Precipice: The Beginning (22 page)

44

“G
et that goddamn hatch sealed!” Lieutenant George Wagner looked up at Private Watts, shielding his eyes from the blue flame of his welding torch. “You six, take the left tunnel. The rest of you reload and do a shell count. We’ll hold up here.”

Wagner couldn’t catch his breath. He’d been in constant motion for the better part of two days. He and his men had been holding steady in Time Square, firing like mad at anything that moved and wasn’t human. Unfortunately, everything topside wasn’t human. Those that hadn’t ran or found a superb hiding spot were being dragged through the streets toward the crack in Central Park. Wagner had seen hundreds of people being hauled away, dragged behind the beasts while kicking and screaming. He’d put a bullet in those poor souls’ heads. Every one. Better to spare them the tortures of whatever lay inside that crack. But now they had been forced down the hole, pushed back through the streets of New York by a seemingly endless advancement of those creatures. They ran toward the unit at such speeds, unafraid of the firepower they were setting down, charging soldiers with machine guns and assault rifles. Hell, he saw one of his men empty what had to have been thirty shells into one of those human-sized fuckers. And it still managed to sink its teeth into him. George had hurried over and put a bullet square in the bitch’s head, finally killing it, but the damage had been done to his man. They were killing machines, straight and simple. When they’d been cornered, he ordered what few men were left into the sewers.

“Trapped like fucking rats,” George scolded himself, shaking his head.

“Manhole is sealed!” Watts yelled down, hopping off the ladder to splash George with sewer water. “Sorry, sir.”

“Shitty smelling water is the least of my troubles, son.”

All the soldiers in the sewer, including George, cringed as something slammed the pavement. The concrete above them cracked. Another hard hit, this time directly above them. The crack widened and pieces of the road broke off, splashing all around them.

“Everyone move! They’re coming through,” George yelled as he ran, his feet splashing through the ankle-deep sludge. Once a mixture of water and trash, the streets were now red from all the blood washing through them. Torn pieces of men and women’s clothing floating about. A red strip of fabric from a woman’s pajamas stuck to George’s right leg. “Get down!” George cradled his head as the ceiling opened up. He fell face first into the muck, sliding along his stomach.

A leathery hand reached into the hole, one so big it touch all sides of the sewer. It wrapped its four fingers around three of his men, yanking them from the hole. George rolled onto his feet and went to charge, but the creatures cut him off. They jumped down into the sewer through the large opening and fell on his men, standing on them with their teeth tearing into their flesh as his men drowned. George raised his machine gun and opened fire, no need to aim as the tunnel had become wall to wall with them. He gave out a savage yell as he emptied the clip. George tossed down the weapon and pulled his service revolver. Dozens of them moved toward him with only twelve rounds in the clip.

“Fuck you!” George cocked the gun and pressed it to his forehead. “You’re going to have to eat this meal cold,” he screamed, pulling the trigger.

45

H
ad it been a week? Had she really been lying in bed for a week? Had to have been longer judging by the stubble on her legs and the dryness in her throat. If this was an infirmary, where was the medical staff? Why were there no fluids in her I.V.? Christina grunted as she rose up onto her elbows, her chest burning. Each breath brought with it a sharp agony to her sides. But she managed to hold herself up, long enough to turn her stiff neck for a view of the large, empty room. She fell back to the table with a heavy grunt, clinching her eyes tightly against the sheer pain erupting from her ribs and sternum. This was bad. Worse than anything she’d ever felt. Even more than when she’d been shot in the ass while fleeing a hot zone. The pain had been excruciating, but the humor lightened the wound. Her unit had a magic touch when it came to mocking physical pains. Emotional pains were not the same story. She could turn to anyone, even TJ with his smartass quips, and receive their open shoulder. She wasn’t a crybaby by any measure. In fact, she’d never needed a shoulder to cry on. But she knew it was there.

Christina turned her head, wincing from the sore muscles in her neck. Someone was standing just beyond the overhead light’s dim reach. The silhouette was standing with sunken shoulders, an apologetic stance.

