Z-Burbia 2: Parkway To Hell (28 page)

“Sir! No sir! I don’t see God either.”

Roach could see Brooks was sitting with the others, smoking and laughing. They were at ease and had obviously gone through this procedure many times before.

“What is this bullshit, man?” A voice from down the line spoke and Roach turned to see who it was. He recognised the voice as the same one that had spent the last three hours next to him on the plane whining.

The man was dressed in standard issue prison uniform, as they all were except for himself. The stranger was dark skinned and had a shaved head. His arms were folded in front of him and he shuffled forward to speak. “You say we’re free, but I don’t see no ride, man. Where am I? Who the fuck are you? This is whacked.”

Warwick laughed and turned to the other soldiers. “Who I am is not really very important, besides I already told you that. You, Mr Jackson, are much more relevant to what is going on here. You know what? I enjoy my job. It has its good days and its bad. On the whole, it’s a frigging breeze.” Warwick walked back to the helicopter and took a smoke from one of the other soldiers. He leant leaned back against the helicopter and took a couple of drags before continuing. “Mr Jackson, you are a homicidal maniac. Convicted on all counts, I hear. You killed three police officers in Boston before shooting two hostages, one of whom was a pregnant woman. You really think you can get away with that?”

“Whatever, man, I don’t have to listen to this.” Jackson flicked the solders the middle finger.

“Do you know who else is here, Mr Jackson?” said Warwick calmly.

“I don’t give a shit. Just let me go before I kill you. You said I’m free, didn’t you? I haven’t had a beer in three years,so just let me go, man.”

Warwick laughed once more and then flicked the cigarette away. “What do you say, Brooks, shall we fill them in?”

Roach watched as the young soldier stood smartly to attention and saluted. “Sir! Yes, sir!”

“Fine. At ease, Brooks. Mr Jackson look to your left and you will notice you are standing next to a fine chap by the name of Mr Dwight Emmerson. He has been convicted of first-degree murder on six counts. Six black people, Mr Jackson. Not just anyone either, but a whole family: mom, pop and the four kiddies. The youngest was only eleven months old. Mr Emmerson is what you would call a white supremacist, isn’t that right, Dwight?”

The man looked straight ahead and said nothing. Roach could see the tattoos covering his neck and bald head. Both Emmerson and Jackson looked as if they spent their waking hours lifting weights. Roach hoped that if there were any trouble, he would end up on their side. There was no doubt that he was in bad company though, and wondered why he had been put together with these people in particular.

“The man standing beside Dwight is Mr Leone. Originally from Mexico, he spent the last five years building up quite an impressive drug industry in the South West. It’s literally impossible to say how many people have died from the fucked up heroine he put onto the streets. In our little playgroup today, we also have a couple of ladies for a change.”

The soldiers behind Warwick cheered again, and then wolf-whistled at this. They were acting like schoolchildren on day release. When Warwick turned around to glare at them, they quickly shut up and he went on.

“Min Wang, the woman with a big mouth, is probably best described as...what...a political dissident? She sold state secrets to the Chinese. Ms Izliev is a guest here, courtesy of our friends from Russia. Whatever she’s done, I’m sure she deserves to get what’s coming to her. Finally, further down the line we have Mr Franklin Roach, something of a superstar. I almost feel like getting my autograph book out.”

Roach felt all eyes on him. The prisoners stared at him too and he could feel his face burning red. He knew what was coming next. He also knew there was no point denying it as he had spent the last two years doing just that. The fact he was innocent was irrelevant. Agnew wanted him out of the way and now he had found a way of doing it.

“You’re Franklin Roach? The one who did the bombings? I thought you were living it up in Paraguay or someplace. Fuck me,” said Emmerson. “I heard you took out twenty nine niggers in one go, that’s impressive.”

“What did you just say?” said Jackson outraged. “I should beat your white ass right now.”

“Settle down, boys,” said Warwick, bringing his rifle back around to his front. He walked up to Roach. “Mr Roach here organised the San Francisco bombings of 2180. Probably pushed the button himself, for all we know. You would have read about it all over the news I’m sure. You’re in special company today. This here is enemy number one.”

“I don’t get it,” said Min. “You say you’re releasing us, but why? Murderers, terrorists, and racists? I don’t care who these people are, they’re nothing to do with me. Where are we? Explain what exactly is going on, Sergeant.”

Warwick walked to face the group, and with a salacious smile, looked them up and down. “Anyone? Anyone at all?”

“I know,” said Roach. “I think I know where we are.”

“Where?” said Izliev. She looked at him scornfully, unaware that he had nothing to do with the bombings and the deaths of eighty-five people. She had seen the news the same as everyone else. Roach was a terrorist and a cold-blooded murderer.

“The Grave,” said Roach quietly. He felt disconsolate. They had won. Agnew had beaten him. The world had been fed a pack of lies and they had bought it all. Roach was going to die and he knew it.

“What’s The Grave?” asked Emmerson.

“Read a fucking book, you redneck, racist retard,” retorted Jackson.

Emmerson swung a punch at Jackson and the two men fell in a heap, punching and hitting each other as they rolled about on the roof. With their feet tied, neither of the men could stand up to fight properly. Warwick unleashed a volley of bullets into the air above them and the fighting immediately ceased. Both men scrambled to their feet, knuckles bruised and noses bloodied.

“All right, party’s over,” said Warwick. “Let’s get on with this. You are now officially on American soil. Over there to my left is a ladder. Sort of. You must exit these premises using the ladder until you reach the other side of the perimeter fencing. Once you reach the other side, you are free. Any questions?”

