Bury Me in Black

by Royce Caradoc

  The sound drowned out everything. It was all around him, coming from everywhere. Tightening himself into a ball, Marco closed his eyes and screamed.

  12

  -CONTROL-

  -Justine-

  “OPEN IT.”

  He didn’t fight back. Chalk it up to the cold steel poking him in the spine. Benjamin reached into his blazer and revealed the little silver key. Inserted it. Turned. The deadbolt shifted and in they went. The light above them flickered on.

  Immediately, she knew the place.

  It looked like a small laboratory, all of it off-white or gleaming metallic silver. There were cabinets all along the wall, and a small glass display case across the room, next to an antiquated-looking desktop computer; one of those old white units from the nineties. In the center of it all was what appeared to be an operating table. It was a steel seat, slightly reclined and bookended by compact white end-tables on wheels.

  Almost immediately, Justine felt sick to her stomach. She felt her grip loosen on the revolver, beginning to slide in her hand. She tightened her fingers around it, blinking rapidly to fight away her light-headed fog. Benjamin stood across from her, palms open at his sides, his entire body stiff and alert.

  What was this feeling? Déjà vu? She didn’t recall ever having set foot in this room, yet all of it was familiar. She recalled the sterile smell, with a hint of lemon. Those bright overhead lights. She ran a finger along the edge of the operating table. A chill ran through her. She looked up.

  “What happens here?”

  Benjamin was trying his hardest to stay stoic. Only his eyes gave him away with the slightest fleck of guilt. A “don’t make me say it” type of expression.

  “Benjamin, what…” her words caught in her throat. “What…did you do to me?”

  She felt the tears coming. No! She was supposed to be stronger than this. She was supposed to be stone-faced and cold. Like Zeke.

  With one eye on Benjamin, she walked over to the glass display. Four vials stood upright behind the glass, all of them filled with a thick red liquid. In the center of them was a black orb roughly the size of a baseball. She felt heat emanating from the case.

  “Tests,” he said.

  “What kind of tests?”

  Benjamin’s mood visibly soured.

  “Look, we have nothing to be ashamed of! You have to be smart enough to see the greater good.”

  “You used me to try to find the cure.”

  “Yes.”

  “And you didn’t think I’d submit to that willingly?”

  “We decided that this was the best course of action.”

  “To drug me. Knock me out. Experiment on me, and tell me nothing.”

  “Justine, this is bigger than either of us. We couldn’t take any chances.”

  “Is this my blood?” she pointed to the vials.

  “One of them. The other three are from other patients.”

  “Do they know they’re being tested? Do you take them away from their beds at night?”

  Benjamin made no response.

  “What did you find?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “From all your testing,” she said. “What did you find?”

  He lowered his eyes.

  “Jesus. You didn’t find anything. You learned nothing?”

  “It’s complicated.” Benjamin glared up at her. “But, you have to understand. We’re on the same side, Justine. There are men out there in town, Bloodline scavengers, they’d kill you the first chance they got. We are keeping you safe! We’re the only reason you’re even alive right now! What, you think you would’ve lasted after Zeke abandoned you? After he got bored and tossed you away!”

  “Shut up!” Again she raised the gun in two shaking hands. “You don’t know anything about him! He’s coming back for me. He promised!”

  “It’s like you don’t even hear yourself,” Benjamin scoffed. “You think you were the first girl he had? Huh? There was three, maybe four before you. All of them pretty little things with black hair. Gaslit bimbos, all of you. Brainwashed and used and tossed away. I bet you he’s out there right now with another one, just like you.”

  For a moment, she let that thought sink in. She let Benjamin’s words seep beneath her skin and infect her. Then she swallowed hard and put it aside. This man was lying. He didn’t know her. He didn’t know anything. Zeke was on his way, at that very moment. Just running late, like usual.

  Over Benjamin’s shoulder, she could see the open door: the keyhole, the deadbolt. On either side, there was a slot for a key. The door locked both ways.

  “Give me the key.”

  “Justine.”

