Cheap Thrills (6 Thrilling reads) (9 page)

Ten

Mrs Novik sees the guards coming from behind the bars in her cell. She can see their shadows cascade off the dim light fixtures on the wall. The two guards heading her way are carrying a tray of food for her; the guard with his hands free is escorting the other for security reasons. It’s not that Mrs Novik is a dangerous women, its just prison had made her that way.

A few seconds pass by as the two men approach. Mrs Novik’s pervious screaming and bellowing has stopped and subsided into an incoherent need to be left alone. She doesn’t want to see anyone. She feels as if her time is best served wallowing in her own misery. The guard taps on her cell door bars with his baton. He gives her a sadistic smile, as if he enjoys seeing the woman in this condition.

‘Your food is here, eat up bitch,’ the tubby guard says as he opens the flap on her cell door used to transfer food stuffs to the prisoners.

‘I’m not hungry,’ she says quietly as she backs up into the shadows of her cell, leaning against the wall as she does so.

‘I don’t care if you’re hungry or not, you’re going to eat this fucking food,’ screams the other guard impatiently as he cranes his head around the door, trying to see her in the shadows.

‘I’m..Not…Hungry,’ she says

The two guards look at each other in contemplation.

‘Fuck the bitch, just leave her food on the floor,’ the other guard says as he slaps the tin tray out of his colleague’s hand. The tray wobbles a little before leaving the open palm of the guard as it teeters into the cell through the open gap in one of the bars. The tray lands with a TING as it rattles on the floor for a few seconds. Mash potatoes and peas scramble across the concrete floor as a bit of gravy splashes on Mrs Novik’s bare foot.

She stands in the shadows for a few moments, surveying the food on the floor. Her blood boils over as she witnesses the two men behind her cell door laugh at the mess on the ground. In a split second she had made her decision to make them pay. She grabs the sharp object on her toiletry table next to her latrine and extends her arm forward. Within a few more seconds she’s made it to the cell door before either guard can react. She grabs one of the guard’s arms with her free hand and strikes with the other. The sharp object breaks through his skin with ease and pierces one of his veins. A small fountain of blood ejects out of his wound and hits his face in a spray of violence. The guards stop laughing as the scene unfolds in front of them. Everything hisses in Mrs Novik’s ear as the sound in her ear drums escapes as the blood boils in her head.  Then she snaps back to reality.

‘AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH,’ the wounded guard screams.

She continues to hold onto his arm tightly as she corkscrews the sharp object in his arm. Each time she does so he lets out another scream.

‘Fuck, let him go!’ shouts the guard who now has his radio in hand, ready to call for back up.

With every second passing, the man is losing even more blood. His face is now covered in the sprayed blood from his artery that she had torn with her sharp instrument.

‘Call for back up!’ screams the wounded officer, still holding onto the bars of the cell door as if his life depended on it.

Just as the other guard is about to call for backup on his radio his attentions are divided.

‘Your arm man! Your god damn arm!’ he says as he points to the other mans unwounded arm.

A flashing light has made its presence known as it ripples violently in his wrist.

‘What the fuck?’ Mrs Novik says as she lets the man go.

Before she can back away from her cell door a flat lining beeping sound is heard followed by an explosion in which the man with the wound to his arm self-combusts in front of her. Chunks of body parts cake the air as the blast hits her and the guard’s partner. The burning explosion strikes at the other guard’s face and melts his skin. He hits the floor hard as his head snaps off the metal door and cracks open. A pool of blood forms under his head as Mrs Novik watches on in disbelief. Suddenly she hears the beeping again. She sees the dismembered body parts of the guard she had attacked on the floor. It can’t be him; she quickly turns her head left to see the guard who had been knocked to the floor by the blast. His right wrist is flashing just like the other man’s did before him. She quickly dives onto her bed as the high pitched beeping stops and is followed by another ear rattling explosion. Her cell door fly’s off its hinges and misses her by an inch as it hits her bunk with a tremendous clang. The dust settles slowly as she opens her eyes and is met with the sight of yet another pile of body parts and ashes.

Eleven

The bodies of around a hundred and fifty marines lay scattered on the marsh land of Henderson Hall, Virginia. A man in fatigues lies on the floor with fresh bullet wounds to his chest. The smoke in the air is clearing up as he sees the covert army march past him, their guns oozing hot smoke from their barrels; The heat from the shells on the ground burn at his neck. He closes his eyes and acts dead as a few men walk by his prone body. One of the Covert army men stops near the downed man’s body and reaches into his pocket. He pulls out a lighter and a box of twenty. He lights up a cigarette and blows blissfully into the wind. The man on the floor can smell the charred nicotine leave the army man’s lungs. He tries not to cough, trying to remain as silent as possible. After a few more seconds the idle smoker moves on, chatting with his colleague about the efforts that were needed in taking this US Marine Core base.

