A Necessary Kill

by James P. Sumner

  Holding the nightstick in my right hand at one end, I walk purposefully to meet the guards as they file through the gate. They’ll have to come through one at a time, which means, if I’m quick, I might be able to pick one or two off before I’m overrun. That will even things up a little bit at least.

  I reach them as the first guard is pushing the gate open. I swing fast from the hip. He’s slow to react, unprepared for any resistance. The nightstick connects with his temple. He goes down, sliding across the floor, hitting the wall to my left, out for the count. His cattle prod thing slides away behind me, spinning.

  That might come in handy…

  The next one through has time to adjust, but it won’t do him any good. I jab him hard in the stomach. He keels over, the wind knocked out of him. I smash the stick over the back of his head. He face-plants to the floor, out before he hits the tiles.

  The remaining five pile through as fast as they can. Their faces are a mixture of anger and panic. I launch my nightstick at them, turn to run back toward Ruby, pausing only for a split-second to scoop up the electrified baton on my way past.

  I make it back to her, skidding to a stop and spinning around to make my last stand against the oncoming guards. They stop maybe ten feet away, and fan out to cover the full width of the corridor.

  “Give it up,” says one of them, over on the right. “What you’re doing is a federal crime. We will detain you by any means necessary until the FBI arrive.”

  Federal?

  FBI?

  I glance at Ruby, who’s on her feet, standing over the unconscious guard with half his chest shredded. Her arms are out to the sides, and she’s hunched forward in a feral stance. Her eyes are almost demonic.

  Fuck me—she looks like Wolverine!

  They say the most believable actors treat the characters they portray not as a part, or even another person, but merely as extensions of themselves. Who they are, but with the volume turned up. If that’s the case, Ruby DeSouza deserves a fucking Oscar! And possibly some psychiatric support…

  “Look, I know what it looks like,” I say to the guards. “But she shouldn’t be here. There’s a situation that requires her attention, and I don’t have time to go through the motions and officially appeal for her release. Just step aside, and no one else has to get hurt.”

  As one, they take a step toward us. What training they’ve had must have focused on working as a team to quickly and effectively take down crazy people.

  And right now, it doesn’t get much crazier than this.

  I shrug. “Okay… maybe a few more people need to get hurt… But answer me this: what exactly did you mean when you said federal?”

  One of the guards takes another step forward, raising his cattle prod. “This is a federally funded facility. Which means, when we sound the alarm, an FBI tactical unit comes running.”

  “Ah… well, I’m glad we cleared that up. So, listen—I’m going to have to ask you real nice not to press that alarm, okay? Under any circumstances.”

  The guard smiles. “Too late, asshole.”

  Shit.

  “They’re maybe three minutes out.”

  Double shit.

  I cast another glance at Ruby, whose mental act is visibly giving way to concern.

  Any advance on double shit?

  “We’ve also sent them your picture, taken from our security feed,” says another guard, probably the oldest of the five. “Turns out, they’re really interested in you, boy! They’re sending two units to make sure you play nice.”

  There it is.

  Triple shit.

  “Yeah… I don’t know what it is you’ve done, but they couldn’t believe their luck when we told ’em about you!”

  He smiles, and that pisses me off. I take a deep breath, in and out, to focus my mind. Being in this place has really thrown me off my game, but shit just got serious. If the FBI are coming, and they know I’m here, then I’m shit out of luck because the CIA won’t be far behind…

  “Gimme the keys,” I say to Ruby without taking my eyes off the guards. I reach to the side and she places them in my hand. To the guards, I say, “Right, listen up. My friend here isn’t crazy. She’s extremely dangerous, and a damn fine actress, but she ain’t crazy. She’s here to hide out because she’s actually an assassin. You boys have been doing her a favor all this time, which I’m sure she’s grateful for.”

  They shuffle uncomfortably on the spot and exchange glances of uncertainty and concern. It’s all in the eyes, you see. Even though what I’m saying sounds ridiculous, the practiced intensity in the stare I’m fixing them with makes them believe me.

