Silenced
By N.R. Larry
SILENCED
© Copyright 2016 N.R.Larry
KINDLE EDITION
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Cover design by Kris Wagner
Edited by Rainy Kaye and Leah Walker
Formatted by Wendi Temporado of Ready, Set, Edit
Dedication
For Johnny for giving me the best safe phrase ever and loving me so completely. To Rainy Kaye, the most incredible friend and writer wife anyone could ask for. Thanks for not letting me quit. To Leah Walker who helped make this novel the best it could be. I couldn’t have done this without my amazing writing family, you know who you are. Thank you for your endless words of encouragement and much needed laughter. Last and certainly most, for my amazing daughter even though you can’t read this until you’re eighteen: I love you Jordan Rae.
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The Enforcers of Compound Six throw a body part into my cell each time I say no. On day seventy-two, it sounds like a rotted arm. It lands on a fleshy pile with a light thud. Means it’s petite. Possibly female.
I’m in near constant pain, but at least I’m a body part savant.
Fifteen ticks later, my cage floods with white light. The blinding kind in long stretches of desert. The kind that is unending. I try to blink it out. Two ticks later, metal clamps force my eyes open. I sputter, trying to inflate my lungs, but the air stings. Breathing was easy before I had a titanium mask strapped around my face.
The constant torture doesn’t help much either.
I wonder why I’m not dead for five ticks. Then, I remember my life is about numbers and my ticks haven’t run out.
My eyes prickle, unable to get moisture under the blazing lamps. Red orbs swim above me, until all I see is a crimson smudge. Even without my sight, I know how many claw marks float above the white light.
Seventy-two slashes on the ceiling of this cage. All left by me.
That means I only have eight days left.
A click clack sound distorts in my ears. Echoing like drunken footsteps. The clicks are high pitched. Heels this time. Not boots.
The lights dim, and I try to blink. Pain rips into me and I make myself stop before the clamps rip off my eyelids. I’m about to fail when soft hands remove the jagged metal, and I blink for the next thirty ticks. It almost feels good until thirst burns my throat, and I crave the salt water in my eye sockets.
“You need fluids, Pike.”
Juliet’s pale, oval face floats above me. Her ice blue eyes are calm. She smiles down at me, the angel of bullshit. A gesture of mercy after Boomer and the twenty lash whip. I want to taunt them, my tormentors, but hunger is eating my insides. My back feels like hamburger meat.
Metal shrieks against the floor of my cage. Juliet has pulled up her silver stool. She sits beside me like a nurse. “Pitch was scheduled for this slot, but I switched with him because you’re not sweating. You need fluids.”
Exhaustion takes away any smart-ass comment I might normally make.
“I’d like to remove your muzzle so that you can drink and eat. Do you think we can do that? Or do you prefer another IV?”
Thirty days ago, my fists would have balled up. Right now, in Juliet’s sixty-minute slot, I could give a shit about fighting back. I go to my head, the only safe place here, and fantasize about Juliet on her knees. The thought rushes through me for twelve ticks. It’s enough. It means my mind is still here. They won’t get to me.
I hope.
“Well, what’s it going to be, hon?”
I blink three times.
“That’s my boy.” She stands, click-clacks to the corner of my cage, and knocks three times. There is a whip of wind from the small chute in the cage door, then the clang of the golden key.
The evil bitch floats back to my side. She cradles my head like a mother before she reaches around to unlock the facemask. As she pulls it off I choke on copper. She coos to calm me down, and yanks three wires out of my throat.
I want to be stoic, but I hack and wheeze. My cell smells like shit and dead bodies. I almost ask for the fucking mask back. Instead, I’m thrashing against the wrist and ankle restraints and gagging. Juliet rushes to unlock the cuffs. As the last one on my right ankle falls open, I arch my back and spew vomit up onto my face.
Juliet doesn’t even make one of those noises girly girls like her make when nasty shit comes out of their men. She cleans me up with a bright smile and does more cooing. She props me up and holds the lip of her metal water canteen to my cracked lips. As soon as I gulp it down, my spongy throat needs more. I make myself sip the third canteen.
Then, I feel almost human again. Well, not human, but what the fuck ever. I sit up on the sleek board they strapped me to. My muscles go numb, then scream with the tingle of a dozen wasp stings. Juliet is beside me, looking down at my swollen feet like a wide-eyed dove. Innocent. So sweet, this little demon wench.
The hunger in my stomach growls and claws at my insides. I grunt food at her, and she pats my shoulder. She stands. Three knocks. The thud of hard bread. Then she’s back at my bedside. I tear into the bread, eating like a berserker, spraying hard crumbs all over the ivory cage and into Juliet’s hair.
She actually giggles while she shakes it out. Then smiles at me like I’m her little man, and touches me. My eyes slide shut as she traces designs on my arms and over the lashes on my back. God, I hate how good this bitch’s touch makes me feel. I miss that tingle. Human touch.
