Without turning, he spoke to Wendell, who was standing against the wall behind the agent.
“Wendell, I told you we wanted him alive, why are you shooting like a madman?” Agent Moore asked.
“He… he tried to shoot me. I was trying to wing him to get him to drop his gun.”
“Did you fire all of your bullets?”
Wendell unskillfully fiddled with the gun and popped out the clip. Examining it, he replied in the affirmative.
“And none in the chamber?” the agent asked.
Wendell pulled back the chamber to reveal nothing inside.
“Okay, Wendell, you may leave now.”
“Where’s my money?” he asked.
“Wendell, I won’t tell you again, you can leave.”
“But when do I—”
Without turning his head or his body, Agent Moore drew his second gun from his hip holster and shot Wendell twice directly in the chest. The man slid down the wall and slumped to the ground dead.
Chapter 54
God Will Punish You
Through the smoke, Agent Wilson, the car’s passenger, viewed a man and woman coming down the steps from upstairs. The man had a rifle in his hand. When they reached the bottom, Agent Wilson got down on one knee.
“Freeze!” he yelled.
The woman stopped but the man kept coming.
“Stop where you are!” Agent Wilson yelled. The man had not raised his rifle, but had not heeded the command to stop either. The Agent fired two shots, killing the man on the spot. The woman screamed and ran over to the fallen man.
Agent Wilson walked over and saw it was a heavyset man in his late 60s, his hearing aide device in his shirt pocket was attached to an earpiece that had fallen out.
“You bastard!” the woman yelled at the agent. “God will punish you for what you have done!”
The agent raised his gun to silence the woman when he was nearly split in two by a tackle that caught him right in the ribs, bending his entire body into a sideways ‘V’. He was lifted off of his feet and thrown down a flight of about twenty wooden steps into the cellar where his head slammed against the concrete floor.
When he finally could shake off the stars in front of his eyes he saw his gun lying about five feet from his hand. When he scurried to pick it up he could hear the heavy thud of combat boots coming down the wooden stairs behind him at a fast pace. His fingers touched the handle just as one of those boots slammed into his side, kicking him nearly to the other side of the room.
The basement door slammed and he looked up to see Joe Mullet and Marifi standing over him, removing their gas masks.
Chapter 55
This New Jersey Thing
Agent Moore placed his hand on the back of the head of the now blindfolded and wrist bound Ivan and leaned in so his mouth was close to Ivan’s ear.
“Listen to me, Ivan, this is over. We did not want to kill your friend outside. We did not want to kill anyone. We are government agents, not terrorists, not mercenaries, and not your enemy. But your time is up and your father is running out of places to hide. He may have gone off the reservation, but we know you can be reasonable. No one else has to die. Well, no one in this house anyway.
“This thing has accelerated the plan, but we will be back on track soon. The president is speaking to the nation shortly. He is going to announce martial law, and after that, things will fall into place. You failed to change anything, and now you’re getting your friends killed. We have the congressman, and we are ready to end this nonsense right here and now. In forty-eight hours, New Jersey will be a memory, wiped away like a skid mark in your shorts. You can be out of here by then. You, your friends, and even your pretend wife.”
Ivan turned his head to face the direction of the agent’s face. The agent straightened up and took a step backwards. “Yeah, that’s right. You think a woman like that, in fact any woman, would willingly be with an idiot like you? You really think she came to the United States on her own, listened to your stupid radio rantings, and became a groupie? She was found in the Philippines by your father’s goon squad. They brought her here to keep an eye on you for him, and if she disobeys, they turn her grandfather over to his former guerrilla group. Terrorist groups don’t take kindly to deserters, and I am sure they can’t wait to hack him up into little pieces and probably boil him in a pot. Who knows what they do over there?”
Ivan turned his head so he faced away from the agent.
“Does that hurt, Ivan? To know the one woman who you thought loved you was doing so just to keep her grandfather from becoming dinner? That if your father gave her the word, she would slit your throat while you slept?”
Ivan tilted his head. “Well, I guess all marriages involve compromise.”
“Well nothing has to change,” Agent more said, continuing to try to close this deal. “You come along, and convince your father to do the same, help us control these creatures. You and that girl down there can still pretend to be husband and wife. You can save them all, Ivan. The congressman, your wife, your friends, and your father. And you can all watch as this country is reborn.
“Call down to your friends to let Agent Wilson go, to drop their weapons and to come upstairs. We will have a helicopter here in fifteen minutes. It will take us all out safely.”
Chapter 56
Enhanced Interrogation
At the top of the stairs, Agent Moore opened the heavy steel door an inch.
“Listen to me, do not harm Agent Wilson, this can be worked out and no one else has to die. We have Ivan, he is alive and cooperating. Now it’s your turn.”
Joe Mullet looked over at Agent Wilson, who was standing against the wall with his hands behind his head facing the barrel of his own gun held by Marifi.
“Agent?” Mullet asked. Wilson smirked. “Agent from where? The Federal Bureau of Fuckups?”
Wilson did not respond to the taunt.
“We only want Ivan,” Moore said. “This can be resolved without any further bloodshed. Let my man go and we will be on our way. Marifi, if you want, you can come along, but leave your weapon downstairs.”
