The New Capital: The second book in the Human Zoo series

by Kolin Wood

  Frustrated, Juliana pulled back her arm and slapped Doyle roughly around the face.

  “Doyle!” she shouted, once again louder than he would have liked.

  This time Doyle’s head rose up off of his chest and his eyes opened to reveal thin, red slits.

  “Juliana?” he said. His voice was croaky and he sounded confused.

  So at least it really was her name; or at least this poor sap believed so anyway.

  Juliana pushed Doyle’s shoulders back against the brick wall and held him there firmly. His eyes opened wide. They spun in their sockets momentarily before finally coming to rest.

  “What… what… happened?” he croaked.

  “I would ask you the same thing,” she replied, sounding genuinely relieved. “I… I thought you were dead.”

  Pain creased Doyle’s face as he shuffled himself into a more comfortable sitting position, sucking deep, necessary breaths into his lungs. From the direction of the arena, gunshots rang out and the sound of screaming intensified.

  “They came to the prison… A group of men and the girl from the house.” He coughed and the sound was deep and infested with illness.

  Juliana went rigid.

  “What girl from the house? Bennett’s daughter?” she asked.

  “Yes,” Doyle answered, “She showed them the way in, led them right to me. When the numbers struck, she fled. I tried to keep up, but lost sight of her in the darkness.”

  “Bennett’s daughter? Are you sure, Doyle?” she asked again. “One hundred per cent it was her,” he said. “After you left… I tried…” He groaned and his head rolled like a ball-bearing joint on his shoulders as he struggled to hold consciousness.

  Juliana cradled him, showing a tenderness that Tanner had not seen before. Gently, she lifted his head so that he was looking at her once more.

  “What about Sarah?” she asked, her own voice painted with grief. “Did she make it?”

  Doyle struggled to make sense of the question. He shook his head and squeezed his eyes closed as his memories caught up. Juliana’s shoulders quaked for a second and she bowed her face towards the mud.

  “The numbers ate… everybody,” Doyle continued, as tears began to fall from his gore-filled eyes. “At first, they thought I was dead. I woke up and…” He paused, unwilling to continue with the sad trajectory his brain was taking him on.

  Juliana said nothing. More gunshots sounded over the shanty houses in the park. Tanner looked around anxiously.

  “I managed to hide in a cell at the back. Others arrived. I thought they would help me, but I heard them come under attack. The numbers wiped them out. I heard them all screaming as they were torn…” He stopped again, struggling for composure. “I’m guessing most of the numbers left soon after that, but by then I was finished. By the time this lot found me, I was already half dead. They made it inside without much of a fight… knocked me out cold… took me away from there. I was beaten, hooded, and locked in a cell. They threw b…” he stammered. “There was so much blood. I couldn’t breathe. At first I didn’t know w… w… what it was but then it started to turn. It dried on me, like a second skin. They wouldn’t stop… I… I couldn’t m… move…”

  The veins in Doyle’s neck stood out against his tight, malnourished body. The dirty blanket that they had snatched from a tent on route across the park sat squarely on his shoulders.

  “Juliana!” Tanner hissed as the sound of gunshots grew louder. “Something’s not right.”

  Juliana held Doyle’s face for a moment longer and then nodded. When she was stood, her eyes were filled with tears. Tanner reached out for her shoulder but she turned away from his touch.

  “I’m okay,” she said, offering up the smallest glimpse of a smile. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

  Tanner raised his eyebrows, confused.

  “What about the General?” he asked.

  Juliana shook her head.

  “The bastard’ll keep,” she said, a flicker of steel returning for a moment at the sound of his name.

  Tanner nodded, relieved. If they escaped now, it would give them a chance to regroup and formulate a proper plan, maybe recruit some others to help in the fight. Right now they were stark white, sitting ducks floating on a brown pond of shit.

  “Right, then,” he said, focused on the new task at hand; it would still take some doing to get them all away from the Capital alive. “Let’s get him up. By the sounds of it, I reckon Braydon might already be privy to the fact that we’ve jumped ship. That place is about to tear itself apart.”

  As if on cue, more gunfire and screaming sounded across the park.

