by Lee Isserow
One time, he was placed on a long bench, lengths of rope wrapped over his thighs and ankles. His hands were tied to the foot of the bench, curling him over so that he was practically touching his toes. Additional boards were shoved through the rope tying his legs to the bench, constricting blood flow to his lower extremities, putting pressure on the muscles and bones. It was excruciating, and would have caused Ben to scream and holler and cry and beg for release – if his conscious mind had been residing in his body. But his mind was elsewhere, and this caused the Tacks great anger, and a desire to become more creative.
Another set of Tacks had his legs and feet cuffed, a steel bar linking the two. Ben was forced to stand, unable to walk or sit, and was left like that for not only the torture session, but an entire night in his cell, with its bright lights and blaring Christmas song. But still, he did not break.
His torturers would not stop at this apparent stalemate, and refused to give up, continuing to come up with more unique methods by which to make him suffer. The next session he found that they had installed a pulley and winch in the room. They bound his legs, and tied his hands behind his back, attaching them to a hook hanging down from the winch. The rope was raised, inch by inch, wrenching his arms behind him, straining his shoulder sockets, which bore the brunt of carrying the entire weight of his body. The higher the winch was pulled, the harder it was to breath. But even this was not enough to make Ben break.
It was at that point deemed that the sleep deprivation and starvation was not enough suffering whilst Ben recovered from the torture sessions. Air conditioning was turned on in his cell, the temperature lowered to the point that he could see his short, shallow breath in the air. He shivered through the nights, nose dripping, body aching, but he did not need warmth from the outside world. The blood running through his veins felt like it was acting like an electric blanket, radiating heat from the inside. He knew it must have been a delusion, could recall tales of people with hypothermia suddenly thinking they're too hot and taking off their clothes, only to die in the icy cold. But part of him believed that this was the blood, speaking to him, protecting him, as it would do if it were let loose outside of his body.
Through all this agony, the myriad different styles of torture, Ben continued to be healed by the blood. It might not have been responding audibly to his pleading, but he felt fortunate that it was still putting him back together, and prayed that it would continue to have the strength to do so. But soon, that would no longer be necessary. After his final torture session, there would be no further injuries to heal.
25
The Tacks had barely sat him down in the chair when the distant sound of gunfire echoed through the hallways, followed by alarms blaring. It was so loud, so shrill, it brought Ben straight back to the room, back to reality. He wished that he could cover his ears.
There was more gunfire, shotgun blasts and automatic bursts, followed by an almighty explosion that shook the entire room. Ben was alert. Heart pounding in his chest, adrenaline coursing through his system. His prayers were being answered.
The Tacks looked at one another, nervously edging to the door, neither sure if they should leave the prisoner to investigate. Neither wanting to investigate. If there were that many guns firing, and what sounded like an RPG going off in the building, then something awful was likely waiting for them in the hallways.
They didn't have a chance to make a decision. The door burst open, revealing a giant slug of blood, standing as tall as a man. There no body attached to it, six foot of gelatinous crimson and purple positioned upright all on its own. The top of it, where a head should be, swayed from left to right, as if looking to one Tack, then the other. It made a noise, that sounded to Ben like a gurgling laugh, then two spears of brown launched out of its sides, straight into the throats of the two Tacks, splattering their internal fluids across the walls of the torture chamber.
26
The massive, viscous free blood slurped and sucked the Tacks down, growing even larger, taller and wider with every passing moment. When the Tacks were drained, it withdrew the sharp straws it had drunk them with, and slapped back down on the floor, separating into four distinct 'goblins, each shaped like jelly beans. Three of them slid across the floor and out the door. The fourth snaked its way towards Ben and slunk behind him. He was frozen in place, tried to shout, to scream, but his body was too weak to follow any of his commands. The blood formed vestigial hands and clambered up the chair to reach for his bonds. Lacking the rudimentary intellect to untie knots, the creature grew a horn from the top of its globular shape. As the protuberance hardened, the edge became serrated, with sharp brown teeth. The blade sunk a centimetre into the 'goblin's body, then jutted out again, back and forth, up and down, like a jigsaw blade, cutting through Ben's bonds.
