by Todd Russell
"Perhaps you're right. With the current Stanton situation things could spiral out of control. Closing the program and starting the cleanup process makes sense."
"I'm glad you agree with me, Mr. Secretary." A small silence followed.
The Secretary prodded, "In what way, sir, do you believe we should go about ending it?"
"In the only way it was meant to end," the President said grimly, "total destruction."
"So you still want the SEAL team in there, but not on an extraction mission? To target and terminate?"
"No." The President grabbed the other file on his desk. When he stared down at the aerial photograph of the island he realized what else bothered him about ADP1982. It was the island's eerie topography. From one of the aerial photos taken it looked like something else than an island, something almost. . .alive. There was one angle shot where he swore he could see the face of a monstrous creature.
An image the President couldn't get out of his mind.
"Admiral Bodecker has an Iowa class ship in his fleet," The President said. "Tomorrow at noon let's do the new Tomahawk testing on the island."
The Secretary nodded, making notes.
"Those prisoners were denied death and we owe each and every one of them to fulfill their executions. As for the woman, let's pray the Navy's speculation is wrong and she's sitting at the bottom of the ocean."
"And what about the newest convict for the program, Wally Adamson? He's prepped and scheduled to fly out later today, Mr. President."
The President stood up and looked through cracked venetian blinds at a sky devoid of clouds. He'd almost forgotten about the convict who had the nickname Torque. An odd aspect of Adamson's file came to him: Adamson was looking forward to being exiled on the island. According to the files the President had reviewed, Adamson was the only prisoner who had ever felt this way.
"Mr. Adamson can have his death wish."
They both looked at the wall clock. The inhabitants on the island had twenty-seven hours left to live.
CHAPTER 33
The steady hum of the airplane slicing through the sky wasn't the only thing Torque had to endure. It was bad enough being chained like Houdini, but being forced to listen to the non-stop heckling from Tweedledee and Tweedledum sitting across from him was pure torture.
"They say he hasn't said a word since he lost it at that Southern Fried Chicken," said the over-nourished Dee.
"Looks like a psycho," replied Dum.
"I bet his momma abused him and shit."
"Probably never got any pussy either."
"No, I guess he was married at one time."
"Yeah? Bet she was dogmeat."
"Oooo, check it out, we got his eyes lit up over that one." Dee pointed straight at him. "What was it Wally-boy, was she a real bow-wow, or what?"
Nina.
"He won't answer ya'," Dum replied. "Doctors, psychologists, everybody says he don't have no voice since he snapped."
"For what he did to those people he should have no dick."
Dum chuckled, "He probably doesn't have one anyway." They found their cruelty hilarious.
Torque thought about saying something to them. Shock them. Everyone believed he had no voice left; the trauma of what had happened had spoiled his will to speak.
But that wasn't it at all.
He was waiting.
Waiting for his calling.
Satan would tell him when the time was right. And when the call came he'd be ready. . .
"Well Wally, looks like we're almost at your new home," it was Dum speaking as he drew his gun and pointed it at Torque's heart. Dee copied his mentor, but pointed his gun less threateningly.
"You won't even say goodbye to us, Wally-boy?" Dee asked.
"Yeah," added Dum. "Don't know what we'll do without your constant chatter."
While they laughed, Torque waited. It had been easy keeping silent the last year and half and using only written communication.
They came over and jacked him to his feet. His hands and legs were cuffed tightly. He was wearing the parachute suit he'd been trained and issued for the upcoming jump.
The jump to Hell, he thought excitedly. They'd spent the last three weeks prepping him for a place he'd been destined to visit. The anticipation was overwhelming. The survival training center in Kentucky was a good time. People tried to make a mockery of him, bruise his conscience, create horrors of "the terrible place they were sending him" but they all failed. They could not scare him. Fact was, Torque didn't give a rip about anyone on earth any more.
His trial had been a total joke. His lawyer was a walking encyclopedia; tall, stout, smelled good and looked bad while babbling about his client Torque being "hopelessly insane."
