007

Chapter Seven

Sniffing her soft blonde hair, the aroma of shampoo is strong with rose hips and lavender. Their passion rises as their love reaches maximum intensity. Her hands are all over him and her breathing is increasingly rapid. With every thrust, his heart beats faster sending droplets of sweat beading and cascading down his reddened face. Her soft skin glistens with a thin glaze of sweat as the moaning grows louder while she climbs closer to the ecstatic climax. Her back arches and her muscles clench followed by a low, satisfied moan. Minutes later, his muscles stiffen and the thrusts stop and they roll over in bed, exhausted.

"I love you babe," Johan sighs.

But as the lovely blonde bombshell lying beside him opens here mouth to share her sentiments, a loud knocking disturbs and smothers the sexual tension. The nude beauty disappears and the white silk bed turns into a tattered cotton sheet wrapped around an old dusty cot provided by the barkeep O'Brien. Johan rubs his eyes with annoyance and lets out a groan. It's Marty's voice at the door.

"Yall ready pal?"

"What time is it?" Johan is still rubbing his eyes.

"Who cares. Its just before sunrise an we gotta get out an get started. Rise 'n shine ya f****r!"

"Alright, gimme five minutes," Johan pulls his clothes on tiredly with his heart still pumping from the vivid dream. Pulling the old NASA sweatshirt over his head, he realizes that he doesn't have much in the way of warm clothes. He walks to the door and emerges into the dimly lit hallway. Hearing Marty and Jarrett chattering downstairs he quietly descends into the empty bar.

"There's the man of the hour," Jarrett beams widely. "Lets get on with it, we gots a job ta do."

"We'll stop off at Farley Finnegan's ta get some more fire power," Marty states as they approache the door. He swings it open and Johan can feel the heat getting sucked from the cozy little building and the cold air cuts into his bones causing a deep, intense shiver. Jarrett takes notice of Johan's shivering.

"Ya cold bub?"

"Im fine..."

"Don't be stupid," Marty cuts in. "A cold man is a slow man, a slow man is a dead man."

"We'll grab ya somepin at Finny's," Jarrett assures him.

In the early morning, the streets are now completely empty. No kids run about and no old ladies loitering, absent of any purpose. All the windows are closed in order to keep the heat in and cold out. The aura of the abandoned city is extremely eerie.

They approach the small shack where Johan met the Lee brothers the day before and a dim aurora spills out onto the gravel road. High pitched bagpipe music and thick skunky smoke spills out with the artificial light. Farley Finnegan hums as he tinkers with random firearm parts and apparatuses and doesn't even notice the three ragtag men strutting in his direction.

"Finny ya f**k!" Jarrett shouts and Finnegan, startled, drops the screwdriver in his hand and reaches for his sidearm.

"F****n arse boyo! Scared tha livin' s**t outta me ya did," he calms down and re-holsters his sidearm, an antique Webley & Scott Mk IV .38/200 from any decade between the early thirties up to the late seventies. Despite it's considerable age it is kept in tiptop shape by the diligent gunny.

"We need some fire power," Marty ignores his disgust.

"Watcha lookin fer?" Finnegan stands and walks around the table with a smile for the men now suddenly speaking his language.

Finnegan is a large burly man with a protruding beer gut. His face is gray and weathered with big black beetle eyes, grimy teeth, and a wild bright red beard. He stands at 6'2'' and must weigh upwards of two hundred-eighty pounds. His arms are large and bulging, evidence of his history as a golden gloves boxer in the Scottish Navy. Unfortunately, years of poverty, whiskey, and weed has taken its toll. His voice is low and gravely, a lifetime smokers cackle.

"Well ya know what I want," Marty rubs his hands together. Finnegan nods his head and pulls a gun from the rack behind the cluttered counter. He hands it to Marty who slides a pile of coins across the counter. The weapon Marty now clutches in his hand is a sleek, black Heckler and Koch MP5, once a favored weapon of urban SWAT officers and elite special ops teams. The barrel gives way to a long black silencer used for stealthy kills. A small, infrared scope, for kills in complete darkness, sits atop the bracket running down the barrel.

"Black Ops b***h," Marty chuckles and jacks a shell from the fresh clip into the chamber. Finnegan slides over four more clips which Marty slides into his empty bandolier.

