Death Squad Box Set | Books 1-4, page 19
part #1 of Death Squad Box Set Series
“We should split up,” Guy said.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Tommy said.
“We’re more likely to find him that way. Besides, I know how to use this baby.”
He ran his hand over the rifle with affection.
“And I’m a Walker,” he added. “They’re going to have to work hard if they want to take me down.”
So, this was what it’d come down to. One for all and all for one.
“All right,” Tommy said. “Thirty minutes. And then come back here.”
“Will do,” Guy said.
“Is there anything we ought to know about this place and how it’s organized?”
Guy shook his head.
“Just don’t get lost,” he said.
“That’s a real help.”
“I’ll go with Emin, till we need to split up,” Hawk said.
They turned their backs on each other and began to wade down opposing dark tunnels.
71.
“THIS MISSION has been nothing like the books I read,” Emin said, downbeat. “Nothing at all.”
“What did you expect?” Hawk said. “That we’d turn up and the bad guysss would hand over whatever we wanted? Life’sss not like that.”
“I know. I thought it would be a little more. . . I don’t know. Fun, I guess.”
“You don’t think wading through sssewer sssyssstemsss isss fun?” Hawk said. “What elssse do you do on a Friday night?”
Emin would have laughed, or at least smiled, but she was too concerned about the boy.
“What would they want with him, anyway?” Emin said.
“No idea,” Hawk said. “It might be Jimmy wasn’t what they really wanted.”
“You think it was a regular uninfected person?” Emin said. “Or someone like us?”
“I don’t know. Might be sssomething we haven’t ssseen before. Either way, he’sss an asssshole.”
“You’ve got my vote there,” Emin said.
Hawk raised a hand and pressed a finger to where his lips would have been if he hadn’t been wearing a mask.
Ripples from their footsteps reached the junction ahead and disappeared. The silence of this place yawned wide. And when there was a noise, even a tiny one of the type Hawk thought he’d heard, it reverberated like an avalanche.
There was no noise. Hawk lowered his rifle. Perhaps he’d imagined it. He raised his foot to continue when he heard the sound again.
“There!” he said, rushing forward.
They rounded the corner to find what they’d been looking for.
Emin gasped, her hands covering her mouth. She recovered herself and took up her rifle. It quivered in her hands. She wasn’t going to be much use in a gunfight, Hawk decided.
Jimmy had his back to them, the man with the emaciated arms held a knife to his throat. The man was a huge muscled monstrosity. He had to stoop slightly to fit within the tunnel’s confines.
“Put the knife down,” Hawk said. “It doesssn’t need to be thisss way.”
“I’m afraid it does,” the big man said. “You see, I got orders. The same as you.”
“Orders from who?” Emin said.
It was a dumb question because it didn’t matter who had made the order. The only man who mattered was the one standing before them.
“From the boss,” the big man said.
“You don’t need to do thisss,” Hawk said. “We could do with a man like you, whether you’re infected or not. You belong with usss.”
“I belong down here. This is where I belong.”
He tightened his grip on the blade he held in his giant hands. Jimmy’s body tightened beneath the blade’s edge.
“Please, don’t hurt him!” Emin said. “We’ll give you anything you want! Please! Don’t hurt him.”
The smile that spread across the man’s face was cruel. Hawk had seen it many times during his travels around the world. Different country, different culture, it didn’t matter. That smile was always the same. It was the look of a man who did something because he believed he’d been given holy rite to do so. It was the look of a madman. That made him unpredictable. All systems of logic broke down. Anything was possible. Hawk’s options had suddenly narrowed.
Emin stepped closer. Hawk held a hand out to keep her back. The last thing they needed was an emotional reaction.
The angle between Hawk’s rifle and the big man was not good. He was more likely to hit Jimmy than his target. The big man appeared to be aware of this, as each time Hawk moved to give himself a better angle, the big man moved with him. The big man couldn’t cover both him and Emin at the same time, but he appeared to know Emin wouldn’t open fire. She lacked the skill, and more importantly, lacked the emotional calm such a shot required.
Hawk needed to do something risky, to swing the odds in his favor.
He swung his rifle up in an arch. Trigonometry wasn’t a strength of his, so he aimed as sharply as he could, spraying the tunnel ceiling with bullets. Most embedded themselves in the damp rock, but some found hard metal pipes and stronger brickwork unaffected by the water.
The big guy ducked—far too slow—and grunted as he took at least one bullet in his body.
Jimmy crouched, frozen in place as the bullets splashed in the water at his feet.
“Jimmy, run!” Hawk bellowed.
His shout chased the deafening gunfire reverberations down the tunnels. Jimmy ran, not toward them, but down a tunnel that ran perpendicular to theirs. Good lad.
“Jimmy!” Emin said.
She dashed forward to chase after him. Her rashness would cost her life. She’d stepped within range of the big man’s blade.
Hawk saw the attack coming. He roared and ran forward, barreling into the big man and knocking him off his feet.
Emin glanced back at him. Jimmy was still running, probably terrified of how close he’d come to losing his life. He’d get lost if he wasn’t careful.