Human life. Even one as twisted at Juliet’s.
She is a stone cold liar, but her hands are fresh air on my skin.
“Fuck.” I shrug away from her hands and chuckle. “You’re good at what you do, Juliet.” I glance sideways at her.
She pretends to enjoy me praising her. She reaches out to stroke my face. Her fingers brush through my snake-like dreads. Her voice drops down, husky. “I can stay tonight, you know.” Then, she flips her goddamn hair. “All you have to do is change your mind. You don’t belong down here in this cage.”
“No, shit,” I shoot back, giving my best retort to the only Enforcer that lets me get away with lip.
“Then, why?”
I almost sneer at the false innocence in her question. What a bad actress. We both know why. I smile over at her. My lips split and blood pools into the cracks. I lean over and plant a red kiss on her milky forehead.
“I don’t remember the question.” I rub my blood into her skin. Her shiver is the on
ly genuine moment she gives me during her slot. “Ask me again.”
“Are you singing?” Juliet’s breath is heavy.
“Of course not. You made sure I can’t.” I stroke her flushing face, and offer my best smile. “What do you want from me, Juliet?”
Her eyelids hang slightly open. “I want you to go to the crossroads and bring back the cure.”
I want to roll my eyes at the word “cure,” but I stretch my smile wider instead.
“And, why do you want me to do that?”
“Because…” Her eyes fly open. She’s hard now. Done putting on a show. She stares down at me, her eyes like a blazing storm. “The cure he has will save us. I want you to save us, Pike.”
We stare into each other for twenty ticks. I want to piss her off, but know I can’t. Nothing shakes this evil bitch.
I sigh into her face. “Can I ask you a question, Juliet?”
“Of course.”
“Do you think you deserve to be saved?” I ask her like I’m asking if her shoes are comfortable. I stare at the stark wall in front of me. I don’t need to look at Juliet any longer. I know she’s iced over. Mercy isn’t going to work on me.
Again.
Even though I don’t want to, I shift my gaze to her. “Because I don’t. And I hope my blood lasts long enough to watch those animals rip down your walls and do things to your flesh that will follow you to whatever hell evil whore rags go to.”
She dashes to my cell corner, grabs a rotting arm no longer attached to its owner and I take a second to be pleased that I was right about the body part being a female arm. Then, she smashes it into the side of my face. I crash back against the table. The cling of metal clamping across me makes me laugh maniacal clown style.
She throws the arm and smiles down at me. All I can do is laugh as I slowly lose my shit. Then she flips her hair and says, “Shock the black off his mythological ass.”
The lights snap off and I’m still laughing. Jolts punch through my skin and claw into my muscles. I clench up, and thrash for thirteen more ticks. After that, it’s not funny. The ice-cold bitch goes shock happy and gives me a goddamned heart attack.
As soon as I come around, more light floods my eyes. White and too bright. My heart beats like a slow crawl, and I’ve lost my ticks. I blink, trying to un-see the light. Trying to un-think the pain. The rumble of footsteps echoes from several floors up. I jerk, meet restraint, and slump back against my torture table.
I know I lost my ticks because I have no idea how long I was out for. Marking the passage of time was the only thing keeping me sane. It was the only thing that allowed the acceptance that made my coming death feel like an old friend.
It shouldn’t be this hard. To find the ticks. But that damn light is too bright and hot as hell. The pain in my muscles feels too real, and my throat feels raw and stuffed with crab grass.
I lick my lips and try to regulate my breath. But the light keeps slicing in. Making me thirsty until my blood starts to feel like it might boil with need. Footsteps echo outside my cell door and I cough up a bitter laugh.
I grapple for a reason to tell them no again.
My jaw clenches when I see Pitch. The balding, squat of a man with his Indiana Jones complex. His whip is clenched firmly in his right hand. A serene smile paints his scarred face. He grabs the chains tying me down, then rips me up and down to my knees. He paints the stark cell with my blood.
I still tell him no and start counting again. Try to get back the time I lost. Pray for the blood curse to hurry and burn me alive.
Thirty ticks after Pitch leaves, Juliet comes back.
My back is ripped with welts draped in blood when I tell her no. Each of them get the same answer and the only thing holding my insides together is that I know every no is a fatal blow to their race.
The only thing that throws me off is the girl. She’s around eight, and she pleads with me silently with strange gray eyes while hugging a nasty ass teddy bear under her chin. Her angelic face almost undoes me. Then I remember these assholes took my parrot, and tell her to go to hell.
She falls into a puddle of tears, and I refuse to need to save her. I refuse to need food and touch, and refuse to miss the song. The blinding light seems to dim and I relish in stale, dead air and accept the end of everything.
Hours or days pass. My cursed blood slams into the walls of my veins. I’ve stopped healing. Soon, I’ll lose my power entirely. Shuffled footsteps meet my ears. The white lights they had on turndull yellow. I blink him into focus.
