"I will take care of it right away. They seem a brave lot, but maybe I can beat some information out of them. If not, it will at least be amusing. I will introduce them to misery," Flip said, patting the hunting blade in the sheath at his side.
"Remember, I want them left alive. Any man who kills one of them will be quick to join them among the dead," Dante said vehemently.
Flip went back to the cell and informed everyone of Dante's wishes. He tasked a group to go and gather something to use to stake the men once he was finished with his interrogation. For a man like Flip, this was like Christmas morning to a ten-year-old.
Making people talk was his specialty. He had always had a cruel streak even as a child. That was the main reason he and Dante had hit it off so well. Flip had spent many hours practicing his craft. He loved seeing the terror and hopelessness in the eyes of his captives. He took sheer delight in other people’s pain.
He would make these men talk. He could cause unbearable pain to his victims while keeping them alive and aware of what was happening to them. Why waste good torture methods on someone who was unconscious and didn’t deliver the wonderful screams he could elicit.
◆◆◆
Mike and Ralph sat side by side. As instructed, everyone was against the back wall. They had managed to cut their bonds discreetly. Now they were waiting for their chance to do as much damage as possible. They looked up as one of the men who seemed to be in charge came near the cell. He spoke briefly with his minions before pulling a large keyring from his pocket.
"This is it. As soon as I take this guy down, run. Get your hands on a weapon and kill as many as possible. Don't look back, and don't wait for anyone else," Mike whispered to the others.
The fear was evident in the faces staring back at him. Mike wished there was some way he could get his crew out of this situation. Unfortunately, one way or the other they would all die here. He prayed they could inflict some heavy casualties to the gang at the least. If they could inflict enough damage their death would be worthwhile.
◆◆◆
Flip strolled towards the cell with a big smile stretching across his face. He enjoyed torture. He had become a master at it over the years. His sadistic tendencies had manifested themselves at a very early age. It began with torturing animals and progressed to children his own age. He enjoyed seeing the fear in the eyes of his victims. He was giddy with anticipation. He could not wait to hear the gasp of pain and pleas for mercy. These captives were going to have several agonizing hours of Flip’s personal attention. The sense of power over another human being was like a drug for him. When he was exerting his will over others, he felt a high like no other time in his life.
Flip made a show of rattling the keyring as he opened the door. He sauntered inside, smiling at the captives like he was an old friend. He had a table and a straight-back chair brought to him. The chair had once had some form of material to form the seat, but that had been cut away. Now only the frame remained.
He then began laying out the tools of his favorite pastime. Slowly, Flip placed knives, spikes, scalpels, and other gadgets carefully down. He paused to show each item to the captives before placing them meticulously on the table. Last, he pulled out a rope about two inches in diameter. It was maybe eight feet long and one end had a large knotted ball.
"I call this the monkey paw. It is one of my favorite tools. Don't worry, you will all get a turn with the monkey paw," Flip said, followed by a maniacal laugh.
Grasping the rope about two feet from the knot, he spun it around, faster and faster. Suddenly, he whipped the rope under the chair. It rose through the missing seat and lifted the chair off the ground.
"The monkey paw has a way of making even the hardest men turn to putty," Flip said.
Flip looked at the captives. Smiling broadly, he drank in the fear that oozed from their pores. He relished in the nervous sweat dripping down their faces. He delighted in the way their bodies shook, knowing what was about to happen to them and not having the ability to make it stop.
Flip's smile grew even wider when he turned his gaze on the youngest of the captives. The man, in his twenties by Flip's estimation, was likely to break down in tears any moment. His body shook as if he was connected to electricity. His breath came in great heaving gasps as he fought hyperventilation, and a puddle formed beneath him.
"So, who would like to get this party started? Should we go youngest to oldest?" Flip asked.
"Why don't you go fuck yourself, prick?" Mike yelled. He spat across the cell, catching Flip in the face.
Flip slowly wiped off the spittle with his sleeve. He would make the man beg for death before it was all said and done. He smirked and then walked towards Mike.
"Looks like we have our first volunteer."
Flip grabbed Mike around his left bicep, preparing to yank him to his feet. Mike sprang up, digging the thumb of his right hand into Flip's left eye. Mike kept the momentum going, driving Flip back towards the opposite wall as he sank his entire thumb into his eye socket.
Flip's scream filled the cell as the others leapt up from the floor. Ralph, belying his large size, sprinted to the door and tackled an inmate outside the cell. He grabbed the thug’s shotgun and brought the stock down hard between his eyes.
Ralph fired at the nearest of their captors, who was running towards the cell. He made it a couple of yards from Ralph when the slug from the shotgun hit him center mass. His upper body came to a sudden stop while his lower body tried to keep running. He practically somersaulted backwards from the force of the close-range blast.
Dean Welsh came out next, taking another former prisoner down and picked up his weapon. He hustled into position to keep anyone coming from deeper in the prison. Josh stayed on Ralph's heels as he continued to the front of the jail. Wes Connely followed closely behind them. The only one left in the cell, Greg Wilkes, froze in terror and never climbed from the floor.
