Twenty-Five Percent (Book 2): Downfall

by Nerys Wheatley

  One of the Boot gorillas stepped forward and grabbed Claire’s arm. She shrieked and lashed out, slapping an inexpertly aimed fist into his torso. He doubled over with a grunt, clutching his torso.

  When he straightened, a grimace of pain and anger twisted his face. He raised his pistol towards her. “You little bitch.”

  “No!” Sam lunged in front of Claire, blocking the man’s aim. “Leave her alone.”

  “Knock it off, Simmons,” Chester said.

  “I think she broke a rib,” Simmons growled.

  “Maybe that will teach you to mess with a Survivor,” Alex snapped, advancing on him. He was itching to punch someone and the injured guard would do nicely.

  “Everyone just calm down,” Chester bellowed, his craggy face going red. Guards and captives alike froze at the command. “Good,” he said, his voice lowering. “Leonard and Fitz, take the doctors back to their cells. Hartley, take Simmons to medical and get him bandaged up. Everyone else, bring these four and follow me.”

  Hannah grasped Alex’s hand, her face filled with fear as she looked up at him.

  “It’s alright,” he said. “We’ll be okay. Don’t worry.” He smiled. “It’s all part of my heroic plan.”

  She gave him a small smile and leaned into him before Walker stepped towards them, his rifle raised. The wrench of letting go of her hand as she moved away left Alex aching with guilt. He’d failed her. He’d failed them all.

  He didn’t take his eyes from her until she disappeared around the corner along with the other doctors. They’d been so close. Would they get the chance again?

  Chester led Alex, Micah, Sam and Claire along the corridor in the opposite direction, with Brian bringing up the rear and Walker and a guard he’d never seen before flanking them.

  “I’m sorry,” Sam said to Alex as they walked. He was holding Claire’s hand. “When you didn’t come back yesterday I got worried. But I’ve just made things worse. Again.”

  Alex shook his head. “You tried to help. That was a brave thing to do. And it almost worked. We’ll be okay.” It was the second time he’d said that in as many minutes. It was a pity he was having such trouble believing it himself.

  Blundering in here half-cocked, with no real plan as to what to do. What had Alex been thinking? Was he even thinking at all? Or did he just want to be the hero for Hannah?

  He felt like such an idiot.

  The room Chester took them to looked like a conference hall, with plush red chairs arranged in rows facing a raised stage at the far end of the room and floor to ceiling windows along one wall. Alex was almost surprised to see the sun was only just rising.

  On the stage, like an actor about to play to his adoring audience, stood Boot. Or perhaps it was a king about to address his subjects.

  Unlike the guards who, other than Chester who must have been on duty, all looked like they’d just fallen out of bed, Boot was immaculately dressed in a gunmetal silver suit, shaved and not a hair out of place. Did he sleep like that? Or maybe he didn’t sleep. Maybe he was a vampire.

  Despite the circumstances, Alex had to stifle a smile. A vampire leading an army of flesh-eating monsters. Yeah, right.

  The guards herded them to an open area in front of the stage, lining them up as Boot looked down on them one by one. For a moment, as his gaze fell on Alex, the mask of calm indifference wavered and a flash of rage appeared. It vanished as quickly as it appeared as his attention shifted.

  “And who are these two?” Boot said, his eyes moving to Sam and Claire. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.”

  So Boot wasn’t the omniscient superior being he thought he was. Good to know.

  Sam drew himself up to his full height and glared up at him. “I’m Sam and if you know what’s good for you, you’ll let us all go.”

  An amused look crossed Boot’s face. “And why should I do that?”

  Sam pointed to Alex. “Because he’s a Survivor and a real life hero and if you don’t, he’ll kick your arse.”

  The smirk left Boot’s face and he nodded at Chester. The big man drew his fist back and drove it into the side of Sam’s face. His head whipped round and he tumbled to the floor. Claire screamed and threw herself down next to him.

  “You bastard!” Micah shouted, cutting off Alex who had about to yell the same thing. “Why don’t you come down here and pick on someone your own size? Oh, I forgot, there aren’t any children here.”