"Hmmm, tough choice," Jarrett rubs his chin and contemplates.

"I'll let Aristotle ponder," Finnegan says tongue in cheek and turns to Johan. "What ya lookin' fer?"

"How about something long range? I used to take rifle lessons in my youth, even won a competition or two."

"What was yer using ta compete wiff?" Finnegan asks to help get a notion of what was needed.

"Nothing special, just long range .22 i believe," Johan rolls his shoulders knowing that isn't what's needed in this situation.

"I think I got something fer ya," he looks around as if looking for something in particular. "Ah, here it is," he grasps a sleek looking rifle with a large scope.

"Looks good to me," Johan takes it.

"Thats a Russian Dragunov. I bought that off'a Tuukka a time back. It's zeroed in at three hundred-fifty yards. Semi-auto too so's you can really put some lead into em," Finnegan slides four extra clips to Johan along with a bandolier, noticing Johan didn't have one. Johan follows Marty's lead and jacks a shell into the chamber, now ready for action.

"I also would like to trade this in for a more standard sidearm," Johan slides the uzi and it's clips across the table.

"I hear ya boyo," Finnegan grabs the automatic nine milimeter submachine gun. "Jumpy, inaccurate piece o' s**t."

"Here, take this, on me. Straight up," he lifts a tarnished silver revolver from under the counter. An extremely tough looking pistol with a white ivory handle. Thats an old .45 Colt single-action. Got some sorta historical hooha to it but I don't know nothin bout that," he hands over a box of shells to accompany it. Johan loads his new arsenal into his new bandolier.

"Thank you..."

"You made ya choice yet Socrates?" Finnegan prods Jarrett.

"Aristotle? Socra-who?" Jarrett muses. "I dont know bout no presi-dents. Gimme 'at M-16 with that there grenade launcher."

"You got it boyo, god forbid yer use any subtlety" Finnegan hands over a black and gray machine gun with a round, hundred shell magazine and large, hollow tube under the black, steel barrel. The rifle oozes raw power and masculinity, ready to rip or blow to s**t anyone unfortunate enough to be caught in the path of the berserker that was Baton Rouge's own, Jarrett Lee 

"'At's my s**t," Jarrett jacks a shell into chamber and fills it with a round grenade. "Lock and load b***h!" Jarrett tosses two more round clips of ammo into a sack strapped to his back along with half a dozen grenades.

"One more thang Finny," Marty steps forward. "You got any of them padded Navy sweaters left?"

"Sure thing boyo," he reaches under the counter once more and pulls up a green sweater. The chest and arms have thin padding woven into them and the back is stitched with a large Scottish Navy patch. Finnegan tosses it to Marty who hands it to Johan.

"The chest padded with kevlar but 'at don't mean yer wanna go strolling into a fire fight. May stop a .22 but not much else," Finnegan warns.

"Put it on bud," Marty orders. Johan removes his bandolier and sets down his rifle and pulls the new sweater on over his ratty NASA one. It is extremely warm and cozy and the cloth is fresh and clean.

"Good to go," Johan states as he puts the bandolier back into place and lifts his Dragunov.

"Hell, ya look like a true Navy man," Finnegan chuckles as he puffs on a fat, hand rolled joint.

"Hopefully ya don't shoot like one," Marty laughs out loudly.

"F**k you Army boy," Finnegan coughs out the insult through a thick mucous that eternally rests in his chest. Getting antsy, Jarrett looks around impatiently, ready to leave.

"Lets git gone, the sun'll be risin' soon."

"Have a good one ya old Mic bastid," Marty grins.

"F**k ya both, yer hick a*s inbred f***s."

The Lee brothers just laugh loudly and stroll away with Johan in tow. Through the dim streets, they stroll back to the large gate which Johan came through the day before. Marty whistles and Ramell looks down at them. With a nod, he turns the crank and lets the three free into the towering, abandoned sprawl of steel leviathans. The skyscrapers were ominous enough in the broad daylight but now in the darkness of early morning they are utterly terrifying.

"Where we headed today?" Jarrett asks excitedly.

"I was thinkin' 'bout finally going to the old St. Andrews Hospital," Marty replies with a s**t eating grin.

"Are ya sure?" Jarrett sounds worried which doesn't suit him at all, a flicker of dread sparks in his eyes.