The prosecuting attorney was much more personable but spoke like he was reading a dictionary. He tried to prove to the court that Torque was not insane. But the issue that was fought seemed not to be whether or not Torque was insane but rather what in the hell "insanity" was in his case.
If only they knew the truth.
Torque's attorney explained to the jury that upon determination of insanity they must take into consideration all the facts: did Torque have control of his faculties at the time of the crime? Did Torque understand that what he was doing was wrong? Did Torque, did Torque, did Torque. His lawyer was full of more bad moves than a novice chess player.
Torque was focused on one thing: the place he'd heard rumors about in prison the last 10 years. The place rumored to have been sent some other death row cons. He thought it had been a fantasy but Satan told him otherwise. He needed to get out so that he could do something bad enough to be sent to the secret place. The Southern Fried Chicken incident had all been part of his plan.
And if the magic place didn't exist, Torque was ok getting the gas.
There were too many victims this time. Before, it had only been Nina and momma. Before, he had cried and made the jury feel sorry for his actions. Before, he had cared. But this time he had no regrets. He wanted, and expected, them to at least kill him. And it would be a bonus if he got to visit the magic place.
Prison rumors about the magic place below.
Prison rumors suggesting it really was Hell on earth.
So many, many rumors.
And now they were about to let him parachute to the rumors below. This was a gift, not a curse.
"Don't try anything cute, Wally. I'm gonna take your cuffs off."
"Yeah, convict," added Dum, "I got this .357 watching your ugly ass all the way out the door."
Dee stuck the key in the cuffs and released them. Torque massaged his wrists. The bastards had put them on so tight they might just as well have cut his wrists off. Torque eyed the service revolver warily. He wouldn't be surprised if Dum blew him away then and there.
Dum held his ground.
Dee stepped back, pointing his own gun. "Any last words, Wally?"
The bastard knows I hate that name. Knows that's the name Momma called me. I should torque the bastard—I could—I should! Dammit! Where's my calling? Master where are you? LET ME KILL THESE MORONS.
The wind purred.
Dee shoved Torque toward the hatch door where he was supposed to make the jump. There was a two foot square window to see below.
"Take a look at your new home, Wally," Dum grunted. "You're gonna spend a long time down there."
Torque looked down with microscopic focus.
"Jump in five minutes, circling now," a voice ordered from the cockpit through a crackling speaker.
"He must like his new home," said Dum.
"Yeah, his face kinda reminds me of Lassie coming home."
"No. Rin Tin Tin, he was an uglier fucker."
"Wasn't Rin Tin Tin a she?"
"No, that was Nanette."
"Who gives a fuck?"
Dee and Dum cackled.
The island started to come into focus. Torque had to watch closely to see in his own mind's eye if this was Hell. At first if was just another isla
nd in the Pacific, another Hawaiian island. Lots of palm trees, ravines, rocky in places, several beaches.
But then as the airplane grew closer it changed.
A dark change.
Gray clouds began to surround the island like a bubble, holding the island within the circumference. The wind bounced inside the bubble in a nonsensical frenzy. The trees twisted, each a mutated tongue. Inside the dark bubble a monstrous face took shape. A beast with cold rock-eyes and grainy skin beaches for flesh. Each tooth was a different bush, constantly moving in the wind's nervousness, a moving mouth with multiple tongues, teeth and black gums. The beast had dozens of tentacles protruding from where its nose should have been. The beast looked at him, the tongues flickering and dancing and playing in the wind, and Torque knew at once he had found the right place.
He also knew that this was his calling.
The beast spoke to him.
BEEN WAITING FOR YOU.
They took their time sending me here.
THE PLANE. YOU MUST KILL EVERYBODY ON THE PLANE.
I was waiting for you to instruct me. I don't have Sally.
YOU ONLY NEED FAITH IN MY POWER.
I have faith, Master.
KILL THEM.
I love you.
KILL THEM NOW.
