The audience in the gallery was now silent. Every spectator had inched up to the glass window, with their faces against the glass, in an attempt to see what was happening in the executioner’s room. They watched the open doorway while simultaneously listening intently to the wet feasting noises coming from the speakers overhead.
As the four guards hustled into the executioner’s room, immediately Eddie stopped howling and literally roared into the visor-protected face of the foremost guard. His bowels relaxed, and as if indeed his blood cells themselves felt fear, his blood drained from his face, leaving a ghostly pallor behind. His instinct to fight or flee, the oldest instinct known to man, had in one moment been erased and Withd with one of acceptance of death. A billion years of evolution where only the fittest survived had been a total waste of time for this man and his bloodline. His body was happily shutting itself down while leaving his brain, ears, and eyes alert to process the last few remaining seconds of his life with all the sights, sounds, and smells that go along with being eaten alive. It wasn’t the sounds that broke his already-withering spirit. As bad as the howling was, it was in no way as bad as the growling. It wasn’t the sights either, even though he was inches from the gaping, drooling mouth that obviously wanted a piece of him. It wasn’t the emotionless white eyes that stared back with singular coals at their centers. It was the way that Eddie with one hand gripped his thorax, his fingers puncturing the guard’s skin, then slid them deep into his neck and circled around his airway. This is what finally got to him, along with the pungent aroma of urine surrounding Eddie.
Eddie then began to pull with inhuman strength, and as he pulled, the airway stretched like some oversized rubber band, choking the ill-fated guard. Eddie’s other hand grabbed the guard’s helmet and yanked it off. The thick nylon strap refused to break and so dislocated the guard’s lower jaw, forcing it backwards and upwards into his upper jaw. In that one fluid motion, Eddie’s head came forward and tilted, with his mouth wide open. Taking in the guard’s cheeks and nose in one bite, he bit down hard in a savage kiss of death. Blood and mucus squirted and dribbled from his kiss. Eddie’s bite punctured skin, then muscle. His teeth finally came against the cheekbones and dug in, cracking and crunching through the thin bone. Blood and saliva mixed while the guard thrashed, unable to breathe and unable to scream. His own personal terror was almost at an end when eventually the green ooze could be seen starting to seep from the corners of the guard’s screaming eyes. Already they had begun to turn white as finally Eddie completed his brutal bite, taking with it half of his face. The guard was dead, and yet not. In less time than it takes to put on your boots and tie your laces, the first guard had been slaughtered and turned into a zombie.
The second guard had frozen for an instant too long as his buddy was being slaughtered less than two feet from his side. The emergency response team were still pushing forward right up to the moment that Eddie had bitten the guard’s face off, which was when he had an epiphany. He decided that it was high time to resign and retire to his luxury trailer. No more stress, no aggressive inmates, and no damn inmates trying to eat your face; just him, his wide-screen plasma TV, and a fridge full of ice-cold beer—hell, and maybe a couple of chicks as well, yeah, and a pole for them to dance around. But like many good ideas through the centuries, his also occurred that little bit too late and would be lost forever.
He was woken from his daydream-like state, which was probably brought on by his brain literally farting while it tried to deal with the horror surrounding him. His buddy had turned zombie and was now face-deep ripping and chewing into his shoulder when the pain finally hit him. It was too much for his mind to take and so he passed out. These were his last moments of life, and he spent them asleep, preferring to push his mind to a place of tranquility rather than endure the next few moments of horror.
As the team had pushed into the room, one by one the guards had been attacked, and they turned so quickly now that it would have been like watching dominoes falling, except instead of dominoes, these were men. As the two remaining guards came to a stop and scanned the scene before them, there was barely enough time to register the demonic picnic before it became too late for them to escape. Even though they both tried to turn and leave, they were nowhere near fast enough. Their future was predestined, and as they were yanked off their feet and thrown into pools of blood, they fought as men should, and the zombie horde came in for the kill.
The howling and groans coming from the horde intensified briefly before the feeding frenzy began once more. Both guards screamed together as the zombies bit into their thighs and arms, tearing away the meat of skin and muscle. Blood squirted high as arteries were torn and ruptured. Then finally in his death throes, one of these poor souls had his scrotum ripped from his groin. He screamed like a girl for a few seconds, then thankfully died. The other was not so lucky. His visor had been knocked upwards, so that the attacking zombie drooled over his face. As the zombie came fully into view, it covered his face in saliva, blood, and that nasty green shit that seemed to continually ooze from the zombie’s mouth. Several times he got a mouthful as he screamed with all his lungs. In reflex he accidentally swallowed the foul mixture, which burnt like fire as it went down his throat. The zombies then tore into his belly and began feasting on his intestines. The smell was something beyond rancid. Finally, one came in closer and bit deep into his throat, tearing out most of his trachea and esophagus.
The guard’s lungs were now quickly filling with blood, and his vision started to fade, but not before he saw bloody fingers reach for his right eye. Having plucked the eye from the guard, the zombie popped the delicate organ between its teeth, then turned its attention back to the spilled guts. In abject agony the guard died. The last thought crossing his mind was simply, Thank God it’s over.