  For a moment, as fury turned Boot’s face red, Alex thought he was going to order the guards to shoot Micah.

  Instead he ordered through gritted teeth, “Bring Mr. Clarke and Mr. MacCallum up here.”

  Chester and Walker moved forward, herding Alex and Micah up the steps at the right hand side of the stage. Alex looked back to see Sam sitting up, his hand holding the side of his face and his cheeks wet with tears. He turned his attention back to Boot, silently listing all the ways he was going to make him suffer.

  Some kind of thick, six foot high steel frame was fixed to one side of the stage, possibly for use during presentations. Boot jerked his head at it. “Bind Mr. MacCallum there.”

  Chester moved to obey, using two sets of handcuffs to secure Alex’s wrists to the sturdy frame, his arms stretched to either side. As soon as he was done, Alex pulled forward, testing the strength of the frame. It didn’t move.

  Boot strolled up to him. He affected an air of composure, but an almost manic rage lit his eyes. “You are a great disappointment to me, Alexander. I had thought we could work together, that you could fight by my side as I built my empire, two Survivors taking on the world. I was even entertaining thoughts of perhaps one day making you my heir, having no children of my own. But this is how you repay me. Your betrayal is more painful than you can imagine. It’s clear I can’t trust you. And so I have no more use for you.”

  Alex was having a hard time processing Boot’s little speech. Fighting side by side? Becoming his heir? Alex’s betrayal? They’d met less than twenty-four hours ago and Boot was behaving like they were BFFs.

  Boot turned away and paced across the stage, staring for a few moments at something on the blank wall before him only he could see, before turning back. “I considered killing you myself, but then I had a better idea.” He reached inside his jacket and pulled out a five inch long black metal tube. The skull-spiker glinted in the overhead lights as he tossed it to Walker. “Give that to Mr. Clarke, will you? He’ll need it when he kills his friend.”

  Micah took the spiker, only speaking when he had the weapon in his hand. “You’re insane. There is no way I will ever hurt Alex.”

  “Yes,” Boot said, “you will. Or my guards will kill them.”

  He nodded at Sam and Claire. Brian and man-mountain number three trained their weapons on them.

  Alex yanked at his restraints with all his strength, his heart thumping in his throat. Neither the frame nor the cuffs gave an inch. “Look, Mr. Boot,” he said, trying to keep the desperation from his voice, “we can work this out. Obviously, I’ve made a mistake. Surely you can understand that? Whatever it is you want from me, I’ll do it.”

  Boot smiled at him, the cold, emotionless smile of a sociopath. Suddenly, he ran across the stage at Alex, grabbed his hair and pulled him down till they were nose to nose. “You had your chance, but you didn’t want greatness,” he screamed, spit showering Alex’s face. “You chose to throw away your destiny as a Survivor. You don’t deserve to live.”

  He let go of Alex and stalked away, his hands clenched at his side. Alex tried to use his shoulders to wipe the saliva from his face.

  Boot turned back to face him, his illusion of calm restored.

  “Mr. Clarke? Now, if you please.”

  Micah looked from Alex to Sam and Claire. “No.”

  Boot gave an exaggerated sigh. “Obviously, you doubt my sincerity.” He looked down at Brian with his rifle aimed at Sam. “Mr. Cochran, break one of the boy’s fingers.”

  Sam gasped, staring up at Brian in te
rror.

  “No!” Claire cried, clinging to him.

  The other guard pushed the barrel of his rifle into her face. “Move.”

  “It’s alright, Claire,” Sam said, his voice shaking. “Just do what they say.” It was obvious Sam was trying to look brave, but he wasn’t doing a good job.

  She reluctantly backed away, sniffing back tears.

  Alex struggled fruitlessly against his cuffs.

  Brian looked down at Sam without moving.

  “Do it, Mr Cochran,” Boot growled.

  Brian glanced back at him, then shifted his gun to hang at his back by its strap and lowered to one knee in front of Sam, blocking Alex’s view.