“You’re joking, right?” asked Izliev. She jutted out her prominent jaw and took a small step forward. “I’m not going anywhere with these people.”

Since the gunfire, the murmuring Roach heard earlier had grown in volume and he now knew where it was coming from. It was all around them, just out of sight. It was coming from below them, surrounding them on all sides. There was nowhere to run to. He knew the ladder would almost certainly not lead to freedom.

“The Grave? This is a joke. Where are your superiors?” asked Min.

“No way, man, no way you can do this,” said Jackson.

Roach could sense the panic building in the prisoners. They knew what it meant to be here and why they were here. Freedom was not waiting for them on the other side of the fence, only death. Roach could see Dwight looking confused and scared. He didn’t know what this place was. At that moment, Roach noticed the other man, the one who had until now kept quiet. He was elderly and small, not like the other men. Warwick had ignored him when listing their names.

“Sergeant Warwick,” said the man clearing his throat. “If I may?”

“What is it, Quentin?”

Quentin turned to face the prisoners. “You’re not being freed. Far from it, you’re expected to die here. I’ve been working with the authorities trying to find a cure for them. Until about a year ago anyway, then it all changed. I found out what’s really going on here. This place is...”

“All right, Quentin, that’ll do,” said Warwick. He took a step toward the man.

“Fuck you, Warwick, I know all about you,” said Quentin.

Roach was surprised. The man looked so small and frail, yet he spoke with determination and fierceness. He was glaring at the sergeant now and Warwick almost stepped back. Roach looked around and could see the ladder they had been told to cross. It was perched perilously on the edge of the rooftop and went across the yard with the other end resting on top of the tall fence. A fallen tree was leaning against the fence on the outside, no doubt conveniently placed for them to make their escape to ‘freedom.’ Beyond the beech trees, he could not see. What was below the ladder, the things making the moaning sounds, was too terrifying for Roach to contemplate. Perhaps, this Quentin would be able to help them. He seemed to know what was going on.

“What’s out there?” asked Emmerson. “What’s with this place?” The man might have the muscled body of a weightlifter, but he had the look of a man who knew he was about to be in some serious shit, thought Roach.

“If we take a step onto that ladder, we are dead,” continued Quentin. “The Deathless live here. They have this island all to themselves. I, for one, am not going out there. If the dead don’t kill you, the infection will. Sergeant Warwick, I demand you take us back this instance. A lifetime in prison would be preferable to being condemned to The Grave.” Quentin began shuffling forward toward the helicopter.

“Hey if he’s going, I want out too.” Jackson began shuffling forward too.

Roach stayed where he was. He watched as Sergeant Warwick raised his gun and pointed it squarely at Quentin.

“Freeze, now!” shouted Warwick, but Quentin kept moving closer to the soldiers and the helicopter.

Roach watched as the other soldiers got up, realising events were getting out of hand. He heard Warwick tell Quentin to stop, and then gunfire shattered the peace. Quentin’s body exploded as a barrage of bullets smashed through his body, sending his blood all over the rooftop. The man crumpled to the ground, dead. Min screamed as Emmerson and Jackson dropped to the ground, shielding themselves from the gunfire. Roach instinctively ducked, but was too shocked to react. He heard Izliev next to him begin crying and Leone muttering in Spanish. When Warwick stopped firing, there was near silence again. All Roach could hear was the murmuring from below. It was definitely louder now and he could hear thumping noises and bangs as the Deathless tried to climb the building.

“Jesus Christ,” said Brooks.

“If you lazy fuckers had been paying attention, we could be halfway back by now. He would’ve exposed us and you know it. We’ve got our orders. Pick up his body and get rid of it. Now!” screamed Warwick.

Brooks and Springman reluctantly picked up Quentin’s bloody body and dragged it to the edge of the roof where they dumped it over the edge. Roach felt sick. He knew that if they didn’t leave now, Warwick was likely to shoot them all where they stood. He put his hands up. “Warwick, I’ll go. I’ll go first. Just give us a fighting chance. Okay? How about these leg braces, eh?”

Warwick motioned for another of the soldiers to go over to Roach and his legs were finally unshackled. Warwick kept his gun aimed at the prisoners the whole time, as did the others behind him now, alert for any more trouble.

Roach walked slowly to the ladder. “Min, Jackson, everyone; you should follow me. I don’t think we have much choice here.”

As he got closer to the ladder, he heard the others being released and their leg braces collected. The roof began to plateau and then he saw them. Below the roof, trapped in the yard by the fence on all sides, were hundreds of them. There were men, women and children, all pushing and shoving each other, all moaning and baring their teeth. Hands and feet banged on the walls, picking at the masonry, punching the bricks as if they could make the whole building fall down. Roach was terrified, but he felt pity too. These poor people that were before him; they had not deserved this. The infection had taken them and they had been abandoned here on The Grave. They no longer thought or acted like the living because they were dead. The terrible poison that man had created to save them from death had only hastened them toward it.

Roach reached the ladder and knelt down. He put his hands firmly on the rails and shuffled onto it with his knees supporting him on the rungs. He reasoned it must be about fifteen feet to the fence. He quietly said a prayer and looked down through the ladder. The dead were reaching up for him, jumping, scrabbling over one another, and fighting each other to get to him. If they made it, he would be eaten alive. He began to crawl forward carefully and hoped he could make it past the Deathless.

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