Tamara sat beside them, crossed her thick legs at the ankles, and pulled her T-shirt over her knees.
Jessica looked from Kurt to Pete and then back to the women. “If those guys see this, we’re all dead.”
No one responded. Zoey imagined they were all experiencing the same fear and dread that consumed her. “Let’s go,” Zoey said, getting up. “Let’s do this.”
Kim leaned against the wall, doubled over. Tamara led her to the corner of the room and made her lie down.
“Be on alert,” Zoey said. The gun felt massive, and it scared her. She’d never held one before. Living in New York City, she’d never had the need for one. Pistol permits were nearly impossible to get unless you had a dangerous, high profile job, one where you needed security. As a computer technician, there wasn’t much reason for her to own a gun.
“Safety off,” Jessica said, pointing at the pistol. “Otherwise you won’t get far.”
“Safety?” Zoey studied the firearm, had no clue where the safety was.
Jessica pointed it out. “It’s a Beretta. Slide that back. Cock the hammer, aim and shoot. Simple.”
Zoey smiled, rolled her eyes. “Yes, simple. Sure. Piece of cake.” She tossed Pete’s bloody shirt on his corpse. She rested against the door for a moment, building courage to turn the knob, to take that first step outside the security blanket of the room.
She nodded once, peered into the hall. Empty.
The stairwell leading to the observation area was at the far end of the hall, above Room Two, about thirty feet away. Took that first step out, her toes touching the cold tiles. Slowly at first, she walked past open doors that revealed nothing but dark, gaping maws. Moved faster, feet slapping, sounding like thunderclaps in the stillness of the corridor.
She was nearly there when a door she had just passed suddenly opened.
Bile filled her throat as she panicked. No place to hide, not even a tiny alcove to stuff herself into. A searing pain shot through her temples, and she leaned into the wall as if hoping to be obscured by it.
Two men stepped into the hall, facing away from her. She recognized one as Jeff, the freak from the nursery who liked to watch. The one who had pissed on her. They started walking down the hall, in the direction she had just come from. She held her breath, her body trembling, and she desperately wanted to scream.
“Close the goddamned door,” Jeff said. “You raised in a barn or something?”
“Fuck it, let them close it. I’m sick of this shit Zack’s got us doing. I didn’t agree to this when I paid my goddamned fortune.”
The sound of Jeff’s laughter followed them down the hall.
Her legs didn’t want to work. She forced herself to turn, to make it the last few feet to the stairwell.
The door was open. Once inside, she listened for movement. No voices, but heard the humming of equipment, and a light slapping sound. The old wooden staircase was solidly built, and she hoped it wouldn’t creek. One step, stop, listen. Then another. She didn’t know the layout of the room above. If someone was there, would she see his face, or his back?
The gun nearly slipped from her slick fingers. Sweat trickled down her face. Three more steps to the top. Two. The next step would bring her near the landing, would expose her head.
She couldn’t do this. Every nerve in her body was charged, every muscle over-wound. Every step a discovery in self-reliance.
Maybe it wasn’t too late to turn back. Maybe they’d forgive her, go easy on her.
Maybe they’d torture and kill her.
One more step. Tiny step.
She forced the step and peered over the edge. Discovered the source of the slapping noise.
He was sitting in a swivel chair, deeply engrossed in whatever was happening below. His engorged cock was in his hand, and he was beating off. His body was at an angle, not quite facing away.
She waited. He threw back his head and groaned, pounded harder. Cum spurted onto his hand, and he was lost in the throes of orgasm.
Zoey sprang up behind him, seized his testicles, and clamped down.
His eyes popped open and then his mouth, a look of utter shock on his face. “What the fuck?” He tried to move away but she squeezed tighter, and he doubled over.
She pressed the gun against the back of his head. “Don’t move, or I’ll rip them right off and shove them down your throat.”
Now what? She hadn’t thought this would work and didn’t have part two planned.
“The fuck?” he muttered.
