Surrender the Sun: A Post Apocalyptic Dystopian Thriller (19 page)

A child’s cry was his last memory and was also what woke him as he lay on cold concrete floor. Groggily, Bishop realized the sound wasn’t the cry of a child at all, but a thrumming in his head reminded him of what had happened.

He tried to rise, but as he lifted his cheek from the rough, cold floor, he found his hands were still tied behind his back.

He’d realized then, too, that he wasn’t alone in the dark room. Someone else was in there with him and had made a noise like the brushing of fabric across the flooring, fibers catching on tiny concrete thorns.

“Who’s there?”

Though no one answered, Bishop could hear him breathing in the dark. His breath was coming in and out in at a faster rate of speed, which meant he was scared. In Bishop’s experience, scared men did dumb things. Things that got you killed despite the desire to save yourself. Like he did earlier, trying to save the child from the crossfire only for the little boy to freeze to death in the snowbank where the thugs had left him.

Attempting to sit up, Bishop rolled over first onto his side and then scooted backward a few feet until he hit a wall. He leaned against the solid structure and felt grooves in the wall with his fingers. A painted cinderblock wall was easy to detect.
Must be in the building’s basement
.

“Hey,” he called out to the unseen occupant. His voice bounced off the walls.
The ceiling must be high in here. Maybe a stairwell?

He tried again. “Hey, I know you’re there. I can hear you.” He didn’t hear anything for a second, only another shift of fabric on the floor. “Hey, what’s your name?”

Silence for a time and then, “I’m…Austin. Austin Sanchez.”

Young man
, Bishop thought at the sound of his voice.
Not more than twenty-five.

“Why are you here, Austin?”

“I…I won’t do what Roman wants me to do. I’m Mr. Geller’s personal assistant. I’m not a…a gangster.”

“Who’s Mr. Geller?

He laughed, incredulous. “Mr. Geller owns this hotel and half the town.”

“Where is he now?”

“He flew back to Arizona. He doesn’t know any of this is going on. He wouldn’t allow it. Mr. Geller is a good man.”

Bishop nodded in the dark. Pieces of the puzzle were starting to fall into place. “Who’s running the show now?”

“His name is Roman. He’s Mr. Geller’s manager.”

Bishop thought about this for a moment. “Roman a tall guy? Dark hair?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you have any way of contacting Mr. Geller?”

Austin sighed. “No, cell towers are down. I don’t even know if he made it there. I hope he did. They took me prisoner right after he left.”

“How often do they come to check on you?”

“Twice a day,” he said, his voice back to normal. However, it was so cold in the room that Bishop knew if they were left there without heat, they’d die of exposure in a matter of days.

“Each time they come in, it’s the same thing. They ask if I’ll join them. They say I only have one day left to decide.”

“Join what?”

“I guess, join them. I don’t understand why they haven’t killed me yet. They’ve already killed so many.”

“Does Roman come here himself?”

“No, I last saw him right after Mr. Geller left on the helipad. That was like a week ago. Right before this all began.”

Hmmm.
The question that had plagued Austin now plagued Bishop. Why hadn’t they killed him long ago? There had to be a reason, since killing seemed so easy to them. These men who abandon children to die weren’t likely to think twice about offing someone who wouldn’t go along with their plans. There must be something special about Austin, or there was the possibility that he was lying to Bishop. The thought crossed his mind. Possibly he had been stowed there to gain information about Bishop, the vigilante who came to take the town.

Before he could ask questions, though, the door opened. As it did, a stream of light spiked into the room and separated shadows on the floor that rose up the wall and instantly confirmed Bishop’s guess that he was in the bottom of a concrete stairwell.

Besides the light, a rifle appeared in the doorway, followed by three men all dressed in black, and then the light source appeared in the form of an electric lantern.

“Hello,” the first guard said as he shined the light onto Bishop. Even though he knew it might be a waste of effort, his hands worked overtime in trying to free themselves from the plasticuffs behind his back.

“What’s your name, sir?”

Bishop diverted his eyes to the young man sitting across from him. He had a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. His blond hair was mussed, and the first thing Bishop zeroed in on was the bruising around his right eye. Someone had roughed him up. His shirtsleeve was torn, and there was old dried blood on the kid’s shirt. He was thin and, worse yet, had the look of someone defeated. He made eye contact with Bishop for a second before looking down again. In that short time, Bishop didn’t think the kid was a spy, but he was no expert on human behavior. That young man was in pain and, judging by his defensive stance, he didn’t trust the guards to not hurt him again.

“What do you want?” Bishop asked, ignoring the question, swinging his attention directly to the closest guard at the same time he secretly wrestled with freeing himself of the restraints.

The guard stepped aside and let another man into the room. A man Bishop had seen before in town and kept his distance from. Frank moved toward him with a grin on his face and a cigarette between his lips. Dressed in denim and snow boots, he didn’t have the swagger he usually walked with, but he was menacing all the same.

“I know you,” Frank said, pointing his cigarette at him. He flicked his ashes on Bishop’s black pants. The red glow within the ashes threatened to burn a hole in the nylon snow gear. Bishop brushed it off with his other leg before it got the chance.

“You’re that guy.” Frank said it in such a way that Bishop wasn’t sure if he really knew who he was at all. He was only taking a stab in the dark about his identity. Bishop had only run into Frank once, but it was a memorable event and one that Bishop never intended to repeat again.

The man scrunched his brows together for a moment as if that would jar his memory. “I know I’ve seen you before. But it doesn’t matter now because you’re a dead man anyway.”

“Tell me something I don’t already know, you coward.”

Frank’s laughter bounced off the concrete walls. “Dead man’s funny,” he said the guard next to him. “It doesn’t matter who you are. You don’t exist beyond this room and you never will again.”

