Zombie Attack! Army of the Dead (Book 3) (12 page)

“Now,” Franco said with an evil grin. “Where is your little girlfriend?”

“Someplace safe where you can't ever get to her.”

“One way or another I'll get it out of you,” Franco threatened. “It's just a matter of time, which you have very little left of at this point. As you know, the punishment for treason is death. Right now, at this very moment, they are building a gallows for your and your brother in the middle of the base. By this time tomorrow you'll be swinging in the breeze by your neck, your lifeless bodies on display for all to see. The last of the great Macnamaras, twisting in the wind, reminding everyone just what happens when you cross me.”

“You can't do that!” I shouted before the man next to me slapped the back of my head to silence me.

“I can and I will,” Franco sternly replied. “Military law clearly states the punishment for enemies of the State, not that I've ever cared all that much for the rules, to be honest. Moto here has been found guilty of abandoning his post, assisting the enemy, and treason. He's been stripped of his rank, and labeled a traitor. You've also been found guilty of aiding and abetting the enemy. So you see, I'm well within my legal rights to dispose of you as I see fit.”

I looked over at Moto to see if we should get up and fight. He shook his head no.
 

“I don't want to see you hang,” Franco seemed to soften. “I believe your family history and your record of service have earned you a chance at redemption. So here it is. Tell me where the girl who took my plants is hiding, and I will spare your lives. You'll spend the rest of your days behind bars as disgraced traitors who turned on their country, but alive and well. There are some here who say you don't deserve that much, that scum like you should be dealt with swiftly and severely, but I'm willing to offer you mercy if you cooperate. It's my final offer.”

Moto spit in his face in reply. Franco laughed as he wiped it off.

“Have it your way,” he smirked. “Give them a taste, boys.”

The next thing I knew, guys dressed all in black were beating us from every side. The beating seemed to go on forever. At one point Moto and I were back on our feet, taking on several soldiers apiece. It made almost no difference. They had sheer numbers and soon overwhelmed us again, knocking us back down to the ground. The last thing I remember before blacking out was curling up in a ball to protect my head, while an endless procession of blows rained down on me.

CHAPTER SEVEN

An icy cold splash of water brought me back to life, hands up and ready to fight. I turned in circles looking for the source of my attacker while crude laughter rang out all around me. My eyes were trying to adjust; my head was ringing. I could feel my face was swollen in places. I could taste blood in my mouth. Put simply, I had been put through the ringer.
 

“Wakey wakey,” a familiar voice sang out. I turned and saw that my brother was next to me, looking exactly like I felt. My vision began to adjust and I could see we were in a cell with bars around it. The man holding the bucket leered at us. It was John from New Lompoc.

“Surprise! Yeah it's me. And guess what? I'm pissed off now! I gave you a chance to do the right thing; I trusted you once again,” the veins in his neck stood out as the blood beamed in his anger-contorted features. “And once again you betrayed that trust! Well look at what it got you. I hope you're happy now!”

“Enough,” Franco roared, walking up and pulling John back from the bars and out of the way. “I don't have time for your petty revenge plots right now. You are to stand there and keep your mouth shut or, so help me, I will have you and your little band of pajama wearing freaks escorted to the edge of the base trenches and executed. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes sir,” John said without hesitation. “Clear as a bell.”

For a split second I could see John nervously looking around at the cadre of Blackshirts surrounding Franco, concerned they might be there to do just that now that Franco had what he wanted. With Moto and me already his hostages, the balance of power shifted dramatically in Franco's favor. There was no longer any need to pretend, as far as he was concerned. I could see the realization dawning in the horrified look etched on John's face.

If he can execute us without kicking up a fuss on base,
I thought,
a guy like John doesn't stand much of a chance. That means from here on out he'll have to go along with whatever Franco wants; he’ll have to fight to curry favor with him, or he's a goner.

If the guy hadn't worked so hard on so many occasions to ruin my life, I might have felt sorry for him.
 

“Good,” Franco said with a cold, calculating smile. “Now that we've got that cleared up, let's get back to business. By now you can see that I'm serious. That little beating is just the tip of the iceberg for you if you don't smarten up and get in line. You can't win. It's over. This is the end of the line for you guys. You had a good run, but all good things come to an end. Tough luck.”

“You can talk in circles as far as I'm concerned,” Moto interrupted. “It doesn't make any difference.”

“Let me make myself clear then,” Franco stated, obviously frustrated. “You've got something I need. Plain and simple. You either give it to me, or you and your little brother are dead. Is that simple enough for you, smart ass?”

“Save your breath,” Moto said with a smile. “There's nothing you can say or do to us that will ever make me tell you where those plants are. You've lost, Franco. Admit it.”

“That's where you're wrong,” Franco countered. “After all, I'm out here and you're the one in the cage. I think you're just trying to fend off the creeping fear with your useless taunts. You can feel your impending death inching nearer and it terrifies you, but it doesn't have to be this way.”

“How long do you think it will be until word gets out what you've done here?” Moto smiled at Franco. “A week? A month? Maybe they know now. Maybe they're already on their way to put down your cowardly little rebellion, you and your insolent pack of thugs. What do you think they'll do when they get here? Have you thought about it?”

“Actually, I have,” Franco fired back. “We'll be ready if that happens. We're not afraid of any army, not anymore, not with the new weapons we have at our disposal.”

“You might have thought about it,” Moto said, “but have these guys?”

Moto looked at the unblinking faces of the Blackshirts behind Franco. They were frozen in place, but behind their eyes he knew he'd just given them new food for thought.
 

They haven't,
I thought.
Most of these guys are just caught up in the moment, doing what they are told. They don't want to be on the wrong side, and now that Moto is back they're starting to wonder. Maybe we'll be able to turn one or two of them back to help us escape!

