Twenty-Five Percent (Book 2): Downfall (23 page)

Alex was having a hard time processing Boot’s little speech. Fighting side by side? Becoming his heir? Alex’s betrayal? They’d met less than twenty-four hours ago and Boot was behaving like they were BFFs.

Boot turned away and paced across the stage, staring for a few moments at something on the blank wall before him only he could see, before turning back. “I considered killing you myself, but then I had a better idea.” He reached inside his jacket and pulled out a five inch long black metal tube. The skull-spiker glinted in the overhead lights as he tossed it to Walker. “Give that to Mr. Clarke, will you? He’ll need it when he kills his friend.”

Micah took the spiker, only speaking when he had the weapon in his hand. “You’re insane. There is no way I will ever hurt Alex.”

“Yes,” Boot said, “you will. Or my guards will kill them.”

He nodded at Sam and Claire. Brian and man-mountain number three trained their weapons on them.

Alex yanked at his restraints with all his strength, his heart thumping in his throat. Neither the frame nor the cuffs gave an inch. “Look, Mr. Boot,” he said, trying to keep the desperation from his voice, “we can work this out. Obviously, I’ve made a mistake. Surely you can understand that? Whatever it is you want from me, I’ll do it.”

Boot smiled at him, the cold, emotionless smile of a sociopath. Suddenly, he ran across the stage at Alex, grabbed his hair and pulled him down till they were nose to nose. “You had your chance, but you didn’t want greatness,” he screamed, spit showering Alex’s face. “You chose to throw away your destiny as a Survivor. You don’t deserve to live.”

He let go of Alex and stalked away, his hands clenched at his side. Alex tried to use his shoulders to wipe the saliva from his face.

Boot turned back to face him, his illusion of calm restored.

“Mr. Clarke? Now, if you please.”

Micah looked from Alex to Sam and Claire. “No.”

Boot gave an exaggerated sigh. “Obviously, you doubt my sincerity.” He looked down at Brian with his rifle aimed at Sam. “Mr. Cochran, break one of the boy’s fingers.”

Sam gasped, staring up at Brian in terror.

“No!” Claire cried, clinging to him.

The other guard pushed the barrel of his rifle into her face. “Move.”

“It’s alright, Claire,” Sam said, his voice shaking. “Just do what they say.” It was obvious Sam was trying to look brave, but he wasn’t doing a good job.

She reluctantly backed away, sniffing back tears.

Alex struggled fruitlessly against his cuffs.

Brian looked down at Sam without moving.

“Do it, Mr Cochran,” Boot growled.

Brian glanced back at him, then shifted his gun to hang at his back by its strap and lowered to one knee in front of Sam, blocking Alex’s view.

“
No!
” Alex screamed, yanking at the cuffs.

Micah started to move towards the edge of the stage. Before he’d gone two steps, Walker smashed the barrel of his rifle into his stomach. He dropped to the floor with a grunt of pain.

Brian hadn’t moved from in front of Sam. There were two seconds of silence. Alex held his breath.

Then Sam screamed.

All the breath rushed from Alex at once. He sagged against the metal frame.

Brian stood back up, revealing Sam clutching his left hand in his right and sobbing. Claire rushed to him, dropping down beside him and wrapping her arms around his shoulders.

“What kind of monster are you?” she screamed at Boot.

He ignored her, turning his attention back to Micah who was grimacing in pain as he got to his feet. “Tell me, Mr. Clarke, how many fingers does Sam have to lose?”

“I will kill you,” Micah snarled.

“No,” Boot said, “you won’t. You will kill your friend.”

Micah looked at Alex, desperation on his face.

“Just do it,” Alex said quietly. “Save them.”

Micah shook his head. “I can’t.”

“You can. I would.” It was a lie. He didn’t know what he would do.

Micah stared at him for a few seconds before looking back at Boot. “I want to kiss him again, one last time.”

The world shifted a step to the right. He wanted to
what?

Boot’s eyes flicked between the two of them. “I’ll admit,” he said, “I didn’t see that coming.”

That makes two of us, Alex thought.

Boot waved a hand. “Go ahead. I’m open-minded.”

Micah moved in close to Alex, gazing into his face. He pressed one hand to the centre of Alex’s chest and leaned in. Alex’s eyes widened as he approached. He was actually going to do it. Had Micah had the wrong idea about their relationship all along?

Tilting his head to one side, Micah pressed his lips to Alex’s. Mercifully, he didn’t open his mouth.

He pulled back a second later and whispered, “I’m sorry, baby.”

Then he plunged the knife into Alex’s chest.

Alex gasped in a breath, grimacing in pain.

He swivelled his eyes to the door back into the building, making sure the guards who’d dragged him out had gone, then pressed one hand to his chest. It came away bloody.

He’d stabbed him. Micah had actually stabbed him. Alex couldn’t believe it. Yes, he’d told him to, but that had been for show. He’d been certain Micah would think of some harebrained, but heroically effective plan to free him and get all four of them out of there alive. The alive part being especially important.

