by Brown, TW
In the distance, a huge black cloud rose, marring the otherwise flawlessly blue sky. It was enormous. Shaw felt something churning in his gut.
Anger?
No, this was much more. Somehow, he was certain that little pencil-necked bastard he’d let live back at the RV park was responsible. He’d obviously not taken the generous offer and gotten out of Shaw’s territory. Instead, the little geek had decided to wage a war. The man obviously lived in a fantasy. Well, Shaw thought, I’ll put a quick end to that.
“Muster all of the men on the compound, TJ…assign a detail to lock down all the women. Tell the doctor to meet me in my quarters. Whether this is a rival faction…or…as I suspect…a single act of terrorism…we will crush it. Today!”
A chorus of cheers echoed from the room.
***
Night time.
Peter watched the caravan of vehicles roll out the huge gate. He hadn’t been surprised that Shaw chose to ride in his APC. Oh well, he thought as he looked around the vacant entry foyer. Inside, it looked like a normal building. He still found it interesting that the outside of the place looked like a giant picnic basket.
Shaw had left him with specific instructions. Prepare an emergency room, and be prepared for the possibility of casualties. Well…that was absolutely not going to happen. He bounded up the stairs. Reaching his room, he burst in. Shari was standing at the window and shrieked at the sudden intrusion.
“Grab the bag I had you pack,” he said as he went to the footlocker in the corner and pulled out a small duffel.
“What’s going on?” Shari called from their closet-sized bedroom.
“Shaw and his men are off to wage war,” Peter said sarcastically.
“What?” Shari came out holding a small knapsack and a mesh bag with a drawstring.
“South of here…there’s a big fire. Shaw thinks it is an attack on the team he sent out the other day.”
“Which way from here is south?” Shari asked.
“Other side of the building,” Peter said. Something on Shari’s face made him pause. “What is it?”
“Just…we were travelling with three guys. They actually rescued us, but these jerks came one night…”
“Three?” Peter asked skeptically. “I hardly doubt this was the work of three guys.”
“Yeah?” Shari smiled. “Well…they were super smart. Most of the time I needed a dictionary when they spoke.”
“Still…” Peter considered the possibility, but shook it off. “Three guys waging war on Shaw’s men? I just don’t buy it. But whatever it is, this is our chance. There aren’t a dozen men left watching this place. If we’re ever gonna go…it’s now.”
“And what about my mom and sisters?”
“I only know about the pregnant one…Erin?”
“But—”
“Look,” Peter cut her off, trying his best to keep from sounding angry. He understood her concern for her family, but this was better than his best-case scenario when it came to an opportunity to escape. And even now, it wasn’t for sure that they’d get out. He didn’t have the time to search for two women that could be anywhere in this facility. “We’ll grab your little sister, but that’s gonna have to do. Otherwise…you can stay.”
Shari’s head dropped, her shoulders shook a little as she began to cry. Peter felt for her, he really did, but they needed to be gone. Pronto.
“Okay.” She looked up, her face was tear-streaked, but her eyes showed…resolution.
By the time he was ready, Shaw and his men had been gone at least a half an hour. During that time, he detailed his plans to Shari and hoped that she understood. They went upstairs to Erin’s room and Peter produced a key, the biggest break up to this point being that he possessed a master key that worked on all the doors of the maternity floor. He opened the door and stepped aside as Shari rushed to her sister. He allowed them a few minutes for a tearful reunion, occasionally reminding them to quiet down.
Eventually, he stepped between the girls, giving a very brief explanation to the younger Bergman girl. He allowed the girl enough time to gather a few things, which he stuffed into his own bag.
“Remember, neither of you two says a word once we leave this room. Follow me and do exactly what I say when I say it,” Peter said, trying hard to sound more confident than frightened.
The girls nodded and he led them out the door. They hurried down the hallway, occasionally passing rooms where weeping could be heard clearly from the other side of the doors. He opened the door to the south stairwell and froze.
