Cessation (© M.A. Kastle)
Page 4
"This is highly unusual Mr. and Mrs.
Emmerson. I’m not above telling you it borders on illegal and we don’t allow
this kind of thing. But, your generous donation has changed our minds." "I thought it would. We only want what is
right. It’s been hard on all of us, more so, for my wife." Mr. Emmerson replied
casting a hasty glance in his wife’s direction. "I can sympathize with you, really." Mr.
Murdock replied. "The first team will go through, and once Ted has them
together, you’ll piggyback, then he’ll signal you. It’s imperative, to
understand there are over two hundred quarries in the preserve. I’m warning
you, there is an ugly side to the quarries. They fight, they are dying, and
they are not the family members you remember. If a fight does happen, and
there’s blood, it serves as a signal, and others will search for its source. We
can get you out, safely, but remember for every quarry shot, there is a fee."
Mr. Murdock finished. Standing with his hand lightly resting on
the butt of the gun strapped to his thigh, he waited for questions. His eyes,
no longer their bright blue, but a yellow/green, from the lights above them
closed as a scream streaked out from behind the gates and over the preserve’s
walls. "We understand." Mr. Emmerson said. "Then we’re ready." Mr. Murdock replied.
"Mr. Meacher, we need to go. The tracker
puts the quarry near the gate. We can get you in and get you out in a timely
manner." "Faye. Her name is Faye." Jack said
abruptly. Ted held the gaze for a cold breath then turned away. Jack without an argument from Ted followed
as if in a deep trance. Automatically lifting one foot then the other, and
feeling the slush squishing under the soles of his boots. Was he going to do
this? Yes. He knew what it was like to kill. But this wasn’t the Cessation and
he paid to kill someone. She was the walking dead. In two or three months, if
one of the others didn’t kill her, she was going to fall down in a sloppy mess
of her own rot. His face twisted with his thoughts. He was going to make it
right, he told himself. No one deserved to die like that. Jack followed Ted, watching the dark brown
coat wade through the sea towards the gutter known as Faye’s home, and soon
heard the sound of crunching snow. It was too cold for September, the snow, the
ice, it was all wrong, but then, nothing had been right since the Cessation. He
shoved each glove in their respective pocket then swung the gun up, caught it,
and in a breath, his palm fit snugly on the pistol grip as his fingers wrapped
around. It felt natural, the chilled metal warming under his sweating palm. "Mr. Meacher, remember to stick close to me,
I have the night-vision goggles and the tracker. Do not leave my side, any
motion to leave my side and the chase will be aborted. Any movement towards a
quarry, you are not authorized to kill, and the chase will be aborted." Ted kept talking, going over the same rules
of engagement they went over the day before. His voice droning on and on, while
Jack could hear the beeps and see the red dot, Faye, he told himself, through
the pocket of Ted’s new orange and silver vest. Jack nodded, when necessary,
not an audible response, if he opened his mouth he would start yelling, ‘I got
it, I got it, I know I know’. He lived through the Cessation; he can go into a
controlled environment and shoot a half dead woman. Sorry, Faye. "Are we clear?" Ted asked. "Yes." Jack pushed through his clenched
teeth. Ted stared at him, again, Jack felt the man’s
eyes burn through his layers of clothing, chasing the chill away and leaving
the stain of judgment in its wake. Jack was about to say something, he didn’t
know what, but he was going to open his mouth, when Ted turned, and started
towards the gate. On the healthy side of the staging area, the
wall looked average, the blocks weren’t ugly grey cinder blocks, they were
shaped tan landscaping blocks, stacked high and topped with coiled razor wire.
The gate, wasn’t a gate at all, they were two steel doors, in the middle of the
wall of blocks. To say it looked like a prison was an understatement. And
before he knew it, the preserve in all of its glory loomed before him. [ Continue to page 5 ] |