911: The Complete Series

by Grace Hamilton

  She was in a basement. Maybe a rarely used storage space. It had the unused feel. She was tied down over a desk of burnished pine. The dark corners and deep shadows around her distorted the sound of the convicts’ laughter, making her think the room was large. Her mouth tasted metallic with her own blood.

  Being analytical didn’t help. Nothing could really distract her from the horror. She looked up as Colson stepped closer, her short hair plastering her face. His cold, angry lust made a hideous mask of his already ugly face. He lit a cigarette.

  “Hello, little girl,” Colson said.

  He narrowed his eyes and inhaled until the cherry of his cigarette glowed red. He relaxed, seemingly growing content. Then he smiled, revealing crooked, amber teeth, and released smoke through his nostrils.

  “Let’s talk about how fucked you are.” The men around her laughed. They sounded like jackals to Finn. Holding the wand, which was what she remembered it was called, Washington wasn’t laughing along with them.

  Colson inhaled another lungful of smoke and began pacing back and forth, his lips rubbery around the soggy cigarette butt. He stopped, not looking at her now. He pulled a pearl handled switchblade from the pocket of his dirty jumpsuit and held it up like a magician presenting some artifact to his audience.

  “A gift from our sponsors,” he told her.

  His thumb pressed the shiny metal stud and the knife made a greasy click as it popped open, reveling a five-inch blade. The harsh yellow illumination coming from above her glinted off the steel.

  Slowly, he lifted his arm and pointed at the brooding figure of Washington. The big man swished the wand back and forth. It whistled through the air like a saber.

  Finn squeezed her eyes tightly shut. She was afraid she would throw up and, with the gag in place, choke on her own vomit. Colson moved to the side of her. She could feel him looming next to her, but despite that, she couldn’t help but jump when she felt the fat spider of his hand on her back.

  “Fun fact,” he said. “I was a Marine. For a while anyway, until they sent me to Portsmouth Naval Prison because of a misunderstanding. Spent some time in the Philippines. I saw them cane a drug dealer one time—it was fucking awesome. Caning is an old-school, time honored, and well established form of civic punishment there. The court punishers are dedicated and accomplished martial artists, which I assure you, Washington is not.” Colson laughed. “They can flay the flesh from bone. They can put the cane along the stroke line time and time again, never missing, until the skin splits, muscles unravel, and bones are laid bare. I highly doubt Washington is going to be anywhere near that good, this being his first time, but I think it’ll be a hoot to watch.”

  She felt the cold length of the knife slide down her flesh. She felt him twist the blade and then jerk once. Her skin split and blood ran hot down her flesh. She jerked her head up in outrage when his free hand began to caress the curve of her buttock.

  “I can only imagine how much it’s going to bleed when we pull our train on you,” he said, voice suddenly soft.

  Behind the gag, she half snarled, half sobbed in response.

  Rude fingers roamed her body. She began thrashing against her bonds, shaking her head back and forth, trying to shout. She was tied fast, though, and could barely budge, her cries of protest little more than inarticulate mewling.

  “That’s it!” Colson hissed.

  He snagged her hair holding tight at her nape and snatched her head back. She felt Colson press his face against her cheek, his fetid breath blowing in her ear.

  “Cry for me,” he whispered. His tongue lathed the side of her face like a dog licking gristle clean from a bone. “Washington!” he practically giggled the command.

  The wand whistled through the air. There was a sound like a slap across a face. The pain was blinding, white hot in its intensity. She jerked in her bonds, and tried screaming but the gag made her choke on the sound. Colson’s saliva rolled down her cheek in sticky streams as he pressed his face into hers, as if he were trying to taste her agony.

  Again the wand whistled. Blood painted the floor and what she now saw were CPU blade racks were splashed on the back stroke. Colson had been true to his word; Washington was not even close to being good enough to put the wand in exactly the same spot with each stroke. The thin stick beat her all over her backside. She felt the reverberations of her screams echoing back down her throat against the gag.

