And somehow, it was working.
“Goddammit,” the general muttered, upping the setting. The moment he did that, Clay felt himself drop to his knees. The world around him spun wildly. He attempted to steady himself, to pull himself upright. But the general continued to rail the device’s energy at upon him.
Then, Clay saw only darkness.
Chapter 68
Clay tossed and rolled on the ground, every inch of him in pain. A scream escaped his throat, but he could hardly hear it over the thoughts of the crazed just outside. Somehow, his scream was only adding to their chorus, their inward agony.
While he writhed, the general motioned two of his guards to take him. They did, yanking him from the floor and tossing him on a chair. Clay saw nothing but bright spots when the general shut down the device down. But before he could recover, the soldiers had shackled him to the chair, clamping his biceps and forearms. He strained, feeling his skin break. Small droplets of blood appeared.
“You bastard!” Clay gasped. “Let me go. You can’t just treat people like—”
The general snapped his fingers. “Marcia. I told you what to do, and you better goddamn do it.”
Crying openly, Marcia inserted a needle into Clay’s forearm. Clay watched, petrified, as she pressed the plunger in then pulled needle from his skin. Nearly instantly, his legs grew lax. Two soldiers pushed a large metal cage into the room. Inside, a crazed thrashed against the wire mesh, ramming its skull against the sides, its blood-soaked hair whipping around. It bared its teeth, biting its own lips and digging into the scabs. Clay stared at the strange being, trying to read the once-man’s thoughts. Trying to “feel” what was going on behind his eyes.
But the general interrupted his concentration. “Do something,” he ordered. “Like you did before. Pop his head off, anything. I want to see.”
“No,” Clay said with finality. “Absolutely not.”
“Ha.” The general leaned closer to him. “What could I do to get it going for you, Clay? What would make you obedient?” His eyes danced. “What if—hmm. What if I bring that pretty daughter of yours in here and let the monster loose? Would that help you, Clay? Would that encourage you to do what I want?”
Clay set his jaw. His eyes turned to Lane, on the far side of the room. She gave him a small nod. Her eyes seemed to say, “Just give him enough.”
But controlling this new skill wasn’t up to Clay. Not now, not yet. He squeezed his eyes almost shut, focusing intently. The crazed’s arms grew lax and fell on either side of its skeletal frame. Its face stopped contorting, and it stared directly at Clay, becoming just a vessel.
“There he is,” the general said. “Just like that.”
Clay knew he had the control to do something more with the crazed. To lift his arms and legs; to even turn his body this way and that. But instead of showing off, he caused minor movements. He tilted the crazed’s head to the left, then to the right, which seemed to impress the general only slightly.
“Dammit, Sheriff. You can do better than that. Maybe I really should bring that little girl of yours in here. I can just imagine how this monster would attack her. Wrapping his arms around her, ripping into her neck … Can’t you picture it, Clay? All her pretty bright blood spilling from her porcelain neck?” He enjoyed Clay’s anger rising. “It’ll be just like when your wife died, won’t it, Clay? Just like when Valerie lay ripped and bleeding, gnawed on by one of them. One of those monsters you keep saying are ‘still human.’ Ha. How hilarious.”
Clay felt his heart nearly burst with anger. Turning his eyes back toward the crazed, his emotions caused the monster to explode—not just its skull, but everything. Blood and gore sprayed through the gaps in the cage, splattering against the sterile linoleum floor. Bones shattered: the larger ones impaling the mesh. Marcia turned away.
The general applauded. “That’s more like it,” he said. “How beautiful. You might be the most useful of all on this base at this very moment—even more so than these pretentious scientists.” He smirked at Marcia, who was still trying not to vomit. He mocked her distress—as if the very idea of death was a joking matter.
Clay yearned to tear him apart.
“I think you’ll be happy to know that your life will continue here,” the general said. “If I find a use for something, you see, I like to keep it around. Even these monsters.”
