Z 2136 (Z 2134 Series Book 3) (12 page)

Sutherland made a wide smile that Connor couldn’t see and stepped from the room’s only light, out of the shadows and into the dull flicker coming from behind the traitor.

Fingers woven in front of him, Sutherland made a long and loping orbit around the room, circling Connor’s lonely chair in the middle, hoping to drive the traitor’s temperature higher with every lingering pass.

Once finished, the throne room would be Sutherland’s favorite room in Hydrangea. For now, this confession room was the one he thought of most. It was special, because only here did people always find their god . . . before telling him truths they’d barely dared to whisper before.

All men were willing to sing the gospel once they had someone to show them the song.

Connor Vinson remained impressively frozen in his chair. Sutherland knew the man wanted to struggle or squirm, yank his restraints, and pull away from the chair. But he wouldn’t give his captors the courtesy of seeing his exterior crack. It would be admirable if it weren’t so explicitly stupid.

Connor was cuffed, hands behind his back, metal bracelets digging hard into his flesh. Gallus stood by the door, on the other side of a thin tangle of shadows, as required by The Patriots Constitution: a dog sitting by its master’s feet wagging its tail, while the master did as he pleased to the stray bitch trying to usurp his land.

“I won’t give you more than one chance. This is it, Vinson. Spend it as you wish.
I’m innocent, I didn’t do anything, I don’t know anything,
or
even
I’m sorry
: none of these are acceptable. I want a full confession. And if your confession meets my satisfaction, I might leave you alive, though probably not. For sure I’ll spare you from the zombies, though, and that’s something, right?”

“I’m innocent, I didn’t do anything, and I don’t know a thing.” Connor’s lips cracked into a thin smile.

Connor and his stupid, stupid balls. Sutherland would have to slice the balls from his scrotum, then make the traitor eat them with jam. He chuckled at the thought, still grinning into the man’s treasonous glare.

Sutherland said, “You didn’t dare to say you weren’t sorry.” It dangled in the air like a question. In the room’s near silence, Gallus swallowed.

Sutherland looked thoughtful. He brought his fingers to his chin and started to stroke it. “Wasn’t it you, Connor Vinson—
traitor extraordinaire
—who tried to drum up support to get the good people here to rise up and vote me out?”

Connor looked at Sutherland like a petulant child. “Do we still have that ear kit?” Sutherland asked. He turned to Gallus. “The one we used on Sallinger last September?”

Gallus nodded like a good little number two.

“Never mind, it doesn’t matter.” Sutherland returned his eyes to the traitor. “Hearing problems have a way of working themselves out in here.” He cleared his throat and repeated, “Weren’t you the one rousing the rabble to vote me out of Hydrangea last year?”

“I don’t have to talk.” Connor looked like he wanted to spit.

“Oh, but
you do.
”

“I demand to see my representative, as afforded by law, and stated by Article 19 of The Patriot’s Constitution.”

Sutherland barked laughter. “Article 19! How did you know that one was my favorite?” As his laughter settled, he added, “Of course I could never forget Article 19. Gallus is your representative,
as afforded by law, and stated by Article 19 of The Patriot’s Constitution.
”

Sutherland nodded to the man in the shadows.

Connor was brazen and stupid enough to laugh. “Gallus isn’t my representative or anyone’s. He’s your little bitch and nothing more.”

Sutherland gasped and slapped his hand over his mouth as if suppressing laughter. “Oh, my.” He looked over at Gallus. “You’re not going to let him get away with that, are you?”

For the first time Sutherland was happy to see terror crack through the traitor’s veneer.

“You may think he’s nothing but a bitch, and I suppose you’d be right, but only if you compared Gallus to me. Compared to you,” Sutherland shrugged, “he’s nothing of the sort. Gallus would never wait until a man’s back was turned to scrawl profanity in feces on his favorite chair, nor would he commit acts of betrayal that are likely to get him killed. Gallus is more of a man than you’ll ever be, traitor, because he has enough balls to face his enemies. Are we enemies, Vinson?”

Sutherland leaned toward the traitor. Connor said nothing to him, though, just turned to Gallus and hissed, “You’re his little bitch, you know that, don’t you?”

Sutherland barked more laughter. To Gallus he said, “You’re not going to take that, are you? Go ahead and hit him—he’s practically begging you.”

Gallus looked uncertain.

“You can’t intimidate me,” Connor said. “I know my rights.”

“Show the man his rights.” Sutherland laughed. “Go on, Gallus. Hit him as hard as you can across his stupid traitor’s face. Then maybe we can start talking.”

The traitor stayed frozen as Gallus marched over, probably still stupidly certain this was only an act. He barely reacted, until Sutherland’s number two’s fists were bashing his face on both sides.

