“I already told you, I didn’t do it”
“I know what you told me, but tell me something new. What were you doing there?”
Marcus sighed.
The ropes binding his body to the chair were blood soaked and slowly chewing their way into his wrists and ankles.
“I was at the drop, with the camera. I was mailed money and instructions to photograph the switch.”
The room was dark except for the pulsing embers of unseen cigarette smokers and the blinding lamp that illuminated Marcus’ face.
One of the embers drew in close, revealing an old man. His eyes were dark green and he scrutinized Marcus’ face. Taking a long drag, he spoke.
“So, who was it? Who sent you this money?”
The sudden appearance of the old man’s face lit up Marcus’ further with the unmistakable features of recognition.
“You… but how?”
The old man pulled back into the darkness, snuffed his cigarette, and replaced its absence with the metallic click of a revolver.
“Answer the question Marcus”
“Go to hell”
For a few moments, the room was lit by the gunfire. The strobe-like effect revealed the rest of the room to Marcus. While each round entered his body and passed through his back, he managed to see who was in the room with the old man. They were dressed in robes and stood with arms crossed, eager to hear his answer.
Marcus coughed.
“You bastards… let me go. You can’t kill me, I will tell you nothing.”
The dark filled with chuckles and the sound of spent cartridges hitting ground, followed by the same metallic click.
“Is that so, how long can you last this torture? How long can anybody stand the pain of revolver fire into the chest? Head? Groin perhaps?"
Marcus’ ropes loosened with each round the old man fired into him. If he were to make it out of here, he would have to draw out the torture.
“I’ve experience more pain than you can imagine. Do what you will.”
Three rounds slammed into his diaphragm in rapid succession. The pain was unbearable. Marcus could feel the hot bullets melting a destructive path through him. They sliced muscles, shattered bones, and widened the chest cavity. Marcus was in a helpless state for a few moments, his organs had liquefied and blood had boiled out of his back, when his discomfort brought him to the point of fainting, all of the wounds began the heal. The blasts from the revolver had slightly shifted the lamps light down to Marcus’ chest where one could see his body stitch itself back together.
The organs reformed followed by the materialization of bone and muscle, but before the rest of the regeneration could be seen, the skin had sealed itself up. Only when the old man heard Marcus take a deep breath did he know that he had fully recovered. He lit another cigarette and readjusted the lamp back into Marcus’ face.
“Listen to me. I have three rounds left in this piece, each one will go into your head.”
“What are you waiting for then?”
The ember grew in brightness and smoke filled Marcus’ line of sight.
“What is it like to have your brains blown out? Must be a fascinating experience.”
“It’d be my pleasure to help you experience it.”
The ropes had loosened a little but were not loose enough to escape. If the old man kept shooting him in the head, his escape plan would take a lot longer than he expected. The constant regeneration was making him hungry. If he didn’t eat soon, his metabolism would slow, and so would his healing. Marcus wouldn’t die, of course, but the agony would last much longer than it had to.
“Take your best shot, I’ll let you know when I wake up.”
The old man laughed and the revolver came into view, the barrel nudged against Marcus’ forehead.
“Who sent you?”
Marcus leaned back in the chair. The blow of the revolver would knock him down and crush his hands. Turning them thin, and allowing them to slip through the ropes binding him, if he could act fast enough. He hoped his hands would stay crushed while his brain regenerated. He had never been shot in the head before, so he was a little nervous, but his fear of death had dissipated decades ago.
“Do it.”
The gun went off and just as he hoped, the chair fell on its back and crushed his hands, though Marcus was out cold. His brains were strewn about the floor along with bits of skull and hair. The old man sighed and snapped his fingers, the chair rose back into place and Marcus’ head lolled side to side spilling more blood.
“Now we wait.”
He could see the process had already begun. He holstered the revolver and began waiting for Marcus to wake up. The process took the better part of 20 minutes, and when Marcus finally opened his eyes, the barrel was once again set against his forehead.
“How was it?”
Marcus squinted and looked as though he was suffering from a headache, but he was really fighting against the regeneration of his hands. Just long enough to get one hand out without making it look obvious.
“Quite pleasant, imagine being taken back to your earliest memory and reliving every moment of your life at the same time. By the way, how long was I out?”
“Long enough to thin my patience you insolent…”
A hand came out of the shadows and moved the revolver away from Marcus’ face. The hand was gloved in leather and held the gun while a voice spoke in a hushed tone.
“They have found the entrance, it’s only a matter of time before they come through this way. We cannot hurt this man, but we may be able to use him.”
“I see, hit the lights.”
The room was lit. Marcus quickly held his free hand against the tied one to keep his captors deceived. The old man directed the robed individuals out the door and turned back to face Marcus once again.
