Fresh Flesh (24 page)

"You won't even say goodbye to us,
Wally-boy?" Dee asked.

"Yeah," added Dum. "Don't know what we'll do
without your constant chatter."

While they laughed, Torque waited. It had
been easy keeping silent the last year and half and using only
written communication.

They came over and jacked him to his feet.
His hands and legs were cuffed tightly. He was wearing the
parachute suit he'd been trained and issued for the upcoming
jump.

The jump to Hell
, he thought
excitedly. They'd spent the last three weeks prepping him for a
place he'd been destined to visit. The anticipation was
overwhelming. The survival training center in Kentucky was a good
time. People tried to make a mockery of him, bruise his conscience,
create horrors of "the terrible place they were sending him" but
they all failed. They could not scare him. Fact was, Torque didn't
give a rip about anyone on earth any more.

His trial had been a total joke. His lawyer
was a walking encyclopedia; tall, stout, smelled good and looked
bad while babbling about his client Torque being "hopelessly
insane."

The prosecuting attorney was much more
personable but spoke like he was reading a dictionary. He tried to
prove to the court that Torque was not insane. But the issue that
was fought seemed not to be whether or not Torque was insane but
rather what in the hell "insanity" was in his case.

If only they knew the truth.

Torque's attorney explained to the jury that
upon determination of insanity they must take into consideration
all the facts: did Torque have control of his faculties at the time
of the crime? Did Torque understand that what he was doing was
wrong? Did Torque, did Torque, did Torque. His lawyer was full of
more bad moves than a novice chess player.

Torque was focused on one thing: the place
he'd heard rumors about in prison the last 10 years. The place
rumored to have been sent some other death row cons. He thought it
had been a fantasy but Satan told him otherwise. He needed to get
out so that he could do something bad enough to be sent to the
secret place. The Southern Fried Chicken incident had all been part
of his plan.

And if the magic place didn't exist, Torque
was ok getting the gas.

There were too many victims this time.
Before, it had only been Nina and momma. Before, he had cried and
made the jury feel sorry for his actions. Before, he had cared. But
this time he had no regrets. He wanted, and expected, them to
at
least
kill him. And it would be a bonus if he got to visit the
magic place.

Prison rumors about the magic place
below.

Prison rumors suggesting it really was Hell
on earth.

So many, many rumors.

And now they were about to let him parachute
to the rumors below. This was a gift, not a curse.

"Don't try anything cute, Wally. I'm gonna
take your cuffs off."

"Yeah, convict," added Dum, "I got this .357
watching your ugly ass all the way out the door."

Dee stuck the key in the cuffs and released
them. Torque massaged his wrists. The bastards had put them on so
tight they might just as well have cut his wrists off. Torque eyed
the service revolver warily. He wouldn't be surprised if Dum blew
him away then and there.

Dum held his ground.

Dee stepped back, pointing his own gun. "Any
last words, Wally?"

The bastard knows I hate that name. Knows
that's the name Momma called me. I should torque the bastard—I
could—I should! Dammit! Where's my calling? Master where are you?
LET ME KILL THESE MORONS.

The wind purred.

Dee shoved Torque toward the hatch door where
he was supposed to make the jump. There was a two foot square
window to see below.

"Take a look at your new home, Wally," Dum
grunted. "You're gonna spend a long time down there."

Torque looked down with microscopic
focus.

"Jump in five minutes, circling now," a voice
ordered from the cockpit through a crackling speaker.

"He must like his new home," said Dum.

"Yeah, his face kinda reminds me of Lassie
coming home."

"No. Rin Tin Tin, he was an uglier
fucker."

"Wasn't Rin Tin Tin a she?"

"No, that was Nanette."

"Who gives a fuck?"

Dee and Dum cackled.

The island started to come into focus. Torque
had to watch closely to see in his own mind's eye if this was Hell.
At first if was just another island in the Pacific, another
Hawaiian island. Lots of palm trees, ravines, rocky in places,
several beaches.

But then as the airplane grew closer it
changed.

A dark change.