“Who is it?” Christina could raise no more than a whisper, her voice raspy.

Sean stepped out of the shadows, a bowl in his hand. “I’m glad to see you’re awake.”

“I was afraid this was a dream,” Christina smiled, looking over the familiar features of his face. “I was beginning to think I’d passed away or something. Where’s Morgan?”

“They had him put back in his cell a few days ago.” Sean took a small step forward.

“His cell?” Christina furrowed her brow, looking about the room to make sure she was in fact still on the facility. “What’s happening here? Where is everyone?”

Sean pulled a chair over and took a seat, leaning in closer to her than he’d been in months. His important news was suddenly lost in the beautiful fragrance of her hair. It did in fact smell quite awful, more than a week without washing and the remnants of oil and sweat clinging to her scalp, but it was her smell. And to him, Christina was the personification of beauty.

“Sean?” Christina touched his hand, gripping his pinky with what little strength she could muster.

“I don’t know, and what’s worse is that no one will speak to us.” Sean scooted the chair with the back of his legs and got on his knees, ducking down as far as he could to keep hidden from the hallway. “They’ve had us locked in our rooms for over a week now. They take us out only to eat, twice a day in small groups of ten. I’m on my dinner now. I don’t have but a minute. Alvin was nice enough to let me slip out.”

“Why aren’t you eating then?” Christina asked, her dry lips cracking and splitting.

“I wanted to see you.” Sean lifted the small bowl into view and set it on the bed beside her. “It’s not a chocolate sundae, but it doesn’t taste all that bad. I think it’s some kind of liquid cake. Anyway, I thought you could use it more than I could.”

Christina tensed as Sean dropped beneath the bed, leaving only the top of his head visible. She listened as the unmistakable thump of a security officer’s boots went by in the hallway. There was a brief pause outside the door, just a quick check that their only patient was still in her bed before moving on.

“This place is going south.” Sean lifted his head above the bed, resting his chin on the thin padding. “I have to get back before someone comes to check on us. I’d hate for Al to get busted on my account. Despite what the guys think, I’m not a total asshole.”

“They don’t think that.” Christina felt like crying, measuring the sadness he carried with him was enough to break her heart. “I’ve never thought that.”

Sean heard more footfalls from down the hall. He moved forward with a soft kiss, gently pressing his lips to hers so not to damage them. He pulled apart, standing for a brief moment with their eyes locked. He opened his mouth to say more, but the footsteps were coming closer. Sean took hold of her hand and gave her a brief squeeze before running back into the shadows.

Christina turned her head back to the ceiling and closed her eyes, exhausted by their brief encounter. She licked her lips, not caring that it hurt to do so. She wanted to taste him once more, to pull every last bead of saliva from his lips to carry with her. If this was the only way to keep them together, so be it. She loved the look they’d shared, feeling as if they weren’t locked away on some foreign world but back home on a date. Something simple like being parked off the road at the end of a movie. But the movies weren’t playing all that much these days, especially now that they were running off auxiliary power. She didn’t need a technician to tell her all the lights weren’t on. The lights didn’t bother her as much as being locked away in solitary rooms, tucked away in their cells like prisoners. And who decided to make such a decision? Were they undergoing some form of shakedown from TransWorld? Didn’t matter really. Whatever was happening would happen no matter what they decided to say. No one would listen to Form A-126 or whatever the hell she might be able to request from human resources. They were prisoners all the same. Only thing that changed from before her injury to now was that they’d finally begun to treat them as such.

“Shit!” Christina grunted as her elbow pushed out, knocking the bowl of what looked like dirty brown water onto the floor. “Oh God.” Christina had lifted up and turned toward the bowl, falling back in a heap of pain. She gripped her chest and held her breath, willing the pain back into the darkness of her subconscious. The pain finally subsided, leaving her weak and drained, her eyes falling closed.

