“Sofia,” Spook yelled, but shut up quickly as the cold end of a rifle was stabbed into her kidneys.
All she could do was watch as a burly male guard grabbed up Sofia’s limp body and flung her over his shoulder. The fact he made a joke of smacking her ass as he walked her over to the ladder sent waves of impotent rage shooting up Spook’s spine. The effect was emboldening, but just like always, her pathetic, useless timidity took over and left her with no clue what to do with that feeling. The frustration and anger only grew inside of her as Sofia was placed inside the top head and the door tied shut with a length of thick rope.
The guard slid down the ladder and eyeballed her. “You’re next,” he told her, with a glint in his eye. “You want to do hard way or easy way?”
She shuffled quickly over to the bottom of the ladder as he positioned it alongside the lower door. She hated herself for being so subservient, but she hated the idea of being smashed in the head with a blunt instrument more.
The guard laughed at her as she climbed up the rickety ladder. Difficult when your entire body was shaking with an uneasy mix of adrenaline and trepidation. After pausing on a middle rung to compose herself, she managed to climb the remaining three feet and haul herself inside the hollow head. Through the eye holes she could see out across the arena basin. Back at the holding cell, the older and more sour-faced member of Engel’s wardrobe department had wanted to remove Spook’s glasses. They detracted from the overall look, she’d said. But luckily (or unluckily, depending on your point of view) she’d been talked around by her colleague, who’d argued the guests would want to see Spook as they remembered her, and to enjoy her terror when she saw with sharp clarity the horror that awaited her.
“Spook, you down there?” It was Sofia. Her voice sounded shaky, but she was awake. She was alive.
“Yeah, I’m here,” Spook called back. “You okay?”
“Am I okay? You serious?”
“All right, you’re not okay. You know what I mean. Your head.”
Sofia grunted. “It hurts like hell and I’ve got a lump forming. But hey, look on the bright side, won’t last for long.”
Spook didn’t know what to say, so she said nothing. Instead, she moved closer to the window and peered out as more guests arrived.
“Look at them all. Fat pigs,” Sofia whispered. “See the Clarksons, sat over on the left?”
“I see them.”
“I recognise a few of those old guys from somewhere, too. Congress, maybe. Wouldn’t be surprised.”
Spook leaned her forehead against the carved wood. “Why are they doing this? All that money and they still want to inflict pain on people.”
“You don’t get to be a billionaire without hurting people,” Sofia replied. “This hunt, it’s just an extension of what those pricks do every day. Screwing over the little guy, removing anyone who gets in their way, by any means necessary. It’s boardroom aggression taken to the nth degree. The urban jungle transformed into a real one.” She huffed loudly. “What a story. I could have really hit the big time—”
“You might still,” Spook butted in. “There’s a chance.”
“Come off it,” Sofia said, her voice cracking with emotion. “We’re done for. No one’s coming, Spook. The bad guys win. When there’s money behind them they always do.”
Spook frowned, searching her bewildered mind for a response. She wanted to tell Sofia she was wrong, but her heart wasn’t in it. The minutes ticked away. Hot, sticky sweat poured down her face. There was no air inside the carved wooden heads. Like being in a sauna. Or an oven.
Or a bonfire.
Startled by the hyper-real ominousness of her plight, Spook scanned the crowds once more, hoping, preying, she might catch a glimpse of her. Acid, coming to the rescue. But what she saw instead sent her spiralling even further.
“Caesar.”
“What’s that?” Sofia asked.
“See that bald guy wearing the lime-green safari suit? That’s Beowulf Caesar. Acid’s old boss. The head of Annihilation Pest Control.”
“The big guy? I see him. Who’s the broad next to him, with a face like a slapped ass?”
Spook swallowed back a mouthful of bile. “She calls herself Raaz Terabyte. She handles all the comms and tech for the organisation. And she’s a fucking bitch.”
“I see. You not a fan of this Raaz chick?”
“This is all her fault,” she replied.
“How do you mean?”
