“I told you about locked doors in my house,” he said.
Iliana stood her ground. “This is not your house.”
“I own you and this room, so this is my house.” He squeezed her cheeks and made her lips pout. “I came to collect the rent.”
“I paid you already.”
“You paid for two months past. You did not pay for last month.”
“I’ve been run ragged. I’m doing all I can.”
“It is not enough.”
Fires blossomed in her eyes. “Enough is never enough. You charge me double what these rooms are worth and run me ragged. I won’t pay top price anymore. I won’t!”
Dean jabbed a meaty finger at her. “You will pay what I tell you to pay. If I charge you three times the money, you will pay it. I brought you into this city and I will send you out of it if I so choose.”
Iliana noticed Francis still standing there. “Go, Francis. This need not concern you.”
“You’re on first name terms with your clients now?” Dean draped an arm over Francis’s shoulders. “That makes us brothers. Tell me, did you enjoy her, boy? Her pussy is sweet, no?”
“He’s not a boy. He’s a man now.” Iliana smiled at Francis.
Dean’s smile wasn’t quite so welcoming. “Is this true? You are a man now?”
What did it mean to be a man? Francis wondered. He did feel different after being with her. Was thirty dollars all it took? He didn’t think so, but he gave half a nod.
“That was not the nod of a real man. Perhaps you should try again, boy.” Dean shoved Francis into Iliana’s arms.
“He doesn’t need to prove himself, least of all to you. He’s more of a man than you’ll ever be.”
It was a step too far.
Dean’s hand moved so fast Francis barely caught it. He struck Iliana hard, the sound alone made Francis flinch. The blow launched Iliana off her feet and back onto the bed. Her sheer nightgown exposed her long luscious legs and she held a hand to her glowing cheek, eyes brimming with hatred and scorn.
“I’ll show you what a real man is,” Dean said, removing his braces and unbuttoning his fly.
The hatred in Iliana’s eyes evaporated, leaving desperation behind. “Dean. No, please. You’re the real man. I was wrong.”
“Now you show me respect?” Dean grabbed her flailing arm and wrenched it painfully to one side. “You’re capable of respecting only one thing. This is all you respect, you dirty whore.”
He thrust himself inside her, deep and hard and without preamble. She cried out in pain but did not resist. She must have known there was no going back now.
“Go, Francis,” she cried. “Go now. Please. Never come back to this place. Never.”
Dean turned to Francis. “Do you see how a man fucks, boy? Do you see how a real man treats whores?”
He seized a handful of Iliana’s hair, pressed her face into the crimson blankets, and buried himself deeper inside her, thrusting without care of her cries of pain.
“Stop,” Iliana screamed. “I’ll be good. I’ll be good.”
Dean pulled her head back, exposing her neck. Francis thought it might snap. “Yes, you will.” His buttocks tensed with every violent shove.
Francis watched, transfixed, terrified, angry, and yes, even a little aroused. The threat that he was not a real man, even after all he’d done to come to this place, had a powerful effect on him. I am a real man, he thought. And I’ll show you.
Before he knew it, he scooped up an angel figurine off the side table and swung it, cracking it over Dean’s head.
The pimp grunted and fell to one side, still buried inside Iliana, who pulled free and stared at the groaning figure on the bed and Francis with the smashed figurine in his hand. “Go,” she said in a small voice. “Please go.”
Dean wavered and tried to stand but fell back again. A trickle of blood ran down the side of his face from a cut to his temple.
Francis extended a hand to Iliana. “Come with me. We’ll run from this place and start again somewhere else.”
Iliana backed away as if the words themselves were a threat. “I can’t. My place is here.”
Francis ran his finger along her jawbone. “Your place is wherever you decide it is. Make it with me.”
The heat rose in her eyes once more and she looked on the verge of taking his hand. Then the fire doubted and her expression fell. “Maybe in another world.”
“Iliana—”
“Go,” she said, forcefully this time. “Leave us. You’ve already done enough damage.”
She crawled onto the bed and took Dean in her arms, rocking him gently back and forth. It wouldn’t be long before he regained consciousness. Francis needed to be gone by then or he’d have to finish what he started. He looked at his hand, still grasping the china angel by the head, a shard shaped like a dagger. Sharp enough to pierce flesh. The thought of carrying out that dark deed didn’t bother him in the slightest. His hand didn’t even shake.
He turned and left, shutting the door behind him.
That was the day Francis learned what he was capable of. He’d become a man, and one day soon, he would become more dangerous than anyone ever feared.
1.
TOMMY
Tommy recognized a jumped-up self-important official when he saw one. They took the same body language classes, carrying themselves with a stiff back and short, fast movements they considered efficient. They wore the same style of glasses: circular with long arms to perch on the bulbous tip of their noses so they could stare at anyone with the same look of disdain. And that wasn’t to mention the chip on their shoulders the size of Mount Rushmore.
The approaching official wore a white uniform, head to toe. His black hair was combed back with water or grease, and fashioned into the shape of a helmet. He tucked his clipboard under his arm and extended a dainty hand to shake.
