Tortures of the Damned

by Hunter Shea

  “Can I check the radio?” he asked Buck.

  “Sure. Just hold on tight. Don’t want it to drop.”

  Buck took the radio out of the canvas bag that held the guns and other stuff and handed it over.

  Max turned it on and was met with the same static they’d been hearing for weeks. Tucking the bat under his armpit, he worked the dial as slowly as possible, hoping to catch even a whiff of a live signal.

  “You hear anything, bro?” Rey said behind him.

  God, he looked bad. He reminded Max of a TV special he’d had to watch on the dangers of smoking. It ended with the stories of five people who had terminal cancer from smoking cigarettes. When the credits rolled, they were given the dates when each of the five had died. Rey looked just about as horrible as they had.

  “Not yet,” he said. “Just more white noise.”

  “Keep at it. Someone has to be broadcasting from somewhere.”

  That’s what we keep telling ourselves. What if it’s like this from New York to California?

  Miguel rode by his side, asking, “Can I try?”

  “No way. You can’t ride your bike and check the radio at the same time.”

  “What if you ride my bike and I use the radio?”

  “You’re too clumsy. If you break it, we’re screwed.”

  “Language,” his mother called out.

  “You’re a stupid head,” Miguel said, his brows knit close together. “I’m not clumsy. You just don’t wanna share.”

  He reached for the radio. Max lifted it over his own head, well out of reach. “Don’t go grabbing. That’s a good way to break it.”

  “Mom!” Miguel wailed.

  “Leave Max and the radio alone. Come here and stay with me,” she said.

  “Check it out,” Rey said, pointing to a wooden community board by the bus stop. Instead of the usual fliers for tag sales, maid services, and private tutors, beneath the glass were dozens of notes, tacked on with tape and pushpins. Some were on full sheets of paper, others on index cards, most scribbled on scraps of newspaper or discarded wrappers.

  His mother and father paused to read the notes. Max read them over his mother’s shoulder.

  “My God, this is heartbreaking,” his mother said, fingers pressed to her lips.

  One of them read:

  MY FAMILY IS GONE. SICK FOR A WEEK, THEN LOST THEM ONE BY ONE. I’M NOT GOING TO WAIT TO GO OUT LIKE THAT. YOU’LL FIND MY BODY NEXT TO MY FAMILY AT 175 WINDMERE WAY. AND IF YOU’RE ONE OF THE PEOPLE WHO DID THIS TO US, I HOPE YOU ROT IN HELL.

  His father read another aloud. “Andrea, if you get this far, we’re going to follow the parkway north. I think it will be better the farther we get from the city. Harold is all right. We both got a couple of bites. Stay away from any animals. There’s something wrong with them. We’ll leave as many signs as we can so you can follow us. I love you. Bree.”

  Buck said, “There must have been a lot of hurt and confused people walking around the first week or so. Jesus, will you look at some of these.”

  Max pointed out one that said:

  THIS IS DETECTIVE LEONARD DANWORTH WITH THE WESTCHESTER COUNTY POLICE DEPARTMENT. IF YOU READ THIS, SEEK SHELTER. IT’S NO LONGER SAFE TO BE OUTSIDE. THIS WAS A FULL-SCALE TERROR ATTACK, PLANNED OVER A LONG PERIOD OF TIME. THE AIR IS TOXIC. IT KILLS PEOPLE, BUT IT IS MAKING THE ANIMALS—ALL ANIMALS—VIOLENT. STAY IN YOUR HOMES OR ANYWHERE THAT HAS DOORS THAT CAN LOCK AND PROVISIONS. HELP WILL COME.

  His father gasped, twisting the little knob and opening the glass door. He ripped an index card off the board.

  “It’s from Tim,” he said. Max remembered his dad saying how they had run home together on the day everything went down.

  “What does it say?” his mother asked.

  “It just says, ‘Tim Giordano, with my daughter, Sky, and son, Tyson. Please pray for us.’”

  The muscles in his father’s jaws worked as if he were chewing something rubbery. Tears dripped down his mother’s face.

  “He didn’t write Diane or Annie,” she said.