“She’s a techie. Like me. And yes, I’m aware she works for an assassin network, but she’s never killed anyone. I didn’t think it was cool she should have to die like the rest of them. I mentioned this to Acid, but she’s got tunnel vision as far as her old organisation is concerned. All as bad as each other. All have to die.”
“I can see her point.”
“Yeah, well, I went looking for Raaz. It sounds dumb, but I figured if I could talk to her, I could convince her to leave Annihilation. To disappear. Save herself.”
She paused. She could sense Sofia shaking her head in disbelief.
“And that didn’t go to plan?”
“She knew I was coming. She used me as bait to get Acid there too.”
“I take it that’s why Ms Smiley-Personality wasn’t too happy with you?”
“Yep.” Spook leaned against the side of the wooden cell and slid to the floor.
“Sorry. I don’t mean to be a bitch,” Sofia told her. “Or use past tense. Because who knows, right, maybe she survived that fall. Maybe she’s going to come storming through the trees and save us.”
“You think?” Spook asked, unable to draw the strength to even sound optimistic.
“Weirder things have happened. We’re not dead yet.”
She was trying her best, Spook knew. Her words a vain attempt to keep both their spirits up. As this was usually the role Spook assigned herself, she appreciated the gesture. But then Sofia let out a desperate sigh from deep inside of her that negated all sense of hope, false or otherwise.
“What is it?”
Spook got to her feet as excited mutterings ran through the crowd. She peered through the window in time to see a lone figure striding over to the centre of the stage. Thomas Engel. The host of the hunt. The owner of Pain Island. Like many of his subordinates he was wearing a long flowing robe in white silk, but with the addition of gold ceremonial garland, resplendent with dark rubies and bright turquoise embedded in the metal.
“Look at him up there. Horrible fucker,” Sofia rasped, as if reading Spook’s thoughts. “Thinks he’s a damn god or something.”
Spook couldn’t take her eyes off Engel, parading around the stage with his arms outstretched, smiling at the spectators as they settled down to watch. Young fresh-faced women sashayed between the seats, delivering drinks and small silver bowls containing unidentified snacks.
Engel let his hands drop and a silence fell over the arena.
“My exalted guests, welcome to the final day of the hunt and what many believe to be the most gratifying part of the weekend.” His voice boomed out from unseen speakers, hidden in the trees that circled around the perimeter of the arena. “The ceremony will begin in a few minutes. But before then my girls will come around to deliver drinks and take any orders. Also, whilst you are aware that phones and any photographic equipment is banned from both my islands, some of you have had clearance for communication equipment. Please, let me reiterate the information that was on the contract you all signed. No recordings of any kind must be made of this ceremony.”
Spook scanned her eyes over the seats, taking in the faces as they drank and ate and guffawed like noxious swine. They were loving this. Excited to be part of something so exclusive. So poisonously above the law.
“I also ask that you don’t talk to anyone about your experience this weekend. Not only is it a little incriminating for all concerned, shall we say?” He paused as a murmur of laughter rippled around the crowd. “But we don’t want to ruin the surprise, do
we? So, whilst I encourage you to recommend the hunt to anyone you believe will be open to the experience, please do not breathe a word of what the weekend entails. Is that clear?”
A flurry of chattering movement drifted around those watching, a nodding of heads and utterings of agreement. Satisfied, Engel clasped his hands together and two women appeared carrying long batons of wood. They glided elegantly over to the side of the stage and faced the audience with the batons held high in the air. It was more pomp and ritual, but Spook guessed what those batons were for. The situation was getting tense.
“This don’t look good for us,” Sofia rasped. “You tried your door?”
Spook pushed at the heavy wood, already knowing the answer. “Yeah,” she said, meekly. “Won’t budge.” She moved back to the window and pushed her face through the hole as Engel moved to the front of the stage.
