Condemn (BUNKER 12 Book 2)

by Tanpepper, Saul

  Finn looked down at the weight in his hands, not understanding. Was he supposed to use it on Bix?

  But before he could move, Luke shoved a second prod into Bix's hands. Like Billy, he stepped swiftly away.

  "Bring out the subjects!" Adrian cried.

  Behind him, the crowd turned and parted. Adrian never took his gaze — or the rifle — off the boys. He gestured at Finn to go around to the right side of the cage. With a rifle now in his own hands, Luke gestured at Bix to go around to the left. The boys obeyed.

  Six men marched through the door into the barn, two pairs each holding a third man, who was blindfolded. They passed Adrian, then spread out and turned to face the crowd.

  "You two have been charged with crimes against yer fellow man," Adrian stated. "How do y'all plead?"

  The crowd hushed in anticipation for answers that never came.

  "Very well. Y'all must be punished. Fifteen seconds each in the cage. If y'all can put the ferals out of their misery before then, yer debt'll be repaid."

  Bix stared at Finn through the wire mesh. The Wraiths were prowling inside the cage like animals, hissing and snapping. One threw itself at the wire and scaled it in a flash. It crawled across the newly-installed top as easily as if it were crawling along the floor. Finn shivered and tried to back away, but someone shoved him forward.

  The two men, their heads still covered with the hoods, were stripped of their clothing. They cried out weakly, but the fight seemed to have been beaten out of them. One coughed, his loose skin swinging over his bones. Both were horribly emaciated and shook visibly.

  Adrian turned to the boys. "If'n these men are gonna have any fightin chance at redemption, you'll shock the ferals at the same time."

  He grinned and the crowd broke out in laughter.

  "Good luck."

  Morning was still an hour away, but the clouds above the base glowed with an eerie fire, reflecting the stray light from the flood lamps. Jonah had seen the encampment from five miles away, which was a relief, as the trail of oil droplets and tire tracks had become harder and harder to follow.

  He crept over the packed sands, scurrying from tumbleweed to rock, running along in the shadows through the dry gullies, until he was within a hundred yards of the front gate. Only then did he take a moment to drink some water and eat the last stale protein bar he'd taken from Vinnie's pack.

  He still felt guilty for what had happened back there, but what other choice had he? It hadn't taken them long to realize they'd been betrayed.

  The question was, why?

  So Jonah told him. He said that he'd overheard them talking back there in town. He knew what they were planning on doing with the girls. "Ramsay figured out I knew."

  "It was just Ramsay talking!" Vinnie had insisted. "We don't do that! I don't!"

  And instead of blaming his colleague, he'd blamed Jonah for putting the sand in the tank.

  They'd fought then, exchanging blows. The man was tough in the way that surviving in a dead world taught a man how to be tough, but Jonah knew right away that he was no killer. He'd easily overpowered the older man.

  He hadn't wanted to kill the guy, so he left him in the shade, his hands and feet bound so that he wouldn't follow. Someone'll come after him, he thought. Sooner or later someone will come looking for the two of them.

  And they had, early the next morning, passing him but not seeing him. They showed up a little while later going in the opposite direction, but Vinnie hadn't been with them.

  Jonah hadn't killed the man, but he sensed that the man was dead anyway.

  You're no better than Seth Abramson.

  The words plagued him as he continued his terrible trek after the bus.

  He had kept off the road, returning to it whenever there was a junction so that he could check that he was still on the right trail. It was physically draining, having to make his way over the rough ground in the blazing heat of day. And it was mentally exhausting, always having to worry that he was going in the wrong direction, that he was following the wrong trail, or even a phantom trail, his nerves as frayed as his senses.

  He didn't see a single Wraith the entire time, except maybe once, though it was a long way off. It certainly moved like one, and he couldn't imagine some other poor, lost sap wandering about the desert like he was.

  He did see more bikers, however. Several each day. They were easy to hide from as he could hear them coming from miles away.