  Max felt sick to his stomach. The Giordanos were closer to them than most of their blood relatives. Mrs. Giordano was one of the nicest women on the planet. Annie was his age, already making plans to go to NYU in a few years. He remembered the night they kissed playing Spin the Bottle when they were eleven. It was just a quick peck, but he’d always secretly hoped he’d get another chance and show her what a real kiss was like.

  Tucking the index card into his shirt pocket, his father said, “Let’s go.”

  Buck whispered, “I’m real sorry, Dan.”

  They walked in a single line under the parkway overpass, each lost in their own thoughts, haunted by the message board. There was a large mound up ahead. Buck and Alexiana came to it first and called for everyone to step around it.

  “Don’t look, kids,” Alexiana said.

  But they did. It was impossible not to.

  The bloated corpse of a man lay on the sidewalk. It was apparent that various animals had been taking pieces from his cold flesh. Scattered bits of refuse had gathered around him—a few yellowed pages of a newspaper, a cardboard cup, an empty pack of matches, and scraps of paper and leaves. He lay facedown, his arms straight at his side. It looked as if he’d passed out so fast, he didn’t even have the wherewithal to break his fall.

  They gave the body a wide berth, stepping out from under the overpass and back into the sun. Ahead was the gas station, the pumps idle, fuel prices unchanging.

  “We just have to follow this to the hospital,” his father said.

  Max saw something ahead, on the crest of the hill. It flashed black, a darting shadow. It could have been a trick of the light, or the scurried movement of a dog.

  Please, no more dogs.

  There it was again!

  “Hey, do you guys see that?” Max said, pointing.

  It was hard to miss. The shadow was joined by another, then two more, then a half dozen. It was difficult to discern them against the glaring sun.

  But one thing was for sure.

  They were coming right for them.

  81

  Every muscle in Buck’s body tensed. His hands went ice-cold as his blood rushed to surround his vital organs.

  He pumped the shotgun.

  “Dan, I need you up here,” he said, his eyes never wavering from the approaching figures. They were coming fast, whatever the hell they were.

  “More animals?” Dan said, huffing more from tension than exhaustion.

  Alexiana reached into the canvas bag under Dakota’s cart for a second pistol.

  “I don’t think so,” Buck said.

  “Step a little to your left,” Rey said to Alexiana. “I don’t want to accidentally shoot you.”

  The barrel of his rifle rested on the edge of the cart. Elizabeth gathered Miguel and Gabby to her, gripping her Beretta. Max flexed his hands around the bat handle.

  “It’s kids . . . on bikes,” Max said.

  As the shadows advanced down the hill, Buck saw that Max was right. Though he wasn’t so sure about them being kids.

  There were about a dozen in all, maybe in their late teens, early twenties. They rode expensive BMX bicycles. Each had a black bandanna covering the lower half of their face like old Western bank robbers. From thirty or so yards away, it was clear they were not friendly.

  “Oh shit,” Rey said. “It’s the Nine Judges.”

  “Are you sure?” Buck asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “What are the Nine Judges?” Daniel asked.

  Buck sucked hard on his teeth. “From what I’ve read in the papers, they’re the newest gang to settle into South Yonkers. After the YPD and FBI anti-gang task forces cleared the streets two years ago, other smaller gangs have been vying to fill the void. Whatever you do, don’t lower your gun.”

  The gang members hit their brakes, coming to skidding halts. Buck saw pistols tucked in the waistbands of their jeans.

  Both sides looked one an
other over, neither speaking. Taking steady, shallow breaths, Buck waited, his finger tensed over the trigger.

  Finally, one of them spoke. He was tall and dark as night with a close-shaved head. His eyes were slits, staring hard at them, into them.

  “Why the fuck you pointing gats at us?” he said. His voice was cold, flat, devoid of kindness or malice.

  “We just want to pass,” Buck replied. He could feel everyone’s tension like a static charge.

  “It’s a free country. No need to go around pointing guns at people who haven’t done shit to you.” He leaned his forearms on his handlebars. “What are you, half a hockey team and half a football team? Where do you think you’re passing to? Ain’t nothing over there.”