Fuck you, Clay thought. He clenched his fists beneath the restraints. No longer the Clay who’d allowed Malcolm to live; this Clay wanted to paint the walls with the general’s brains.
A soldier’s radio squawked.
“SERGEANT. There’s something at the gate. We’re going to need you out front. Over.”
The sergeant reached for it, shrugging slightly. “We’re a bit busy at the moment. Over.”
“I don’t think you’re hearing me,” the soldier yelled. “You’re going to need to get here right away. Bring the general, if you can convince that asshole to—”
Immediately, the soldier snapped it off, turning to the general. He flushed, furious and glared at Clay, almost begging him to make a single comment. To make one single, derisive comment.
But Clay wouldn’t give it to him.
The general turned away. “I guess we better get up to see your little friend, eh, soldier?” he said, his voice gruff. “We can deal with Sheriff Clay Dobbs later.” He jerked his head toward the guards at the door. “Take him to his cell. We’ll continue with playtime later.”
They uncuffed him from the metal chair. Clay forced himself to stand. Marcia and Lane pleaded him with their eyes. Lane, especially, seemed to be willing him to save them all.
But Clay knew in his heart that the days of saving everyone were gone. He’d lost so many. And now, separated from his daughter, he felt a rage he couldn’t control. He was no longer sheriff. He wanted to tear the general’s skull from his body.
And he wanted to feed it to the crazed.
Chapter 69
As the soldiers dragged Clay back to the brig, his head rolled from side to side from the drugs Marcia had injected into him. The world around him was blurry, almost foggy. He forced himself to blink several times and tried to straighten out his legs. Trying to walk upright. But before he could find his footing, the soldiers had pushed him into his cell. His cheek bounced against the floor. The soldiers clanged the door shut behind him.
Alayna reached through the bars separating their cells and touched Clay’s shoulder. She soothed his tense muscles and spoke. “Clay? Clay, are you all right?” she asked, her voice frantic. “What the hell did they do to you, Jesus …”
Megan leaned against the bars, her arms folded across her chest. Her voice haughty, she said, “Looks like they really took a piece out of him. My oh my, I hope he recovers.”
Alayna glared up at her, mouthing something, Clay couldn’t make out what.
Lois knelt next to Alayna. “What happened up there, Clay?” she asked. “I told everyone they’d take you. They’d take you and they’d … test you. I know how the general thinks, and he thinks he can use you as some kind of—of weapon.”
Clay looked from Lois’ haggard face to Alayna’s beauty, to Megan’s disdain. He’d been their guide. He’d led them into the horrors of this prison, and he could see it in their eyes: they saw no real escape. This could very well mean their deaths.
Then it began. Gunfire. Explosions. Screams, echoing throughout the complex. Agnes shook the bars of their cells. She screamed, showing her first signs of fear.
“No! No! He’s here—” she wailed.
It was what they were all thinking. Malcolm and his caravan of thirty-odd vehicles were surely bearing down on them, their guns in every window killing everything in their path. Malcolm was surely yelling into his walkie-talkie, delivering orders that meant destruction. Clay felt his heart shrouded with darkness.
Placing his palms flat on the floor, he tried to push himself up, but he was still too weak, too tired. He glanced up at Quintin, near the
corner of the cell. The bulky man stared down at him with disdain. It very much seemed that the man was blaming him.
Clay felt his bearings coming back, little by little. His eyes turned back toward Alayna, who remained at his side. Her eyes glittered with fearful tears as she gazed up at the door of the brig as a wayward soldier stood—their guard—his rifle strapped across his chest. He looked no more confident than the rest of them.
“I’m sorry,” Clay said, speaking to all of them. He was almost surprised at how strong his voice was, given how weak his muscles remained.
“I just … I feel so helpless,” he said. “I can’t do a single thing from this cell. And I want to be out there, ripping both the general and Malcolm to shreds.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Megan scoffed. “We’re all trapped in here. And it’s not as if you could do anything if you were out there alone. You’re only one man.”
