“So basically you're saying I had to believe I was going to live in order to survive?” I asked.
“In a nutshell,” the doctor said, defending the process. “In the past week we've done clinical trials. Patients that were administered the antidote without first having the drug always come back to us so twisted they’re barely human at all; they are vile, wretched monsters. Most died of shock within minutes of being brought back, even the ones who had been recently turned. One man chewed through his own wrists. Another swallowed his tongue. You see, the drug allows the mind the time it needs so it can heal along with the body.”
“How can you live with it all?” I said, criticizing him. “Knowing how you've hurt so many innocent people?”
The words just seemed to slip out before I knew what I was saying. I felt so disgusted; I could hardly look at the man.
“I can't,” Winterbourne sighed. “Franco hasn't left me with many options. I knew if I tried to run he'd just track me down and punish me, probably cripple me so I couldn't try again. Still, I told him I was planning on doing just that so he'd put me in here with you for a while. It worked like a charm. He said time with two men on death row would change my outlook.”
“Why would you want to be locked in with us?” Moto questioned.
“There's only one way out of this,” the doctor answered. “It makes me sad to admit it, but I'm a bit of a coward. I don't know. Maybe it's more than that. Maybe I'm just too egotistical to kill myself. They say doctors are some of the most arrogant people you'll ever meet, next to airline pilots and tyrants. Either way, it's decided now. You're going to put me out of my misery, and keep them from turning the world into their vision of hell.”
“We're not gonna kill you,” I immediately responded. “You don't get to take the easy way out of this.”
“He's right,” Moto backed me up. “You'll just have to do your best to make up for the damage you've done to the world, and keep on fighting.”
“You're not going to have much of a choice, I'm afraid,” the doctor anxiously replied, bursting out in a fresh fit of coughing. “You see, I took a dose of the zombie virus right before I threatened to quit. Judging by the way I keep losing focus, I'd say we don't have much time left.”
“You intentionally infected yourself?” I yelled. “What, are you insane?”
“That's for history to tell,” Winterbourne sputtered. “If humanity still has a future, that is. My guess is they'll say I was mad, that like so many great men who came before me, I simply imploded from the weight of my own genius. It doesn't really matter much. I won't be here so I'll never know for sure, and as far as I'm concerned I've done the noble thing, sacrificing myself for the greater good. I'm at peace with the choice I've made, and that's all that matters.”
He was barely able to choke out the last of his words. His eyes bulged and blood began to run from the corners. He was already changing.
“We gotta tell someone,” I stammered, turning to Moto. “We're unarmed in here, and any moment he's gonna turn. Look at his eyes.”
“Why us?” Moto demanded an answer from the doctor.
“If Franco finds me he will try to turn me back,” Winterbourne struggled to explain. “It will be agonizing torture, and it will fail. I no longer possess the will to survive this. You and your brother, on the other hand, kill zombies all the time. You have a reputation for putting the dead back to rest. Some might call you professionals.”
“That's it. He's officially lost the last of his marbles” I moaned, anxiety climbing in my chest as I searched around for a weapon.
“Please,” he managed to stutter. “Please make sure when I turn, that you kill me with a blow to the head. Only by damaging the brain will you be able to put me out of my misery forever. I'm so sorry for this. I really am.”
He fell over and began convulsing. Blood leaked in heavy trails out of his eyes, drooling onto his lab coat and staining it.
“We don't have much time,” Moto cautioned, moving closer to me.
“I hope you've got a bright idea,” I begged. “Because this isn't looking good.”
“We could tie him up with his own clothing,” Moto said. “Maybe attempt to restrain him.”
“That wasn't what he wanted,” I argued. “His plan was for us to take care of him.”
“Maybe he should have asked us first,” Moto yelled, growing more agitated as the seconds passed.
“How did he expect us to do the job with no weapons?” I said, thinking out loud.
“There's only one sure way,” Moto suddenly looked sick to his stomach. “It's totally gruesome and messed up.”
“He's coming back,” I said, pointing at Dr. Winterbourne. “Do something! Fast!”
“Turn around,” Moto warned me. “You're not going to want to see this.”
I hesitated, staring at him in disbelief.
What's so bad he couldn't want me to see it? I wondered.
“Turn around now!” Moto roared. I did as he said, still unable to shake the fear that the recently deceased doctor wouldn't spring out at me like a jack-in-the-box and take a good-sized chunk from my exposed back.
I heard scuffling as Moto dragged Dr. Winterbourne and threw him on the ground in the far corner. There were several hard thumps, as if my big brother was beating the corpse up, then a loud cracking sound that could only mean he'd finally broken his neck. I started to turn back, but Moto immediately warned me not to again.
“Don't look now,” he screamed. “You understand? You don't look until I say so!”
“Okay, man,” I said, feeling embarrassed that he was treating me like a little kid.
I stared out of the bars and off into the distance, as I tried to imagine in my mind what the sounds coming from behind me could be. I heard heavy breathing and a loud crunching accompanied each time by a grunt from Moto. Soon the cracked nut sound gave way to a steady slurping rhythm like someone jumping in a puddle. Against my brother's orders, I turned back to see Moto stomping on what once was Dr. Winterbourne's head, but was now a caved-in mess of blood and brains on the concrete floor of the cell.
