The door opens.
Blinding light. Pain, he looks away. Pushed again, he is outside, fresh air, cool almost cold and it hits his lungs like a punch.
Five dark silhouettes are standing forty maybe fifty feet away to his right, to his left, a brick wall. He's moved toward it. Seemed far at first, but suddenly he was there, standing in front of it. Someone, a blur, placed their hands on his shoulders and spun him around.
He faces the firing squad.
An officer in uniform raises his hands toward the General’s face. He's standing about two feet away. In his fingers; a blindfold and a white vest with a red circle, a target to help the shooters. They won't focus on his face, won't think about killing a human, just target practice.
Over the commanding officer's shoulder the General sees five men. All in uniform, healthy young men, military men and they have rifles.
The officer's hands are close to General Yeung's face.
Panic takes over. The General knows this is the last moments of his life. He wasn't about to let the executioners get away without looking at his eyes, his soul, as they killed him. He shuns the blindfold. His wife and two sons would hear of his death the next day. Customary in a military execution, and he wanted them to know he fought back.
Two hands holding the blindfold are inches from his head.
The General reacts. He snaps, something primordial took over. He looks at the hand to the left of his face. It is inches away, moving toward his eyes. There's strength in hatred. He opens his mouth; looks like he is going to say something.
The commanding officer shakes his head. Here we go, the crying will start. Why do they always have to cry? It's too late.
The biting strength of a man's jaw is strong. But the strength of a man about to die is like a pit bull. The General bit hard like a dog gnawing on a bone. His teeth sawed through skin. Crushed vessels. Chiseled into bone
The officer screams.
The General's jaw clamped shut, he squeezed, bit harder. It was all about inflicting pain. He twisted his neck and shook his head. Veins in his face popped. A trickle of blood runs from his lips.
The officer reacted, pried his hand away. It was the only thing to do. Blood squirted.
The General's lips were red.
Blood dripped on the ground. The officer cried out and shoved his hand between his legs, natural instinct to control blood flow. He fell to his knees, natural instinct to get away from the pain.
Staring up at the General, he couldn't believe what happened.
The General had gone too far but it didn't matter. He would never be asked to explain himself. He would never see another sunrise. He'd done something so vile he didn't know where it came from. He saw shock in the eyes staring back at him.
Spitting a worm of red liquid at the officer's face, he felt justified.
There was commotion. The General saw soldiers running toward him. Shadows moving fast. Their faces angry, mouths open yelling, screaming. He could hear their boots trampling the ground. Saw a rifle being raised. Then pain. Then a billion stars went off in his brain.
The General was lifted from the ground. But not before a few soldiers took the boots to him. When he came to he tried to balance himself, felt restraints around his arms. Felt pain in his ribs the same instant hands were all over him. The white vest was dragged over his head, a red circle on his chest; above his heart. Both arms were pinned to his side. He was weak, wobbling on his feet.
He was standing now, watching the backs of five soldiers walk away from him, walking toward their shooting position. He counted their steps. He was used to counting steps. He’d being doing it for months. Sanity was a daily battle.
Twenty, twenty-three, twenty-five steps.
Five men stopped, turned and faced the accused. To their right, the officer missing a finger stared menacingly with black oval eyes. He held the glare for a beat. Wiped blood from his face and spat on the ground.
The General could see the officer's damaged hand. Bandaged, wrapped in white gauze, red seeping through. He held a menacing glare of disgust at the officer's eyes. Neither man would look away, bravado, strength, even at the end.
The officer raised his right arm.
The General didn't wince.
"Attention."
A loud command broke the silence. Five men snapped alert. Legs together, shoulders straight, rifles at their side.
The General knew this was it. He tried to breath, chest wasn't working to well. He shivered.
"Ready."
Another command and the soldiers raised their rifles in unison. With a quick over and under grip the rifles were across their chests.
The General held his breath.
"Aim."
The officer gave an order. In a snap the five soldiers changed positions. They were in the shooters stance, left leg in front of the torso, weight leaning forward, legs shoulders width apart. Left arm extended, fingers gripping the wood stock of the weapon. Right arm bent cradling the rifle. Trigger fingers touching metal. Their heads tiled as they looked down the sights.
Silence lasted for what seemed like a long second to two.
The executioners held their weapons steady and honed in on the red circle.
Then there was a quick movement.
Like it was dead, the officer dropped his right arm.
The men saw it.
The General didn't.
"Fire."
Nor did he hear the bang of five weapons being discharged at the same time.
The Chinese made version of the AK-47, the Type 56 SKS assault rifle is the mostly widely manufactured assault rifle in the world. For today’s exercise it would do. A General who had failed was to die.
The officer in charge watched. He saw a puff of material on the white vest, then another and another; bullets hitting their target. The target was shiny, moist, as the red stuff bubbled its way to the surface. The vest changed color. The General dropped to the ground. One of the shooters had a blank, but none of them knew which one. Four rounds penetrated the General's chest shattering his sternum and flattening out as they drilled into his torso. One slug ripped through his heart, probably killing him instantly. The other projectiles tunneled through his body. One nicked the spine. Both blew an exit wound the size of a crater in his back. He lay on the ground, motionless. Leaking out everywhere.
The men lowered their weapons. The acrid burning of gunpowder wafting in the air.
Walking toward the dead general, the officer reached with his right hand and pulled a sidearm from his holster. He twitched, the pain of the missing finger throbbed. He cursed the General. Picking up the pace, he was hoping the General was still alive. Hoping to inflict the final blow. He placed the pistol in his left hand, stood above the lifeless body and looked down eyeing him for movement.