That spurred him enough to get to his feet. He shuffled forward, staring between the bars to his cell. The soldier continued to glance away and out of sight, his cheeks falling rapidly. His mouth was almost cartoonish, down-turned. Clay could almost see the devastation in his eyes.
“Hey. You,” Clay said to the guard. Care to tell us what’s going on out there?”
The guard tensed.
Clay gripped the bars of the jail cell, regaining even more strength. He peered out at the soldier, trying to read him. “I can see it written all over your face, soldier. Things aren’t all rosy out there, are they? Come on. Tell me.”
The guard glanced at Clay and then turned toward the commotion outside. He was trembling but gave them no information.
“Come on, man,” Clay said. “We’re all screwed, right? But wouldn’t it make sense to have all able hands helping to defend this place? I mean, we’ve been up against these guys before. We might be able to lend—”
The guard lifted his hand, cutting Clay off, but visibly shaking. After a long, horrible pause, he whispered. “Sure. That would be fine. But—” He gulped. “I don’t have the keys.”
“Shit,” Clay muttered.
The guard stumbled toward them, looking almost childlike. He eased along the cells, near where Quintin remained standing aloof against the cell wall, his arms crossed. The guard stared at Clay, fearful, watching him.
“You know these guys?” he asked. “You’ve dealt with them?”
Before anyone could reply, Quintin brought his hands from between the bars and grabbed the guard. He shook the boy, making him drop his weapon. The guard banged against the cell, clanking, while Quintin growled at him, “Let us the hell out of here!”
Outside, the attack continued. Gunfire peppered the door. Clay slid forward and put a hand on Quintin’s arm.
“Hey. Hey,” he said. “Stop it. He can’t let us out.”
Quintin stared up at Clay, incredulous. “You’d have me let him go?” he asked.
Clay nodded. “He doesn’t have the keys. You’ve already knocked him around enough. He can’t do anything for us.”
Quintin let go and the guard scuttled away. As he was clear of the cells, a loud explosion rocked the foundation, making their ears ring.
Chapter 70
The guard dropped to his knees and picked up his weapon. In the wake of the explosion, he scurried down the hallway, in the direction of the blast. He disappeared into the smoke and gunfire erupted. Clay was struck by the idea that Malcolm would come to them if the guard was cut down.
They listened, in agony, as the guard fought an intruder. It was clear within seconds that the guard had lost his rifle. The prisoners heard what could only be a fistfight. Clay held his breath. Megan wrapped her arms around Alayna, sliding her hands over Alayna’s belly. The tension was high—charged with the belief that they certainly wouldn’t make it out alive this time.
Silence fell. Clay listened intently trying to see down the corridor. After several moments, he heard a boot against the cement floor. Then another. The footsteps echoed against the walls. Clay’s entire group sidled up against the edge of the cell and joined hands. Waiting.
A man appeared in the smoke. Clay recognized him instantly. His heart leaped in his chest, pounding against his ribcage.
“Adam?” he gasped.
Daniels gave him a cocky smile, lifting the guard’s gun over his head.
“Didn’t think I was alive, huh?” Daniels said, his eyes gleaming. He reached the cell, taking in each and every one of them. “Didn’t think Lieutenant Adam Daniels would make it?”
Clay cackled, smacking his hands on the bars to make them shake. “Jesus Christ, I didn’t see any way you could have gotten out of that mess. Are you kidding me? This must be some kind of—”
But someone else appeared behind Daniels, in the smoke. Long muscular legs ending in combat boots. A pert figure in a dark green tank top with wide, bright blue eyes regarded him with interest. Clay’s jaw dropped. She gave him a mocking smile.
“Go on. Tell me how shocked you are,” Sam said, her smile now almost ominous. “Trust me. I couldn’t wait to see you get into some kind of horrible scrape, Clay. Look at you. Behind bars. Into more trouble, all because you couldn’t leave well enough alone.”
Clay couldn’t help the smile on his own face. He shook his head slowly, incredulous. “And look at you, there showing a heart of gold. Saving my ass, again.”
