Only The Saints (Lost Survival Series Book 2)

by David Tyne

  Tomás was no longer in his happy mode; for once, he gave a solemn nod. I couldn't help but grin as I patted him forwards.

  "Then what are we waiting for? Let's go and ask 'em real nice."

  26 | Got The T-Shirt

  How we never fell down that pitch-black excuse of a staircase, I’ll never know. As Tomás and I finally reached the bottom, we opened another door to enter the underground factory; with corridors plastered with cracked-grey walls, there seemed to be many indistinguishable rooms below the facility.

  I wasn't very optimistic that we'd find any survivors, due to how easily we'd managed to penetrate their 'defences'. I couldn't let myself become distracted, however — Tomás made these guys out to be complete sociopaths, and so that was what I’d prepared for.

  Peering into every vacant room filled with scrap metal and machinery, it hit home that this search could take a while. I decided to ask for more information about Belle, the person we were here for. The musician tensed up at the mere mention of her name.

  "Bro, I can't think about that right now. She could’ve gone anywhere, after Banks turned me into his dancing monkey."

  His eyes glazed over, and a mischievous smirk replaced his frowning face. "...Hey, I know what'll take my mind off of it. Why don't you tell me what the deal is between you and that brown-haired chica?"

  I paused for a moment, pondering how he managed to pick up on our failed relationship before it even had a chance to start. Were we really that indiscreet about it?

  "...Ah, sorry!” Tomás smirked at my pale reaction. “I just assumed you two were a thing. Saw you both dancing in the ballroom, back when I was playing with the Aquarium’s band. Thought you made a cute couple!"

  I breathed a sigh, possibly wanting to avoid the subject of love as much as Tomás did a second ago. Regardless, I gave him my best answer. "Well, you weren't totally wrong. We almost got together, I think... I kind of botched it up, though. She told me that we should just stay friends."

  Tomás winced aloud, placing his hand over his heart in honour of my romantic pain. I was forced to push him away, before I could burst out into nervous laughter.

  "Yeah, real funny… The truth is, there’s this other—"

  A powerful blow to my kneecaps ripped the ground from beneath my feet, landing flat on my back as I heard Tomás yelping beside me. The shadows dashed out from one of the side rooms, too fast for us to register.

  Something was pinning the musician against the wall, and I tried to help knock it away. However, I quickly realised that I was in a similar situation. Two hands rolled my body over onto my stomach, and before I could move, the feeling of cold metal encapsulated both of my restrained wrists. Handcuffs? Who are these guys?

  My brutish captor plucked me from the dirty floor and slammed me face-first against the wall beside Tomás. The musician was already demanding an explanation, screaming his head off.

  "H-Hey, What's your beef?! Let us go!! Belle!! I need to find— mmph, mhnn!" Tomás’ cries became muffled as one of the dark figures fisted a dirty rag into his mouth.

  After a second or two of yelling through the cloth, his eyes seemed to flutter, and he dropped to the ground. Shit, it’s some kind of drug. Don’t breathe it in...

  I didn't have time to respond, as the same rag was removed from the unconscious musician's mouth and crudely crammed into mine. I shook violently against the wall, trying to break free. The struggle alone was enough to drain my energy, before passing out completely.

  ----

  My mind kept slipping in and out of consciousness, being dragged through the ensuing darkness. When I felt everything stop, I soared upwards only to bang my head on a metal pipe, sending my brain rattling back and forth. I found my handcuffs still attached, wrapped behind a thick pipe which held me prisoner.

  Tomás was in a similar position, except his had him suspended from the ceiling pipe, one meter above the ground. The strain was visible in his wrists, the pressure turning his skin swollen-red. Even like this, he managed to crack up at my own clumsiness.

  "Bwahaha... That's one hell of a way to wake up! Been kind of boring up here, just hanging out myself."

  I shot him a cold glare, pissed at his need to turn any intense scenario into a cheap pun or two. "Great, just great. Any idea what they want from us? You didn't mention that they carried fucking chloroform around."

  Tomás didn't look the least bit distraught, instead throwing me a quizzical look as though I was the one who didn't know what I was getting into.