“Pleasure to meet you,” he said. “I’m Reginald Palmer and I’ll be your guide. I must say, it’s been some time since someone came to visit us down here.”
Reginald peered down his nose at their torn clothing. “Is this the current fashion? Seems a little. . . trampish.”
In the elevator on the way down, they had tucked in their clothes and covered up the bloodstains as best they could. Their efforts had been in vain.
“This is the new standard-issue uniform,” Tommy said. “It helps us to move amongst the masses.”
Reginald nodded, giving no hint as to whether or not he believed them. “I suppose you must see a lot of action on the surface. We don’t get a lot of it down here, although we did have a bit of a crisis when we received the food delivery last week. Can you believe they sent us cheddar cheese instead of brie? It defies all logic.”
That passes for a crisis down here?
“You’re lucky,” Guy said. “I’d give anything for a quiet life.”
“Say that after being down here a year and then having access to the elevator denied. Something big must be going on up there.” Once again, he took in their appearance. “Something most disturbing.”
Tommy took the key from the chain around his neck and held it out for the guide to see. “We were given this.”
“Yes. May I see it?”
Tommy removed the key and handed it over. Reginald turned it over in his hands and studied the intricate detail etched into it. He saw something they did not, glanced at them over the rim of his lenses, and made a note on his clipboard.
“Yes, something truly terrible must have taken place. No one comes down here with this key if it isn’t something serious.”
He waited, hoping for one of them to spill the beans. When none of them did, he pressed his lips together, forming a line, and headed down the endless white hallway. “Follow me.”
* * *
The hallway’s end was a vague black dot in the far distance. But that didn’t mean the walk was boring. On the contrary, it provided them with a view of some of the most incredible things they had ever—and likely w
ould ever—see. On either side, behind huge glass displays, research scientists wore uniforms resembling something an astronaut might wear rather than traditional flimsy white overcoats.
Large flying vehicles shaped like a frisbee hovered in giant wind tunnels.
Guy froze on the spot. “Are those what I think they are?”
“I don’t know,” Reginald said. “What do you think they are?”
Guy swallowed before answering. “UFOs.”
“The term UFO refers to Unidentified Flying Objects. These are not unidentified. We know what they are because we built them. These are the old models. We had to go back to some earlier designs to run a few tests.”
Reginald continued. When he looked back, Guy still stood there, stock-still. “Did you have another question?”
“More than you could imagine,” Guy said, but he managed to get his legs moving again.
They came to the weapons division. A scientist wearing a familiar astronaut suit held a piece of glass in his gloved hand. He pressed a button and a large shield sprouted from it, so fast you’d miss it if you blinked.
“Ah. We’re just in time for the demonstration,” Reginald said. “Please put these on.”
He handed them each a pair of dark goggles.
“What are they for?” Emin said.
“To protect your eyes, of course. Unless you’d prefer to have lines across your vision like a game of tic tac toe for the rest of your life?”
A scientist in another suit held a pistol so small it was difficult to see with the naked eye. It might have been nothing but a button. He pressed it and a burst of light emitted in a single laser struck the shield. The tester held the shield with both hands, and the sheer force shunted him backward. The laser deflected and struck the wall and burnt a single black line through it.
Something had tickled the back of Tommy’s mind ever since he arrived in this place, but it was only when they reached the end of the corridor that he realized what it was.
“I heard a rumor once,” Tommy said. “About secret facilities where weapons were developed. Futuristic weapons. So far advanced, they wouldn’t be released upon the world for another twenty-five years.”
Reginald chuckled and shook his head. “You can’t believe every rumor you hear. The technology we work on here is more like fifty years in the future. Each year we have to push a little harder, reach a little higher. I don’t see the surface for years at a time. When I do, it’s like traveling back in time. Your technology is very quaint. This is the real cutting edge.”
“Why do you develop weapons like this?” Emin said. “Why not just release it right away?”
“For the same reason other nations don’t. Because of our enemies. They do not release what they develop for fear we’ll mimic it, which we most certainly would. That’s why we have to keep the research down here. At least for the time being. Until the world requires it and there’s no other option.”
“Some of my friends are conspiracy nuts,” Guy said. “If they saw this place. . . Let’s just say they’d have to bring several pairs of fresh underwear.”
“Beautiful,” Emin said with a curled lip.
“Where are you taking us if not to pick up some of these futuristic weapons you’ve already shown us?” Tommy said. “We could take out anything we wanted with a few of those shields and pulse rifles.”
Reginald smiled. Tommy didn’t like the look of it. It reminded him of a civil service worker who insists you fill in the correct form, even though the form you’ve already filled in is identical. “Your key gives you access to Failsafe, the most powerful weapon we have.”
He opened a closet and removed some plain, highly-polished, helmets.
“These are a bit dorky compared to those spacesuits, aren’t they?” Guy said.
Tommy and the others put them on without a word. Guy sighed and followed suit. His was a little tight, so he turned to Tommy. “Think you can give me a hand with this?”
Tommy smacked the top of the helmet with his fist, sliding it snugly into place.
“Thanks.”
“The helmets are for your own safety,” Reginald said, slipping his helmet on and inputting a code into a device on the wall.
