To make my point, I enter the room Jace and Mike are still inside and draw up short, a gasp leaving me as my gaze sweeps over the space.
This is clearly where the records are stored, as there is shelf after shelf lined with the black vinyl discs, but while that’s pretty cool, it’s not what holds my gaze. Nope, that’s reserved for the little boy that’s been trapped behind a few of those downed shelves, as he reaches futilely through the gaps, trying to reach where Mike and Jase watch him.
Dressed in a yellow rain jacket, with his hood still up and only allowing a few dark strands to poke out, his mouth is twisted into a snarl as he claws at the air between him and the guys. As I step closer, I see that his eyes are just like those from town. Red and hungry.
“Holy hell...”
“Yeah, that about sums it up,” Jace responds in a soft voice. He moves in closer to my side. “You don’t have to be here, Laurie. Mike and I will handle it,” he adds. Mike cuts him a cursory glance.
Shaking from my stupor, I clutch the sticks tightly in my hand to hide how it shakes. “No, I need to see this. Besides, what is it you plan to do?”
Pulling his phone from his pocket, not bothering to answer my question about what they have planned, Mike begins to swipe along the screen. He does this until with one last push of his thick finger, he lifts the phone, not even seeming bothered by the cracks that run along the screen, and eyes the boy. It doesn’t take long to find out what he’s doing.
Seven Nation Army by The White Stripes has one of those beats you can recognize from the first three cords. It’s a song that makes you want to bob your head, to pump your fist, to pick a fight, and it’s perfect for Mike’s experiment.
As soon as that first pulse of music hits, the boys reaching arm drops to his side as his body starts to thrum along to the music, the motion vibrating from his whole body like even his heart has synced up to the rhythm.
"Fuckin' A, it really does work," Fred breathes as he joins us, but not like he's talking to anyone. I nod mutely at his side. I'd seen the others respond like this before, but I'd been writing it off as a fluke. Now, there's no way I can dispute that the guys' plan has merit. Except, I'm still unclear on what the ‘dispatch' part entails and turn to say so, but my eyes widen.
“Look out,’” I scream as I throw up my arm, reacting purely on instinct, and am tackled to the floor by a person dressed in a black cape and white mask that has a long face stretched in a silent scream.
As I make contact with the floor, my head bouncing up like a rubber ball from the impact, I’m left stunned for a second. Yet, when the weight of a body registers in my addled mind, I start thrashing about as I try to dislodge it.
Hands replace the weight, and I smack at them, trying to push them away, but when they gently grasp the sides of my face, and I have no choice but to focus on Mike’s steel features, I freeze.
“You back with us?” he asks, and after I take a long rasping breath, I nod that I am. He promptly backs away and I see him rub his knife along an unmoving figure that lies on the floor beside me. The red that coats the blade, rubs off onto that black cape easily.
“Here, let me help you up,” Jase says as he comes to stand by my head, and because I'm still so shaken up, I let him pull me up from the floor and into his waiting arms.
“Is it dead?” I ask, not recognizing the hollow quality of my voice. Fred stands from where he was squatting at its side and nods. My stomach twists.
“Definitely dead. Not unless it found a way to live without a pulse,” he says as if he’s trying to joke, but it falls flat, and he cringes. As he comes to move our way, I realize I’m missing something.
“Did you see where I dropped my stick?” I ask as I cast my gaze around the room, but find nothing. Joining in my search the guys start to search to, but nothing comes up. Eventually, without even discussing it, we all end up standing over the prone form.
“Who’s flipping it over?” Fred asks, face ashen. Looking around, I see that nobody looks keen to volunteer.
Hating what I have to do but knowing it should be me since I’m the one who lost their weapon, I step forward to push the body over, but Mike throws out his hand to stop me. He holds my stare, letting nothing escape his shuttered gaze, and bends down to do what I’d started, but Jace beats him to it and unceremoniously rolls the body over.
With a victorious grin aimed Mike’s way, Jace reaches down and grips his hand around the shaft of the stick, but before he can yank it away, a cloak wrapped hand shoots up and latches onto Jace’s jacket.