"We said we would when we got three guys and well, we got three guys."

"Are ya down fer it?" Jarrett looks to Johan.

"Well what exactly are we up against?"

"A bandit army," Jarrett replies.

"A rumored bandit army," Marty corrects him.

"Some people 'ave claimed that the hospital is them bandits' stronghold. Wit some kinda king an' er'thing," Jarrett goes on.

"We'll scout it out a bit and take 'er slow. Plus, we know the only weapons they got is sidearms an' blades, and the haul of meds and drugs would be a good'n."

"It sure would be good work fer this ole girl," Jarrett pats the bullish M-16 in his arms. Marty chuckles and slaps his brother on the back jokingly.

"Now thats my little brother. Now its prob'ly a fifteen minute walk from here so be on your toes."

Marty leads the way with Johan behind him and Jarrett taking up the rear. They walk along under weeping skyscrapers. All is silent accept for Jarrett who is humming some sort of southern tune with a goofy melody. As they walk farther into the iron maze, Marty greatly slows their pace and meticulously observes his bleak surroundings. He hesitantly approaches one of the smaller skyscraper and nudges the door open. He glances back to Johan who wears a look of slight confusion.

"Where are we?"

"This is a hideout for all the local scavengers. It also perfectly overlooks our hospital hotspot," Marty replies.

They duck inside to the smell of sulfur and mold which fills their nostrils. The walls are covered in dust and cobwebs only amplifying the creepiness. The building looks very much abandoned and completely useless, just the way they want it. Marty moves to the back and steps into a staircase that is dark as a pocket. Marty holds his hand up for them to stop and reaches into his supply sack. He feels around and pulls out a small flashlight tethered to the end of two thin black straps. He pulls it onto his head to allow the light to be mounted just above his eyes. With a flick of a switch, the crafty southerner illuminates the rickety staircase in front of them.

The newly acquired light now seams to be even more of a godsend as the staircase before them is a veritable deathtrap. Each step beholds at least one large gap and would be impossible to ascend in the dark. Marty climbs onto the first step which emits a disapproving creak. Each hole is deep and dark, a misplaced foot would surely result in a broken ankle or sprained knee.

"Just follow me and don't step in a goddamned hole," Marty whispers and moves forward. He hops up the steps displaying exactly how many times he'd done it in the past. Johan has to fight to keep up as they bound up numerous flights of stairs when Marty finally stops. Johan pulls up behind him and sees they are standing in front of a sturdy, steel door baring a large padlock, sealing it from any unwanted intruders. Marty reaches into the pocket of his jeans and pulls out a key. He steps to the door, inserts the key, turns it, and pulls the lock away. The door opens with a metallic grind. They walk into a room with panoramic, shaded glass windows that throw light over a room filled with three beds piled with boxes and boxes of spare ammunition.

"Welcome to Shangri-La!" Jarrett drawls mockingly.

"We'll do our searchin' all day and inta the night an' rest a bit here an' move back ta town during the day tomorrow." Marty lays out the plan. "Ill show ya the hospital so we can start scouting 'er out."

They walk to the south-facing side of the building and peer out into the darkened city. Sitting next to a slow moving river, a seemingly vacant square building rests, tucked comfortably into odd, bowl-shaped hills. Nothing is moving below accept for the gray river. 

"Feel free to take a little rest," Marty points to a bed. "We gonna scout the hospital for a couple a hours."

"Do you mind if I scavenge this building a little?" Johan asks.

"I aint sure what yall find but go 'head," Marty tosses him the headlamp for easier scavenging. "Be back in a hour or two."

"Don't step in no holes," Jerret chuckles.

Johan turns and heads out of the steel door. The hallway, again dark as a pocket, seams filled with an odd presence, a ghostly presence. He pulls the round lamp down so it sits in the center of his forehead and flicks the switch on. The steep stairs creek and moan with each step Johan takes, meticulously trying to avoid the jagged hole death traps broken into them. Upon finishing the first flight, he tries the old door leading to an abandoned floor. The knob doesn't turn but the door creaks and wiggles weakly. Johan steps back and gives it a firm, flat footed kick. The rotting door is ripped from its hinges and falls to the floor in a cloud of dust. Johan straps his sleek Dragunov to his back and readies the classic Colt .45 revolver.