Yes, my lord.
DARK LORD, MY CHILD.
Yes, my Dark Lord.
Torque turned slowly and the gun barrels were staring at him like eyes. Dum and Dee weren't controlling the guns, Torque knew, only evil controlled weapons of death.
"What's his problem?" Dum asked.
"Christ, he's getting a crazy look in his eyes. Hold your ground, convict or I'll blow your—"
Torque smiled.
Despite having the guns, Dee and Dum stepped back. Torque spoke for the first time since The Southern Fried Chicken incident:
"Thanks for bringing me home."
Torque sprang. Dee opened fire. Dum copied.
Both shots at point blank range should have shot through Torque's body and blew pieces of his insides out the other side. Should have kissed him like a leech and sucked every inch of life out of him.
Except both shots didn't hit him at all, only the walls of the airplane.
Torque grabbed both guns by the barrels and used the surprise to rip them out of Dee and Dum's hands.
Their expressions turned to horror.
He had a gun in each hand, rolled them, spun them, played them in his hands like a gunslinger. He pointed them at Dee and Dum's hearts, grinning wide.
They both stopped.
Dee said, "Hey man, you. . .you don't want to do this."
"Yeah," Dum added, "be—be nice and give us the guns back, Wally."
"My name's Torque."
"Torque," Dum said.
"Torque," Dee chimed in, fright filling his eyes.
Torque didn't feel like playing death games with Dee and Dum, so he shot Dee. In the head. Point blank.
"Jesus!" Dum stood back, sprayed with remnants of Dee's splattered skull. Half of Dee's scalp found its way on to Dum's clothes and Dee's flesh drooped off him like it was his own. Dum's hands were red and wet as he trembled.
Torque ordered him to the parachute hatch. Dum moved where ordered.
"Open it and jump out," Torque said. "Now."
"But—But I don't have a parachute!"
"NOW." Dum pressed the side red button, the hatch pressurized and opened. Dum turned and looked back with a pleading stare.
"Please don't make me jump! PLEASE! I DON'T HAVE A CHUTE!"
Torque shot Dum in the leg. The force pushed Dum out the hatch, sent him sprawling to his death below. Dum screamed the whole way.
"IIIIII DONNNNNNNTTTT HAVVVVVVVEEE AAAAAA CHHHHHHHUTTTTTTEEEE!"
The wind replaced the man's screams. Torque awaited his Dark Lord's voice.
THE COCKPIT. KILL THOSE IN THE COCKPIT
Torque ran up to the front of the cockpit.
". . .roger nine, section two. . .has he jumped yet?"
"No, in a moment," came the reply.
"New orders. As soon as the jump is made, circle for new orders. . ."
"Has he jumped yet?" another voice came over the intercom to the empty body of the plane.
NOW.
Torque kicked open the door and started firing. He emptied the gun in his right hand into the co-pilot; three bullets ripped off the man's face, splattering blood and brain on the cockpit window. The pilot and the navigator took the other gun's shells both were quickly killed, never having the slightest idea what hit them. The cockpit quickly turned red.
The plane, not on auto-pilot, started to go out of control.
NOW JUMP QUICKLY! COME HOME TORQUE! COME HOME!
Torque ran, fighting the spinning gravity as the plane began to spin out of control. Fought his way out of the cockpit, pushed toward the opening, pushing with all the strength he could muster.
Hell is beckoning me, I MUST make it home. . .I can't die. . .
He pushed.
The plane went into a spin it would never come out of and pushed and pushed and pushed. His legs kept failing him. His vision blurred. Got to make it home, got to make it HOME.
He saw the opening.
The plane kept spinning.
He pushed himself toward the exit. Pushed.
Kept spinning, spinning and spinning. It was totally out of control, starting to nose toward its ocean death. Torque reached the exit and pushed his body into the sky. Quickly the plane fell away from him and he was flying.
He plummeted toward his new home.