“Those cannibals will be here soon, I would put you out of your misery but, since I can’t, instead I’ll knock you out. When you wake up, someone may be chewing on you.”
The old man brought up the revolver and craftily flipped it over, preparing to whip Marcus’ into unconsciousness. As he swung down, Marcus lashed out with his free hand and grabbed the revolver. He slid his finger into the trigger and pulled. The action took the old man by surprise and the revolver discharged a round into his stomach. He released the revolver and grabbed his gut. Marcus put the gun against his bound wrist and fired. The round tore through the wrist and Marcus pulled the mangled hand free.
The old man was bleeding out from the bullet wound. He reached into his pants to grab a cell phone. Marcus took careful aim and expertly threw the gun at the old man’s head, knocking him out. He sat a moment and watched his hand regenerate.
He tapped the skin below his left ear lobe to activate his radio.
“This is Marcus. Do you read me?”
“Marcus? Your transmission is weak, where are you?”
“A little tied up… I’ll be there with the film in an hour.”
“Hurry, we need those photos. I hope you’re not in the city, there’s a lot of infected down there.”
There was a crash in the rooms above Marcus. Fumbling footsteps and screeches.
“Yeah, they’re already here.”
“Oh, wow… um. Give me your location, I’ll send in a pick up.”
Marcus began untying his ankles.
“I’ll let you know, soon as I get outside. Look, I can take a bite from these things, but if they overwhelm me… think of me as meat that never runs out.”
There was a pause.
“Right. Get topside and keep broadcasting, the pick up will trace you.”
Marcus stood and made his way to the old man. He fumbled through the man’s coat and pants for a phone and ammunition for the revolver. He found three speed loaders and a combat knife.
He then grabbed the man by his collar and slapped him awake.
The old man groaned in pain, and tried to bat away Marcus’ hands.
“You… where did you put my camera?”
He coughed blood but smiled weakly.
“It’s upstairs…good luck.”
His eyes rolled back and the man was gone. Marcus stood, and hung his head low. He knew he’d have to fight his way threw them. He was beginning to weaken. The torture had taken a huge toll on his body. He reached into his back pocket for a power bar. He took his time eating it. The taste of protein was bland but rejuvenating. He ate another one before he loaded the revolver and made his way to the door. He looked back at the dead old man and mumbled under his breath.
“All this for a goddamned picture…”
His stomach growled.
“Yeah, I hear you. We’ll be home for dinner.”
“I know what you told me, but tell me something new. What were you doing there?”
Marcus sighed.
The ropes binding his body to the chair were blood soaked and slowly chewing their way into his wrists and ankles.
“I was at the drop, with the camera. I was mailed money and instructions to photograph the switch.”
The room was dark except for the pulsing embers of unseen cigarette smokers and the blinding lamp that illuminated Marcus’ face.
One of the embers drew in close, revealing an old man. His eyes were dark green and he scrutinized Marcus’ face. Taking a long drag, he spoke.
“So, who was it? Who sent you this money?”
The sudden appearance of the old man’s face lit up Marcus’ further with the unmistakable features of recognition.
“You… but how?”
The old man pulled back into the darkness, snuffed his cigarette, and replaced its absence with the metallic click of a revolver.
“Answer the question Marcus”
“Go to hell”
For a few moments, the room was lit by the gunfire. The strobe-like effect revealed the rest of the room to Marcus. While each round entered his body and passed through his back, he managed to see who was in the room with the old man. They were dressed in robes and stood with arms crossed, eager to hear his answer.
Marcus coughed.
“You bastards… let me go. You can’t kill me, I will tell you nothing.”
The dark filled with chuckles and the sound of spent cartridges hitting ground, followed by the same metallic click.
“Is that so, how long can you last this torture? How long can anybody stand the pain of revolver fire into the chest? Head? Groin perhaps?"
Marcus’ ropes loosened with each round the old man fired into him. If he were to make it out of here, he would have to draw out the torture.
“I’ve experience more pain than you can imagine. Do what you will.”
Three rounds slammed into his diaphragm in rapid succession. The pain was unbearable. Marcus could feel the hot bullets melting a destructive path through him. They sliced muscles, shattered bones, and widened the chest cavity. Marcus was in a helpless state for a few moments, his organs had liquefied and blood had boiled out of his back, when his discomfort brought him to the point of fainting, all of the wounds began the heal. The blasts from the revolver had slightly shifted the lamps light down to Marcus’ chest where one could see his body stitch itself back together.
The organs reformed followed by the materialization of bone and muscle, but before the rest of the regeneration could be seen, the skin had sealed itself up. Only when the old man heard Marcus take a deep breath did he know that he had fully recovered. He lit another cigarette and readjusted the lamp back into Marcus’ face.
“Listen to me. I have three rounds left in this piece, each one will go into your head.”