Stepping into a dark and dingy room, he finds himself standing in an old office. The room is filled with blue cubicles overlooked by a small office in the back. Johan strolls carefully into a nearby cubicle where he finds picture frames laying about on a dust veiled desk. He slowly picks one up and wipes the gray film from it. With the gray filament brushed away, a small boy can be seen looking rather awkward in a large helmet and bulky shoulder pads. Johan sets it back down only this time standing it upright. He pulls open the first desk drawer to find a stapler and a stack of manila envelopes. The second drawer contains a black permanent marker. WIth a pop of the top, he finds it to still be fresh and slips it into his pocket. The trash bin is filled with used tissues and cough drop wrappers.

Johan slowly and meticulously scavenges all the remaining cubicles. As he moves into the second to last cubicle, he notices  a paper sign with the words "Angry Jew, Stand back" scribbled onto it in red marker. He slides the top drawer open and finds it empty. Grasping the handle of the second drawer, he is shocked to find it locked securely. Determined to find out why it has been locked, he pulls an envelope opener found earlier out of his pocket and tries to pry the sliding drawer open. It doesn't budge.

Switching to plan B, Johan pulls the desk out to check how it is sealed from behind. The backing of the desk is a thin type of cardboard. Johan pulls back with envelope opener and thrusts it through the brown paper board. With a great deal of force he cuts a crude hole to access the drawer. Feeling around inside, his fingers grasp around cold metal that feels oddly like a gun. He pulls his hand from the hole to find a small .38 Special revolver, fully loaded. It looks as if the "Angry Jew" was just about to live up to his name. With a surprised nod, Johan sticks it in his belt and continues on. The last cubicle yields nothing. The small office is all that's left.

Johan finds the office locked as well which is just an indicator that something valuable may be held inside. Luckily the whole office is enclosed by floor to ceiling glass windows. Johan glances around and finally settles by picking up a chair from the closest cubicle. With a powerful thrust, he heaves the metal chair through the sheer pane, shards of glass rain all around. Stepping inside to a long conference table, Johan shrugs as the room doesn't seam to yield much. The only thing standing out in the room, is a large sheet of paper, probably eighteen by eighteen inches, sitting in front of a large plush chair at the end of the conference table. Johan lifts it and dust slides off the glossy sheet. Giving it a flick to get the final dust remnants off, he notices that it is a floor plan for the very hospital located across the street.

Excitedly, Johan rolls the sheet up and tucks it into his bandolier, ready to show the Lee brothers his helpful discovery. As Johan approaches the door he hears a loud crack like a gunshot followed by eight more in quick succession. Johan jolts with alarm and runs to the caved in door. As quickly as possible, he bounds up the steps and through the steel door which sits slightly ajar. Lying in the middle of floor is a bloodied bandit with a knife clutched in his hand. Jarrett stands over him with an enraged look in his eyes.

"What the hell happened?" Johan pants for breath.

"That lil f****r tryed ta stab muh brother," Jarrett breaths deep.

"He come runnin' in and jumps on me with a knife in his hand," Marty looks perturbed. "I wrestled with him for a sec and then put a shot inta his belly."

"When the b*****d stumbled back I went and put some more inta him," Jarrett glares at the corpse, raises his pistol and fires another round into the bandit sending coagulated blood into the air.

"Well maybe this will cheer you guys up," Johan pulls out the floor plan with an accomplished smile. Marty steps forward first with great interest on his face.

"What's 'at now?"

"I found it in an office in the floor below. I think it's a floor plan for that hospital across the street."

"Gimme 'at," Marty takes the sheet of paper from him. He quickly scampers to the window and gazes down at the hospital tucked in the odd shaped hill. His face is filled with concentration as he glances back to the chart trying to establish whether or not the shapes, doors, and windows are the same. He rubs his hand through his thinning hair and glances back to Johan with a devilish smile of his big white teeth.

"Hot damn, it sure does seam to be 'at!"

"Can it help?" Jarrett asks.

"Hmm, lemme see," Marty looks it over again. "Well we's can see the easiest way to the basement, thats where all them supplies'll be I reckon."

"Lets git this done," Jarrett hops over to his M-16 and scoops it up.

"What about scouting it out?" Johan asks hesitantly.