“Listen up my friends,” he told the crowds. “I know you’re all desperate to get going with the revelry and debauchery. But if you will indulge me for a while longer, I need to check something with my people. I’ll be back in a few minutes to say a few more words about the weekend, and to toast our fallen brothers and sisters. Then the fun really begins. We shall hand out the prizes for the weekend, reveal our top scorers, and then the moment you’ve all been waiting for.” Here he put his back to the audience and gazed up at the totem pole. “We light the ceremonial totem and rid ourselves, both metaphorically and actually, of the wretched vermin that have threatened to undermine our important work.”
As Engel’s voice fell silent, Spook heard a soft wail from above. Sofia sobbing to herself. “This is so unfair,” she whispered. “My poor Mikey. I’m so sorry, baby.”
“Sofia, stop that,” Spook snapped, finding something inside of her she didn’t even know she had. “Don’t give up. Not until you have to. I’ve been here before. There’s still time for… something to happen.”
“We’re dead,” Sofia gasped. “We are the dead. We have to accept that. We have to. They’re going to burn us. They’re actually going to burn us.”
Spook leaned against the cell wall and folded her arms. A part of her wanted to respond, to tell Sofia she was wrong, but the words weren’t coming to her and maybe there was nothing more to say. Sofia was right, they were screwed. No one was coming for them. Acid Vanilla was dead, and dying with her was any chance Spook might have walked away from this in one piece. Give it another ten minutes and she and Sofia were toast. Quite literally.
Thirty-Six
Acid slipped out the elevator before the doors slid all the way open, swiftly making her way along the steel-lined corridor that led to the main space of the complex’s lower level.
“You know where you’re going?” Welles asked, hurrying along in her wake.
Acid didn’t answer. She was heading for an open doorway, half-way along the corridor on the opposite side. Once there she waited for Welles to catch up before giving him a knowing nod and gliding silently into the room. The Taurus PT111 led the way as she moved around sticking close to the walls. Empty.
“Some sort of holding cell?” Welles mused, walking over to the bed. “Are these…?”
“Yes, the clothes they were wearing.” Acid hurried over and rifled through the dirty jeans and grass-stained shirts. She found what she was looking for and pulled it from the pile. “Thank god.”
She held the leather jacket to her, the smell of it elevating her disposition significantly. To most people it was a fetid combination of stale beer, old perfume and a lifetime of blood, sweat and tears. But for Acid, it was the smell of her past. The smell of home.
“You all right?” Welles asked through a frown.
“That I am,” Acid said, slipping her arm into the sleeve. “Your journalist friend stole it from me. It’s good to have it back.” She pulled it on and checked for damage. It was fine.
“Chicks and clothes. Can we go now?”
She ignored the comment, scanning her eyes over the room. Nothing else here. A basin of water, sponges, a few twigs and leaves. She moved back to the doorway and put her head around the side.
“All clear.”
They vacated the cell and hurried along the corridor. At the end it opened out into a large room with a high ceiling and spaces marked out on the concrete floor for thirty vehicles. On the far side, the floor ramped down to an open hatch twenty feet across, through which could be seen the exotic greenery of the island. Just two jeeps remained over on the far side of the space, and hanging on the wall on the same side was a long gun rack. It had been emptied of most of its bounty, but three assault rifles remained.
“Over here,” Acid yelled as she hurried over to the rack. “It’ll be nice to arrive prepared.”
She grabbed the nearest rifle, an M16, and held it up, testing the weight of it. It would never have been her weapon of choice. In her line of work, stealth and secrecy were more vital than heavy artillery. But what had Caesar drummed into her all those years? That a successful assassin must adapt to the situation? She pulled another rifle off the rack and flung it at Welles.
“Good spot,” he growled, pulling it out of the air. “It’s almost like they want us to spoil their fun.”
Acid threw up an eyebrow. “Makes you think, doesn’t it? Reckon it’s a trap?”
“Not much we can do about it either way.” He sniffed. “I’d say we’re pretty much committed. But, no. You ask me, they’re a bunch of arrogant bastards who don’t stress the detail. They think they’re untouchable.”
“I hope you’re right,” she replied, hurrying over to the nearest jeep and jumping in the passenger seat.
