Dark of Dawn 4Horsemen: Book one in the Dark of Dawn Series
Page 37
Tyler was now faced with an almighty conundrum. Running would risk falling headlong into danger, yet staying put would ensure confrontation. He was exposed out on the street like this but decisions were needed, urgently. Stress levels were rising, fear was omnipresent as both the illusion and real threat of death closed in on him.
Something stirred to his left. With panic in his eyes he spun around and peered anxiously down the street. The way ahead was so dark and gloomy that Tyler could only just make out hazy outlines, silhouettes that were moving slowly in his direction. High above clouds shifted once again, basking the street in moonlight revealing the incoming throng before him. Death had arrived and as reality set in Tyler panicked.
Instinct told him to run, so run he did. Fueled by a powerful cocktail of adrenaline and fear he ran his heart out. Initially he stuck to the open streets for they afforded greater space for him to move. Behind him the creatures shuffled along in pursuit, realistically never in the hunt in this contest of speed. What they lacked in pace however, they made up for in numbers and determination.
Living corpses flooded the streets everywhere, pouring out from doorways and crevices in buildings in every direction. With his heart pounding he ran faster, widening the gap with each and every step. Sidestepped car after car, hurdled debris in his path and in no time at all he had gained complete separation from the lumbering creatures.
Having bought himself some time with his swift escape he stopped momentarily to catch his breath. Lungs burned and his heart pounded in his chest. Up ahead he spied a potential refuge and nodded to himself. He was exhausted and knew that he could not keep running all night, this would have to do.
Slowly and cautiously he made his way up the expansive steps that sprawled across the entrance all the way down to the street below. Reaching the huge double doors that stood between two massive Corinthian columns he frowned at the sign above his head that read MUSEUM OF NATURAL HISTORY. Took a deep breath which he expelled hastily before pushing the doors open and stepped inside.
Silence greeted him, darkness devoured him. He secured the front door as best he could, then attached his flashlight to the barrel of his rifle. Satisfied that the entrance was now impregnable a terrifying thought struck him, this was also an exit and he had just sealed himself inside. A cold shiver ran down his spine.
Resting his wine glass on his lips the Commissioner stared at Nikita as she was led into the room. He eyed the tall European woman up and down, ogling her as if she was merchandise delivered for his inspection. Polishing off the remainder of the red wine he set the glass on the side table and eased himself back into the white leather settee.
Luxury abounded everywhere, marble bench tops, a fully stocked private bar and an alfresco balcony that overlooked the playing area of the Stadium below. This corporate suite had been converted into the Commissioner’s own lavish private quarters and it contained all the trappings of wealth in a society devoid of traditional economic class tiers. All citizens in the new world who resided at the Stadium were supposedly equal, the Commissioner obviously failed to read his own memo.
Placing his fingertips together he brought both hands to his lips and curling up one corner of his mouth he gave a wry smile. Paused for a moment before eventually giving a nod of approval. “Welcome to paradise,” he said, addressing his guest as he leaned back into leather.
There was an air of arrogance about him, having carved himself a reputation as a stern and dominant leader he had exposed his manipulative demeanor to the world. His obnoxious behavior was often lost on those who knew him, for it had an air of familiarity about it. On this occasion however, it was lost on his guest as well.
“So, what do we have here?”
Nikita simply stood there seemingly disinterested and undeterred by the gravity of the situation. She ignored the question and kept her head bowed, staring at her hands which were firmly clasped together in front of her.
Stepping forward the Collector brushed past her, making his way with purpose to the couch. The little grey man spoke at a whisper as he pointed to his clipboard drawing a line with some ferocity across the page with his finger, before lifting his head to stare in Nikita’s direction. As he waited for a response he fired a malicious glare at the woman.
The Commissioner reached for his glass again and poured himself another drink, emptying the wine bottle completely. Holding his glass aloft he studied the contents before placing it under his nostrils. As the full-bodied aroma of the rich red wine hit him he closed his eyes and sighed. Threw his head back allowing the fermented liquid to pass down his gullet. With his palate suitably pleasured he opened his eyes once again.
Raising an eyebrow he glanced suspiciously at the woman in front of him. “Well, it would seem that we have ourselves a bit of a predicament here,” he said, licking his lips. Getting to his feet the Commissioner walked to the balcony and slid open the double glass doors. Immediately the sounds of vociferous, yet incomprehensible conversation and laughter flooded into the room.
“Look at them,” he said, in a condescending tone as he fixed his eyes on the arena. Tents, bivouacs and other temporary shelters covered almost every square inch of the playing surface. “Thousands of souls saved. Ever since the world turned to shit we have provided a place where people can to start again. We protect them from everything that is evil beyond those walls. Beyond those walls… lies extinction.”
Closing the doors the Commissioner turned to Nikita once again and the room went deathly quiet. “All those people out there… they are here because they need hope. They cannot fend for themselves on the outside which is why they came to this sanctuary. Now, they have food, protection and shelter. They are here because of what we provide for them.”
Nikita stood motionless.