"We been starin' at that damn buildin' for a hour now. Aint s**t moved the whole time, bunch a damn rumors is all," Marty seams convinced and picks up his immaculate black MP5. Marty moves to the door and Jarrett drags the body out along with him. They exit the top floor and arrive again in the pitch black stairway. Johan flicks the head lamp on. Marty promptly locks the door and replaces his key back into his pocket.

With a swift motion, Jarrett tosses the body down the stairs with a series of loud thuds and cracks which reverberate off the tightly contained walls. All the way down the steps, they navigate around the jagged fissures while Jarrett tosses the limp body the whole way. Once arriving at the bottom, Jarrett drags the body outside and crams it into a storm drain. He wipes his hands off and pulls the machine gun off his back once again at the ready.

"Lets go," Marty is again whispering and leading the way. They stalk silently with guns at the ready around the small tower to peer down the odd hill where they see their hospital once more. Only this time it is much closer allowing them to see walls of large white bricks, which have been smeared with human blood. Goosebumps climb up Johan's back at the grizzly image. They stroll through the manmade opening in the odd hill which once was a paved entryway. As they get to the front door, Marty turns to Johan and his brother.

"Since we got two floors and a basement we gonna send one man to the top and one to the ground floor. I'll go up top, Jarrett, you take ground floor. An' you bud will make sure no one follows us in. Got it?"

"What about the basement?" Johan asks.

"When we clear them other floors we's gonna come back 'an getcha and a three of us can do the basement."

"Okay..... sounds good..."

"Just sit up behind that downed tree and make sure no one comes in behind us got it?"

"Yea..." Johan turns and climbs the steep hill about fifteen yards up and settles in behind a giant felled oak tree. Marty and Jarrett give each other a quirky high five and disappear inside.

Johan observantly eyes his surroundings as a cold breeze caresses his face and tickles his scruffy beard. All his surroundings sit completely still with the feeling of ghosts lurking all around him. This presence gives Johan permanent chills causing the hair on his neck to stand on end. Using his Dragunov's scope to survey the roof, he can see that it is cracking and falling in in places. Johan yawns and as soon as he does, he notices a hunched over figure limping down the hospital driveway. The figure gets to the door and pauses as Johan is ready to fire off a shot. The figure glances around and seams to look directly at Johan. Their face is hidden inside a brown, burlap hood and in the next second, the figure quickly turns and limps from the hospital grounds. Johan's heart is beating a mile a minute.

After half an hour of waiting, Marty reemerges. Johan stands and strolls down the hill to the SMG totting southerner.

"How'd it go?" Johan asks.

"Fine..."

"Find anything?"

"Not much at all, seamed pretty well picked over," Marty sounds very disappointed.

"Damn..."

"Looky what I found," Jarrett bursts through the door with a dopey smile on his face. In his right hand, he clutches a large glass jar filled with formaldehyde containing what looks like a severed penis.

"What the f**k," Marty groans. "Ya sick son of a b***h."

"They got a whole room full a 'em, I thought this'n would be the best hoot though."

"Put 'at damn thing down and lets go check out the damn basement," Marty picks his gun up again and turns to the door. Jarrett chucks the jar away and the glass shatters in a puddle of pungent liquid.

"What tha f**k was 'at for?" Marty barks.

"Sorry bro," Jarrett apologizes sarcastically.

They slip through the door into a sad looking lobby where the front desk is half ripped from the floor and the waiting area is no longer there, as all the seats and tables are oddly removed. Marty walks across the lobby with his MP5 at the ready. He slips through a door behind the front desk with a sign reading "Staff Only" on it. The door pushes open with a creak. Johan follows Marty with Jarrett bringing up the rear.

With the click of the headlamp, they find themselves in a small room filled with filing cabinets and a door reading "basement/ storage". Marty approaches the door and turns back to Johan and Jarrett with a slight whisper.

"This should lead to a small storage closet in the basement."

"What exactly are we looking for?" Johan asks.

"Well, Dr. McDermott told us he's runnin' low on pain medication. Figures some junkie been stealin' his supply, so any old oxys, percs, or vics should be the trick. Hell, we might even find some morphine, them junkies'll love 'at s**t."

"He also told me he coulda used some anesthesia," Jerrett adds. "He hasn't been able to do surgery without 'at stuff."