  “No!” Alex screamed, yanking at the cuffs.

  Micah started to move towards the edge of the stage. Before he’d gone two steps, Walker smashed the barrel of his rifle into his stomach. He dropped to the floor with a grunt of pain.

  Brian hadn’t moved from in front of Sam. There were two seconds of silence. Alex held his breath.

  Then Sam screamed.

  All the breath rushed from Alex at once. He sagged against the metal frame.

  Brian stood back up, revealing Sam clutching his left hand in his right and sobbing. Claire rushed to him, dropping down beside him and wrapping her arms around his shoulders.

  “What kind of monster are you?” she screamed at Boot.

  He ignored her, turning his attention back to Micah who was grimacing in pain as he got to his feet. “Tell me, Mr. Clarke, how many fingers does Sam have to lose?”

  “I will kill you,” Micah snarled.

  “No,” Boot said, “you won’t. You will kill your friend.”

  Micah looked at Alex, desperation on his face.

  “Just do it,” Alex said quietly. “Save them.”

  Micah shook his head. “I can’t.”

  “You can. I would.” It was a lie. He didn’t know what he would do.

  Micah stared at him for a few seconds before looking back at Boot. “I want to kiss him again, one last time.”

  The world shifted a step to the right. He wanted to what?

  Boot’s eyes flicked between the two of them. “I’ll admit,” he said, “I didn’t see that coming.”

  That makes two of us, Alex thought.

  Boot waved a hand. “Go ahead. I’m open-minded.”

  Micah moved in close to Alex, gazing into his face. He pressed one hand to the centre of Alex’s chest and leaned in. Alex’s eyes widened as he approached. He was actually going to do it. Had Micah had the wrong idea about their relationship all along?

  Tilting his head to one side, Micah pressed his lips to Alex’s. Mercifully, he didn’t open his mouth.

  He pulled back a second later and whispered, “I’m sorry, baby.”

  Then he plunged the knife into Alex’s chest.

  22

  Alex gasped in a breath, grimacing in pain.

  He swivelled his eyes to the door back into the building, making sure the guards who’d dragged him out had gone, then pressed one hand to his chest. It came away bloody.

  He’d stabbed him. Micah had actually stabbed him. Alex couldn’t believe it. Yes, he’d told him to, but that had been for show. He’d been certain Micah would think of some harebrained, but heroically effective plan to free him and get all four of them out of there alive. The alive part being especially important.

  Instead, he’d kissed him. Alex had no idea what that was about, but he decided to file it away for later consideration because he had way too much on his plate right now to add in worrying that his friend seemed to have got entirely the wrong end of the stick regarding their relationship.

  Was it the holding hands thing back in the dark in the lab? Maybe that had been a mistake.

  Whatever, he wasn’t going to think about it now.

  Because after kissing him Micah had stabbed him. In the chest. He didn’t know how bad it was, but every breath was like someone was shoving their finger into the wound. He was lucky to be alive. If he stayed that way, he and Micah were going to have words.

  And speaking of staying that way...

  Alex looked around without moving. Walker and the other guard had dragged him out of the building to one of the gates into the compound, sprayed what he assumed to be eater-calming pheromones into the air, and dumped him outside the fence. Every jostling step had been agony and he’d been hard pressed to keep feigning being dead.

  On the plus side, he was free. On the minus side, he was now about ten feet away from Boot’s personal horde surrounding the compound, with nothing to separate them.

  And he was desperate to sneeze.

  They all had their backs to him, swaying and making the low moaning sound that made his spine clench. But how long would that last? How good were the synthetic pheromones? How disciplined was this eater army?

  How long before they noticed the tasty snack lying on the concrete behind them?

  Alex looked back at the gate. It was roughly eight feet high, easy to get over, and of course there were no guards to avoid.

