by Ron Ripley
“I’ve heard far worse than that, I assure you,” Professor Worthe said, smiling. “Anyway, David, think of this as psychological warfare. For some prisoners, and yes, I admit, they are my prisoners, the lack of a way to tell time is maddening. There is no way for them to differentiate between the morning and the evening. What feels like three days might only be a span of hours in which they have fallen asleep and awakened multiple times.”
David nodded as the professor paused.
“Now, in this case,” the professor said, holding his hands behind his back and looking out the window at the delivery truck, “we cannot remove our subjects completely from time. They know when the morning is because the sun is rising. And they know when the evening has arrived because the sun is setting. They can even work out, roughly if they like, the time of day simply by looking at the sun’s position in the sky. So, time and the passing of it is not an issue.”
“Then why this?” David asked, nodding out to the truck, where the rear hydraulic lift was lowering a long rectangle that looked as if it were almost ten feet in height.
“Since we cannot control when day and night arrives,” Professor Abel said, “we can remind them of the time. I doubt it will do much to our stalwart Subject B, but I do believe that the constant reminder of the passage of time should play havoc upon the mind of Subject C. Prisons use such tactics to wonderful effect on a regular basis. Especially in POW situations, where there really is nothing to stop the guards from breaking the prisoners.”
David nodded silently, watching the men work outside. Then, he mused aloud, “I think Subject C is breaking.”
“I would agree,” the professor said, chuckling. “And soon, we’ll see how right we are. Care to join me for some tea, David?”
David glanced out the window once more before he turned to his employer, smiled and said, “Yes, sir, I believe I would.”
Chapter 39: The Passage of Time
Maggie had been back to the chapel only once since waking up. After a short meal, and listening to Alex and Marcus talk, she returned to her walk around the perimeter.
She passed the front gate repeatedly, each time keeping a safe distance from it and the faceless, black-clad guards whose mirrored visors seemed to follow her every move.
I need to do it, she told herself, her head down and staring at the grass. A worn and battered path paralleled the fence, evidence of her constant traveling. Looking up, she saw the guard in the nearest tower focused on her, the stranger’s weapon at the ready. Maggie shivered as she saw the opening of the barrel, knowing that something horrific waited for her within the weapon.
Is it any worse than this? she wondered. Can it be? Death has to be better. How long will they hold us here? They can’t. I know they can’t. Someone is looking for me.
She realized it was a lie. That no one would be looking for her. Not wherever they were, which she doubted was near her home.
I’m far away, she thought. But that doesn’t mean I can’t escape. That they won’t let me out.
Her thoughts trailed off at the sound of the gate opening.
She stopped, jerked around and stared back the way she had come.
A large, black Humvee with a long, rectangular box strapped down to the roof, drove into the village. The vehicle’s large front wheels climbed up over the edges of the cobblestones and she could hear the way the Humvee jangled, its supports struggling with the rough road.
A moment later, the vehicle was gone, hidden behind a house. Guards closed and locked the gate, but they remained near it.
Waiting, she realized. They’ll open it again when the Humvee goes out.
When it goes out.
Trying not to run, Maggie walked stiffly back toward the village, angling away from the fence. She heard the rumble of machinery and the rattle of metal against metal.
Her pace increased, and she found herself speed-walking to the cobblestone street.
When she rounded the corner of the first house, she saw the vehicle parked several houses up. She hesitated near the street, watching as a trio of men unload the large box. A fourth man stood near the rear of the Humvee, a small generator humming beside him.
There was, she saw, plenty of room in the vehicle’s back for another passenger.
For me, she thought, licking her lips nervously. They’ll take me out.
Her breath came in shuddering gasps, her fingers opened and closed spasmodically, and Maggie took a step forward. Then a second, and finally, she broke into a run.
In unison, the guards turned to face her, the three still holding the box.
The fourth brought his shotgun up to his shoulder with an unbelievably fast and fluid motion. Dimly, Maggie heard him order her to stop.
Then, in a voice that penetrated her fear, he warned, “I will discharge my weapon.”
She ran faster.
I’m going to die, she thought. It’s okay to die.
The other guards returned to their task, and the fourth fired.
Maggie let out a howl of agony as pain blossomed in the center of her chest. She felt as though someone had punched her, and she stumbled back. Dropping to a knee, she tried to gather her breath.
Where’s the blood? she thought. Shouldn’t there be blood?
She struggled to get up and a second blow struck her in the right shoulder, spinning her and dropping her down, her head bouncing off the cobblestones.
Stars exploded around her eyes as she lay on her back, staring up into the early afternoon sky.
Dimly, Maggie heard the sound of boots on stone, and as she turned her head to look, she saw the guard with the shotgun come to a stop beside her.
“Let me go,” Maggie pleaded. “Please. I know you want to let me go.”
“I can’t, and I don’t,” the guard replied in a mechanical voice.
“Then kill me, please!” she screamed. “I can’t do this!”
“You have to,” he said.