“Fuck! Get it off,” Jace shouts as the white mask crashes against his chest.
Pushing me to the side, Fred jumps forward with his fist raised, the brass knuckles gleaming in the light, but Jace is already bringing his sling blade down, hacking away at the figure. Despite his numerous hits, that masked face keeps rubbing against his chest like they'll eat right through it the rubber. It's not until Mike steps up and stabs his knife right into the blacked-out eye socket of the mask that its movements still and goes limp in Fred's arms where he's been trying to pry it away from Jase.
“How the hell was that thing alive? It had no fucking pulse,” Jase spits as he climbs to his feet, and reaching forward, Fred yanks away the mask revealing a man no older than me.
His eye is a mess where Mike's knife stabbed inside, and the other one is red like all the others we've come across. Judging by the cracked teeth, it's easy to guess he broke them in his attempt to bite Jase.
With a grunt, Mike once again leans forward to wipe off his knife, then looks my way briefly before answering Jase. “Yeah, I’m starting to think that judging whether or not these things are down by their pulse is out.”
“Why do you think that?” Fred asks, kicking the man’s body in the side to make sure he’s not going to get up again. He doesn’t move.
“Because I’m pretty sure they’re already dead. The dead don’t have pulses. That’s the only explanation as to how that asshole was able to keep fighting after we cut him up so badly.”
I gulp audibly, garnering the attention of the three men, but before any can make to move my way, I’m sprinting toward the door. As soon as I make it outside, I bend over and try to catch my breath. I just couldn’t remain in there any longer. Not with the dead man, not with the potentially dead boy that was still reaching from where he was trapped by the shelves. It had been too much, and all I can do is work on breathing.
“You ok, Laurie?”
I don’t look up at Jase’s gentle tone, but I nod to show he has nothing to worry about. “I’ll be ok. I just needed a minute.”
“Take your time. We can search the rest of the building in a second. Mike and Fred are taking care of things in there anyway.”
Jase doesn’t say it, but I know what he means by ‘taking care of things.’ The boy is the thing he’s referring to, and I’m glad they’re sparing me from having to see that. He may very well already be dead, but I’m not ready to watch them send a knife into his eye too. Not so soon, at least.
Sliding down the wall, I land on my butt as I hear the other two murmur softly within the room, and after a minute or so, Jase joins me on the floor. Once he settles at my side, he slides his hand over and takes mine, and I lay my head on his shoulder.
This touch has nothing to do with the sexual urges I’d felt with him before. This is all about survival. Everything is wrong, and I cling to him as my lifeline right now. The tether to my sanity that keeps me from falling apart.
He never says a word about how tightly I clutch his hand.
9
Tara and Tino’s Radio Station isn’t big by normal city standards, but in this small town where you can name all the local businesses by memory alone, it’s enormous. Throw in the fact that it’s run by the only open homosexuals in town, though we all know that they’re not the only ones, and more than a few snide remarks are made in casual conversation about the blight that this unholy building is.
Personally, I
never had any issue with them, or their tastes in sexual partners or music. Without them, we'd all probably be walking around, holding hands and singing Kumbaya, but Tara and Tino offer us more. Pop, Rock, R&B, Metal, they play it all. Hell, on Sundays they like to mix it up by only playing show tunes, and pretty much solidifying their station as my favorite.
Walking down the hallways, I split my time between keeping watch like the guys and appreciating the blue epoxy floors. With the way the various shades of blue swirl around each other, it's like being in the ocean. Which would be an improvement over our current situation. As it stands, I allow myself to imagine how nice it would be if we truly were just a couple of friends enjoying a day on the beach. That has a much better ring to it than four survivors of the apocalypse.
“Wait. That’s the room,” Fred says when Mike and Jase move past the plain door, and they turn with disbelieving expressions on their faces.
“How do you know that?” Jase asks, looking between the white door and his bandmate.
Fred shrugs. "I read. The telegraph did a cover story about the station a few years back and said that all of the airing happened in room number 23. It's their control center or some shit."
