Pray for Death (A Gunn Brothers Thriller)

by James Hilton

  “Please! I just want to go home.” The young man’s voice was one of the saddest sounds Celine had ever heard.

  Ezeret clapped his hands together three times, the retort as sharp as pistol shots. “Let the trial begin.”

  The man with the knife strode forward and swung his weapon in a wide slash. A line of crimson appeared across the top of the young man’s chest. Clutching at his ripped skin with one hand while the other formed an ineffective barrier, the young man tried to back away. A second slash with the knife opened a gash across the palm of his outstretched hand. A rumbling patter of applause came from the men at the far side of the pit.

  The young man, now streaked with lines of red, fell against the pit wall, mewling. Celine willed him to pick up the knife. To fight back. Crying out, the young man stared down at his own flowing blood.

  Ezeret pointed to the knifeman, his motions exaggerated like a stage performer. “Will you seize the prize?”

  “I will.”

  “Then take it and be reborn.”

  The knifeman gripped the young man by the ear, now cowering like a beaten child, yanking his head to one side. The knife stabbed deep into the soft tissue of his throat, flesh proving no match for steel, once, twice, three times. The third blow left the blade embedded deep behind the dying man’s collarbone. The attacker wrenched the knife from side to side like a workman prying a stubborn nail from wood.

  Celine screwed her eyes shut as a crimson spray jettisoned from his ruined flesh in rhythmic, violent spurts. The sound of the audience cheering on their murderous companion assaulted her ears. When she finally found enough strength to look once more, the knifeman had smeared every inch of his face with the dead man’s blood. The young man lay twitching against the wall of the pit. The blood-soaked victor was helped from the hole by his companions.

  Master Ezeret closed his eyes as if in prayer as the acolyte stood before him. He traced a pattern with his left hand. “Rise, my brother. You are renewed and reborn. Now take your fill, enjoy your prize.”

  Another cheer went up from the spectators.

  A few of the captives were selected seemingly at random to stay behind. The guards moved among them with hungry eyes. Celine prayed that she would not be chosen. She could not bring herself to look at the selected prisoners. That’s how she now thought of them. They are the guards; we are the prisoners, the captives, held against our will.

  33

  Clay awoke with a start, his clothes sticking to him like a second skin. A black-clad figure sat nearby on a low outcrop of rock, a mask obscuring their face.

  Rolling onto his hands and knees, Clay levered himself upright. Water dripped from his fingers. His bowie knife dangled from his wrist, secured to him by a narrow nylon lanyard. With a practised pump of his elbow, his hand closed around the hilt of the oversized knife.

  “Where’s Danny?” Clay took an aggressive step forward.

  “Easy now, big fella. I damn near put my back out haulin’ your half-ton carcass out of the water. If you mean the smaller guy you were with, I think he’s still up there.”

  “Where the hell are we?” asked Clay.

  “We got our fool selves blown into a damned sinkhole. You were going down like the Titanic, so I saved your sorry ass. Wasn’t sure you were gonna wake up for a little while there. You’re welcome, by the way.”

  “That white-haired son of a bitch suckered us with a grenade.”

  “I think it was two. Boom, boom, and then we’re free-fallin’ into this cenote.”

  “So—” Clay sheathed the bowie, slipping the noose of the lanyard from his wrist “—who are you and why were you pointing a rifle at that asshole?”

  “My name… does it matter?”

  “Does to me. Clay Gunn, at your service.”

  “Clay Gunn, huh? Suits you. Guessin’ by your accent you’re a southern boy, Clay?”

  “Texas born and bred. You?”

  “Pearl River, N’Orleans.” She stood up. “My real name’s Rosa, but you can call me Ghost.”

  “What’s with the mask and the ninja act, Rosa?” asked Clay.

  “Ghost.”

  “Ghost.”

  “I’ve been waiting for a shot at the white-haired freak— Ulrich Weiss, his name is—as well as his boss for quite a spell. Figured this would be as good a chance as any. Lost my damn rifle when we went into the water.”