  “Nothing back there, either,” Buck said, cocking his head to the way they’d come.

  Another one of the gang members, a stocky guy wearing a Cincinnati Reds hat, said, “How come you ain’t all sick like them two?”

  “That’s none of your business,” Daniel shot back. Buck placed a steadying hand on his arm.

  “They were caught in the smoke when the bombs dropped,” Buck said. “I might ask you the same question.”

  The first one huffed. “We got a crib safer than Fort Knox. Arab fucks that did this can’t touch us.”

  Alexiana asked, “How do you know it was Arabs?”

  Another one replied. He’d pulled his gun from his jeans, but kept it pointed at the ground. “Who the fuck else you think would do something like this? Fucking terrorists think they got everyone, but we have a surprise for them if they want to step on over here and think they settle their asses into our cribs.”

  The gang grunted, cheering him on.

  “Is the hospital open? Are there any authorities in charge?” Elizabeth asked.

  Wrong word, Buck thought, cringing. The last thing these kids wanted to hear about was anything that dealt with authority.

  A slight Hispanic kid glided on his bike to her. The sides of his long, dark hair flickered over the bandanna mask. Buck followed him with the barrel of his rifle.

  The kid leaned close to her and said, “We’re the authority now.”

  82

  To her credit, Elizabeth didn’t break the kid’s hard gaze.

  Suddenly, he laughed behind his bandanna.

  “Holy shit, did you see the looks on their faces?” he said. His brothers-in-arms broke into hysterical laughter.

  Dakota watched the slow escalation from the shopping cart. Unbeknownst to Buck, she’d secreted one of his guns, hiding it amid the jumble of other items in the cart. Since the gang members had shown up, she held the gun but kept it out of sight. The initial jolt of fear had cleared the cobwebs woven by the disease that felt as if it were eating her alive.

  She’d been ready to pull the trigger if the masked gang made any move to attack Elizabeth or the kids.

  The first one who had spoken was the first to stop laughing. “Now, put your guns down before we get really offended and have to take out ours. I can guarantee we have more experience with shit like this than you. It won’t end nicely.”

  Buck and Daniel looked to one another. Dakota watched Buck’s shoulders rise, then fall as he pointed the shotgun down. Daniel, Alexiana, Elizabeth, and Rey did the same. Max still held on to his bat.

  “That’s better. You all have a nice walk.”

  He pedaled over to Dakota’s cart. “Damn, I bet you were fine before you got all sick and shit.”

  “Leave her alone,” Gabby said.

  “It’s okay,” Dakota said. “He’s just giving me a compliment.” She wished she could see more than his eyes.

  “That’s right, little girlie. Fine-lookin’ ladies like to be told how fine they are. Who fucked up your head?”

  Other members of the gang now surrounded her cart, blocking Elizabeth and the kids with their bikes.

  “You can see she’s sick,” Daniel said. “Leave her be.”

  A long, dirty finger touched her cheek. “I seen plenty others like this. She ain’t got much time left. She’ll have a whole lotta time to be left alone when she’s dead.”

  His finger traced its way down her lips, her chin, and her neck. Dakota couldn’t stop herself from trembling. The weight of the gun pressed to the side of her thigh suddenly felt hot, sharp, urgent. She heard a few shouts and scuffling, but couldn’t see past the tight ring of gang members gawking at her.

  83

  Daniel almost collapsed when a bicycle tire rammed into the back of his knee. Two kids converged on Buck, guns drawn. Alexiana made an attempt to go to Dakota, but she was stopped when two bikes blocked her way.

  “Why is everyone getting so excited?” the one pawing at Dakota said. “This here’s the last time she’s gonna get this kind of attention. What you think I’m gonna do, toss her salad or something? Bitch is sick. I don’t need that on me.”

  Casting a quick glance at Elizabeth and the kids, Daniel felt his stomach drop. They were outnumbered and outgunned. The best they could hope for was that the gang would lose interest and continue on their way. Unless they were an advance party sent to prevent them from going any farther.

  “Besides,” the gang leader continued, “why bother with her when you have a couple of MILFs on your hands? You both cougars?”