Mike blinks slowly at Fred, clearly unconvinced, but what he says spurs my memory, and I remember reading that same article. "He's right. It's room 23," I say, and get a thankful grin shot my way from Fred at my show of solidarity.
Gaze running across my face, Jase begins to nod like he is convinced now, but Mike still appears doubtful. Not wanting to risk throwing the door open again, and repeating what happened in the other room, I step forward and lay my hand on Mike’s arm.
Beneath the thick material of his coveralls, I feel his muscles flex, and with pursed lips, he nods. "Fine. We'll check the room. But this time, Laurie, your ass stays in the back of the group. No more rushing in with some half-assed plan. Got it?"
I could let his sharp tone raise my hackles, but I'm getting my way, so I don't see the point. With an innocent smile, I slowly let my hand slide from where I hold him, and make a show of stepping backward. When I almost trip, Fred is there to catch me.
“Thanks for the backup, Laurie,” he whispers as he helps me stand upright, and I meet his pale eyes as Jase and Mike move to either side of the door.
"You're welcome, Fred. It was easy."
He arches an eyebrow. “And how is that?”
I snicker but lean in close as if I'm about to reveal a big secret. "Because I have boobs. You wouldn't understand the type of power these things hold," I whisper conspiratorially.
Fred shakes his head, but a smile ghosts over his lips. "That, you're right and wrong about, Laurie. I may not understand what it means to have those power-wielding titcommandos, but I know what it's like to be on the receiving end of their control. They are as ruthless as they are satisfying and I'd gnaw my arm off in a pit of vipers to be near them," he jokes, and I snort. I don’t have time to say anything else though, because at that moment, Jase and Mike kick the locked door in tandem, and it splinters right off the frame as it bursts into the room.
After that, it’s all a blur as they sprint inside, and the yelling begins. I share a panicked look with Fred, who’s as shocked by how chaotic things have just suddenly become, and then as one, we fly into the room after them.
“Holy shit, Mrs. Romera! Mr. Khent, I didn’t know you guys were into pegging!?! You’re pretty much balls deep at this point!” Fred exclaims, grin wide.
My eyes are wide as I try to look away from where my old music teacher, and mayor's wife, is fucking the milkman in the ass with what looks to be an, at least, 8-inch dildo, but like a train wreck, I just can't look away. Not when the two are frozen like a deer caught in a beam of light, and definitely not when my gaze slides around to take in the quart size container of lube, the ball and gag, and the riding crop.
“This isn’t…. What you’re seeing isn’t…” Mrs. Romera starts, tone sharp, but Jase laughs out loud as he rubs at his eyes.
"It's not what? The mayor's wife fucking the milkman? Do tell then, what is it we're seeing because, for all intents and purposes, it looks like Mr. Khent is about to blow his load on top of Greatest Hits of the Seventies vinyl. Pretty sure that's not how you're supposed to care for them," Jase says, and Fred snickers at his side.
Face growing red, probably trying to regain control of the situation, Mrs. Romera points her red painted fingernail at us. As she moves, so do her hips, and a moan slips from Mr. Khent. His face is as red as hers, but something tells me it's because of something else...
“Listen here, you little shits. What you’re seeing is none of your damn business and if any of you breathe a word of this, I’ll–”
Click
“You won’t do anything. We have proof of your… extracurriculars, but we couldn’t care less about them, or you. So get the fuck out of here. Unlike you, we’re trying to do something besides fuck the milkman,” Mike says with a growl in his voice that tells Mrs. Romera not to argue.
Or maybe it's that he now has a picture of what she's been up to, and she knows she has no choice but to keep her mouth shut. To be the wife of a mayor who has built his following on family values, this wouldn't be good press for the upcoming election. Of course, the townspeople eating each other may put a stop to that anyway. Either way, Mrs. Romera bites her tongue.
“Fine. At least give us some privacy to clean up.”
Mike tilts his head and nods. "You have five minutes. Get moving. We have shit to do."