The monologue continued. “Every society needs rules, or it will collapse. To ensure our survival here at the Stadium we have rules and a low tolerance for lawbreakers and misconduct of any kind. We have imposed a tariff on everyone who enters here and the deal is simple.” Lowering his voice, he accentuated his main point. “Each and every day we keep death at the gate, which means we keep our end of the bargain. In return, we expect to be compensated for putting our lives on the line. For people like you!” He scoffed.
Moving back to the couch the Commissioner slumped back into his seat. Ashley, who had been standing at the bar this whole time joined him with a full bottle of wine in hand. She sidled up next to him and placed the open bottle on the side table to breathe.
“We don’t expect much with this levy, but it is mandatory! We take a hard line on freeloaders and non-payment for any reason will not be tolerated.” His voice suddenly took on a vile tone as he gave his guest a vicious stare.
Nikita blinked. Withdrew deeper into her own sub consciousness, where she found solace. Rory joined her and smiled at her. She smiled back.
Raising a closed fist to his mouth the Collector coughed. It was contrived but had the desired result. He received an immediate nod from the Commissioner. Nikita’s lack of response had infuriated him.
“You have got yourself in a right pickle,” he said, keeping his temper in check. He had been prone to emotional outbursts in the past and his checkered sporting career had been dogged by violence and conflict. He had gained the nickname the ‘Commissioner’ for the way that he would always take the law into his own hands. When the world turned he was facing yet another suspension for fighting.
Ashley squeezed his thigh firmly then casually rested her hand on his leg. There was nothing suggestive about her gesture and it went unnoticed by the others in the room. She was his advisor and confidant, but there was more to them than this business-like relationship, much more in fact. The two of them had grown close but had decided to keep everything between them private. For the most part they had succeeded.
Reaching for the open wine bottle Ashley filled her glass, having already overindulged she was starting to feel the effects of too much alcohol. She was not dru
nk, just tipsy enough for everyone to notice. “Enough of this,” she said, slurring her words. “Punish her already so we can get on with our night.” Her wine disappeared, but no sooner had she finished her glass it was replenished once again.
“What would you have me do then?” asked the Commissioner.
There was a momentary silence before Ashley spoke again, she was a wily customer and had learned how to use situations like this for her own gain. Boredom, intoxication and sexual frustration had made her moody that night.
She gave a snort. “I explained the rent policies in detail to her and her group when they arrived. They all knew what our rules were and now, she has broken them.” Casting a discerning look at Nikita she added, “So punish her already!”
All eyes now turned to the Commissioner who shifted uneasily in his seat. Leather squelched as he changed position. “So, what would be appropriate then?” He was being deliberately evasive, manipulating the situation.
Ashley drew in a deep breath before expelling it loudly through her tight lips. She had had enough of this woman and was annoyed at how much time it had taken dealing with her petty affairs. With a nonchalant wave of her hand directed squarely at Nikita she said, “Lock her up for the night and then put her to work for the next few days. Either in the kitchen or the warehouse.” Placing a finger to her lips a more sinister thought suddenly came to her. “Or perhaps… you could just give her to the men.”
An uneasy silence hung heavy.
It wasn’t uncommon for women to be sexually violated as punishment for breaking the law at the Stadium, this kangaroo court had passed similar judgement on many occasions for a raft of offenses. Their justification, not that they needed one, was to provide a deterrent, but there was also a hidden, somewhat more sinister agenda – improving the morale amongst the men. Little thought was given to the sentenced women who were handled as commodities, highlighting the absolute brutality of this new world.
“Yes,” Ashley had decided. “Give her to the men. She looks like she can handle herself and she probably could do with it too.”
With a nod of his head the Commissioner made it so. He turned to Ashley who was tight-lipped, grinning from ear to ear with a somewhat sinister look on her face. Polishing off the contents of his glass he received another top up, almost to the brim.
Nikita showed no emotion as she was led away. Rory took her by the hand and smiled making her feel that all was going to be fine.
Something woke Tyler with a start. He was unable to determine whether the sound had come from his subconscious or from the bitter reality of his night of terror, in which he was now trapped. Gritting his teeth he slowly shook his head in disappointment. How could he have drifted off to sleep and put himself at risk like this? Squeezing his fists tightly he held them for a few seconds before relaxing them slowly and refocused.
Sensing danger he sat with his back to the wall cradling his rifle on his lap and remaining perfectly still, seemingly frozen in place. Minutes felt like hours as he continued to sit rigidly, too frightened to move. Eventually he took a long, deep breath, then leaned forward and peered down the hallway outside the open doorway where he sat. Ahead of him misty moonlight filtered through a dirty skylight above. There was no movement, no sound. It was empty and deserted.
As fear gave way to a sense of reality Tyler sighed. Not for the first time he had imagined something, causing him to overreact and fear the worst. The building for the most part was deathly quiet inside and Tyler had tried hard not to disturb that silence, moving with stealth through the open spaces of the museum all night. He had single-handedly dispensed with the undead that meandered amongst the exhibits.
In the darkness his mind had played many a trick, trapping him in the void between his conscious thought and his own sub consciousness. Whilst he was constantly aware that he was indeed fully awake, Tyler battled against those thoughts in his head that were attempting to defraud him of reality. Shadows appeared to come to life and promptly fell upon him, only to vanish as he once again retreated into the moonlight.
