Bunker (A Post-Apocalyptic Techno Thriller Book 1)

by Jay J. Falconer

  Of course, it helped that the recent passage of legalized prostitution and across-the-board gambling had generated trillions of new tax dollars worldwide, another development Redfall never saw coming. Those newfound bounties were needed after the spend-happy politicians burned through the generous cash reserves created by global marijuana sales the year before. In hindsight, betting on PPV executions was the next logical progression of the cash-starved governing bodies, each looking for every penny they could find.

  Just then, a dated photograph of his wife appeared on the stadium screen, bringing an outburst of boos from the crowd. It showed Tessa standing on the lawn of the White House, wearing an elegant evening dress and perfect makeup. The snapshot caught her smiling and in mid-applause as the President hung a lifetime service medal around Simon’s neck.

  He remembered the glorious day well. It was back when his professional life and his marriage were on cruise control, enjoying the pinnacle of success. It was also the one and only time the commander-in-chief recognized his years of dedication and support to the intelligence community.

  However, the memory faded into a painful sting when a virtual flame appeared on the jumbo display and set the photograph ablaze for all in attendance to see.

  His eyes darted left and right, checking to see if anyone might have noticed him in attendance. It didn’t appear so. He figured everyone was too enthralled with the theatrics being put on by the NEC for anyone to notice the second most-hated person on the planet sitting nearby.

  Of course, it helped that Simon looked nothing like the clean-cut, successful businessman he’d been before Tessa had gone insane. He now had long hair and an unkempt, scraggly beard, and wanted to keep it that way until after the execution. He was glad to be flying under the radar, feeling the anger and bloodlust of the people around him. If they knew who he was, they’d tear him apart like a pack of hungry wolves.

  His eyes turned to the video screen, seeing Tessa fighting like a wild animal. Her hair was flailing about her shoulders and neck, even though it had been trimmed to network specifications: long enough to make her appealing, but not so long as to obscure her eyes. Eyes were the key, the analysts had determined and reported in the national paper.

  Then Tessa’s eyes found a camera in the corner of the chamber and she stopped moving. Her body relaxed, and an eerie calm spread across her face. She licked her lips, cleared her throat, and spoke directly into the camera.

  “Simon? Simon? Are you there? It wasn’t me, honey! I didn’t do it! You have to believe me! Why don’t you believe me? I could never do something like this. Never in a million years.”

  Simon clenched his jaw, holding back the desperation pounding at his chest. His heart wanted him to sprint through the angry horde and set her free, but his logic couldn’t reconcile the evil she’d unleashed upon the world.

  The woman in the chamber isn’t my Tessa, he told himself. Not anymore. The Tessa he knew and loved—the woman he’d been married to for twenty-plus years—the person he trusted above all others—was dead and gone, lost somewhere between the folds of heartache and disgrace. A wickedly dark force had taken control of her soul, forcing him to stand firm in the balcony and let the world’s revenge take center stage.

  “Are you ready for sentencing to be carried out?” the MC asked the crowd.

  The crowd roared and continued to stomp their feet, each time with a sharp clap of their hands.

  Someone near Simon yelled, “Die! Die! Die!”

  “Now, before we get started, I have a very special surprise for all of you in attendance and for all of you watching at home today. Our amazing chemists have made some ingenious changes to the process that we think you’ll like. Instead of a calm, quick, mostly-painless death, your government and the governments of the world have given their blessing for a more entertaining process. Our new lethal injection system has been redesigned to provider a longer, more painful kill time. Just as it should be! No mass murderer of innocents should ever get off easy with a quick, painless death. Am I right?”

  Cheers and applause rose up, then a unified chant roared around Simon, “Kill! Her! Now! Kill! Her! Now! Kill! Her! Now!”

  “Well then, I won’t keep you waiting!” the MC said, touching a hand to his ear. “Citizens of the world, I have word from our technicians in the control room that all systems are ready—let the countdown begin!”

  The number “10” appeared over Tessa’s image on the giant screen, then changed to “9”.

  The crowd joined in—reminding Simon of the chant on New Year’s Eve in Times Square when the new year’s ball is dropped.

  The volume grew as the countdown continued:

  8...7...6...5...4...3...2...1...

  The numbers disappeared from the display and were replaced by giant letters that flashed:

  COMMENCE EXECUTION!

  The crowd went wild at a sudden close-up of Tessa’s face, just as the injection was pushed into her veins by the automated delivery system.

  A digital timer appeared in the upper-right corner of the video feed, showing the seconds tick by now that the process had begun. It was labeled as the OFFICIAL EXECUTION TIME.

  USA Today described the injection process as a mix of lethal compounds administered in small, arbitrary increments to lengthen the process and randomize the time of death, all of it geared specifically to maximize both her suffering and the network ratings.

  Simon winced when Tessa’s head began to thrash back and forth and her blue eyes went wild with fright. Her full, pink lips contorted in a feral display of anguish as spittle flew from her lips. She moaned and cried out under a torrent of sweat and tears streaming down her face.

