The Forsaken - The Apocalypse Trilogy: Book Two

by G. Wells Taylor

  But Felon was already moving. He slipped out the pocket door behind him and stepped into the hall that ran parallel to the dining room. There were two men with guns approaching. That wasn’t part of the plan.

  The black man on the left was tall. He reached for an Uzi on a sling under his arm. That was his mistake. Felon’s suspicions immediately crystallized.

  The heavyset man on the right was average height and build. He had an automatic with extended clip in his hand.

  They weren’t supposed to be here. The assassin knew that. And they knew that. They were behind schedule. If the black man hadn’t touched his Uzi they would have had him.

  With one hand on the doorknob, Felon flicked his right into his coat, came up with the .9 mm. The silencer was on, so the kills would be quiet. He took his time as the two gunmen lifted their weapons. The tall black man took a bullet to the face. The other man took three to the heart. They dropped.

  Something caught the corner of Felon’s vision—movement to the left. He spun and fired a couple more bullets. These caught a dwarf in ridiculous Victorian livery. The top of his head blew out from under the powdered wig.

  Felon replaced the clip and hurried over to the dwarf. There was something wrong about him. It resembled the Marquis’ servant but the legs were too thick and the arms long. The assassin flipped the body over and recognized the distended and twisted features of an Eyesore. A stench of vomit and urine rose from the body. Wurn had smelled like that.

  Felon turned and ran toward the dining room.

  Gunfire suddenly erupted in the hall ahead. The assassin threw himself against the wall. He listened, counted weapons. Driver’s automatics were clattering. Tiny’s .357 boomed, so did Bloody’s .45.

  He also recognized .38 caliber gunfire, rapid maybe automatic, followed by the unmistakable monster howl of autoshotguns. Authority?

  It was a trap! The Marquis was in on it. But why attack them openly? He quickly saw the plan: gun Felon down in the observation booth and murder the others while they were distracted at the table—it was stupid, amateur—and it almost worked. Its sheer simplicity might have been the key. Felon was expecting something malignant and premeditated. Or whoever made the decision didn’t care if it worked. Was it played out to delay or distract them? A jolt of adrenaline caught his breath.

  Footsteps, running, coming from the direction of the dining room were followed by the clatter of a machine weapons. Then a squat heavy-limbed shape lurched into view. Like a dwarf with cow’s hooves for feet, and long frog-like hands, the Eyesore moved with incredible agility. Its face expressed human surprise as Felon put a bullet in its eye. The thing dropped like a bag of gravel.

  The assassin hurried forward into a haze of gun smoke. He could see ahead that the hall turned toward the dining room. There was another Eyesore and a man crouched, taking shelter. The wall opposite the entrance was peppered with bullet holes.

  Felon shot the Eyesore twice. The plume of brains and skull bone alerted the man who heaved his autoshotgun around, but the wall behind him exploded, was ripped to pieces by the heavy caliber weapons inside. The man’s ribcage blew open and outward and he hit the carpet seconds after his guts.

  Felon moved forward just as Bloody stepped into hall. The big gunman had a couple of ragged furrows cut into his left temple by bullets. He turned his sunglasses to Felon but his expression was unreadable. He swung the .45 at him. The assassin did not hesitate. He lifted his gun, hoping it would be strong enough to drop the gunman—blind him, hoping his Kevlar vest would stop the big bullets because Bloody fired twice.

  And missed. Felon had dropped to a crouch and was ready to fire, when something heavy hit the ground behind him. He rolled across the carpet—gun still centered on Bloody’s face, and got an angle where he could see two dead Eyesores. They’d come out of one of the Marquis’ damn pocket doors. It was open behind them. Their heads were ruined messes.

  Felon looked at Bloody who watched him reload.

  “The woman!” Felon allowed some emotion into his voice. He ran toward the basement. Bloody followed reloading.

  44 – Orientation

  It was late afternoon and the other forever kids were away at lessons. Dawn wondered why they hadn’t taken her along, but there was so much to get used to—there was no point getting worked up over that too. She’d spent the time napping. The angry boy, Larry, had really given her a scare so she barely got any sleep her first night.