“Go!” Hawk said. “I’ll handle thisss guy.”
The big guy got to his feet, the water dripping from his huge, muscular frame. He towered over Hawk, but he wasn’t cowed. The larger man might have the strength advantage, but he could lean on his training and experience. He was going to need it to survive this fight.
72.
GUY HATED being alone. He also hated being in the dark. Now, he was alone and in the dark. He’d been down these tunnels countless times over the years, spent thousands of hours with them, and he’d never—not once!—felt the same fear as he did now.
The difference was obvious. Back then, he knew nothing was dangerous in the dark. Now, there were all manner of ghouls and goblins that might get the jump on him at any moment.
What he hated most was what was in the darkness.
His torch cut a sharp swathe through the black. It was little better than having no light, to his eyes. The light managed only to cut a small hole in the endless night, his eyes more keen to make something out of the strobing shadows than to allay his fears.
Even worse, if something really was in the dark, it could easily identify the light and know your exact location. And then, of course, the torch occasionally flickered off. Most often at the worst possible moment. He was certain he’d seen the face of a zombie, right there in front of him. By the time he turned back to it, the torch had snapped off.
Guy slapped his palm against it frantically before aiming it at the offending mask again. When it did come back on, Guy having already become a quivering mess, there was no face, only an unfortunately placed nozzle or crank that gave the impression of a nose and, therefore, a face.
“You need to calm down,” Guy said to himself. “You need to relax. Take deep, calm relaxing breaths.”
He did. One after another.
“There’s nothing down here,” he told himself, body relaxing already. “Nothing at all. Everything is in your imagination. Nothing more.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure of that, chum.”
Guy reacted on the “I” and hardly heard the rest of the sentence. He spun around in a circle toward the voice’s origin. No such luck. He found empty walls of interlocking pipes. But there, in the movement of the water, he saw what he was looking for.
When he’d turned, he’d sloshed the water at his feet. It’d sent ripples out. They’d been upset by ripples crossing from the opposite direction. Something else had sloshed in the water, and it’d come from around the corner.
Guy wished it was only Jimmy mucking around, but there was little chance of that. He didn’t have a deep voice like the speaker, and he most definitely wouldn’t be in the mood for games after having been kidnapped.
Guy tightened his grip on his rifle and edged around the corner, trying—and failing—to keep his boots from making noise in the turgid pool.
He stepped from the water and onto the narrow walkway on the sides. They hadn’t originally been built as walkways. The water rarely reached as high as the lips on either side, so it had become the de-facto place to put your feet. The trouble was, it was narrow and difficult to balance on. Still, it meant he could move silently.
As he rounded the corner, he aimed with his rifle, finger on the trigger, prepared to open fire in an instant. The tunnel was empty, the ripples fading from some unseen source. Guy rushed forward. He knew he needed to move fast, or else risk losing his target. Before he reached halfway, there was a splashing noise, back in the direction he’d come from.
Perhaps the guy had come from a different tunnel? Funny, he thought. He was certain the ripples had come from this direction. He supposed it was possible the ripples could have bounced off the hard surface. He turned and made his way back.
He got partway through the adjacent tunnel before hearing another splash. He turned to face it, rifle ready.
Who was this guy? Houdini? He moved faster than Guy could believe. One minute he was halfway along one corridor, then he was suddenly down another one. It was only when it happened for the fourth time that Guy began to grow suspicious.
He paused as he turned toward the latest sound. He felt like the little kid at school, stuck in the middle between a gang of bullies as they tossed his bag to one another. He ignored the sound and turned back to the original one he’d been following.
The second sound, the one over his shoulder, came again, a little louder and frantic this time. As if someone were trying to get his attention.
Guy kept his rifle tight to his shoulder as he leaped behind a large pipe. It was more than large enough to conceal a fully-grown man. He might have been right. He didn’t know. All he saw was a dirty great boot flying directly at his face.
73.
THE TUNNELS looked the same in whichever direction Tommy cast his eyes. What was worse, each of those corridors also raced off into eternity. He might have been in a hellish maze designed by the devil himself. If he took too many turns and forgot even a single step, he’d never find his way back again. Any corridor he chose was random, and with no evidence of where Jimmy might have been taken, straight was as likely a direction as any other. He decided to play it safe and headed straight. All he needed to do was count the number of crossroads he passed.
Six. Seven. . . Eight. Or was that nine?
Wonderful, Tommy thought. Then he spotted something, just up ahead. This particular tunnel had an end. Light blinked through a doorway. As Tommy drew up to it, he realized it was a room.
It was different, and difference was never a good thing. He tightened the grip on his rifle and pressed himself against the wall, edging along it.
At the doorway, he looked straight ahead. The room was a circular shape and folded back on itself. It consisted of a broad space with corridors sprouting off it like the spokes of a wheel. Tommy shifted position, turning one-eighty to place his back on the other side of the doorway.
He peered through it at the opposite half of the room. The room continued its circular motion. He poked his head out, then pulled it back to safety again. Deep shadows concealed the gaps between each door. What little light there was spilled through the yellowed glass—or more likely, plastic—that made the ceiling. A propeller fan spun in slow circles, cutting through the light and making it dance.