  Juliana shrugged. “Fuck him,” she said. “Fuck them all.”

  29

  The man’s head exploded in a puff of crimson, splattering his face with warm speckles of blood. Teddy shoved the now-partially headless corpse away from him and it teetered for a moment before falling with a bang onto the boards of the VIP box.

  The crowd, upon learning that the fight was not going to take place, had turned ugly and within minutes the scene had changed from rowdy to chaotic. Now Teddy found himself stuck in a Plexiglas prison, fighting for his life amongst an army of crazed, drunken psychotics.

  “Braydon!” the plummy voice behind him boomed. “Get us the fuck out of here!”

  Farringdon was pushed flat against the far wall, pointing at him, his face a down-turned frown of pure terror. Behind him, his wife, Ondine, cowered, her manicured hands covering her head. The sight of Farringdon still barking orders while cowering like a chickenshit brought his blood temperature to boiling point and he felt his finger subconsciously squeeze down on the trigger. Even now, with their world falling down around their ears, Farringdon still though that he could order him around like a poor, beaten puppy dog.

  Somebody rushed up the stairs and instinctively, Teddy jumped backwards, just in time to avoid the knife as it swung a full arc towards the top of his head. Another squeeze of the trigger and another splatter of hot fluid as the man fell in a heap at his feet. With no more rounds left in the gun, he cursed and threw it aside. He would never have enough bullets to kill them all if they decided to rush him anyway. The door to their small VIP area lay shattered in pieces on the floor, now useless. All of a sudden, the idea to put the most hated people in the capital within touching distance of the envious and moonshine-crazed masses seemed like the most idiotic idea that he’d ever had.

  With a moment’s respite from attack, Teddy spun taking in the contents of the small box. Every inch of plastic was dripping with either sweat, booze, or blood. The rest of the Capital’s dignitaries—the half-dozen that still remained—lined the far wall, cowering in fur and costume jewellery. Beyond the box, people screamed and gunshots rang out as the hugely outnumbered guards tried in vain to restore some order to the rioting crowd. From the entrance where he stood lay at least fifty metres to the arena exit and the stairs to his office; some minor chance of safety.

  Farringdon, spotting a break in the turmoil, waddled towards him, his usually-red face now a dark purple. “You’d best do something,” he snarled, the bumbling buffoon facade—under which he spent most of his days—now discarded. “This ridiculous contraption was your idea. How the hell do we get out of here?”

  Teddy ducked as a heavy knuckle of scaffolding sailed past his head and thumped into the boards with a crack. People were still targeting them from outside, hoping for a lucky strike. He turned on Farringdon with a puff of his chest, his patience now in tatters.

  Undeterred the arrogant man continued. “Either you do something to get us out of here now… or I will end you.”

  Teddy reached inside his pocket, curling his fingers around the sturdy handle of the lock knife.

  An unidentified piece of rubble—heavy and metal—sailed over the plastic wall to his right. Teddy followed it as it flew with a whistle, eventually connecting with a Thonk! into the temple of one of the wives cowering there. In shock, the woman put her hand u
p to the side of her head. Her eyes opened wide as her fingers felt the sharp edge of her own cracked skull. Blood began to flow liberally down the side of her face, soaking her white blouse as she pulled her hand away. She looked over at Teddy, confused, holding his stare for a few seconds before ungracefully toppling over onto her front. Beside her, the husband, a pompous-looking lord-type with a ski-jump nose, cried out in anguish but made no attempt to move to her aid.

  Fucking aristocrats, Teddy thought, fighting the urge to walk over and stove the man’s head in.

  “Are you listening to me, Braydon?” Farringdon continued, uncaring of the tragedy that had just become of one of his own, “You’ll never set foot in the Capital again!”

  Teddy turned back to face him, their faces now so close together that he could smell the sickly reek of the man’s cologne. He felt tight enough to snap.

  Farringdon suddenly thrust out a pudgy finger, striking Teddy in the chest. “You think I don’t know what you’ve been doing? You think I’m too stupid to see that you’ve been fucking my wife?”

  The statement caught Teddy off guard. He raised his eyebrows, trying to decipher what was being said and its implications.

