by Robert Ward
And the screaming pigs—the ones with their guts exposed from monstrous operations. The pigs with the red eyes glowering at them. Wild javelina pigs, each with some kind of hole in its back into which a green liquid dripped steadily from a catheter.
“We let these animals out,” Jack said, “and they are going to make short work of us.”
“I wouldn't blame them,” Oscar said.
They wandered down the rows of terrifying half-destroyed animals, Jack feeling a terrible rage that anyone could do this to such helpless beasts. They reached another door. It was steel, and locked, but Jack found the right key on Hans's chain and swiftly opened it.
The new room was lit in purple neon.
And it was cold, ice cold. The freezer.
Oscar's teeth chattered and he felt faint.
“What the fuck is this?”
“Where they make ice cream?” Jack asked.
They moved forward slowly, shivering.
Then they both saw it at once. The frozen body of a black woman with her stomach carved away. Two bolts that looked like the same bolts that were in the rabbits’ heads, but jumbo-sized, went right through Gerri's head.
“Like a black female Frankenstein,” Jack said.
Gerri, or what was left of her, was hanging from a hook in the wall. Her eyes were gone and her mouth lolled open, an old door with broken hinges.
Though frozen solid, she seemed to be still screaming.
“Oh, man,” Jack said, somehow moving down the rows of other bodies that hung from the wall. People with eyes pulled out, arms missing, lung cavities exposed.
And then, at the other end of the hall, they heard voices. Crowd murmurings. And mad, wild music, some kind of high, weird, techno shit played by a maniac on goat speed.
Before they got to the door, Jack saw a big metal freezer trunk.
He toyed with the clasp and though he didn't know how he did it, the latch clicked. As Oscar looked over his shoulder, Jack slowly lifted the lid and looked inside.
Inside, there was a familiar boy, or what was left of him. He had a bullet hole in his arm, and another in his head. His lifeless eyes were open and staring up at Jack. His face was icy blue and his mouth was open as if he'd died in disbelief. His skin looked like old crêpe.
“Tommy,” Jack said.
“Madness,” Oscar said.
But there was no time to grieve.
Just beyond the next door they heard the noise grow louder. Above the insane music and the mad laughter, they heard something completely distinct. People who weren't laughing and chatting away. No, these people were screaming.
“What are you doing to us?”
“Whyyyy?”
“Pleeeease! This must be a mistake. God . . .”
And then another voice. A deep, amused voice.
“Sorry, this is no mistake,” a man's voice said. “You and everyone else who came to the cave were chosen for an excellent reason.”
There was a brief silence and then Jack and Oscar could hear a high-pitched crying, like a bird that's having its feathers torn out, one by one.
And words, too . . .
“Oooh, God, no no no no no no . . . somebody help us. Please, God, somebody help us.”
Jack looked at Oscar as they moved toward the last door.
Chapter Thirty-six
When Johnny Z came to, he was tied to a gurney in the back of a meat truck. In front of him was an aluminum wall, and although he didn't know it, on the other side of it were various cuts of frozen meat—steaks, roasts, pork chops. They were packaged and had been placed on shelves by two men wearing winter jackets and ski gloves. The temperature in the freezer was about ten above zero.
If a cop stopped the truck and asked to look in the back all he would see was frozen meat.
They wouldn't think to look beyond the refrigerator wall, where Johnny was tied up, rags stuffed in his mouth.
Johny's teeth chattered and his eyes darted around the room looking for some way out.
Formerly helpless old Millie, wearing a warm winter coat, looked down at him with snarling contempt.
“Hey there, big guy, how are you?” she asked. “Probably wondering where you're going. Well, I'll tell you. You're going to a party, a party you will never forget. Trust me on that.”
Johnny tried to talk but all that came out were idiot mumbles.
They took him out of the back of the truck and put his gurney down on the desert floor. Then Millie took the gag out of his mouth. Johnny looked up at the moon. He felt a terrifying panic and the moon was so luminous and beautiful that he almost wanted to cry.
Millie stood next to him. In her hand was some kind of remote-control device.
“Look up there, Johnny-boy,” she said in an almost motherly tone.
She pointed at a mountain in front of them. Rocky, sandy, not all that steep. As mountains go, you wouldn't stop to take a picture of it.
“So?” he said. “A fucking hill. Who cares?”
“But watch this.”
She then aimed the remote at the hill and pushed the button.
Johnny's mouth dropped open.
There was a whirring sound and the earth on the hillside parted. Two boulders slid open, just like elevator doors.
“What the fuck?” Johnny cried.
“This is the party we told you about,” Marty said.
“Party?”
“You're probably wondering where all the guests are. Well, they enter on the other side,” Millie said. “You're one of the star attractions. You wouldn't expect the star to come in the same entrance as the audience, would you?”
“Star attraction? What the fuck are you talking about?” Johnny screamed.
Marty smiled and stuffed the gag back in his mouth.