  The compound was double-fenced, the runway between the barriers patrolled by dogs. Through the binoculars he'd taken from Vinnie, he saw the high-voltage warning signs posted periodically along the perimeter, and he assumed that it only pertained to the outer fence. The dogs knew not to touch the wire, but humans were either stupid or lacked some sensibility that the animals had for sensing electrical current.

  In the half hour that he sat there on the sand leaning his back against a rock, he had seen no less than four foot patrols and two trucks. All of them carried automatic weapons, either in their hands or mounted on the vehicles. And he wondered which they feared an attack more from, Wraiths or other people.

  The bus was nowhere in sight, but the base was sufficiently large that it could be anywhere, perhaps even inside a building somewhere. He was sure it had to be there, but until he set eyes on it or on someone in his group, he couldn't be certain that they had been brought here.

  Or, if they had been, that they were even still on the premises.

  Leaning his head back, he shut his eyes to rest them. The desert sun and dry air had chapped and swollen the skin around his eyes and lips. His throat was scratchy, and his nose had bled. And the whole time he was walking, he wondered what he'd do when he finally caught up. He still didn't know.

  A faint scratching noise caught his attention. He cocked an eye open and, at first, saw nothing. But then he felt it, a finger of weight on his shoulder. He didn't move, just waited. The movement shifted to his ear, then ascended to the top of his scalp.

  His first night in the desert alone had been a test of his resolve, more than the days had been, even though the latter were certainly more grueling. That first night, he'd fallen asleep leaning against an outcropping of loose sandstone, and he'd woken the next morning when some of it crumbled onto his face. In a panic, he pushed himself away, and by the time he heard the rattle it was already too late to escape the strike.

  The snake attached itself to his leg, injecting its venom into his flesh. All he could do was stare stupidly at it.

  Only when it released him and drew back did he react. He lashed out, more in anger than to defend himself. His foot came down on the rattler's head and crushed it. The rattle shook as the animal writhed in its death throes. By the time it went still, he'd regained control of himself.

  He considered himself lucky. It seemed the snake had recently expended the bulk of its venom in another victim, and, indeed, there was a telltale bulge in its belly. The wound on his leg swelled and ached for most of the next day, but the poison hadn't spread. He hadn't had much trouble with it since.

  He cooked the snake and ate it, including the partially-digested jack rabbit it had consumed earlier.

  That whole experience had taught him a valuable lesson, that his greatest weakness was fear. So, as he sat there, the army base aglow a hundred yards away and something crawling over his skin, he didn't panic. And, just as he expected it to, the scorpion eventually lost interest and wandered away.

  Off in the distance to his left, the first signs of dawn appeared in the sky, and he realized that it was time to move. He couldn't risk being stuck where he was once day broke. There was no place to hide, whether from the base patrols or the merciless sun.

  He leaned forward and stretched his aching muscles. He would have to backtrack or go around and hope to find a weakness he could exploit. He might last another day without water, but it would only weaken him further.

  Then what?

  The whine of an engine drew his attention. Inside the fenc
e, a large army truck appeared. It pulled up to the gate and shut off. A man got out of the cab and walked over to speak to the sentries.

  Two more people caught Jonah's eye. They had exited from the central building, which appeared to have once fulfilled an administrative function in the past. An empty flagpole stood in front. The two, one tall and male, the other smaller and female, walked toward the truck. They joined the driver at the gate.

  Jonah pulled out the binoculars again and trained them on the trio, but they were in shadow and he couldn't make out their faces.

  One man stepped away at the same time that several riders on motorcycles appeared. He spoke to one of the bikers, then disappeared around the back of the truck. A flap lifted, and four people jumped out, two men, and two women. They all carried rifles and sidearms.

  Garbled sounds and laughter reached Jonah's ears. Everyone seemed to be in high spirits. They all milled about for several minutes before the first man reappeared.

  "Where's the other vehicle?" he shouted.

  "Coming!"

  A moment later, the bus appeared. Jonah pulled the binoculars back up to his eyes. It was theirs all right, but the man behind the wheel was a stranger. It pulled up behind the truck and idled.

  "Are we ready?"

  The soldiers shouted in unison that they were.

  "Then wind her up!"