"Alright, lets go," Johan is ready.

Marty reaches for the door and finds it locked tightly. He steps back with a grin and shoots a silent round through the door knob. It shatters, splitting it down the center and causing the bolt to break free. Jarrett chuckles as Marty pulls the door open and begins to descend down a dark staircase. The steel steps are solid under their feet unlike the rickety ones in their tower hideout. They descend for twenty steps and find themselves in a small broom closet. However, the closet is not so small anymore. One wall has been completely blown out making it part of a long, white hallway. Rubble is piled in the corner and a long smear of blood creates a trail of murder leading through some ominous double door. Johan's stomach churns nervously from yet another gruesome setting. Marty swallows hard and waves his hand forward for them to proceed down the hall.

"Umm, lets go..."

They follow the streaks of blood all the way down the hall to the large set of swinging double doors. Bloody handprints mark the dusty brown slabs. With a deep breath, Marty slowly pushes the door open. The doors creak and moan as motion detecting lights click on taking all of them by surprise. Marty raises his gun, ready to fire, but no one else is there, no one breathing that is.

In the room before them are a dozen white stretchers lined up in two parallel rows. On each stretcher lies bloody, dismembered bodies. Right before Johan's eyes what looks like a young girl is sprawled out before him. Her legs have been severed and reattached where here arms should have been and her arms where her legs should be. Johan turns quickly and throws up onto the dusty, blood-soaked floor. The stench of rotting flesh is practically unbearable.

"Son of a b***h," Jarrett whispers under his breath as he strolls to the center of the massacre.

"Maybe some of them rumors was true," Marty is shaking.

"Do we dare?" Jarrett stands in front of another double door, only this one has two crucified, headless bodies nailed to them.

"We came this far, lets keep going," Johan regains his composure.

So with a deep breath, Marty once again takes the point and ducks through the grizzly door. As the door opens, a cloud of different smells overwhelm them. A mixture of human excrement, marijuana smoke, and burning flesh fill their lungs. The room has been greatly altered as it juts away from the foundation and turns into a large underground tunnel. There are numerous beds lined up along the walls, many of them have occupants lying deathly still.

Shaking with fear, Marty approaches an occupied bed and notices a skeletal hand jutting from under the covers, chained to the bed post. He reaches out and feels the hand. The skin is hard as leather and cold as stoney death, he pulls his hand back quickly. Jarrett's mouth gapes open at the terrifying morgue before them.

"Are they all dead?"

"I aint sure. Looks 'at way," Marty approaches the next bed, another dead body. They walk slowly down the rows examining each corpse. As they reach the end of the beds, Johan cries out.

"I think she's still alive!"

Marty and Jarrett run to the bed side to find a young lady breathing very weakly. Her face is pale and gaunt, bruised all over. Her lips are chapped and gray and her dark brown hair is thin and patchy while being caked with blood. Her eyes are closed effortlessly behind blackened eyelids. Marty pulls the blanket back and a vile stench billows out. A sort of smell none of them had ever had the displeasure of smelling before. An aroma created by a mixture of rotten infection stewing in human urine and feces. A large stab wound is carved deep into her starved stomach and bruises dot her entire frail body.

"Lets get the f**k outta here," Jarrett wraps the injured woman in her blanket and lifts her over his shoulder. They trot back to door they came from but stop abruptly. Beyond the door which had been decorated with the crucified bodies, a wild fire rages,  smoke billows out from the creases around the swinging doors. Passage through this avenue is now impossible. Jarrett hops up and down and whips his head in every direction trying to find a solution.

"What the f**k d'we do?"

"Umm....... umm," Marty stutters vigorously.

"We go through the tunnels," Johan suggests.

"Are ya crazy! We don't know where the hell them lead to," Marty replies in a manic tone.

"Well, we sure as hell aren't walking through fire," Johan raises his tone.

"Alright, less go," Marty turns back to the dirt tunnels. They jog purposefully down the dirt tube as fast as possible trying not to hurt the injured girl any further. Coming to a fork in the path, they debate which way to travel.

"Which one?" Jarrett pants for air.

"No sense in thinking about it," Johan puffs back. Marty, without hesitating, runs down the left hand fork. One hundred yards later they come upon a weakly built wooden door, they shoot through it without a second thought.