Time passed. How much she couldn’t say, but it felt later. Christina felt pressure on her hand, a growing tightness around her wrist. She smiled, remembering Sean as he nervously stepped from the shadows with his little gift. Christina opened her eyes with the greatest of expectations, thinking that maybe he’d been given another opportunity to sneak away for another brief moment. But this wasn’t Sean. It was Andrews looking down at her with a wide grin that didn’t reach his eyes.

“What are you doing?” Christina pulled back from his touch, but he tightened his grip, wrapping his fingers over her wrist like a snake strangling its prey.

“Shush.” Andrews leaned forward. “You need to rest. Conserve your strength.”

Christina nodded, unsure what he expected from her. In her weakened state, she didn’t have the energy to fend off any sort of attack should she provoke him. She managed a smile despite the dread growing in her heart. Fear rising like floodwaters from the pressure of his grip and the weight of his creepy smile. But what made the situation unbearable was the deadness in his eyes, like the look of a man with a terminal illness. He stood there, unflinching for more than ten minutes, staring down at her without a word. The pain in her wrist intensified as he gripped tighter and tighter, digging his nails into her skin.

“Ouch!” Christina wiggled from beneath his grip and pressed her bleeding wrist to her mouth, sucking the dripping blood. A visual queue to him if anything, but he never stopped grinning.

“You should go ahead and rest, Eve,” Andrews nodded with his advice, stepping back from the table. His hands slowly falling to his side. “You’re so very important to us now.” Andrews closed his eyes. “So important to me.”

Christina could only lie there, shivering from the most uncomfortable moment of her life. Never had she felt so vulnerable. Ten days ago she could have snapped this assholes neck with little effort, but her current state was what she had to work with and it wasn’t much. Worse was that he knew it. A single tear rolled down her cheek as she prepared herself to be raped. But how could she? What could she tell herself to make it any better? There was no comfort to be had, only the growing dread rising from the pit of her stomach to seize her heart. What had started with a tender moment between her and Sean was now moving into the running for the worst day of her life. Christina tried to cross her legs, just one over the other, but they wouldn’t move.

Andrews stood back, watching her squirm and struggle as he stared down at her. He stumbled over the bowl, grabbing the counter behind him so as not to slip in the watery cake. He stood and straightened, looking down at his feet and then off into the hallway, as if he expected someone to be standing there. Then he turned and left, walking briskly out of the infirmary and out of sight. Christina listened to each heavy footfall until they were far enough away to be inaudible. Then came the flood. A heavy release of tears at the mental rape she’d just been put through. Although no physical penetration had taken place, he’d robbed her of comfort, put her through the possibility that at any moment he could take from her what wasn’t his. Christina rolled her head to the side, tired of the dampness in her ears, but suddenly a ray of hope. A slight glimmer of light reflected off the shiny chrome of a scalpel lying forgotten on a small tray just a few feet to her left. Christina wiped her eyes, blocking the pain in her body with her mind shouting commands.
Move it you weak bitch!
Christina gripped the bed while reaching for the scalpel, swatting her hand through the empty air until she carelessly bumped the tray. The scalpel slid toward the edge and tottered, but it stayed.
Steady that hand soldier!
She reached out slowly, her hand shaking from the strain. Her fingers traced the cool metal and finally closed around it.

Christina pulled her arm back quickly, securing the scalpel beneath her leg before anyone else could come walking in. She lay still for a moment, shutting her eyes as she worked to slow her breathing. Her heart felt close to its highest setting, threatening to leap through her damaged chest and go running off down the hall. But a few minutes of slow breaths, calm thinking and overall focus over her body and its individual functions got things back in order. She opened her eyes and looked out into the hall, listening for that heavy footfall and thankful for the silence. With her eyes glued to the hall, she pulled the sharp blade from beneath her leg and tucked it between the thin mattress and the gurney. A weapon changed the score. Some careless medical staff member had left things in disarray and evened the playing field. Let Andrews try it now. Christina kept her eyes to the hall and her hand an inch from the bedside. Never again will he catch her so vulnerable. Never again.