  “You imbecile, of course I knew! I’ve known from the beginning. You really think we keep anything from one another? The whore, for that is what she is, and I, we have an understanding. Did you really think that she would ever leave me? What, for the likes of you?”

  Teddy flicked his eyes over to Ondine, who was still cowering on the floor, her eyes pleading with his own.

  Farringdon laughed again. “You only exist because I allow you to exist. Everything you have, everything… I have given you. Do you understand that? You don’t even…” Suddenly, his eyes bulged in their sockets. He froze as the anger fell from his face and a look of disbelief took hold there instead.

  Teddy let out a long, slow breath of relief. He thrust the knife forward again, and then again, plunging the sharp tip aggressively through the thick material of Farringdon’s blazer and deep into the soft belly tissue underneath. His fingers struggled to find a grip on the sweaty curls of hair. He could taste the rank saltiness of his sweaty skin, as hot ears brushed his lips.

  “You think you own me?” The tumultuous noise around seemed to dip as Teddy spoke, his teeth bared and his nose curled into a vicious snarl.

  The red mist of hate surrounded his face like a mask. A raging pulse thumped behind his eyeballs. The rank smell of sweat rose up from beneath him, but he ignored it.

  “I built all of this, on my own; ME!”

  Teddy twisted the handle of the blade. Warm fluid leaked up his wrist.

  Farringdon coughed, splattering Teddy’s white collar with yet more blood.

  The man’s body begin to weigh heavily. Teddy yanked his head back until he was looking him directly in the face, unwilling to let him drop.

  “This was my vision… MINE!” Teddy’s arm began to shake as the load on it increased.

  He twisted again and Farringdon let out a low moan as more blood poured from his mouth.

  “You know what?” Teddy said, enjoying the rush as the man’s life spilled down his arms. “I’m glad you knew… I wanted you to know… hell, I wanted everybody to know!”

  Farringdon’s eyes began to roll back in their sockets and the lids started to flicker.

  “All of the times I fucked her right under your nose,” he laughed, “The way she squealed. The way I wiped myself on your fucking bed sheet when I was done. And you… you pathetic turd… you let it happen! What sort of man does that make you?”

  A thick trail of darker blood fell from Farringdon’s bottom lip, taking with it the last remaining colour from his face as his life literally drained away.

  “Nobody is going to care who you were or where you’ve gone. They are my people now. Everything you own… mine. And you know what else? I’m going to ensure that charlatan bitch pays for her betrayal for the rest of her miserable life.”

  Farringdon struggled against his failing consciousness, looking up with the last of his strength.

  Teddy looked deep into his eyes and smiled. “Now, do us all a favour and die, you fucking nonce.”

  Teddy let go of the greasy hair and Farringdon’s body fell like a stone. Behind him, Ondine screamed as she noticed the knife in Teddy’s hand, but he ignored her. Something caught the corner of his eye and he turned quickly, the weapon raised, his cuff soaked in blood. He didn’t care who it was. This pumped on adrenaline, he felt immortal, untouchable, and ready to attack again.

  Cole ducked into the box, a rifle slung over his shoulder and another in his hands. Behind him, two of the masked guards followed, both of them armed.

  Teddy took a deep breath and lowered the knife, relieved. He watched Cole glance down at the body and then at the bloody blade in his hand, quickly putting the scene together. When his eye met Teddy’s own, Cole nodded his allegiance. Teddy nodded back.

  “Right then,” he said, confidently, as he reached out to take the rifle from Cole’s offering hands. “You lot took your bloody time. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

  “What about them?” Cole asked, gesturing at the six or seven remaining dignitaries in the box, many of whom were still cowering on their knees.

  Teddy turned to look.

  He pointed at Ondine who was shaking violently. “You, over here.”

  Meekly she obeyed, tottering over on wobbly legs. Tears streamed freely on her face and she looked up to Teddy subserviently, asking for a sign that things were okay. He ignored her.

  Once she was behind him, he lowered the gun and took aim at an elderly man with slicked back, white hair, wearing a Tuxedo.

  “Well folks,” he said without any hint of emotion. “Your service to the Capital is up, and it looks like we ain’t gonna be needing you anymore.”