“We’re good,” someone said from behind the man.
“Load up and let’s move out,” the shooter stated. The helmeted head looked down at her, and he said, “I can’t kill you, but wait around long enough, and something will be along to do the job.”
“Not like that,” she said, moaning. “Please, no, not like that.”
Without another word, the man turned and left her.
She heard the engine on the Humvee start, and she wept as it rolled past her, leaving her for the ghosts.
***
Marcus reached Maggie as the Humvee rolled through the gate. He crouched down beside the woman and saw the small, beanbag rounds that she had been struck with.
Nonlethal, he thought grimly. No wonder there’s no blood. She’ll feel miserable in the morning.
“Maggie,” Marcus said gently.
She turned and looked at him, her face puffy with crying, desperation and fear in her eyes.
This is what he wants to see, Marcus thought, anger boiling within him. He wants to see us terrified. Too frightened to move.
“Come along,” Marcus said, helping her to sit up.
“Ow,” she whispered. “It hurts so much.”
“I can only imagine,” Marcus replied. “Are you ready to sit up?”
Maggie nodded and hissed sharply through clenched teeth as he helped her to her feet.
“What were they doing?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” Marcus answered. Together, they turned and looked at the center of the cobblestone street.
An old street clock, the metal black and thick, stood there, the minutes ticking loudly.
The ornate hands showed it was two past two in the afternoon.
A clock, Marcus thought.
“Why did they do that?” she whispered.
Marcus was about to reply that he didn’t know, but then he did.
“Control,” he answered.
“How?” she asked, looking at him, confused. “How is that control?”
“He’s increasing our fea
r,” Marcus said. “Or rather, he wants to. By letting us know what time it is, we’ll always look to the clock. We will obsess over minutes and hours rather than days. Time will weigh upon us, and our fear will be magnified.”
“I hate him,” she whispered.
“So do I,” Marcus confessed.
They were silent for a few minutes, watching the minute hand of the clock as it moved patiently across the face.
Time had taken on a weight of its own.
Chapter 40: A Confrontation
“What did you talk about?”
If Timmy had been armed, Suzie would have been dead.
As it was, he was clad only in a pair of running shorts as he read a new Punisher graphic novel.
“You need to knock next time,” he said angrily, dropping the book to his bunk and sitting up.
“Close and lock your door, then,” she replied. Her hands were in the pockets of her fatigue pants, and she looked hard at him. “Answer my question.”
“Sure,” Timmy said. “David and I talked about old times. When I was at Bragg, when he was out at Carson.”
“Stop it,” she snapped. “You know what I mean.”
Timmy did, but he pretended otherwise. “Spell it out, Suzie, because I don’t know what the hell you’re getting at.”
“You took a walk the other night,” she said. “When you were on guard at the Village.”
“Sure,” Timmy said. “Kind of what active patrolling of the grounds is supposed to be. Don’t you do that when you pull a shift?”
“Don’t try to be funny,” she said. “I saw you walking, parallel to Subject B. What were you talking about?”
“I wasn’t talking about anything,” Timmy replied. “Subject B was talking.”
“You weren’t having a conversation with him?” she asked, scorn in her voice.
“Suzie, you go ahead and ask David about my suggestion concerning Subject B,” Timmy said with feigned anger.
“How about you tell me, so I can know if you’re lying or not,” she stated.
Timmy glared at her for a short time. He and Suzie had never gotten along, and the relationship had soured after the escapade at Subject B’s home.
“Alright,” he said, “you can go and confirm this with David. I told him Subject B is too dangerous, that the man needs to be terminated and the next subject brought in. And when you’re done confirming that, you can come back here, apologize, and then stay out of my room.”
“Why were you paralleling him?” she demanded.
Timmy stood up, clenching his hands into fists. He knew it would be a close fight if it came to blows. The two of them had sparred in the past, and they were an almost even match.
“I’ll tell you why,” he snarled. “He killed Amir. And I don’t care how angry the Boss would have been with me, but if I had the opportunity the other night, I would have killed Subject B. Now, get out of my room!”
Suzie scowled at him, turned and left. A moment later, he heard the door close.
Timmy sat down, cracked the knuckles on both hands, and shook his head.
Time to get rid of Suzie, he told himself.
Picking the book back up, he stretched out on his bed again, found his page and returned to his reading.
***
“Why in the hell did you want to know that?” David asked.
Suzie shrugged. “I was just trying to figure out why he would be so close to the subject.”
“It’s his job, Suzie,” David said.
He took his tray from the counter and carried it to a table. Suzie sat down across from him. Other conversations drifted over them, and David said, “I know you don’t do a lot outside of acquisitions, but if we have a subject that we don’t quite trust, we’re going to shadow them.”
“No one shadowed Subject C today,” she stated.
David chuckled. “That is not a sexist thing, Suzie. That was simply practical. Subject C is not a threat. Hell, Subject D is more of a threat than she is. Subject C is proving the Boss’s theory right now, which is fantastic. Did you happen to listen to the tape of the interaction with the guard commander and Subject C?”