  “Does he live at the compound, this Weiss?”

  “Yeah. He lives there. Sick son of a bitch. Can’t believe I missed him again.”

  Clay pointed at her head. “You can take the mask off now.”

  Ghost paused, her hand hovering near the side of her face. “It’s probably better if I keep it on. I’m not so pretty under here. Scars.”

  Clay shrugged and pointed to the lattice of white lines on his own face. “See yours and raise you.”

  Ghost slowly pulled on the fabric and the mask dropped in a loose fold to her collar. Clay stared at her face without any discomfort. Like his own, the left side of her face was battle-scarred. But where Clay sported an assortment of narrow white lines, Ghost’s were thick fingers of ruined skin, nubby and irregular, stark and raw against her mochacoloured skin.

  “Not so pretty, huh?”

  Clay tilted his head to one side and half smiled. “Join the club.”

  Ghost gave a little laugh, almost childlike.

  “Seriously, leave the mask off. Scars don’t bother me none.”

  “I’m pissed about losing my rifle,” she said. “Took it from one of the assholes from the compound. Got most of my stuff from them.”

  Clay’s hand went to his waistband, but came away empty. His Ruger was gone, too. He swore under his breath. He hoped Danny had managed to hold onto the Glocks. He plucked his Motorola radio from his pocket. He keyed the mike three times in succession. The unit was dead and dripping water. He tucked it back into his pocket. “That what you call the camp back there? The compound?”

  Ghost gave a single nod. “That’s what some of the assholes in there call it, like it’s some damn country club or somethin’.”

  “How did you end up out here in the big green, anyhow?” asked Clay.

  “Kind of a long story.”

  “Good, you can tell me while we figure out how to get out of this sinkhole and back to the surface.”

  Ghost puffed out her cheeks before she spoke. “We were on vacation. Me and my younger sister, Lauren. She’d just turned twenty-one, so I thought a week or two backpacking around the Mayan sites and a party night or two in Cancún would be just the thing.”

  Clay could feel water squelching in his boots as he walked. The air in the cavernous cenote was still and cool. “Go on.”

  “We were having a great time. We buddied up with another couple of girls, said they were from Nebraska. They had an old VW bus, the kind you see in sixties movies. They said we could bunk with them for the night, save on money for a room. The last thing I remember is drinking a beer one of them gave me. When I woke up I was inside that goddamned compound, locked in a cell. Lauren too.”

  “They drug you?”

  “Guessin’ so. I hate those bitches, taking other women to a hellhole like that.”

  Clay clenched his teeth. Is that what happened to Celine and her friends?

  “They kept us there. Abused us for weeks and weeks.”

  “Abused you? Who did?” growled Clay.

  “The men. A couple of the women too. The men changed, new faces arrived every few weeks then they would leave again. But some of them were always there. Weiss. The tattooed one, a few others. You ended the one with tattoos, stuck him like a pig.” Ghost nodded at Clay. “And the leader, of course. He calls himself Master Ezeret. He’s an evil, self-righteous prick. He’s the one I want most.”

  “Master Ezeret?” Clay flicked a few drops of water from his fingers. “What do you know about him?”

  Ghost traced a hand across her ruined features before offering more. “I don’t know much,
only what I’ve been able to get out of his men before I kill them.”

  Clay raised his eyebrows but said nothing in judgement. He didn’t blame her for taking lethal revenge. “You kill many of them?”

  “Only a half-dozen or so. I got two this week. They’re getting careless, arrogant assholes. I watch and I wait and when I get the chance I end it for them.”

  “You bagged two men from the compound on your own this week?”

  “Damned if I didn’t. A day apart, I think. I lose track of time; my head gets all messed up with that junk they doped me with. One man was a town over. I stole a truck and followed him, took him after he left a cantina.”

  “And the other?” asked Clay, his admiration for Ghost increasing as they walked.

  A tight smile crept across her face like a winter sunrise. “Fed him his own drugs in a bathroom stall. Shot the guy he was dealing to as well.”

  “So, about Ezeret?”