“Wow,” he breathed. The distant horizon was glowing from a massive fire. Nope, he thought, definitely the work of more than just three men.
The two reached the ground floor. He pushed open the emergency exit door and took a look around. They were only going to be visible from one lookout tower at first. He scanned the depleted row of vehicles. A dark green truck sat parked at the bottom of the wheelchair ramp. It was one of those heavy-duty types with four wheels on the rear axle. A reinforced front bumper would serve his needs perfectly, but first…
“You two stay here,” Peter whispered.
He couldn’t see anybody in the gun tower, hopefully that meant that whoever was on watch was either actually doing his job and keeping an eye outside the facility, or, and this was quite likely, sitting on the floor drunk or asleep with his radio turned up so that he would wake if anybody tried to contact him.
Slipping from car to car, he pulled all the keys out of the ignitions. Shaw insisted that all vehicles be gassed and have keys in the ignition in case of emergency. What worked to his advantage could be equally used against Shaw’s men. Sneaking back, satisfied he’d bought them as much time as possible, Peter signaled the girls to come down to the big truck.
Once everybody was inside, he turned to them, “It’s gonna be a bumpy ride, and they’re probably gonna start shooting as soon as we crash through that gate. This is your last chance to change your minds. I can’t promise we make it.”
“Then why are you running?” Shari asked plainly. “You’re a guy…and a doctor. You have a free ride here with these people.”
“Because,” Peter shrugged, “they’re animals. And my grandmother would be so disappointed in me if I lived like these people.”
“Your grandmother?” Erin asked, sounding completely baffled.
“She survived the Holocaust,” Peter said. “She used to tell me stories…but we don’t have time for that now. Just accept it for now…if you’re curious, ask later.”
“Let’s go,” Shari whispered, gripping her sister’s hand.
Peter turned the key and the truck roared to life. Gunning the engine a couple times to confirm to himself that it was going to run well, he shifted to reverse and rolled back. As soon as he was clear, he wrenched the steering wheel and brought the big vehicle around. He thought he heard shouting as he shifted to first.
“Hang on!” he warned as the truck began to pick up speed. Finding second, he heard the sound of a machine gun as he rounded the arcing corner. He’d cleared the first tower and felt just a little confidence growing within. The next tower was just now coming into view. He had a straight shot to the gate from here, and by the time the guns came to bear on the truck, he should be through them. The zombies outside would give the few tower-gunners plenty to worry about.
The truck hit the gate with a metal-screeching crash. Peter downshifted and slowed in anticipation of the turn he would have to make. Zombies bounced or spun off the front bumper of the truck. The ones directly in front were mowed over like so much grass. He reached the main road that ran along the front. He wanted to turn right, but it seemed that direction hadn’t been cleared by Shaw’s men yet. He’d have to go left, back across the front of the picnic basket-shaped building.
Except for the odd, struggling zombie, the road was mostly clear except for…
“Are those crosses?” Erin asked, leaning forward.
“Looks like it,” Shari said, p
lacing her left arm protectively across her sister and urging her to sit back.
“What’s on them?” Erin leaned across her sister’s lap to look out the passenger side window.
“Zombies,” Peter said grimly. The truck was zooming past the walled-in complex and, as he’d hoped, the gunners were now too busy with the small flood of zombies pouring in through the breached gate to worry about him.
“Those are women!” Shari gasped. “All of them, and all zombies.”
Peter remembered hearing about certain females being punished this way. He’d managed to avoid attending any of those ceremonies.
“Wait!” Shari yelled. “Stop the truck!”
Peter’s foot instinctively lifted off the gas, but almost as quickly came back down. “That’s not possible,” he said, shaking his head. “Besides the fact that there are zombies everywhere…I’m not giving one of those machine guns the chance for an easy kill.”
“But…Ruth…” Shari began to cry, face pressed against the glass.
“What?” Erin leaned over. “Nooo!” she screamed.