  "Yeah, that’s new to me too… but c’mon, we're exactly where we wanna be! My best shot at finding Belle is by grabbing their attention, even if it means flexing here until my triceps fall off."

  Before I could commend or insult his dedication, he struck a feeble pose with his hands bound against the wall, which was impressive considering how much it defied gravity. I screwed my face up at the joker, trying to focus on losing my handcuffs before I was forced to watch his loose-fitting trousers fall down.

  As I pulled and tugged at the pipe holding me back, the only door to our little prison room suddenly unlocked itself and opened. A rough-looking man with dreadlocks and a beanie sauntered in, fixing us both with a threatening look.

  He stopped for a moment as his eyes happened across my cringe-worthy shorts and unmatching shirt, reminding me that I still looked a little ‘special’.

  "...Hmph,” he finally grunted. “Think that you punks can just wander into our den, and we wouldn't fucking notice?!"

  I was about to try and calmly explain the situation, but my gabby companion got there first. “Actually, I was hoping someone higher-up would find us. Name’s Tomás, first-time prisoner and second-time tourist. You must be new here, so I’ll do you a solid and not recommend the continental breakfast. Too many rats crapping in that meth lab you call a kitchen."

  The obvious junkie wasn't having any of it, throwing his fist into the wall centimetres away from the hanging man. "You oughta watch your mouth, ese. Wouldn't want a bullet through that pretty face of yours, you get me?!"

  He flashed his pistol from the waistband of his sweatpants, showing that he meant business. Unfortunately, so did Tomás — and only one of them had an ego and a mouth big enough to make it happen.

  "Listen, bro. I get that you're rolling with these 'badasses' and think you can do whatever you feel like... Really, that's top-drawer villain stuff. Peachy. Trouble is, I've been up here before. I know that you guys don't keep people alive for no good reason... and I've seen exactly what goes down in the cage room. Been there, done it, got the t-shirt. Killing us would be a waste of good entertainment."

  I glanced between them as the druggie hesitated for a moment, then re-concealed his firearm. "...Yeah, well, whatevs. You're still gonna be ripped to fucking shreds! Ain't like the last time, the rules are way different now."

  I felt as though I was interrupting, but I had to ask. "Um... If you're not going to kill us, then what’re we still doing here?" The two of them ignored me, keeping themselves focused solely on each other. Tomás lowered his head to meet his captor's eyes.

  "...I'll give you one chance now, to tell me. After that, I’ll have to force it out of your loser friends. Who bought that Hispanic woman two weeks ago? Sorry to burst your bubble, but she's kind of taken. June wedding, already sent out the invites."

  The junkie simply exhaled with a short laugh, dismissing his question. "Yeah, as if I keep track of that shit. Look at yourself, you think you’re in any shape to boss me around?! You're going to die not knowing about your bird, how does that sound?"

  Tomás seemed to expect this kind of response, and let his trademark smile creep back. "Haha, listen pal... we're tougher than we look. Once we win — and we will win — at least one of the bets should come through, and then it won't be so easy to ignore us. I'll see you then, because I'll be knocking on every door until I get an answer!"

  The musician appeared almost fearless, a trait he only seemed to adopt when the si
tuation called for it. Our captor scoffed at him, then moved back to open the door as three other men stormed inside.

  "Wha— What bets?” I nearly squawked, flapping around wildly. “Tom, what the hell is going on?!"

  Two of the men held me back as I was freed from the pipe, then restrained once more with the handcuffs. They carried us both outside, but I kept on throwing myself in all directions to be as inconvenient as possible. Against my own will, their descent led us towards the place I heard everyone refer to as 'the cage room'.

  The musician didn't look troubled, but rather remorseful for my involvement. "Chill out, Daniel... I really wanted this to pan out another way, but it looks like we need to prove ourselves. Remember the 'fight club' thing I told you about? Well... we're going in the lowest ring."

  I almost cursed aloud at Tomás for not telling me sooner, but I should have realised that this was a possibility. Before I knew it, the two of us were dropped into some kind of grated slot, fell through a vent shaft before tumbling out into a large puddle of muddied-deep water.