Sutherland roared. “You have no rights! You are in this room until I’m finished with you. And you
will
confess. All traitors eventually do.”

“This is bullshit,” Connor said, his jaw already swelling and probably throbbing. “I can’t just disappear, you know. People will look for me. They’ll know where I went. You can’t get away with this. You’re not even the leader.” As if it just occurred to him, he added, “I demand to speak with Jeffries.”

“Oh, my,” Sutherland said, as if worried. “You mean you didn’t hear?”

Connor’s bottom lip twitched—his version of
No, I didn’t.

“He hasn’t heard.” Sutherland turned to Gallus and spoke in a hush. “Do you think we should tell him?”

Sutherland turned back to Connor and smiled. “Jeffries has been replaced by King Shit.”

Sutherland was pleased to finally see the traitor struggle in his restraints, making a valiant yet impossible effort to leap from his chair.

“You won’t get away with this,” he cried out. “My people will never allow it.”

“
Your people
?” Sutherland repeated. “May I ask
what people
you might be referring to? Last I heard you had no one. Your wife was too stupid to keep near the borders, and your daughter, well, it’s unfortunate that she was eaten so early, before the age of seven—so many of life’s best parts she never experienced. But I suppose that’s a father’s just deserts for not being careful. So, traitor, we’ve established that there’s no one to mourn you. Tell me, who are
your people.
”

“You can’t see it,” Connor said, looking like he could murder Sutherland with his eyes, “but there’s a revolution in Hydrangea happening right under your nose. People here don’t respect you. They want things back like they used to be—you’re just too drunk and buried in whores to notice.”

Sutherland knelt in front of Connor, daring the man to butt his head or try and bite his face. Instead, the traitor did nothing, waiting for Sutherland’s next move.

“Do you really believe you can take me out? Hmmm . . . I wonder if you can.” Sutherland paused, appearing to think. “I assure you better men have tried.”

“You’re a fool and a dictator, abusing your power. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. The Patriots stand for freedom and for living a true life outside The Cities. But you’re as bad as The State, forcing outliers to surrender earnings, bleeding them dry for nothing in return.”

“You must be joking,” Sutherland said, standing, genuinely affronted. “
Nothing in return
? The Barrens are badlands, offering little chance for survival. This is Hydrangea, the best of all the camps. We live in a state-of-the-art facility, outside The Cities, where people are safe, unless they do something stupid, as your family is prone to do. Before me, this place was no different from the others. Now it’s the safest place outside The Cities—and free. That makes it better than anywhere in the world. Do you really think I don’t deserve respect for that?”

Spittle flew from his lips onto the traitor’s unblinking face. “Fine,” he continued to spit. “I’d like to see how well you rats can scurry without me.”

Sutherland turned to Gallus. “Leave us.”

The traitor’s face drained quickly of color. Sutherland could see its pallor even in the dim room.

“No,” he began to beg. “Don’t go. You can’t leave me with him. You
know
what he’ll do. This isn’t the work of a Patriot!”

Gallus was already on his way to the door. Still the traitor pled.

“Get me representation. You can do it, Gallus. You don’t have to do this. You’re better than that!”

The door closed behind Gallus, sealing them inside.

“You really shouldn’t have called him a bitch,” Sutherland winked. “He’s quite the delicate flower.”

Sutherland turned from the traitor and walked to the room’s only piece of furniture other than the chair—a small end table bolted to the corner floor. A small metal box rested on top. Sutherland lifted it, holding his eyes on Connor.

“Would you like to know what’s in here?”

Sutherland waited several seconds for the traitor to speak, then shrugged. “This box has 17 ways for me to get you talking. I’m certain at least one will work.”

Sutherland brought the box over to Vinson and showed the traitor his many species of pliers and knives.

Adam fell hard to the ground, hands flying to his nose, screaming as he tried to stop blood gushing between his splayed fingers.

“Come on!” One of the men grabbed him roughly by the back of his jumpsuit and dragged him from the building. He dropped Adam to the icy ground and landed a devastating kick to the young man’s soft middle.

Adam scrambled for his blaster, but he couldn’t see where it had fallen with all the red blurring his eyes.

“Should we look for the one that escaped?”

Adam blinked toward the gravelly voice as he tried to recover. It belonged to a pug of a man, waving a long blade he clearly wanted to use to catch and cut the freed girl.

“No,” said Black Hat. “We don’t need ’er. We’ve got a replacement.”

“What?” Adam gasped, a second before he took a second kick to the ribs.

“You heard him.” Pug yanked Adam up to his unsteady feet before throwing him back to the ground just behind the horses. Pug leaned in and pressed his gun barrel into Adam’s temple.

“Careful,” a gray-bearded man said to Pug. “He looks like a wily one—might want to watch your hands.”