Mullet shot Marifi a suspicious look. “These guys friends of yours? How do they know both you?”
“Tie him to that chair,” Marifi said to him, pointing to an old wooden chair that resembled an electric chair from the 1950s. It was bolted to the floor and wall, but the straps and cuffs were broken or missing. God only knew what horrors were performed on young victims in that chair during the dungeon’s previous ownership, but right now, it was the perfect receptacle to restrain this asshole.
Mullet threw the agent against the chair hard and grabbed a roll of electrical tape off of a stack of cardboard boxes. He tightly taped the man’s legs against the legs of the chair. His forearms were strapped with tape to the arms of the chair and Mullet used up the rest of the roll to secure his body so that he could not rock back and forth loosening the tape.
Marifi rifled through a small toolbox in the corner and found what she was looking for. She approached Agent Wilson with a small, inch long pocket knife.
“You going to cut his throat?” Mullet asked with disbelief,. “If you kill him, you ain’t getting Ivan back.”
Marifi leaned in close to Agent Wilson’s face. “Tell your partner to let Ivan go and we will let you two leave this place.”
“Fuck you.”
Marifi pulled back the blade. “I am asking you one more time, let him go, and you two can leave alive.”
Mullet rolled his eyes. This was going nowhere. He hauled his fist back and slammed it across Agent Wilson’s cheek. “Let him go fuck-nut” Mullet screamed.
Wilson shook off the blow. He leaned his head in the direction of the stairwell. “Moore, you up there?”
“Yep, still right here.”
“Do me a favor,” Wilson said, “kick that fucking kike in the balls for me.”
Marifi realized negotiation was not working. She positioned the knife so the tip was pressing
right at the base of Wilson’s neck, a smidge to the right of the Adam's apple. With a quick flick of her wrist, she slashed a half inch incision into his neck. The captive agent bucked backwards and tried to move out of his seat until Mullet grabbed his head and held him steady.
“Keep a firm hold on him, I don’t want his head moving,” Marifi instructed.
Mullet was incredulous. “That’s it? That’s what you are going to do to him? I cut myself worse than that shaving?”
Marifi did not respond, she was concentrating on the training her grandfather had taught her years before. She slid the fingernail of her pointer finger into the small incision which was leaking a trace amount of blood. Her fingernail, facing her, guided her finger under the skin, fitting snuggly between his skin and his dermis. Agent Wilson bucked wildly, and Dan did his best to keep the man still.
Rubbing together her pointer and her thumb, she began to roll the skin up and off the man’s face, slowly and steadily. It took a couple seconds, and about two inches of skin separated before the pain and the realization of what was taking place registered with the agent. He let out a scream that even he had not thought he was capable of.
“Aaaaahhh! You fucking bitch, stop, stop, stop! You bitch! You fucking gook, slant bitch!”
Flattery was getting him nowhere.
Marifi continued to roll a one inch swath of skin up and off of his face, passing his jaw, his nose, his cheekbone, his right eye and right up to the hairline, where she gave another flick of the wrist, removing the strip of still intact skin that resembled a quickly removed Band-Aid.
“Tell him to let Ivan go,” she repeated to the panting and whimpering agent.
“You fucking gook bitch, I am going to fucking kill your husband while you watch, and then I am going to fuck you, kill you, and fuck your fucking corpse. Then I am going to—”
Marifi made a second incision on the left side of his neck at the same horizontal spot.
“No, no, no!” the agent yelled.
Marifi again dug in her pointer finger nail and began rolling the skin away from his face. This time she moved faster and with Mullet’s assistance holding the agent’s head still, she removed a half inch wide, seven inch long strip of skin from his face.
Mullet’s stomach bile rose up and a small bit of puke spurted from his mouth into Agent Wilson’s lap.
Marifi made a third incision under Wilson’s Adam’s apple, so that the third strip would be right up the center of his face.
“Okay, okay, okay! FUCK! Moore, let the asshole go. Let him go!” Wilson yelled out, choking on the bitter words.
The door at the top of the stairs opened a crack and Agent Moore peered through. “Are you serious?”
Marifi grabbed the small flap of skin exposed from her third cut and started to pull.
“Yes! YES!” Wilson pleaded. “Let him go!”
The door opened all the way, with Agent Moore keeping hidden behind it, gun drawn. He had heard Wilson scream, but could not imagine what was happening to him. He gave Ivan a shove and Ivan, hands bound behind his back, carefully descended the stairs.
Marifi had used the knife to slit the tape holding Wilson to the chair and he jumped up and put his hands over his now bloody and partially skinless face. He knew he needed immediate medical attention. He had the congressman and he would collect— or kill— Ivan later.
He moved quickly, and when he passed Ivan on the stairs, muttered, “You’re fucking dead, you know that?”
Mullet stood at the bottom of the stairs, cupping his .45 with both hands, a finger on the trigger, swaying back and forth between Wilson’s back and the space behind the door where Moore stood. “Ivan keep moving!” he ordered.