The blood did the same for his feet, freeing him completely. Ben tried to stand, and found himself too weak. The blood looked up at him, and reshaped itself, coating his frail frame in a thick layer of goop that was once its own body. The thing hardened along his bones, staying malleable at the joints. An exoskeleton of blood that gave him the strength needed to rise to his feet and walk out of the room he had been tortured in countless times.
As he made his way out through the door, Ben found another Tack, dead on the ground. Two of the 'goblins that left the room were drinking him down. Ben looked down the hallway in both directions. He was back in his head again, aware of the world around him, but couldn't remember which way the holding cells lay.
There was a sound from the wall nearby, a sickly sucking sound from an air duct. The panel on the wall was shunted with a loud, wet thwack. Then another, and a third, which knocked the vent right off the wall. A 'goblin crawled out and started moving down a hallway. Ben watched it slide along the floor with his jaw agape. The crimson slug stopped, the front of it turning back over itself to look at him.
“You... want me to follow?” he coughed, over a scratchy, dry throat.
The creature seemed to nod its primitive attempt at a head, and continued to slide along the corridor, going round the corner. Ben followed without question. This was it, his prayer had been answered, albeit in the weirdest way possible.
As he turned the corner, a smile made its way across his face. Coming at him from the other end of the hallway was Luke, riding on the back of another 'goblin. This one had the same jelly bean body as the others, but had formed four thick, splodgy legs, and was trotting around like a Shetland pony. Luke clung to a set of reins of dark brown scab that came out the sides of the creature. He tugged on them and the blood-pony sped up, running towards Ben, stopping at the very last moment and rearing up on to its hind legs, gargling an attempt at a whinny.
The 'goblin settled its legs back on the ground, cantering closer to Ben, and Luke wrapped his arms around him, holding him tight. “See, I told you!” he said, through a beaming smile. “Blood knows blood!”
27
They continued down the hallway, Luke trotting alongside Ben, and came to the door to the corridor that contained the holding cells. Grabbing hold of the door handle, Ben tugged with his exoskeleton-aided strength, but it didn't budge. There was a keyhole, a heavy bolt behind it keeping it firmly shut. He looked around, desperate for something sharp to hand to Luke, so he could cut him, just as Samuel had done when they needed a key for the car. The hallway was bare, walls solid, even the light fixtures had been built into them to insure there were no edges that could be used to shed blood.
Something slick and red slid between Ben's legs and slammed into the door with a slap. Another 'goblin, this one climbing up the door, reaching into the keyhole with a crimson tentacle that turned a solid brown. The thing's arm rotated clockwise, the lock mechanism clunking open. The blood pulled back, returning to the floor and as Ben yanked the door open, it became thin and long, slipping through the crack, and began going from holding cell to holding cell, seemingly sniffing the air around each one in search of something.
Ben and Luke f
ollowed the ruby snake until it stopped, reared up in the shape of a question mark, pointing at the door they should open. Once again, it slapped itself against it and formed a key. The door swung open, revealing Kat. She looked pale and exhausted, heavy bags under her blue eyes, that shone out in the bright white room. Gleaming sapphires in frail, dark sockets.
As soon as she saw Ben, her face fell, hate radiating off her in waves. She launched herself at him. “You bastard!”
“No!” Luke shouted, riding the blood mule between them. “He called the cavalry!”
Kat stopped in mid-run, starring with wide eyes at the creature Luke was atop. A smile came to her lips, tears welling. She fell to her knees, wrapping her arms around him, laughing harder than she could remember laughing in a long time. Leylines of tears fell across her cheeks, following the creases of her smile, leaving salt on her lips.
“We've got to go,” Ben said, softly, wary of interrupting the reunion.
Kat looked up at him with a glare. “You were a mole, we started to trust you, and you screwed us! How are we meant to trust you now?”
“I told you, I didn't mean for any of that to happen...”