Suzie shook her head, reached out and stole a couple of fries off David’s plate.
“I did,” David said, smacking her hand away as she tried for another fry. “I took his report after as well. Subject C approached them, refused to comply, and was incapacitated with non-lethals. She asked them to take her with them. The guard captain told her no, of course. And here’s the good part. She asked that they kill her. Do you see why she’s not a threat?”
Suzie nodded. “Yeah. I see it. I still don’t trust Timmy.”
“Any reason why?” David asked, taking a bite of his cheeseburger. “Has he done anything to warrant such suspicion?”
“No,” Suzie said, slapping his hand down as she took several more fries. “I’m hungry.”
“Get your own plate,” David said, laughing.
“Nope. Anyway,” she said, popping a fry into her mouth. “He hasn’t seemed right since Amir’s death.”
“No surprise there,” David said. “They went through basic all the way to airborne school together. Then, they ended up serving in the same units a few times. Completely understandable to be that way, especially when it was unexpected.”
She snorted derisively. “Listen, it’s a gut instinct, David. It hasn’t been wrong before. Something is up with Timmy, and I don’t like it. And it’s about Subject B.”
“No surprise there,” David said. “As I said, he wants to kill the subject.”
“No,” Suzie said. “There’s something more. Another part to it. I want to keep an eye on him.”
“The subject,” David said, inwardly wincing and bracing himself for the reply.
“Timmy,” she said.
“Absolutely not,” he replied. David put his cheeseburger down, wiped his hands on a flimsy paper napkin and said, “Listen to me right now, Suzie. You are not going to keep an eye on Timmy. You will not have anyone or anything keep an eye on him. He is to be left alone. Am I understood?”
“David–” she began.
“No,” David said, his voice becoming hard and cold with the authority of command. “If I have to request that he be pulled from acquisitions, I will. If I need to send him out with the scouts for a while, I will. What I will not do is sanction surveillance on Timmy.”
“Could you do me a favor, then, and pull him off acquisitions,” she said, her jaw tight. “I don’t trust him, David. You and I, we’ve worked together for over a decade. I trust you. But with Timmy, there’s something off. And until I can be sure that he isn’t going to do something stupid, I’d rather have him somewhere else. There’s too much opportunity for him to jeopardize an entire team.”
“Fine,” David said. “I’ll pull him off acquisitions until we figure out what’s going on with him. I’ll put the paperwork in for it. And get your own damned fries!”
Chapter 41: Outside the Chapel
Marcus sat and smoked his pipe in the pleasant evening air. Maggie and Alex were in the chapel, the young woman asleep and the boy reading his book.
Elaine appeared out of a shadow, and Marcus clamped down on the stem of his pipe to keep himself from yelling out in surprise.
“Elaine,” he said, standing up and offering a short bow. “Would you care to sit with me?”
The dead woman smiled and sat down across the fire from him. Marcus winced at the ache in his hips and adjusted his position.
“Have you been exploring the village?” He relit his pipe as she nodded. “And did you notice any others?”
Again, Elaine nodded, and she held up her hands, the fingers spread.
“Ten?” he asked.
She flashed her fingers twice more.
“Thirty?” He couldn’t keep the surprise out of his voice.
She raised four more fingers.
“Oh,” he said, “you found thirty four more.”
Elaine gave him a s
mall, sad smile.
“Well,” Marcus said, “that is definitely difficult news. It means we will need to travel in a group. We probably should have been doing that from the beginning.”
She nodded.
“Was there any trouble for you?”
Her grin was wicked as she shook her head.
“No,” Marcus said, chuckling. “I suppose not. Not at all. Are any of them out?”
She nodded and held up three fingers.
“Ah, I will make sure to remain here then, and not go out and about,” he said. “I wouldn’t want to get into anything.”
His voice trailed off as he heard the gate open.
From where he sat in the cemetery, he had a fair view of the road from between a pair of houses. It took him a moment to realize two guards were walking along the street, focused on a streetlamp that had gone out.
***
Billy Horn moved quickly down the center of the cobblestone street of the Village, resisting the urge to recheck his shotgun.
I switched out the non-lethal rounds, he reminded himself. I put in the iron and rock salt. I am good to go.
“How are you doing?” Denise asked over the microphone.
“Hating it, how about you?”
She didn’t laugh or chuckle as she normally would have. Neither of them enjoyed going into the Village after the streetlamps were lit.
Prior to the arrival of the Boss’ subjects, the teams had run testers through the Village. Random snatch-and-grab victims from local cities, members of the ever-growing homeless population. The testers had been dumped in various houses, not to see what the ghosts would do to them, but for the guards to have real-time training on how to react to certain scenarios.
It had taken sixty-three testers to get each team up to where David wanted them to be, and Billy hadn’t forgotten them.
He knew what the dead were capable of, and more than one team member had been attacked when doing something as simple as relighting a streetlamp.