  “Myself, on the other hand… well, I’m definitely dangerous and arguably a little crazy as well. The FBI are gonna waltz in here and try to arrest me, and they’re gonna need to climb over your unconscious bodies to do it. And they’re gonna fail. Wanna know why?”

  No one answers. No one moves.

  I lunge forward, jabbing the business end of the cattle prod into the stomach of the guy nearest to me. It buzzes quickly and loudly, like when a fly hits one of those Insect-O-Cutor devices you see in restaurant kitchens. The guard screams and shakes before dropping to the floor, out cold and twitching.

  I step over him swinging the stick around, catching another guard on the jaw. As he starts to drop, I spin around, thrusting the stick forward, hitting the next guard I see in the groin. His eyes go wide. He opens his mouth to scream, but no sound comes out. I’m guessing the pain is literally too much to process…

  I feel a little bad about that one.

  That’s three down in as many seconds. The two left are the ones farthest away from me on either side. I step toward the one on my left as I throw the cattle prod, shiny end first like a spear, at the guy on the right. It hits him squarely in the chest, taking him out of the equation.

  I raise my arm, blocking the swing of the remaining guard’s own weapon with ease. With his head and chest exposed, I hit him hard in the jaw with my fist. He staggers back, dropping his stick as he hits the wall. He’s groggy, but awake. I whip my leg up, kicking him hard in the gut. He wheezes, doubling over and sinking slowly to the floor. Another swift kick to the side of the head puts him down for good.

  “That’s why.”

  I look back at Ruby.

  She’s standing, out of character, staring at me with a disbelieving smile on her face. “Well, aren’t you a pleasant surprise! You live up to your reputation, I’ll give you that.”

  “Thanks. Now, come on.”

  We run to the metal gate, which I open for us and lock again once we’re through. We stop at the desk at the top of the stairs, which is now deserted. I point down the opposite wing of the building. “What’s down there?”

  “More cells. Why?”

  I move around the desk and sit at the computer. “We need a distraction.”

  I’m thinking about what Ruby said before. All the cells apart from hers and the one opposite are controlled centrally. That means this computer must be able to open them. I just need to figure out how.

  I tap away at the keyboard, navigating my way through the various menus and submenus, using what knowledge I’ve picked up from Josh over the years to quickly work out how to open all the doors.

  I hope the FBI is prepared for a riot…

  I press a button and the loud click of every cell opening in unison echoes down the corridors.

  Ruby’s eyes go wide, and she punches my arm. “Are you fucking kidding me? Do you have any idea how dangerous these inmates are?”

  I shrug. “Are they any worse than the FBI? Worse than me?”

  She’s breathing heavily, probably from adrenaline. She doesn’t respond.

  “I’m sure we’ll be able to blend in and sneak out before the FBI can regain control. It’ll be fine.”

  Her gaze glances past me for a split-second, looking at the corridor we came from before refocusing on me. “That’s a good plan, Adrian. A brilliant plan. But we might be sa
fer leaving with a couple of SWAT teams.”

  I frown. “What do you mean?”

  She points behind me. “I am far from the worst thing in here. There are people in here that make me look like someone from Desperate Housewives.”

  I note the pop culture reference. I’m impressed!

  I turn and look over my shoulder. There are nine people walking toward us. I shit you not, it’s like a scene from Dawn of the Dead! They’re staggering slowly down the corridor with glazed, medicated expressions on their faces, looking around absently as they come to terms with their unexpected freedom.

  I turn to look down the opposite corridor and see much the same.

  I feel Ruby tapping my shoulder. “Ah… Adrian…”

  I follow her gaze and see one of them at the back of the pack fumbling inside a guard’s pocket. I can just about see them take a set of keys and head to the far end, toward the door opposite Ruby’s cell.

  The only other room not linked to the central system.