Gray Beard nodded toward Pug’s full mitts, one holding the sword, and the other freshly outfitted with a blaster.

Pug said, “He’ll be no trouble. If he is, I’ll cut him to pieces.”

Gray Beard grunted, then went to the coach, grabbed another chained collar, attached one end to the back of the carriage, and approached Adam.

Adam screamed, hoping to capture Colton’s attention—assuming his companion was still back in the building where Adam had left him before running off like a fool.

Pug put his blaster to Adam’s skull, holding him down as the other man opened the collar and lowered it onto his neck, laughing as he clamped it shut.

“Let me go!”

“Shut up,” Black Hat snarled, his whisper harsh. “You’ll attract the zombies!”

As if on cue, a wave of moaning rolled in from behind them. Adam turned and saw six zombies shuffling one by one from the building back close to where he’d left Colton. To his minor relief, they were the slow-moving sort, but they were still close enough that they could easily catch the group if the carriage didn’t get rolling.

“Uh-oh,” Black Hat said. “Looks like the show’s gonna start early.” He ran back to the coach and climbed back to his spot up top as the other men followed, all diving inside.

The woman Adam hadn’t set free wailed as the zombies approached, still 20 feet off but closing in quickly.

Adam scanned the snow, searching for something—anything—he might use as a weapon.

He saw only puddles and some debris awkwardly piled against the side of the building (which was impossible to reach anyway). He’d have to fight the undead barehanded.

The woman, still screaming, backed away from the approaching zombies. Adam balled his fists, heart racing, bracing body and mind for certain attack.

He thought through his training at City Watch, which involved precious little close-quarters combat and virtually no unarmed fighting. However, Adam had spent the past half dozen months in solitary confinement going over and over moves on his cell’s cold concrete floor until ducks and parries were automatic reflexes. Whether or not those moves would be effective . . .

The three zombies in front flailed with outstretched arms and tromped through the dirty snow directly toward the woman. Adam readied himself to kick at the closest monster’s knees. He’d deaden the undead’s legs, then kick its skull into mush once it had fallen.

Just as the first zombie was about to make its move, though, it fell back, covering its ears as if in excruciating pain, shrieking an unholy cry like an animal trapped. The zombies just behind and beside it did the same thing. The swarm receded like a wave from the shore, all six zombies backing away from the still-screaming woman.

What the hell?

Adam turned and saw Black Hat half grinning, holding a small red cylinder high in the air. Whatever it was seemed to be emitting some sort of frequency—or
something
—that only the zombies could hear.

So that’s how they keep the zombies away.

Black Hat reached into his coat, retrieved his blaster, and hit three zombies in three shots, their rapidly disintegrating husks dropping to the ground. The second row of zombies were still backing up, shrieks growing louder as Black Hat fired another three shots. The undead fell into bloody chunks, plumes of steam rising from the snow.

Adam was impressed—and horrified—by Black Hat’s accuracy. He turned back to look up at the stagecoach.

Black Hat returned the blaster to his coat and looked down at Adam. “Don’t thank me just yet, kid.”

If he was going to die, Adam was determined to be brave on his way. He straightened his shoulders. “What do you mean by that?”

Black Hat chuckled, then turned, sat on the wooden bench, and snapped the reins to set the horses in motion.

Adam screamed from behind the stagecoach. “What do you want with us?”

The man ignored Adam as the horses began moving, the chain pulling taut and jerking Adam forward.

After the stagecoach had passed two alleyways and was slowly approaching a third filled with broken-down trucks lurking in open doorways into dozens of buildings likely teeming with zombies, the woman turned to Adam. Her eyes red and wet, she asked, “Why didn’t you set me free first?”

Without any idea what to say, Adam told her the truth.

“Because the other girl looked like my sister.” He forced himself to hold her gaze, instead of looking down. “I’m sorry, I thought I’d have more time.”

She scowled. “You done pissed them off.”

“Who are they?”

“I don’t know. They came up on us and killed the man we were teamed with, then they put us in chains and forced us to follow.”

“How long have you been chained up?”

“An hour before you came.”

“And you have no idea what they’re planning?”

“None, but whatever it is, it ain’t good.”

Adam stared at the back of Black Hat’s head.

No, it’s not.

He’d heard stories at City Watch about bandit slavers in The Barrens. He’d figured it was a myth, since the ones who told the stories had never seen it with their own eyes. Now, here in The Outback, being dragged behind a black-hatted devil, Adam wondered if the men were taking them as slaves to some godforsaken hell and if maybe death would be better.

He imagined the pug bastard trying to have his way with the woman . . . or with him. He looked like the type to rape slaves. And maybe eat them once finished.

He looked back again, hoping against hope that Colton had forgiven his reckless decision. But he saw no sign and after another minute of walking decided: death beats slavery.