Cyrus turned. He indicated he wanted David to join him. The scar-faced man did, and Cyrus waited for silence to return with one arm wrapped around David's neck.
“David here has proven himself in this same test of courage. He has done so not through his words, not begging for forgiveness, but through his deeds.”
Someone in the crowd yelled, “David!” The audience picked up the chant and repeated his name over and over, swelling and falling.
“So, like we have done for David, we should do for this man.” He raised his arm and thrust it at Zeb. “We will give him a second chance. If he proves his worth and courage, we will welcome him again as a brother. What say you?”
The crowd let their approval ring out clearly.
“Then…let the Burning Man begin!”
A bloodthirsty roar of approval accompanied Cyrus as he returned to his chair. He whisked his long cape out behind him and snapped it closed before taking his seat.
Jesse watched as David made his way around to a trailer three down from where he started and descended a ladder into the arena. The guy walked slowly to the tied-up man and stopped in front of him. Jesse glanced over at Cory. It had been wrong to trick him, he realized. Perhaps it was exhaustion, perhaps the wine or the company, but he was thinking clearly again, more clearly than he had in days. Chasing after a virus did seem crazy, but compared to this? Leading Cory into a trap was wrong. Trying to fit in was wrong. So easily giving up his freedom was wrong.
This had all be a huge mistake.
At times, it had been exciting, at times terrifying. Through it all, Cory had been there and had not abandoned him, even though Jesse was certain the man would leave the next chance he got. He had every right to.
Like it or not, Cory had become a friend.
Jesse had blown it.
Big time.
“What?” Cory said.
“Nothing,” Jesse replied, averting his eyes. He would help the man find his virus. It was probably a hoax, but that didn't matter. It was a cause, a purpose, a reason to go on living. Next, he looked at Eve. She was lost, he freely admitted it now, so he blew out a long breath and resumed watching, but not really watching.
The man was about to die horribly. That sickened him.
David picked up a red container from behind the stage. He made Zeb kneel while he dumped the contents of the container over him. Jesse flicked a glance at Cyrus, thinking, piece of shit. The man was thin-lipped and smiling and excitedly tapping a finger against his chin. Jesse swore if he never made it out of here, he would at least make sure that man died before he did.
David continued to dump the liquid until Zeb was thoroughly soaked. Zeb blew out a fine mist and squirmed against his bonds. David rounded him and dribbled the last few drops left in the container on the rope attaching Zeb to the pole.
The smell of the evaporating diesel fuel reached Jesse, a sour, nauseating smell of greasy oil. He knew all about diesel. He'd used it often in the traps he'd built to burn raptors. It was thicker, more viscous than gasoline and would not vaporize and bloom into a fireball. Also, diesel was difficult to ignite and burned slowly. This meant the man had a decent chance to survive if the rope holding him to the pole burned through before he was cooked alive, which was probably the whole idea of this sick game. If Zeb could somehow break the rope before the flames overcame him, he could reach the pool and dive underwater.
Obviously, that had been what David had done.
So, it was a matter of luck and timing, and strength, and the animal instinct to survive.
Others around Jesse took bets. The odds were going against survival by a margin of more than ten to one. The rumbling crowd stilled as a torch with a tall orange flame was brought over to David ceremoniously. He accepted the torch and raised it for all to see.
Jesse could see the torchlight glinting off the white scars of David's face. Being near Cyrus had given him a literal ringside seat. But nothing in the mixture of shadows and specular highlights was enough to identify the man outright, nor did they knock loose any memories of whom he might be, but Jesse continued to watch the man closely, knowing for sure that he knew him, somehow.
David approached the tied-up man and held the torch near the guy's face. Zeb did not back away from the flame. Instead, he leaned closer to it. David waved the torch closer and closer. Jesse could see the man was battling panic. And he was losing. David moved the torch another inch. This time, Zeb flinched and fell sideways and to his knees.
Cyrus raised his hands high and stood. A hush came over the audience, and then silence. The nearby torches sputtered lustfully. From the floor of the arena came Zeb's pitiful moans.
David withdrew the torch, again rounded Zeb, and brought the orange flame up along the pole, tracing it. Cyrus lowered his arms. David set the torch against the rope. He held it there, waiting until the flame finally caught. Smoke followed the creeping fire up the rope. Zeb craned his neck, straining to view the approaching danger snaking up from behind him. He yanked hard against his bonds. Jesse caught himself silently rooting for the man to make it.
Nobody deserved to die that way.
Zeb struggled and tugged franticly. David backed away as fire dripped from the rope and spread to the platform. The fuel that had been spilled there ignited. Zeb pushed himself up and away from the flames, pulling himself along to the front edge. His arms raised behind him as his shoulders twisted unnaturally. He leaned even further forward, stretching the rope taut.
It did not break.
The fire slinked its way along the rope, coming ever closer until the flames licked at Zeb from behind. Sooty black smoke rose along his backside.
The flames grew.
Grew some more.