Two men picked up Johnny's gurney and began to carry him up the hill.
Johnny tried to talk but the words just sounded like, “Waitaman-fuckers basflerds.”
Marty and Millie and the two bearers found him hilarious and began mimicking his pronunciation.
Before he could object any more, they had already walked up the pathway, gone through the doors, and were inside.
The doors in the hillside closed behind them.
They took him into a great underground room lit by wall torches. He felt such fear that he was sure he would lose control of his bowels. How Marty and Millie would love that.
Marty and Millie. He still couldn't get over it!
The two old fuckers had somehow tricked him, the fabulous Johnny Zaprado, by playing on his greed. The whole match had been a setup. He should have seen it coming a mile away.
But who would think them capable of it?
Old people had been his criminal specialty because they were so helpless and such goofs. Really, until now he had never had one iota of trouble bashing them around, stealing their money, and screaming into their fragile, tissue-paper-thin-skinned faces.
Until now, until this very moment . . . and where the hell was he?
Inside a freaking mountain! Moving through some long tunnel, with torches flickering on ancient walls.
They passed through some doors and took him into a big meeting room. The kiva.
He squinted and moved his head slightly so he could see who was there. From the sound of it, there was a pretty large gathering of people, maybe a hundred or so.
But there was no way he could prepare for what he saw next.
All the guests wore metallic shimmering gray capes and really bizarre white masks with strange little eye slits and oversized mouths. Very grotesque-chic.
It was some kind of weird masquerade party. Maybe they were going to teach him a lesson. Old creeps were good at that kind of thing, teaching young people a lesson. That had to be it. They were going to scare him a little bit and maybe give him a few memorable bruises and then dump him a few miles from town and let him think about taking on old folks again.
He could almost hear them hanging around, saying, “Well, we'll teach
that young hustler a thing or two, by crackie.”
So let them scare him if they wanted. Let them do whatever they had in mind. He could hack it. But when he healed up afterward, oh, baby, were they going to get a rude surprise! Yeah, he was going to track all of them down and crush their ancient asses.
To think that they had tricked him, Johnny Z, like this. They were going to pay and pay and pay and . . .
But wait now. What was this? Something weird was happening. His two new bearers—two people dressed in the same silver tunics and weirdo almost-alien masks. As they carried him through the great, torch-lit hall, the place became utterly silent.
And where were Marty and Millie?
As he managed to raise his head a little and look around the cave, he realized every masked eye was staring down at him.
What the hell was going on?
He watched as the crowd moved in on him. They crowded so close to him that his bearers could barely carry him through the curious, masked mob to the front of the room.
But get him there they did.
Then Johnny looked up and saw something that he could no longer pass off with a laugh or with his usual psychotic revenge fantasies.
He saw something so horrifying that for a good three or four seconds he didn't really recognize it, even though he was staring right at it and could see it plainly.
It was . . . but it couldn't be . . . no way.
But it was!
What Johnny Z saw was two other people in front of him. A middle-aged man and an attractive woman Johnny assumed was his wife, and they were naked.
But being naked was the least of their worries because they were also on a makeshift stage at the front of the room, and they were . . . oh, God, was he actually seeing this?
Yes, he was. Oh, God help me, he screamed in silence.
The two of them were each nailed to a cross.
The older man and the younger woman were totally nude and were being freaking crucified.
Crucified! With real nails in their palms and their ankles.
And look at the size of those nails. Fucking huge. The kind of nails you might use in building a bridge.
And all the people in their shimmering gray capes and their weird white masks were looking at the poor crucified bastards and ooohing and aahing. Then Johnny noticed something odd. The two crucified people should have been screaming their lungs out but they weren't. They were utterly quiet. He looked at their mouths and realized why. There were gags stuffed in their mouths.
But their eyes . . . ah, their eyes told the story without words.
Their eyes were wide open and filled with nameless, unspeakable terror. Their eyes were doing all the screaming for them.
And now they were prying open his mouth and sticking in rags soaked in chemicals that scorched his tongue and the roof of his mouth, and there was a gag being tied tightly all the way around his neck, and he was trying to beg and scream but could do neither.
They were pulling him off the gurney and moving him to his very own cross and they were starting to rip off his clothes. He was stunned that he could feel shame as well as terror.
But he did. He wanted to apologize to everyone for the roll of fat on his stomach. And he wanted to say he had intended to go on a diet because when you get . . . when you get fucking crucified you really want to look your best!
But that line of thought was soon cut off because there was a man walking toward him with a big hammer in his hand, and sticking out of the mouth hole of his mask were four huge motherfucking nails.
Johnny Z began to scream and scream and scream some more.
But all that came out was a muffled torrent of animal sounds, like the bleating of a screaming pig, with no hope of mercy from his torturer.
All the masked people in the crowd began to laugh. Wild, crazed, lunatic laughter that echoed around the green-gray walls and shook the very foundations of the room.