Peter glanced over, but all he saw were the crosses spread every ten feet or so along the side of the road with nude female zombies writhing on them.
Both the Bergmans seemed locked on one in particular, their heads turning as they passed. Peter couldn’t really tell which one, but he remembered Ruth was the name of Shari’s other sister. It seemed she’d been found. Later, he’d allow himself to feel sorry for them, but at the moment, he simply wanted to put as much distance between them and this place as possible. Beside him, the two sisters held each other and cried.
***
Garrett stared out the window. His eyes unable to tear away from the figure still tied to the post near the gate. The head was mostly hidden from his view, but he knew that it would still be sitting in the grass, staring up at The Toy, gnashing its teeth.
“Are you still laughing, bitch?” Garrett growled.
He glanced down, his anger ramping up another notch. He could clearly see the teeth marks that decorated his shriveled manhood. The angry redness seemed to throb with his pulse rate. Three times he’d attempted to work it up to readiness, but it was simply too painful.
Grabbing the loose fitting sweats he’d found, he put them on. He didn’t care that they were cotton-candy pink, or that they barely went past his knees. All he did care about was that they didn’t rub his tender, sensitive injury.
Storming down the stairs, Garrett fumed. If he hurt, then The Toy would hurt as well. He would see to it. He stalked up the driveway to the post. There was a distant rumble of thunder as he reached down, grabbed the detached head by its long, stringy hair, and hurled it at the brick wall. It hit with a satisfying crack and burst, a dark stain visible where it struck. The now-lopsided head rolled onto one side, the eyes still moving in their sockets. He picked it up waving it menacingly at The Toy before turning and throwing it. Again and again he repeated the act, each time taunting The Toy. Eventually the ruined mass broke open.
Garrett looked at his hands, horrified. His palms were sticky with a dark, sap-like goo. He ran inside finding a red jug of liquid laundry soap and washed. It took half the jug and several bottles of water before he felt clean. Looking up, he saw his shadowy face in the mirror. His eyes were wide with…fear. He didn’t want to die. Even more, he didn’t want to become one of those things!
The Toy! The Toy had seen his fear. Even worse, it still showed none itself. Well…that would change. Now.
Storming through the empty house and out on the porch, he glared at the dark, shadowy outline of The Toy and the post. Drawing the knife from its place on his belt, he moved up from behind and placed the blade on one cheek. With a flick, he cut the strip cutting into the corners of the mouth.
The Toy coughed, choked, and spat. Then after working the jaw a few times, it spoke in a raw voice, “Get a little on you?”
Garrett stepped around and put his face close, “I am going to hurt you.”
The Toy seemed to consider that statement for a moment. Then, with eyes so fierce it made him take a step back before he’d realized it. It smiled! “So.”
With an angry roar, he backhanded the defiant creature. The head snapped to the side, but just as fast came back, glaring. Again, he struck and once more, it swung back, an awful sneer made worse by the blood trickling from the mouth and nose. Balling up his fist, he punched it in the center of that defiant face. This time, the eyes rolled back and it slumped down. Almost immediately it began making hoarse choking sounds.
“No, you don’t.” Garrett cut the leather thong around the throat. Anger still surging, he cut away all the bindings and tossed the tiny figure over his shoulders. Seething with impotent frustration he walked back to the dark house.
“Tonight, you will scream. Tonight, you will beg.” Garrett vowed as he made his way up the stairs to the bedroom.
***
Kirsten stared up at the ceiling. It was blurry. Still. She remembered a joke she’s heard her Uncle Skip say once during a family barbecue: What do you say to a woman with two black eyes! Nothin’ you already told her twice! She hadn’t gotten the joke then. She’d only been eleven…two years ago.
The two black eyes she currently possessed were the least of her problems. She was pretty sure her nose was broken. She could barely breathe through it. Her entire body hurt. Then there was the filth-factor. She’d been tied naked and spread-eagled on this bed for at least two days. During that time, she’d been beaten, whipped, as well as poked with and sliced by that huge knife that The Big Man carried. Oh yes, and urinated on.