  “He showed up here with a van full of money and a dozen or so followers. They say he used to be some kind of motivational speaker or therapist, some bullshit like that. I’m pretty sure if I can put a bullet through his brainpan, then this’ll all be over.”

  “That his real name? Ezeret? Sounds kinda phony.”

  “None of the men I killed knew if that was his real name or not. A lot of them just call him Master. He’s a sleek son of a bitch, as evil as they come. He starts talking in the ear of one of his lackeys, smiling like that cat who’s got the cream, suggesting ways that they can torture you, but making it like he’s liberating them or something.”

  “How many men has he got guarding the prisoners?” asked Clay. As he walked, he stooped occasionally to peer into a crevice, seeking egress from the cenote cavern. The water directly below the cenote opening was illuminated by the bright daylight, but as they moved further away the cavern began to dim, the rocks casting indistinct shadows.

  “I’m not sure. Best guess, about ten or twelve left. There’s a few women too, but they just fawn around after Ezeret most of the time. Sad little bitches.”

  “A dozen men, huh? Less the ones that we’ve taken out?”

  “Nah, I reckon still at least ten left, maybe more. But I’m just guessing.”

  “We have to get out of here and help Danny.”

  “We’ll get out. These places are like Swiss cheese, full of holes and tunnels. Might take a while, though.”

  “We gotta pick up the pace. Danny and Celine could be in a world of hurt. We gotta get back up there and pitch in. A-sap!”

  “Celine? She your girl?”

  “She’s the closest thing I’ve got to a daughter. Her family lives with me.”

  “Okay.” Ghost bobbed her chin. “A-sap? You a soldier boy, Clay?”

  “Was. A long time ago. I was a Ranger.”

  “Figures. You’re as big as a bear but move like a tiger.

  Military trained. Makes sense, now.”

  Clay gave a short bark of a laugh. “Danny says I’m as graceful as a gorilla in wet Levi’s.”

  “I like the sound of Danny, but no—you’re no gorilla.”

  Clay tipped the brim of an imaginary hat. “What about you? You serve?”

  “The only thing I ever served was ice cream in the mall.”

  “Yet you’ve managed to kill all those guys from the compound.”

  Ghost paused mid-step. “It’s not the killing that I find hard; it’s the not dying alongside them. I wait for my chance, every single day. I watch them. I wait and when one of them is exposed, I take him. No mercy, no second chances.”

  “You want to kill ’em all?” asked Clay.

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Good! Hold that thought.”

  34

  No matter how tightly she screwed her eyes shut, Celine Chavez could not erase the image of the young man’s ruptured throat. The blood cascading down his chest, the look of absolute desperation as his life drained rapidly from him. Her breath caught in her chest, her heart still pounding a staccato rhythm that echoed in her ears.

  The guards, two nondescript men with faces that conveyed the same level of compassion as granite, ushered her and a few others back to what she now thought of as her cell. The door clattered shut behind them.

  Celine reached out and grasped Rebecca’s and Marco’s hands. Marco had kept his head down and followed Celine into the room. The guards had shown no interest, simply herding him in with the young women.

  “Gillian!” Celine rushed over to her friend, who now lay curled on her bed. “Are you alright? What happened to you? Did they hurt you?”

  Gillian had her knees tucked high, her arms wrapped around her shins. She did not answer.

  “Gillian?” Celine tenderly brushed back her friend’s lank hair. She recognised the same defeated look that the dying man had worn. “What did those bastards do to you?”

  Only Gillian’s eyes moved, slowly coming to focus upon Celine. “He walked me around the house, showed me every goddamned closet and room in the place. We ended up in his bedroom, his chambers, as he called it. I don’t know how, but the next thing I remember I was naked and that bastard was on top of me. It was so unreal, like I was watching it happen to someone else.”

  “Oh, Gillian! I’m so sorry for leaving you with him. We need to find a way to get the hell out of here. All of us.”

