’s right hand “Okay, Billy, drop this horse when you can’t breathe anymore,” he says. Billy’s legs are propped upward on the steps. He wiggles into final position.

Marty and Chase take Stan’s handkerchief from Bunny and tie it over Billy’s nose and mouth, his eyes still covered by the bandanna, while Stan attempts to lift the jeroboam bottle of Cristal, ready to pour as Marty directs.

“Ready,” Stan says, hefting the bottle into the air. Billy takes three huge deep breaths, sucking in the handkerchief, before Stan tilts the jeroboam.…

“Make sure to start with little drips,” Marty directs. Chase giggles with anticipation.

“You fuckers are crazy!” Mackenzie says.

There it goes, drip, drip, drip. Billy tries to gasp in between pours, drip, drip, drip…

Stan counts, “… five seconds, six seconds, seven seconds, eight seconds…” He continues to pour, drip, drip, drip. “… eleven seconds…”

Stan and Marty start laughing with Chase, cackling, the alcohol seeping into their guts, and Billy’s body convulses as the porcelain horse drops to the ground, shattering into tiny pieces across the polished wood floor.

“Stop!” Marty yells. Stan loses control of the pouring and dumps a little more before Marty and Chase can untie the handkerchief. “Stop pouring!” Billy’s body convulses again, reaching