The cameras ate it up, zooming in here and there to consume their fear.
Pixie signaled to the other camera operators, making sure they understood their directions before giving Scarface a countdown.
On one, Scarface stepped onscreen and transferred Martin and Zack to tilted autopsy tables. Next to their tables waited matching trays filled with knives, pliers, and needles.
Vie across the city would be glued to their well-upholstered seats, drinking Crimson Crush out of crystal goblets, ears, necks, and fingers draped in precious jewels. Would Martin’s benefactor be watching? Would Alex? I had outed him. Maybe he applauded my death.
Scarface sneered at his prey. He tore Zack’s shirt off and poked at his bare skin like a bird pecking for worms. “So fragile. So foolish to think you could get away with thievery.”
“Please,” Zack begged, squirming in his bonds, panting.
I shivered. It was my fault he ended up here.
Pixie honed in on him, capturing every miserable moment.
“I don’t understand why the NCAAR fight so hard to protect you scum, you filth. You make our city dirty. You spread disease. You’re a waste. Aren’t you?” Scarface clamped his fingers around Zack’s face and moved his head up and down. “Say yes.”
“Y-yes,” Zack squeaked.
“Get away from him,” I growled.
A nearby camera focused in on me. Pixie must’ve wanted to do the split screen trick.
Scarface cut his gaze to me and smiled. “I’ll get back to you soon enough.”
He leaned over Zack, flashing the knife in front of his face. “Ready to die?” He pulled a knife out of his pocket and waved it in front of Zack’s face.
Zack screamed.
I bucked against the chains. They shuddered and jerked me around.
Scarface continued digging. Rivulets of blood streamed over Zack’s pale skin. Dark liquid pooled at his feet and circled a drain. Scarface paused several times to break up the clots stuck in the filter so it could fill the bucket directly underneath.
I gagged but had nothing left to purge except guilt—pure, hot guilt. The weight of it compressed my lungs, made all the pain stronger.
I closed my eyes, swallowing the panic swirling in my belly and rising to my throat. A fresh layer of sweat trickled down my face and neck along with a wash of heat that darkened the edges of my vision.
Finally, blessedly, Zack stopped breathing, the whole disgusting thing done.
Scarface slapped my face. “Pay attention.”
I startled. He’d moved so silently and quickly that I hadn’t heard him slide to me.
He gave me a little shove and I swung like a pendulum, helpless. “We’re getting to the best part.”
The air barely stirred as he glided over to Martin.
Martin fought the restraints. Useless.
Scarface dug his fingers into Martin’s thigh and snapped the bone with his bare hand. His bare hand.
Crunch… crunch… crunch!
Scarface worked his way down one leg and up the other before turning his attention to Martin’s arms. He paused a few minutes after each movement to let the effects fully take hold. Martin’s screams eclipsed mine. Finally, he placed his hands on either side of Martin’s head.
The Vie glanced to me. With a quick twist, he snapped Martin’s neck. “Any comments?”
For once, I had nothing to say.
“No? I can help you find your lost voice.”
Scarface selected a long rod with a two-pronged Zapper on the end. Holding it a couple of inches of my face, he flicked the switch a couple of times. Arcs of bluish electricity sparked between the prongs. He touched the tip of it to my chest and let the volts fly.
White hot pain shot into my heart. My back arched and jaw locked. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. Electricity froze me in place.
Scarface removed the prongs. I slumped into the darkness of unconsciousness…
Who knew how much later, rough fingers squeezed my neck, reminding me I had a body and that my brain continued producing thoughts such as I must’ve survived and how?
“No pulse,” Scarface said.
Wait. What? No way. My pulse one thousand percent, absolutely… pulsed. A lot. Through my head. Rushed in my ears. Throbbed in my fingertips.
I buzzed with life.
“Justice, my fine Vie friends, is served. Three Anemies, bold in their trespassing, stealing, and blatant disrespect for our society, have been executed. You witnessed it here, live, and unedited.” Vincent Marks’ voice swelled with pride. He believed in what he said. Homeless, weaponless, innocent Anemies posed a real threat to Vie, and this Prime Time Special—spectacle—kept that threat in check by making an example of us.