Ivan looked at Wilson’s face with exposed muscle, veins, and arteries all covered with a sheen of blood and smiled. “Your face looks like an abortion.” With that artfully crafted retort, Ivan moved down the stairs and out of the way of potential gunfire.
Chapter 57
Stowaway
Moore and Wilson ran out of the shattered front entrance of the house. Wilson, still holding his ravaged face, stumbled into the passenger seat while Moore hit the GATE button on the intercom. The gate again began to open, and the now detached right arm of the slow Skell fell to the ground. Moore looked in the back and saw Callahan still struggling under the blanket. He started the car and sped down the driveway towards the gate. As the gate opened, an endless flood of Skells filed in, like sand pouring through an hourglass.
Wilson flipped down the vanity mirror to see the damage to his face, but only had a second to take in the sight when he was thrust forward, slamming the exposed nerves of his face against the windshield.
“Fuck!” he screamed out in pain. Moore had tried to speed directly through the walking skeletons streaming in, but in the darkness did not realize how many were there. The sheer depth and volume of hundreds of corpselike Jerseyites walking in, drawn by the gunfire and explosions, had stopped the car in its tracks. Moore put the car in reverse to try and get more acceleration to break through the flood. He sped backwards about ten yards and slammed on the brakes.
The figure in the back seat rose up and in the reflection of the vanity mirror, Wilson could see the blanket fall away to reveal a face more bloody and skinless than his own. The left arm reached forward—the only arm the figure retained—and grabbed hold of Wilson’s forehead, bringing his head and neck backwards to the waiting teeth that dug into his flesh.
Arterial blood sprayed the interior of the windshield, and Agent Moore turned around to shoot the rear seat attacker, but his protruding gut was wedged against the steering wheel. He struggled to maneuver his pear shape in the small interior of the sedan. The blood soaked Skell turned his focus on Moore, who had put his hand over the seat to pull himself around, and dug his teeth into the driver’s meaty forearm. The car again lurched forward, slamming into the still opening gate shattering the windshield. Within seconds the interior of the car was filled with arms, teeth, and flesh being ripped from the bone.
Chapter 58
Lefty
Pat emerged from his hiding spot in the thick, overgrown bushes next to the front of the house, the same hiding place that Wendell had ditched the body of the National Guardsman that he had shot in the back of the head. Pat reached down and tried to get Jerry to his feet, but the man was in too much pain to stand. Jerry’s Kevlar vest had stopped the bullet, but did not prevent all the damage. He was wheezing with every breath emanating from his punctured lung and blood was flowing profusely from his mouth due to internal organ damage. Yet, he had still managed to free Patrick before he collapsed. Patrick had ripped the now lefty Skell from the gate, and managed to wrangle the creature into the back of the car and cover him with the same blanket that had covered Patrick. He found that a good blow to the stomach would stun the infected and make them temporarily docile and immobile, almost like a blow to the head would do to a human.
Patrick could not move Jerry any further. He laid Jerry down gently on the driveway as the man took his final breath.
Ivan, Marifi, and Joe Mullet walked outside to find the congressman standing over their fallen friend.
“Holy shit, you! It’s you!” Mullet said to Pat. Pat looked up at the man in confusion.
“You’re the guy on TV, you’re some actor aren’t you?”
“No, not quite,” Patr responded.
“You’re on the news, you’re one of the anchors on channel five, right?”
“Actually, I’m your congressman.”
“Well holy shit, dude!” Mullet screeched. “Call the friggen White House then, or the Pentagon or something. Get our ass out of here. Ivan has a satellite phone.”
Before Pat could respond, all their attention was drawn to the partially open front gates. The sheer mass of Skells pressing against it caused the hinges to bend, and the gates slammed down to the ground. A wave of bloody, ragged Skells surged through and charged the four of them.
They ran t
o the house, but with the front door blown to smithereens, it did not provide much safety.
“The basement!” Ivan yelled.
Mullet yelled out, “We’ll be trapped!”
“Get the sat phone, it’s on my desk!” Ivan yelled and Mullet ran towards the office, grabbed the phone, and ran back towards the basement.
The first of the Skells were now in the house and flowing down the hallway. Ivan and Marifi went down into the cellar; Pat remained at door at the top of the stairs holding it open for Mullet.
“Let’s go, let’s go!” Pat yelled. Mullet made it to the door, but was immediately overwhelmed by Skells. He threw the phone towards Pat as hundreds of teeth tore into his flesh.
Pat reached for the airborne phone, but it hit the door next to him and bounced down the stairs into the cellar.
The wave of Skells swarmed Pat, pushing him backwards, slamming the cellar door shut, sealing Ivan, Marifi, and the phone downstairs, and Pat alone upstairs buried under dozens of Skells.
Chapter 59
Faith
Colonel Tindall sat in his office staring at his laptop watching CCTV camera feeds of the virus spreading. A sergeant knocked at his door and entered.
“Colonel, we brought in four more that we picked up at the checkpoint.”
“So?” the Colonel responded, disinterested.
“So three of them have badges indicating they are employees of PCRC.”
“What? Are you kidding me?” Tindall said, looking up from his laptop for the first time.
“Yes, sir, and they check out as authentic. We have them held in separate rooms and are questioning them now.”
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