  The metal floor and circular walls told me that we weren’t standing inside a caged room at all, so much as an oversized industrial vat. Looking up at the ceiling, I could see a wired grate separating me from a circle of hooting, cheering survivors.

  There must have been more than twenty degenerates passing money to each other as bets. Their sickening taunts implied that they didn't want to see us win whatever kind of 'fight' this was going to be.

  I helped Tomás to his feet as the spectators hocked loogies into the water we were standing in. With the both of our handcuffs linked around our backs, defending ourselves would be pretty much impossible.

  "Man,” he sighed worriedly, “this is way more intimidating than last time... It was just me up against this armless dude. At least back then, I used both hands to knock him out."

  “Well, now your win streak makes a lot more sense—”

  We were interrupted by a tall man falling through the slot we'd been pushed through, scrambling to his feet almost instantly. Wrapped around his forehead, he wore a red headband of sorts.

  It was dyed — or rather, soaked with blood — which didn't surprise me at all. I could easily recognise him, even without the hoodie he always used to wear.

  The dark, silent O-Saint that had brought us all the way from Danderhall to the Forth bridge widened his eyes in complete shock as he noticed my presence. Almost as though he believed that we'd never cross paths again, after he'd managed to slither away without even saying goodbye.

  "Y-You... Are you with those assholes?!" The man I’d nicknamed Grumpy screamed accusingly at me, even though I was clearly bound with my hands behind my back, same as him.

  A low growl silenced the three of us, as the audience above celebrated what appeared to be the start of the fight. "W-What, are we fighting each other?" Tomás asked, eyes darting around.

  Looking back, I could only wish that was the case. Our opponent had been waiting in the vat this entire time, only I'd missed it under the reflective surface of the waist-high water. The shadow had been asleep, but apparently reacting to our voices and the yells above, it was now awake and rising from the filthy water to reveal the true size and nature of our threat.

  "T-That bridge monster!!" Grumpy gasped, staggering backwards. If we weren’t worried before, the clenched look on everyone’s faces told me that we were all bricking it now.

  The Fenrir man raised itself on two hind legs, howling skywards until it came crashing down. Charging through the disease-ridden water, its bloodlust vastly overpowered any shred of humanity that remained.

  27 | Deathmatch

  I barely reacted in time to the Fenrir’s attack, ducking off to the left as Tomás smacked our O-Saint companion to the right. For some inexplicable reason, the wakened beast screeched to a halt in the middle of the circular vat, shaking its head violently.

  It appeared dazed, possibly still suffering from the effects of sedation. That chloroform drug from earlier, I finally understood its use. It was the only comprehensible way that their gang could capture a monster to bring down here, for use in their twisted arena games.

  The creature's grey eyes snapped to the musician, apparently enraged by the damp conditions as it bounded towards him. Crashing into Tomás, it used its own head as a battering ram to crush his stomach. It became brutally obvious that we weren't supposed to survive in our handcuffed state; This wasn't so much a fair fight, as it was an execution.

  While the creature was distracted, I quickly bent over and pulled each foot backwards through my looped arms. Rolling into them, I somehow reversed my shackles to guard the front of my body.

  "Hey!! You... ugly!" I yelled at the Fenrir. It turned viciously towards my shouts, and even the winded Tomás raised an eyebrow at my lack of creative insults. "Over here! C'mon!" I kicked the brownish water into its face, taunting it to chase after me instead.

  I backed up, pressing myself patiently against the curved wall for the opportune moment. As the feral beast hurled itself through the air at my face, I dived underneath into the slimy water, sliding between the legs of its four-legged sprint.

  A metallic crash confirmed that my manoeuvre had worked, and a high-pitched whimper followed shortly. I almost felt a pang of guilt for these test subjects, still harbouring the ability to feel pain, unlike their Lost counterparts.

  The entire vat resonated and shook endlessly; looking up above, I could see that the audience shifted themselves out of view, swung back into the centre, then away again. The sloshing water confirmed it. "Hey, we're... rocking? There aren't any supports! Tom, help me tip this thing over!"