Within a few moments the horde were again on their feet and hunting, and the inside of the executioner’s room was now decorated more in accordance with its title. They began their growling and groaning once more. Sniffing at the air, they made their way from the room, following the still-fresh scent of Lucy.
The occupants of the gallery returned to their seats and silently prayed that they could not be seen. They watched as the horde picked up pace and then started to howl and roar as before. The horde disappeared from sight one by one as they left the room, and their hunting could still be heard, but not from the speakers this time—this time from the gallery corridor—and the sounds were getting closer.
The old couple and TV crew looked toward the door and started to back away from it as far as they could. Beneath their chests, their hearts began to race, their blood pressure began to rise, and adrenaline started production in preparation for the fight-or-flight game of life and death. Then suddenly without any warning whatsoever, the door flew open. It was the executioner, and she was alive, and she resembled the blood-soaked Carrie from the movie with the same name.
On leaving the execution chamber, Lucy ran as fast as she possibly could toward the exit and what she thought would be safety. She passed several empty cells before turning down a short corridor. Immediately to her left was a steel door identical to the one she had come from. A red light above the door was flashing, indicating that an execution was in progress. A little further on was a door to the right marked “Gallery D1” and to the left one marked “Gallery D2.” A gate at the end of the corridor was manned by two large guards dressed in riot gear. They watched her intently from behind the thick bars as she approached, screaming for them to open the gate. When the guards noticed the blood and gore that covered Lucy, they stood back from the bars. She hit the gate at full speed, but her petite frame barely made the heavy frame rattle. Gripping the bars and shaking it with all her strength, she pleaded for them to open up and let her through.
“Ma’am, back away now!” a guard commanded as he drew his baton.
Of Hispanic descent, he was a big man and obviously worked out on a regular basis. With a low forehead and sporting short-c
ropped hair, he was a formidable sight to behold, save for the fact that his ears protruded on a scale equal to that of Mickey Mouse’s.
Ignoring the command, Lucy screamed at him, “Open the fucking gate now! Monsters are coming!”
As massive as the first guard was, the second was larger still, though he lacked the Disney-sized ears and sported a neatly kept goatee. He was also Hispanic and wore his hair in an identical fashion, leading one to suspect that they were either brothers or perhaps a gay couple.
“Ma’am, stand away from the gate!” the second guard reiterated slowly and clearly.
Lucy looked over her shoulder and checked the corridor quickly.
“Open, you fucking asshole,” she pleaded. “They’re coming. I have to get out of here.”
Lucy began to weep again and collapsed to her knees now, begging. “Please open, please!”
“We can’t let you through without your escort. Where is your escort, ma’am? Please—”
The guard was cut off halfway through his sentence by the howls that echoed through the hall.
The sounds of approaching beasts were getting closer and louder with each passing second. The feeling of being hunted by something feral tickled at both Lucy’s and the two guards’ brain stems. This most ancient of organs, also known as the reptilian brain, started firing alerts in quick succession as it analyzed every sensory input and detected the approaching danger. Lucy knew Eddie and his friends were getting dangerously close. She was out of time and almost out of options. She looked back over her shoulder down the corridor, then looked disappointedly at the guards before immediately getting to her feet and bolting toward the door marked Gallery D1. As she pushed the door inward, she saw the door to Execution Chamber D2 open. The timing was perfect, as the zombies turned the corner and literally ran straight into the second execution chamber unhindered. The nightmare began in earnest once again, and with it the screaming too.
Zombie Eddie had led the horde of now-six zombies, which from a distance looked like a bunch of guards chasing an inmate. The two guards immediately unlocked the gate and ran toward the second execution room to assist in apprehending the prisoner, and in doing so had inadvertently left the corridor gate wide open. Lucy hoped the zombies hadn’t seen her as she closed the door behind herself. She heard the two guards run past but had no time to warn them of the monsters that would soon feed on them.
Lucy immediately grabbed a chair and propped it against the door handle, wedging it closed. With her back now toward the door, she saw the occupants of the gallery staring back at her wide-eyed. They knew who she was and had immediately identified her as the executioner. She was practically a celebrity now. Before any of them spoke, she raised a finger to her lips. The group got the message and didn’t utter a sound. Instead, they stood there like—well, yes, like zombies—just staring at her.
The screams from the hallway were getting louder now. Along with the zombie howling, it was in fact worse than the French version of The X Factor. Numerous quickly placed footfalls could be heard passing back and forth. Several times the door shook from an impact, and that was usually followed by shrieks of agony as someone was attacked and ripped apart just a few inches beyond the door.
Lucy turned and now propped herself against the entrance. It was then that she looked down and noticed the pooling blood seeping in from the hallway. She moved her feet to avoid the sticky fluid and squeezed her eyes shut, saying a silent prayer. She was not overly religious and tended only to pray when the shit really hit the fan. Her prayer was not for the dying men on the other side of the door; it was for herself and her escape—and screw everyone else!