“Shut your mouth,” she snapped, pressing the gun harder, at the same time applying more pressure to his balls.
His gun rested on the console a few feet away.
“I’m going to start moving you to the floor. I suggest you follow, unless you want two foot testicles. Nice and slow now.”
She pulled him in the direction she wanted and he followed, his hands splayed out in front of his body.
She raised her arm and cocked it back, and with a powerful swing smashed him in the back of his head with the gun.
He collapsed the rest of the way, landing hard. Blood seeped from the head wound.
She pulled her hand out from beneath his body, hoping he was unconscious, no way to know for certain. Using extension cords she yanked from outlets, carefully watching him every few seconds, she tightly bound his hands and feet. Her gun was on the floor beside her, inches away, but he didn’t move. Using a third cord, she hog-tied his hands and feet together behind his back. Grabbed the towel draped on the back of the chair and stuffed part of it in his mouth, wrapped the rest around his head and tied it at the back of his neck.
She raced downstairs and closed and locked the door. Rushed back up. Her prisoner hadn’t moved. Video cameras mounted on tripods or secured to posts were recording the room below. She reached to shut them off but changed her mind. If she somehow survived this, the tapes would be evidence.
Zoey looked at the room below the observation area. Horrified, her mouth fell open.
Chapter 14
Everyone was there, other than the three she left behind in Room Six. The women, guards, visitors, even James. The torture devices Jessica had described were in the room as well, and they were in use.
Dizzying waves overpowered her, and she gripped the console. Couldn’t watch this, had never seen anything like it. On the panel she noticed the volume button and turned it on.
Screams poured out of the speaker, voices yelling and laughing, the sounds of whips and belts destroying flesh. The whirring of drills was followed by shrieks.
“No …” she sobbed, sucking air, shaking her head. She brushed away tears and looked again at the carnage.
Women chained, hanging from walls and ceiling, some upside down. Being beaten and raped. A shrill scream drowned out the voices for a moment. Marie, tied to a beam, her nipples being burned by a cigarette lighter. Cathy, tied spread-eagle to rings jutting from the floor, was approached by a man handling a grotesquely oversized dildo. Some had been so severely beaten, their faces swollen and hidden by gore, that Zoey didn’t recognize them.
In a section of the room, Megan was tied to rings jutting from the floor. Her joints were being pulverized by a man wielding a hammer, and he methodically smashed bone after bone, bits of white, sharp cartilage poking through purple flesh. Her screams of torment were drowned by the noise in the room, by the pounding of the hammer.
They unchained her from the floor and threaded her mashed limbs through the spokes of an oversized wagon wheel, strapping her in place, securing her. Moments later they began to beat her with a bullwhip.
Zack stood at the front of the room, easily ignoring the crying and begging women. “Dinner’s ready,” he said. “Why don’t you guys—”
The door to the torture chamber was slammed open, and Tamara and Jessica came stumbling inside.
“Oh, no …” Zoey said, getting up. “Oh, god, no …”
Jeff followed them in.
“What’s wrong?” Zack
said.
Jeff gestured wildly. “Pete’s dead. Kurt’s nearly dead. You should see what the fuck they did to them. That black bitch tried to sit on me, but I moved away too fast.”
“What happened?” Zack said, grabbing Jeff’s shoulders.
“They were loose in there, attacking everyone who went in.”
“What?” Zack looked at Tamara and Jessica. Other than the moans from those unable to help themselves, all other noise had ceased.
Zack grabbed Jessica’s hair and yanked back her head. “How did you get loose?”
Wide-eyed, Jessica stammered, threw her hands up to lessen his painful grip. He threw her to the floor.
He approached Tamara. “Tell me.”
She stood defiantly, didn’t seem like she was going to tell him anything until he punched her in the face. Arms pin wheeling, she went flying and landed on her back. He kicked her in her side. “Answer me, you cunt.”
“My hand got loose from the binding,” she cried, cowering.
“What binding?”
“I was on the rack,” she sobbed. “It loosened, and I slipped my hand out.” She sat up slowly, rubbed her cheek.