The room they arrive in is small and round, marijuana smoke fills the air, and a deep snoring noise can heard within. Marty looks at both Johan and Jarrett as if to say "Don't say a f*****g word!". Marty quietly walks to the center of the room and peeks around a curtained bed. Black blood and other bodily fluids stain the draped cloth. On the mattress, sprawled out in a deep sleep is an excessively hairy, disgustingly fat man. He is completely naked lying face down, tattoos dot his body from head to toe. Sprawled all around him on his large bed, slumber three, completely naked, dark skinned women. Their bodies also bare tapestries of crude tattoos. Crude piercings hang from their n*****s, attached to thin metal chains leading to more piercings. Some lead to their ears, some to their lips, and some from their unshaved groins. Marty steps back slowly and notices at least five more tattooed women chained to the walls, they stare at them with terror in their eyes. As they turn to leave the young girl over Jarrett's shoulder begins to cry out in anguished tones.

"Shh! Shhhh!" Jarrett pleads.

The large man begins to stir and rolls over unhappily.

"Shut tha f**k up ya damn w****s!" he bellows loudly. He pulls the curtain away and stops abruptly at the site of his armed intruders. Marty lifts his MP5 with shaking hands and aims at the vile obese man.

"Who the hell are ya?"

"Stealing me b***h?" the fat man lumbers toward them with his parts hanging out, he reaches across a small table and lifts a large machete.

"Don't move," Marty raises his MP5. The man abruptly stops and dives across the room towards a large gun rack. Marty squeezes off a burst of shots which silently rip through his ample, rippling flesh. He cries out painfully and falls to earth writhing in pain. Marty storms over to him and kicks him in his bare balls and shoves the end of the silencer into the pudgy face of the bandit.

"Who tha f**k are ya?"

"Im tha king s**t you lil f**k," he wheezes.

"You sick sonovabitch! Why ya doin' this ta people? HUH!"

"It's sa way a da world nah boyo," he spits a bloody wad at Marty. "If yer got tha means ter take it then yer better damn well do it quick er else some otha f**k'll just swoop in, leave a bullet in yer back and make off wit yer loot. I earned this, all a it, each and e'ery one a 'em."

"Well I guess you can say y'all earned this too. Say goodnigh' ya fat f**k," Marty slings his machine gun behind his back and draws his .45 Colt. Blood gurgles from between the king's fat lips as he begins to laugh heartily.

"Ya kill me an they'll all hunt ya down..."

"Good," Marty pulls the trigger all twelve times leaving his head a pulsing, bloody stump, shooting thin geysers of deep red. His slave girls shoot awake and scream out in anguish. At the site of their dead master, they fall to their knees and cry uncontrollably.

"Lets get the f**k out of here," Johan screams. Running back down the passage, they get back to the branching paths and take the other hallway, praying it leads to an exit.

After five-hundred yards, the tunnel ascend upwards and they can feel the breeze of fresh air on their faces and in their nostrils. They round a sharp corner and find themselves twenty-five yards from what looks like a small guard outpost. A little gate building with a swinging wooden arm attached. Five bandits stand guard in a close huddle around a fire just beyond the guard shack.

"Hold 'er," Jarrett gently places the girl in Johan's arms. She is thin and cold and smells horribly of human waste. Jarrett stalks away into the now dark landscape. A minute later, Johan can see him creeping up on the guard post with his M-16 raised. He stands slowly and opens his mouth while staring stone cold down the sights of his machine gun.

"Rot in hell ya f****n' c***s!"

As the bandits turn around to the crazy man, he launches one grenade right in the center of the them. Upon impact, the grenade explodes, sending a shattering concussion through the still night. The five bandits bend and fall, filled with many hot pieces of fragmented metal. Marty runs forward and silently puts machine gun lead into the writhing bodies. Jarrett runs down into the driveway with Marty. They turn back to Johan and signal for him to come. Jarrett takes the girl back and looks around trying to establish their next move.

"We should get back in 'bout thirty minutes," Jarrett looks at Marty. "If we got a good pace."

"Then lets go," Johan cuts in as torch fire begins to surround them along with angry grunts and shouts. They begin to sprint.

As they crest a small hill, they find themselves just on the other side of the hospital. With their legs carrying them as fast as humanly possible, they head back in the direction they arrived from the morning before. The torches and voices fade behind them as they flee the scene.

