The Romero Strain (Book 2): The Dead, The Damned & The Darkness

by Ts Alan

  “In Vietnam,” J.D. continued, “during the war, the Viet Cong used thin pieces of bamboo on captives, driving them under the nails, or into the under part of the eye socket. Or my favorite—piercing them into the testicles. The Asians had such unique ways of maximizing pain while prolonging death… However, as I recall, it was the Spanish Inquisition that is credited for the most brutal and cruel forms of punishment in the recorded history of modern man. The Inquisitors would do things to people you couldn’t even imagine. Not even coming out of your sick, twisted little mind. They had all sorts of mutilation devices, even one which resembled a nutcracker and was used to crush testicles. The Spanish Tickler,” J.D. said, and then held out his right hand and curled his fingers as he explained. “Four sharp metal talons about the size of four fingers of a man’s hand resembling a cat’s paw served to rip a person’s flesh to shreds and to strip it off the bones.”

  As intimidation J.D. clawed himself along his left forearm, ripping four thin lines down his flesh. He held up his bleeding arm and let the blood drip into Barlow’s lap.

  “But my favorite is The Pear,” J.D. continued. “It was a device that expanded after being inserted orally, anally, or vaginally. Talk about ripping ya a new one. ‘Confessions’ were freely given then… Last but not least, there was one very simple, effective technique. That was vivisection. They would use a sharpened instrument to cut you open from groin to sternum while you lay strapped to a wooden table. The accused—men, women, children, it didn’t matter—would be screaming in such horrific agony while the Inquisitor’s men reached into the body cavity and pulled out the intestines first,” J.D. animatedly gestured as he expounded, “always saving the vital organs for last, all to extract confessions from the accused. And they did this all in the name of God.”

  Barlow seemed to be unfazed by his captor’s ranting. His eyes remained hard and cold.

  J.D. continued, “Oh, but that was in a much more civilized time. These days, well, there seems to be a total disregard for human life. It’s all about raping and murdering. Sodomizing children, killing transmutes, and beating dwarves.”

  J.D. now paced the small room, as he explained to Barlow what was going to happen.

  “I have a series of questions for you,” J.D. began. A knock came at the door, interrupting. “Oh, how timely. Come!”

  A short man wearing a black hooded mask entered pushing a food service cart.

  “Oh, must be lunch time,” J.D. said, and then asked Barlow. “You hungry? You look hungry. I know I feel a little peckish.”

  J.D. moved to the cart and pulled off the white linen covering from the first tier.

  “What? Surgical instruments and tools? No lunch?” he asked the masked man.

  The short man shook his head no.

  “That’s a shame, Peter. Where are your manners? Every condemned man is supposed to have his last meal.”

  He turned back to Barlow.

  “You know, the world has really gone to shit. It’s just so hard to find good help these days with all those pesky half-mutes and you and Stone murdering survivors… Oh, but how rude of me. Here I am admonishing Peter for his poor manners and it seems I’ve forgotten mine. Richard, meet Peter. Peter, say hello.”

  Peter raised his hand and circled it left to right gesturing his greeting.

  “Peter doesn’t talk much, you see. He’s got this speech impediment.”

  “Another fucking midget,” Barlow declared, his speech slurred from the effects of the narcotic. “It’s like the circus. Two freaks for the price of one.”

  There was now a hardness and ferocity in J.D.’s voice. “Better than a Coney Island Circus Sideshow attraction.” J.D. grabbed his adversary by the throat and then spoke into his ear, “If it is curiosity that you seek, then behold the vicious freak,” he said as he gestured to Peter. “He’ll make you laugh until you cry, then you’ll die, then you’ll die.”

  He released Barlow and then told him, “And this is not just another midget as you so impolitely put it; he’s a dwarf with whom you are well acquainted. Peter, let Richard see your pretty face!”

  Peter stepped over to the chair and took off his mask to reveal his scarred features.

  “Well, fuck me!” Barlow exclaimed, still slurring his words “If it isn’t the midget with no tongue. Don’t worry, Stone put it to good use,” he taunted. “That little bitch daughter of yours never came so good.”