Zeb was struggling not to scream, choking back cries, pulling against the rope hard enough to risk dislocating his shoulders. But he could hold it in no more. A panicked scream burst forth, and his torturous wails increased right along with the flames as the feasting apparition of smoke and fire consumed him. He finally lost all conscious control. A crazed frenzy took over. He fell to his knees, screaming, thrashing like a worm stuck through by a hook. The water-filled child's pool was a few life-saving feet away, offering the only chance of survival. He struggled to reach it.
But he wasn't going to make it.
Jesse kept staring, watching intently, but not wanting to see. He tried to stifle it, but his anger bloomed along with the consuming flames. An anger for Cyrus, for himself, and for all those watching a man die in such agony. Cory was closely observing the spectacle, too. His eyes were narrowed and his jaw ridged. Jesse had not seen this side of him before. Cory was pissed. But, pissed at what? Eve remained still and unreadable. She had drawn a mask over her emotions and was staring at something in the distance, ignoring the dying man.
Jesse rubbed his fingers and thumbs together and looked around for Kate. He was relieved not to see her anywhere. Cyrus, though, that circus freak was watching with a happy smile clearly visible on his face, tapping a finger against his chin like this was all bringing him pleasure.
Jesse knew then he was going to kill that man. Somehow.
He returned to watching Zeb, hoping for a miracle. David stepped closer to the thrashing man, who was now completely obscured by the flames. Holding a hand out to block the flames, David moved as though he feared the fire and didn't want to get anywhere near it. Considering what he'd been through, it made perfect sense. He drew something from his pocket and flicked his wrist. The blade of a folding knife gleamed in the firelight.
Cyrus rose from his chair. “No,” he said softly then shouted, “No!”
David ignored the order.
Instead, he stepped behind the man and cut the rope. The tension exerted on the line released all at once, and the burning man lunged forward. The lizard part of Zeb's brain must have still been working to keep him alive. He tried to find his way to the pool, pulling himself along on his elbows. He made it a foot before falling. He got up and tried again.
Fell. With great effort, he tried one more time, back arching up like a cat, on his hands and knees, drawing himself ever closer.
Then he fell down against the pavement and disappeared under the flames.
But, as though he had not wanted to let out his final gasp of life, one of his arms found its way out of the flames. He stretched it in the direction of the pool, fingers on fire, cooking, and curling.
It was not going to be enough.
He collapsed, and the flames seared his flesh and boiled away his liquids, turning him into another cloud of fatty smoke and ash.
David turned toward the observation stand. Cyrus stood along the edge. David appeared…angry?
Jesse realized where he had last seen David.
No. His mind did not want to believe it, didn't want to accept anything to do with who the guy really was. But the simple turn of the head had done it, the glinting knife. The last time he had seen the man he had been hunched over and smiling.
Hatred blossomed, a long-held hatred that completely nullified the horror of watching a man being burned alive.
-34-
HAZARDOUS DUKES
JESSE WENT FIRST, seething with scarcely contained anger. Cory was to his left. They were being led back by four men from the gold team to the barracks where they had spent the past few nights before the games. Cyrus had let them go, but he had warned Jesse to control himself. He'd apparently seen Jesse's anger but had subscribed it to the dead man in the arena and not to the recognition of David.
Once inside the barracks, they were led through a maze of partitions separating various living quarters until reaching a room deep inside the former warehouse. The tiny room wasn't much different from a jail cell. There were two bunk beds, one to the left and one to the right, a small metal basin for washing, and no toilet. A plastic bucket for their bodily functions sat against the far wall. Flies buzzed noisily above it.
Knowing what he'd discovered, Jesse was certain he would not be able to sleep. He'd spend the night lost in thought, figuring out a way to kill that piece of shit David. Regrettably, he knew he had overreacted in front of Cyrus. He needed bide his time. If he did not do this right, he would be the dead man and not the other way around. Kate would remain here. Eve would remain here. Cory? No way to tell what would happen to him.
The door closed and locked behind them. A small amount of red light leaked under the crack at the bottom of the door. It was barely enough to see anything in the tiny room. Cory sat on the bunk to the right of the door, bent forward. He blew his nose, plugging each nostril in turn and spraying snot across the floor. He then rubbed his nose with the back of his hand.
“What now, genius?” he asked in a sarcastic whisper.
Jesse sat on the bottom bunk opposite Cory. “How the hell should I know?”
“You think they will ignore what happened? Who was that guy?”
“Don't ask.”
“Okay, you seem to be the one with all the plans. So, how are we going to get out of here?”
“We are not leaving without Kate.”
“Eve?”
Jesse shook his head. “She can stay here for all I care.”
Cory said nothing.
“But not without Kate,” Jesse said forcefully, wanting to end the argument.
“Yes, without her,” Cory continued. “There is no other option.”
“No,” Jesse said. He crushed his fist against the bunk. He wasn't about to leave her behind, not with that psycho running things. He could protect her if he got her out. She was smart, capable. She could survive. He just needed to get her the hell out and away from this damn place.
In his mind, he asked Hannah what he should do. But when she didn't answer, he considered the situation for another few moments, thinking through his options. He had to balance his personal vendetta with David and his friend's lives. He would kill the guy if given the opportunity, but could he do both? Could he get his friends out and kill David too? If he had to pick just one, which one would he pick?