  They stand in front of the door for a few moments, then step back as it opens. The guy who walks out has messy, graying hair. He shuffles barefoot into the middle of the corridor. His robe is open, showing a stained white vest and striped boxer shorts.

  “Adrian, we… we should probably go.”

  I can’t take my eyes off this guy. He looks so strange. He’s—Jesus, he’s foaming at the goddamn mouth! His shuffling is speeding up, too. He draws level with another patient. I see his hand disappear into the pocket of his robe as he moves to her side. He takes out what looks to be a homemade shank of some kind.

  Like lightning, he grabs the inmate—a woman in her fifties—by her hair, and yanks her head back, exposing her throat. He whips his hand up and pierces the flesh underneath her chin. Once… twice… too many times—holy shit!

  He pauses only to let the blood flow over his hand for a moment. He moves the shank to his own forehead and slowly slices across it, creating a thin, dark line that starts to pour down his face. As his skin is painted by the blood, his eyes seem to glow—the whites shining through the crimson mask—and stare straight through me.

  That was… that was some pretty dark shit.

  The rest of the zombie horde stop and turn, staring at him with looks of bewilderment. He lets out a guttural scream, which prompts the rest of them to do the same. They turn back around. Some groan, some yell, others stay worryingly silent. But they start walking toward us, this time with more purpose.

  The one with the keys makes his way to the front of the pack, re-opening the metal security gate halfway along the corridor. I’m actually a little relieved they’ve ignored the guards I left on the floor…

  “Adrian, we need to go. Right now,” urges Ruby.

  “Yeah… I think you might be right…”

  The crazy man charges forward, shoving other inmates out the way. They regain what little focus they had to begin with and chase after him.

  “Oh, shit!” I grab Ruby’s hand and we set off running down the stairs, narrowly avoiding being crushed by the two rampaging gangs of maniacs as they meet in the middle.

  We quickly come to the circular hub. Ahead of us, the door to the reception area is closed. I see another large group of guards assembled behind it. I have a key, but it won’t do us much good if we’re mobbed the moment we open the damn thing.

  I hear a noise behind us and look over my shoulder. My new stalker standing at the top of the stairs with a smile on his face and the shank in his hand, which is dripping blood all over the carpet.

  Ruby takes the lead, dragging me off to our right. “Come on—this way.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Anywhere that isn’t here!”

  We run down the corridor, frantically glancing at either side for an open door, but every one we try is locked.

  This is bad. Five security guards, I can handle. They’re slow, predictable, and poorly trained. But close to twenty crazed inmates loose in an asylum who have no issue with self-harming as well as killing—that’s a different thing altogether. I know a lost cause when I see one, and we absolutely would not win that fight.

  So we run.

  But, unfortunately, we seem to have headed down another dead end…

  Shit.

  I look over my shoulder and see the inmates stop about halfway down the corridor. They shift back into their slow, demented shuffle. Blood is still dripping on the floor from my stalker’s blade. And from his head wound.

  “This is the dumbest thing you’ve ever done,” says Ruby.

  I shrug. “You gotta admit, given you’ve only known me twenty minutes and I’ve only done two things, for both of them to be the dumbest thing you’ve seen me do is pretty impressive.”

  I feel her turn to look at me. “You’re crazier than anyone in here, you know that?”

  I smile, not taking my eyes off the inmates. “Thanks.”

  “Not a compliment…”

  “So you say…”

  I take a step back drawing level with a door on my right. I glance through the porthole window and see it’s a therapy room of some sort. I reach for the handle and try it.

  The door opens.

  I grab Ruby’s arm and drag her sideways into the room after me. I slam the door, turn the lock, and pull the table immediately to my right in front of it.

  “Okay, that should buy us some time. We need to—”

  She hits my arm, interrupting me. She’s standing at my side facing the room. I look at her and see she’s staring blankly behind me, transfixed by something.

  I close my eyes and sigh. “What now?”