Upon arriving back at the Glasgow settlement, Ramell quickly lets them in and they rush the wounded young lady to Dr. McDermott. The town doctor has a small health center set up on the other side of town in what was once a cheap little motel. When they arrive, Dr. McDermott is fast asleep in his makeshift motel lobby/office. Jarrett pounds on his door, and a few minutes later, the doc emerges rubbing his eyes unhappily.

"What's the problem, whats the problem?" he speaks in a very intelligent manner. Marty is first to speak in a manic tone.

"We need a doc!"

"She's hurt bad doc," Jarrett holds her in his arms.

"Ugh, alright. Take her into room number one, I'll be out in a minute," the doctor slams the door and a shuffling is heard from inside. Jarrett gently brings the girl through the first door and sets her down on the bed inside. Her breathing is still very labored, who knows how many broken ribs she has or what kind of infections may inflict her lungs. A minute later, the doctor arrives dressed in a shabby white lab coat and a stethoscope around his neck. The doctor is a younger man, probably in his early forties. His face is kind and gentle with dark green eyes and a slight five o'clock shadow. He is of average height, six foot, and average build.

He approaches the pained young lady and places the stethoscope on her slowly rising chest. A low, pained heart beat can heard along with wheezing from every one of her labored breaths.

"I can handle this from here, thank you for bringing her to me," the doctor looks up at them.

"Thank you doc, goodnight to ya," Marty departs.

"I'll stay," Jarrett looks grave. "Anythin' I can do ta help?"

"Umm, get me some hot water and sponge her off. She smells like she hasn't bathed in years," the doc instructs and Jarrett hurries away to help.

"Goodnight," Johan leaves and steps back into the dark, cold night. Slowly he strolls back to O'Brien's. With each step, the night's events become clearer and more real to him. What the f**k has humanity come to? The narcissistic nature of everyone was truly sickening to him. Was any action in this new world a product of pure human compassion and decency or had every being regressed into thoughtless, emotionless beasts? He knew that humans really were just animals and maybe this global catastrophe was just a way of thinning the heard and re-instilling that raw animalistic drive to survive. But more people like the Lee Brothers had to exist. People who would find it in their hearts to help the defenseless. Johan prays Martina had found people like this, and not people like the fat filthy b*****d bandit king who prayed on innocent helplessness to satisfy his own selfish desires.

Walking in through the door to O'Brien's, it seams Marty has already climbed the staircase to his quarters and fallen into bed. O'Brien comes storming down the stairs with his cheeks even more emblazoned red then usual.

"God damned son of a ....."

Before Johan can open his mouth the stewing little barkeep storms off. Too tired to get involved, Johan climbs the steps, stumbles like a zombie into his room and lies down in bed. He drifts off to dream land but is awoken again, later in the night. A man yells angrily followed by the sound of a hand hitting flesh leading to the whispers of a sobbing girl. It's coming from the room next door.

Expecting the fued to be over he closes his eyes again but a deep pained moaning begins.

"Please, not so hard..."

"Leave her alone," another females pleads and is silenced by another loud smack. Deeply wanting to get some sleep and being completely sick and tired of abused women, Johan sits up in bed and pulls his boots on. Anger wells in his temples and burns all the way to the tips of his fingers. The prick next door needed to know how it felt to be smacked around like a b***h. As he approaches the door, he hears a knock and the man next door begins talking to someone in the hallway. Muffled words are exchanged for a few minutes and then the door seams to burst open and a scuffle ensues. The girls scream and the man is hauled from the room by strong hands. The guards must have taken care of it. Johan rubs his tired eyes and settles into bed once again. As he stares at the dark ceiling, the images of the day still flash vividly in his head.

The door across the hall creaks open followed minutes later by moans of pleasure and the squeaking of bed spring. As the squeaks get louder and faster the moans get deeper and more passionate. Johan jumps a little when his doorknob is jiggled but it must just be someone looking for an open room for they quickly move on. The images still aren't leaving him, every time he closes his eyes he can see dismembered body parts drenched in blood and gore. The sexual noises finally die down as they both finish strong. In complete silence, Johan finally drifts into a heavy, heavy sleep.

Author's Note

Suggestions?