Vega dropped a hand upon his shoulder. She was terrible at this. Yesterday she had listened to Bill’s confession, and now he was lost. Carrying the burden of everyone else’s misery wasn’t a battle she could fight, but it had been thrust upon her. She didn’t have a choice. Rook represented a chance for her to make this right, to fix one of her many fuck-ups.
“We’re going to kick a lot of zombie ass,” Vega said. “I promise.”
Rook nodded and walked away, and she assumed it was her cue to follow.
“WE NEED SOME ROCK AND ROLL IN THIS JOINT!” the voice said through the megaphone.
Rook explained that gasoline-powered generators energized the various computers and monitors that were set up everywhere. An AC/DC song blasted through the derelict train station: “Have a Drink on Me.” Vega hated classic rock. It reminded her of drunk idiots wearing baseball caps and band T-shirts stretched over beer bellies.
She was guided through gloomy corridors touched by sunlight. Men huddled in rags, reading or meditating over candlelight like members of a monkish tribe. Men slept in the dust or seemed not to be sleeping at all. They didn’t seem to be doing any drugs, but were rather lost in a hypnotic torpor. Scattered among piles of scavenged items—useless electronics, stuffed animals, pornographic magazines, empty liquor bottles, women’s clothing—men cleaned their guns like solemn hermits. They stared out of the windows at the dead outside the fence. For the most part, she wandered ghost-like through the broken hallways.
The fetid smell of death wafted into the gloomy station from outside; the men here were unwashed, their glaring eyes tainted by lunatic awareness. Where did they keep the people they were going to trade? Women and children, of course, but where?
Vega glanced into one of the corridors and glimpsed the reason why these men were ignoring her, why they left her alone with Rook and didn’t fight over her.
They had something better.
Hanging from the ceiling with a noose around their necks, dead people with clown faces painted on. Men took turns sodomizing the zombies.
In another room, several nude men stood in a circle around a pair of bodies that writhed on the floor. The men pumped their hands and grunted over the bodies.
Vega threw up in a corner. She threw up liquid. There was nothing else in her stomach.
Guns. She needed guns. These savage fuckers needed to eat a few bullets.
They had Patrick’s Desert Eagle.
It was everything she could do to ignore the other rooms, rooms filled with broken glass, dust, and grunting, sweating men.
“This is what you do in your free time?” Vega asked Rook.
“I salvage.”
“This is what you bring back?”
“We do our job. We got orders. My job is to bring you to the boss.”
“And you never question?”
“Let’s go.”
“Like that, huh? So you salvage women and children? Bring them here?”
“I follow orders. Aren’t you a soldier? The boss said you were. You know what it’s like. You do a job. Champions do their jobs. That’s how I was raised.”
“Fuck how you were raised. You’re about to win the Super Vega Foot Up the Ass Bowl.”
Emotion is a funny thing. Vega never had complete control over herself, but now when she turned to Rook and grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, she realized he was right about one thing: she was a soldier. She understood war and combat. Compromise was for assholes.
“Where’s Sutter?”
“Get your hands off me.”
“I won’t ask again. You think this is funny? You said the Lions never had cheerleaders? It’s because they were afraid of bitches like me.”
“Like you.”
“Like me.”
“The boss.”
“Talk.”
“I follow orders. Let me take you.”
“For what? You ever think Sutter has his own agenda? I’m a merc, buddy. You know what that means? I choose who to kill for. It’s not always about the money. You think real champions do immoral things? Shitty things? Like hurt women and children?”
“Let go of me. Get your hands off me.”
“I heard you talk about Bill Bailey. You know anything about him?”
“First round pick. Fourth overall. Played for Texas A & M. Absolute stud. At the combine he posted a—”
“You think he would be proud of what you’re doing? What these people are doing?”
“What’re you talking about? You don’t even know football. Bailey would have listened to the coaches.”
“Oh yeah? I know him. He was here, in Detroit. And because you and your asshole friends decided to let Huey die for me, Bill died, too!”