Once he's finished speaking he walks back out of the room, and we all follow him. Once in the hallway, I don't know who starts it, but we're all suddenly laughing from what we just saw. Even Mike has quiet chuckles falling from his lips, and by the time Mrs. Romera breezes past us with Mr. Khent following like a well-trained dog, our faces are red from it.
It’s bad timing, hella inappropriate, and it’s just what we all needed. We’re about to take on an entire town of the dead. A little ass sex is the perfect reprieve. And kind of funny in how similar to our situation it really is. We’re all screwed.
10
“Fuck that. AC/DC is where it’s at. The rhythm alone will keep those fuckers jerking. They won’t stand a chance.”
"No. AC/DC is awesome, but we need something faster. I say we go with Metallica," Jase replies, face set in stone as he and Mike argue, yet again, about something.
It's how it's been for the past hour as we've familiarized ourselves with the station equipment. Well, while Fred familiarized himself with the equipment. With his prior knowledge of setting up the band's equipment, he’d looked ready to jizz his pants as he drooled over all the controls and switches. Unlike me, who felt pretty much useless at this point, he seemed to be having the time of his life.
“Fuck off, Jase. We’re going with AC/DC. That’s final,” Mike says, stepping closer to Jase.
Not backing down, Jase squares his shoulder and practically brushes his chest against Mike’s as they glare at each other. The tension is thick enough to cut with a knife, which is what I’m considering. It might have been hot at first, watching them play king of the mountain, but now it’s getting old and I’m thinking of all the interesting ways I could end this conversation if I can get a hold of Jase’s sling blade.
“No. You think you run this group. Run our lives? Things change, asshole. That ain’t happening anymore,” Jase says, and as if to punctuate his point, he pushes against Mike’s chest, causing him to stumble back a step.
A hand lands on my shoulder when Jase pushes Mike, and with a sheepish grin, Fred pulls me over behind a large desk, using the wood as a boundary between us and the other two. When Jase’s death flashes in Mike’s hot glare, I understand why as he charges him and tackles him to the floor.
I swear I can feel the room shake as the two hit, and the resulting punches each rain down on the other causes me to cringe at the meaty sound their skin makes as they crash against each other.
“You might want
to get comfortable, Laurie. This may take a while,” Fred says, ducking as a heavy vase is slung by one of the fighters and flies right past where his head was.
Taking heed to his warning, and the furniture that’s now become cannon fodder for the two giants to duke it out with, I slide down onto the floor and allow the desk to protect my head. Each time a heavy thump hits the top, I jump.
“Are they always like this?” I ask, eyes widening at the roar of pain. I start to look, but with a gentle smile, Fred keeps me seated by placing his hand on my shoulder.
“Don’t go out there. Not yet. And to answer your question, yes, they do this often. You see, bodies that big take a lot of testosterone to fuel. They may not be fast, may not be super smart, but they’re fucking strong as shit, and their need to establish dominance leads to many a broken bone.”
"They're going to break their bones?" I screech, moving to stand once more, but I’m thwarted again by Fred's surprisingly strong hands.
"Don't worry. They'll be fine. Now, if I let you go out there and get caught in the crossfire, I most definitely won't be. This body is built for loving, not brawling. My best work is done in the bedroom," Fred says, waggling his brows. I can't help it. I laugh and am rewarded by his wide smile.
“Ah, that’s what I’ve been hoping to see.”
I meet Fred’s stare, my lips still stretched wide. “What?”
He lifts his hand and runs one finger across the seam of my lips, causing my breath to catch. “Your smile. You’ve had a hard day. Everyone is having a hard day, but I knew from the moment we met you that if you were this beautiful when you were scared or sad, then you’d be fucking gorgeous when happy. I was right.”
At his soft admission, it’s me that leans in to close the distance, but I’m left throwing my arms over my head to protect my skull when Jase’s large body is flung over the tabletop and lands at my feet.
He groans painfully but is like a machine as he starts to climb to his feet, paying no mind to the cuts on his face, but I'm done. They might do this all the time, but I don't, and the longer we're here, the longer more people could be getting hurt.
Insidious Nightmares Page 4