“What are you waiting for then?”
The ember grew in brightness and smoke filled Marcus’ line of sight.
“What is it like to have your brains blown out? Must be a fascinating experience.”
“It’d be my pleasure to help you experience it.”
The ropes had loosened a little but were not loose enough to escape. If the old man kept shooting him in the head, his escape plan would take a lot longer than he expected. The constant regeneration was making him hungry. If he didn’t eat soon, his metabolism would slow, and so would his healing. Marcus wouldn’t die, of course, but the agony would last much longer than it had to.
“Take your best shot, I’ll let you know when I wake up.”
The old man laughed and the revolver came into view, the barrel nudged against Marcus’ forehead.
“Who sent you?”
Marcus leaned back in the chair. The blow of the revolver would knock him down and crush his hands. Turning them thin, and allowing them to slip through the ropes binding him, if he could act fast enough. He hoped his hands would stay crushed while his brain regenerated. He had never been shot in the head before, so he was a little nervous, but his fear of death had dissipated decades ago.
“Do it.”
The gun went off and just as he hoped, the chair fell on its back and crushed his hands, though Marcus was out cold. His brains were strewn about the floor along with bits of skull and hair. The old man sighed and snapped his fingers, the chair rose back into place and Marcus’ head lolled side to side spilling more blood.
“Now we wait.”
He could see the process had already begun. He holstered the revolver and began waiting for Marcus to wake up. The process took the better part of 20 minutes, and when Marcus finally opened his eyes, the barrel was once again set against his forehead.
“How was it?”
Marcus squinted and looked as though he was suffering from a headache, but he was really fighting against the regeneration of his hands. Just long enough to get one hand out without making it look obvious.
“Quite pleasant, imagine being taken back to your earliest memory and reliving every moment of your life at the same time. By the way, how long was I out?”
“Long enough to thin my patience you insolent…”
A hand came out of the shadows and moved the revolver away from Marcus’ face. The hand was gloved in leather and held the gun while a voice spoke in a hushed tone.
“They have found the entrance, it’s only a matter of time before they come through this way. We cannot hurt this man, but we may be able to use him.”
“I see, hit the lights.”
The room was lit. Marcus quickly held his free hand against the tied one to keep his captors deceived. The old man directed the robed individuals out the door and turned back to face Marcus once again.
“Those cannibals will be here soon, I would put you out of your misery but, since I can’t, instead I’ll knock you out. When you wake up, someone may be chewing on you.”
The old man brought up the revolver and craftily flipped it over, preparing to whip Marcus’ into unconsciousness. As he swung down, Marcus lashed out with his free hand and grabbed the revolver. He slid his finger into the trigger and pulled. The action took the old man by surprise and the revolver discharged a round into his stomach. He released the revolver and grabbed his gut. Marcus put the gun against his bound wrist and fired. The round tore through the wrist and Marcus pulled the mangled hand free.
The old man was bleeding out from the bullet wound. He reached into his pants to grab a cell phone. Marcus took careful aim and expertly threw the gun at the old man’s head, knocking him out. He sat a moment and watched his hand regenerate.
He tapped the skin below his left ear lobe to activate his radio.
“This is Marcus. Do you read me?”
“Marcus? Your transmission is weak, where are you?”
“A little tied up… I’ll be there with the film in an hour.”
“Hurry, we need those photos. I hope you’re not in the city, there’s a lot of infected down there.”
There was a crash in the rooms above Marcus. Fumbling footsteps and screeches.
“Yeah, they’re already here.”
“Oh, wow… um. Give me your location, I’ll send in a pick up.”
Marcus began untying his ankles.
“I’ll let you know, soon as I get outside. Look, I can take a bite from these things, but if they overwhelm me… think of me as meat that never runs out.”
There was a pause.
“Right. Get topside and keep broadcasting, the pick up will trace you.”
Marcus stood and made his way to the old man. He fumbled through the man’s coat and pants for a phone and ammunition for the revolver. He found three speed loaders and a combat knife.
He then grabbed the man by his collar and slapped him awake.
The old man groaned in pain, and tried to bat away Marcus’ hands.
“You… where did you put my camera?”
He coughed blood but smiled weakly.
“It’s upstairs…good luck.”
His eyes rolled back and the man was gone. Marcus stood, and hung his head low. He knew he’d have to fight his way threw them. He was beginning to weaken. The torture had taken a huge toll on his body. He reached into his back pocket for a power bar. He took his time eating it. The taste of protein was bland but rejuvenating. He ate another one before he loaded the revolver and made his way to the door. He looked back at the dead old man and mumbled under his breath.
“All this for a goddamned picture…”
His stomach growled.
“Yeah, I hear you. We’ll be home for dinner.”
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