The creature paused, its strangely jointed legs holding the massive, muscular body still for the first time in many hours.
The Prey was close now, so very close.
The creature hungered. The frightened hu-mans it consumed a short time ago did little to slake its enormous appetite.
It hungered but it did not seek out food. Not now. Not this close.
The Prey was surrounded by many others. The creature would feed well very soon, and the hunger would give it focus, make it strong for the Masters.
The Masters had not communicated in such a long time. Briefly, the creature wondered if it had displeased the Masters. Was that even possible? It had been created by the Masters, to do the Masters’ bidding. How could it fail? Perhaps it hadn’t tracked the Prey quickly enough.
If only the Masters would send a message or a sign.
No matter. The end of its quest was so very near, and the Masters would certainly be satisfied with what came next. The creature would slaughter the Prey and many other hu-mans as well. It would be a glorious tribute to those who created it.
Then the Masters would answer. Then it would earn their praise.
Filled with something akin to hope, the creature moved again, crawling up and down the winding hills that stood between it and its Prey.
The one called Slate.
* * *
Jubal immediately recognized where the group was being led. They all did.
It was the entrance to the tunnel.
“You’re throwing us out?” Heather said. “You lying bastards.”
Robin looked at her mother, eyes wide with shock.
“I told you: we’re going to see Dr. Sims,” Lauren said.
“Bullshit,” Mother said. “Dr. Ichabod’s office is in the medical cabin.”
“You’re going to his private office. For a private discussion.”
When they reached the door, Bob swiped a key card through a slot. Something clicked and Bob pulled the door open. He turned to wink at Heather, then stepped into the tunnel.
“Let’s go, losers,” Lauren said. He gestured at the tunnel with the barrel of his weapon.
Jubal, anxious to find out what was going on, stepped forward.
He stopped when he heard Amara’s gasp.
“Kill us,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. Her eyes gained that distant look she often had when her gift was working. “They mean to kill us. To use us. To feed…”
The security team stopped moving or talking. They seemed frozen in place, mesmerized by Amara.
“Feed what?” Jubal said.
“Feed…the machine.” Amara fell to her knees.
The Sanctuary security men looked at each other, then to Lauren. The men appeared confused, even frightened. Lauren just seemed pissed.
Amara pushed herself to one knee. When she looked up, her eyes were clear.
“We can’t go down there, Jubal.” With both palms on the ground, she swept one leg out, tripping the stocky security man next to her. As he fell, she slapped his weapon out of his hands. It was a small automatic rifle, and it spun end over end as it flew through the air.
Until it landed in the large outstretched hands of Mother. His fist closed around the gun’s faux wood stock. Mother swung the barrel into the nose of the man closest to him. There was a satisfying crunch, blood spurted and the security guy dropped his shotgun to bring both hands up to his shattered nose. Mother kicked the shotgun. It bounced once and settled near Jubal’s feet.
Mother raised his rifle and shouted, “Yee-haw! Now we got game, motherfu—”
Lauren held his shotgun against the back of Robin’s head.
Heather cried out and reached for her daughter’s hand.
“Don’t move a fucking muscle,” Lauren said. To emphasize his point, he pressed the barrel more firmly against Robin’s skull. The little girl whimpered.
“Easy,” Jubal said. “Nobody has to get hurt.”
“You think so?” Bob stuck the barrel of his own shotgun against Jubal’s right ear. “Somebody has to get hurt all right. You wanna guess who it’ll be?”
“Okay,” Lauren said, “here’s what we’re gonna do first. The ass-ugly nigger drops the rifle or Mommy gets to see what the inside of her daughter’s skull looks like.”
“You hurt that girl and I will tear your heart out through your asshole,” Mother said, but he let the gun fall to the ground.
“Bob, get Stewart’s gun.”
Bob kept his shotgun trained on Jubal as he squatted and felt around for the shotgun that belonged to the man with the broken nose. He handed it back to Stewart, who was desperately trying not to cry. Blood ran between his fingers and dripped on the ground.
Lauren sighed. “Stewart, get to the infirmary.”
The injured man left without a word.
“You feel like a big man, holding a gun to a child’s head?” Jubal said. “Your life working out the way you planned it?”
“Not so much,” Lauren said. “How about you? But it ain’t too bad here, where the monsters aren’t trying to eat me every second. And if I have to get my hands dirty to stay right here, safe and sound above ground, then so be it.” He looked at Amara, who now stood. “Let’s talk about her. What did she mean by all that crazy talk?”
“She meant you will kill us if we go in there,” Heather said. “It’s true, isn’t it?”