“I’m driving?” Welles asked, climbing in beside her and fingering the keys already in the ignition.
“If it’s all the same with you I want to keep my hands free,” she said, positioning her rifle over the side of the vehicle. “Keep it steady, okay?”
“I’ll try my best,” he replied, firing up the engine and shoving the stick into gear.
The hot sun hit Acid in the face as they trundled down to level ground and Welles opened up the throttle. Even with the gentle breeze coming in from the ocean, the heat was oppressive. Sweat formed on her skin as she blinked a few times, adjusting her eyes to the brightness.
They drove in silence, the jeep speeding along the dusty track that looped around the side of the island. Welles leaned into each bend, not letting up on the gas and sending huge plumes of dust and dirt flying up in their wake. Acid sucked in her cheeks, gripping the rifle tight. They followed the track curving around a large mound strewn with rocky boulders and lanky ferns that quivered and bowed as they drove past. Once at the other side, the ground levelled off considerably and the ferns gave way to a copse of tall fig trees.
From this point on, the sounds of the jungle became engulfed with human noises. Engines. Laughter. The boom of a PA system. And then, as they continued past the line of fig trees and swept around the side of the island, keeping to the outside of the track, they saw it. A huge carved totem pole, painted in striking colours and standing ten feet higher than the trees.
“Oh shit,” Welles gasped. “You see that thing?”
Acid narrowed her eyes. Of course she’d seen it. But that wasn’t all she’d seen. “Spook and Sofia,” she mouthed to herself. Then as they moved further down the track and the tree cover fell away, she saw the flaming torches, the bonfire built of straw and timber around the base of the structure. “Shit, Welles. They’re planning on setting fire to that thing. With them inside.”
Welles put his foot down, keeping them away from the crowd’s sightline by driving alongside a series of tall sand dunes close to the shore. Now Acid could hear the PA system more clearly. The voice booming out over the relative calm of the island, punctuated every now and again with an electric crackle of feedback. She couldn’t see who was talking, but her guess was Engel, speaking in a pompous droning tone, an attempt at an English accent that failed miserably. He was speaking of the hunt being in its thir
teenth year, how it was going from strength to strength. She curled her lip as she listened, staying conscious of where she placed her focus. The last thing she needed was her anger bubbling over into the red and clouding her judgement. Highly stressful situations such as this required a light touch and an ability to stay centred. Get too tight around the matter, get up in your head and you make mistakes. From now on, Acid knew, every mistake was a death knell.
As Welles slowed the jeep and circled around the back of the arena, Engel’s voice grew louder. Talking about how his island was the perfect antidote to the pressures of modern life for high-class individuals. And that by removing the troublesome blights they were doing society a favour. It was a cull, he said. Survival of the fittest. Them helping nature along.
“You hear that shit?” Welles growled as he shut the engine and rolled the jeep to a silent stop amongst a group of tall ferns that stood back from the lip of the basin. “These people, man. What’s scary is they really believe it.”
Acid swallowed. She didn’t like it any more than Welles, but if she was honest with herself, she’d said similar things in the past. Not about innocent people, of course. But you kill people for a living, you have to justify it somehow. The line she’d always gone with was, people didn’t get those kinds of prices put on their heads without being nefarious and dodgy bastards themselves. But there were always exceptions, the ones like Spook, who came and went (by Acid’s hands) over the years. The ones she didn’t like to think about.
She shook her head as a way to disperse these intrusive thoughts. Not the time.
Once the jeep came to a full rest and the engine was silent she got out. Staying low and out of sight she moved over to the edge of the arena.
“What are we dealing with here?” Welles whispered, lying down alongside her as she watched through the fronds of a large fern. “We stand any chance at all?”
Acid took a deep breath and held it in her lungs. From this position the imposing totem pole structure stood between them and the small stage where Engel was still waxing lyrical. She could see now he was dressed in something like priest attire, waving his arms around gregariously as he spoke, the long white robes flapping about him.
The Acid Vanilla Series Page 70