The man’s eyes remain closed for another few minutes. His mind is racing as the thoughts in his head run at mile a minute as he tries to figure the situation out. finally, the sound of footstep’s around the marsh quieten down as he opens his eyes and realises all the covert army men have gone inside the base. All that’s left is him and his murdered comrades on the floor.  The pool of blood he finds himself in is extraordinarily warm. He can feel his chest giving out. He knows his time on earth is limited. The sense of duty in his actions is overwhelming. A lot of young men had died on the marsh he finds himself on. A lot of good men had died protecting the name of the Marine Core against these
homebrew soldiers
. The bleeding man feels it would be treason to let his men die in vain, he knows he has to do something.

He shuffles onto his front, dragging his bloodied body through the overgrown brush of the marsh. With every inch he gains, he can feel the dirt enter his open chest wounds.  Its agonizing torture, every second, and every inch feels like his own personal battlefront. With his head in the mud, he tries to lift it up, to see if the coast is clear. He manages to look up into the horizon and sees that the covert army men have gone from his vicinity. He sees his drill sergeant on the floor around a hundred meters in front of him. Where his drill sergeant lies is near the supplies bunker. If he can get in there, he will be able to find the satellite phone and ring Washington and tell them of the Militia attack.

Ten minutes of hard crawling pass and he finally finds himself at the entrance of the supplies bunker. He creaks the door open and braces himself for contact with the enemy. Luckily, no one is to be seen. Granted the supply bunker is near dark, his eyes have accustomed to the dim light of the night sky, so any form of light in now a hundred times brighter and clearer than it would usually be. His fingers touch the hard concrete floor of the supply bunker. He digs his fingernails into the concrete and heaves himself forward. He continues this until his fingers start to bleed. After a few minutes of heaving, he is finally inside the bunker. The door he came through is still ajar; letting some of the night’s light in. he spots the satellite phone rack. All the phones are missing. He sighs in frustration until he spots a phone on the floor in front of him under the phone rack. He quickly grabs the phone and dials in the numbers, smudging blood all over the buttons of the expensive phone. After a few seconds he gets through.

‘Hello, this is lance corporal Smith, stationed at Henderson Hall, Virginia. There has been a..,’ before the man can say anything, some footsteps approach from behind. Then a gunshot is heard. The phone goes dead as Smith’s head hits the floor revealing a smoking gunshot wound to the head. 

Twelve

‘Damn are you okay man?’ asks Tyrell as he kneels over Dwayne’s body.

Dwayne’s eyes roll into the back of his head as he tries to remain conscious.

‘I think so…Man I think I broke my leg or something,’ he says in a rattled tone.

He sits up, his face echoing with pain as he does so.

‘Where the hell are we?’ he asks

Tyrell smiles.

‘In the sewers man, don’t you remember? You fell off the ladder and hit the floor pretty hard. Are you sure you’re okay?’

Dwayne nods his head.

‘Yeah I’ll be okay. It’s just a scratch,’ the big man says as he hurls himself up onto his feet.

‘Okay, as long as you think you’re going to be okay. We are a long way from the doctors man,’ says Tyrell

Dwayne looks down at his wrist. The blinking beacon is idle.

‘Look man, the blinking light has stopped; looks as if we are going to be okay after all!’

Tyrell looks down at his wrist and sees the same outcome. His blinking light had stopped as well.

‘Well I’m glad we came down here after all. So what if it smells like shit! At least we won’t be blowing up anytime soon’

Dwayne laughs. Both men look at each other in confusion.

‘What the hell is that on your forehead?’ Tyrell says as he points to a red dot on Dwayne’s forehead.

Before they can do anything both men turn around to see four men in military uniforms pointing ACR rifles with laser red dot sights.

‘So much for us being safe,’ says Dwayne sarcastically.

‘Yep,’ says Tyrell

‘Don’t fucking move,’ says one of the militia soldiers.

Thirteen

‘So it’s done?’ asks Mr Conway

Miss Harriet’s hands feel sweaty across her nylon skin tight dress. She rubs her hands to her sides in perspiration.

‘Henderson Hall has been taken by Tango one. Tango two has just entered the New York sewer system looking for stragglers that got away from the pre-emptive beacon attack. Tango three is on route to New Jersey to handle the multitude of survivors at Met Life stadium,’ she says, still feeling overheated and a tad nervous.

Mr Conway remains behind his desk, looking at her in a manner only a pig headed man could acquire.

‘What’s wrong Miss Harriet? Finding it hard to walk? I’m known to leave men unable to walk in the past, but women, well, I leave them unable to walk because of other factors,’ he laughs.

Miss Harriet doesn’t find it the least bit funny. The things she has to do to stay on top are vast and soul changing.

‘I can walk just fine sir,’ she says coldly

Mr Conway’s eyes lighten up at her suppressed rage.