Every time she’d asked for water, he’d climbed up and stood over her and peed. She stopped asking after the third time. So then he started coming in with a bottle of water, drinking it in noisy gulps in front of her. He tilted the bottle her direction and she foolishly opened her mouth. With a fiendish giggle, The Big Man climbed up and urinated on her once more. Since then, she simply stared up any time he came in. At least, that way, it was her own filth she lay in from that point.
“Hungry?” A big, ugly face filled her vision.
No way, Kirsten thought. She fought back a shudder at what that question might imply. She continued to stare straight up, thankful that she lacked the ability to really focus on anything.
She felt something wet and squishy drip on her lips. Horrified, she spat and jerked her head to the side. A rough hand squeezed her cheeks and wrenched her head back. A spoon forced its way between her split, ragged lips, forcing a mouthful of thick, slimy…peaches? The sound of the spoon clinking on glass made her look. She could make out a small jar with a blue label in The Big Man’s hand.
Baby food.
Another spoonful of peach slurry shoved itself into her mouth. This time she swallowed. As much as she wanted to resist…spit it in his face…it was the most delicious thing she could remember. After two jars, The Big Man produced a water bottle.
“Thirsty?” he asked.
Not a chance, Kirsten thought. She pursed her lips and glared, although she doubted he could tell as swollen as her face felt. She felt a trickle of cool liquid splatter on her face. Hopeful, she tried it with her tongue, letting it dart out. Water! Opening her mouth, she gulped greedily. Afterwards, he simply sat there staring.
“I bet you’re wondering why,” The Big Man said after an uncomfortable moment of silence.
Kirsten nodded.
“Because,” The Big Man rose to his feet, the darkness and evil returning as if that calmness and compassion were a mask that he peeled back effortlessly, “I will not let you die on your terms. You’ll die after I’ve broken you. After you’ve begged me to kill you a hundred times, and mean it each time from your very soul. Then…when I decide I’m finished with you…I’ll toss you over that gate…and let them finish you.”
The Big Man stood, looking her over. She thought she saw him wince before he turned and stomped angrily out, leaving her to her pain, leaving her to lay in he
r filth.
“Wanna bet?” Kirsten whispered to the empty room.
***
“What am I supposed to do when you vanish into that disgusting lab for hours?” Lucy complained. She sat at the table with her arms folded petulantly across her chest.
“Would you like to join me while I work? I could certainly use an assistant,” Reginald offered meekly.
“Go in that stinky room?” Lucy waved her hand in front of her nose. “I’d rather watch you do naked yoga.”
Reginald blushed. Lucy made frequent comments regarding the unattractiveness and insufficientness of his physique. Their previous two interactions had been less than pleasant. First, she’d insisted that he “bust one out” manually prior to their engaging in sex.
“Maybe you’ll last longer than two minutes,” Lucy had said, then laughed in that loud braying way she did every time she said something cutting or cruel.
Then, she insisted that he “go down” on her. Of course, he knew such things were done. He’d even seen it performed on the small collection of pornographic DVDs he kept stashed in the back of his sock drawer. That particular experience proved to be less than enjoyable. He found himself repulsed by a number of factors. The most prevalent being her apparent lack of concern for personal hygiene. Of course she spent the entire time detailing everything he did incorrectly.
“Honestly, Reggie,” she’d said with an exasperated and scolding tone, “I don’t know what you’re more incompetent with…your tongue…or that mini-mushroom of a dick!” That was followed by a healthy dose of spittle-accented, braying laughter.
“Earth to Reggie!” Lucy snapped her fingers in front of his face.
“Sorry,” he apologized. Perhaps now would be a good time to show her what he’d done. “Umm…I have a little something for you.”
“The key to get me out of this place?” Lucy grumbled.
The codes to the keypad, Reginald mentally smacked his forehead. He needed to make sure she had those. If something were to happen to him…