“Tell that to my dead friends.”
“Stop arguing!” Luke shouted. “He doesn't work for them any more, he wants to save us!”
Kat's eyes fell down to her son. She knew he was special, knew he could feel things she could not. He had trusted Ben since the first time he laid eyes on him, said there was good in him. She hadn't wanted to believe the boy, it took her close to two weeks to put any kind of trust in him, only to have that trust betrayed. But now, he was their saviour, or at least that's what it seemed.
“Fine,” she said. “How do we get out of here?”
28
As they left the holding cells, they found more 'goblins waiting for them, a mass of jelly beans, each beckoning them to follow. They picked up pace, pursuing the horde of ruby creatures as they turned a corner, down a hallway that led to a T-junction. The bloods at the front began to snake their way to the left, when a mighty clap rang out. Spatters of scarlet painted the walls, floor and ceiling. Another clap, then another, shotgun blasts dispersing the blood across the corridor. The plasma dripping down the wall tried to coalesce again, reaching out to other jelly beans, begging to be absorbed. But the other bloods were too preoccupied to assist them.
Slinking back into the hall they had come down, the creatures hue shifted, their skin becoming lighter, brighter, a sheen of glimmering liquid red. They melded together, getting larger and larger. Five litres became ten, then twenty, fifty, then a hundred. A gelatinous ruddy wall of fluid. It began to darken, harden, until it was a solid brown, meters deep. Where it met the floor, it remained red, and began to slink along the hallway towards the T-junction, blocking off the assembled Tacks from the passage.
Shotgun blasts fired, buckshot taking small chunks out of the wall, but it was too thick, too solid to let the pellets through. The blood-pony under Luke took the lead, cantering round the corner. Ben and Kat followed, shotgun blasts aimed at them becoming impotently caught in the solid, scabby mass of blood.
The hallway led them to three elevators. As they arrived, the lifts dinged, the doors began to open with a silken, soft sigh. The 'goblin under Luke shifted forms, leaving him standing on his own feet to slip through the doors. There were screams, gunshots from inside the elevator. By the time the doors opened, there was silence. The bodies of three Tacks heaped on the floor, the blood three times the size it had been, still slurping its victims down, until it was four times the volume it was as a pon y. The creature split into four separate jelly beans, the original 'goblin returning to Luke, reforming into a horse. As it took shape, it lifted him up off the ground, reins coalescing and finding his fingers.
Ben stepped into the elevator with trepidation, inspecting the bodies of the dead Tacks. He found a card on one of them, and took it back out to the hallway, remembering how Steve operated the elevators during his time there. He pressed the card against a panel on the wall, and froze, thinking about his destination. They were underground, with no idea how deep underground. He knew the parking structure was on the basement level, but there were too many shadows there, too many places Tacks could be hiding, waiting for them with shotguns, RPGs, who knows what. There was only one option. He was done with the Blood Squad, fed up of their lies, of their torture, of their BS. The smartest way out was the same way he came in.
“Hurry up!” Kat shouted, eyes scanning the corners of the hall, all too aware that they were being watched on many cameras, and unsure how long the wall of blood would keep them occupied.
Ben keyed the destination into the panel and they entered the elevator, the doors sighing shut behind them. It was risky, going through the main entrance, no way to know what was waiting for them outside, but it was the only option they had.
A gentle bounce signalled the elevator had arrived at the ground floor, the doors gasping as they opened. The entrance filled with cracks and claps of gunfire as rounds tore through the air, impacting with coarse, dry skin, burrowing deep holes through flesh, and clanging into the back of the elevator.
Silence fell as the assault ceased. Four Tacks assembled in the middle of the grand entrance, staring at their victims, three of them, each of them still standing. But they hadn't shot Ben, Luke or Kat. Their rounds had found homes in the bodies of the three dead Tacks that were killed in the elevator by the 'goblin. Each had been held up on their feet by a web of thick, sinewy blood.