  All around her, crude, evil men laughed crude, evil laughs. Whatever the event had been, whatever it was, they saw it as a godsend, Finn understood. They loved the anarchy, the ability to be the unfettered predators they’d always been.

  Colson stood, his hand still knotted in Finn’s hair. He twisted her face upward. “Burn my man Washington’s face, bitch?” He snapped her head back and forth. “Burn his face? You’re suffering has only begun.”

  Blood ran down the back of Finn’s legs in scarlet rivulets. Her backside burned and throbbed from the abuse. She’d been hit very few times, but a few times was all that had been needed to bathe her trembling body in fiery agony. Washington dropped the wand to the floor at a nod from Colson.

  “Now, honey,” Colson said.

  He cupped her chin with a sweat-slimed hand, forcing her to look up at him. With his other hand, he slammed the point of his switchblade into the table next to her face, causing her to flinch. Clear snot ran down over the gag from her crying and drool hung in delicate strings from her lips.

  “I bet you’ve never looked more beautiful,” Colson smiled. “That could be a problem for you now, though. Because I’m going to let you in on a little secret,” he said. “Some of us have been in prison for a very long time.” He patted her face in a condescending, paternalistic way. “We got to missing certain things. Do you understand?” He turned his head and spat. “I got romance on my mind. As does every other guy here,” he laughed. “But they’re going to have to wait their turn. Washington gets to go first.” He locked gazes with her. “Do you understand me?”

  Eyes earnest, suddenly compliant, Finn nodded.

  “What? I can’t understand you.”

  Fearful, Finn began making croaking sounds, bobbing her head up and down. Colson laughed with a cruel snort at her fear and desperation. His men, on cue, began hooting with mirth. In the weird echo of the CPU storage unit, it sounded like a troop of monkeys.

  Colson pointed at one of his crew. “Take off her gag,” he snapped. “Now!”

  One of the men, his mouthful of gold teeth weirdly glittering in the hard yellow light, jumped forward, a pump action shotgun dangling from a strap over his shoulder. Moving quickly, he yanked off the gag.

  Finn turned her head and threw up on the floor, convulsing with the effort to vomit. Her stomach was empty except for bile, and the mess was clear other than for her own blood. It pooled up on the floor and splashed Colson’s shoes.

  Colson leaned forward, pulling Finn’s head up by the hair. “I want you to say you’re sorry for my man’s face!”

  Finn’s mouth worked, but no sound came out. She closed her eyes and swallowed against the tight rawness in her throat. She started to whisper, but then was overcome by a spasm of coughing.

  She tried to speak again, but her voice was faint. Impatient, Colson jerked her head back harder and leaned in closer.

  “What? What was that? I can’t fucking hear you!”

  Her voice cracked, too faint to understand. Colson leaned in closer.

  “Say it again,” he ordered. His breath smelling like a dumpster.

  His ear was so close to her mouth that he could feel her hot breath against his skin.

  “I said,” Finn whispered. “Fuck you!”

  She lunged forward and clamped her teeth down hard on the skin and cartilage of the man’s ear. Sharp, white teeth caught hold and bit down hard, splitting skin until blood, hot and salty, rushed out and spread in a waterfall over Colson’s jaw and neck. More of his blood poured over Finn’s lips and chin.

  Colson scre
amed in surprise and pain. He tried jerking free, but Finn held on, only biting down harder. His cries became high-pitched whoops and his men stood frozen for a moment, partly in shock and partly from the dulling effects of all the booze and drugs they’d consumed. Finn snatched her head to the side like a lioness yanking meat off a kill.

  The top of Colson’s ear came away in a long avulsion that left more blood smeared across his face. Blood splashed into Finn’s hair and the fat slug of flesh that had been the top of Colson’s ear stuck out of her mouth like a piece of escargot.

  Mind broken by terror and pain, grinning with a demonic intensity, Finn turned her head to the side and spat. The flesh struck a CPU rack and clung to the porous wood like sputum. She smiled, blood smeared across her teeth like scarlet lipstick.

  “What was the question again?”