  The guard returned to the gate and it began to open. The truck driver stepped into the cab and started it up. The four from the back of the truck returned.

  The last figure, the woman who had accompanied the man, walked over to the bus. The doors whispered open and she stepped onto the first stair. Then, just before going inside, she turned to say one last thing to the man who'd accompanied her. The image in the binoculars was unmistakable.

  It was Bren.

  Finn feared that the crowd would riot if he and Bix didn't neutralize the Wraiths soon. He had tried half-heartedly several times, but the creatures were simply too fast and too wary of the prods. Twice he'd come close, and the third time would have succeeded had he not been foiled by the chain link. The crowd's boos grew louder with every failed attempt.

  And poor Bix. He'd thrown the cattle prod to the ground in refusal, only to have Luke step over and sucker punch him in the gut. "Next one'll smash that pretty face of yours even more," he snarled, then thrust the device back into Bix's hands and ordered him to stand up.

  For a moment, Finn was sure he'd turn it on Luke, and he shouted for him not to do it. But the yell was lost in the roar of the crowd. Luke stood there, a grin curling his upper lip, as if daring Bix to do it.

  Visibly shaken, Bix turned back to the cage and jabbed reluctantly at the wire when a Wraith flashed past.

  The crowd reached the end of its patience. Someone threw a stone, hitting Finn on the ear. It wasn't a large one, but it had been thrown hard. He felt a trickle of blood run down the side of his face. Or maybe it was sweat. He couldn't tell. In any case, it stung terribly.

  The two naked men, still hooded and with their backs to the cage, seemed frozen in fear. Finn felt for them. He knew that Adrian had been right, that those men's only hope rested in his and Bix's ability to shock both Wraiths simultaneously, but it seemed an impossible expectation. They couldn't even shock one. How were they going to get two at once?

  At last, Adrian grew tired of their futile attempts. Or perhaps he was finished with his masochistic demonstration. He walked over to the main circuit box that he and Finn had installed just a day earlier, opened it, and flipped one of the switches.

  The lights dimmed and the generator whined from the extra load placed on it. Both of the Wraiths, one climbing the wire at the opposite end of the cage and the other hanging from the top halfway between Finn and Bix, suddenly began to jerk violently. There came a series of crackles and the barn filled with the smell of burning flesh. Both Wraiths fell to the ground.

  When Adrian flipped the breaker off again, the lights immediately brightened.

  The cattle prods were stripped from the boys' hands, even as the crowd began to chant: "Forty-five! Forty-four! Forty-three . . . !"

  Adrian snapped the box shut, then circled the cage to stand before the prisoners.

  "Y'all will be unmasked before yer peers and placed into the cage fer judgment. There will be two ferals, both shocked and harmless. They cannot kill. They cannot infect. It's yer choice: executioner or not. Salvation or damnation."

  "Thirty!" the crowd shouted. "Twenty-nine!"

  "Y'all will have twenty seconds and nothin but yer wit and bare hands. Understand?"

  The men shook their heads and began to babble. One of them collapsed to his knees. The other wore a splint and seemed unable to move, even if he wanted to.

  The men flanking the prostrate figure pulled him up again.

  "Twenty-five! Twenty-four!"

  "Open the gate!" Adrian shouted.

  The gate was opened.

  "Remove their hoods!"

  The black bags were pulled away. Both men lowered their heads to shake the sweat out of their eyes. Then, just as the count reached twenty, they were spun around and shoved toward the opening.

  Finn's eyes widened in shock. He looked over at Bix and tried to cry out, but the crowd noise was too great, and his voice was lost in the roar.

  But Bix wasn't looking at him anyway. He was staring at the men with the same utter disbelief that Finn felt.

  The two men stumbled in. Locked in their own version of Hell, neither acted. They simply pressed themselves against each other for protection and eyed the bodies of the Wraiths.

  As if on cue, both boys screamed for them to hurry up. The crowd screamed, too. Time was running out. The count was already down to fifteen. But neither Nami nor Jonathan could hear them. They stood and stared and at first did nothing.