The web started to move, pulling the Tacks' bodies deeper into the cavern of the elevator, dragging them past the three escapees, who had been hiding on the floor to the sides of the lift. With a loud twang, the web shot forward, flinging the corpses of the men at their comrades.
As the Tacks scattered to avoid the bodies flying towards them, Ben, Kat and Luke jumped to their feet and ran towards the exit. The blood following, gaining on them. One of the four 'goblins splintered off, snaked across the ground and launched itself through the air at one of the Tacks, who was raising his weapon.
They got to the door, daylight pouring through it, safety in sight. Ben grabbed hold of the handle, tugged it, but the door was held tight by magnetic locks controlled at the reception desk. He turned back, the Tacks began firing at the blood attacking their colleague. Their shotgun blasts dispersed the creature, slapping pieces of it against the floor. Once it was incapacitated, they turned their attention, and their weapons to the escapees.
The surviving three free bloods came together, forming a shield between the infected and the gunfire. It wasn't as deep or as solid as the wall, the hits taking large chunks out of it, but as those chunks hit the floor, they turned back to liquid form, snaked along the ground, and rejoined the mass.
Whilst the Tacks were firing at the scabby shield, their attention wasn't on the blood they had dispersed from their dead friend. Ben peered round the shield briefly, to see the remnants of the 'goblin finding more parts of itself, snaking along the ground to the reception desk. He turned, reached for the door again, as more claps filled the air, more chunks taken from the bulwark behind them. It was still locked.
The elevator dinged, doors suspiring as they slid open, five more Tacks joining the three already firing at them. Ben tried the door again, all too aware of how much heavy damage the scabby shield was taking. It was still locked tight.
Another elevator arrived. This one only had one occupant. Heavy, plodding footsteps slammed on the marble floor, one after the other, carrying a great load on each.
Ben could hear a familiar chuckle on the air in between the claps and cracks. He peeked out again, already knowing who he'd see.
MacGaulty stood adjacent to the Tacks, seeming all that much larger since the last time Ben saw him. He was in full tactical gear. His thumb brushed the lever on his glove, flicking the blades out of the fingers. He smiled a wide, ugly grin as he saw Ben hiding behind the wall of blood, and dug the gleaming metal into the
flesh of his wrist. Starting at the crook of his elbow, he tore down towards his palm slowly, with purpose, savouring every second, every muscle cut, every vein severed. The blood began to flow, began to coalesce, a creature larger than any Ben had ever seen before, towering over his former mentor.
The fat man seemed to shrink, as litres upon litres of blood were siphoned from his body by conjuring the massive fiend. His skin began to sag, great layers of it flopping down, mounds of flesh that had been stretched by the gallons of fluids his 'goblins had devoured over the years. Ruby red eyes glimmered at the thing's gelatinous peak, staring down at its intended victims. The monster burst open at the centre, massive jaws forming, snaps echoing around the expansive entrance as the teeth met, wet smacking sounds as they tore open again.
It looked to Ben as thought the demon was smiling, the same hideous grin he had seen on Steve's face when he was preparing for a kill. The gunfire ceased as the fiend opened its jaws wide, bearing down on the wall, its teeth bit through the scabrous barrier as if it were nothing more than thin, brittle candy.
The three escapees ducked, barely avoiding the bite by a hair's breadth. The creature reared its head up as it chewed on the crunchy mouthful.
Once again, Ben found himself frozen in place. His eyes fixed on Steve's. His former friend, his former mentor, now rail-thin, skin like heavy fabric draped over his bones, looking all too happy to feast on his flesh. Something caught his eye, movement by the reception desk. A thin snake of blood in the air, waving back and forth. It had reached the button, unlocked the doors.
A calm came over Ben, a tingle over, and then under his skin, a smile coming to his lips. He knew, without question, that they weren't going to die at Steve's hands. Not then, not there. It didn't matter that a giant beast was bearing down on them, with jaws as wide as a car. He had something that Steve would never have. A connection to the blood, not just to his own blood, but all of the blood that had become free of their hosts. And there was a hell of a lot of free blood out there.