Instead, he’d kissed him. Alex had no idea what that was about, but he decided to file it away for later consideration because he had way too much on his plate right now to add in worrying that his friend seemed to have got entirely the wrong end of the stick regarding their relationship.

Was it the holding hands thing back in the dark in the lab? Maybe that had been a mistake.

Whatever, he wasn’t going to think about it now.

Because after kissing him Micah had stabbed him. In the
chest
. He didn’t know how bad it was, but every breath was like someone was shoving their finger into the wound. He was lucky to be alive. If he stayed that way, he and Micah were going to have
words
.

And speaking of staying that way...

Alex looked around without moving. Walker and the other guard had dragged him out of the building to one of the gates into the compound, sprayed what he assumed to be eater-calming pheromones into the air, and dumped him outside the fence. Every jostling step had been agony and he’d been hard pressed to keep feigning being dead.

On the plus side, he was free. On the minus side, he was now about ten feet away from Boot’s personal horde surrounding the compound, with nothing to separate them.

And he was desperate to sneeze.

They all had their backs to him, swaying and making the low moaning sound that made his spine clench. But how long would that last? How good were the synthetic pheromones? How disciplined was this eater army?

How long before they noticed the tasty snack lying on the concrete behind them?

Alex looked back at the gate. It was roughly eight feet high, easy to get over, and of course there were no guards to avoid. 

Then he spotted the security camera on the wall of the building. It was rotating slowly, making a sweep of the entire area. Alex didn’t know if there was anyone watching the video feed, but he knew he couldn’t risk it. If they saw he wasn’t dead, they’d just come and finish the job, and probably kill Micah, Sam and Claire as well. It was essential he got back in without being seen while at the same time making it look like the eaters had got rid of him. Of course, if someone happened to look out a window at the wrong time, that would be it. But he couldn’t do anything about that other than be as fast as possible.

Watching the camera to time its movements, he scrunched up his t-shirt and pressed it to the stab wound on his chest, doing his best to ignore the searing pain as he soaked as much of his blood into the material as possible.

The camera reached the end of its sweep and began to move away from him again. Just a few more seconds and he would be out of range.

From the corner of his eye, he saw an eater turn to look at him. A moment later, so did all the others.

The air erupted in ravenous moans.

No longer concerned with the camera, Alex scrambled to his feet and ran for the gate, the eaters close behind. Throwing himself into the air, he caught hold of the top as hands grasped his ankles. He was yanked backwards and his stomach hit the top of the gate, pushing the air from his lungs and bending him double. Eaters clung to his legs, trying to pull him back down. His chest exploded in pain.

Kicking back as hard as he could, his feet connecting with faces and shoulders, he frantically tried to free himself. After what seemed like forever, he felt the multiple grips on him loosen and he managed to haul himself over the gate, landing ungracefully and painfully in a heap on the other side.

Alex looked up at the camera as the eaters threw themselves at the fence. It had reached the furthest point of its journey and was starting back towards him.

He pulled his blood soaked t-shirt off and threw it into the crowd of eaters, aiming for the spot where he’d been lying on the ground. Those around it fell on it instantly. Alex sprinted for the building, flattening himself against the wall beneath the camera as it moved round to spy on the gate again.

Clutching a hand to his throbbing chest and breathing hard, he waited for alarms, running feet, guards with guns, pain, death. When after a minute none of those things had happened, he breathed a shallow sigh of relief.

Glancing up at the camera to make sure it was facing away from the door he’d been brought out of, he tried the handle. He breathed a sigh of relief when he found it unlocked, and slipped back inside.

. . .

Alex pressed himself against the wall and looked out into the wide expanse of the entrance foyer. He was relieved to see at first glance it appeared empty.

Without a weapon and in pain, he had no desire to get into another fight. He looked down at his bare chest. The stab wound was still bleeding, although less than before. He probably wouldn’t die of blood loss, at least not before he died of something else Boot threw at him.

What was with the insane little man anyway? Alex had had one conversation with him, and when he tried to escape Boot reacted like he’d been betrayed by a trusted friend. He was behaving as if Alex was a rock star and Boot was a deranged fan. Alex felt like he’d wandered into a Stephen King novel.

He spotted a security camera high up on the wall across from him, slowly rotating as it took in the area from the reception desks, to the clusters of grey, ultra modern sofas for visitors’ waiting pleasure, to the glass main entrance. There was a desk to the right of the main door with ‘SECURITY’ in large, steel letters across the front. No-one was there, but Alex hoped the door behind it led to the monitoring station for the many cameras he’d seen.

The camera on the wall trundled towards the entrance and Alex took the opportunity to peek around the corner. A second camera was on his side, pointing towards the back of the foyer. For the moment, the corridor he was hidden in wasn’t within the scope of either. He hoped.

Sliding around the corner, he slithered along the wall until he was beneath the camera on his side. The one opposite was making its way back towards him. It was now or never.

Pushing himself away from the wall, Alex sprinted across the foyer. His trainers squeaked on the polished white marble floor as he ran. His chest throbbed.

The camera in front was almost on him. He didn’t dare look back at the one behind.