  Tomás placed his hand against the opposing metal, and realising what I was saying, he whistled over at the Fenrir. "C'mere, boy! Want to go for a walk? Who's a good dog!" The beast responded by shaking off the impact and stomping towards Tomás, while Grumpy the O-Saint repeatedly circled the entire room in a panic.

  "Shit, they're trying to escape! Cheaters!" Shouts and jeers were heard from above, tossing their betted coins at our heads. The vat was still reeling from the first strike, and thankfully the Fenrir was dumb enough to fall for the same trick twice.

  The musician wriggled out of the way just in time, and with that the entire vat was torn from its hinges. I felt us passing the point of no return, the water running all the way up the wall as we tumbled skywards.

  We must’ve floated in the air for a good couple of seconds, before crashing directly onto a disused conveyor belt of sorts. The dried-up casts cushioned my fall, but by the time I'd groaned the descent off, I realised that Tomás and the O-Saint weren't so lucky.

  "Hnng... Hijo de tu puta madre. I think I twisted my ankle..." The musician tried to stand up, but I could see the pain shooting through his nerves as he gripped the sides of the processing room. The motion made me realise that his handcuffs, as well as Grumpy’s had ripped themselves off during our descent. Unfortunately, mine were still digging into my red-raw skin.

  Both of my companions jolted at the same time, and I snapped my head around to observe the flash of pink flesh. The Fenrir had landed square on his face, buried into the blood-splattered concrete... It wasn't moving.

  "Oh thank God,” I huffed, collapsing back down. “What are we gonna do now?"

  There was no way that these men were willing to give up any information about Belle. Hell, I wasn't so sure we could even get close to them without being shot on sight.

  Purposely ignoring the elephant in the room, I knew that I had to acknowledge him sooner or later. The scowling O-Saint had been staring at me the entire time, almost waiting to be addressed.

  "Ah. Um... Didn't expect to see you here?"

  The stranger got to his feet, wiping the dust from his gangly legs.

  "...Mm."

  Always chatting my ear off, that one.

  "Glad you made it off the bridge, dude. Where’s the rest of the Nazi party?”

  “The O-Saints,” was the only corre
ction I got out of him. Not even a full answer.

  I let Tomás hoist his arm around my shoulder as the three of us limped towards a nearby staircase, moving ahead despite having no clue what our plan was. Ascending to the upper levels, Grumpy must’ve recognised that we were busting him out of the arena as well. Whether he felt like he owed us an explanation, it was startling to hear him initiate a conversation all of a sudden.

  "...They left me behind."

  “Who?” I asked, forgetting our half-conversation from five minutes ago.

  “They did. Our leader— Officer Burkley,” he dismissed his title, “he took the surviving Saints out to sea. Said we were heading East, going to fight the real enemy.”

  “Wow, he’s gunning for world domination now?” Tomás laughed, finally starting to believe in our Telos theory. “The more I hear about this guy, the more he sounds like some crazy anime villain.”

  “He’s for real,” Grumpy grimly stated, “and he fucking sold a bunch of us to these cunts for ammo. There was an overrun military blockade in Dundee, now all of the gangs are trying to sell stolen firearms. In exchange for people.”

  “So that’s where all of those guns are coming from,” I sighed in strange relief. It had bothered me for the longest time, how everyone we met was kitted out like some Hollywood action movie.

  The O-Saint rubbed his sore arm shamefully. "I sold my soul to that man… I killed for him, for what I thought was right. He made me do unspeakable things, and then threw me away.”

  “That was your choice, bro,” Tomás reminded him. The glare he got was quickly subdued by Grumpy’s bitter nod.

  "Right. I did what they asked, didn’t matter as long as I had shelter. Everything that your group had to say though, even what Garry was talking about back then... It made me question why the O-Saints even existed."

  I nearly tripped over the steps as I was whisked back in time. Recalling the chubby O-Saint who'd died trying to save me when our tent was overrun by the Lost. I’d completely forgotten his real name until now, that haunting fact only lending to the O-Saint’s depressing story.