  She did find other kids who were nice and even apologetic for Larry. While it was good to know that she might have friends in the Orphanage, Dawn had no intention of staying. The friendly kids had asked where she came from and who Mr. Jay was, but the grownup voice in her head took charge and told her to keep quiet about all that for now. Luckily, Meg shooed the inquisitive children away; saying Dawn needed time to adjust.

  She was just wondering where Mr. Jay might be, when one of the dead childcare workers came over to her. There were lots of the workers in the Dormitory, and even though they were kind, the forever girl was unnerved to discover that they spent the whole night sitting quietly in chairs along the Dormitory walls.

  “I am Frances,” the woman said. She was tall with straight brown hair, wore a print dress and flat-soled shoes. “The Principal wants to see you in his office.”

  Dawn felt queerly out of step, looking down at her simple nightshirt and slippers. It was all any of them had to wear. She shrugged and followed the dead woman between the rows of beds, through the Dormitory doors and into the hall. The worker turned to the left and led Dawn past two junctions where halls overlapped.

  The floors were cement, and like the walls had a dirty look to them; though there were clear paths worn in the grime where the children walked. Overhead fluorescent lights flickered. Many were burned out or had gone dim. There were double doors leading off the hall left and right and on occasion, Dawn heard forever children singing or reciting stories.

  At the end of the hall, Frances paused by a door with “Principal” painted on the inset window. Dawn glanced at the dead woman, a sudden shiver of fear curled her toes and then she remembered what Mr. Jay would say: “Worry about what happens, not what might happen,”

  And with that small boost to her courage she left Frances in the hall, pushed past the door and into an open office space. There was a big desk with an older dead woman behind it. She was tapping on an ancient iron machine with paper rolling out the back. The woman looked up from her work and nodded to another door inside that was half open. Dawn made her way hesitantly across the room. She slowed long enough to peek to her right. There were only two long couches there, and a wastebasket.

  She stopped at the door and took another big breath. “Be careful,” said her inner voice. “Remember how to get out of in.”

  And she pushed the door aside.

  There was a desk on a brown carpet. There was a chair on her side of the desk. There was a book on the desk. There was a man in a chair on the far side of the desk. There was an empty bookcase behind him. There was a picture of a man on one wall. There was a large map on the other. The man at the desk looked up, pen in hand and smiled over his notes. He had glasses and a long head, jaw and nose. His hair was combed flat over his skull. He wore a neat brown suit and was long-limbed. He half-rose from his seat and nodded at the chair across from him. He smiled, sat and watched her sit. When she was settled, he looked her up and down and then he cleared his throat.

  “I am the Principal. Welcome,” the Principal said with flat even tones. “I wanted to see you, Dawn, after the other children had finished their lessons. Your lack of knowledge regarding our system here might have caused a disruption. And that wouldn’t be fair.”

  He cleared his throat and opened a file in front of him. “Dawn. You say you haven’t got a last name. And you say your pre-Change age is six.” He looked over the rim of his glasses and smirked. “You’re visiting the City of Light for the first time. Have had no formal education and you were on Zero having
wandered there from the wilderness and some town called, Severance, where you say there are other survivors.”

  Dawn nodded silently, remembering the questionnaire given to her by a dead childcare worker.

  “Now, Dawn, I think it’s important for you to know that you’ve been brought to Archangel Tower and are going to be cared for in the Prime’s Orphanage for a period of time determined by myself, and the Prime. He is interested in the welfare of all citizens of Westprime, especially those who cannot care for themselves.” He smiled. “You will have health care, and be provided the basics, as well as education. I’ll be in charge of that.” He dragged the book on the desk over and folded his hands on it.

  “After some testing you’ll be assigned to an appropriate grade where you’ll be taught the three ‘R’s’ by a handpicked staff of dead teachers in the Prime’s employ.” The Principal frowned at Dawn’s worried look. “Other lessons will be in municipal politics. There will also be a period set aside each day for social readjustment.” He smiled reassuringly. “The Change has left so many of us adrift, the Prime feels obligated to teach orphans and other foundlings the true history of Westprime and its leader.”