Suddenly Lucy was blinded, a brilliant-white light filled her vision, and for a split second she thought that she had been killed by one of those monsters and was on her way to heaven. But reality took over as her eyes adjusted to the lights attached to the reporter’s camera. The lens pointed straight at her face, and an outstretched arm held a microphone while its owner asked her name. Then, without waiting for an answer, he asked how she had managed to escape the “executioner’s room of doom.” He looked particularly pleased with himself, as he had in all probability been working on the phrase since her escape.
Lucy raised a hand to shade her eyes, saying, “Get that fucking thing out of my eyes!”
This did not deter the reporter. He motioned for the cameraman to focus on him.
“This is Channel 42 News reporting live from death row in Hotel Hell, Slaughterhouse Special report. I’m Mike Canyon, and this is the executioner.” Turning to Lucy: “Ma’am, please describe for our viewers what you saw tonight, and please give us your name for the record.”
Again he shoved the microphone in her direction.
“Are you fucking nuts?” Lucy said, then added in a forced quiet shout while trying to listen to the noises coming from the hallway, “Keep quiet, for fuck’s sake!”
Mike was just about to respond to Lucy with his practiced monologue declaring freedom of speech, and freedom of information and the press, etc. This little nugget of a speech normally endured for a good minute or two, and was normally very effective in shutting up his opponents. Instead, the little firecracker responded by grabbing him by the tie and pulling him down and close, face-to-face. Though shocked, he couldn’t help think of planting a kiss on her rosy lips, but that thought disappeared quickly as she growled at him.
“Listen, fuckface. If you don’t shut the fuck up, I’m going to feed you to those zombies myself, piece by fucking piece!”
Mike turned bright red and was about to explode in anger when without notice the door shook violently and opened enough so that a gore-covered hand came into view and grabbed the edge of the door. It then shook again from a second impact.
“Help me. Quick. I can’t hold it!” Lucy pleaded.
The door began to open. It then shook from yet another impact, and several disgusting hands now scrambled for something to grab. Some of those hands had nails hanging by a thread of skin, some had chunks of flesh bitten from them, and some had fingers missing, but all were visible in the gap between door and frame as it widened on each shudder. Inch by gruesome inch, the door opened, and Lucy strained under the force that the zombies applied. Less than five seconds had elapsed from that first impact and already Lucy was ready to give in. She could feel her thighs and calves shake against the forces. She liked to keep fit, but this was no Pilates workout.
“Help me, you dicks!” she yelled.
The door shook again from yet another impact! And there it was: a face was pushing its way though the gap. It was all over for her now. Unable to resist the mass of zombies pushing against the door, she slipped in the pooled blood and hit the floor, landing on her rump with a wet thump. She didn’t give up, though. With her back against the door and sitting in cooling blood, she lent back against it with every ounce of strength and weight she had.
Slam! And along with a crunch, the door was pushed back into its steel frame. Lucy fell backwards, knocking her head against the door, and yelped. Looking up, she was surprised but happy to see that two of the cameramen had seemingly charged the door and successfully terminated the horde’s attack.
The remains of the zombie attack lay close to the door frame. Not fewer that fourteen severed fingers and one nose lay there and were a grisly reminder of how close the room occupants had come to becoming today’s evening meal.
The old man came forward and held his hand out and helped Lucy to her feet.
“Are you all right, little lady?” he asked with a warm smile and heavy Southern accent.
“Thank you. Yes, I am now,” Lucy said, and returned his smile. She then turned to the reporter. “Give me one of those tripods!”
The reporter looked back at her as if she were crazy. “Huh? That’s Channel 42 News property and—”
One of the cameramen figured out Lucy’s plan and spoke up. “Just do it, Mike!” he shouted at the shocked reporter, interrupting him.
Th
e tripod was a professional model, easily able to take the weight of several men if need be. Her plan was to use it to anchor the door with the three tripod feet against the step that led to the raised floor. Lucy took the offered tripod and fastened the legs with the steel pins, then finally wedged the apex against the door.
“Perfect,” she said out loud.
Even though the door continued to shake, it was now barely a low rumble and rattled only slightly. Now that the immediate danger had been averted, the two cameramen gradually relaxed from their efforts keeping the door closed, and though the door seemed to be perfectly secure, they decided to stay exactly where they were for a little bit longer just in case.
Chapter - 11
- Sanctioned Murder - Last of the IKSM -
Ms. X, now dead and buried, had a number two, a bomb expert, an electronics guy, a financier, and two heavily built thugs. This was her terror cell, and I’d been given the interesting task of cleaning up the US—well, the part the cell currently lived in and specifically the house they rented.
The murder of thirteen girls was a shock to the entire country and possibly the world. Nothing in our history had prepared our nation for this kind of atrocity. My keepers asked me to “deal with it.” I was also requested to make sure that is was again questionable as to whether it was a revenge hit or some random serial killing. The message was to be a plain and simple one, one that the IKSM would not or could not misinterpret.
Having eliminated five of the seven members of the cell, I now focused my attention on the remaining two, a pair of ruthless thugs who knew no bounds to the cruelty they dealt out. I had already taken care of their comrades in my own special way, and these two would be my last. In fact, it was shortly after this little caper that my career was brought to a premature end—an end that was a little too soon as far as I was concerned.
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