  Elizabeth and Alexiana didn’t answer.

  No, this can’t be happening, Daniel thought. I’ve got to get their attention off of them.

  He took one step forward before the hard barrel of a pistol was pressed to his side. The kid holding the gun had sick, yellow eyes. Maybe not all of them had made it to the safety of their fortified crib before the smoke descended.

  “The world goes to shit and this is what you do with the time you have left?” Daniel said.

  All heads turned to him. With the bandannas over their faces, he couldn’t see if they were smiling or sneering.

  “The fuck you say?”

  “Leave them alone. We didn’t come here to pick a fight. We just want to be on our way.”

  A tall, gangly gang member riding a bright orange BMX wheeled in front of him. “You picked a fight the moment you pointed your guns at us.”

  He knew it would do no good to voice the reasoning behind it. Gangs operated on a logic that was all their own. Daniel was drowning in waters he’d never treaded. His heart hammered in his chest. How the hell could he get them out of this?

  “You got nothing to say to that?” The kid lifted the bandanna away from his mouth and spat on Daniel’s boots. “I thought so.”

  The gang leader turned his attention back to Elizabeth. “Now, I like my MILFs with a little light chocolate. You got some nice titties. Does your man tell you that?”

  Elizabeth shot daggers at him with her stare.

  “You don’t get titties like that at no surgeon. Those are baby titties. All natural and smooth like coffee and cream. Why don’t you show us what you got?”

  Daniel and Buck were restrained, their arms pinned at their backs before they could make a move.

  The gang leader swiveled his head to Max. “Don’t even think of swinging that fucking bat. My boy here will drop you like a bitch.” He turned back to Elizabeth. “Now, unbutton that shirt and pop those titties out of your bra. When you’re done, we’ll check out the white MILF.”

  “No,” Elizabeth said.

  “Excuse me?” he said with an exaggerated cocking of his head.

  “I said no,” she replied, her voice soft and shaky.

  He flicked his wrist, pointing the gun at Gabby’s head. She gasped. “Mommy!”

  “I don’t have all day,” he said. “Yonkers is running pretty low on bitches. You don’t take off your shirt now and there’ll be one less bitch-in-training.”

  Daniel exploded. “Get the fuck away from my wife and daughter, you piece of shit!”

  His breath burst from his lungs as he took a knee to his midsection. He collapsed to the dirty ground, dry-heaving.

  “Now, show me your titties before
I start getting really mad.”

  Elizabeth’s fingers fluttered as she worked at the top button of her shirt. She had a hard time getting it through the loop. Daniel watched her from the pavement. His head was spinning from lack of oxygen.

  “Please, don’t,” he said, barely above a whisper.

  When Elizabeth had undone all of the buttons, with Miguel and Gabby crying at her sides, the gang leader said, “Nice. Now the bra.”

  Elizabeth choked back a sob. She reached behind her back to undo the clasp.

  The eruption that followed brought everyone to their knees.

  84

  Rey watched openmouthed as Dakota fired nearly point-blank into the gang leader’s chest. He staggered backward, blood cascading from the front and back of the open wound.

  She pulled the trigger two more times, hitting the men on either side.

  The sudden and violent cracks of the gun had everyone ducking. Rey fumbled for his rifle and aimed between the latticework of the cart, catching another gang member in the shoulder as he crouched beside his father.

  There was a flash of brown and a dull thud as Max swung as hard as he could at the gangbanger next to him, flipping him off his bike.

  Regaining their senses, two of the gang opened fire.

  Rey watched in horror as Dakota’s body jerked and spasmed, each bullet burrowing into her fevered flesh. A geyser of blood spurted from her mouth.

  His mother screamed, dragging Miguel and Gabby to the ground and covering them with her body.

  “No!” his father shouted, scrambling for his shotgun.

  Someone shot his father from behind, a fat kid wearing a shirt that couldn’t cover his porcine belly. It made a target hard to miss. Rey shot him just above his enormous belly button and he collapsed upon himself.

  Gunfire, shouting, and screaming ruptured the silent morning air.

  Buck turned around and caught the one behind him in the chest with his bowie knife, bathing him in crimson.