It’s Colonel Jax, the top dog of Compound Six. Their fearless leader. I’m surprised to see him, even though I shouldn’t be. His steps are very distinct. Too light. Like a dancer, even though he’s this brick wall of a man. His dancer stride matches his whisper of a voice. It doesn’t make any sense. His voice should thunder. His feet should thud.
One of his C6 lackeys follow him into my cage.
“Bag him,” Jax says in that woman’s voice that I fucking hate. The lackey steps around him and closes in on me, then throws a pillow case over my head.
This should be good. I’m almost dead, which means they’re running out of time. Whatever sadistic bargaining chip they have planned will have to top the beatings, the shock, and the solitary confinement.
“Observation room three,” Jax whispers again over the sound of my chains being undone.
I want to laugh about how desperate they must be. But everything is hunger and pain. So, I try to guess what Colonel Jax has left in his book of horrors. More kids maybe, only younger and with big dreams? My mind starts to go over the possibilities when another set of feet shuffle behind me.
Four hands pull me up and drag me from my cage. I try to count how many ticks they pull me down the hall, but my mind can only stutter unfocused thought. I have no idea how long it is until they throw me into another room. Into another chair.
Someone strips the stifling fabric away from my face. That same someone chains me back up, puts the muzzle back over my mouth, then backs away. The door slams shut. I blink the room into focus. Not much to look at. A little bigger than my cage. I’m seated at a small, white table.
Light flickers in front of me, drawing my gaze. A two-way mirror flickers into focus. The other side is a dark mirror of the room I’m in.
I squint through the darkness and thick glass. There is a blur of movement. I try to clear my throat and swallow more crab grass. In the middle of my hacking, a young girl, probably around twelve years old is led into the room.
My dying heart stalls. Then picks up speed, painfully pumping searing blood through my body until I sit twitching from the pain.
The girl. She’s actually exactly twelve years old. Since I lost my ticks, I don’t know exactly how twelve she is. Maybe she’s been twelve for a week. Maybe she’s almost thirteen.
Her polished green eyes are wide, eyebrows twisted in fear. Her head darts around the room as she struggles with the group of Enforcers that chain her to the chair.
It’s Sadie.
“No,” I say, trying to lean forward. I blink and shake my head. How?
My eyes burn. I twist my arms into painful knots. Jerk against my restraints.
On the other side of the glass, a small door I can’t see squeals open. The clink-clang of iron chains pounds in the speakers of observation room three.
Sadie’s mouth gapes, a mangled scream rips from her throat.
The scream turns my fatigue into violent desperation.
A huge, grey-bodied blur flies at her, teeth snapping.
It’s a berserker. One of their monsters.
The thing stops just inches away from her. Growling and chomping on its own arms to free itself. To get to her.
I spit curses at the bastards.
They found Sadie.
They found my fucking voice.
For the first time in however many ticks, I tell Compound Six yes.
I wake up feeling like crap. My blood swims with something that makes me ha
zy. I feel weighed down. Like the six Enforcers it took to put me down are laying on top of me. I blink to get the darkness out of my eyes. Then, I try to shake of the lingering nightmare of Sadie eating her way through whatever is left of the world.
How the hell did they find her?
I pull myself forward and meet resistance. Of course. When I jerk my arms, metal cuffs bite into my wrists. With a grunt, I jerk them up and down, bouncing chain metal off the walls, trying to free myself. I try shouting her name. My tongue feels buried under a pile of rock salt. A parched shout that sounds like gibberish when it hits my ears is all that comes out.
By the time the door squeals open, I’ve tired myself out trying to get to her. My eyes narrow as the bald and towering Colonel glides toward me.
“I want to see her.” The words burn up my vocal chords. I hack like a veteran smoker. “Now.”
“First thing’s first, Mr. Richards.” Jax pulls a key from the pocket of his flowering trench coat. I glare at him as he unlocks my cuffs. As soon as I’m free, I ball my hands into fists and shove them behind my back.
It would be bad to pound his meaty head in. Not before I know that Sadie is safe.
“You agreed to help us under duress. You understand that we need to make it official?”
My teeth grind. “I’m not agreeing to shit until I see her.”
Jax pouts and lowers his gaze like a woman. It makes me want to pry his lips off his face. During my fantasy, footsteps echo off the walls from further down the hallway.
“Mr. Richards,” Jax whispers again. “Are you going to be difficult?”
A huge dude enters the room and freezes behind Jax. He’s stuffed to the ears with sci-fi looking weapons. Scars are etched into his face. Like from fingernails.
He’s a C6 Wrangler. A monster cowboy. He’s probably the same fuckstick that brought the berserker to threaten Sadie with. The two assholes just stand there like we’re waiting for a hot bitch to pour us tea. Like this another Sunday afternoon.
Silenced Page 1