46

W
as this day seven already? Travis held out his hand and counted the fingers, only to pause, unsure what day it was. His internal clock had been thrown for a loop. No daylight from outside, no clocks to look up to, nothing but the dull light from his cell. He’d counted the small imperfections in the walls a dozen times, traced the crisscross pattern of the ceiling tiles over and over again. Anything to pass the time without falling back into memory. No sense being locked up and depressed.

Travis looked up as the door opened. Alvin stood there, his face tired and worn. This routine was beginning to wear on both sides and it showed.

“Dinner time, come and get it.” Alvin managed a weak smile, but it quickly fell from his face.

Travis stood from his cot and joined the group of nine miners, all of them different each time. He wasn’t sure who picked the eating rotations, but he hadn’t seen a member of his unit since lockdown. He could only hope they were all okay.

“How’s Christina doing?” Travis asked Alvin as he set his tray down on the table.

Alvin took a seat and leaned in close. “Last I heard she was doing fine.”

“Last you heard?”

“Last night, Andrews gave orders for no one to enter the infirmary. He was dead serious about it.” Alvin gave a nervous laugh. “He’s become dead serious about everything. If he’ll even talk to you that is.”

“Shut your fucking mouth!”

Alvin and Travis looked up as two miners swept their trays onto the floor and began pushing each other.

“Break it up,” Alvin yelled, hopping up from the bench with his electric prod in hand. “I said break it up!” Alvin stood between them and held them apart at arm’s length, but the men were large and heated.

The only miner Travis recognized, he thought his name was something like Neil or Phil, pushed Alvin to the ground. Alvin fell hard, smacking his head onto the cold, hard tiles. Travis thought it was time to set aside his meek obedience and step in with his training before this got out of hand. But as he stood up to engage the two men, three security officers rushed into the room. Gomez, Rodriguez, and Adams, all three of them had their lips permanently sewn to Andrews’ ass. But Travis was actually happy to see them, at least until Gomez took things a bit too far.

Gomez hit the miner closest to him in the base of the neck, a hard hit with a shock from his electric prod. The miner yelped in pain and surprise, dropping to his knees. As quickly as it had started, the confrontation was over. But Gomez gripped the club and swung it hard into the back of his head, bringing the miner to the floor. Adams jammed his prod into the second man; the one Travis had fished for a name, and brought him to the floor as well. As if in unison, the two guards beat the miners, hands up and then back down. Over and over, hard blows to the head and face until the skin tore and swelled. The savagery wouldn’t stop. Rodriguez stood with his back to the assault, standing between the officers and the stunned miners still hovering about the table. He patted the baton to his palm, egging them on if they were so foolish to come forward. Travis had to ignore every urge in his body to charge and stop the beating. Doing so would put his life, and yes, possibly even his entire unit’s lives in jeopardy. Instead he dropped to one knee and took hold of Alvin’s shoulder, nudging him until he opened his eyes.

“What the hell?” Alvin sat up with a hand to his bruised head. He fought the urge to sit back down, feeling woozy and nauseous. “That’s enough. I said that’s enough!”

The two officers paused, their batons held up in a readied stance, blood rolling down the black metal to their tightened fists. Both shared the same expression of savage intent, their breathing hard and heated. But they lowered their arms and stood from the miners, standing informally like tuff schoolyard bullies unafraid of the approaching principle.

“Rodriguez, take the men back to their living quarters. You two have these men brought to the infirmary.”

“Infirmary is off limits now. Andrews gave clear instructions,” Adams said smugly.

“Not to the gravely wounded, asshole. Now move it!”

The men put up some resistance, finally dropping to their knees to grip the men by their wrists. They stood and pulled, dragging the miners along the cold floor. Travis took a look back over his shoulder as they were led out of the room. He didn’t need the opinion of a doctor to know those men were both dead. Their noses had been smashed and shoved into their brains, along with their shattered skulls. It had been a savage beating, one he would never forget. Mostly, he’d remember standing there with his skilled hands by his side. What it all came down to is that those men were now dead because he’d chose to sit this one out. Travis lowered his head and headed back down the hall, wondering how much longer this was going to continue. How long until they were all lying on the floor with their heads caved in?