  “DIE, MURDERER, DIE!” the crowd yelled as a mixed chorus of cheers, whistles and boos echoed off the walls of the arena. The public had been waiting for this event with bated breath, and the execution had been marketed to perfection—StarBright Networks knew what it was doing.

  Tessa opened her mouth to speak again, but her body twitched and a gurgling noise rose from her throat. The process was now in full swing, ravaging her body from the inside out. The cheers and jeers from the live audience grew in volume and intensity at the sight of her grimacing and drooling. The spectators around him were all on their feet, waving their arms in the air and shaking their fists.

  Simon tore his eyes from the video screen and scanned the crowd below. Behind the families of the victims sat invited government and network VIPs, each with popcorn and beer in their laps, cheering with the rest of the crowd. Everyone in the first level of the stadium seats had a perfect view of the one-way window into the execution chamber.

  Emotions were at a fever pitch in all directions, and he assumed the same was occurring all around the world. He imagined scores of drunken spectators in bars, homes and off-site betting houses throwing their money down—in officially sanctioned locations. The wagers were all in virtual currency, of course, except in the seedy, black market betting parlors where old school paper currency passed between the rough, calloused hands of hardened criminals, drug addicts, and down-on-their-luck outcasts.

  Everyone was betting on one thing . . . How long would it take until the end?

  The end of his wife and the end of his marriage.

  Two minutes? Three minutes? Five minutes?

  The official timer in the upper corner of the screen kept ticking, tracking every second that scrolled by like some twisted scoreboard of the damned. When Tessa’s life eventually came to an end, fortunes would arrive for those with the precise wager that matched the official execution time—down to a tenth of a second.

  The light in the execution chamber faded and a red glow surrounded the gleaming steel table. A single, soft white spotlight illuminated Tessa’s face. Her skin began to grow pink as small purple sores appeared on her cheeks and neck. The image on the screen panned back to reveal her entire body.

  She was clad in a tight white athletic bra and matching tight white shorts, both chosen to maxim
ize the bloodbath that was about to begin. Two more chamber lights ignited and then panned up to show her body more clearly. The blanket of purple sores began to erupt, first on her arms, then her legs and torso.

  Simon gulped with hands shaking, hating himself for turning his back on her. But she’d left him no choice. All that was left to do now was to stand with the others and watch the criminal die. Then his torment would finally be over.

  Tessa rolled her head to the side and found her voice again, though it was thready and uneven.

  “Simon,” she pleaded through the obvious pain, “Simon . . . help . . . me. I love . . . you, darling with . . . all my heart.”

  His heart stung, but his feet never moved while the crowd screamed despicable insults at her.

  More sores appeared and spread across her face and chest, getting larger as her skin changed color from pink to dark red. Then her body began to shake uncontrollably. Her eyes went bloodshot and her arms and legs began to swell like inflating balloons. The swelling filled her torso, then her face and head. The skin of her face stretched tight, distorting her features into a sickening, clown-like grimace.

  The theater shook as the audience in the balconies stomped their feet and chanted in unison, “DIE! DIE! DIE!”

  The boils across her body had grown and merged together, making her skin purple from head to toe. A moment later, they began to split and crack—first on her chest as blood seeped through the clean white top she wore. Then her forehead began to break apart, turning her face into something less than human, her body expanding around the straps holding her in place.

  Then it happened.

  She exploded from the inside out, sending a shower of blood and gore outward, covering the inside of the one-way glass and all of the cameras in the execution chamber with a viscous pink and red film.

  “Official execution time: four minutes, thirty-two point zero four seconds,” the MC announced at the same moment 4:32:04 flashed in bright red letters across the video screen.

  Streaks of blood and bits of flesh dripped down the chamber window, giving the families of the victims and the rest of the witnesses around the world what they needed most—closure. Simon never looked away, wanting the ghastly image to burn into his soul as a reminder. A reminder of what can happen when your focus wanders and you lose situational awareness. Yes, even in a loving marriage, diligence is needed on multiple levels. Not just with focusing your love and dedication, but watching for changes in behavior and motivation.

  Simon stared at Tessa’s family huddled together in the protected chamber down in front as he made his way past the other people in his row. The murderer’s sister, mother, father and cousins each had their heads down, buried inside an emotional family hug. His former in-laws were obviously grief-stricken and dumbfounded, unable to process the horrifying spectacle they’d just witnessed.

  He took a moment to send a stream of compassionate thoughts to them from his elevated position in the balcony. What had happened wasn’t their fault, it was his. He should have noticed the changes in his wife. He should have stopped her from killing all those innocents. After all, he was the world’s most famous intelligence expert, and yet he never realized that a swell of evil had taken root in the marital bed next to him.

  The path out of the theater was slow going as he worked through the cheering and applauding band of spectators milling about and congratulating each other. Simon was careful to avoid making eye contact with anyone, just needing to find the exit and let his nightmare end.

  The rest of his plan was simple: slip away into the nothingness that was his future.

  TO BE CONTINUED in Chapter 2 of REDFALL: Fight for Survival

  GOLD MEDAL WINNING FICTION

  Click the links below to grab your copies of this award-winning thriller today!