“We’re clear,” Pixie Vie said.
I held my breath. They couldn’t be finished. I wasn’t dead. Surely, they heard my heart beating. Why lie?
Another smack to my face sent me rocking. “Look at me,” Scarface said.
I opened my eyes.
“Now comes the best part.”
The camera crew, Pixie, and Vincent left the room, job done.
I managed to convince my mouth and tongue to move. “How can it? Everyone’s gone. The cameras—”
“This is off the record.”
Whistling, Scarface fetched a syringe and an odd assortment of tubes and glass containers from his tray. He inserted the needle into Martin’s jugular vein then connected the tubing to a plunger on one end and a beaker on the other. The whoosh and slide of pumping marked the harvest of Martin’s blood. Half a dozen quart-sized containers held what Martin’s veins used to.
Chore complete, Scarface removed the needle from Martin’s neck and stabbed it into his chest. Blood rushed into the syringe with a single pull on the plunger. He unfastened the needle and suckled the dark liquid. A moan of pleasure escaped him.
“Too bad I couldn’t get more out of you.” He poked Martin’s arm.
After transferring the blood-filled containers to a metal rolling cart, he ducked under Zack’s table and picked up the bucket.
“You drink Anemie blood too?” I said, my voice hoarse. “Do all of you?”
The Vie shifted his gaze to me, his lids heavy. “The blood is the life. It’s a phrase from an old religion, pre-Arrival. Heard of it?”
“No.”
“I suppose you wouldn’t have.”
“If you kill us all, you won’t have your drug anymore.”
He licked blood off his lips. “Before our Arrival, humans used drugs indiscriminately. Governments tried to eradicate them. It didn’t stop the drugs being used.”
“You can’t use what doesn’t exist,” I replied. “When we’re gone, we’re gone.”
Scarface chuckled as he fumbled to unhook me from the chain I dangled on. Clots, he was super-mega high. “Not so much of a sludge brain after all. I can’t wait to taste you.” Desperation filtered into his slur.
I stared up at him through my filthy hair.
He hoisted me to my feet and dragged me down the dimly lit hallway, teetering this way and that. Extending a hand to steady himself, he pushed off one wall, stumbled, and collided with the opposite one. I followed—no choice—on a pinball ride to Hell.
At the end of the hall, we entered another cavernous space lit with bare bulbs dangling from the ceiling. He shoved me into a reclining chair so hard my teeth clattered at the impact. The cuts on my back and stomach flared. Sucking in air, I held onto the chair’s arms so I didn’t slip and land on the floor.
Scarface tied my ankles and wrists with leather restraints and pulled a lever to lay me flat. He collected half a dozen needles and IV kits, placing them in a row on the table next to me.
My breath caught in my throat. How much further were they going to take this? How much longer could I last? “Where you gonna stick me?”
“Everywhere.”
He set his dark eyes on me, smiling, while selecting a large needle. The thing looked like a nail.
Steadier than before, he connected needle and tubing, then slipped the clamp down.
“Thanks for clarifying,” I croaked.
“You’re shaking.” Scarface smacked my arm a few times to draw up a vein.
I winced at the needle stick. How much longer did I want to last?
Another pinch on the back of my hand. Then my arms, feet, and neck.
My heart pounded faster with every jab, ejecting my blood out.
Scarface announced, “The others will gather shortly.”
How foolish of me to hold onto hope. Martin and Zack had, and it killed them. Sammie looked up to me for protection, and I failed to deliver. It was time to let hope go. The restraints holding me down would not miraculously unfasten. Martin’s Vie friend didn’t wait on the other side of the door to break me free. Begging for mercy wasted time.
Plus, I did not want to know what other torture waited for me before I met death.
“Don’t you want to sneak in a drink?” Come on, clotsucker, drink enough to finish me off.
Scarface paused. “Does nothing stop your mouth?”
I shook my head.
“Maybe I will take a sip… or two.”
