Nefarious Heroes: Malevolent Prisoners Book Two

by Eddie Jakes

  "Remy, get your boots back on. Everyone take a hidden position around the perimeter. Larouche, I want you on the roof with your scope. Keep an eye on them, and if any of them approach this place, take them out one by one. We don't have much manpower so we need to be smart about this. Everybody understand their orders?"

  Everyone acknowledged and took their places. Javier found a trapdoor with a ladder leading upstairs. Once on the roof, he pulled up the ladder and the trapdoor shut on its own. Taking stock of his surroundings, Javier looked for the best position to set up his rifle. The entire road was recessed so he had a good three feet of cover to hide behind if they should start shooting back.

  Javier picked the perfect spot near the left corner. It provided him the best view of the approaching army and the perfect shot in front of the entrance. Now it was all a waiting game to see if they would even care about this seemingly innocuous storefront or if they would try to forage through it for supplies.

  The invaders marched in a broken formation. They weren't trained military but from the look of them they had seen quite a few battles in their day. They had head dressings and civilian garments with no indication that they belonged to a particular faction. The other soldier had referred to them as insurgents. Was this a clue as to where this was all happening? Javier couldn't put any pieces together just yet. All he could do was gather clues.

  They were only a few yards from the front entrance, and they slowed their pace but continued to walk forward. It was beginning to look like they were going to ignore the store after all. From the outside, it was a disaster, and he was sure that any reasonable person would be able to conclude that it had been ransacked already for any valuable supplies.

  Then the first gunshot rang out, and one of the guerrillas fell to the ground from a shot through the chest.

  "Damn," whispered Javier.

  One of his fellow soldiers had panicked and decided to take matters into his own hands. It was a bloody massacre on both ends. Shot after shot rang out and Javier watched as the insurgents dropped one after another. He started to line up shots, but before he could fire, another one of his companions managed to hit the target first.

  It wasn't enough, and soon they were swarming at the building, trying to make their way inside. Javier fired a few shots and managed to make every one count, but there were still too many of them, and soon they were inside.

  From underneath the roof which he stood, Javier could hear the screaming of his squad as they were gunned down by the enemy. He was scared and helpless to stop them. Soon the screaming stopped, and other than indistinguishable talking, there was nothing for a few minutes. Then the screaming of his commander started.

  There weren't any gunshots, just screams of horror and pain. Javier's heart skipped a beat when he saw them drag the commander out by his hair and into the street. Each of his legs had a gaping stab wound, and his pants were saturated with blood. One of the guerrillas followed them out into the street with a large knife out of someone's worst nightmare and began to shout at him in a language he could not understand.

  He drove his knife into the shoulder of his commander who howled in agony. Javier lined up a shot with the knife-wielding bastard but hesitated to pull the trigger. He wanted to shoot, but the reality was starting to grip him. He was alone up there, and there was no way he could take them all out. They would get to him, and they would torture or kill him as well. The panic was too much to handle, and Javier dropped behind the wall, fighting back his fear.

  "Kill him, Larouche! Kill him," his commander's voice echoed through the air before being cut off by what Javier could only imagine was another brutal stab. "It hurts so much, Larouche. Kill them! God damn you. Don't let them do this to me!"

  He was frozen in terror. He covered his ears and closed his eyes tight, but the dying sound of his commander being tortured could not be silenced. In the end, all he could hear was the sound of a man crying, praying, and begging to die. The horrific pleas stopped when Javier opened his eyes …

  Javier was on the ground with his hands over his ears. He could smell the aroma of spilled coffee on his pants. Javier glanced up to see Tanya standing over him and Shepard off in the distance watching. The look he was giving him was a combination of both expectant and compassionate feeling. It wasn't long before he turned away from Javier and returned to his chair with a small gun cleaning kit.

  "What happened?" asked Tanya.

  Rubbing his eyes, Javier shook the images from his head. "I don't know. I suddenly saw something."