  REDFALL: Fight for Survival Book 1

  REDFALL: Freedom Fighters Book 2

  Voted #1 Best Dystopia Fiction for 2016 by Readers’ Favorite International Book Awards. Click here for more information about the awards.

  SHADOW GAMES

  Time Jumper Series

  Book 1

  Published July 5, 2016

  by BookBreeze.com LLC

  ISBN: 978-1535123877

  Written By Jay J. Falconer

  www.JayFalconer.com

  August 11

  1:16 a.m.

  Emily Heart pushed through the burning pain in her chest and thigh muscles, convincing her legs to run faster. She dodged a park bench before jumping over a homeless man lying under a pile of cardboard.

  Her mind’s eye could see the gunman aiming his sights at the back of her head and squeezing the trigger, sending the bullet out of the barrel and downrange with supersonic intent. She leaned to the left, letting the round whiz past her fifteen-year-old body. It took out the headlight of a cement truck parked across the street near the alley behind Glassford Street.

  The flickering specks of blue light were fading in her vision. It wouldn’t be long before she turned normal again. She would then be unable to see through the gunman’s eyes, or sense the cold blackness of hate she could sense in his heart.

  She bent forward at the waist, using a low-profile running pattern, hoping she’d make it safely to the alley. She ran through the grass at the edge of the park, over the sidewalk and hit the asphalt, racing across the empty lanes of the street.

  More gunshots rang out, one after another in quick succession. She couldn’t see where the bullets were headed, telling her the link with the shooter was broken. Bricks and mortar exploded all around her as the hailstorm of rounds missed her. They hit the side wall of an old warehouse covered in spray paint and gang signs. She turned right, just before the cement truck, and ran down the alley.

  “Don’t lose me!” she yelled at Junie, who was sprinting in front of her, a book bag bouncing on the back of her rail-thin body. Emily was falling behind, unable to keep up with the speed and endurance of her twelve-year-old friend from the homeless shelter.

  A minute later, she heard another round of weapons fire erupt as she was nearing the far end of the block-long corridor, plinking and ricocheting off the walls around her. She felt the wisp of a bullet fly through strands of her flowing red hair. It took out the painted window on the wall ahead of her, shattering it into a million shards of colored glass.

  She looked back and saw the gang leader standing at the entrance to the alley, changing the magazine in his weapon. His crew came running into view, just catching up to him.

  She made the corner and ran further down the passageway, which stank of garbage and sewage. She hurdled a pothole, then flew over a garbage can laying on its side, almost losing her balance in the process. But she managed to keep her feet under her while her shoes pounded the pavement ahead.

  Faster, she told herself, faster! She pushed her feet to their tripping point, trying to draw more blood and oxygen than her teenage body could deliver. Her legs wanted to quit—so did her lungs—but she wouldn’t let them.

  She pressed on, looking ahead, trying to spot Junie, but she couldn’t see her anymore. She turned another corner and saw a scrawny, dirt-covered leg sticking out from behind a pile of stained mattresses leaning against the wall. She ducked in and grabbed her friend by the shoulder, dragging her eighty-pound frame forward.

  “Run, baby, run! Don’t stop! One more corner and we’re there! It’s on the left!”

  Emily had learned over the past two years of living on the streets of Phoenix that the blistering summers were endless and miserable, and so were the nights, keeping most of the normal people indoors. She knew that nobody was watching, and nobody cared. There would be no rescue. Not at this time of night, and not in this part of town. It was up to her to get Junie to safety before the shooter and his crew killed her.

  She felt a familiar tingle start to grow at the base of her spine when she turned the last corner. “Oh, no! Not now! Not again!” she cried, trying to steady her nerves as she caught up to Junie, who was
squeezing her skinny body behind the dumpster.

  She couldn’t let it happen. Not so soon. She’d barely recovered from the last time. She needed to focus all her attention on Junie, and let the balance of her emotions run dry. It had only been four days since she’d met her fiery companion in the homeless shelter, but she felt a strong connection with this girl, even though she barely knew her. She didn’t know why, but something inside of her told her to protect Junie. She was important somehow, not just another homeless girl with a deadbeat mother nobody cared about.

  She followed Junie behind the garbage bin and into the hidden doorway; darkness engulfed them. “Down the stairs. And stay quiet,” she told Junie in a whisper, locking the door behind her.

  “But I can’t see.”

  “Go slow and use the handrails. There are twelve steps. Count ‘em as you go.”

  They made it down the steps and through another doorway that led into a basement storeroom. It was piled high with junk and old restaurant equipment that had been mothballed by the owner. Emily knew this place well, spending at least one night a week there in recent months. It was her secret hiding place where she could escape the insanity of the city.

  An emergency exit sign hung over the inside of the door that she’d just entered, showering an eerie redness over the scene. On the wall to the left stood another door. It led to a flight of stairs that rose up to the kitchen of a high-end Italian restaurant. Emily had made friends with the eighteen-year-old busboy, Parker, who was also a volunteer at one of the local shelters. When he was the last one to leave for the night, he’d push the red dumpster close to the door as a signal to Emily that the door was unlocked and she was welcome. She’d swoop in around midnight, and lock the door behind her.