  Colson looked at his ear, stuck like a booger on the wood, his face twisting into a mask of incredulous horror. His hands were clamped hard to the side of his head, but blood continued spurting freely from between his fingers despite the effort. Falling back, he staggered to and fro, screaming in agony.

  Washington moved towards him, confusion giving way to murderous anger on his blunt, open face. He reached out his hands towards Colson who slapped them away. Finn, more than a little unhinged from her torture, began laughing, cackling as Colson, who was staggering, tripped over his own feet and went down to the floor hard.

  Washington again went to help Colson up, but the man couldn’t seem to get himself under control. Not sure of what to do next, Washington turned in a rage and backhanded Finn. The blow snapped her head to the side and split her lip, cutting off her laughter. After the wand, though, it was a pittance, and she chuckled.

  “Kill her!” Colson finally managed to stutter out from the floor.

  AVA

  Gruber threw her in the room and she landed hard—hard enough that it really hurt. The church didn’t have cells, not really, but the basement bedrooms were close enough. She glared at Gruber as he stood in the doorway.

  “Meow,” Gruber mocked her.

  “Fuck you.”

  “Maybe, if you clean up,” Gruber said.

  “You’re a pig. If Marr knew about the real you, she’d have you thrown out of the church.”

  “The church is a complex organization,” Gruber told her. “It has many facets, not all of them easy for Dr. Marr to get a hold on. She depends on me, knows she can trust me… unlike you.”

  “How many girls have gone missing?” Ava demanded, changing tactics. “How many people have you locked down here?”

  “Grow up,” Gruber snapped. “We’re not goddamn serial killers. Nobody’s kidnapping girls off the damn street.”

  “Then why don’t you let me go?”

  “Now that’s something completely different,” he said. “We are at a moment of great sensitivity. You seem hell bent on acting like a bull in a China shop, so you’re locked up for your own protection.”

  “I know you’ve used these rooms before,” Ava said. “I know about the ranch.”

  “Maybe,” Gruber admitted. “You should tell her… oh, but wait, you broke her heart by betraying her at the pivotal moment of her life.” He stopped, sneering. “No matter what you think I am, little girl, what I most certainly am not is a Gentile traitor. And Doctor Marr knows that.”

  Ava looked away from him.

  “Yeah,” Gruber said. “That’s what I thought.”

  “I'll take it from here,” Marr said from behind him.

  Gruber looked at her in surprise, and then simply nodded and left. Marr took his place in the doorway. Ava refused to look at her. Marr sighed a soft, almost exhausted sound.

  “Ava,” she said. “Ava, look at me, please.” When Ava didn’t respond, Marr slid down into a crouch so that she was on the same level as the girl. “Ava,” she said, her voice still quiet. “Do you know why I keep Hank in a position of influence? … That question is rhetorical, of course. There’s no reason you would know or be able to understand.”

  “It’s to keep you in power,” Ava snapped.

  “Perhaps,” Marr admitted. “Not totally, not in the way you think, at least.” Her voice trailed off for a moment. “And maybe not at all,” she said finally.

  When Ava didn’t respond, Marr continued on. “You obviously think I had something to do with the event tonight. That’s true.”

  Ava looked up in surprise. Marr held her hand up to stop any fresh protest.

  “Again, not in the way you think.” She slid into a cross-legged position before continuing. “I didn’t do this, but I knew it was going to happen. I’ve been preparing for it for years. And the reason I didn’t, the reason I couldn’t, go to the authorities, is because the authorities are behind this. Or at least, certain ones. At the highest levels, they are able to exert influence across the spectrum of government. They can’t be fought, not openly.”

  “How?” Ava demanded. “How do you know—how did you know?”

  “Some years ago,” Marr said, “I was a government contractor in what they call a Special Access Program. It had to do with something called Continuity of Government. Do you know what that is?”

  Ava shook her head no. She was fully engaged now, almost entranced by the intimacy Marr was sharing with her.