“Hell, yeah, it is,” Bob said.
“Bob,” Lauren warned.
“What difference does it make now? Yeah, you assholes are toast. But don’t worry. You’ll be helpin’ out your fellow citizens.” He laughed.
Jubal was almost paralyzed by rage. It was his fault they had come to Sanctuary. He should have known it was too good to be true. He wanted to yank that shotgun away from Bob and shove the barrel between Bob’s teeth, and he was pretty certain he could do it. Except then Lauren would kill Robin. Jubal did not doubt the sincerity of the security chief.
If there was a chance the girl might survive this, he had to keep his cool. Jubal looked at Mother, and he saw the big man also understood the predicament.
“Let’s get back to my question,” Lauren said. “Did the nigger broad just guess about what’s going to happen or did she somehow know already?”
If Amara was angered by the insult she did not show it. Her face was void of expression.
“I’ve seen some crazy shit since the skies turned green,” he said. “She wouldn’t be the first person who had a sense of what was about to happen. Hedrick, cuff her.”
The broad-shouldered security guard who had been tripped by Amara pulled a plastic tie from his back pocket. He pointed his shotgun at Amara. “Hands behind your back.”
Amara complied. Hedrick secured her wrists. When he was done, he glanced at Lauren. The security chief nodded. Hedrick balled up his fist and punched Amara in the face. She rolled her shoulders away from the man and nearly slipped the punch. His next two blows landed solidly, though, driving Amara first to her knees, then to her back. Hedrick straddled her body, punching her relentlessly.
“Stop it!” Jubal screamed.
In response, Lauren grabbed a fistful of Robin’s hair and twisted. The girl cried as the barrel of Lauren’s shotgun continued to dig into the back of her head.
“That’s enough,” the security chief commanded.
Hedrick stuck her once more, then slowly stood, his big white stomach flopping over the belt of his jeans. Hedrick’s breath rattled from his mouth like a train whistle.
“Is she alive?”
Hedrick was breathing too hard to speak. He simply nodded.
“That’s good for you,” Lauren said. “The doc will want to examine her. The ones with something extra last a little longer.”
“Last longer at what?” Jubal said.
“You’ll see.” Lauren flashed them his shark-like smile again.
“Let my daughter go,” Heather said.
“Can’t do it. It’s not my call.”
Heather took a step toward Lauren. Jubal grabbed her arms and pulled her back before the situation could go pear-shaped. As long as they were alive, they had a chance. That would end the second the security men opened up with their scatter guns.
Heather glared at Lauren. When she spoke, the calmness in her voice was in sharp contrast to the hate in her eyes. “I will kill you, you fucking cocksucker. That’s a promise.”
Lauren laughed. “Well, now, as much as I love a chick with a dirty mouth, it’s time to move this party along.” He looked at Jubal. “We gonna have any more trouble?” He yanked Robin’s hair again, causing the girl to whimper.
Jubal still held Heather’s arms. He felt her slump against him in resignation. He met the eyes of Mother, Robin and Nestor. The baker stood shaking at the edge of the group. He obviously wasn’t considered a threat. None of the security guards had a weapon aimed at him.
“No trouble,” Jubal said.
“Good.”
With Bob leading the way and Lauren bringing up the rear with Robin, the group entered the tunnel that led to the place beneath Sanctuary.
Was this it? Was this all there was? Had he spent the last year fighting against invaders from another world and their undead armies just to be killed by his human brethren in a dark tunnel beneath the ground?
They all walked through its length now, no one daring to speak. Robin was sobbing and Jubal wanted nothing more than to rip out of the heart of Lauren, throw it to the ground and stomp it to pieces. Or better yet, feed him to those hungry dead people outside their precious shield.
“Won’t be long now, folks,” Lauren said in a cheery voice. “Just up here on the right.”
Jubal had already guessed they’d be entering the dark tunnel he’d passed on their way through here the week before, and he was right.
Bob, wielding a flashlight, led the way into this dark passage as Lauren followed behind the captives, with the other guards at the heels of their chief.
When they had first entered Sanctuary, Jubal had felt something was wrong down here in this unlit place, but instead of trusting his instincts, he’d shrugged the feeling off, because he had been too eager to be someplace he might call home.
Everyone stopped as the tunnel ended at a metal door. Bob ran his card through a slot.