  J.D. slammed down one of his sticks atop Barlow’s head; this time the man cried out.

  “I would explain it to you,” he told Barlow with immense disdain, “but I don’t have the time or the crayons.”

  Peter went to his cart to retrieve a digital recorder and microphone with accompanying stand from under the covering of the bottom tier. He came back to the desk and set it up, pointing the microphone toward Barlow.

  “This is Peter Dunne. I affectionately refer to him as my inquisitor,” he let Barlow know. “Remember when I asked you if you ever had needles stuck into your eyes? Well, you’re going to be begging for that simple pleasure. See, Peter used to make his living as a tattoo artist. He did some outstanding work on me recently. It seems he also has a unique gift for extracting information. He makes Doctor Mengele look like Mother Theresa.

  There are only four simple questions you’re going to answer.” J.D. continued, moving the recorder atop the desk closer Barlow. “The first is, what is the location of Stone’s hideout? Second: In what part of this location will he be holding his captives? Thirdly: Will there be anyone else besides Stone at the location? And finally… Who’s the spy that has infiltrated our ranks? See, just four simple questions… Oh, and since you brought it up, you may want to tell Peter about his daughter.”

  J.D. pointed to the corner of the room. “I’m going to be right over there, Richard, sitting, and asking you those questions over and over until I’m satisfied it’s the truth… You may ask why I’ll be conducting this interview from the corner of the room… Go ahead,” he told Barlow, baiting him. Barlow refused to answer. “No? That’s okay, I’ll tell you anyway. There’s going to be a lot of body fluids splattering everywhere and I don’t want my bell accordion to get soiled.” Barlow gave J.D. a confused look. “Oh, did I forget to mention that? During the interludes, those moments where Peter will be encouraging you to answer honestly, I’ll be providing the entertainment.”

  J.D. moved to the pushcart and retrieved his instrument from the bottom shelf, and began to play “Send in the Clowns.” He moved to Barlow and began to sing to him, and then moved to sit in the corner; as he did he smiled at Peter and gestured for him to proceed. Peter returned the smile with an extremely pleased look on his broken face as he held the hammer and nails in his hand.

  “Question one: What is the location of Stone’s hideout?” J.D. asked.

  Barlow refused to answer. Peter gave a crooked smile, and then drove a nail through their captive’s right hand, securing it firmly to the desk. Barlow flinched, but refused to cry out.

  J.D. continued the questioning as he played. However, before he could finish his song, a knock came on the door. It was Lt. Colonel Duncan. He had come to deliver an urgent message from Chief Wiese. J.D. stepped out of the room as Peter held two large fish hooks up in front of Barlow. Ryan had come to report that the trap had been sprung, but Wiese had not captured any of Stone’s men. They were friendlies. In fact, they were more; they were true friends.

  A cry of pain resonated from behind the closed door, but Ryan did not react to it.

  “What? Where are they now?” J.D. asked, concerned.

  “Being brought in, sir,” Ryan responded.

  “Take care of it,” J.D. told him. “I can’t be disturbed right now.”

  “Yes, sir,” he replied, understanding the delicate nature of the current situation.

  J.D. re-entered the room and returned to playing, and again he did
not speak. Then after a few moments of watching Peter implement a few more of his warm-up techniques, J.D. started the questioning again. However, Barlow still refused to answer. For the second round, Peter’s tool of choice was a scalpel. Seeing it, J.D. began to play what sounded like “Like a Virgin,” a song recorded by American singer Madonna. However, when J.D. began to sing it was actually “Like a Surgeon,” a parody song recorded by “Weird Al” Yankovic. Peter was amused at J.D.’s choice of music. He gave a little shuffle in time to J.D.’s music as he moved from his surgical cart back to Barlow.

  Peter executed his craft with methodical precision. It was gruesome the things the man was capable of, but it was also cathartic for him. Peter relished every painful twitch his victim made, savored every agonizing scream. The more pain he caused the better he felt. J.D. once knew the feeling all too well, releasing the anger and hate inside him, but that seemed to him so long ago. Now even the thrill of the hunt had evaded him, and he was desensitized to the tormented cries of Peter’s interrogates, and watching neither brought pleasure nor repulsion, just indifference. Nonetheless, J.D. knew that torture was a necessity when captives refused to cooperate, and Richard Barlow was a very obstinate subject.

