No Escape (No Justice Book 2)
Page 1
Table of Contents
No Escape
Copyright
Dedication
No Escape
- Prologue
Chapter 1 - Mallory Black
Chapter 2 - Mallory Black
Chapter 3 - Mallory Black
Chapter 4 - Jasper Parish
Chapter 5 - Mallory Black
Chapter 6 - Mallory Black
Chapter 7 - Jasper Parish
Chapter 8 - Mallory Black
Chapter 9 - Jordyn Parish
Chapter 10 - Mallory Black
Chapter 11 - Mallory Black
Chapter 12 - Jordyn Parish
Chapter 13 - Mallory Black
Chapter 14 - Orestes666
Chapter 15 - Mallory Black
Chapter 16 - Orestes666
Chapter 17 - Mallory Black
Chapter 18 - Jordyn Parish
Chapter 19 - Jasper Parish
Chapter 20 - Mallory Black
Chapter 21 - Mallory Black
Chapter 22 - Jasper Parish
Chapter 23 - Mallory Black
Chapter 24 - Jordyn Parish
Chapter 25 - Mallory Black
Chapter 26 - Jordyn Parish
Chapter 27 - Mallory Black
Chapter 28 - Jeffrey Brown
Chapter 29 - Jasper Parish
Chapter 30 - Mallory Black
Chapter 31 - Jeffrey Brown
Chapter 32 - Mallory Black
Chapter 33 - Jordyn Parish
Chapter 34 - Jeffrey Brown
Chapter 35 - Mallory Black
Chapter 36 - Jordyn Parish
Chapter 37 - Jordyn Parish
Chapter 38 - Mallory Black
Chapter 39 - Jasper Parish
Chapter 40 - Jordyn Parish
Chapter 41 - Mallory Black
Chapter 42 - Jordyn Parish
Chapter 43 - Mallory Black
Chapter 44 - Jordyn Parish
Chapter 45 - Jasper Parish
Chapter 46 - Jeff Brown
Chapter 47 - Jordyn Parish
Chapter 48 - Mallory Black
Chapter 49 - Jordyn Parish
Chapter 50 - Jasper Parish
Chapter 51 - Mallory Black
- Epilogue
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Author's Note
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About the Authors
NO ESCAPE
SEAN PLATT
&
DAVID WRIGHT
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, businesses, events, or locales is purely coincidental. The authors have taken great liberties with locales including the creation of fictional towns.
Reproduction in whole or part of this publication without express written consent is strictly prohibited.
The authors greatly appreciate you taking the time to read our work. Please consider leaving a review wherever you bought the book, or telling your friends or blog readers about the book to help us spread the word.
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eBook Edition v 1
November 7, 2017
Copyright 2017 Collective Inkwell an imprint of Sterling & Stone LLC
www.CollectiveInkwell.com
To those who gave up in the fight against bullies.
To those who find a way to hold on.
And to those who help the victims.
PROLOGUE
Morning dew still hugged the grass as the man approached the baseball diamond, cell phone streaming his ill intent on the LiveLyfe app.
He arrived just after the Spring Baseball Opening Day ceremonies. But he wasn’t here for that bullshit, with the league owners trotting out their bratty kids, praise the flag and fucking sponsors, while parents pretended to care. And the ones who did cared waaaay too much.
No, he was here for the game about to take place on Field Four between a pair of nine and ten-year-old teams, the Hawks and the Rays. Approaching the stands, he scanned the home team crowd, laughing at the disparity between the over-invested parents and those glued to their smart phones, checking statuses from people they probably usually ignored. A hit of stimuli because the game, which meant so much to their kids, wasn’t enough to shake them from their lazy, privileged malaise.
He broadcast the pathetic display to his viewers, now numbering 413, and sighed. Then he turned the phone back to himself, careful to keep his face hidden. He typed: Who first?
He turned the camera back to the stands, slowly panning the clueless parents, and wondered about the odds of someone in that crowd watching his stream. Perhaps, but he’d said nothing to surrender his plans.
Of course, commenters on the LiveLyfe video weren’t exactly subtle.
Kill the foreign fucks first! one commenter said.
Responses were coming from people who’d followed the link he’d posted to /KillEveryone, a members-only sub board on NonAMus, a message board harboring some of the internet’s most infamous trolls, miscreants, addicts, and perverts. If NonAMus and its popular content of hate speech, doxing, negative public opinion, and the most heinous, degrading, or illegal porn traffic, was in the gutter, then /KillEveryone was the rot festering in the sewer beneath it.
It was a snuff buff’s wet dream, with photos and videos of murder and mayhem, the shit you couldn’t find in the internet’s more respectable corners. The kind of place you’d find pictures of mutilated children. And, as if that wasn’t enough, commenters always posted despicable shit like, Mmm … tasty or looks like Timmy lost his head or got nudes?