“It's done,” I shouted, but he just kept going, unable to stop until he was certain the doctor would not be able to rise and attack us. “Enough!”
Moto stopped and stared at me, then looked over my shoulder. I heard the gasp behind me a second later, and whipped around to see Franco, John, and Tank standing there, along with several of Franco's loyal followers, including Zane.
“Time's up, maggots,” Tank said. “What's that behind you? And where is the good doctor?”
“What have you done?” Franco cried out, realizing what Tank hadn't almost immediately. “You've killed him!”
“He turned,” Moto said, panting to catch his breath. “He was going to kill us both. We didn't have a choice.”
“I could have brought him back,” Franco roared, suddenly enraged. “Do you have any idea what you've done? You've ruined everything!”
“Just like I said they would,” Tank chimed in.
“Shut up!” Franco turned on him. “You keep your stupid, petty digs to yourself, you overgrown Cyclops, or I will cut the tongue out of your mouth. Do I make myself clear?!”
Fiery anger shone in Tank's one remaining eye. For a moment, I thought a laser beam might shoot out and disintegrate Franco where he stood. Tank just huffed and nodded in reply.
“Good,” Franco snorted, his face flushed with wounded pride. “I'm not going to tolerate insubordination in front of my men. It's the fastest way to sink a revolution.”
“Is that what you're calling this?” Moto laughed in his face. “A revolution? If you really believe that, you're delusional. This is a military coup, plain and simple, a power grab by a madman intent on bending the world to his own will and killing anyone who stands in his way. This is treason.”
“I'm afraid you've got it all mixed up, Macnamara,” Franco leered. “You're the one guilty of treason. You're the one in the cage waiting to be
carted off, kicking and screaming, to the gallows. History is full of people like you, simple minded fools with no vision, men wracked with inner guilt and conflict by the choices they need to make to take the human race to the next level, constantly wrestling with their morality. Men like me know that tough choices must be made, especially in times of war. Men like me dare to take bold measures. We do it for the good of all the people.”
“Sacrificing anyone who gets in your way?” Moto said accusingly.
“Gladly,” Franco laughed. “What are a hundred men compared to the fate of all of mankind? It's less than a drop in the bucket, less than a single teardrop, compared to the entire ocean, to every drop of water in the universe. My name will live on forever. History is told by the winners, Macnamara, not the skeletons. When they talk about me in the history books they’ll say I was a visionary, a decisive leader who never let his conscience get in the way of doing what was best for all the people. You won't even be remembered as the cowardly traitor that you are. I'll personally see to it that you are snuffed out of all accounts of recorded history. It will be like you and your miserable family never existed.”
I felt a chill go through me at the delight Franco was taking at imagining our total demise. It was eerie how much pleasure he took in tormenting us, like a serial killer feeding off the fear of his victim’s last moments.
He's a monster, I thought. Never forget that. He may look human, but he's a demon that's taken human form, nothing more.
“When the time is right,” Moto said through gritted teeth. “I'm going to personally kill you.”
“Deluded to the bitter end,” Franco laughed. “Speaking of time, yours is now officially up. Take them to the hanging platform. And someone go fetch Benji. I know he'll want to be front and center for this show. I want him right by my side, so I can share in his joy at seeing these traitors get what they deserve.”
“You did something to him,” I yelled. “You messed with his head somehow. Benji would never find happiness in anyone being killed, not even someone who tried to kill him.”
Franco laughed again, and his men joined in at my expense.
“It's amazing how naïve you still are,” Franco taunted. “Benji is a man now. His eyes have been opened. All men take pleasure in seeing their enemies suffer and die. All men revel in the glory of justice served. You'll see soon enough.”
He turned, and the men parted to let him through. I tried to yell out after him, but he was gone. The doors were opened and men rushed in, beating us with sticks, punching and kicking us all over. Stars exploded behind my eyes as I took a fist to my right eye, then doubled over out of breath as someone else crammed another into my gut, winding me. After a small eternity of being beaten down, we were pulled back up. Our arms were tied in front of us. They shoved rags in our mouths to keep us quiet, and began marching us out to our impending death.
Chapter Nine
The men were cheering as we were marched out in front of them into the blinding sunlight. They cracked jokes at our expense, working each other up. Some reached out and smacked our faces as we walked forward. Others spit on us. Some kicked us in the back of our legs as we stumbled on; still others beat our lower backs with sticks to keep us moving. All the while, insults flew at us from every side. I noticed that some of the men looked like they were wearing new uniforms, and their bare arms sticking out were covered in biker tattoos.
Alphas and Unity Gang, I thought. That's how they've been slipping on and off the base. Franco has allowed John to deputize outlaws into his elite unit. He's in bed with the enemy.
By the looks of it, the sun had just risen. Blood from a head wound I'd picked up in the beating soon mixed with sweat from my anxious attempts to fight them off with tied hands, and the mixture poured down into my eyes, making them sting. I choked on dry dust as we were led over the dirt track to the lawn section where a makeshift gallows had been recently assembled.