  “You have to let me go,” Dawn pleaded, leaning forward in her chair. Her toes barely touched the ground. “I didn’t do anything to you.”

  “But what have you done for yourself?” the Principal countered. “Wandering the lands, hiding in dangerous places, with no direction. No sense of purpose. Very little in the way of resources, like vermin living off the country’s wealth, and open to molestation from any number of criminal organizations.” He shook his head. “We had to help you.”

  “But you didn’t help!” Dawn’s hands curled into fists. “Those things, those Toffers and their dogs attacked us.”

  “Us?” the Principal sniffed as he adjusted his glasses. “Do you mean to tell me, you count yourself one of that ragtag group of delinquents?” He stood suddenly, sliding a handkerchief out of his pocket. His right hand still clutched the old book. He clamped it in his left armpit as he unfolded the cloth. The man’s head almost touched the ceiling. His jacket was dark with perspiration.

  “The air conditioning broke down,” he said self-consciously. “Always the budget cuts in education.” The Principal walked over to the framed picture of a fat man. The painted hair was brown and white and the eyes were piercing. He wore a moustache over a serious smile.

  “Anything for the Prime,” the Principal chanted quietly, and dusted the lower portion of the picture frame with his handkerchief. “He protects us.”

  “I have someone to protect me,” Dawn blurted out and then regretted it when a gleam appeared in the Principal’s eye.

  “Someone?” he breathed the word, nodding. “And who is this someone?”

  “I mean, nobody,” Dawn struggled to recover. “I mean the kids.”

  “That!” the Principal shouted, pointing a sharp finger at her, “is exactly why a child must have education.” He lashed the air with the finger and then paced toward his desk, eyes burning at the forever girl.

  “Truth! Facts! Justice! The Prime!” He leaned forward. The veins stood out on his hands. “You enter his house. You accept the Prime’s generosity! And you lie?” He shook his head and stormed around the desk, leaning in sharply. Dawn could see the muscles bunching at his jaws, saw the heavy enamel of his teeth, and noticed a stench of coal and smoke on his breath.

  “I won’t have it. This school won’t have it! The Prime won’t have it!” He slapped his thighs and leaned in deeper. “You tell the truth here!”

  Dawn was crowded back in her chair. Her inner voice was a constant cry of: Run! Run! Run! But the Principal’s anger was hypnotic. His eyes were gold where everyone else’s was white. And the pupils were stiff black lines.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, looking away into her lap. “I’m scared.”

  And the Principal’s attitude shifted and drooped, forced him down on a knee in front of her. “Well, that’s the truth, isn’t it, my dear?” He stroked her chin with a long-fingered hand. It was hot. “So much is different.”

  “Yes sir,” she mumbled, kneading her fingers. “I only got scared.”

  “Understandable,” he chuckled and stroked her knees. “So much has changed since you started traveling with your friend… Uh, what was his name again, dear?”

  “Gregory,” Dawn said, eyes down in her lap. “Gregory. A hunter.”

  The Principal’s breath blew out in a steady quiet stream before he stood up. Then he watched Dawn for a few seconds before turning on a heel and walking back to his desk. There was a small box on it. He flicked a switch and said to Dawn: “What was the name of the worker who brought you here?” The Principal saw her confused look. “From the Dormitory.”

  Dawn was frightened by his expression, but she couldn’t decide what was best to do—no time to think. “Um,” she breathed, “Frances?”

  The Principal smiled: “Not Gregory?” And then grinning, he spoke into the box. “Mrs. Camp, could you please send Frances in?”

  He stood up and leaned against the desk, his long legs out in front of him. He watched the door. Moments later the knob rattled and it swung open. Frances entered. Her dead features were composed.

  “Ah, Frances,” the Principal clapped his hands. “Please come here.”

  The dead woman walked over to him, her shoulders rounded and head hanging as Dawn had seen the other dead workers move.

  “How’ve things been going, Frances?” he asked, reaching out a large hand and patting her shoulder.