He had waged war all night, yet despite his many victories there was one battle he struggled with. Tormented by the visions of the young girl he struggled to keep himself together, unable to find enough reason to justify her death. The fact that her life had long since been extinguished before she ultimately met her fate did not wash with him, so time and time again he pushed logic to one side. Try as he might he was unable to shake off the image of her innocent face staring directly at him, expressionless, vacant and all alone.
Her eyes began to change color and as she wept, sending bright red tears streaming down her cheeks. She screamed a silent scream that pierced Tyler’s heart, he truly felt her pain. This scene played in his mind over and over again as if on repeat to inflict as much misery as possible. Each illusion would end the same way with the girl who was now completely unrecognizable as her former self opening her mouth wide revealing rotted and putrid teeth, before lunging at him. Everything in the vision then suddenly and violently turned blood red.
Reality, when it did return provided little relief for the youngest of the Armstrong children alone in the city that night. Each encounter with a creature that night provided little solace to his suffering. Tyler had become increasingly brutal, attacking each foe with unforgiving savagery. He had regressed to the point where his actions had now become barbaric.
With his back to the wall he sat in silence, muttering to himself quietly. “Dead is dead. Dead is dead. Dead is…”
All at once came a commotion from the far end of the hallway, interrupting and alerting him. Scrambling to his feet he readied himself, switched on the Maglite that was attached to the barrel of his rifle and swung out into the corridor. As he shone the bright light in the direction of the noise he was greeted by the grimacing face of a creature, an undead woman who looked like she had probably been in her thirties when she turned.
Tyler waited, allowing her to get within ten paces of him before he pulled the trigger, the silencer muting the sound of the gunshot. The bullet passed clean through her skull shattering bone, extinguishing life permanently. “DEAD!” Tyler screamed at her, emphatically finishing his previous sentence.
Once he was sure the hallway was clear Tyler moved closer to the corpse of the dead woman. Crouching down he cautiously touched the skin on her arm, the flesh was cold.
Dead.
For a brief moment he simply stooped over her body. He took hold of her arm with both hands and gripped her tightly. “Deeeeeaaaaaad!” he screamed. He pulled with all his might until a sickening tearing sound followed, as the flesh began to rip from under her armpit. With a pop the arm came loose from the socket and tore clean off.
Reaching for the hatchet at his belt he drove it deep into her skull. His expression changed markedly and in a rage fueled by the many emotions he had experienced that night he struck and then struck again. With each blow he cursed the undead. When he was done the woman before him had been completely dismembered, disemboweled and taken apart. All that remained of this carnage was pulp flesh in a crimson ooze with fragments of splintered bones. Exhausted, Tyler crumpled to a heap on the floor. He looked up through the skylight above to the heavens beyond, his eyes bleeding for help – none came.
Shadows danced wildly over walls and across the ceiling of the small room, a single candle in the corner flickered barely providing enough light. The room itself was small and narrow, it contained nothing more than basic furniture – a table, mattress and a single chair. Seated on the plastic chair near the entrance was a solid middle-aged man. He possessed a rugged disposition and thick stubble shadowed his square jaw.
Nikita sat quietly, obediently on the mattress. She had curled herself up into a ball, hugging her knees tightly with her back pressed firmly against the cold concrete wall. There was little doubt in her mind as to what was about to happen, she braced herself for the inevitable. Rory sat with her, providing her with love, comfort and support.
Aside from ensuring his captive remained locked up for the night he was free to do with her as he wished. Punishments handed out in this new world were much harsher by comparison, oftentimes these sentences were seen as being primitive and obscene. With a total breakdown of law and order the new judicial system adopted at the Stadium attempted to keep anarchy and chaos at bay.
The man took another drag before flicking the butt away, where it lay smoldering on the concrete floor in a corner of the room. Unable to contain himself any longer, he leaned forward. “Stand up, I want to look at you” he said. His raspy tone cut through the smoky haze and demanded action. When none came he promptly got to his feet, kicking the plastic chair away from him. “I said stand up!”
Reluctantly Nikita unfurled herself, stretched out her legs in front of her. Slowly she stood upright, placing her open palm on the wall to maintain her balance on the mattress. She felt nothing, no fear, no anger. Nothing. Through empty, seemingly lifeless eyes she stared vacantly in the direction of the man before her.
Suddenly and violently she was thrown on to her back on the mattress. Unchecked lust took the man in an inhumanity that mirrored the undead he hid from. Nikita lay there offering no resistance, allowing her clothing to be ripped from her body. Tearing at her undergarments he stripped her completely naked. Clumsily he fumbled with his trousers, stumbling as he removed them. Blinded by a state of full arousal, he held himself as he invaded her.
At this moment Rory spoke softly to Nikita, whispering to her that everything would be alright, they would be together soon. She slipped into a state of motionlessness, slowing her heartbeat. She closed her eyes as she succumbed to the assault; if she was to be sacrificed, the face of her perpetrator would not be a lasting vision.