The island was small at first and grew bigger as the ground approached. Torque waited to pop his chute. Waited. He enjoyed how he took those morons Dee and Dum. How he fulfilled the Dark Lord's mission.
And then a fearful thought struck him. What if the chute doesn't open? What if he sailed down to the same death he'd sent Dum to?
The chute might not pop. Might not and he'd fly like Dum to the bottom—SPLAT!
Torque was scared for the first time in many years. Tiny sweat formed and blew off his face by the wind as he plummeted to the ground. His heart paused and head spun.
He closed his eyes and pulled the ripcord.
Torque decided that if God really existed, and He was the exact opposite of Satan, He, supreme ruler of the skies, would use this opportunity to make Torque's chute malfunction. He would stop Torque from hurting anyone else. He would tap all of Heaven's mighty powers to end his life on earth here and now.
So much for God.
CHAPTER 34
Richard pushed Jessica down into a dense thicket. She went down hard, her next breath sucked out of her, and he fell beside her. He rolled her into a small niche and crawled atop of her. She started to ask what was going on when he covered her mouth and told her to listen.
Footsteps were dragging through the ravine behind
Right behind them.
Voices.
"They're here," said Seth Everson.
"Hiding now, are we?" came the icy voice of Kyle Roberts. "Richie, I see you never learn. Why don't you come out and let's get this over with? This is all growing very tiring."
"Bastard," Richard whispered.
"I know you're hurt, Richie. In fact, I think you're hurt worse than you'll let on. I guess that's why you're hiding right now, isn't it? You know you can't outrun me. You've spent these years avoiding this moment. It's time, Richie."
Roberts' voice echoed in the wind.
"Always knew you were a coward," Roberts said. "You should know by now that I despise cowards. You saw the camp. Full of cowards. They're gone, and soon you'll be buried next to them." A small pause before he gave Everson an order: "Find them."
Jessica opened her eyes. She almost screamed. Several black bugs—
(and back, by popular demand, BOBBY AND THE CRAWLERS)
—skittered across her hand.
The scream reached her throat.
Richard saw the bugs and put his hand on
her mouth. "No." With his other hand he wiped the bugs away. The sounds of Everson thrashing through the surrounding bushes grew louder.
CLOSER.
All Jessica could see was Edward's severed hand in her nightmare, the black bugs crawling in a macabre frenzy, an insect orgy of horror. Crawling on her fingers now!
Another scream surfaced. Richard stifled it. It came out a muted whimper.
"Don't," he whispered, "they're gone."
They may have been gone in reality, but they had gone nowhere in her mind.
Everson thrashed closer. . .CLOSER. . .
"Quit making this so hard on yourself, Richie. Show yourself. Seth won't get in the way of you and me. Come on, I'm waiting."
Richard's heartbeat thudded against Jessica's backbone. Her own heart played a similar melody.
Seth was still thrashing, almost on top of them.
"COWARD!" Roberts screamed. Jessica heard him tearing into the bushes, ripping and shredding them. He searched with white-hot intensity. She closed her eyes and wished she could close her ears. The sound of Kyle Roberts tearing furiously through the bushes, tearing closer, was worse than the black bugs crawling across her fingers.
She opened her eyes. Richard held his knife, ready. Seth Everson's boots were less than five feet away.
Roberts stopped.
Richard's grip on the knife tightened
"Seth, you idiot. They're not here."
"But—I—thought. . .I. . ."
"Don't start your 'seeing the wind bullshit' again."
"But Kyle, really, really I can see the wind."
Jessica couldn't see what happened next. She wouldn't have wanted to see it.
Hearing it was horrible enough.
* * *
Kyle Roberts walked across the ravine toward Seth. He clenched the knife at his side. Seth didn't back away or flinch. It was as if he expected the next thing to happen. As if it was meant to be.
"I can see, I can see," Seth said.
"If you can't find Templin and won't tell me what Sar found then we're done."
"I don't know what Sar found."
"You are the only one who could understand Sar. What did he tell you he found?"
"I don't know."