Frank abruptly averted his attention away from Bishop and addressed Austin.

“Last chance, son. This is it. You have to join us. Roman said so.”

Austin squirmed in his seat. He looked terrified. His gaze went from Frank to Bishop, pleading for help, but there was nothing Bishop could do. “I…I can’t do what they do. I won’t.”

Frank knelt at the young man’s side. “Look, kid. You’re going to
die
unless you do this. I can’t step in anymore.”

Bishop watched the exchange, and it appeared to him that Frank genuinely cared for the kid. He was almost pleading with him.

“Just go along, Austin. I’ll make sure you’re with good people. I’ll look out for you.”

Austin searched Frank’s face. He was nearly in tears. “But why?”

Frank rubbed his eyes and shook his head. “I made a promise to your mother a long time ago. I intend to keep it. Look, I’ll make sure you’re out of the way of things. OK? Just say you’ll go along.”

Austin again looked to Bishop as if he would have the answers.

Frank tapped him on the leg again. “Hey, I need an answer now.”

Austin nodded tentatively at first and then said, “OK.”

“That’s a good lad,” Frank said and helped Austin stand. He removed his cuffs while he said, “You have to do one thing first before you can leave this room, though. You have to prove yourself, Austin. This one time. I won’t ask you to do it again. But this time, you have to do it. Understand?”

“Do what?” Austin asked, surprised, but Bishop had a sick feeling he knew what the task would be.

When Frank pulled a gleaming chrome .50 Cal Desert Eagle out of his shoulder holster, that he kept on at all times without regard to concealment, and put the heavy, chrome gun in Austin’s hands, Bishop knew his hunch was right.

Frank pointed to Bishop on the floor. “Kill him.”

Austin jerked and shook his head quickly. “I…I can’t. I said I wouldn’t do anything like that.”

Frank put his hands on both of Austin’s arms. “Just this one time. That’s all it will take for you prove yourself. Just shoot him once in the chest. That’s all you have to do. That’s the only way you’re leaving this room.”

Frank motioned for the guards to leave. “I’ll stand right outside the door, Austin. You can’t miss. Just one shot to the chest. That’s all I ask.”

As soon as the door shut, Bishop levered his eyes at him and worked his muscles overtime to shed the cuffs as he said, “Kid, you shoot that Desert Eagle in here against these concrete walls and the bullet will ricochet. You’re likely to hit yourself in this close proximity. I’m just warning you.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t want to do this. I don’t have a choice,” Austin said, his hands shaking rapidly. “I’m sorry,” he said again and began to aim the heavy pistol in Bishop’s general direction. The muzzle shook terribly.

“You don’t have to do this, Austin. They’re trying to control you. Trying to make you a murderer. Don’t let them. If you kill me, others will die.”

“They’re going to kill you anyway.”

With the cuffs burning hot with friction and tension, Bishop bought more time by saying, “You don’t have to be the one doing the killing. There has to be some reason they haven’t already taken you out. Why do they want to keep you alive? Who are you?”

“I know what the reason is,” Austin said, crying.

“What?”

Shaking his head, Austin said quietly, “I’m his son. I’m Mr. Geller’s biological son. No one knows but a few people. Mr. Geller doesn’t even know that I know.”

“Then you’re worth more to them alive than dead. Don’t let them do this to you, Austin. Your father would expect more from you.”

At that moment, Austin’s aim faltered. He nearly had his eyes closed by then. His finger within the trigger guard, Austin was going to fire, and by Bishop’s estimation, he was going to miss and likely kill himself in the process. With a last surge of strength, one cuff popped free. Quickly launching his leg out, Bishop knocked Austin’s feet from underneath him and, using his freed hands, quickly grabbed the gun and fired once, straight up in the air at the angle of the ascending stairs. Then Bishop immediately dropped the magazine and found it full having shot the one in the chamber. “Seven bullets left.”

Opening the door, Frank was met with a direct shot to the face, and three more shots were fired in quick succession into the center mass of the three guards before they even had a chance to ready their weapons. In practice, Bishop would have preferred double tapping them, but there was little time for the best-case scenario and he knew the Desert Eagle rounds did a sufficient job on their own. Now he only held seven rounds with one in the chamber.

He quickly stepped over Frank’s body and grabbed the AR-15 rifles from the three guards, then an additional weapon from Frank’s body along with all the keycards or IDs the four men had in their possession. He turned handing one of the rifles to see Austin standing behind him with a blank look and his mouth agape. “Come on, kid, we’ve got to run.”

“I was…I was going to shoot you.”

“But you didn’t. Come on, we don’t have time for this now.” He grabbed at Austin’s sleeve and guided him over the bodies. “How do we get out of here?”

“Up and to the left. There’s a door to the lobby.”

A crackle from a radio sounded. “Boss, you there? Over.”

“Come on,” Bishop said gruffly. “We have to find a place to hide out. I need you to help me find Roman.”

The kid was hesitant. He stood perfectly still. Bishop watched his eyes dart back and forth as if he was flipping through the many options available to him and coming up empty. He wanted to flee, that much was clear, but Bishop needed him, needed his guidance to traverse the building and to point out the bad guys. He needed Austin to tell him who to kill. And he needed him to do it now.

“Kid, we don’t have time for this. Your dad would want you to help me.”

Austin met his eyes finally. Maybe that was enough to convince him, but Bishop wasn’t sure.

“He’ll be in the penthouse this time of day,” Austin said. “This way. Up the stairs.” Austin rushed past Bishop, but the older man caught him by the arm. “You need to let me lead. Here,” he said and handed him one of the rifles. “Don’t put your finger in there unless you’re going to shoot.”

“I know. Mr. Geller taught me,” Austin said, and Bishop led the way up the stairwell with his new guide, thinking,
At least the old man had done that much for the kid
.