Melodramatically, she allowed him to drop from her hands. She knew he wouldn’t move. She knew he would lay there, look up at her, question everything.
“Liar,” he said.
She knew Bill’s darkest secret, but that was it. The only thing she knew. There wasn’t anything she could say that would convince Rook that she actually knew Bill Bailey. There were stories she could share; maybe she could mention that Bill was a man of faith. But that was it. She didn’t know anything about Bill’s family. She didn’t know anything about him other than the goodness and courage he displayed, and that wouldn’t be enough.
And she didn’t need to convince Rook of anything.
“Bailey was a man of God,” Vega said. “You think he would work for Sutter? You think he would approve?”
Rook swallowed and tried to find the right words.
What was Rook supposed to do? Apologize on behalf of Sutter? Rook was just trying to make his way through the world, do his best to survive.
No reason to feel sympathy for this guy. He brought women and children here, sold them to the highest bidders.
But the soldiers around them weren’t violating the living. Their sexual depravity revolved around the undead.
Vega extended her hand and helped Rook to his feet. Without a further word, he led her toward the freight elevator, his brain shell-shocked by the possibility that Bill Bailey was dead, and that Vega had known him.
Classic rock blared through the decrepit fortress.
They took the elevator up, and when the doors opened it was Vega’s turn to be shell-shocked.
Four men sat around a barrel filled with burning coal; hot dogs were being turned over a grill by one of the men, a big guy in a bright white suit and a long, tangled beard laying upon his chest. The smell made Vega’s mouth water.
The food was a distraction. Sitting around the grill was Doctor Desjardins, a mountainous black man with tribal tattoos on his face, and Vincent.
Of all people, Vincent. And he didn’t even look up at her. His eyes were focused on the fire.
The bearded man looked at her. “Honey, can’t you see we’re busy? We’d all love a chance to violate you, but not until our friend pays us a visit. We’re expecting company. Hey, Boney, turn down the music, will ya?”
The man with the tribal tattoos stood and moved to a stereo that was positioned in front of a megaphone. He turned down the music, and the bearded man in the white suit glanced back up at Vega and Rook.
“I heard about Huey,” the bearded man said. “It’s too bad. He was a damn good chef. Made a good tuna casserole.”
“Boss,” Rook said, “this is the woman.”
“I can see that,” the bearded man said.
This was Sutter.
“So what is all this?” Vega asked. “You wanted me brought here, and I’m assuming you’ve got plenty of answers for me.”
“Answers?” Sutter’s eyebrows shot up. “I figured everything was self-explanatory. Do I owe you answers?”
Vincent still didn’t look up at her.
“She knows enough,” Desjardins said. “We only lost Huey because she decided it was more important for her to be tough. She wanted to show off.”
“Show off?” Sutter asked. “We’re going to have
all the zombie-killing anyone could ever ask for right here. And we’ve got all your favorite people here. You’ll have to excuse Mr. Hamilton if he seems a bit comatose. He just recently learned that drugs are bad for you.”
Vincent looked at her, and their eyes locked. She wanted to look away. She was ashamed and didn’t know why.
“I keep hearing a megaphone,” Vega said, her eyes flickering from Vincent to Sutter. “Thinking I want to rip his throat out. Seen him around here?”
Sutter shook his head and clicked his tongue. He flipped the hotdogs. “Let me put it to you like this: I like you. I’ve always had a high opinion of you. Your career speaks for itself. But this isn’t the time for the righteous. This is the time for blood.”
“You don’t know me. You run your mouth like you do, but you don’t. An entire city’s worth of those things are outside, and from what Desjardins has told me, something has forced them here, pushed them in this direction. And you wanted this to happen?”
Sutter sighed. “So if I understand you correctly, you think Rook should go out there, hunt down the zombies one at a time? I’ve got a better idea: we bottle them up, and blow them up.”
“Mr. War Hero. You’re selling people, and everyone who works for you is going to die because you say it’s a good idea. Impressive.”