  J.D. continuously repeated the questions, but Barlow was strong-willed and refused to yield any information. J.D. walked up to the man, raised his chin and looked into his enemy’s face.

  “I guess you need some private time with my inquisitor. So I’ll leave him to it. Perhaps you’ll be more talkative when I return.” He turned to Peter. “Try the nails in the testicles. I think that may loosen his tongue.”

  Barlow’s eyes finally lit with fear.

  ***

  J.D. went upstairs to the main hall, where the detainees were being held. There before him were Kermit, David, Sam, Marisol, and two uniformed men he didn’t recognize. Except this reunion of old friends was not a joyous occasion, as one would have expected with friends that had bonded as closely together as they had. This meeting, for J.D., was filled with apathy, so it appeared. Though J.D. seemed to be unemotional in seeing his old comrades, he was puzzled at their return and angrier than elated to see them. Although he refused to show either feeling.

  The group, along with his dog Max, and another canine called Otter were supposed to be in England. So how and why had they returned, especially now, at the most critical point in their struggle against Stone’s forces? J.D. needed to know.

  “Got yourselves caught, did we?” There were two distinct absences amongst his old team. “So where’s Julie, Otter and Max?” he asked.

  David responded, “Julie and Otter couldn’t make it, and Max—”

  “Ask Piss Pants,” Marisol cut David’s sentence short with a bitter tone, pointing an angry finger. “¡Pendajo!” she cursed, directing her pejorative at Chief Wiese.

  No one had called Paul Piss Pants is a very long time.

  “Chief,” he said sharply, furiously. “Chief Wiese front and center!”

  J.D.’s harsh demanding demeanor was out of character for the man they had left behind, and it surprised them all.

  Paul responded to his superior, quickly standing before him at attention and saluting. “Sir. Yes, sir.”

  “What the hell is going on?” J.D. demanded to know.

  “Sir?”

  “Where the hell is my dog?”

  Paul asked, “You mean that German shepherd, sir?”

  “No, Wiese, I mean the poodle. Of course I mean the shepherd,” J.D. snapped. “How many dogs do you think there are, Mr. Wiese?”

  “Just one, sir.”

  “Well?”

  “No, sir. We did not kill the animal, sir. As per your orders we do not kill animals or transmutes without your direct authorization. The dog, sir, is still outside.”

  “You left my dog outside? You wanna be busted to private, Wiese?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Then what are you standing here for? Go get him. Now, Chief!”

  He turned his attentions back to Kermit and company, his anger quickly shifted back to a tone of considered indifference. “I take it you’re in charge, Kermit, with all that new brass on your collar. My apologies, for my lackluster enthusiasm in seeing all of you, but you’ve come at a bad time, and you’ve clusterfucked my trap for Stone. I also see you’ve brought some company. So I can probably assume this isn’t a family reunion. Looking for the doctor, perhaps?”

  As Kermit began to respond, Max ran into the hall to his master’s legs and vigorously rubbed up against them. Chief Warrant Officer Wiese had chased behind.

  Slightly breathy Wiese announced, “Your dog, sir.”

  “Yes, Chief. I can see that.” J.D. knelt down and returned the affection his dog had shown with his own vigorous rubbing and vocal praise. “Gute hund, Max. Gute hund.” Max gave his master a generous portion of licks.

  He turned back to Paul. “Take a body bag down to Chief Dunne. And relieve Corporal Panton, so he can piss and get chow.” He stood up and turned to Ryan. “Major, give them back their gear, so Chief Brown can call whomever to let them know his team is okay.”

  Addressing the two unfamiliar soldiers, he told them from behind sunglasses, “As for you two men. My name is Colonel Nichols. I do not know you but if you are under Brown’s command, then as warfighters I expect you to conduct yourselves accordingly. My men have orders to shoot anyone who threatens the well being of this base. And I wouldn’t want either of you to get in the way of a bullet because one of you gets all Gung Ho.”

  The higher-ranking man responded with, “We don’t get ‘Gung Ho’, Colonel. We’re Navy Seals.”