Gray clouds began to surround the island like
a bubble, holding the island within the circumference. The wind
bounced inside the bubble in a nonsensical frenzy. The trees
twisted, each a mutated tongue. Inside the dark bubble a monstrous
face took shape. A beast with cold rock-eyes and grainy skin
beaches for flesh. Each tooth was a different bush, constantly
moving in the wind's nervousness, a moving mouth with multiple
tongues, teeth and black gums. The beast had dozens of tentacles
protruding from where its nose should have been. The beast looked
at him, the tongues flickering and dancing and playing in the wind,
and Torque knew at once he had found the right place.

He also knew that this was his calling.

The beast spoke to him.

BEEN WAITING FOR YOU.

They took their time sending me here.

THE PLANE. YOU MUST KILL EVERYBODY ON THE
PLANE.

I was waiting for you to instruct me. I
don't have Sally.

YOU ONLY NEED FAITH IN MY POWER.

I have faith, Master.

KILL THEM.

I love you.

KILL THEM NOW.

Yes, my lord.

DARK LORD, MY CHILD.

Yes, my Dark
Lord.

Torque turned slowly and the gun barrels were
staring at him like eyes. Dum and Dee weren't controlling the guns,
Torque knew, only evil controlled weapons of death.

"What's his problem?" Dum asked.

"Christ, he's getting a crazy look in his
eyes. Hold your ground, convict or I'll blow your—"

Torque smiled.

Despite having the guns, Dee and Dum stepped
back. Torque spoke for the first time since The Southern Fried
Chicken incident:

"Thanks for bringing me home."

Torque sprang. Dee opened fire. Dum
copied.

Both shots at point blank range should have
shot through Torque's body and blew pieces of his insides out the
other side. Should have kissed him like a leech and sucked every
inch of life out of him.

Except both shots didn't hit him at all, only
the walls of the airplane.

Torque grabbed both guns by the barrels and
used the surprise to rip them out of Dee and Dum's hands.

Their expressions turned to horror.

He had a gun in each hand, rolled them, spun
them, played them in his hands like a gunslinger. He pointed them
at Dee and Dum's hearts, grinning wide.

They both stopped.

Dee said, "Hey man, you. . .you don't want to
do this."

"Yeah," Dum added, "be—be nice and give us
the guns back, Wally."

"My name's Torque."

"Torque," Dum said.

"Torque," Dee chimed in, fright filling his
eyes.

Torque didn't feel like playing death games
with Dee and Dum, so he shot Dee. In the head. Point blank.

"Jesus!" Dum stood back, sprayed with
remnants of Dee's splattered skull. Half of Dee's scalp found its
way on to Dum's clothes and Dee's flesh drooped off him like it was
his own. Dum's hands were red and wet as he trembled.

Torque ordered him to the parachute hatch.
Dum moved where ordered.

"Open it and jump out," Torque said.
"Now."

"But—But I don't have a parachute!"

"NOW." Dum pressed the side red button, the
hatch pressurized and opened. Dum turned and looked back with a
pleading stare.

"Please don't make me jump! PLEASE! I DON'T
HAVE A CHUTE!"

Torque shot Dum in the leg. The force pushed
Dum out the hatch, sent him sprawling to his death below. Dum
screamed the whole way.

"IIIIII DONNNNNNNTTTT HAVVVVVVVEEE AAAAAA
CHHHHHHHUTTTTTTEEEE!"

The wind replaced the man's screams. Torque
awaited his Dark Lord's voice.

THE COCKPIT. KILL THOSE IN THE COCKPIT

Torque ran up to the front of the
cockpit.

". . .roger nine, section two. . .has he
jumped yet?"

"No, in a moment," came the reply.

"New orders. As soon as the jump is made,
circle for new orders. . ."

"Has he jumped yet?" another voice came over
the intercom to the empty body of the plane.

NOW.

Torque kicked open the door and started
firing. He emptied the gun in his right hand into the co-pilot;
three bullets ripped off the man's face, splattering blood and
brain on the cockpit window. The pilot and the navigator took the
other gun's shells both were quickly killed, never having the
slightest idea what hit them. The cockpit quickly turned red.

The plane, not on auto-pilot, started to go
out of control.

NOW JUMP QUICKLY! COME HOME TORQUE! COME
HOME!

