Condemn (BUNKER 12 Book 2)

by Tanpepper, Saul

  Again, Eddie shook his head. "Wainwright told me he was getting better."

  "So, he lied to you? Why? You think someone is picking us off? Why would they do that? To what possible end?"

  "I don't know, but the bus has been sitting in their maintenance bay for three days now and as far as I can tell nothing's been done to it. They don't seem to be in any hurry to fix it."

  "What do you suggest we do?"

  "I need to speak to the rest of the crew — the Rollinses and Harrison — but I think we need to demand answers, not that I expect them to tell us the truth. But if on the off chance that our people are still alive, that they've been hidden somewhere, then we need to get them back."

  "Then what?"

  "Then we leave." He sighed. "Tomorrow, if possible."

  "Who's there?" Finn demanded, crouching low where he had fallen and extending his hands out before him in a defensive posture. He could feel Bix lying motionless between his feet. He didn't know how badly he was hurt. He could have easily broken his neck falling down the steps. "I'm warning you, stay away!"

  Rustling noises came to him from several directions at once, giving him a better sense of the size of the underground chamber. It seemed fairly large, and there had to be at least four others in it with him and Bix.

  But other what? That was the question. Were they people? Wraiths?

  Something moved off to his right, making a fluttering, scraping sound that rose the hairs on his neck. He spun around to face it. He heard a sharp inhale, and the air stirred near his face. He recoiled and tripped as his feet hit Bix's body. But whatever it was, it had moved away again.

  It's like Eddie, he thought, remembering the day he'd found Doc Cavanaugh's murder scene. Eddie had moved as silently and stealthily as whatever was in the room with him now.

  "Bix," he whispered. He put his mouth as close to Bix's ear as he could. His friend's eyelashes fluttered against his cheek, and he raised his hand to push Finn away. Relief flooded into Finn. "Shh. Don't move, Bix. Be quiet."

  The two boys remained silent and still, waiting and listening. It seemed the others in the room were doing the same. All movement had stopped, and the only sounds arriving in Finn's ears were the rush of blood through his head and the air moving through his open mouth.

  He stayed like that for a long time, waiting for something to move, to attack him, to touch. And for a long time, nothing happened.

  * * *

  "I don't think they mean to attack," Bix finally said.

  Finn jerked up, startled by his friend's voice. Despite speaking softly, it had sounded like a shout in his ears.

  "And you're totally crushing me," Bix added.

  "What?"

  "Get off. I can barely breathe."

  Finn sat up. Almost immediately, the other things in the room began to move, as if spurred by his actions.

  It's your mind playing tricks on you, he thought. But then he remembered Bix had heard them, too. Were they other prisoners like themselves?

  "How long have we been lying here?" he asked Bix. He honestly had no idea. It felt like hours.

  "Beats me. I think I may have passed out. I might even have peed my pants."

  "Jesus, man!" Finn exclaimed, pushing away in disgust.

  "Nope. Or maybe just a little. A few drops."

  "Stop it!"

  "Sorry, I can't help it," Bix said. "Are you okay? I think I might have a concussion."

  "I'm all right."

  Bix pushed Finn away and tried to sit up. "Had the damn wind knocked out of me."

  Once more, the other things in the room shifted, sending shivers through Finn's body. "We're not alone," he said.

  "Yeah, I know. I sort of saw them when I fell."

  "Them?"

  "At least two. I don't know, maybe three."

  "More like four, I think."

  "Oh, now you're just being competitive."

  "Am not."

  "Should we introduce ourselves?"

  "What? No!"

  "Who are you?" Bix asked, louder. "What's your name?"

  The rustling noises resumed, followed by whispering.

  "We won't hurt you," Bix added.

  Yeah, as long as you don't hurt us, Finn wanted to say.

  "You first," came a deep voice out of the darkness. "Who are you?"

  "Bix," Bix said. "And this is Finn."

  Finn hissed his disapproval.

  "Byron," the man answered.

  "And the others?" Finn asked. "How many of you are there?"

  "Three," the man said.

  "Told you," said Bix, nudging Finn.