  She aimed at his feet, poised to squeeze the trigger.

  “Wait! Wait! Here.” He pulled it again from his pocket, showing it to her. All this metal, the bullet surely would have ricocheted, once, twice. She could’ve killed them both with one wild shot. He tossed his ring of keys to her, underhand, and she caught it. Weapon trained on him, she carefully stepped backwards, until she was out of the doorway. He glared at her the whole time, but made no effort to rise.

  She slammed the door shut and locked the deadbolt.

  ~

  In the halls of manor Crowe, a monster stalked in the darkness. She kicked off her heels before she mounted the stairwell. The carpet felt good against her bare feet. Up she went, towards the bedrooms. She moved through the halls of the slumbering manor, slapping a flat palm against every door as she passed.

  “Wake up!” she called out. “Rise and shine!” She pounded on each door. “Up!” the dark-haired banshee howled. “Let’s drink wine and laugh! Let’s have fun!”

  One by one, they came out, rubbing their tired eyes. All of them confused, some angry. None of them at their glowing best. None of them dressed to the nines like usual. She raised her gun, the old six-shooter she’d taken off of Benjamin.

  “Get. Out. All of you.”

  It was the most peculiar thing. Not a single one of them moved. One raised a finger, about to talk, to reason with her. He obviously had no idea who he was dealing with. She raised the weapon, pulling back the hammer, and put a hole in the ceiling.

  “OUT!”

  This time, they listened.

  That quick, and the east wing became a stampede of trust fund babies in pajamas. Most of them had children of various ages, not that it mattered to Justine. Empathy was staring at her from miles and miles away. Empathy was a dot, completely unrecognizable way back there beside the horizon. She walked, barefoot, casually, that gun held high. The west end of the house was awake already, having heard the piercing shot. They were just as easy to coax out of the place. She recognized most of their faces in passing, having shared a dinner banquet or two with them. Red wine and hors d’oeuvres.

  The quarantine had been like a vacation for these people. They’d never had to live outside these friendly confines. Such an unjust advantage they’d had, all this time. Well, now the pendulum swung back. Equilibrium would be returned to the ecosystem. Out there, they’d be like lambs to the slaughter.

  It was only fair.

  She stared down the end of the hall. She’d saved the best for last.

  ~

  The prettiest looking key on Benjamin’s ring did the trick. Of course Jacob had locked himself into his bedroom. When he heard her tinkering with the lock, he’d thrown his body against the door. A feeble barricade. They struggled for a moment, and then Justine grew still, holding her breath. She counted down from twenty—just long enough for Jacob to let his skinny limbs relax—and then pushed as hard as she could. She upended the old fool and then spilled into the room herself, nearly tripping over him.

  She closed the door behind her.

  As the downed house matriarch groaned, grasping for the cane he’d dropped, Justine took in the room. It was everything she’d expected. The bed was big enough to fit four Crowe’s. He had his own fireplace, with an ornamental rifle hanging over the mantle. A musty looking bookcase lin
ed one wall, as well as a bedroom bar. Shit, if given these amenities, Justine doubted she’d have ever left her room. Of course, the most interesting attraction was by the far wall. A bookcase had been pushed to the side, revealing a hidden doorway, pulled halfway open-

  “Jus…Justine. What have you done?” He was struggling to grab his cane, to get back to his knees.

  Justine wiped the sweat from her brow, six-gun dangling in her right hand.

  “After all we’ve done for you, after keeping you safe…”

  “Uh-huh,” she said, and walked towards the door. Behind the bookcase, the door had been disguised as a wall, a cool green shade same as the rest of the room. But, the interior of the room was composed of steel, same as the one downstairs. This one was roughly the same size as well. She walked inside, gun raised, and found it empty. It was as small as a prison cell, but with a cot-sized bed, cabinets and a toilet. It reminded her of a high-end version of her father’s trapdoor basement. Stepping inside, she turned to get a glimpse of the far wall. Hanging there was an array of screens—maybe sixteen in all—displaying what appeared to be every room and hallway in the manor. A remote control lay on the bed.