By the flashlight’s illumination, Jubal looked at his friends: Mother, his face set in a terrifying scowl; Heather, angry as well but with darting, frightened eyes; Amara, proud as always with chin held high; Nestor, frightened, with tears streaming down his face. Jubal couldn’t see Robin because she was behind him with Lauren, and he was glad of it in a way; he didn’t want to gaze upon the little girl’s frightened face, because then he might just do something stupid and get them all killed. Well, killed a lot quicker than whatever Sims probably had planned.
They filed into a well-lit room and his mind raced, trying to come up with a plan, something to convince these heartless people that they needed him and his friends alive more than they needed them dead.
The lights beamed down from above, exposing in explicit detail the horrors that lay beneath them.
“What have you done?” said Jubal.
“Hello!” Dr. Arnand Sims said in a cheerful voice, as if he had just met them while taking a leisurely stroll in a city park on a sunny day, instead of in a harshly-lit room that smelled of shit, piss and death. The self-proclaimed doctor was wearing a white lab coat and holding an old-fashioned clipboard. “You’re just in time. I think a few of our subjects are running on fumes, so to speak.”
“Okay,” Mother said, “it’s been nice chatting with y’all, but if you don’t mind, I’ll just mosey on out of this here place and be out of your hair—like forever.”
“Nonsense!” Sims cried. “You will stay here and serve a higher purpose.”
During all this banter, Jubal had been staring at the doctor’s face. Within those bespectacled eyes he saw only madness, something he had become quite familiar with in recent times.
He didn’t want to see what was strapped to those metal tables but he finally forced himself to take in the full situation...
And he nearly collapsed, his knees suddenly weak.
Emaciated people occupied the tables, like living skeletons covered in their own filth. The tops of their heads had been removed, their exposed brains hooked up to wires that ran to a box on the floor, which in turn was hooked up to some giant flashing machine that covered the back wall. The nightmare scene seared itself deep into his mind, forcing his reluctant vision to move down the row of damned souls before him, until his gaze reached the last table.
“Oh, my God!”
Salina!
“What have you done to Salina? What kind of house of horrors is this?”
The hard tip of a shotgun stabbed into the back of his head, nearly causing him to bite off the tip of his tongue. But he hardly noticed; he was too full of terror.
Sims shook his head. “Such ignorance. Can’t you see? What we have here is the salvation of mankind! A way for us to live in peace again and not have to fear the undead armies of those evil entities from the stars!”
“Yeah,” Mother said. “We sure as hell don’t need no more evil, because we already got ourselves plenty enough evil right here in Sanctuary City.”
“Shut up,” Lauren said from behind them. “The next person to open his big mouth gets a hypo full of knock-out juice. You all are standing before a great genius, so you’d better start showing some respect.”
“That’s very flattering, Lauren. Thank you so much for the kind words!” Sims said, his cheeks actually blushing. “Now where was I…?
“You were about to tell us how your crazy machine works,” Mother said.
There was a sharp crack and Jubal glanced over in time to see Mother fall to the ground, a fresh wound opened up across the side of his face where the security guard’s shotgun had struck him.
“Stay down there and shut the fuck up,” the guard said, setting a booted foot on the big man’s back as he pointed the shotgun at Mother’s bleeding head.
Jubal gazed again at Salina. She had been fastened to the table at wrists, ankles, neck and waist with thick leather straps. Like the rest of Sims’ victims, the top of her skull had been removed and wires had been attached to her brain. Her eyes were vacant, holding no emotion; staring into the glaring lights on the ceiling. He wondered if she felt any pain, or if she could see anything. Did she even know they were all standing here? He could tell the soldier was still alive because her chest rose and fell, but the rest of her remained still and good as dead.
Salina had been a tough person to get along with but not even someone like her deserved this horrible fate. Nobody did.
The doctor was speaking again. “When I had heard rumors of the aliens’ power to control the dead, I assumed that I too could do this thing if only I could figure out how. Not only were the aliens controlling the dead, there were also other rumors as well, rumors of humans doing the very same thing! They were given this awesome power through alien technology! Well, anything these intruders could do, I could certainly do as well, if not better. And so what we have here is a machine that utilizes the latent psychic energy available within each of our brains—an energy that has in fact increased ever since the atmospheric change the aliens wrought. The machine magnifies this energy, creating a psi-shield large enough to protect a whole village from the assault of the walking dead.”
“You’re a monster!” Heather shrieked her voice barely recognizable as human, sounding more like a wild animal caught in a steel trap.
“My dear woman! How dare you call me a monster? Can’t you see that I am saving hundreds of people from horrible deaths at the hands of alien-spawned killer corpses? I, who am providing safety and shelter to our remaining brothers and sisters, wandering, lost in the wilderness. I am saving lives here! And these?” He swept an arm, indicating the row of tables behind him. “These people are heroes, sacrificing their lives so that others can live without fear.”