The General was dead.
The officer extended his left hand. He was steady. Squeezed the trigger and watched the General's face implode.
…And now Norm’s best selling horror thriller novel: Into the Basement
Amazon Reviews for: Into the Basement
Very disturbing, and very good December 7, 2011
By b_21
This review is from: Into The Basement (Paperback)
After reading a different book from this author (Shockwave), I thought I would give his first book a read. Up front warning, this book is disturbing on many levels. It's very descriptive, and the torture that is described can be unnerving. With that said, I couldn't put the book down. I found myself very interested in the stories of each character, and couldn't wait to read what happened in the end. This book is well written, and the level of description the author provides allows you to truly see and feel the madness taking place throughout the story. Recommended, if you have the stomach for it.
Dark sexual thriller June 4, 2011
By beachbaby (Florida USA)
Amazon Verified Purchase
This review is from: Into the Basement (Kindle Edition)
&
nbsp; Very dark sexual thriller. Very graphic - not for the faint of heart. Two serial killers abduct women and torture them in a basement. Fast paced and well developed. A very good read.
Into The Basement
Chapter 1
Someone was hunting a female. Mean, hardened eyes. She left work on time, routine. Susie Smallwood was the target.
Behind the bluish-gray of the San Francisco fog he tracked her. Her blonde hair stood out. She was easy to follow so was the scent of her perfume. It hung in the air. He stalked her for a block clinging to the darkness. The poorly lit street hid all movement.
She didn’t look back. Yet a noise caught her attention. Someone was there. Heavy shoes, male, big male. Some lonely old man wanting a quick exchange of words was what she thought. She picked up the pace just the same. So did the footsteps. Then a splashing noise. Then more footsteps behind her. They were getting closer. She felt scared. Starting to panic she thought, be stern, don’t show any fear.
Susie looked over her shoulder but didn’t see anything and racing through her mind were the words, get to the car.
Her keys, cold and hard were digging into her knuckles and something was happening. Something she feared. Someone was there. Then it stopped. The sound of footsteps disappeared. There was silence. Cold freighting silence.
Susie stopped for a moment, and listened, then took a deep breath. Looked left then right. Nothing. She took another step. With her car in sight she was home free.
She heard a sound. The closeness of it disturbed her. She froze. Tilted her head. Quiet, silence. She had to look. She needed to look. Needed to see what it was. Something moved. A blur, a shadow. It was fast.
At first there was pain. Something heavy, hammer like penetrating her left temple. Her brain exploded into a million lights and then there was a cracking sound. More pain. Then something hit her teeth. Then again. More cracking. Then blood.
Staggering, Susie collapsed. She felt herself falling against her car and sliding down the metal door onto her back, her temples throbbing. Ears ringing, jaw sore. Blood seeped from her mouth. Teeth were missing. Broken, jagged, painful. Motionless, she lay paralyzed. Her eyes flickered and came back into focus. A male, big male towering above her smiled down.
“Ve’re finished playing, yes?” The accent was foreign.
Victor Gorsky was a rugged European with growth on his face. He had dark brown eyes, thin lips and no distinguishing marks. His thick black wavy hair curled over his ears and on his neck. He was easy to forget. When described by women, good looking was never mentioned. His dress was grungy, baggy corduroy pants and a plain dark green colored shirt. At five ten and one ninety-five his stocky build fit snugly into his dark blue windbreaker.
Minutes later a small sports car moved swiftly from the area of the club and turned onto Ivy Street.
The cold wind swept past the rocks of Alcatraz and up the curving side streets, the Mission District felt the chill of the late night air. Traces of eastern spices from Chinatown teased the nostrils but few people were on the street this evening to appreciate it. For those that were, getting out of the damp cold was more important than watching a big man, a Russian.
In the trunk was the assignment no one had seen a thing. She was helpless. Bound with gray duct tape across her mouth, white plastic police cuffs on her wrists and her hands were twisted behind her back. When Susie woke up she could not believe what had happened. It was so quick and she was so helpless.
A glance in the mirror was enough to satisfy Victor that he was safe and driving out of the city, knew he had picked the right one. Reaching up he brushed the wet hair from his face and wiped the slick moisture on his pants. He was sweating.
Victor turned and yelled toward the trunk, “No sound, yes?”
His voice was loud enough to send chills down Susie’s spine. He liked talking to his victims, they gave him their full attention and that didn’t happen often. Nobody gave anything to Victor. He had to take it.
The car edged onto the Bay Bridge and through the tunnel. Forty minutes later Victor pulled into a driveway and stopped. No house was visible.
Opening the trunk and peering down at her, Susie’s eyes were wide open in fear.
She screamed into the gag, “Let me go!”
But all he heard was the muffled sound of pleasure. Lifting her sweatshirt, the sight of her breasts and nipples stirred a desire deep inside. But not tonight, maybe not ever. She was not his. He stroked her plump breast like petting a soft puppy. It had been awhile since he had felt such a young firm body and sensing her fear, he enjoyed it. Darkness was all around. Emptiness was all he could see. Susie could see nothing.
Victor slowly focused his eyes and looked at her. “For me the assignment has come to an end, for you, it is just beginning.” Then he paused making the sign of the cross on his chest, “Let’s go.”
http://www.amazon.com/Into-the-Basement-ebook
Shockwave Page 25