Torque ran, fighting the spinning gravity as
the plane began to spin out of control. Fought his way out of the
cockpit, pushed toward the opening, pushing with all the strength
he could muster.

Hell is beckoning me, I MUST make it home. .
.I can't die. . .

He pushed.

The plane went into a spin it would never
come out of and pushed and pushed and pushed. His legs kept failing
him. His vision blurred.
Got to make it home, got to make it
HOME.

He saw the opening.

The plane kept spinning.

He pushed himself toward the exit.
Pushed.

Kept spinning, spinning and spinning. It was
totally out of control, starting to nose toward its ocean death.
Torque reached the exit and pushed his body into the sky. Quickly
the plane fell away from him and he was flying.

He plummeted toward his new home.

The island was small at first and grew bigger
as the ground approached. Torque waited to pop his chute. Waited.
He enjoyed how he took those morons Dee and Dum. How he fulfilled
the Dark Lord's mission.

And then a fearful thought struck him. What
if the chute doesn't open? What if he sailed down to the same death
he'd sent Dum to?

The chute might not pop. Might not and he'd
fly like Dum to the bottom—SPLAT!

Torque was scared for the first time in many
years. Tiny sweat formed and blew off his face by the wind as he
plummeted to the ground. His heart paused and head spun.

He closed his eyes and pulled the
ripcord.

Torque decided that if God really existed,
and He was the exact opposite of Satan, He, supreme ruler of the
skies, would use this opportunity to make Torque's chute
malfunction. He would stop Torque from hurting anyone else. He
would tap all of Heaven's mighty powers to end his life on earth
here and now.

So much for God.

Richard pushed Jessica down into a dense
thicket. She went down hard, her next breath sucked out of her, and
he fell beside her. He rolled her into a small niche and crawled
atop of her. She started to ask what was going on when he covered
her mouth and told her to listen.

Footsteps were dragging through the ravine
behind

Right behind them.

Voices.

"They're here," said Seth Everson.

"Hiding now, are we?" came the icy voice of
Kyle Roberts. "Richie, I see you never learn. Why don't you come
out and let's get this over with? This is all growing very
tiring."

"Bastard," Richard whispered.

"I know you're hurt, Richie. In fact, I think
you're hurt worse than you'll let on. I guess that's why you're
hiding right now, isn't it? You know you can't outrun me. You've
spent these years avoiding this moment. It's time, Richie."

Roberts' voice echoed in the wind.

"Always knew you were a coward," Roberts
said. "You should know by now that I despise cowards. You saw the
camp. Full of cowards. They're gone, and soon you'll be buried next
to them." A small pause before he gave Everson an order: "Find
them."

Jessica opened her eyes. She almost screamed.
Several black bugs—

(
and back, by popular demand, BOBBY AND
THE CRAWLERS
)

—skittered across her hand.

The scream reached her throat.

Richard saw the bugs and put his hand on her
mouth. "No." With his other hand he wiped the bugs away. The sounds
of Everson thrashing through the surrounding bushes grew
louder.

CLOSER.

All Jessica could see was Edward's severed
hand in her nightmare, the black bugs crawling in a macabre frenzy,
an insect orgy of horror. Crawling on her fingers now!

Another scream surfaced. Richard stifled it.
It came out a muted whimper.

"Don't," he whispered, "they're gone."

They may have been gone in reality, but they
had gone nowhere in her mind.

Everson thrashed closer. . .CLOSER. . .

"Quit making this so hard on yourself,
Richie. Show yourself. Seth won't get in the way of you and me.
Come on, I'm waiting."

Richard's heartbeat thudded against Jessica's
backbone. Her own heart played a similar melody.

Seth was still thrashing, almost on top of
them.

"COWARD!" Roberts screamed. Jessica heard him
tearing into the bushes, ripping and shredding them. He searched
with white-hot intensity. She closed her eyes and wished she could
close her ears. The sound of Kyle Roberts tearing furiously through
the bushes, tearing closer, was worse than the black bugs crawling
across her fingers.

She opened her eyes. Richard held his knife,
ready. Seth Everson's boots were less than five feet away.