“I bet they had a lot of choice in the matter too,” Jubal said, his voice grim as death.
“Enough!” cried the doctor, clapping his hands together. “Lauren, you and your men please clean off tables four through eight so that we can recharge the shield!”
“That’s five tables,” Mother said from the floor. “Unless I got my arithmetic messed up, what with this head wound and all.”
“Yes, of course,” said the doctor, his tone impatient now. “Five tables. Five adults. I’m certainly not going to attach a child to the machine if that’s what you’re implying; she simply doesn’t produce enough energy yet. Instead, we’ll take her up top and allow her to become part of our community. So you see? I’m not all ‘bad.’”
“Before you attach us to your contraption,” Jubal said, trying to buy more time. “Why don’t you tell me where these other “heroes” came from? Were they once like us? Innocent flies passing too close to the spider’s web?”
“These here? Yes, yes. They were found on the outside of the shield. Though before that, Sanctuary had a lottery system. And I’ll have you know, each and every one of us were willing to give our lives for those of our fellow villagers.”
“Uh huh,” Jubal said.
Sims appeared to be hurt by the sarcastic tone. “The citizens of Sanctuary realize what a precious oasis this community is in today’s world, and they are all willing to make the ultimate sacrifice to protect their family and friends.”
“Yeah?” Mother smiled. With his scars and the fresh blood oozing from his wound, he looked like a refugee from a horror film. “And what happens when you run out of people? Will you strap yourself to one of these here tables?”
The guard raised his shotgun to strike another blow, but he was stopped by the raised hand of Dr. Sims.
“Certainly not. There is no one else qualified to monitor the equipment and make certain the shield remains at full strength.” He glanced at his clipboard. “Now if there are no further questions…”
“I have one,” Heather said. Jubal recognized the slight quaver in her voice. He knew she was trying to buy more time for all of them. He hoped Sims didn’t realize that. “How does this shield work? Does it make a dome over Sanctuary?”
“Ah. One would think that.” Sims put his clipboard down on the console of the big machine. He was clearly excited by the prospect of talking about his great creation. “It really was a matter of trial and error. After I discovered how to tap the latent psychic energy, I had to experiment with one of the undead. Those were heady times, let me assure you.” He chuckled, as if he was sharing an anecdote with cherished friends. “You see, once the stories of zombie control reached me, I instantly realized the commands had to be broadcast on a frequency that would be accepted by the brain of the recipient. Elementary, really.”
Heather actually looked interested in what Sims had to say. “You mean the brain is…is a radio receiver?”
Sims raised one eyebrow. “That is a simplistic way of phrasing it, but it’s not far from the truth. Through my, ah, investigations, I discovered that the process of reanimating the zombies changes their neurons just enough to make the creatures receptive to a certain harmonic frequency. It took a few weeks of research on my test subject to find the frequency that was most effective. Those were…interesting times, weren’t they, Lauren?”
“It was some crazy-ass shit, doc.”
“Yes. Well. I then configured my transmitter to accept the human brain energy and convert it to the proper frequency. And you would think that would be the end of the story.” He smiled at Heather, as a teacher might favor a prized student.
“Er, was it?” she asked.
“No, not all. And do you know why?”
Heather shook her head.
“The antennae.” Sims chuckled again, seemingly amused by his own naivety. “I thrust a microwave antenna up through the ground above this room, expecting it to drive away the zombies. But did it work?”
Jubal glanced at Heather. Somehow, she managed an expression of interest combined with amazement. It was a performance worthy of an award, if such things still existed.
“No. Of course it didn’t. An antenna didn’t sufficiently distribute the signal. The zombies continued to come. So the population of Sanctuary, which was much smaller then, moved underground until my tests were complete. Finally, we had to install ground radials—thin copper wires running beneath the earth surrounding the town—to make it function. It was dangerous work and we lost several good men to the undead creatures.” Sims bowed his head in an overly-theatrical gesture of regret.
Heather chose that instant to dart her gaze to Jubal. Her message was clear.
I’m doing all I can. Help me!
He wanted to do something, to save these people, the only family he had left. No one meant more to him.
Unfortunately, Jubal knew they were about out of options.
It was a damn shame, too. After fighting off hundreds of zombies and facing off with aliens—actual fucking aliens—and kicking their asses back to Neptune or wherever they came from, he was about to see his cadre of friends killed by a lunatic in a lab coat.
And when they died, every one of them would know it was Jubal who had led them to their fate. He had let hope take hold in his mind and his heart. It had proven to be a fatal error.