He went by the handle, Orestes666 — a name he chose at random four months ago after stumbling into the community and his unexpected plan. He ingratiated himself to the group and its moderators by finding the most disgusting photos and videos online, then regularly posting with a clever comment or two. Members of /KillEveryone liked the gore but seemed to appreciate a biting punchline even more.
Orestes666 found the community tasteless. Pics of dead people, especially kids, weren’t his thing. After all, these weren’t the people who pissed him off. He wondered how many of /KillEveryone’s members were only there for the LULZ, and how many were psychopaths who truly got off on this shit.
A week ago, he posted: Who wants to see me go on a killing spree?
Which was met with extreme enthusiasm. Of course.
One of the moderators pointed out that the board doesn’t endorse illegal activity, but he didn’t close the thread. A slap on the wrist for the sake of appearances. After all, most people talked a lot of shit on the board; but, so far as Orestes666 figured, nobody was doing any of the horrible things they talked about.
Shaming someone for their particular fantasy would only get that person labeled a fag or newfag, and likely booted from the community.
Orestes666 was surprised by the group’s almost fierce community spirit. Who would have thought that such fucked up people could form a close-knit group?
He figured it was a board where its members were frustrated in their daily lives and held no true power, forced to do the bidding of their parents, spouses, and employers. /KillEveryone was a place to fantasize about what you would do if you genuinely stopped giving fucks.
Orestes666 had stopped giving fucks a year ago when his life spiraled right into hell.
Now he was ready to do something about it.
To make others feel his pain.
He looked at the thread and laughed at more of the comments.
Someone going by the handle of RightHandofOdd, wrote, Don’t kill ‘dat blonde in the red shirt. Save her for me. Wanna suck on ‘dem titties!
He turne
d the camera back to the stands and started walking, keeping an eye out for anyone who might be watching his livestream. Anyone who seemed like they were would need to go first. And unfortunately, that would ruin his show.
He passed the concession stand, eyeing the fat woman and her fat, half-retarded looking kid with disgust, walking away with giant sodas and hot dogs lathered in enough cheese sauce to bury the buns. The retard had cheese running down his bright green shirt.
Either one would be a mercy kill.
Orestes666 turned his camera on them to get commenter reaction.
Someone posted: LOL! WHALE ALERT!
Then someone else: Hope you brought enuff ammo to bring down those elephants!
Orestess666 smiled and kept walking, finding a spot along the right field fence, next to the home team dugout.
He watched the kids finish practicing, then head into the dugout for their pep talk from an obese, balding, over producing testosterone coach.
“Alright, this is what we’ve been working toward. This is why our practice matters! On three, I wanna hear you say. Let’s go, Hawks!”
The kids shouted, “Let’s go Hawks!” then scrambled onto the field.
Orestes666 focused on the kids, then turned the camera back to himself, still obscuring his face. “What should I do first?”
Someone commented: Go grab the ball from the pitcher!
Someone else commented: Then shoot him!
Orestes666 put the phone camera-side down on the ground, then he reached into his jacket and pulled out a rubber monkey mask. He picked up the phone and waited as the pitcher threw a few practice throws to the catcher.
He scanned the other dugout, saw a redhead waiting on-deck for a turn at bat that would never come.
Sorry, kids. Show’s over.
The umpire told the batter to step into the batting box. Orestes666 hopped the fence and strode towards the pitcher’s mound, aiming his phone at the crowds, capturing the players’ confused expressions, the nervous laughter, then the angry faces of coaches, one in the home dugout, another in front of the away team dugout.
Orestes666 approached the pitcher and held out his hand, asking for the ball.
The pitcher, a young blond about nine-years-old, looked confused, first at Orestes666, then his coach.
“Get off the field!” yelled a steroid-case in a red team tee from the stands.
Orestes666 stared back at the crowd, still aiming his camera.
Then he looked at the screen and typed: Which one?
Dozens of commenters competed to either leave a witty comment or a first kill suggestion. Nobody suggested that he not do it.
The first commenter wrote: Fugly bitch with blue shirt and red hat in the front row.
Orestes666 reached into his pocket. He looked at the pitcher, still holding the ball, staring at him nervously. “If I were you, I’d run.”
The kid’s eyes widened as he saw the gun.
He dropped the ball and sprinted.
Orestes666 aimed at the “fugly old bitch” and fired.
Direct hit in the chest.
She pounded the ground. Her drink bled into the dirt.
The bleachers cleared in chaos.
Kids ran from the field screaming.
Orestes666 spotted an attractive woman he’d seen glued to her cell phone earlier, now running toward the parking lot, and doing a shit job in her high heels.
He laughed as he fired off two shots.
The first missed.
The second hit her in the neck.
She fell to the ground screaming.
A rush of adrenaline coursed through him, freebasing God into his body.
The rush!
He’d imagined how it would feel to do something like this so many times in the last year. But never did he conceive that killing could feel this powerful. This liberating.