  I turn around and look at the room. It’s a perfect square, maybe fifteen by fifteen. The wall opposite the door has two windows behind metal bars, stretching up from waist height to the ceiling. There are plastic chairs positioned in a circle on one side, and opposite is a row of cupboards running the full width of the room. I’m guessing they have activity equipment stored in them or something.

  In the far corner, staring at us with a vacant expression, is a man standing awkwardly and clutching a teddy bear. He’s wearing white coveralls and has to be close to seven feet tall. He’s an absolute fucking mountain…

  “Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me…” I mutter.

  12:07 EDT

  If he were my height, he’d be incredibly overweight, but because he’s so tall, it stretches the fat, spreading it over a larger area, so he just looks big and bulky. His jowls are dark with stubble, and his thick lips glisten with saliva.

  He turns his head slowly to look at me and smiles. “Hi.”

  His voice low and simple.

  I wave silently, trying to remain as calm as I can.

  Ruby steps forward, her hands on her face in fake surprise. “My God, it’s you! It’s really you! You’re here to save me, aren’t you? They told me you would come… the man who drinks tea and his friends—they said you’d rescue me.”

  Christ, she’s off again…

  The big guy looks at her. “I’m George,” he announces slowly. “Hi!”

  “George… George… you are the chosen one, are you not?”

  “Uh… Hi!”

  The mob outside starts banging on the door, urgently trying to break through. The big guy—George—looks oblivious and a little confused.

  “We’re going to have some fun,” continues Ruby. “We’re going to play a game of peekaboo with our new friends outside.” She moves in close to him and leans against his chest the way a daughter would with her father, her hand flat next to her face. “Behind that door, the demons come. No, don’t look! Don’t look at their eyes. We must put them to sleep. Let them rest.”

  George is completely unaware she’s next to him. He’s just staring at the door. There’s no emotion on his face. There’s… nothing. Just a Vacant sign hanging between his ears. But he’s a monster of a man. Maybe a gentle giant. Maybe a sleeping bear. Whatever he is, I hope Ruby knows what she’s doing…

  “De…
mon…?” he mutters.

  Ruby smiles. “Yes! Yes! Demon! Right outside the door. They need to sleep. They need to rest. Help me, Chosen One. Help me!”

  He looks down at her slowly. “Sleep…”

  He pushes her away and walks toward the door. I hastily step aside, not wishing to anger ol’ Sloth here anymore than I want to piss off the crazy gang outside.

  I move to the back of the room and stand beside Ruby. “Good work.”

  “Thanks. Be ready to run.”

  With considerable ease, George moves the table using one hand. He yanks the door open, not bothering to unlock it first. The frame cracks and splinters as the lock breaks.

  Our view is mostly obscured by his hulking frame, but I hear the commotion outside cease almost immediately.

  “De… mon…?” he says again.

  He’s met with silence. Ignoring everything else, he strides into the corridor, smashing his enormous shovel-like fists into the first couple of lunatics he sees. I can just about see them hit the floor. The jaw of the one nearest to the door is hanging loose, and their eyes are open and blank. I’m guessing they’re dead.

  The noise restarts as everyone’s attention turns to George.

  I grab Ruby’s wrist. “Come on, we’re leaving.” We move to the door, waiting for a gap in the crowd. “Okay, now!”

  We slip out and set off back down the corridor, running as fast as we can. I have my hand around Ruby’s wrist. She’s doing her best to keep up with me.

  We make it back to the door that leads to the reception area. I glance quickly through the window and see the group of guards still standing there. A few of them are facing the main doors, talking among themselves.

  The FBI must be almost here, if they’re not already.

  “Is there any other way out of here?” I ask her.

  “I’m not sure. There’s a basement level, but I don’t know if there’s a back door or anything.”

  “Damn it. Well, we need to try—the front door’s not an option. And this place will be swarming with Feds any second.”

  “Okay, this way.”

  We set off down the corridor to the right. Halfway along is a metal door. I take the keys and start trying them in the lock.