He wasn’t above taking a crazy chance. He’d done it more than once over the past several months. He just didn’t see an opening. The room they were in wasn’t large. Now, with the extra people crammed in with the metal tables and machinery, he could barely move. In fact, he was almost shoved up against the table that held Salina. If he started anything now, the Sanctuary security men would open fire. Even if Jubal or Mother could take one of their guns, some of the good guys were going to die. Maybe all of them.
Jubal knew he couldn’t just lie down without fighting back, yet the thought of a shotgun blasting into Robin made his guts churn. At least Sims said she’d still have a life.
Of course, Dr. Sims was a maniac.
As if on cue, Sims raised his head and glanced at each of them. It was obvious that his explanation was over. It was show time.
Sims smiled, and Jubal saw the madness that lay beneath the doctor’s carefully cultivated air of civility and professionalism. How had this psycho convinced the population of Sanctuary to trust him?
By keeping the zombies away. That’s why these men were willing to kill women and children. They were desperate. Jubal looked at Lauren.
Maybe some of them were degenerates, too.
“I hope there are no further questions,” Sims said.
Jubal glanced down at Salina. He could actually see her brain, with four metal prongs stuck into the tissue and wires attached to each metal tip. Her chest rose and fell gently as she breathed. He wondered how far gone her mind was. If he pulled those metal needles out, would she wake up? Would she still be the same headstrong woman she had been? He doubted it. As far as Jubal could tell, she was toast, and they were next in line. Soon, within minutes probably, they would be strapped to these tables and Dr. Sick Fuck would take out his bone saw. Would he even anesthetize them? Jubal doubted it.
Fuck this.
“Then if there are no further attempts to delay the inevitable…” Sims said.
“Just one last question,” Jubal said.
The interruption irritated the good doctor. “Yes?” His tone oozed petulance.
“The mental hospital you escaped from: was it high security or medium? ‘Cause I’m guessing they had you in the penthouse suite at Crazyville.”
Sims’ eyes widened in shock, while his mouth moved soundlessly. Jubal had actually stunned Sims into silence.
From the corner of his eye, Jubal watched Lauren move forward, raising his shotgun. He planned to strike Jubal with it, instead of shooting, because nobody wanted to injure Sanctuary’s precious human batteries.
Dr. Sims stood in front of the control panel of his machine, just on the other side of the row of tables. If the unit containing Salina had not been there, Jubal could have reached the doctor in three steps.
Jubal jumped.
His right foot landed on the edge of the metal table, next to Salina’s left side. He leapt again, landing in a crouch on the floor on the other side of the table. He grabbed the four wires that dangled from Salina’s head, gathering them together in one fist.
And he pulled.
Salina wheezed, a horrible, wet rasping that sounded like a death rattle. The four metal prongs, dripping dark fluid, dangled from his hand. The tips of the prongs were fine points.
Sims was as still as a statue. His lips no longer moved. His mouth was frozen in a position that was half-smile, half-sneer. He seemed unable to process Jubal’s small rebellion. Or maybe he was calculating how quickly the anti-zombie force field would fail without the juice from Salina’s brain.
Jubal sprang from his crouch. He wrapped one arm around the throat of Sims and pulled the doctor to him, putting the scientist’s body between him and the guns. Jubal had a second of regret, leaving his friends exposed like that, but it couldn’t be helped.
He touched the four metal prongs to the side of Sims’ neck. The doctor’s pulse fluttered against his skin.
Jubal looked at the security guards. Every gun in the room pointed back at him.
The other men glanced from Jubal to Lauren, confused and uncertain.
Lauren kept his gaze on Jubal. The security chief’s shotgun did not waver.
“Doc,” Jubal said, “anything you want to say to your boys?”
Sims made a sound that resembled the whistle of a teapot. Jubal loosened the pressure on his throat.
“D-don’t sh-sh-sh—”
“I think,” Jubal said, “he means ‘don’t shoot’.”
“Suck my dick,” Lauren said.
“Well put,” Jubal said. “But you’re not looking at the big picture. If you let us go, then you’re screwed for a while, until you can kidnap some more victims. But if you shoot, you can kill us, but Dr. Doom here dies too. And then who operates your fancy gizmo?”
“Don’t shoot,” Sims said, more forcefully this time.
Lauren didn’t appear to be listening. Jubal thought he was so angry he would shoot anyway, damn the consequences.
But then everything changed.
A resounding explosion came from somewhere above them, followed by a multitude of screams that were loud enough to carry to the underground bunker.