Ralph racked another shell and took aim at the next closest gang member. The others rushed out of the cell, going for the fallen weapons as Ralph dropped a second and third target in quick succession. He kept walking forwards, working closer and closer to the front doors. Another of their captors rushed towards Ralph, lined up the iron sight, and pulled the trigger. Instead of the comforting report of the scatter guns blast, there was only a soft click. With no hesitation he flipped the gun, grabbing the barrel, scorching both hands. He swung it like a bat and caught his adversary on the side of the head. The hostile crumpled to the ground, but the one behind him raised his pistol, taking careful aim.
Ralph closed his eyes and waited for the shot that would claim his life. At least he had taken some of these bastards with him. When the shot rang out, his eyes snapped open. It had come from behind. The thug who had him dead to rights was lying on the floor, a pool of blood slowly growing beneath him. Ralph turned and laid his hand on Josh’s shoulder. He was still in a shooting position, hands shaking vigorously.
"Thanks, kid. Thought I was a goner," Ralph said.
A shot echoed through the room and Ralph fell to his knees. He flopped face first, blood running from a wound in his lower back.
"Go, kid. I can't move … can't feel my legs. Get the hell outta here and take as many of these fuckers out as you can," Ralph said between moans of pain.
Mike rushed forwards and opened fire on the gangbanger who had shot Ralph. He grabbed Josh by the arm and pulled him along. Mike took the lead, firing, desperately trying to get to the front of the building. Dean, who had been guarding the rear, cried out as he took multiple shots to his legs. Mike, with Wes on his heels, shoved Josh down behind a desk for cover. Their momentum had been stopped. They now had hostiles in front and behind. Bullets ripped through the air and peppered the wall and desk. There was at least a dozen of the gang lying dead or dying, but they were pinned down now with nowhere to run.
Mike popped up and fired two quick shots towards the group at the front of the building. He was down to two rounds. Wes was
on his last round.
"Three rounds and three of us. What do you say, guys. Do we take the pleasure away from them?"
Josh, tears freely streaming, nodded, as did Wes.
"Do it, Mike," Josh said, bending at the waist and lowering his forehead to the floor.
Mike took a deep breath and exhaled, then rested the tip of the barrel an inch from Josh's head and pulled the trigger. Mike began shedding tears of his own as blood pooled around the kid. Wes reached over and grabbed Mike’s hand for a moment then brought his gun up under his chin and pulled the trigger. Mike raised his weapon. Resting it against his temple, he raised his other hand out and looked at the blood covering his thumb, then with a smile he pulled the trigger.
◆◆◆
Dante was furious only three of the six captives were alive. One of them would almost certainly be dead within the next hour. They had killed thirteen of his men and injured several others, including Flip, who had an empty bloody socket where his left eyeball had formerly resided. He ordered a few men to take Flip to the infirmary. The jail's doctor had been unfortunate enough to be inside when the gang had taken the building. He came very close to becoming a casualty along with the guards, but luckily, he had been wearing his stethoscope when he was dragged from the building and forced to kneel with the other staff. That stethoscope had likely saved his life.
Dante instructed his underlings to mount the dead captives on stakes as well as the three who still lived. He hoped the remaining living hostages would survive long enough to be turned. They were both bleeding profusely and did not have long. This had ruined Dante's revenge and cost him numerous men and one of his most trusted lieutenants. Flip would recover, but this would delay them until they could locate the camp of these upstarts. He wanted retribution now. Waiting had never been one of his strong suits.
The three men who had taken their own lives were bound to stakes and signs with the word coward were placed on their chests. The other three were tied to the stakes and left low enough that the dead could ravage their legs up to the knees. They would live long enough to turn after the dead stripped the flesh from the parts they could reach.
Dante only wished he could be there to witness the reaction when the men were finally found.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Confessions of a Shopaholic
I felt extremely honored those taking refuge on the farm put their trust in my leadership. I was determined not to betray that trust. I would do everything in my power to provide safety and stability for everyone at the farm. I hoped I could live up to the expectations of those depending on my guidance. When I announced the transition to having a council of people making the decisions, I felt some weight lifted from my shoulders. I realized I would still bear much of the responsibility for the successes and failures of our group, but that would be lessened by having more than just myself calling the shots. Like my father was so fond of saying, "Many hands make light work."
There didn't seem to be enough hours in the day. There were so many things I wanted to get done before winter arrived. The days were already beginning to shorten. Soon the freezing temperatures and snow would be here.
Wade Marshall
◆◆◆
Wade's group arrived at the Wal-Mart distribution center just as the sun was rising. Wade had brought a group of twenty men with him. The goal was to clear out as many supplies as possible. Wade instructed some of the men to check the semis parked in front of the docking bays and find any that were empty or, even better, loaded with useful items. Wade signaled for the rest of the guys to follow him. Just outside the entrance, he divided the men into four groups.
"Okay, we clear the building first, and make sure any threats are taken care of before we gather provisions. Let’s do this quietly if possible," Wade said, looking at the group.