Easy.
Fortunately, he hadn't completely blown it when his anger had gotten the best of him in front of Cyrus. If he worked at it, he could still maneuver his way in closer and wait for the right opportunity.
Careful planning would do it.
He needed to spend some serious time thinking.
“Okay,” he finally said. “I've changed my mind. I'm in. We can—”
Cory got up and rapped on the door with his knuckles. “Hey!” he shouted He rapped again, louder, again shouting, “Hey!”
“What are you doing?” Jesse asked.
Cory said nothing.
The door unlocked. Jesse stood as it swung inward.
A man stuck his head inside the room and asked, “What the hell do you want?”
Cory grabbed the guy by the shirt and yanked him all the way into the room. The surprised man took a half step, falling forward. Cory held him close to his body and twisted, pulling the guy up and over his hip then slammed him headfirst into the steel edge of the bunk bed to his right. He released the man and let him drop to the floor.
The guy was either out-cold or dead.
“Hey,” Jesse said. “I thought—”
Cory didn't stop. He shot into the hallway outside, shoving back someone else who had been with the first guy. Jesse rose with several words locked in his throat, none of the complementary.
It was all happening too fast.
With a quick elbow to the face, Cory snapped another guy's head back, driving him against the far wall, where he slumped against it and dropped to the floor. Jesse checked the room. The guy inside had not moved, but the guy in the hallway was now trying to stand. Cory grabbed him and pinned him against the wall. He then wrapped his hands under the guy's neck, pulled upward, and snapped the guy's head sideways.
The man went limp.
Cory grabbed Jesse by the arm and shoved him forward down the hallway.
“What the hell?” Jesse said.
“We are getting out of here.”
“But, Kate.”
“Without her,” Cory said.
“I'm not leaving without her.”
“Not my problem,” Cory said. “So stay here if you want.”
Jesse shut his mouth, realizing it was hopeless to argue further. Escape was the only option now.
Cory ran.
Jesse eyed the two limp forms, shook his head, and followed.
They made their way to the exit, sprinting past the shocked faces of inebriated men, pushing those aside who stumbled and fell in their path. More doors opened, and groggy men peered out through half-opened doorways. Jesse and Cory dashed past them until reaching the door leading outside.
Ignoring the confused cries of drunken men attempting to make sense of the new situation, Cory burst through the outside door. Jesse followed him out onto the pavement and they came to a stop in the cold night air. A haze of dew clouded the few lights burning in cages on the sides of the buildings.
Cory kicked the door shut, slamming it closed on their pursuers.
“Which way?” Cory asked.
Pivoting, Jesse oriented himself. There really was only one way he knew they could get away. He'd been thinking about it ever since they had arrived, but it had seemed a little insane.
“This way,” he said and took off. He led Cory down a driveway between buildings, doglegged right and up another street. The next intersection led to the garage where the GTO had been taken. He knew he could drive it. He just hoped the keys were somewhere nearby, and it would start.
He reached the building before Cory. Facing him was a twenty-foot high roll up door. He squatted, clawed his fingers under the gap below the door, and pulled upward.
It was unlocked. The door moved but was too heavy to lift on his own.
“Hey!” a man shouted, coming from around one of the side buildings, a guard. The guy held a flashlight and a long spear with a barbed metal point.
Jesse grunted under the weight of t
he door. The man ran at them. Others came from around the corner of the building opposite them, a small group, maybe five, or six. When they saw Jesse, they ran even harder.
“Stop!” the man with the spear yelled, stepping toward Jesse.
Jesse pulled again, but his shoulder was still too weak.
“Help,” he whispered out the side of his mouth.
Cory bent and grabbed the bottom lip of the door. Together they lifted. The door rose steadily in its tracks and accelerated upward, clacking and clanging. Jesse ducked under it and went inside while it was still going up, Cory followed directly behind.
Inside, they both grabbed the steel door and yanked down hard. The door reversed direction and slammed closed with a bang. Jesse flipped a lock that drove a bar through the left-side track. The door immediately started to rattle. Angry shouts came from outside, but the door held. Jesse turned to scan the room. Twin low-voltage lights mounted to support pillars glowed in the darkness. But they were just bright enough to see the familiar shape of the GTO. It was parked alongside a pair of Jeeps. In a neat row to his right, a few other sedans, mostly imports, stretched to the edge of the garage. To his left, all alone, sat a large Humvee covered with an array of metal spikes.
“Take that?” Cory asked, nodding to the Humvee.
Jesse had spotted the GTO first. He knew that car well. He wanted to take it, but the big bulky Humvee was the perfect vehicle for what he had planned.
“Yeah,” he said.
“Can you drive it?”
Jesse ignored the question and ran to the Humvee. He got in and felt around for the ignition knob. He clicked it into place and waited for a few seconds then pressed the button to start the beast.
Nothing happened.
No lights on the dashboard.
Cory came around to the passenger's side and opened the door.
“No,” Jesse said. “Not yet. Check the other doors in back. There's probably another way to get in here. Make sure it's secure, K?”
He tried the button again.
Nothing.
Red Asphalt: Raptor Apocalypse Book 2 Page 28