His heart raced, scanning the chaos, searching for someone else with a gun — it was Florida, after all — or his actual target. The person he came here to kill.
Sure enough, an older man with salt in his hair but only pepper in his beard aimed a pistol back at Orestes666 and fired.
And missed.
Orestes666 did not.
He fired back, catching the fucker right between the eyes.
Orestes666 scanned the dispersing crowd.
Anybody else wanna take a shot?
Anyone?
Then he finally spied his target, thirty-nine-year-old Chip Halverson, running into the home dugout, trying to get his daughter, Carrie, to safety.
Orestes666 ran to the dugout as a fat kid scrambled past him, clutching a Gatorade as if it were Kevlar.
Orestes666 tripped the kid, just to scare him.
The kid cried out as he hit the ground.
Orestes666 ignored him, cornering Chip and his daughter, cowering at the other end of the dugout. There was an opening to their right, but only chain link between them and Orestes666.
Chip raised his hand. “Please, please don’t. I’ll give you whatever you want.”
Orestes666 smiled, though its effect was lost behind the monkey mask. “Good, because I want you to die. But I’m going to give you a choice: Who should live, you or your daughter?”
Chip’s eyes widened with panic. “Please, you don’t have—”
Orestes666 fired a shot at the girl’s leg.
She cried out and hit the ground.
“You fuck!” Chip screamed and started to charge.
Orestes666 aimed at his face and stopped him cold. “Last chance to choose. Three seconds. Three …”
Tears streamed down Chip’s face as he blubbered and begged.
“Two…”
“Kill me! If you have to shoot any of us, shoot—”
Orestes666 fired two shots, one in the face, another in the chest, then watched the bastard slump to the ground.
“Daddy!”
Orestes666 looked down to see the comments streaming.
KILL HER TOO
BRUTAL!
Now kill yourself, FAG!
This can’t be real!
Where is this?
Pete, why are you doing this?
Orestes666 looked to the crowd, searching for heroes. But everyone was either running or hiding. The fat kid was frozen on the ground, piss soaking the front of his pants.
He saw a few people who thought they were hidden — a fat man behind a tree, a few kids quivering behind a row of giant boulders at the entrance of the field.
Cars were fleeing the lot.
It wouldn’t be long before the adults attending games at the other two fields made their way over. Maybe another hero looking for glory.
Sirens screamed in the distance.
He didn’t have long.
Orestes666 looked at the screen.
A commenter said: Run, Forest, run!
He did, toward the woods and his stolen escape truck.
* * * *
CHAPTER 1 - MALLORY BLACK
“What do we have?” Mal asked Jamie Murphy, as she and Mike arrived at the killing fields. The crime scene tech met them in the parking lot and escorted them to Field Four.
Passing the bleachers, Mal spotted the outlines of bodies lying in front of the first base line, all of them under a tarp. Then her eyes traveled over the spilled drinks, food, clothing, and purses abandoned by the scattered crowd.
She imagined the terror. Parents searching for their children, struggling to get them to safety. The gunman stepping toward the bleachers, gun aimed, firing.
What kind of monster opens fire on a crowd of people, especially a crowd with so many children?
Mal wondered if this was terrorism.
Creek County had never had an incident of terror, but with the internet, any angry loner could be recruited, no matter the locale. Then any fool could make a name for themselves or advance a twisted ideology. All they needed was enough hate and a loaded weapon.
“Four dead, all adults,” Jamie said.
Another cop, Angus Pearson, came over and gave them the details gathered so far.
“Witnesses?” Mike asked.
“Over there.” Jamie pointed to a second field full of parents and kids. There were easily fifty or more.
“Do we have victim names yet?”
“Yes,” Angus said, reading off a list of names.
“Any relations stand out?”
“Other than all of them being moms and dads of kids here, no. But this has to run deeper than an angry parent on a rival team.”
Mal sighed, eying the tarp and its terrible treasure, picturing the scene in her head. “And you said he had a monkey mask?”
Angus nodded. “Yes.”
“Anyone get pictures or video?”
“Yeah, we’re processing everything now. I’ll let you know the minute we have anything useful.”
“Okay, I want all footage sent to me, no matter how mundane.”
“Got it,” Angus said.
“Take me through it.”
Angus pointed toward the right field fence. “The gunman came from there. He stepped through this gate over here and onto the field.”
Mal nodded, looking at the gate. “We got photos and evidence tagged?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, let’s see what you’ve got.”
She and Mike followed Angus through the gate and onto the field, passing fallen hats left behind by fleeing children.
“Seems he was recording the whole thing on his phone.”
“Did we find his phone?” Mal asked.
“Not sure. We’re still processing everything. But he went up to the pitcher’s mound and asked the pitcher for the ball.”
“What were his exact words?”
“Uh …” Angus took out his notebook and looked down at his notes. “Nothing at first. He just held out his hand.”
“What next?”
“He took out the gun and told the kid, ‘If I were you, I’d run.’ Then he began shooting.