Chapter Thirty-seven
“Can you fucking believe this?” Jack asked.
He glanced at Oscar, whose mouth was hanging open.
Three people being . . . Jack could hardly say it in his mind . . . crucified right in front of him and his partner.
But what could they do about it? If they pulled their guns they'd be outnumbered by a hundred to two.
There were two robed and masked guys standing by the crosses. Obviously guards, with their guns under their robes, Jack thought.
“What do we do?” Oscar whispered.
“Wait for our chance. See what the big guy is going to say.”
“Jesus! This is muy malo.”
From in front of them one of the other audience members turned and hissed, “Would you two stop arguing? Some of us are trying to assume a meditative mood.”
“Sorry,” Jack said, turning slightly. “I was having a little trouble seeing the crucifixion.”
“Well, try to have some consideration, young man,” the old voice beside them chastened. “You two aren't the only people in this room!”
Jack looked at Oscar and shook his head.
Up on his cross Johnny Z was learning a new, active definition of the word “pain.” The pain in his palms radiated to his arms, then twisted into his shoulders, back, and neck.
He turned his head slightly and looked at the middle-aged guy next to him.
Who was he? What had he done?
What had the girl done?
What could any of them have done to deserve this?
As Alex Williams took his position in front of the audience, just in front of the three people on trial, he thought of the high seriousness of what was transpiring here tonight.
It was funny how things had started long ago, started as merely an act of revenge against a young man who had killed an older man but that had now grown into so much more.
Out of that first primal instinct for revenge a flower had grown. Hell, more than a flower, a whole garden of flowers.
Here it was in front of him, a visionary company of geniuses, people who enriched the world: a collective, as it were, unlike any other collective that had ever existed.
Alex looked out at them as the last few took the seats in the back of the audience.
A hundred and five of them now and soon to be more. But not too soon. No, they couldn't simply add people. Every single member had to be vetted, carefully considered, and voted on by the inner council.
That was crucial.
Questions had to be asked. Serious questions.
How much had they helped humanity?
If they were accepted, what future good could they do for mankind?
Why should one person be chosen over another person with similar credentials?
What is their concept of “the good”?
And the most important question of all: how much money would they pay?
Not that he was in any way a cheap materialist, but one had to be realistic. What he had to offer them was the most remarkable breakthrough in man's history. The dream of every man and woman who ever lived.
Immortality.
Once the formula was perfected, price would be no object.
He could ask any price he wished. He really would be (and the thought made him blush) the most powerful man in the world.
It was a great day, Alex thought, his mind whirling as he heard the crowd settle down and look up at him. At him, their leader, the visionary among other lesser visionaries. The man who had discovered the secret, the secret that Western science had glossed over.
He who had started long ago and taken a path that revealed the true secrets of life.
As the great folk singer Bob Dylan had once sung (before he sold out), “He who is not busy being born is busy dying.”
How true that was, Alex thought, how true.
There had been a time, long ago, when Alex had thought that his entire generation was busy being born, but it had not been so. They were like all the other generations before them: sellouts. Busy all right. Busy making milli
ons.
Only he and his band of brothers understood the true nature of the magical mystery tour called “Life and Death.” (Such inadequate words.)
Only the chosen few.
But wasn't that the way it had always been?
Jesus, Muhammad, Einstein, and some day soon, Williams.
Just a few, but those were enough. Enough to see that humanity went on to its great destiny.
He turned now and looked at the suffering, twitching, eyeball-popping threesome on their crosses.
He saw the girl look at him with an expression that said, “Please, please, have pity on me and I will suck your cock for all eternity!”
Alex Williams only smiled up at her.
He felt many things toward her—hatred, fury, even gratitude—but sorry, missy, pity didn't make the list.
He looked back at his audience, ready now. Ready for the beginning of the trial.
The trial at which he, Alex Williams, would be judge, jury and . . . immortalist.
Chapter Thirty-eight
“Jack, what the fuck are we going to do?” Oscar asked.
“I'm working on it,” Jack replied.
“Well, work on this, too, bro,” Oscar said. “I'm getting weaker by the minute.” “What?”
“I was shot, remember? Well, I've lost a lot of blood and I feel real dizzy. I can barely sit up.”
“Can you hang on a little longer?” Jack asked.
“Yeah, man, I think so. But we gotta make a move anyway, ese.”
Then they heard new, louder, terrified screams.
Behind the naked hipster Johnny Z, two more crosses were being brought into the room. And just behind the crosses two women were being dragged by hooded, masked men.
“Is that who I think it is?” Oscar asked, peering shakily from his bloodshot eyes.
“I can't fucking believe it—that's Michelle and Jennifer,” Jack said.
The girls had rags stuffed into their mouths.
The crosses were hastily raised, but there seemed to be some trouble with one of them.
“The crossbar is sagging,” Oscar said.