  "Four, actually," he corrected himself, and Finn nudged Bix back. "They threw someone else down here before you two showed up. Maybe a day before, don't know, can't tell. He's hurt though, badly. Came to a few times, mumbled something unintelligible. Think it might've been his name, then passed out again. I don't think he's going to make it."

  "Jesus," Finn repeated.

  "Think it might be the other guy from the dock?" Bix whispered. "The one we saw last night."

  "Might be."

  "Yeah, they brought us in on boats, too," Byron said. "Blindfolded us and threw us down here."

  "How long have you been here?" Bix asked.

  "Well, judging by the position of the sun, I'd say I have no clue."

  "He's got your dry sense of humor," Finn muttered.

  "Hey, my sense of humor is all I got. At least it's keeping me sane."

  "Can't have been more than a couple days," Byron said. "Otherwise the stink would be worse than it already is."

  "And who are the other two?" Finn asked, once more wrinkling his nose. The air did smell pretty ripe.

  "Jerry and Charlie."

  "How'd you end up here?"

  Byron didn't answer.

  "Did you know Adrian and Jennifer before?"

  "Never saw any women. Just men. Don't know their names."

  "A bunch of men picked us up on the road," a new voice said. It sounded young and scared. "We weren't doing anything, just trying to escape from—"

  "Charlie," Byron quietly said. "Zip it."

  No one spoke for several minutes after that. Then Finn said, "It's okay. We wouldn't trust us, either. Not in this world, but especially not after being lied to by those people up there and shoved into this hole down here."

  "They're going to kill us!" Charlie said, his voice drawn thin with panic.

  "Charlie Michael!" Byron snapped. Then, in a softer voice: "We're going to get out. I promise."

  The shout made their ears ring.

  "Charlie's your son?" Finn asked.

  "Yes. Both he and Jerry."

  "How old?"

  Byron hesitated. "Eight and eleven."

  "Jesus."

  "Father Adrian wouldn't like you taking the Lord's name in vain, Finn."

  "Father Adrian can kiss my—"

  "Shouldn't we be figuring out how to get out of here?" Bix asked.

  He leaned on Finn's shoulder as he stood up. There was a thump and he swore under his breath. "Ceiling's low," he said. "Barely five feet. Some boards . . . rafters, maybe. Feels like dirt between them. Maybe we can dig our way out."

  Something spilled down on Finn's head and he shook it out. It did feel like dirt.

  "It's sound proofing material, I think," Byron said. "There's wood if you dig up through it. I already tried."

  Bix was moving about the room now. "Steps are over here." His feet scraped as he ascended them. "They're steep and narrow. The door at the top feels solid."

  "Steel," Byron said. "And with narrow steps and double doors, we can't easily force our way out."

  Bix came back down again. Finn could hear him moving away, crawling over the floor. "There's a wall here. I make it about fifteen, eighteen feet on edge."

  "Have you found anything you can use for a weapon?" Finn asked. "Anything to break out?"

  "No. Nothing. Careful over there," he called out. "We use that corner as the ba
throom. There's a small hole hollowed out in the ground. We've covered it with a blanket or something we found down here."

  "Great."

  "Do you know what they're going to do to us?" Charlie asked.

  An image of the cage came to Finn, of the man they had shoved inside. His skin turned to ice.

  "No," Bix quickly said. He was heading back around the room in the other direction. "This side's shorter. And— What the hell?"

  "That would be the other guy," Byron said.

  "You could have warned me!"

  "I told you about the toilet corner."

  "He's alive," Bix said. "He's breathing."

  "You said he spoke his name. What was it?" Finn asked.

  "Not sure," Byron replied. "He was mumbling and it sounded like Jones. Most of it was babble. It didn't make any sense."

  "Not Jones," Charlie said. "Jonah."

  "You know him?" Byron asked, responding to Bix's surprised exclamation.

  Guided by Bix's voice, Finn felt his way over to the man lying against the wall. He could hear Bix shaking him, trying to rouse him. "We know a Jonah."

  "He smells like blood," Bix whispered.