  Rebecca exhaled slowly as she shook her head. “They’re always watching, even when you think they’re not. A few have tried to break out since I’ve been here. They tend to end up in the pit like the guy we just watched die, or they take them outside and we never see them again. God only knows what happens to those ones.”

  Gillian stared up at the small inverted dome on the ceiling. She extended her middle finger and held the defiant gesture for long seconds. “So what do we do? Lie around here and wait for them to rape me again, whenever they want?”

  A chill ran down Celine’s spine. What if we can’t escape? What then?

  Marco slowly raised his head. “I think we’re all going to die here. They’re never going to let us leave, way too risky. We’re all going to end up in the pit. Dead.”

  “No, Marco,” Celine snapped. “We’re going to get out of here because we’re going to work together, all of us. We’ll find a way out. Our families must be looking for us by now, right?”

  “I don’t even know how long we’ve been here. My head is so messed up I can hardly remember my own name,” said Marco.

  Celine sat on the edge of Gillian’s bed. “Let’s get our brains in gear. We’re not stupid; we can figure out a plan between us, right?”

  She received no answer.

  “Rebecca, tell us everything you know about this place.”

  “I don’t know much. I don’t know what I can tell you that’ll be any use.”

  Celine’s voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “Tell us anyway. Let’s start at the beginning. How many men guard this place?”

  “I don’t know exactly, maybe a dozen or so. The faces change, but I told you already, the essence they spike us with screws up your memory.”

  “Okay. The leader, we know he calls himself Ezeret. What about the others, do you know their names?”

  “The big guy with the white hair, I think he’s German. Not sure of his real name. Vice or something like that, maybe? He seems to be in charge of the guards. You see him a lot more than Ezeret. But Ezeret is at all the games. He loves being centre stage. Asshole.”

  Celine glanced back at Gillian, who had curled up into a foetal position.

  “We know that these rooms lead directly to the main house and down to that chamber below, but what about outside? Have they let you out there at all?”

  “I’ve only been out a couple of times. There are some other buildings as well. I think the guards live in those. And there’s a great big pig pen at the back of the house. They had a few of us mucking it out while some of the men fixed up the fence posts.” Rebecca rubbed a hand across her face. “I found a foot.
”

  “What do you mean?” asked Celine.

  “When we were shovelling out the pig shit. I found a foot.”

  “A human foot?”

  Rebecca nodded. “It was a woman’s foot, small. It still had nail polish on the toenails.”

  Celine chewed her bottom lip in a moment of grim realisation. “That’s how they get rid of the bodies. Like the guy they just murdered. They’ll feed him to the pigs. Pigs eat everything, don’t they? Even bones. Nothing left, gone without a trace.”

  Marco sniffed. “That’s what’s going to happen to us.”

  “Shut up, Marco. That’s not going to happen. We need to keep our wits about us. That’s the only way we’re getting out of here. What if we could steal the keys from one of the guards?” asked Celine, as much to herself as the others. “What else is outside?”

  “The whole place is surrounded by a fence,” replied Rebecca.

  “Could we climb it if we got outside?”

  “Yeah, I think so.”

  “No spikes on top or barbed wire or anything like that?” asked Celine, a small kernel of hope beginning to grow.

  “I don’t remember seeing any, but…” Rebecca swirled her hands at the side of her head.

  “What about cars? Did you see any vehicles out there? Anything we could steal and use to escape?”

  Marco sat up for the first time. “Yeah, if we could get to a car or something… I can drive anything. Car, van, truck. I could get us out of here.”

  “Next time any of the guards come, we all need to watch for where they keep their keys. If any of us gets the chance, we steal them and break out the first chance we get.”

  Celine hugged Gillian close. “We’re going to get out of here.”

  “As plans go, it’s pretty damn thin,” said Gillian.

  “Friggin’ anorexic,” said Marco, managing the barest hint of a smile.

  35

  Danny slowed his breathing as the voices drew closer to his door. At least four men. They made no effort to lower their voices or conceal their intentions. All spoke in English.

  “The boss wants him questioned. We need to know where he’s from and if there’re any more with him.”