  “Very well…” Frances started but her voice was stopped when the Principal’s throttling hand closed on her throat. She made a garbled noise and clasped the man’s wrists.

  He smiled, stood straight and held his arms out. His eyes never left Dawn. Frances continued to struggle weakly, but didn’t have the strength to break free. The Principal drew in a big breath and set a big foot across the toes of the dead woman’s shoes. With a wrench and a twist and a crunching noise, he pulled Frances’ head off.

  The dead woman’s body continued to slap at his wrists, but he easily nudged it away with an elbow. The Principal hunched forward, his large nose and face pointed upward. The bones of his skull jutted out against the gray skin. His dark eyes suddenly all pupils, looked away with occasional reptilian glimpses at Dawn and Frances’ flailing body.

  Dawn’s mind was blank with terror as the Principal carried Frances’ head over and dropped it in her lap. She reacted reflexively when the dead woman’s eyes blinked at her. Dawn wriggled away from it. The head rolled onto the floor and under her chair.

  The Principal hissed. “You get out of my office and think about what you’ve done. I’ll ask you next time who you traveled with, and if you lie, it will be one of your friends in the Dormitory who suffers Frances’ fate.”

  Dawn clapped her hands over her eyes. There was a noisy breaking sound as Frances’ body stumbled into a cabinet and knocked over a pitcher of water. The Principal sighed and walked back to his desk.

  “I will need someone from maintenance for clean up,” he said into the box. “And, Mrs. Camp, please summon a worker from Dormitory Five to escort Dawn back to her quarters.” While he spoke he produced a notepad and wrote something on it.

  Frances’ body staggered close to him, and he politely pushed past it, like she was just a strange woman in a crowded room.

  “Think about what you’ve done.” He pulled Dawn off her chair. Her little slippers slid over Frances’ forehead. Her stomach turned.

  “You have an appointment with the Doctor tomorrow,” he said folding the note and handing it to her. “Give him this.” He nodded his chin at the door. “Wait outside for your escort.”

  Dawn’s ears were roaring as she hurried from the room. She passed the outer office and Mrs. Camp who was working there. She sat in a chair by the door. The forever girl opened the fold of paper with shaking hands and read a single letter, the number “1.”

&n
bsp; 45 – Double Cross

  Felon raced away from Bloody, pistol in one hand full clip in the other. He still didn’t know how important the nun was. She might be the best clue to identifying who betrayed him. He needed the leverage.

  He dropped on his face when he caught a movement at the top of the stair. An Eyesore with a single eye and a beak like an owl glanced out, with an AK-47 in hand. The gun burped into life, tearing at the space Felon had occupied a second before. The assassin fired five bullets into the thing’s face before he hit the carpet. Its head exploded in a cloud of gore.

  One bullet left in the chamber. Felon ejected the clip, slipped it into his pocket—pushed another home. The Eyesore’s body wedged the oak-paneled door open. Beyond, there was a set of fourteen steps circling clockwise to the basement. A door to the driveway opened off of them. There was a large wine cellar at the bottom. He had locked the woman in a room up against the stone foundation about forty feet past tall wine racks and piled kegs. The cellar ran away from the stair the entire length of the basement. A hard sprint with a wary eye should take him through.

  Gun in hand; Felon crept to the top of the stairs, crawled over the Eyesore’s body. The stench was incredible and made it impossible to detect any of the creatures waiting below. The floor squeaked behind him. His peripheral vision had shown him Bloody advancing, making a big target of his upright body.

  He looked up at the dead man and put a finger over his lips.

  The stairs were dark. The wooden steps had creaked when he used them before so he slid his shoes along the trim that edged them and started down silently. Distantly, he heard the sound of muffled voices. He hoped the sporadic gunfire behind him would cover any sounds he might make.

  When he reached the fourth step he heard a metallic click. He’d forgotten a beam crossed over the stairs, bracing the floors above. It created a little alcove that held cleaning fluids and tools. Now it held a small Eyesore, maybe two feet tall. It held a sawed off shotgun in its oversized hands. Its misshapen face showed brown teeth.