He was three quarters of the way across when the door behind the security desk crashed open. Walker ran out and raised an automatic rifle. At the point of no return, Alex did the only thing he could. He launched himself at the desk, throwing himself over the top and into the bearded man.

The rifle sprayed bullets at the ceiling, showering them with plaster chips as they crashed back through the door in a tangle of limbs.

So much for doing this quietly.

Walker dropped the rifle and reached beneath his jacket, pulling out a knife. Alex grabbed his wrist as the point penetrated his skin. Ignoring the considerable pain, Alex punched Walker in the face. He went limp beneath him.

“Ouch!” Alex sat up and looked down at his side. Blood was seeping from the small, but very painful, wound in his side. “Why does everyone want to stab me today?”

The room they’d fallen into was the security office. Above a desk against the far wall, a bank of monitors displayed a constantly changing selection of views of the building and surrounds. On one of the screens he saw the eaters he’d narrowly escaped, still clustered around the bloody, shredded remains of his t-shirt.

There were lockers against the left hand wall and a cupboard and chest of drawers against the right. Chairs lined the wall next to the cupboard.

Alex stood and closed the door, then picked up the knife and rifle and gave Walker a quick pat down, removing a pistol from a waist holster. A quick scrabble through the drawers produced a bunch of zip ties.

Walker had changed from the blue pyjamas he’d been wearing during the show with Boot into his usual black suit and white shirt. Alex wrestled the jacket and shirt off and threw them onto a nearby chair, pausing for a moment to stare at Walker’s bare chest and abs which were huge and appeared to have been sculpted out of granite. He looked down at his own chest. It wasn’t that he was in bad shape. Thanks more to the physique boosting effects of Meir’s than to his sporadic fitness regime, he was fairly well defined in the muscle area. But compared to the man lying unconscious on the floor, he was a stick.

Walker groaned, his eyes fluttering open. Alex rapidly moved his gaze from his ridiculously large pectorals and heaved him onto his front, grabbing his hands and fastening them together behind his back.

“Hey!” Walker craned his head around to look up at Alex, struggling against the zip tie on his wrists. “How did you...? Aren’t you dead?” He looked down at himself. “What the hell are you doing? Where’s my shirt?” His eyes went back to Alex who was standing above him, as shirtless as he was. Panic spread across his face. “Um, I respect your choice of lifestyle and everything, but I’m not into guys.”

On the verge of saying nor was he, Alex had an idea. He stepped towards him, licking his lips. “What’s your first name?”

Walker tried frantically to squirm across the floor away from him.

“Oh, come on,” Alex said, smiling, “I just want to know your name.”

Walker looked up at him, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “B-Benjamin.”

“Benjamin. I like that name. Can I call you Ben?”

“Uh...” Walker’s eyes darted around the room, searching for an escape.

Alex lowered to one knee beside him and stroked a hand up Walker’s huge bicep. “You look like you work out a lot. Like you’re tough. It’s hard to find a man who can take it from a Survivor.”

Having wriggled up to the wall, Walker tried to push himself through it.

Alex leaned towards him.

“No, wait!” Walker yelled desperately. “Your boyfriend’s in the cells. Don’t you want to rescue him?”

Alex pretended to consider it. “Will it be dangerous? Because things haven’t been going that great between us. He’s so demanding and, to be honest, a bit clingy. The sex is good, but all the complaining gets a bit much. ‘You’re hurting me, Alex’, ‘Not so hard, Alex’...”

“No no no, not dangerous at all.” A bead of sweat trickled down Walker’s temple. “I can tell you how to get there so no-one will see you. And you can use my keycard. I’ll give you my code. I swear you’ll have him out in no time, without any trouble.”

Walker gave a smile that looked more like a grimace. Alex was finding it increasingly difficult not to laugh.

“Well, maybe I should rescue him, for the good times. Let’s start with how many guards there are in the building and how I can permanently disable all the security cameras.”

Five minutes later, Alex had Walker’s keycard and every security detail for the building that the big man could think of.

“Thanks, Ben,” Alex said, buttoning up the shirt he’d taken from him. He fixed him with an intense stare. “I’m trusting you now to not try to get free or warn anyone. Because if something goes wrong and I don’t get Micah out, it’s going to be very frustrating for me. And I’m going to have to come back here and take it all out on someone.”

Walker’s head shook side to side so hard Alex feared he’d get whiplash. “I swear I will stay right here and not do anything at all. And even if someone finds me, I won’t say anything, I promise.” He grimace/smiled again.

“That’s good to hear, Ben.”

Alex tore a strip of duct tape from a roll he found in the drawer, thankful someone in this place was prepared, and placed it over Walker’s mouth. Then he stood and walked to the door. After a quick glance out to check the foyer was still empty, he blew Walker a kiss, stepped out and pulled the door shut behind him.

Heading back across the foyer, Alex finished buttoning up Walker’s shirt, pulled the fabric away from him and stared down into the gap he’d created. It looked almost big enough to fit another person. What on earth was Walker’s chest measurement? And how much time would Alex need to spend in the gym when this was all over?