  "From your past? Do you want to talk about it? It might help you remember."

  Javier swallowed back hard. "I'm not sure that I want to remember."

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The cold sweats and cramping took its toll on Tara, but after hours of the discomfort, she was in a state between sleep and awake. Since leaving the prison, she had barely gotten any rest at all. Thanks to the generosity of Shepard, she had been able to have a somewhat comfortable night in a real bed; something she hadn't been able to do since the whole world seemed to go to hell in a single day.

  Insomnia or not, everybody has a breaking point, and Tara knew that she had hit hers. She had no energy to keep her eyes open and they slowly opened and closed. Her breathing was still labored from the stomach pain, which was enough to keep her from allowing sleep to take over. If she had been the kind of person who prayed, she would be on her knees asking the good Lord to knock her out. Shepard had said that she just needed to ride out whatever it was that was screwing with her. Sleeping it off rather than going through this living hell was preferable.

  She could feel it now, though. The laziness in her eyelids bringing on the Sandman to guide her on a comfortable journey. She slowly blinked a few times, but each time the cabin would remind her that it wasn't a dream and things really did suck for her at the moment. Then she blinked for a fourth time and her surroundings weren't familiar at all.

  The room Tara found herself in was filled with the nasty smell of cigarette smoke and something else she couldn't identify. It seemed to her like it should be familiar, but everything looked and felt strange at the moment. There were three large couches with anywhere from three to four people sprawled out on them, sometimes all over each other in compromising positions. They appeared dirty or sloppy, as if they had not showered in days, and by the look of the heads of hair on some of them, even months.

  In the center of the room was a square coffee table completely covered in empty bottles of liquor and overflowing ashtrays. Through the mess, Tara noticed collections of syringes and elastic ties sitting in tiny piles of white powder. The only sound was coming from a television in the front of the room as an animated dog with glasses spoke to a young boy. Tara wanted to get up but couldn't; her arms and legs felt like gelatin, and she couldn't seem to focus her attention on anything long enough without her vision blurring promptly.

  One of the strange guests began to laugh maniacally at nothing in particular. Whatever it was that the fool was laughing at it must have been contagious, because others began to follow suit with some laughter of their own. For some, the laughter quickly turned into coughing following by vomiting.

  Taking in her surroundings, Tara was disgusted by everything she saw. The place was a cesspool for the wastes of society—people incapable of contributing anything to the world and instead choosing to murder themselves slowly with excessive booze and hardcore drugs.

  Why was she with them? Were they friends of hers that she was trying to help? Did they kidnap her and drug her so that she wouldn't notify the authorities? There was so much that felt familiar but it was like running into a brick wall when she tried to think back further. If only she could get up and ask what the deal was.

  Through the random laughter and occasional murmurs about chasing butterflies through a lollipop forest, Tara could have sworn she heard crying from somewhere upstairs. They were young. Real young. If she had to guess, she would think maybe nine months to a year. Nob
ody seemed to hear or care about the baby wailing for attention.

  "Can somebody check on Gigi. I'm too tired," Tara mutter.

  "Sure," said one of the freeloading boys on the floor. "Gigi! You okay?"

  The baby continued to cry.

  "She says that she's fine," chuckled the freeloader.

  Tara gave him the stink-eye and sat up from her position on the rear couch. A sudden rush of queasiness gripped her insides. Try as she might, Tara wasn't able to choke it back and was soon vomiting on herself. It was disgusting, but she brushed it off like it wasn't a big deal and stood up. In her conscious mind, she was appalled. She wasn't kidnapped or trying to help; she was one of those sad souls giving their lives away to self-destructive behavior in an attempt to escape reality.

  After trying to wipe off the puke with a used paper towel on the coffee table, she stumbled over to the stairs. The effects of heroin and speed had destabilized her motor skills to the point that she was completely unaware as she stepped and tripped over every obstacle in her path. All that she could focus on was the crying of the baby upstairs, and she needed to get up there.

