My mother was right about one thing, though: I did want to know how and why I ended up in this little pickle of a problem. Her final explanation filled the gap in my knowledge. I guess it all made sense now. I lay there on the gurney while the last preparations were in progress, and I wished that I would somehow have the chance to follow up with my old friends in the CIA, and I’d love to visit my mother’s new friends, the warden and sheriff, if only for a few minutes.
I watched the guards in riot gear leave. “Freddie,” the last guard, closed the heavy door behind him as he exited. The two guards, the doctor, and my mother would be the last people I’d ever see—at least, that was what I thought. I didn’t count the warden in the group, mainly because I didn’t count him as human; the man was a cockroach.
My thoughts were interrupted when the guards came forward and began checking my mother’s handiwork.
“I think you guys are wasting your time. My mother has no intention of leaving here without ending my life first. I’m sure as shit that those straps are more secure than nun’s underwear.”
The guards didn’t respond. They checked the restraints and stepped back. I looked toward the gallery and saw that the warden had taken a front-row seat and was making himself comfortable for the show.
“Warden,” I called. “You should be down here. I’m sure you’d enjoy the view much more.” Then I added, “Fucking ass-bandit!” to goad him further.
The microphones in this room were really very good. It was that or he was able to read my lips, which I seriously doubted. The warden, of course, was back on his feet now, shouting at me through the glass like a lunatic. It was comical. I really had no idea what he was saying, so I signaled him with my middle finger, the universal salute indicating I didn’t give a shit. He was slamming his fists on the glass now, obviously very annoyed. I silently hoped that he’d have a stroke.
The doctor had already begun to prepare my arm for the IV. He then inserted the needle with practiced ease, causing very little discomfort, and finally attached the clear plastic tubing, which disappeared somewhere behind me. I knew where it led, and I knew my mother was at this moment preparing the first of the injections with care. My time was running out, and there was no escape for me.
Looking back, I suspect that the prison staff were waiting for me to have an emotional outbreak or something equally unlikely. They’d have a long wait if that was the case, as I was not prone to having emotional outbreaks like some hormonal teenager. I certainly wasn’t going down that road today.
The warden had calmed down and was seated once more as the doctor looked up to him and nodded grimly. The warden smiled and nodded back, like some nodding dashboard-mounted plastic Elvis in a cab. They’d obviously practiced this communication or, more likely, had agreed on this process earlier today. It was that or they were close, if you get my meaning.
Looking to the warden, I tried to get his attention. “Hey, how about a last request? Don’t I get to make a last statement?”
I toyed with screwing with him one last time. It was hilarious to see him flip. It was just too easy.
The warden sat back in his chair, and with a smile that stretched from ear to ear, he shook his head. What an ass.
The doctor turned to the open doorway of the executioner’s room and spoke to my mother in an even and unemotional tone.
“Mrs. Wilken, please begin,” he said.
From inside the executioner’s room I heard her speak for the last time. Though she whispered, I heard her clearly say, “Fucking die, you little shit.”
If I hadn’t already been lying down, I’m sure I would have been knocked down by her venomous tones. Come to think of it, I’m pretty sure I never heard her speak out loud like that ever. Swearing was not part of her usual repertoire.
She hadn’t wasted even a moment, as half a second later I watched the fluorescent-red fluid race down the tubing and drain into my forearm. Damn. Where was that ace of spades? was my singular thought as the first of the lethal drugs hit my brain. There was a brief but intense burst of white light as my conscious mind was annihilated.
Mrs. Wilken was ecstatic. She heard the doctor address her and instruct her to begin with the series of injections. The syringes stood neatly on the table. They had been removed from the protective case and now waited side by side to perform their singular duty. There were nine in total, and each one looked more lethal than the previous. Each syringe had contents that seemed to glow with a fluorescent hue, from green to yellow—all except one, which was black as coal. On the narrow surface lay a set of instructions detailing every step the executioner must perform unerringly. It also described in detail how the specific injection affected the human body.
She had read the directions carefully and knew exactly what to do. Mrs. Wilken proceeded to rearrange the injection sequence so that the most powerful and deadly drugs were administered immediately. Blaine was going to suffer, and she had a front-row seat.
From her position on the stool, with the door open she could see her son’s head and shoulders. Oh, the joy she felt; the excitement and thrill of finally taking her son’s life had been worth the twenty-year wait. She savored that final moment just before she pushed down the first syringe plunger. This is better than sex, she thought.
A moment later she pushed the plunger down, whereupon the bright-red fluorescent fluid raced down the transparent tubing and disappeared into the wall. It then reappeared as it raced on and into Blaine’s forearm. His body arched as it went into a muscle-tearing spasm, which seemed to last forever. Oooh, Mrs. Wilken thought. This just couldn’t get any better. Wonderful. She hadn’t imagined that she would witness him in so much pain; this was simply delicious.