  “You have a panic room,” she said to Crowe, though it hardly mattered if he heard.

  She lifted the remote, enraptured. It was all there. The whole house, on display. Certain screens cycled through rooms, but Justine quickly saw that she could pick and choose which rooms to monitor by using the remote. Also, isolating a room, she could turn the volume up and down. Not only could Crowe see everything, but the rooms were mic’d. He could hear them too. Justine’s eyes lingered on the far right screen, where two sofas sat by an unlit fire.

  He was on his feet by the time she glanced back. He winced, all his weight on the cane, and steadied himself. Jacob’s slicked back silver hair looked unkempt for once. He coughed with every couple of breaths, staring wide-eyed at her.

  On one of the outside cameras, she could just barely make out the herd of residents, running for the hills. Justine smiled. Crowe, slow and extra careful not to upset her, limped over to her side. Together, they watched as everything he’d built disintegrated before her eyes. She’d expected him to be more upset. She expected to enjoy this more.

  “Oh no.”

  The old man raised a shaking hand, pointing at one of the screens. On the bottom left, the two guards stood in the foyer, just before the front doors, weapons up and at the ready.

  Someone was here.

  Justine was giddy, almost immediately. Zeke’s timing had been impeccable. They needed only take care of the two men at the door, and they’d be free of this place. Justine glanced over at Jacob Crowe. Her grip tightened on the pistol. Zeke would leave no survivors here. The old man would die, by her hand or his. Crowe seemed to read her mind. He backed up a step, eyes growing puppy-wide. Did this man deserve death, for what he’d done? For his lies, for his hubris? She placed the remote control back down on the bed.

  “Close the door. It’s the red button there,” Crowe said. “We can barricade ourselves inside. Come, hurry!”

  Justine glanced back at him, her face a mask.

  “Jacob, when we come back upstairs…don’t be here.”

  She left him there, frozen in fear, and made for the stairs.

  ~

  The two wings converged at the top of the stairwell. She halted just before the balcony, making sure the two guards couldn’t see her. These were the men she’d spotted outside once or twice before, no doubt. They were in Benjamin’s employ, likely clueless and hapless without their leader. She crouched and held the revolver up, in both hands, just in case her long-lost lover might need an assist. As if. Justine crawled towards the edge, quiet as she could, and watched.

  The silence seemed to weigh five hundred pounds. She swore she could hear the duo breathing, or feel their tremoring hands as they waited. The doors remained slightly ajar, slapping against the frame with each sigh of the wind. Justine could feel her own heartbeat thump-thump-thump-thumping in her chest.

  And then the doors exploded.

  The blast erupted, shattering the glass, knocking one of the doors clean off its hinges. The two gunmen seemed to drop down in unison, pushed back by the haze or the hail of jagged glass. Justine too ducked instinctively, covering her eyes with an arm. From the darkness outside, a figure waltzed into the foyer, weapons clinking at his hips. Justine rose to her feet and looked down at the man from above. He had long black hair, and wore a sleeveless basketball jersey, silver pistols slung low on his belt. Slowly, the man raised his gaze.

  He saw her.

  INTERLUDE

  THE NIGHT CALLED OUT TO HIM. Down here amongst the rot and ruin of a derelict town, he swore he could almost feel his would-be foes, out there somewhere in the darkness. They were moving amongst the rubble, slowly, one foot in front of the other. Survivors with red eyes and pale skin, hundreds upon hundreds of them, shuffling forth in packs of three or four. An uncommon few looked to hide away and survive the night unmolested. Most, however, were like Conrad. Hunters in the night. Scavengers.

  This town, dead or not, was full of prizes just waiting to be claimed.

  On a starless night, Nathan Conrad stalked through the alleyways. He wore black from head to toe, as many did, though his getup was far from stylish. An old long-sleeved sweatshirt, faded old jeans and boots clung to his well-built frame. His sidearm, an M9 Beretta, was tucked into the back of his pants. He’d never bothered to invest in a holster.

  He heard her wailing from half a mile out.