  As she went to take the first step, there were several loud knocks on the front door that scared her to death, but she was too high to react. The knocking continued, and Tara opened the door without a second thought. A man about her age with the same color hair as her stood at the door. He looked her up and down quickly before turning his head in sadness.

  "What do you want?" asked Tara.

  "Mom and Dad told me to come check on you. Kind of wishing I didn't say yes."

  "Then leave."

  Tara went to close the door, but the man stopped her midway and gently pushed his way in. She was weak and quickly gave in to his insistence.

  "They're worried about you, Tara. They want you to come home. They want to get you some help."

  "I don't need any help," Tara answered, while falling backward onto the stairs.

  "They are worried about Gigi, too. We all are. Where is she?"

  "She's upstairs. I was about to change her and give her a bottle."

  "Like this? You're a mess, Tara!"

  "I am just fine. Now help me up."

  He pulled her up from the stairs, and they both walked to the baby's room. Gigi was adorable and chunky. She smiled when she saw Tara approaching.

  "Hi, Gigi. Look who came to see you. It's Uncle Reece."

  "Hey, beautiful girl."

  Gigi was overjoyed to see her uncle. She was smart and always seemed to recognize family over strangers. Her eyes were a bright blue that seem to shine even in the dimmest light, and her smile was always ear-to-ear. Tara lifted her up out of the crib and held her tight to her chest, giving her a firm hug. Gigi squeaked with joy.

  "Mind if I hold her?" asked Reece.

  Tara gave him a distrusting glance but relented. Reece held the baby up and made faces to Gigi's content. She laughed and gurgled at her silly uncle. Tara began to search for diapers but could not find a single one. The floor was littered with empty boxes and trash, and Tara sifted through everything, but still nothing.

  "Fuck," muttered Tara.

  "What?"

  "Nothing, I just have to go to the store and get some diapers is all. Yeah."

  "Are you serious? You're in no condition to go anywhere."

  "I'm all right, she's my kid. I can handle going to the store for my child."

  "I'll go. What do you need?"

  "I don't want you to get me anything, I can do it myself."

  "You're fucked up! What are you going to do, walk into a store with Gigi all smacked out?"

  "No, my friends will watch her while I'm out."

  Reece was livid. "Those pieces of shit in your living room?"

  "They're my friends!"

  "They're a bunch of sick junkies!"

  Tara tugged at Reece's arm, which Gigi was happily seated in.

  "I'm not letting you leave her with those losers."

  "Give her to me," Tara demanded.

  "Stop, I'll stay here and watch her."

  "No! I want you to leave, and I want you to give me my baby back!"

  Reece yanked Gigi out of Tara's reach and took a step back. "She's not safe here, Tara! You need help, let me take her to Mom and Dad's. Please."

  "She's my daughter. She's staying here with me!"

  Tara began pounding on her brother's other arm but couldn't leave a single mark; the drugs had taken the last of her energy away.

  Reece turned to walk out the door, but a pasty looking balding man with long hair stood in his way with a switchblade drawn. He looked as high as Tara but a lot more energetic and threatening. He glared at Reece and licked his teeth, which were all bright yellow and rotting.

  "Problem here, buddy?" asked the junkie.

  "He's trying to take Gigi."

  "I just want to bring her somewhere safe," said Reece.

  "You don't think she's safe with us? I can keep us all safe. Look! See?" The junkie twirled his knife at Reece. "Real safe."

  "I'm her brother. I'm just trying to help."

  "I don't want your help, I want my baby!"

  "Well now," chuckled the junkie, "the lady of the house doesn't seem to want any help from you. So I would suggest you do as she says … otherwise, I will have to treat you like a trespasser. Do you know what happens to criminals like that where I'm from?"

  "I don't know you. I don't know where you're from."

  "Well now, I'll tell ya. I'm from …" The junkie paused. "Well shit. Must have fried my brain ’cause I can't fucking remember shit."