“Oh, I see what this is about. Doc, do me a favor and inform the young lady a bit more. Let’s be sure to underscore how much we value her talents. I need to get these wieners just right.”
“Don’t bother,” Vega said. She approached the barbecue party and stood among the men. Vincent stared at her, and the big man who Sutter had called Boney stood off to the side near the stereo.
“I’m going to make this simple for everyone present,” she began. “I don’t give a fuck about the why, the how, or the who. I came to Detroit for one reason, and it’s the only reason why I’m still in this shithole. No philosophical garbage or scientific mumbo-jumbo is going to change what I want to do.”
Sutter laughed. “Now that is some of the craziest stuff I’ve ever heard. Real rock and roll. Yeah! Kill stuff. Whoooo! I think that’s real cool, but we’ve got to come to an understanding. The most important thing is that you don’t get to kill Jimmy.”
“What?”
“You hungry?”
“Repeat that part about Jimmy.”
“This is several years in the making. Jimmy was nice enough to spread the love with his own version of the video, but this thing has been contained for the most part. The world is watching us right now. All eyes are on Detroit. And we have to deliver the goods. The greatest secrets in the universe have been locked, and Jimmy has found a way to manipulate Hell itself. Isn’t that amazing? He really is something special.”
“You’re a lunatic.”
“It’s a growing club, for sure. We’ve been rescuing people, pulling them out of the streets, and trading them for the supplies we need. You’ve taken a tour of the castle? Nobody here is being raped or abused. Everyone who stays does so of their own free will. Isn’t that right, Rook?”
“Yes, sir.”
“There’s a lot you don’t know, Vega. Zombie hunting is a big business right now. People from all over the world are begging to come out here to Detroit, but this is my turf. Nobody comes out here without my permission. We’re hunter-gatherers. We collect valuable data. We rescue. We salvage. We experiment. We design. This is the future of war. Learning how to survive death.”
His words were beginning to sink in. Sutter pulled the hotdogs off the grill with his tongs and placed them on a plate. She felt awkward and useless standing there, an uninvited guest who crashed a party and didn’t understand the local politics. An outsider. She had come all this way to become an outsider, at the twilight of her quest.
Insignificant. Vega was insignificant.
Vincent was just as she had left him, dead to the world. Desjadins was wringing his hands together and looking at her with a challenge in his eyes. Now she was just supposed to apologize to this guy?
“Have a seat.” Sutter pointed to an overturned egg crate. “I was expecting you guys. Sorry if I came across as a dick. I’m really an okay guy. At least, two of my wives said that about me when we signed divorce papers.”
“You’re a dick?”
Sutter shook his head with a smile. Here was a man who exuded friendliness, like a beloved uncle who was known for having fun but had his nuggets of wisdom that he never wasted, and thus his words were always important when he shared. His eyes shifted between shades of russet in the dim glow of the barbecue pit.
This is what it came down to. Detroit was an experiment, a battlefield exercise. How long before the reality television crews rolled through, filming undead cannibalism for all the world to enjoy from the comfort of their homes?
Apocalyptic fantasies had been in popular media for a long time. Vega knew there were video games, television shows—all kinds of crap. She had seen all kinds of shows while sitting in hotel rooms, and here she was, an actor in a comedy.
“She’s more complicated than she pretends to be,” Vincent said, his glassy eyes slowly wandering to Sutter.
“I believe it,” Sutter said, and dropped hotdogs into buns. He served them up on paper plates, passing one to Vega. She stared at it for a moment, imagining how it would taste.
“Of course, I drugged it,” Sutter said. “What kind of Neanderthal do you take me for? We’re civilized here, Amparo. Civilized people like a taste of LSD in their meat.”
“Shove it up your ass.”
Sutter’s voice rose, rising to the ceiling of the ruined room. “Get it through your fucking head, lady! I’m the king of the dead! Me. Me me me me me. All me. You should appreciate that I’m even talking to you.”