‘Good!’ he smiles, ‘I wouldn’t want you to overdo it on my part,’ he says

The tension in the room is unbearable. In the space of two hours, she has never felt the need to kill the same man twice, but she just can’t do it, no matter how much of a prick he may be. She quickly changes the subject.

‘What about the immediate mission at hand?’ she asks

‘It’s not changed Miss Harriet. It’s still the same, kill everyone and leave no survivors. You don’t think I installed the Beacons to just maim people did you? I want them all dead, the more people dead, the easier it is to get what we want done!’

The door behind them opens, and two men walk in. Both of them are dressed up in suits. They both approach the desk in which Mr Conway is sitting behind, and Miss Harriet is sitting opposite to. The aquarium walls shine light onto the clean and smooth wooden desk, the lights dazzle the two men at first, but they soon adjust. One of them hands over a file to the boss, the other just looks at the floor.

‘How can this be?’ screams Mr Conway

‘A marine at Henderson Hall survived and managed to contact Washington. Apparently the National Guard is en route and we expect a heavy battle,’ one of the men in suits says as he looks at his partner for back up.

‘There may be a slight chance of Apache helicopters showing up. Our men could be sitting ducks if we don’t let the US government know our intentions,’ the other man says, still looking at the floor. 

‘I’m not fucking telling anyone! They can take the base out, I don’t give a shit!’ screams Mr Conway.

‘I’m sorry sir but we can’t lose that many men, theirs over two hundred of them. If we lose them, the remaining militia will think we can’t get the job done’

Mr Conway slams his fist on the table.

‘I don’t give a shit what they think, we can’t just fight the National Guard, and we certainly can’t reveal our cards too early. They would squash us before you could say civil war!’ screams Mr Conway, his face turning red with every syllable he sputters.

‘There could be another way,’ says Miss Harriet

All three men, including Mr Conway look at Miss Harriet in annoyance.

‘What?’ says Mr Conway

‘We deploy a few stingers and take out the Apache’s’

Fourteen

Mrs Novik opens her eyes to the sight of dust settling all around her. She can hear a continuous ringing in her ear. With every breath she takes, the ringing becomes louder. She tries to breathe in but the air around her is thick with dust. The particles entering her lungs make her choke as she tries to get up. After a few seconds, she manages to get some air. She gets up onto her feet and dusts herself down. The explosion that had ripped her cell door off its hinges had made her hair frizz out. It’s covered in dust and dirt. Her face looks as if she has been mining in the coal mines of Alaska. She manages to step forward a few steps. She feels uneasy on her feet, much like getting up from a seat in a bar and realising you are wasted beyond recognition.

She approaches the entrance in which her cell door was before the blast. On the floor lay the remains of the two guards’, each one of them now a pile of ashes. She looks down at the ground and notices the sheer amount of debris. She looks up and see’s the pipes above her head eject hot steam. Her hearing gradually comes back and before she knows it; all she can hear is the sound of a fire alarm going off. The constant buzzing sound hurts her head. She shakes her head in agony as the ringing irritates her ears. She moves forward, being careful not to step on the ashes of the two guard’s on the floor. The smoke in the precinct is nothing but dense and dusty. With every step she takes, another hot mouthful of air enters her mouth. She assumes there must be a fire somewhere, or there wouldn’t be that much smoke in such a small building.

She then realises it’s the half a dozen other ash piles that are scattered across the entrance precinct. Everyone from the police officers at front to the receptionist seems to have evaporated into the air and now find themselves settling onto of the AC fans on the ceiling. She sighs as she notices the pure devastation that has happened in this area. She may not have liked being in county lockup, but she doesn’t want to see men and women with families die for no reason. Even though she stabbed a guard with an improvised shank, she didn’t do so to kill him. That’s why she went for the arm and not the prick’s neck.

She spots a gun on the ground next to a warm dust pile. She quickly grabs it and cocks the nine. She ejects the mag and see’s it has a full clip. She figures that the precinct has a lot of weapons, but she just can’t stand being around this many dead people, even if they resemble kindled wood in a furnace. She looks down at her right wrist and spots the flashing beacon. It’s going off every few seconds. The closer she steps to the exit, the faster it glows. She decides it’s worth the risk. She needs to find her way underground, possibly the metro. Surly that would be the best place to find safety.

The automatic doors open to the precinct’s exit. The scale of destruction she sees is incomprehensible to her. The dust piles in the precinct behind her seem minute compared to the crater that is New York City. Taxi cabs in front of her are turned upside down as if the wind blew them over. The pavement is cracked beyond recognition. The smell of charred flesh is present in the air. She looks around and doesn’t see one living soul. An onslaught of devastation and destruction lies in front of her. She catches another glimpse of her wrist and realises that if she doesn’t get to safety, she too will be nothing but an
ash pile of memories
.