A door opened, and as it did, they saw how thick it was—twice as thick as any bank vault on the surface. Just what do they have in there that requires that kind of protection?
“Is anyone else nervous?” Emin said.
Jimmy hugged her leg. Guy stood behind, weight balanced on his back leg to take off at a moment’s notice. Only Tommy leaned forward.
The door drew open, revealing a space as wide as the corridor and huge rooms on either side of it. On the left- and right-hand side, scientific equipment buzzed and whirred, and computer monitors flickered with recorded data. Two dozen scientists—these wore regular science coats—mixed and mingled, discussing details and data amongst themselves. The only unusual concession for safety was the round helmets they wore.
Reginald led them to the front of the room, toward a very surreal image. A man with wispy white hair sat on a sofa in front of a large TV playing a computer game at odds with the base they found themselves in. The game was old—really old. Blocky, from the 1980s. He bounced excitedly on the sofa, jubilant with energy. A couple of scientists stood to one side, cheering him on.
“Albert,” Reginald said. “Albert, you have visitors.”
“One sec,” Albert said. “Be right there.”
He twisted the joystick and jabbed at the single button. The little spaceship he controlled zigzagged between enemy aircraft and projectiles flying in his direction.
Tommy shared a look with Emin and Guy. What is this?
The enemy mothership exploded into a thousand tiny pieces. Albert leaped from his chair, fists pumping the air triumphantly. The scientists whooped and cheered and clapped their hands. Some slapped Albert on the back, congratulating him.
“All right, all right, that’s enough,” Reginald said. “How about we get some work done, people?”
Chastened, the scientists returned to work. Albert was still glowing as he approached the Death Squad. He extended a hand.
“Hello there. My name’s Albert. Albert McCall. Pleased to meetcha.”
Tommy let the man pump his hand, a look of wild confusion on his face. Is this some kind of joke?
2.
SAM
Hawk stood at the corner and raised a hand. “Wait.”
It could only mean one thing: zombies were camped nearby and were going to stumble on them if they weren’t careful. Sam waited patiently, watching Hawk as he shut his eyes and turned his head from one side to the other. Sometimes he did nothing more than that, and at others, he used his hands, as if pushing something solid away.
After a few minutes, he opened his eyes, turned to her and nodded. Those eyes of his might have aged a decade since she’d first met him. The heavy grey bags were angry anvil rainclouds ready to open up and douse the world from the heavens. He looked more like a zombie each day that passed.
Letting go of the zombies released the agony Hawk felt in his right eye. Sam had seen a similar level of pain in a patient she’d once had who suffered cluster headaches. Her colleague referred to them as “clusterfuck headaches.” He wasn’t far off. The patient came into the lab for tests. He spoke in a low whisper and could barely keep his eyes open. It was partially due to the painkillers he took, partially to the pain he still felt through that debilitating haze. He shuffled from place to place, earplugs jammed in deep to prevent any noise that might trigger another bout. The slightest noise could tip him over the edge. The patient was, understandably, at the end of his rope and vowed to commit suicide if he couldn’t get better treatment. They told him there was a surgical procedure that could reduce the pain but it might very well kill him.
“I’m dead anyway,” he said. “Do it.”
They cut his skull open and expanded the troublesome blood vessels using stints. Sam would never forget the look
on the man’s face when they’d installed them. The pain was visibly removed, the tense muscles around his eyes and mouth relaxing. After they closed his skull back up again, he made a full recovery. He would have a permanent headache for the rest of his life but nothing like what he’d been exposed to previously.
That was the look of relief Hawk had on his face when he let the zombies go. The pain consumed every part of him. For what could you do without a healthy, fully-functioning brain?
As Hawk was always aware of where the zombies were at any given moment, they only really needed to keep an eye out for active guards on duty.
“This way,” Hawk said.
He took them down an alley that adjoined a convenience store and dry cleaner’s, down winding paths that took them clear of any zombies he knew to be there. He used his power only when necessary, for fear of undergoing that extreme agony once more.
Sam wasn’t sure how she felt about Hawk’s ability to control the undead. Despite Hawk using it to aid them in their escape, Sam still couldn’t bring herself to look at him the same way she had before discovering his remarkable ability. It was so unnatural.
They peered out from behind a dilapidated building with a car that’d rammed into the storefront. A windshield and window repair shop. You just couldn’t make this stuff up.
Their ultimate goal was the wall in the near distance, or more specifically, the elevators that lined it at regular intervals. They sat frozen in place from where they’d last been used—shut down when the military had been forced out of the city like a virus infection.
“It’s no good,” Hawk said. “They’re out of order. We’ll never use them to get out of the city.”
“Hold your horses,” Sam said. “There are dozens of them. I’m sure one still works.”
She peered more closely at the structures. One hung diagonally, restrained by its coarse cords. Only an experienced operator could unfurl it, and that was certainly not her or Hawk. The next elevator hung from a single cable and swung precariously in the wind. Only a matter of time before it dropped. The third sat clutching the wall, halfway between the ground and the top.
Death Squad (Book 4): Zombie World Page 2