  “It was originally created during the Cold War to provide what they called Critical Infrastructure Protection. In case we were nuked, it allowed the government to continue to function. Then, after the Soviet Union fell, it was morphed into providing command and control in the advent of severe natural disasters. Worldwide famines leading to civil unrest. Continent wide droughts. A planet killer asteroid strike; a global pandemic.”

  “Sounds like the powerful figuring out how to save themselves while the rest of us suffer.” Ava made no attempt to keep the bitterness out of her voice.

  Marr nodded without guile. “That’s exactly what it was,” she said. “In order for it to work, plans were drawn up for a shadow government. A state within a state made up of third or fourth tier unelected bureaucrats, the ones who ran government agencies no matter which political party was in power. While the heads of agencies changed with elections, it was the lower level technocrats who kept the various departments and bureaus running from decade to decade.”

  “How did you get involved?” Ava asked.

  “I was working with the Department of Defense, and later JSOC—the Joint Special Operations Command—in conducting psychological profiles on potential operators. I had very high clearance and I somehow came to someone’s attention. I was asked to head a project conducting profiles of suitable COG candidates.”

  Marr trailed off for a moment. Ava could see her struggling to find words. She’d never seen the woman ever have difficulty putting her thoughts into words, and wasn’t sure what to make of it now, but finally Marr seemed to find her voice again.

  “After several years, I noticed a troubling pattern. People I had ear-marked as unsuitable were being picked for promotions.”

  “Unsuitable how?” Ava asked,

  “Extreme narcissistic personality traits, in some cases potentially bordering on high-functioning psychopath indicators. Psychopath isn’t a term that’s currently in vogue, but it serves to illustrate what I mean. In other cases, the individuals showed unimaginative traits that left them open to authoritarianist solutions. Functionaries who followed orders unquestioningly. Sycophants.”

  “So, the conscienceless masterminds and their obedient thugs,” Ava said.

  Marr burst into a smile, and it seemed to knock decades from her face. For a moment, Ava caught a glimpse of the young woman she must have been. She felt her anger and resentment begin to soften a bit. This was a huge secret for one person to have had to carry, Ava realized.

  “Ava, that’s exactly right,” Marr said. “This is why you’re so important to me! I need people with us who are capable of grasping larger pictures. Of helping me guide the others. As soon as I realized what I was a
part of and how widespread it was, I got out, and then I created the church and used my profiling abilities to choose people who could help me rebuild a kinder, gentler society. One filled with abilities that would allow us to survive off the grid when the shadow masters revealed themselves.”

  “And Gruber and his bullies?” Ava demanded, growing angry all over again.

  Marr avoided her eyes. “In order for the COG cabal to institute the draconian measures they’d need, there would by necessity have to be prolonged periods of civil disorder. In a reality like that, the church would need people capable of fighting. And, Ava…” Marr seemed to almost be pleading with her to understand, “I didn’t have the luxury of thousands of people to choose from. I only had those few who found their way to my door.”

  “And the ranch?”

  Marr became brisk, matter of fact. “We have to have people. Any individual who didn’t commit to us was only going to go on to suffer or to become part of the oppressive machine. In a very real sense, you are for us or against us. This is an unchangeable reality.”

  “So you became the mastermind, and Gruber and his clowns became your sycophants.”

  Marr’s mouth drew out in a tight, flat line.

  “I’m sorry you see it that way, Ava,” she said.

  “And I’m sorry you’re a control freak bent on brainwashing the people who trusted you,” Ava shot back.

  Marr rose and stepped back out of the room. “I think this session is no longer productive.”

  “Screw you!” Ava shouted.

  The only answer she got was the closing of the door and the turning of the lock. I have to get out of here, she thought.

  The door to the room had closed with a solid bang and the lock had fully rolled over. Now that she wasn’t being observed, she allowed herself to look around. Small room, no window. Plywood paneling over sheetrock. Cheap carpet and thin floor padding over foundation cement. A picture of a rapture-looking Jesus showed itself to be weary and faded in the ugly yellow light of a single bulb hanging from a chain in the ceiling.