I wonder how long they've been preparing for this moment, I thought. This must have been part of the plan since the start, to win the rest of the base over by using us as his scapegoats.
The crowd of cheering men parted to let us climb up and onto the platform. They looked like rioters. I wondered how no one else could see they were nothing but lawless bikers in bad disguises. I felt my foot take the first step up the stairs, and heard the creak of the new wood as it supported my weight. A feeling of utter dread began to descend over me.
This is really happening, I realized at last. This is how it's going to end.
I was up on the platform now, and being calmly moved into position over a trap door by one of Franco's men. I turned to see another moving Moto into position.
There has to be a way out of this. Think! You're running out of time!
The man next to me reached over my head and pulled the noose down, looping it over my neck and pulling it snugly into place. The wiry bits of rough rope scratched my throat as I started to panic, pulling in deep breaths.
I'm never going to see her again, I thought. I'm never going to see Felicity.
I heard a commotion to my right. I turned to see Moto struggling as they tried to put the rope over his neck. It was no use. The man rabbit punched him hard in the kidneys, and he bent over. The man who had put the rope over my neck helped Moto straighten up, as the other one laced the noose around my brother’s neck and pulled it so tight that Moto's face began to go slightly blue.
I can't believe this is how we're going to die, I thought. After everything we've been through, it just doesn't seem right.
All around us, the men laughed and cackled and spit insults and threw things at us – a raucous mob of motley criminals hungry for blood. The sounds of their evil merriment made my stomach churn. I was starting to shiver all over. A loud, steady clapping from in front of us caused them to settle down. I looked over to see Franco standing before us with Tank, John, and Benji, who had my katana slung over his shoulder. I tried to make out an emotion from the blank expression on his face, but it was no use. His body posture, on the other hand, completely suggested he was with Franco now. He wore the uniform of the elite squad, including the telltale black shirt and lace-up combat boots. His chest was puffed out and he walked with a cocky swagger, making him look like a miniature version of Franco.
“May I have your attention, please,” Franco shouted.
“Hang 'em high!” One man hollered. The rest laughed. Franco took out his pistol and, without hesitation, shot the man in the chest. He fell over dead and the men closest to him parted like a curtain, none wanting to be found guilty of associating with him. A terrified silence fell over the camp. The smell of gunpowder lingered in the air like a warning.
“As I was saying,” Franco continued, not the least bit concerned with murdering one of his own men. “We gather here today to see that justice is done.”
He stopped and looked around at the men who were all now fidgeting quietly, like kids trying their hardest to behave at church.
“You may applaud that,” Franco conceded. The men burst into cautious cheers. Franco put his hands up and waved them down to let the men know he wasn't done speaking. They instantly quieted again.
“This man,” he said, strolling over to point at my brother, “until a few days ago was your ranking officer on base, owing to the death of General Conrad. We now know he was responsible for the General's death, that he conspired with terrorists to plot an attack on this very base, that he covered up the theft of highly classified documents, and that he and his accomplices stole a weapon that they intended to use against anyone who dared to stand against them.”
A low chorus of boos went through the crowd. John and Tank sneered, clearly enjoying the show. Tank punched Benji in the shoulder playfully, and to my great surprise Benji laughed and nodded his head. In the place where I thought my outrage should be, I found instead a gaping hole of sadness and betrayal. My heart felt like it was breaking in my chest again. For a split second I wanted nothing more than for the
m to pull the handle and get it over with.
Anything has to feel better than this, I thought. At least when I'm dead I won't have to see him gloat anymore. Every time he laughs it feels like someone is stabbing me in the chest. I can't believe I once called him my little brother.
“Despite our best efforts to get them to come clean and tell us where the stolen materials are,” Franco continued theatrically, “they've refused to budge an inch. We even offered them mercy; we told them if they helped us prevent a tragic war that would cost the lives of soldiers and civilians, and leave us all open to attack by zombie fiends, that we would let them live out their days in prison. And do you know what they said? They said they'd rather die than tell us. Well guess what? Today is their lucky day. Today is when they get to pay for the error of their ways, and it’s when we get justice for those who have sinned against us. Today they will hang by their dirty necks until the light goes out of their eyes.”
A fresh chorus of cheers rent the air as Franco lifted his arm and jabbed his balled up fist to the sky to drive his point home. He was a master of working up a crowd, a fantastic talent for a man who wanted to lead a devoted cult of fanatics on a path of world domination.
“Tank,” Franco said, turning and extending his hand out toward the giant with the eye patch. “It has been decided that you shall do the honors. You may now take your position by the gallows.”
Tank look surprised at the news, and oddly anxious. He turned to John who simply smiled and nodded, then back again to Franco like there must have been some kind of mistake.
“Come on then,” Franco said. “I know you're surprised, but we still have a hanging to get on with. I can imagine how honored you feel to be selected. I'm sure there are a hundred guys right now who wish they could take your place.”
Tank stepped forward like he was going to be joining us up on the platform. Franco's evil grin widened.
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