Bryan pushed open the glass door and led the group inside the triangular-roofed building. The sll of food hit them imdiately — this was apparently where the survivors took their als. Long tables and benches lined both sides, and at the far end, a makeshift cafeteria window had been set up, cluttered with pots, pans, and cooking implents.
Bryan waved away the lingering aroma and pressed deeper in. Through a set of double doors on the right — exactly where Mike had described — a long corridor stretched before them, doors on either side. He tried one at random: beds, personal items. Living quarters.
At the corridor's end stood a heavy iron door that clearly hadn't been part of the original construction — retrofitted, bolted into place. Torches flanked it on both sides, lending the scene an almost dieval dungeon aesthetic.
Beyond the door, a spiral staircase plunged downward into darkness. Bryan pulled a torch from its wall bracket, shouldered the door open, and descended first.
When they reached the bottom, the firelight revealed the underground chamber in all its grim detail.
The spacious basent had been carved into a row of cells by iron bar partitions — cages running along both walls, with a massive fire pit blazing in the center that threw light into every corner. In each cell, a figure huddled against the wall, staring at the newcors with hollow, terrified eyes.
Every one of them was filthy. Dust-caked clothes. Scars — so fresh, so old — marking faces and limbs.
At the far end stood a crude cross, and bound to it was a figure covered in open wounds. Blood had long since dried on his skin, suggesting he'd been there for so ti. Hanging on the wall beside the cross was an assortnt of torture implents. The flagstones in that area were stained a permanent brownish-white, scrubbed but never truly clean. No telling how many people had breathed their last in that spot.
"Caroline!"
The mont Corbin entered the basent and saw what lay before him, his composure shattered. He pushed through the group and rushed from cell to cell, screaming his wife's na.
Andrea and the others took in the scene with clenched fists and fury burning in their eyes.
"These people are sothing else," Bryan muttered, running his fingers along the welded bars. Underground prison cells, purpose-built. They'd really committed to the aesthetic.
"Ford!"
"Jesus — what did they do to you?!"
Corbin, having failed to find his wife in the cells, sprinted to the figure on the cross at the far end. He lifted the man's hanging head and recognized him instantly.
Andrea and the others snapped out of their rage and hurried over.
Corbin pressed his fingers to Ford's cheeks, then his neck, then beneath his nose. Nothing. Cold skin. No pulse. No breath.
He looked up at the others, anguish carved into every line of his face. "He's... gone."
"Hey — I'd suggest you focus on finding the rest of your people. So of them might still have a chance." Bryan's voice cut through the grief from the stairwell. He'd stayed by the entrance, unwilling to let sentint waste ti that could save lives.
They scrambled into action, calling nas as they rushed through the cells.
Bryan turned to Norman. "Find the keys to these cells. Should be sowhere down here."
Norman nodded, grabbed a brand from the fire pit, and headed to the far side of the basent.
"Caroline!"
"Theodore!"
"Matthew!"
The nas echoed off the stone walls, amplified by the underground acoustics until Bryan's eardrums ached. He winced, plugged one ear, and drifted further from the noise.
"I'm... I'm here..."
A weak voice drifted from the cell beside him — so faint that if he'd been standing any further away, he'd have missed it entirely. Bryan turned to see a figure lying prone inside, too weak to stand, impossible to tell if they were male or female.
He glanced toward Andrea's group. "Hey — co check if this is one of yours."
They converged on the cell imdiately, peering through the bars. Relief and horror warred on their faces as they called out in unison: "Theodore!"
Norman returned with the keys. Reading the grief on their faces, he quickly moved to unlock the cell door.
"Theodore, are you alright?!" Corbin yanked the door open and rushed inside, cradling the battered man. "Where are the others? Where did they take them?"
"You... you finally ca."
Theodore's swollen eyes cracked open, barely able to make out the familiar faces hovering over him. Tears slid from the corners of his eyes. With a trembling hand, he pointed to the adjacent cell. "They're... next door."
They looked. Two more motionless figures lay in the neighboring cells. The sharp, coppery tang of blood hung unmistakably in the air.
Corbin shuddered, passed Theodore to Andrea, and rushed to the next cell.
Norman had already opened the lock and stepped aside.
"Open every cell. Get everyone out and bring them upstairs."
Bryan had seen enough. He patted Norman's shoulder, cast one last glance around the basent, and sighed quietly. "An eighty-person settlent keeping thirty-odd prisoners in cages. Unbelievable."
He turned and climbed the stairs without looking back. There was still a mountain of problems waiting for him above.
Stepping outside, a breeze swept across his face — a welco coolness in the sumr heat. Elton was already approaching from the periter, dragging two badly bruised captives.
After tossing them back into the kneeling crowd, Elton reported: "Squad Leader — four captured. Five tried to scale the walls. All five neutralized."
As the two battered captives crawled back to the group, they must have said sothing, because the previously docile crowd erupted.
Several older n and won shot to their feet. One middle-aged woman broke from the pack entirely, eyes wild with fury, and scread at Bryan: "You monsters! You killed my son! You'll burn in hell for this! BURN IN HELL!"
Her outburst emboldened others. The shouting spread, voices overlapping in a cacophony of rage and grief.
BANG!
Bryan's brow creased. These people clearly had no concept of what it ant to be prisoners. He drew his pistol and fired once into the sky, then fixed the crowd with a frigid stare. "I suggest you shut your mouths. Now."
The gunshot killed the noise instantly. Most of the crowd registered the look in his eyes, realized their position, and dropped back into a crouch with almost comical speed.
A handful remained standing, glaring at Bryan with undisguised hatred, not an ounce of fear on their faces.
"Elton. Mike."
"Sir!"
Bryan studied the defiant ones. Given Elton's report about the five who'd been killed trying to escape, these were probably their relatives.
His eyes hardened. "Take them outside. All of them."
"With pleasure."
Elton's smile turned cold. Without hesitation, he leveled his weapon at the standing figures. "If you'd be so kind as to co with ."
Under the horrified gaze of the crowd, he slamd the butt of his rifle into the screaming woman's forehead, dropping her to the ground. Blood stread from the gash as he grabbed her collar and began dragging her away.
"Move." Mike raised his own weapon, all trace of his usual easygoing deanor gone. The remaining defiant survivors, staring down the barrel, abandoned their bravado and hurried to comply. They'd heard the young officer's words — just being "put outside." Not killed. It would be fine.
"You killed my son — I will NEVER forgive you! You'll rot in hell! IN HELL!"
The woman ca to as she was being dragged, thrashing and screaming curses, her voice carrying even as she disappeared from sight.
Bryan watched them go, shaking his head with quiet contempt.
Once the seeds of hatred were sown, even the most insignificant person could beco a threat if given the ans. People who openly declared their enmity were best dealt with early — cut the problem off at the root, before it had a chance to grow.
...
Get 20 chapters ahead on - P.a.t.r.e.o.n "RoseWhisky"
Reviews
All reviews (0)