  Nami was the first to snap out of it. He slowly turned, his gaze sweeping the crowd. It touched Finn and continued on without recognition, and Finn thought that the man's mind had simply shut down from shock. But then it snapped back in surprise.

  The count was down to twelve.

  Finn jabbed his finger at the Wraith a few feet away from Nami and screamed for him to break its neck.

  Nami looked at it, then back at Finn. Finn nodded and made a snapping motion with his hands.

  "Eleven!"

  Nami leaned stiffly over and screamed something into Jonathan's ear, then limped over to the Wraith Finn had indicated. The crowd went wild with excitement. Someone jostled Finn roughly, and he fell forward onto his knees.

  Nami grabbed the Wraith just as it began to move. Jonathan looked on with horror.

  "Nine!" the crowd screamed.

  In a flash, Jonathan turned, and for a moment, Finn feared he was going to try to run away, except there was nowhere for him to go. He saw the other Wraith and started to go for it, hesitating only momentarily when it, too, began to rouse.

  "Seven!"

  Finn looked over at Bix and saw the horror he felt reflected in his friend's face. There wasn't enough time for their fellow survivors.

  A flash of movement caught Finn's eye and he turned in time to see Nami snap the Wraith's neck. The count reached five. At the same moment, Jonathan slammed his foot down onto the neck of the other. Both were free of the creatures as the forty-first second died on the crowd's lips.

  Only Jonathan's wet cough broke the silence.

  Both men backed away from the lifeless forms. Their chests heaved. The crowd was frozen, waiting. Forty eyes studied the four inside for signs of infection.

  Jonathan stumbled over to the gate. "Let us out," he begged. "We did your dirty work!"

  Adrian slowly walked over to him. He seemed genuinely surprised at what he saw. He checked Jonathan's face for several seconds, then turned to the crowd. "Salvation!"

  The crowd erupted.

  "Let him out," Bix screamed. His voice sounded hoarse and far away. Nobody heard him. "He's not infected! Let him out!"

  But while everyon
e was looking at Jonathan, Finn was looking at Nami. The man had fallen to his one unsplinted knee in exhaustion, his head lowered. Slowly, he raised his face, and a chill descended over Finn. Death was in the man's eyes, the blackness of the Flense.

  "Oh no," Finn moaned. "No!"

  The crowd was quick to notice the change. The cheers rose once more.

  "Get him out of there!" Finn tried to scream. He turned to Jonathan and shouted his name and pointed behind him. "Look out!"

  Bix was shouting and pointing, too. Jonathan whipped around and finally saw. He grabbed the wire of the gate and shook it. There was a new fire in his eyes, not the blackness of death but the vibrant red and white of terror. "Let me out!"

  His arms quavered and his knees collapsed beneath him. Still weak from the lung infection, he fell to the dirt, coughing and spitting.

  A gray husk swept over Nami's skin. His nails turned black. He raised his head in agony, but no sound came out of his mouth.

  Finn tried to get to the gate, but he was tackled and thrown to the ground. Something slammed into the back of his head, and for a moment he saw stars. But he got back up and tried again. Once more, he was hit hard and knocked onto his side. This time, he could only crawl.

  The crowd was drunk with bloodlust.

  Bix had been bound, his wrists tied behind him. He was screaming, but no one could hear him. Finn read the words that formed on his mouth. He was begging Jonathan to turn around, to kill Nami.

  Billy pressed Finn down, a handful of his hair in his fist, twisting. The pain was terrible, but not as bad as his anguish. He forced his head to turn despite Billy's resistance. He needed to see.

  Nami's transformation was progressing, faster than it should, it seemed. The changes swept over him in the space of a few minutes.

  On the other side of the cage, Jonathan had finally pulled himself up again to his feet. Slowly he turned, as if finally resolved to his fate. He took a step toward Nami, then stopped as indecision crossed his face.

  But it was too late for any salvation now. Everyone knew it. Finn watched as Jonathan stumbled over to Nami and grabbed his friend's head in his arms. But he was too weak, and Nami was too far along, less himself than the monster he was becoming. The struggle went on for a very long time, with Jonathan growing weaker and Nami growing stronger.