  Seizing the moment, Tara snatched Gigi from her uncle's arms. Reece looked at his sister and pleaded with his eyes.

  "There now," the junkie grinned, "if the lady is happy, I'm happy. Now I think you know where the door is. I suggest you use it before I remember what it is exactly that we do to trespassers where I'm from."

  "Tara, just come with me. You're my sister. I want you to get help."

  "Get out of my house, Reece. Leave us alone!"

  The junkie motioned with the point of his knife toward the exit. Reece sighed to himself, and a single tear started to trickle from his right eye. Tara tried not to notice but it was hard not to, and she began to cry, too. With that, Reece left them alone in the baby's room. The sobbing became intense, and Tara buried her face in Gigi's chest.

  After she had stopped crying, life turned back to normal.

  She was still crying when she sat up abruptly. Tara attempted to force in as much oxygen as she could, trying to calm her nerves at what she had experienced. Part of her wanted to believe that it was a dream, and none of it was real, but it all made sense given the circumstances. The sweating and nausea were all clues that she was a drug addict before becoming an overseer. The worst kind of drug addicts at that … one with a child.

  The child. Where was she now?

  "Did you see something, as well?"

  Tara looked up to see Javier standing in the doorway. His face was pale and his hands were shaking. Something had frightened him.

  "Yes," answered Tara.

  Sitting on the edge of the bed, Javier buried his face in his hands. He looked like he was trying to fight back tears. It was out of character for him, and Tara placed a friendly hand on his back and rubbed it.

  "How bad was it?"

  Javier said nothing.

  "Did it feel real to you?"

  "Like I was actually there. I could see, taste, and smell everything."

  Tara wrapped her arms around Javier and rested her head on his shoulder.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  There was so much to take in that Maddix looked forward to the long walk back to Shepard's cabin. He expected that Shepard might be a little more forthcoming with information now that Maddix learned the truth, but who could tell with that man. He was an isolationist of sorts and harbored a lot of secrets. Was it for his own safety or just out of loyalty to this underground cause? Could be something else entirely? The mor
e Maddix learned about the real world, the more he craved his former existence in the prison. Even though he was locked up in his mind, it was still preferable to the new hell on Earth they had unleashed.

  That was another matter that worried him. How bad had they spread their infection back into the world? Anyone around him could be one of them. That old lady near the library? She could have been a vampire or werewolf. There just wasn't any way to positively identify them anymore. They would certainly have new members stalking the cities or scouring the forests for new grounds to make their own.

  It was going to take more than two pistols and a handful of ammo to take on an entire army of monsters. They had an advantage the last time, but now the odds were stacked against them. No magical protection spells or gates to keep them safe. They didn't even have a place of their own to keep out uninvited vampires. Everything was so fucked, and these people were expecting him to be able to stop it. It was maddening to the point that Maddix briefly thought about putting the gun to his scrambled head. It would solve all his problems, but then the world would be condemned to darkness.

  Maddix knew he couldn't do it. He exposed the real world to this nightmare, he could at least see it through and do whatever it took to stop it. He could at least find the conspirators involved in this elaborate escape plan that was turning out to go back at least sixty years. Whoever these lunatics were, they not only had vast connections but an intensely loyal following. It all suggested that the existence of some type of cult or secret group that felt some connection to the prisoners. So much that they would risk their own lives as well as the lives of others. It was a frightening thought that such a person could exist.

  His head was pounding. He kept having small flashes of recollection that were uncomfortable but nowhere as intense as the first one. It was still a jumbled mess of imagery, just as the dreams had been while they were in the prison. As he walked through what he determined to be an industrial park somewhere in town, he kept seeing himself walking through busy streets. There was a young woman in front of him with a fuzzy winter coat and hat. She was a brunette, that he could tell, but what he couldn't figure out was why he was following her. He could feel that it was important to him, though, and that made him uncomfortable.