I’d lost so much blood already, it wouldn’t take much. Then this would all be done, over, the end.
He pulled out his knife. Shiny steel glinted in the fluorescent light. He slipped the tip into my belly and drew it toward my chest a couple inches, reopening his artwork. I tensed and tried not to hyperventilate. It’ll be easier this way, I told myself.
“Your body betrays you. I can smell your fear. It makes me…thirsty.” His fangs pinched as he bit into the open wound. He didn’t need to bite, my blood flowed freely, but he did it anyway.
I rocked in the chair.
Scarface growled. He clutched my chest and legs, pinning me down.
“A few more sips, Anemie, that’s all.”
My blood dripped from his mouth. My anemic, useless (or so I thought), precious (as a drug—what?), limited blood.
The door swung open and banged against the wall.
“That’s enough. Much more and you’ll overdose,” a booming voice ordered.
Scarface jerked toward the interruption, fangs bared, lips dripping.
A Vie dressed in a tailored suit hovered at the doorway. His long face and disheveled hair contrasted with the neatness of his clothes. His ruby signet ring flashed. A white scar capped the end of his hand where his pinky finger should have been.
Alex. The clotsucker himself.
Rage coursed through me, hardening my muscles, pinching my spine.
Alex nodded almost imperceptibly at me. He sauntered in like he owned the place. “I’ve been looking for you. Then where did I see you but on the vidscreen? You could imagine my surprise.”
“The slave. The one with a snowflake hair clip,” I mumbled, tongue sticking to the roof of my mouth.
Alex smiled. “Liked my message? I’d heard you’d been spotted in the Elite District, so I thought I’d leave you the proverbial trail of crumbs.” He straightened his cuffs. “Granted it was only one crumb, but it was a rather conspicuous one, don’t you think?”
I managed to lift my head a bit. “Your crumb was what got me caught, no thanks to you.”
“What’s happening?” Scarface screeched, holding his hands in the air. They shriveled like a flower dying on a sped up time-lapse vid. Shit.
Eyes wide, he gaped at the skeletal remains of his fingers. The cuffs of his sleeves slid down to his elbows, revealing mummified arms. His jaw dropped lower. No, fell. Like it had unhinged. A guttural groan bubbled up from his throat. He tried to grasp his face with his bone-fingers. They crumbled to dust on contact.
I tore my gaze from his wobbling chin and stared him in the eyes, but his eyelids had dropped, shutting them. The lines of his face deepened to thick creases as if the bones beneath had melted. He dissolved into screams, and I joined right along with him. The guy was disintegrating in a matter of seconds!
I wiggled against my restraints, frantic.
Alex simply stood there, hands folded, watching with mild interest.
Scarface crumbled to his knees, face upturned toward Alex. His hair scattered to the floor like confetti. A mangled scream blew out of his cavernous mouth, followed by a plume of dust. Ash.
The rest of him flopped to the floor, unrecognizable. Scarface had basically cremated himself by drinking my blood.
I’d killed him.
A Vie.
I’d killed a Vie.
Impossible.
I stilled.
Scarface sizzled a little, like a fire that refused to quit even though it’s only a few smoking embers. His remains threw off the moldy, bitter scent of decay.
“That was unexpected. Did you do that?” Alex gestured to the mess on the floor.
A Vie just spontaneously combusted and he stood there, completely calm?
“I… don’t know.” My voice trembled.
Alex circled around the ashes. He jabbed his iron-like fingers along my belly. “I’m glad I got to you before he finished you off.”
“Ouch,” I grunted, grimacing at the rawness of my wounds.
“Be still. I’m a scientist—I know what I’m doing.” He licked his fingers clean. Eyes closed, he stood motionless. Then, pure bliss crossed his face. A rush of crimson blushed his cheeks. He turned his eyes on me. “You’ve had a transfusion. Resourceful boy. No matter, the effect is still quite potent. Not sure what occurred here, though.” He frowned at what used to be Scarface. “Must be an anomaly.”
I wheezed. Effect?