“My men are loyal,” Franco scoffed in reply. “Each and every man here knows he's on the right side, the winning side. Together we're going to forge a brilliant new destiny for this country, and maybe even the world.”

“You'll all be executed,” Moto said in a clear, somber voice. “When Edwards hears about what happened, they will put the word out. Others will come as well. Can’t allow even a single base to decide to defect from the United States Armed Forces, now can you? Especially not now. That would make us look weak. No. They'll want to make an example out of you; make sure no one else ever gets a similar idea.”

I could see a few of the Blackshirts gulp at the thought.
 

He's getting to them,
I thought.
They're starting to wonder if they did the right thing. There might still be a chance for us after all.

“Those of you not cut down in battle will be rounded up,” Moto charged on, not wanting to lose their attention. “You'll be court-martialed, found guilty, and sentenced to death for treason against the US Government and its people. At best you'll spend the rest of your days as a prisoner doing hard labor on a work gang, and at worst you'll be forced to dig your own graves before being erased off the face of the earth. Have you really thought about it?”

Before Franco could reply, one of the Blackshirts closest to him stepped forward with a sneer, looking Moto up and down like he was less than nothing.
 

“Why don't you show him?” The man said, turning calmly to Franco and smiling like a loyal lap dog. “Let them see firsthand why we're not afraid of any army anymore, sir.”

“That's an excellent idea, Zane,” Franco said, the glimmering of pride in his eyes shining like a teacher when her star pupil gets an answer correct in front of the rest of class. “Maybe then they'll understand just how futile their position is, and make the wise choice before it's too late. Get them out of there and bring them to the viewing chamber.”

Franco leaned down to whisper to us, while his men hurriedly unlocked our cell and seized us by our arms.
 

“Soon you'll see just what kind of terror awaits anyone who stands in our way,” Franco gloated. “Then you'll be begging to join our side, begging for mercy for you and the people closest to you. In case you're wondering, I'm looking forward to hearing you grovel.”

Franco turned and left without a word, John scurrying to his side and Tank falling in behind him. Most of the Blackshirts went with them, but some stayed behind to help escort us. Zane had Moto by the right arm and was taking obvious pleasure in jerking him around.
 

“Okay tough guy,” Zane barked. “Let's go. And keep it zipped. I'm not interested in any more of your pathetic fantasies about how this is gonna end.”

I hated the way that jerk was talking to my brother. I'd been convinced he was a disrespectful punk from the minute I met him, but I never imagined that anyone would give him a shot at power. Most of the guys didn't like working around him, so he'd often been left to his own devices, which meant hanging out with the other kids like him, the trouble makers and malcontents. I saw a lot of those faces among the Blackshirts. He was their
de facto
leader and they'd followed him into Franco's mess, for better or worse. There was no going back now.

I opened my mouth to say something smart to Zane, but Moto caught my eye with his iron stare and shook his head, warning me to keep my trap shut. He was right. It wasn't going to do any good trying to pick fights with Franco's henchmen. No matter how many insults I hurled, I would never make a dent. More than likely they'd just make our life extremely uncomfortable in the process. It was better to go along for now, and trust that when the moment came to make our move Moto would let me know.
 

We walked out of our cell and along an empty corridor that resembled the hospital on base, but instead of looking like a place you'd go to get better, the equipment I saw appeared designed to do the exact opposite. Other than the occasional kick to the back of the legs, or elbow to the kidney shoving us along, we were left alone. I could feel a knot throbbing on my head from where I'd been punched. I didn't even want to know how bad I looked.
 

Please just let us survive this
, I thought.
If not for me, then for Felicity's sake. It would kill her to learn I'd been tortured, and then executed in cold blood.
 

My legs burned as we walked along; my extremities feeling every point of impact from the previous beating I'd taken. I felt the bitter tendrils of self-pity beginning to curl up inside of me, but fought them back with all my spirit, unwilling to believe this was the end.

Don't let them infect you with their propaganda,
I reminded myself.
If they get inside your mind they've won, but you can fight to keep them out!

At last we reached the viewing chamber and were roughly pushed inside. It was a dark room, not unlike a theater, with cushioned seats that faced a thick wall of bulletproof glass. On the other side was an empty white room with rounded corners and a bright but gentle overhead light.
 

Zane marched us in and sat us front and center, giving us the best seats in the house. In the back row John sat next to Tank and several of their men I'd seen in Ojai, their faces now visible. John looked much more comfortable than he had when he'd woken me up not so long before. He was easing back into a false sense of security to avoid admitting just how precarious his position with Franco had obviously become. The Blackshirts stood at attention behind the seats, awaiting orders from their new general. When placed in such close proximity to John's men, they didn't look that much different at all.

They're cut from the same cloth,
I thought.
Neither gives a damn about doing the right thing as long as they are on the winning side. That's all that matters to them.

Franco walked up and tapped the glass. It made a thud as his knuckles rapped against it.
 

“Don't worry,” he said. “It's strong enough for the purpose of today's demonstration. I assure you, no harm will come to us while we are in here.
 

“Whatever you think you have to show us,” Moto said, “whatever you think is going to change our minds, you can just skip it. It ain't gonna work, Franco.”

“Oh I think you're going to want to see this for sure,” Franco laughed. “It's not every day one gets to witness the next level in the evolution of warfare. Imagine for a moment the surprise that the Indians felt when the white man showed up with spears that screamed like thunder, sending hot lead missiles like deadly darts singing through the air to kill them.”

Franco began to pace back and forth as he spoke, using his hands for emphasis.

Man,
I thought.
This guy really likes the sound of his own voice
.

“Soon you will know just what they felt like,” Franco bellowed. “And just like those brave pioneers of old, who took their destinies into their own hands and forged empires out of sheer will, soon we will be unstoppable. See for yourself.”