The warden had explained earlier that the chemicals they used in the injections were designed to ensure that the patient felt absolutely nothing as they slipped from life and fell into death. However, she did know the warden would be trying some experimental drugs. When the warden actually suggested that the drugs should be administered in the wrong order to cause excruciating pain, Mrs. Wilken almost begged for the opportunity to erase her son’s life and stated that money was no object. The warden was nothing if not generous. He could have taken a great deal of her savings but decided instead to settle for a small financial donation of one hundred thousand dollars and oral agreement. Mrs. Wilken agreed to the donation and oral contract, which she carried out with fervor on her knees immediately.
It was only five minutes later as she busied herself that the warden had to reconsider carefully who had actually made the better deal, and then had further reason to wonder whether he had made yet another disappointing mistake.
When Mrs. Wilken watched the last of the syringe contents drain away, she flushed the remnants through with some saline before continuing with the second syringe. During each of the injections, her son physically reacted, sometimes arching in spasms, and sometimes shaking so violently as to almost tip the gurney over. On the sixth injection Blaine began foaming at the mouth as his skin turned a bright red. The warden watched with a mixture of horror and fascination as the man before him slowly died in agony. He realized that he would probably have to go back to the original chemical concoction for future executions. He would also have to release a statement regarding the suitability of the new combination drugs. He smiled to himself as he also realized that if he played his cards just right, he would be able to get a big discount from his supplier. It wouldn’t be the first time and it certainly wouldn’t be the last time that he’d take advantage of those around him.
It was then that it hit him. Necktie Eddie was being executed in tandem with Blaine; not only that, but he was also being videotaped, and the show was being broadcast live by the Channel 42 TV news station. Shit, he thought as he got up to leave. If the bitch executing Eddie had decided to tweak the order of the injections, and if Eddie had reacted even half as badly as Blaine had, there would be a lot of awkward questions raised over the coming days.
The prison sirens blared to life as the warden made his way from the window to the door. He tried to block out the noise by shoving his stubby fingers into his ears, but the wail was simply too loud. The noise resonated through his skull and threatened to shred the delicate membranes of his eardrums. He had never heard anything so loud. In fact, it was so loud that the very act of thinking was made practically impossible. Stumbling, the warden eventually managed to cross the small room and tried to open the heavy door. It wouldn’t budge. He tried several more times but the door stayed exactly where it was. He then remembered the security precautions and the lockdown automation system, which sealed the civilian areas in case of any triggered alarm. What the fuck is going on? He thought.
Hammering hard on the door and yelling to the point of breaking his voice, he tried to get somebody’s attention.
“Hey,” he called. “Guards . . . Open this fucking door.”
But there was no way that anyone would hear him. Even if they had been standing directly outside with their ear planted against the door, they would never have heard the warden. The four-man response team ran past the gallery entrance without hearing the warden screaming. Had they heard him, they would have simply ignored him anyway. The siren had been triggered from the execution room, and this meant that a highly dangerous killer was potentially on the loose. The prison guards did not take chances with any of the killers on death row.
Mrs. Wilken, not being one to allow interruptions, continued administering the lethal drugs to her first and only child. Not for one moment had she considered stopping, even when the alarm began violating her ears. The nearest guard to the door had immediately placed his hands against his ears and went to the entrance of the chamber. Though suspecting that it was sealed, he tried opening it in any case. No luck. Turning, he looked to his colleagues and shook his head. The second guard picked up the white telephone handset but put it back as soon as he discovered he couldn’t hear a damn thing through the awful din of the siren. He wondered for a moment why on earth the warden would install sirens so loud that the noise prevented any type of communication during an emergency. All the while Blaine thrashed on the gurney as Mrs. Wilken continued to administer the lethal injections.
In the eternity since the siren had been triggered, the only two people who had not been affected were Blaine and his mother. Blaine because—well, he was unconscious and almost dead; his mother because she was so focused with murderous intent that nothing would or even could break her single-minded resolve. Then, as suddenly as the alarms had sounded they ceased, leaving everybody with a continuous ringing in their ears. Beyond the ringing, though, was something else; not a wail or siren but something inhuman. Everyone in the execution chamber now heard the howls. While certainly not as intense or as painful as the sirens, all the same they were a cause for concern.
The warden’s attention was drawn immediately to the sound of screaming and animal howling. Being cautious, he refrained from opening the door immediately and continued to listen intently through it instead. There were sounds of footsteps running and getting louder, then becoming quieter as their owners passed the door to the gallery. The howling and growls were getting closer and closer, and the warden began backing away from the door. Who the fuck has brought dogs into the prison?
He turned to look into the execution chamber just in time to see the guard nearest the door reach out to open it.
“God, no,” the warden shouted instinctively, but was not to be heard from behind the thick glass window.
He was right to be cautious. As soon as the door was pulled open by the guard, Necktie Eddie ran into the chamber and attacked the first guard with both hands and teeth. Eddie had launched himself. Landing high on the upright guard, he bit down on the man’s crown and pulled. Hair and skin came away in that single bite. Blood gushed forth, blinding the guard as he ran toward the door. I would not call it luck, but somehow he had managed to run through the open doorway without hitting the frame and without being attacked again. Slam! The warden felt a nearby security door close with obvious panic.