He pressed gauze to my wounds then taped it in place. “It seems moderation is key. Only a taste now and then. Otherwise… poof.”
“I don’t understand.”
A blunt tapping knocked against my forehead. I flinched. Alex hovered inches from my face. “With time you will”
“Why did you take Sammie?”
“I needed her.”
“For what?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” His forehead wrinkled. “You look terrible, by the way.”
“Thanks.”
“Pssh.” His mouth twisted in a smirk as he removed the needles dotting my body, taking time to bandage me up. “If I untie you, I need your promise that you won’t try to run. Not that you’d get far, but I’d rather not attract any more attention. You’ve done quite enough of that. Anyway, it seems the others don’t know the full extent of your abilities, so let’s keep it that way.”
“I swear on my life. I’ll be a good boy.”
“Your life. Such as it is.” He unfastened the leather straps and helped me sit up.
“How do we get out of here?”
“I’ll take care of that.”
I cradled my belly. “Are my guts gonna fall out?”
Alex chuckled. “Unlikely.”
I leaned against the chair until my head stopped swirling. Scarface’s bite burned. Hopefully I had enough of the synthetic blood Martin’d transfused me with to help me fight the fresh dose of toxin.
“We need to clean this mess up first.” Alex retrieved a red bag from a drawer and snapped it open. He passed the bag to me then searched for a dustpan and broom.
The horrible tingling started up like last time, and I almost dropped the bag. “Why should I?”
“What would you think if you happened upon a Vie’s ashes? The entire facility would be on high alert. Besides, he disintegrated because of you.”
He had a point. Still… “Why should I help? I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you, remember?”
He glared at me. “You want to see Samantha again?”
I squared my jaw. I was beyond sick of people lording things over me.
“I thought so. Open the bag wider.” He shoved more ash in and tossed whatever bones fragments remained. “Once we finish here, we’ll get a transfusion in you, maybe two.”
“Then what?”
He bared his fangs.
Y
ear 75, Month 5, Day 26, after midnight
e stayed off the major streets, snaking down alleys and between buildings deep in the Elite District. Sophisticated Vie would not want to be confronted with the likes of us—a bloody, sweaty, stinky, half-dead Anemie supported by an Elite Vie. The toxin from Scarface’s bite spread with every treacherous beat of my heart. My own body became a traitor, helping finish what Scarface, and ultimately Alex, started. Scarface lost his immortal life because of it. Scarface and I may end up killing each other. An end game. He just happened to end first.
I slogged along, mostly supported by Alex’s strong arm and gentle reassurances. Seriously, he whispered encouragements in my ear like Dad had when he’d tended my burns.
“Come on, Justin. We have to hurry.”
“I could use some of that Antinocio,” I wheezed, tripping over my feet.
Though the cool night air was dry, sweat slicked my skin, fueled by fever from the toxin.
“I don’t have any. An unfortunate oversight on my part, I must admit. Though I did have to rush to rescue you, I hope you’ll understand.”
“Thought you carried it in your pocket.”
“The night we met was a fluke in a lot of ways, but flukes can lead to breakthroughs, and I have a feeling I need you for my breakthrough. So don’t give up now. We’re almost there.”
“Where? The lab?” We paused at an unmarked metal door situated halfway along a glass and metal skyscraper.
“No, that’s too dangerous. For both of us.”
Alex swiped a keycard in the panel. The lock clicked, and we entered.
I tripped over the lip.
“Easy now.” Alex hooked his arm under mine and pulled me down a narrow corridor.
The only sounds were my footsteps and labored breathing.
At the end of the hall, he said, “I heard you antagonizing Robert. Doesn’t say much about your desire to survive.”
“Robert?”
“The Vie who turned to dust after drinking your blood.”
“You mean Scarface?”
I tried to stand on my own, and Alex let me. His forehead creased with curiosity, but he didn’t help as if testing my strength.
My legs held me. Barely.
He gave a slight nod, impressed I didn’t immediately fall to the floor. The feeling was mutual.
Dawn of the Vie (Immortal Aliens Book 1) Page 12