  "Jonah?" Finn said. He reached out and found an arm, traced it up to the shoulder. The shirt felt wet, but when he rubbed his fingers together, the wetness turned sticky. "He's bleeding."

  "You figure that you've been here a couple days?" Bix asked of the others.

  "No more than that. They've fed us twice. Not a lot, just enough to keep us from starving."

  "And they brought Jonah in after you arrived?"

  "Yes."

  "Timing's right," Bix mumbled to Finn.

  "Except it's not him," Finn replied. "It's not our Jonah."

  "How can you tell?"

  Finn found Bix's hand and guided it to the top of the man's head. "Curly hair. Jonah's is straight."

  "Damn," Bix breathed. "What're the chances of that, coming across someone else with that name?"

  Finn turned around. "What exactly did he say?"

  "It was just mumbling, mostly," Byron answered. "He was pretty beat up and barely made his way over to the corner there. Kept saying something about sheep or something. Rams and breaking the bike. That mean anything to you?"

  "No," Finn replied.

  "Like I said, it was mostly nonsense. When I asked for his name, he just kept saying Jones. Or Jonah."

  "Well, this isn't the guy we know," Finn said.

  "Jone . . . uhs," the man mumbled. "Rams say . . . kill . . . him. Broke . . . bike."

  Finn got slowly to his feet. Crouching, he slid his feet forward until he came to the wall, then followed it until he came to the steps. By touch, he could tell that it was all made of wood. He felt for the edges of the boards.

  "What are you doing?"

  "We need weapons, some way to defend ourselves. If I can pry some of these steps off—"

  "I already tried that. They're screwed in, and there's no way to pry them off, believe me. My fingers are bloody from trying."

  "Anything in your pockets? Did you have anything with you when they put you down here?"

  "Emptied us out."

  "Bix?"

  "I've got a couple nails from the barn."

  "That's a start. Let me have one." He went back over, more confident in the pitch dark, now that he had a better sense of the room's layout. "Check the other guy's pockets."

  "Aw, dude. Why me?"

  "Just do it."

  There was some shuffling, then: "Nothing."

  "Check the shoes."

  "No good. Just your standard sneakers. Not much tread left."

  "Thanks, that's helpful."

  "Hey, you said check his shoes."

  "To use, not to steal."

  Finn returned to the steps, mounted them, then felt around the door at the top. It was smooth and cool to the touch. Knocking on it produced a solid sound. There was no handle, no way to pull it open. He tried digging the nail head into the space around the edge and pulling, but the thing was sturdily mounted in a metal frame and the door didn't yield even in the slightest.

  He ran his fingers all the way around it, found three hinges, and pressed his fingertip against each of the mounting screws in turn. There was no give to them.

  "I might be able to unscrew the hinges," he said. "But it'll take a while, and we may not have the time."

  After only a few minutes working on it Finn's fingers were growing numb. He felt the area around the screw and frowned. There were barely any scratches from the nail. "It's not going to work."

  "Let me have a go," Bix said.

  "Hold on." He ran his fingers over the middle hinge, wondering why it was easier to picture something when he had his eyes closed, even in the dark. "I've got another idea." He pressed the tip of the nail against the bottom of the hinge and pushed.

  "What're you doing?"

  "Checking if I can remove the pins from the hinges. There's three."

  "Is it working?"

  Finn pressed harder, but the pin wouldn't budge. "I need a hammer or something to hit it with."

  He felt something press against the back of his leg and heard Byron say, "Here, try this. Place it flat against your palm."

  "What is it?"

  "Belt buckle. The boys gave it to me for my last birthday . . . before."

  Finn did as he suggested and tried to hammer at the nail, checking every few hits to see if the pin was moving.

  "Is it working?"

  Finn tried to hammer harder. So far, the pin hadn't budged, and he feared it might not be possible to remove it. But his heart nearly skipped when he found a tiny gap between the pin head and the hinge body. "Maybe."

  A couple minutes later, the pin was halfway out. "There's a problem," he said, breathing heavily. The room seemed to have grown hot and stuffy. Sweat poured down his face. "The nail's not long enough. And now it's stuck. I can't get it out."