  Then he spotted the security camera on the wall of the building. It was rotating slowly, making a sweep of the entire area. Alex didn’t know if there was anyone watching the video feed, but he knew he couldn’t risk it. If they saw he wasn’t dead, they’d just come and finish the job, and probably kill Micah, Sam and Claire as well. It was essential he got back in without being seen while at the same time making it look like the eaters had got rid of him. Of course, if someone happened to look out a window at the wrong time, that would be it. But he couldn’t do anything about that other than be as fast as possible.

  Watching the camera to time its movements, he scrunched up his t-shirt and pressed it to the stab wound on his chest, doing his best to ignore the searing pain as he soaked as much of his blood into the material as possible.

  The camera reached the end of its sweep and began to move away from him again. Just a few more seconds and he would be out of range.

  From the corner of his eye, he saw an eater turn to look at him. A moment later, so did all the others.

  The air erupted in ravenous moans.

  No longer concerned with the camera, Alex scrambled to his feet and ran for the gate, the eaters close behind. Throwing himself into the air, he caught hold of the top as hands grasped his ankles. He was yanked backwards and his stomach hit the top of the gate, pushing the air from his lungs and bending him double. Eaters clung to his legs, trying to pull him back down. His chest exploded in pain.

  Kicking back as hard as he could, his feet connecting with faces and shoulders, he frantically tried to free himself. After what seemed like forever, he felt the multiple grips on him loosen and he managed to haul himself over the gate, landing ungracefully and painfully in a heap on the other side.

  Alex looked up at the camera as the eaters threw themselves at the fence. It had reached the furthest point of its journey and was starting back towards him.

  He pulled his blood soaked t-shirt off and threw it into the crowd of eaters, aiming for the spot where he’d been lying on the ground. Those around it fell on it instantly. Alex sprinted for the building, flattening himself against the wall beneath the camera as it moved round to spy on the gate again.

  Clutching a hand to his throbbing chest and breathing hard, he waited for alarms, running feet, guards with guns, pain, death. When after a minute none of those things had happened, he breathed a shallow sigh of relief.

  Glancing up at the camera to make sure it was facing away from the door he’d been brought out of, he tried the handle. He breathed a sigh of relief when he found it unlocked, and slipped back inside.

  . . .

  Alex pressed himself against the wall and looked out into the wide expanse of the entrance foyer. He was relieved to see at first glance it appeared empty.

  Without a weapon and in pain, he had no desire to get into another fight. He looked down at his bare chest. The stab wound was still bleeding, although less
than before. He probably wouldn’t die of blood loss, at least not before he died of something else Boot threw at him.

  What was with the insane little man anyway? Alex had had one conversation with him, and when he tried to escape Boot reacted like he’d been betrayed by a trusted friend. He was behaving as if Alex was a rock star and Boot was a deranged fan. Alex felt like he’d wandered into a Stephen King novel.

  He spotted a security camera high up on the wall across from him, slowly rotating as it took in the area from the reception desks, to the clusters of grey, ultra modern sofas for visitors’ waiting pleasure, to the glass main entrance. There was a desk to the right of the main door with ‘SECURITY’ in large, steel letters across the front. No-one was there, but Alex hoped the door behind it led to the monitoring station for the many cameras he’d seen.

  The camera on the wall trundled towards the entrance and Alex took the opportunity to peek around the corner. A second camera was on his side, pointing towards the back of the foyer. For the moment, the corridor he was hidden in wasn’t within the scope of either. He hoped.

  Sliding around the corner, he slithered along the wall until he was beneath the camera on his side. The one opposite was making its way back towards him. It was now or never.

  Pushing himself away from the wall, Alex sprinted across the foyer. His trainers squeaked on the polished white marble floor as he ran. His chest throbbed.

  The camera in front was almost on him. He didn’t dare look back at the one behind.

  He was three quarters of the way across when the door behind the security desk crashed open. Walker ran out and raised an automatic rifle. At the point of no return, Alex did the only thing he could. He launched himself at the desk, throwing himself over the top and into the bearded man.

  The rifle sprayed bullets at the ceiling, showering them with plaster chips as they crashed back through the door in a tangle of limbs.

  So much for doing this quietly.