He picked up the megaphone, and it screeched as he brought it to his lips.
No way was he going to use that thing again.
Vega was up and rushed him, shoving him onto his back. A fleeting thought: she still had enough strength left in her to act.
She assumed Vincent was already moving.
The bearded whack job rolled away from her and jumped to his feet. It only took her one moment to figure out that he knew what he was doing. It took her two moments, or maybe just seconds, to figure out that she was weak, and her body didn’t react as quickly as she wanted it to. It took her three moments to be kicked in the sternum, and not even half a heartbeat-later, kneed in the stomach, and dropped to her hands and knees.
“Don’t you know who I am?” the man asked, his voice cracking from emotional strain. “Can’t you figure this out yet? I’m Sutter! I sent you here! I was the one who paid Bob Fields. I knew his team. You think Jim did all this? You think sloppy ol’ Jimmy T. was smart enough to kill the world! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA. Dumb. Dumb bitch. So dumb.”
There wasn’t enough breath in her lungs now to take another shot at him. Where was Vincent?
“And now he’s here,” Sutter said, his voice seeming to hiss. “He’s all around us, waiting for his chance. Richards was in the middle. Richards was in the way. And I’m not even talking to you, pretty one, but to Jim. CAN YOU HEAR ME, JIMMY?”
Vincent was still sitting around the fire with Doctor Desjardins. Rook was there, too, watching.
What the hell?
Get up, Vincent.
He was barely blinking.
“This is my mission,” Sutter said, one foot planted on the edge of a crate. His white suit was immaculate, stainless. “I promised Bob a chance to kill Traverse once and for all. Don’t you know that he sweated at night? He saw Jimmy’s beautiful art, and it bothered him. Kept him from wanting to live. Jimmy had killed him a long time ago, Amparo. You should be thanking me. You should be tying my shoelaces. I gave you purpose. I gave you a reason to live.”
Bob. It was always a suicide mission for him. Why did he drag Vega into it? Why did Miles have to die?
There was no reason to believe this raving madman, but there was no reason for him to invent the f
iction.
When Sutter reached down and jerked her up by the threads of her shirt, she saw the red circumference of his eyes and smelled blood on his breath. He spat while he talked, his powerful fists shaking her; she was nothing more than a frail puppet in his hands.
“I can’t kill Jim. I can’t kill him. I will look into the face of corruption and die laughing, because it is all we can do. I need you, Amparo. You must kill him. You must.”
He dropped her and looked around as if addressing a large audience. He placed the megaphone to his lips.
“This is MY VISION!” Sutter said, and then bent over to retrieve the megaphone. “I MADE THIS! ME ME ME!”
Lying on her back now, waiting for her muscles to uncramp, waiting for the world to stop spinning. Sutter knew what he was doing, all right.
When Rook began shoving a hotdog into her mouth, Desjardins had pinned her down.
***
“THEY CALL HIM THE BONE MAN!”
There was Vincent against a wall, half-asleep, surrounded by a rib cage. No. A cage made of bone, with a spinning bone mobile hanging above him from the ceiling. Vincent wasn’t awake. She wanted to tell him to wake up, but her mouth felt like it was filled with cotton. It wasn’t.
“THE BONE MAN IS AWESOME! THE BONE MAN IS YOUR FRIEND! HE WILL SAVE YOUR SOULS!”
And now, drugs.
ROSE
Hands stretched through the wet strands of her hair. Rose could feel the hands in her hair, and she could hear a million voices in her head.
She opened her eyes and looked at the sky. Cradled like a baby in a baptismal font. Rose felt the hands holding her. Above her the orange sky was being dragged down by the sun.
Her head was propped up, and she looked into Jim’s stoic face. This must be the Detroit River. He had likely bathed her in the ice-cold water. At the very least, Jim was vain, and aesthetics pleased him. He would want her to be clean.
Everything according to his vision, according to his will.
Saint Pain (Zombie Ascension Book 3) Page 29