Wade had conveyed to everyone to have melee weapons like machetes, hatchets, or knives on their person when scavenging. If the dead could be dispatched quietly it would make things easier. Dealing with one or two of the infected was usually not hard to handle, but when a large mob of them collected, anything could happen. Giving a final look back, Wade moved to the door.
As soon as they entered the building, the unmistakable scent of decaying bodies hit them in the face. Choking down the urge to expel the contents of his stomach, Wade flanked the door. The rest of the men filed in and split into the groups Wade had assigned. He pointed the first group to the far left. The next two groups he directed to the stairs just to the left of the entry.
Wade motioned for his team to follow and maneuvered to the far right side of the building. The group had passed by a dozen of the aisles that ran the length of the massive warehouse before the ragged hissing sound of the infected became evident. Signaling the men with him to hold fast, Wade crept forwards and peered around the edge of the boxes stacked at the end of the next aisle. Wade's heart sank as a group of infected, who probably numbered over fifty, filled the aisle almost end to end.
So much for doing this quietly, Wade thought.
Easing back from the aisle, Wade returned to his group.
"We have a lot of infected in the next aisle," he said in a whisper.
Wade looked up as Jessie and his group on the upper level came into view. Wade grabbed his walkie-talkie and held it up in the air, waving his arm to signal Jessie. Jessie had his group form up to keep watch as he pulled out his own walkie.
“Jessie, I have a large group of uglies in the next aisle. Get a couple of your guys set to watch your back and the rest ready to open up on the dead when we draw them out.”
"You got it."
Wade set up his group to have the widest field of fire possible and told them to slowly fall back to the entry so they could draw the dead to them. When everyone was in position, Wade crept back to the aisle where the dead were collected. Taking a deep breath, he peered around the corner again. The dead still stood listlessly in the aisle. Wade walked to the center of the aisle and fired at the closest of the infected. As soon as he had sent the first corpse to its final rest, every set of eyes in the aisle turned his way. As one, the dead lurched his way like drunk joggers, not super-fast and definitely uncoordinated, but with determination.
Wade slowly backed away after dispatching half a dozen of the infected. The dead began pouring out between the rows like a disturbed ant hill. Shots sounded behind Wade from the right then the left respectively as the dead emerged to fill the walkway in front of him. Wade continued to fire at infected as he fell back to regroup with his men.
Jessie and the men on the upper level waited for the press of bodies to stop coming from the aisle below them. Once the infected had come into view they fired, decimating the walking corpses at the trailing end of the group. Wade had backed up to within fifty yards of the entrance when the last of the corpses hit the concrete floor.
Giving Jessie an all-clear thumbs up, he watched as his brother led his group away from the rail at the upper floor. Wade turned to get his group moving again, but then one of the infected came out of the aisle directly behind Earl Higgs. Wade lifted his weapon but did not have the angle to shoot without hitting Earl. His shout came too late as the infected clamped down on Earl's shoulder and pulled back, taking a mouthful of muscle and sinew with him. Earl let out a scream as a second infected grabbed him by the hair, pulling his face into range of its hungry mouth.
Wade ran Earl's way and dealt with the second of the rotters as he shoved his machete through the thing’s face. Grabbing the initial attacker by the neck, Wade used his momentum and weight to slam the thing’s head into the metal beam supporting the racks of the aisle. Wade repeatedly bashed its head on the beam until its head was hardly recognizable.
Wade looked down at Earl who had crawled away from the zombies. Although the wound was bleeding profusely, under normal circumstances Earl would live and recover from a wound such as this one. Unfortunately, this was not a normal circumstance. Within minutes, whatever virus was carried within the i
nfected would add Earl to their undead ranks.
Earl looked at Wade with the resignation of his fate stamped clearly on his face.
"I know what has to be done, Wade," Earl said, his voice breaking.
"I'm sorry, Earl. I wasn't quick enough," Wade said, tears slowly trailing down his cheeks.
"This isn't on you, man. I should have been watching behind us. You brought Karen and me into safety. Tell her I love her, Wade. Keep her safe, please," Earl choked out between sobs.
Suddenly, Earl's body began to tremble. He struggled to pull air into his lungs. His brown irises paled, the color slowly draining away. They developed a milky film. Then he went rigid and drew in his last ragged breath. He remained still for almost a minute then his right arm flopped to the side like a fish pulled from the water to lay on the bank. Wade slowly rose, tears still streaming down his face. He pulled his Glock and fired a single round between Earl's eyes, sending his body to its final rest.
Wade stood looking at Earl, trying to compose himself. When he felt like he could speak over the lump in his throat, he turned to the rest of his group and motioned them to follow.
"Let's make sure he didn't die for nothing," Wade said, moving through the bodies filling the walkway.
◆◆◆
Dante had assigned four men to the auto-park on Cameron Street. They were about two blocks from the apartment complex. From the roof of the auto-park, they had a commanding view of downtown and the area around the apartments. Dante was determined to find out who had attacked them. He had instructed the men to remain there until they had a lead as to the identity of their attackers. They had been there for eleven days and tempers were wearing thin. Sleeping on the concrete floor with nothing but cold rations, watching the endless parade of reanimated corpses was taking its toll.
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