  His fingers were sore, but he refused to give up. He pulled on the pin with all his strength, wriggling it. It still wouldn't release.

  "Want me to try?" Bix asked.

  "No. Give me another nail."

  Bix handed it over, and Finn positioned it under the pin head and began to hammer up on it. "It's working!"

  The pin popped free after a few more minutes and rolled down the steps.

  "One down, two to go!" Bix cheered.

  "Yeah, but unless I can get the first nail out, it's not going to do us much good."

  He handed the nail and buckle over to Bix, who worked the bottom hinge for a while before taking a break. "I can feel it starting to—"

  Above them, they heard the outer door open and keys being shaken out on a ring.

  "Get down here!" Finn hissed.

  The door flew open just as Bix stepped away from the bottom step. After hours in the pitch black, the light was blinding.

  "You boys!" Luke shouted down at them. "Git on up here!"

  "No!" Byron cried. He charged clumsily up the stairs shouting that they couldn't take his children. There was a snap! and several rapid clicks and he fell back into the room writhing on the ground. The kids tried to scramble toward their father, but Bix and Finn pulled them back, yelling at them not to touch.

  "I didn't mean the little ones!" Adrian yelled from behind. He pushed Luke to the side and pointed at Bix and Finn with a rifle. "I meant you two. One at a time. And no funny business or I'll shoot ya fer real. And as far as I know, there ain't no comin back from a shotgun blast to the head."

  * * *

  "What are you going to do with us?" Finn demanded. He stumbled over the rough ground just outside the shack, unable to see the groundhog mounds in the dark. He thought about shouting at Bix to run, but he knew it wouldn't work. They'd probably just get shot in the back.

  "Time for yer first lesson in humility, boys," Adrian told them, and placed a lariat over each of their heads and tightened it. "Now march!"

  He didn't have to tell them where they were going. They k
new. They could see the flood lamps through the trees. Twenty minutes later, they emerged into the clearing. Several people were already gathered inside the barn. They raised a cheer when they saw Adrian approach.

  Inside the cage were two naked figures. One was the man from the night before, except he wasn't a man anymore. The other was the second Wraith the boys had seen inside the animal barn the first night. Both Wraiths now threw themselves at the wire as the crowd cheered and jeered.

  Billy sat on the edge of the cart on the other side of the barn. He stood up when they entered, a cattle prod in his hand. Finn noticed that he was limping noticeably from the wound on his leg, and beads of sweat stood out on his forehead. He returned Finn's glare with a murderous look.

  Adrian shoved them toward the cage so violently that both boys fell onto their knees in the dirt. The Wraiths were there in the blink of an eye, hissing at them, thrusting their arms through the chain link to get at them.

  Both boys recoiled, barely managing to avoid being touched. Behind them, the crowd roared.

  "You sure about this?" Billy asked, hobbling over to Adrian. "Jennifer won't—"

  "Shut up!" His face was red, and his eyes gleamed with a wicked spark. "Give em the prods," he said. "Now!"

  "No!" Finn yelled and tried to scramble away.

  But Billy was quicker, even with his injured leg. "Get up," he growled. Grimacing, he pulled the boys to their feet and removed the ropes from around their necks.

  Finn spun around to lash out, but Adrian had raised the rifle into his arms and was cradling it in a threatening manner, a grin smeared across his lips. He looked like he wanted an excuse to fire it.

  "Is this what you've become?" Finn screamed, addressing the crowd. Bix was shaking like a leaf on a tree, his face white with terror. "Murdering innocent people? You're no better than they are!" he said, pointing at the Wraiths inside the cage.

  Several people in the crowd cursed at him, called him a sinner. "It's time for your judgment!" they cried.

  "No!" Bix yelled. "Please, no!"

  Billy shoved the cattle prod into Finn's hands, then stepped quickly away. "Use it!"

  Finn turned to Bix in confusion. Bix's eyes widened, and he shook his head at his friend.

  "Finn? Please, don't."