The men gathered around Zack. Face scarlet, as if with fever, he glowered at Tamara and Jessica. “What did they do to them, Jeff?”
“Pete’s dead. Looks like he was crushed. Kurt’s on the rack. Nearly torn apart.”
“Dead?”
“No, not yet. But he’s a mess. Balls are crushed, joints nearly ripped out of his sockets.”
“Leave him for now. We’ll get a doctor down here.”
“I think he needs a hospital,” Jeff said, scratching his ear.
“No hospitals. I’ll get him a doctor. But we’ve got some business to take care of first.” He glanced around the room, as if deciding on a plan of action.
“James gets a reprieve. Tamara here gets to take his place. And this one—Jessica—she gets the splitter.”
They lifted Jessica, screaming, flipped her upside down, and chained her ankles into two widely-spaced cuffs hanging from the ceiling, her head brushing the floor.
A large handheld saw was brought over.
Zack knelt beside her head. “This is an old-fashioned execution method. Quite ingenious in its simplicity. The idea is that in your position, the blood drains from the body and rushes to the head. When we start to saw between your legs, there will be very little blood loss, so your death will be agonizing and incredibly slow. We’ll slice right here.” His fingers brushed her mound for emphasis. “Right in your cunt. Slowly make our way down, very … very … slowly. It’ll be a while before we reach any arteries or major organs. This will take an eternity, Jessica.”
Jessica sobbed, twisting in the cuffs, her hands spread on the floor in an attempt to relieve the pressure.
Zack took away the shirt that had pooled around her head. “I wouldn’t want you to miss seeing anything.”
“And you,” he said, approaching Tamara, “what did you think you were going to do? Save everyone? Is that what you are, a savior?” He stroked her chin, and she yanked her head back. “Well, savior, you’ll meet the same fate as our last Savior.”
Large wooden beams were dragged to the center of the room. Behind that, another man carried a large rubber mallet and a box of carpenter nails.
Tamara moaned, sank to her knees. Zack laughed. “Here’s your chance for martyrdom, savior.”
“What about him?” Jeff pointed toward James. “I thought he was going to be crucified.”
Zack pulled out a cigarette and lit it. Shrugged. “Plan B then. We’ll think of something. I didn’t bring enough wood to do two, and she deserves it more than he does.”
Zack then addressed the rest of the men. “Go back to what you were doing. No need to stop enjoying yourselves. I’ll let you know when I’m ready.”
One by one they returned to the women.
Zoey studied the room. In the corner sat the former guards, hands and feet bound. They weren’t going to be any help. Even if they weren’t bound, she doubted they’d be useful.
Beside Jessica now, Zack licked two fingers and thrust, fucked her with them, jamming them deep. Then he added another finger, then a fourth, twisting and turning his hand until it disappeared. He grinned, seeming to enjoy her screams, her spastic jerks.
Brutally raped her with his fist, left it in there as he spoke to Jeff. “Still too much blood. She’ll die too quickly if we cut now.”
Jeff nodded.
“Hey, go fuck something, would you?”
Jeff snorted, grinned, walked toward the massacre.
Jessica’s blood dripped off Zack’s hand when he pulled it out.
A plan, she needed a plan, but Zoey’s mind wasn’t cooperating. If she went in shooting, there was no telling who she might kill. The idea to wait until the men went to bed crossed her mind, but Tamara and Jessica would probably be dead by then. And there was no telling when these men would need to get some sleep. It seemed as if they were wired, and with all the drugs they kept boasting was roaming their systems, she wasn’t surprised.
Crying wasn’t much help, but she couldn’t control it. This was too much, it wasn’t fair! How was she supposed to help those women?
Zack’s voice pulled her out of her crying jag. He was testing Jessica’s blood flow again with his fist, and said to the man with the mallet, “This is taking too goddamned long, Doug. How long does it take blood to drain to the head?”
Doug hoisted the mallet over his shoulder like a lumberjack. “I don’t know, Zack. What about that dinner you mentioned? We can eat, do her when we get back.”