“Well she sure as hell saved mine,” Daniels said, gazing at Sam with adoration.
“Yeah, what happened? I thought, the grenade—” Clay began.
“Well, I used the grenade to destroy the ladder to the bell tower, just to keep the crazed away,” Daniels said. “I wasn’t completely ready to give up hope, you know. But I was watching, waiting for the crazed to leave me alone, and wouldn’t you know it? They didn’t.”
“Turns out they were hungry for Adam here,” Sam said, chuckling. “But I came by soon enough. I’d been following Malcolm up north and I heard some of your walkie-talkie chatter on my way up. Drove past the church and figured somebody up there needed saving.”
Behind Clay, he heard Agnes weeping tears of joy. Hank held onto her shoulders, pressing his lips against her forehead.
“She’s my savior,” Daniels said, his voice shaking. “I would have been dead if not for her.”
Clay allowed a long moment’s pause before saying, “Well, get us the hell out of here, then! And tell me, what’s going on out there? It sounds like a war zone.”
Chapter 71
Sam moved swiftly through the outer office, hunting for the keys. She kicked open the cabinet drawers, slid her fingers over the pads of paper, the knives, and other weapons. She called out to Clay as she searched.
“It’s what you thought,” she said. “Malcolm attacked the base head-on, I’m afraid. And it’s not a pretty sight. He’s got far more weapons than your arrogant general. Although it does seem that your general has something no one else possesses.”
Sam turned toward him. Her eyebrows high, she whispered, “But I suppose you’ve already seen his crazed army, haven’t you? I imagine it’s the first thing he would have showed you. The arrogant prick.”
Daniels hunted in another corner, chuckling. After tearing through another cabinet, he drew out a jangling bunch of keys. His eyes twinkled as he held them high. “Ah. Just where I thought they were,” he crowed.
Agnes clapped. The others flew to the cell doors, waiting impatiently as Daniels sauntered toward them, swinging the keys.
“Yeah, what’s that about, Clay?” Daniels asked, flipping through the keyring to find the best fit. “This army of the dead—”
“He’s got that device, remember?” Clay said. “It can control them. He wants to monopolize the crazed, and even sell the device to world leaders and make a profit. It’s—it’s deplorable. He doesn’t understand that those crazed out there, well. They’re still human.”
Sam exchanged a look with Daniels. It seemed they had a language of their own, one created on their way to rescue everyone
. Clay could sense their disbelief.
“Anyway, it doesn’t matter what I know about these people, or what I don’t,” he said. “It just matters that we get out of here.” Daniels slipped a key into the lock. “How did you get in here, anyway?”
Daniels shrugged and yanked the door. Quick like rabbits, Agnes, Hank, Lois, Alayna, and Megan burst into the hallway outside. Sherman, Rex, and Quintin marched behind them, in no apparent hurry, eyeing Daniels and Sam. Sam’s eyebrows rose at their performance. This was their reunion, Clay knew. But they weren’t the type to show emotion. Especially not if it was real.
“Well, I was stationed here a few years ago,” Daniels said. “I infiltrated and exfiltrated this place numerous times for various—shall we say—amorous reasons.” He grinned playfully, showing deep dimples.
Megan rolled her eyes toward Alayna, who giggled good-naturedly. Outside, the battle raged on: bombs blasting, and soldiers screaming: voices echoing against the buildings. It illustrated this world so perfectly it sent shivers down Clay’s spine. They had to get moving.
“So, what’s our plan?” he demanded, searching Daniels’ face. “We’ll get out the same way you guys got in?”
Sam’s eyebrow twitched, almost in a threatening way. She leaned toward Clay, her face angry and resentful.
“That all depends,” she said. “That all depends on if we want to run. Run away. Or if we should end all of this: like we should have, long ago.”
Clay turned his attention to the rest of the crew. They stood in a staggered line against the cement wall, staring intently back at him. Their arms were crossed firmly against their chests, and their eyes were firm, filled with a single emotion: one of revenge.
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