  It stopped him dead when it began, the cries of what could only be a young woman. It didn’t take him long to track her. He found the girl on another nondescript residential street, maybe a twenty-minute walk from the town proper. Snot-nosed, she staggered along with her arms crossed, sniffling and whining. His first instinct was to go out into the road and help her, but something seemed off. Something about the way she was carrying herself. It was…performative. So, Conrad remained out on the fringes in shadow. He watched. He followed.

  Conrad waited until she’d expended all her energy and slipped into an alleyway to rest and refocus. He’d heard tell of this girl before, as he was sure any other scavengers nearby had. She was an envoy of Zeke’s: the cheese to his sawed-off mousetrap. Out from the public eye, the girl finally let go of the charade. She stopped crying, placing one hand against the far wall to catch her breath. Conrad was there. Waiting.

  He wrapped one hand around her throat. The other, he placed over her mouth. She looked up at him and he saw what so many others had seen, he surmised, right before Zeke emerged and put an end to them.

  Blue eyes.

  ~

  He arrived at Ashe Memorial half an hour later. Conrad left cars all around town, with the keys in the glovebox, in case he needed a quick getaway. This one was a beige Accord, about as nondescript as it gets. He parked behind the main house, in the grass, groaning when he got out. His right hand was wrapped in gauze, forever pulsing with pain. He mounted the porch, unlocked the front door and pushed it open, so that it hung ajar. Then he went back to the car and rounded the vehicle, the sound of crickets all around him. Conrad surveyed the property. A long look, as far as he could see. Then he turned his attention back to the car. He popped the trunk.

  Inside, laying on her side, was a girl with wrists bound with red duct tape. Another strip was over her lips. She was wide eyed, breathing heavy, but she didn’t bother to let out a muffled scream when he lifted her in both arms. He did his best not to put any of her weight on his injured hand. He carried her over the threshold, clicking on the kitchen lights with an elbow, and brought her over to that little square kitchen table. He set her down on one of the chairs.

  “Stay,” he growled. He walked back to the front door and closed it. Conrad gave a long look out the window. Then he walked back to the table, past her, and took a seat across the table. He sat with his back to the wall, so that he had a clear view of the front door, as alw
ays.

  Conrad cleared his throat.

  “He’s late.” Conrad glanced up at the clock on the wall, which audibly ticked. “You know who I am?”

  She shook her head ‘no.’ The girl had dark black hair down to just below her ears. It looked as if she’d had it shorter, but had begun to grow it back. The tears she’d faked were long gone. She merely stared at him with inquisitive eyes, a sour look on her face. Every now and again, when she thought he wasn’t paying attention, her eyes would dart around the room to take in her surroundings. She was beginning to formulate a plan for an escape. Smart girl.

  Conrad sighed.

  “Where you are right now, it’s called Ashe Memorial. It’s 4,000 acres, purchased by Alain Ashe and his sister in 1908 and turned into a private preserve. More specifically, you are inside a house with thick wooden walls, surrounded by 4,000 acres of grass and forest. So, when I say that screaming won’t do you any good, I mean it. I’m gonna take that dirty rag out of your mouth now, and I’m going to trust that you’re smart enough to have a civil conversation with me. Does that sound fair?”

  The girl nodded.

  “Good.”

  He ripped the tape from her lips. She grunted as he did it. The skin around her mouth looked raw from the tape job, as if she’d smeared lipstick. Conrad returned to his seat.

  “What’s your name, darling?”

  “Justine.”

  “Pretty name. I’m Nathan,” he said. He tapped his fingers on the tabletop. “So. Justine. Here’s the thing. If he’s on his way here, right now, I’m going to have to use you as a hostage. Just so you know up front.”

  “He?”

  “Your routine out there…I’ve heard of it before. You walk the streets as bait, some dumbass scavenger approaches, and Zeke guns em down. Think he’s done it with a couple different girls. How many of you are there? A whole little tribe? I’m picturing Zeke as a regular Charles Manson, and all you pretty girls as the Family.”