As the situation developed in the execution chamber, he watched his men run into the room in pursuit of Eddie. Thank God! he thought as he shouted out loud, “Grab that fucking asshole!”
The warden was now gaining confidence again, though his blood pressure had probably risen at least forty systolic points in the last five minutes. For a second he wondered how the hell Eddie had managed to free himself, but a new realization hit the warden: his guards were not pursuing Eddie; they were running with him. He watched as they intercepted the doctor and the second execution guard, who were at this point trying with all their might to keep the four-strong horde from eating them alive.
The second guard slipped on one of the many pools of blood and fell, striking his head hard against the floor. He had just enough wits about him to raise his arms to protect his face, which in actual fact accomplished less than had he waved a floppy banana in his assailant’s face. The closest zombie began gnawing into the fallen guard’s elbow, whereupon the guard screamed like a four-year-old girl and then fainted. The attacking zombie, however, continued chewing on the guard’s elbow and did not notice his zombie brethren leave the chamber. The unconscious guard simply lay there, blissfully unaware that he was tonight’s dinner.
The now-five-strong horde left the execution room with the struggling doctor in tow. The horde literally ate him on the go, as one would do when ordering a takeout. Various parts of the doctor’s anatomy dropped to the corridor floor as the group disappeared from sight. The doc’s screams continued for almost a whole minute while they ripped him to shreds.
Mrs. Wilken had been finishing off syringe number seven as Zombie Eddie and his horde rushed into the chamber. Hearing the screams, she looked through the one-way mirrored window and couldn’t believe her eyes when she saw the guards in black and an inmate attack and proceed to eat two guards and the doctor right there in the next room. In horror, she realized the door to the execution room was wide open, and so, careful not to be seen, she pushed it inch by precious inch very slowly so as not to be noticed by one of those maniacs. There was a click, and her fear seemed to amplify her every motion and movement. The sound of the door catch was deafening in her ears as it finally closed. But thank God, she thought, they hadn’t heard the door closing.
After a short while the room became quiet once more, except for the occasional crunching sound apparently coming from the next room. Dismissing her worries, Mrs. Wilken stood up and looked through the window into the execution chamber. “Phew! They’re gone,” she said to herself out loud, and as she opened the door she immediately saw Blaine’s motionless body, pale as a ghost and seemingly quite dead. She carefully walked to the gurney and reached out a hand and held her son’s wrist. This was no loving touch; she was actually trying to take his pulse. When she detected none, a broad smile appeared on her face and she concluded that he was in fact as dead as a doorpost. She then tapped him on the chest with her index finger and said, “That was fun, Blaine. I have to go now, but I’ll be back later to bury you.”
Turning to leave, she heard the crunching once again, but this time there was a lot more detail to the sound. The noise was a mixture of crunching and a wet smacking. “Disgusting,” she thought out loud.
Her heart sank and almost stopped when the realization hit her like a locomotive: one of those maniacs was here in the room with her, but where? The chamber itself was already a very small room, so there was literally nowhere to hide. Only perhaps behind the gurney . . .
“Aw, shit!”
And as if on cue the zombie rose from his position behind the gurney that Blaine was laid upon. At the zombie guard’s feet lay the unconscious guard that had opened the door. His arm was a mess and almost completely severed at the elbow from the indefatigable gnawing efforts of the zombie.
Mrs. Wilken turned and, without looking back, she ran as fast and as hard as she could straight across the execution chamber, out
of the door, then into the corridor and straight into zombified Necktie Eddie.
In slow motion the warden watched, slack jawed, as Zombie Eddie’s right hand and arm rose to eye level, then came forward toward Mrs. Wilken’s oncoming stunned face. Her momentum continued pushing her forward right into Eddie, and like many train wrecks, this collision was totally unavoidable. Eddie’s hand reached toward her face and shot forward in slow motion. Even in slow motion the attack was a blur. His hand rotated so that his pointing index and middle fingers aligned with both her eyes, and his thumb aligned with her gaping mouth. As she came hurtling forward, unable to brake or change direction, Eddie’s aligned fingers penetrated her eyes. They slipped easily into the eye sockets, forcing her eyes to reform and take the easiest route away from the pressure. They promptly plopped out of their sockets and hung by the optic nerves. Eddie’s thumb entered her open mouth and hooked into her upper pallet. His index and middle fingers carried on in their irresistible journey and broke through the fragile orbital bones in the back of the eye socket. Onward his fingers went, sinking right up to his knuckles. Mrs. Wilken finally came to rest with Eddie’s fingers embedded deep in her face. Normal time resumed, and a high-pitch scream began deep in her throat as she stood trembling. Unable to process the intense sensations entering her brain, she stretched her arms out to the sides and began waving and grabbing at thin air.
Eddie was already in motion, coming forward. Holding her head like a bowling ball, he came in still closer. Reaching behind her with his left arm, he embraced her, bringing their bodies together into full contact. With a single fluid motion, his right hand pushed on her face while his left kept her close, pressing on her spine. Her neck broke with a sharp crack, loud enough so that even from the warden’s vantage point he could swear that he heard it break.
Death Row Apocalypse Page 15