Zack clapped him on the back. “Guys, listen up.” Some of the men looked, a couple were too busy. Zack waited for them to finish. A minute later he had everyone’s attention. “Let’s grab something to eat. When we come back, we’ll have our crucifixion and our sawing ceremony. I need two of you to stay here and stand guard.” He lit another unfiltered cigarette.
“Why?” Frank, the one who had beaten Zoey with the belt in the nursery, asked Zack. He pointed at Tamara. “You worried about that one? Put a fucking bullet in her brain, man. Or at least chain her up somewhere.”
“She’s escaped once already. I’m not taking any chances.”
“Then why don’t we do the crucifixion first?” Serge asked, patting his fat stomach. “It sure would give me an appetite.”
Zack didn’t answer for a moment. Took a drag of his cigarette, shrugged. “Why not? It’ll get her out of the way. Line up the wood.”
Men dragged the planks to the center of the room, and from the floor, Tamara began to scream.
“Shut up!” Zack yelled, kicked her in the stomach with his boot. Tamara doubled over and fell on her side.
Serge yanked her shirt off. Rolled her onto her back, her enormous breasts sliding to the outsides of her chest. He yanked his cock a few times, spread her legs. He raped her to the sounds of pounding nails, fucked with the rhythm of hammer strikes. She didn’t move. Didn’t scream or try to push him off, as if she had given up.
Serge pulled out, looked up at the circle of men surrounding them, and climbed off, using her stomach for support.
They grabbed her arms and feet and dragged her to the boards, now nailed together in the shape of a cross, and centered her on it.
Arms stretched across the wood, palms up. Small pieces of plywood were laid on her hands.
“No …” she groaned.
“Hold her. Doug? Let’s go.” Zack squashed his cigarette beneath his boot.
He gripped the mallet like he was choking up on a bat and then raised it overhead. A carpenter nail was held in place, and Doug swung, pounding the nail through her flesh and into the wood.
Tamara screeched, her body bucking. Several men held her in place, sat on her flailing body. Another swing of the mallet and the nail was buried. Sprays of blood covered Doug, the floor, the man holding the nail.
He moved to her other hand, pounded in the nail.
Several other women were crying and screaming, begging them to stop.
Tamara’s legs were pushed together, ankles placed one on top of the other. Doug pulled a spike out of his pocket, handed it over. A small piece of wood was laid on top of her feet, and the spike was pounded in. They reinforced her wrists and ankles with rope, securing her firmly to the cross.
“Gonna need help with this,” Frank said. “We have to lift her.”
The men groaned.
“Couldn’t you find someone smaller to crucify?” Serge bitched.
“Oh, but she was okay to fuck, right, Serge?” Zack said.
Serge turned away.
Four men leaned over, grabbed the cross by the arms. One footed the base while the others lifted, pushing it upright. They dragged it to a nearby support beam and propped it.
“Now we can eat,” Zack said. “I still want one guard in here. Volunteers?”
“I’ll stay,” Serge said. “Fuck, Zack, it’s better than eating whatever you’ve cooked.”
Zack laughed. “Good man. Someone want to go get Ralph?”
Zoey’s heart stopped when Zack looked up at her. “Hey, Ralph?” Filled with terror, wondered if he could see her through the glass.
“Ralph? Can you hear me up there?”
She didn’t know what to do.
“Ralph?”
She banged on the glass. Zack nodded.
“We’re going to grab dinner. Come on down.”
“He can eat with me,” Serge said. “Keep me company.”
Zack looked up again. “You mind waiting? Bang on the glass if you’ll wait to eat with Serge.”
Zoey banged on the glass.
“Good. Hey, Serge, think you can find something to keep yourself busy?”
Serge smiled, shrugged. “I’ll think of something.”
Zack pointed at Jessica. “Do me a favor and check her once in a while. See how the blood flow is coming along. I want to start sawing when we get back.”
Suffer The Flesh Page 10