  “Excellent. I’m glad we understand one another. Gentlemen, and madam, consider yourselves guests. Get something to eat and then we’ll have a debriefing in the war room.” Addressing Kermit, he put his attentions back to business. “Chief Brown. Please call your base and let them know you have made contact.”

  ***

  In the short time J.D. had been gone, Peter had continued his body modifications of Barlow. Besides both of Barlow’s hands having been nailed palm down to the table earlier, his head was now propped up with a device that resembled a medieval Heretics Fork. In addition to the eight fingernails and two nipples with fish hooks still embedded in them that Peter had removed during J.D.’s questioning, he had added several pieces of filleted flesh, a thumb, and three molar teeth to the contents of the stainless steel tapered bowl on the table. However, removing body parts wasn’t the only thing Peter had focused on. To maximize pain, Peter had stuck several acupuncture needles inside each lower eyelid and was in the process of probing Barlow’s molar cavities with a dental pick, focusing on his exposed nerve endings. The exploratory was so overwhelming excruciating for Barlow that he could not hold back his anguished screams, and had become severely disoriented and delirious.

  “So. Has he answered any of the questions, yet?” J.D. asked, returning to the interrogation room with Max alongside him.

  Peter shook his head no.

  “None?” J.D. asked, as he knelt down next to Barlow. “Defiant until the end, are we? Or is it that you know if you answer we’re going to kill you? Well, I hate to disappoint you. But you don’t deserve to die quickly. We’re going to let you rot and fester. A nice slow death of dehydration and infection. Out where Stone can see you.”

  Richard Barlow looked at his nemesis with glassy eyes and began to laugh. It was the hysterical laughter of a still insolent but delirious man. Then when he spoke, J.D. was shocked at the words he uttered.

  A rambling of disjointed phrases filled J.D.’s and Peter’s ears. The colonel stood up and looked at his chief. They both could not believe what the man had revealed. J.D. now knew who the traitor amongst them was.

  “Finish it,” he told his chief. Without hesitation Peter dug his knife into the man’s mouth, cutting out his tongue. Barlow’s scream
s were momentary, and then he passed out. The Heretic’s Fork penetrated deep into his flesh. The blood poured from the wounds.

  After placing Barlow in the body bag, J.D. scooped the man up and threw him over his shoulder. Escorted by Chief Warrant Officer W-2 Wiese and Chief Warrant Officer W-3 Dunne, J.D. left the bloodied interrogation room with Max and headed upstairs. Next stop was the perimeter fence.

  As the group made their way up the staircase of the basement, Major Duncan and three subordinates were escorting Kermit and his team up to the second floor. All of them saw the colonel carrying the bundle across his shoulder and they stopped. Except what the real distraction had been was Chief Dunne, who was in the rear of the procession.

  The little man with the disfigured features strutted up the stairs with a distinctly pleased look upon his face, grinning widely. His white butcher’s smock was covered in blood and he was wearing protective goggles atop his head. He stopped, briefly, to wipe his forehead and face clean of the blood splatter, and then hurried on to catch up with his commander.

  Paul, having seen Ryan near the upper floor, headed in a hurried pace directly to his superior. He pulled Ryan aside and whispered something in his ear. There was something wrong, Kermit and his group knew from the way Ryan and Paul had quickly departed with one of their soldiers, leaving only two as escort.

  ***

  J.D. and Peter joined Ryan and the others for a debriefing, but this was still not to be a happy and joyous reunion. He had come to give them an edict, and that was to tell them they were not welcome.

  Sergeant Schumacher had been waiting by the doorway to the conference room as instructed by Major Duncan. He was instructed to remain at the door with the guard until he was summoned. When they entered, Max followed behind his master, followed by Chief Dunne. They were both now dressed in proper military uniforms—though the little man’s clothing was still too big even after it had been altered. J.D. removed his military cap to reveal his Mohawk hairstyle as he entered, which garnered a few odd looks from his former teammates. Max headed toward Marisol, but J.D. was quick to correct him using the Dutch verbal commands he had been trained to follow. Max quickly went to his side and sat down next to his master at the conference table.