  He smiled as he squeezed the trigger.

  The bullet thudded into the man face, snapping his head back. His body fell to the floor, a bloody, gaping hole under one of his eyes. Behind where he had been kneeling, a red spider web of cracked plastic dripped with hot blood.

  Without any need for a specific order, Cole lowered his weapon and opened fire, felling the man next to him and then his wife in a single strafe of the gun.

  A few bullets later and none of the Capital’s dignitaries remained.

  Teddy felt the excitement of what had just happened churning his stomach like an infestation of gut worms. Everybody was dead; there was now nothing left in his way.

  Already the noise inside the arena had dropped as the rioting moved farther out into the Capital. Nobody tried to accost them as the four large men and one woman, armed to the teeth, moved away from the raised platform towards the stairs of Teddy’s office.

  A few minutes later and Teddy, Ondine, and Cole were safely locked inside with the two remaining masked guards posted below to keep any final miscreants away.

  Teddy fell into his chair and reached for the bottle of Scotch in his bottom drawer. He took the bottle by the neck and placed it at his lips, closing his eyes and gulping wantonly. It immediately had the desired effect, flooding his body with warmth. The sharp fumes tickled his nose and he breathed them, savouring the woozy feeling. A few moments later he breathed out slowly, rolled his neck, and opened his eyes.

  Ondine, who was still crying, was in the chair opposite his desk, shaking and staring at the floor. Her usually perfect and glossy hair was matted with blood and hung down in front, covering most of her face. More of the gore had splattered her arms and legs, which were bare to the shoulders and knees in the tight fitting, black dress. At first glance, it looked as if she had contracted some horrible, contagious disease.

  Cole remained standing by the door, the rifle still held in both hands. Teddy offered up the bottle in his direction but the big man shook his head.

  “Go to the gate,” he said after a pause. “Tell them that we are on lockdown. Nobody is to enter or leave the city. Gather up whoever is left. Ar
m them with whatever we have. From this moment on, I want it clear that anybody who raises so much as a two-fingered salute in the direction of one of our own will be subject to public execution. This ends now.”

  Cole answered with a nod.

  “Tell them that the Capital is no longer under the tyrannical rule of their rich masters. Tell them that, if they conform, that they are to be liberated. Tell them that Teddy Braydon has liberated them.”

  Cole reached for the door handle.

  “Oh and Cole, whoever brings me Tanner or the girl, will never have to work again. I’m talking about a seat at the table right fucking next to me. You make sure every single person out there knows that. Somebody out there knows where he is.”

  The noise from outside momentarily intensified as Cole opened the door and then disappeared again as he banged it closed behind him.

  Teddy stood. Every muscle in his body cried out in lethargy. He walked over with heavy steps and pulled the bolt across, locking the room off from the outside world. The cold laminate of the door soothed his hot and itchy brow as he closed his eyes and leaned against it. After a few deep breaths he stood up straight again. When he turned back, Ondine was facing him, her makeup heavily smudged around her wide and frightened eyes.

  “Now then,” Teddy said with a snarl. “What am I going to do with you…”

  30

  The idea to use the sewers had been hers. The infested, stinking sewers offered them a clear passage all the way to the fence. Once there, they could perhaps remain hidden long enough to formulate a plan.

  The stairs leading up to the top of the bus were slippery, coated in the filth from a thousand badly-carried rubbish bags. Tanner, who had agreed to hold the rifle in order to enable Juliana the freedom to move, grunted with each step, straining under the weight of a semi-unconscious Doyle, who was hung between them like a dead body.

  Behind them, the Capital squirmed in the grip of a lockdown.

  The warning had sounded over the public announcement system a few hours earlier. Its message had been clear; either obey us or die, horribly. The tactic worked; since then, much of the noise from the riot had died down, leaving only punctuated pockets of light and violence. Many of those rioting had clearly just been drunk and angry at a ruined evening and lost ticket money, slinking off quietly to their shelters to sleep it off. And by the sounds of it, any that didn’t had been hunted down and silenced by the Capital guard who had swept through the place like an aggressive cancer, killing without mercy. Anybody else was simply staying off the streets to avoid becoming caught up in the trouble.