He’d noticed something out the corner of his eye. He wasn’t entirely certain he’d seen what he had. The flashing light overhead could play tricks on you if you weren’t careful. He needed to look again.
He leaned through the doorway and took in the scene. There they were. There one moment and gone the next, a twisted magic trick. There was a man at the front, sitting in a throne. Beside him on either side were men and women armed with guns.
And then there was the figure that fully arrested his attention, held by a big man, hand clenched over his mouth. Jimmy.
“You can come out,” a voice said. “There’s no need to be shy.”
The voice could only have come from the man in the throne.
Tommy needed backup. He’d be completely exposed out there by himself. He leaned his head back against the wall and considered his options.
Stay here and wait for them to flank him? That didn’t sound fun. Backtrack and find the others? Not an option. He didn’t know where they were and how long it would take to locate them. Head back down this corridor and swing behind them from a better direction? One glance at the corridor that stretched away from him told him that would take too much time too. His only option was the one staring him in the face.
He did have one alternative. It was scraping the bottom of the barrel. But that was where he now found himself. In desperation. He put down his rifle and stepped out.
In one hand, he clutched a grenade. The other held the pin.
74.
“JIMMY!” EMIN shouted. “Jimmy! Wait!”
The poor little tyke was terrified. He didn’t stop or turn to look back once since he’d gotten free of the big man who’d held him.
He led her down one tunnel after another, so many turns Emin didn’t know where she was. Then, finally, he came to a stop, midway along a corridor with dripping pipes. Emin slowed, thankful she couldn’t feel the pain in her legs and lungs.
“Jimmy?” Emin said. “It’s all right. Everything’s going to be okay.”
Jimmy whimpered, the hood of his sweater pulled up over his bowed head. He was sniffling, clearly upset.
“You’re safe now, Jimmy,” Emin said.
Jimmy ran a hand over his eyes, wiping away the tears. He lowered his hand to his side, mostly concealed by the thick cloth of his hoodie. Poking out from a sleeve, Emin caught sight of his fingers. They were thick and worn, the nails chipped and gnawed away. They were not the hands of a young lad.
“Jimmy?” Emin said. “What happened? Did they hurt you?”
Looking down, she noticed his pants were different too. They were tighter around the ass and calves. Had his body swollen? It was probably the dirty water, she thought. One lungful of it and you could catch a disease.
“Jimmy, turn around,” she said. “Jimmy?”
He slowly turned, like a figurine on a windup ballerina toy. When she saw his face, she gasped.
The figure pushed his hood up with the tip of a cruel combat knife. His floppy hair hadn’t been washed in what looked like weeks. It was dark and greasy, lying atop his head like an unkempt bird’s nest. His eyes were big and wide, his nose small and malformed. His mouth stretched almost ear to ear when he grinned. His teeth were small and sharpened to points. His gums were painfully swollen, most of his teeth missing.
He must have something wrong with him to have a face like that, more at home living beneath a bridge than in a city.
“Where is he?” Emin said. “Where’s Jimmy?”
“I’m Jimmy,” Fake Jimmy said.
His voice grated like a saw on wrought iron. It sent a shiver up Emin’s spine.
“Where is he?” Emin said. “I swear, if you hurt him. . .”
Fake Jimmy put his index finger to the point of his knife. He put it in his mouth.
“Jimmy is as Jimmy does,” he said. “And Jimmy does as Jimmy is.”
A pearl of blood formed on the tip of his finger.
“Jimmy’s needed elsewhere. Me, I’m needed right here.”
“Right here?” Emin said. “What are you talking about?”
“This is part of a magnificent plan, don’t you see?” Jimmy said with that horrifying grin of his. “We’re threads in a great tapestry of life.”
He spotted a thread poking out of Jimmy’s sweater and pinched it between his thumb and forefinger. He pulled it out.
“If one little thread comes out, nothing changes.”
Emin stepped back. The rifle slung across her shoulder on its strap lay forgotten. She wasn’t a trained soldier. It wasn’t the first thing she reached for when she was in trouble.
“I don’t want to fight,” Emin said.
“Jimmy doesn’t want to fight,” Fake Jimmy said. “Jimmy wants to play.”
Emin got the distinct impression “play” didn’t have the same meaning to this disgusting little man.
“Jimmy wants to open you up like a candy bar and see the red sugar inside,” he said.
His steps were small and yet he kept up with Emin each step she took. It couldn’t go on like this. Eventually, he was going to charge, and she would either have to fight or run.
“You’re wearing his clothes,” Emin said. “You must know where he is. Tell me where he is and I’ll give you whatever you want.”
The little man pulled up sharp, interest piqued.
“Really?” he said. “You’ll give me anything?”
“Anything,” Emin said.
“Hm,” Fake Jimmy said, resting his chin on his knife in a caricature display of introspection. He didn’t seem to care or notice that his blood was running down the blade. “I’ve got it! I know what I want!”
“What? What do you want?”
