Sinners 01 - Branded (9 page)

“Why do you do it?” I’m afraid of his reaction, so I avoid eye contact. “Risk your
life to protect a sinner? I don’t get it. I don’t get you… I know—you have orders
and you follow them, but seriously, you could’ve died yesterday. And for what? Me?
Don’t you think that’s an odd assignment for them to give you?”

“Stop asking me that. It’s getting on my nerves.” His fist slams down on the table,
causing my glass to wobble off the edge and shatter.

His words tear through me, and I cower away from him by pushing my chair back from
the table. The sudden change in his demeanor horrifies me.

He bites his lower lip and closes his eyes. “We should go.” He exhales.

“I can’t do this, Cole. I can’t go. I’m not ready.” After that outburst, the last
of my reserves are gone. I clasp my hands together to stop them from shaking.

“Yes, you are. I have orders and will get you there alive if it’s the last thing I
do.”

Arguing with him isn’t an option, so I zip my lips. He stands and straps his guns
on as I keep my head lowered. If this is a game, I just failed. Coming here has already
taught me one thing—I’ll never understand the mentality of a guard and I hate being
vulnerable.

So I won’t be.

We take the alley and trek to the hospital at a faster pace than the previous day.
As we near the entrance, something seems different. A large crowd waits in front of
a rough-hewn wooden stage. The guards in their black, spotless uniforms stand at attention
in perfect rows like soldiers prepared for battle. Men, women, and children gather
in front as a bulky guard saunters up the stairs to the platform. The body language
of those around me tells me this guard is formidable. Some of their faces turn white,
while others shed silent tears, and the children shake with fear.

This isn’t going to be good.

The sheer dread on their faces makes me tense. I can practically smell their terror.
Cole comes to an abrupt halt, flings his arm out to stop me, and stands rigid and
alert.

“Stay here and don’t move, whatever you do,” he demands.

Before I can question him, he turns on his heel and pushes his way through the multitude.
I stretch to the tips of my toes to watch but lose sight of him for a few minutes
before he returns with a pained expression. I move directly into his path and try
to get him to look at me, but he avoids my eyes.

Now he’s playing my game.

“I’m sorry,” Cole says.

“Wait. What? Sorry for what?”

“I never intended for you to see this.” And that’s all he says before another voice
pierces the air.

“Thank you all for coming,” a man with red wire-rimmed glasses announces into the
microphone.

“That’s Wilson,” the lady behind me whispers. “He’s almost as bad as the commander.”

Wilson’s heavyset face belies a pair of sparkly, mischievous eyes and thick lips that
smack together as he enunciates each word. “It’s come to our attention that some of
you have obtained illegal arms and are using them against us. This is something we
will not tolerate, so we thought a little reminder of what happens to those who violate
our laws would be quite beneficial.”

Of course there are laws when
their
safety’s at risk. Freaking hypocrites.

As he speaks, guards parade four men up the stairs with pistols pressed to the back
of their skulls. Their faces remain shrouded underneath blindfolds and their hands
are tied securely behind them. Wilson commands them to kneel, so they do in a row
across the platform. Even though the stage sits approximately fifty feet away, I see
their bodies quivering.

Then it dawns on me…
Holy crap, it’s an execution.

“By order of the great Commander, you are all charged with the possession of unauthorized
weapons. The penalty is death.” Wilson pauses for effect as an evil smile splits his
pale face. The silence disconcerts me. Never have I heard the Hole so deliberately
quiet.

Wilson stands in front of the accused and yanks off each blindfold, one after the
other, tossing them off to the side of the platform. Starting from the right, he takes
aim, pointing the barrel of his pistol at the first man’s forehead. Without hesitation,
he pulls the trigger, sending a bullet right between his eyes. Then he fires three
more shots and finishes the others.

I gasp with each blast.

“Don’t watch,” Cole says.

But no matter how hard I try, I can’t rip my eyes away. Wilson forces the spectators
in the front row to carry the bodies off the stage. They struggle under the dead weight,
so minutes pass before they pile the bodies in a heap. Their blood leaves a sickly,
foul trail behind.

I feel a small raindrop hit my forehead and roll down my face, but I’m too afraid
to wipe it away. It’s as if someone hit a pause button, and Cole and I stand frozen
in place.

Once the stage is cleared, Wilson announces with disgust, “The next punishment is
reserved for the worst offenders.”

“There’s more?” I ask in a whisper. I know Cole stands next to me by the familiar
sounds of his breathing, but he doesn’t reply.

A young woman with long, golden hair and fair skin is shoved onto the stage.

“She’s a model,” the same lady says behind me. “I guess being beautiful isn’t always
a good thing.”

Bruises mar the woman’s neck on stage, making her purple brand barely distinguishable,
and her right eye bulges, dark blue and swollen almost shut. She possesses no blindfold
and wears only her torn underclothes, stained red and clinging to her body. Her eyes
stay glued to the floor, but her terror is evident even from where I stand.

Then to my surprise, two guards drag another guard in full uniform up the stairs,
casting him next to the woman. He reaches over, taking her face between his hands.
Tears track down his cheeks as he stares only at her. His lips move, but I can’t hear
what he says. She nods her head and he kisses her.

“Guard Mac!” Wilson shouts. “Evidence has been set before us that proves you have
been consorting with this sinner—this disgusting, worthless, prideful leach.” He pauses
for effect. “The penalty awarded those who proclaim to love the branded is”—he licks
his lips—“death!” he screams and points at her with his thick, sausage-like finger.
“And you, my friend, will watch her die.” The kneeling guard cries out, but a sharp
blow lands upon his head, silencing him. “But first, you need to learn to keep your
hands off these filthy sinners.”

Wilson motions for others to come. They carry a small wooden table to the platform,
set it down, and proceed to secure the concussed guard’s right hand to the table with
solemn faces. The once guard—now prisoner—struggles against the restraints.

“Stop! You’re the lowest of the low. You bring shame to the guards,” Wilson says.
The pitch of his voice rises to a squeak and his eyes focus on Mac with unwavering
intensity as a crude smile makes its way across his face. In another life, I might’ve
laughed at him but not here. Not now.

With all eyes riveted upon them, Wilson arches his back and swings a machete down
to the table with all his might, attempting to slice off the man’s right wrist
.
A terrible, bloodcurdling scream escapes the man’s throat and splits the air. Thinking
it’s over, I cover my mouth to keep from screaming, but then he swings again and again,
chopping roughly through the wrist bones. Vomit rises in my throat when I see the
blood spurt from where his hand once was. Splinters of bone, broken and uneven, lie
limp on the table. A collective groan flows swiftly through the crowd like a wave.

The guards lift up the man, who’s almost unconscious, and place him face-to-face with
his lover. She cries and pulls him to her.

“I love him,” she wails.

Don’t they have any remorse? Any at all? I begin feeling woozy and sway slightly to
the right, but Cole’s arm steadies me for an instant. And then it’s gone.

Mac looks at Wilson, who now stands at the woman’s side with a red-hot iron as large
as a bat. A sanguinary light forms in Wilson’s eyes and froth bubbles at the creases
of his mouth like a hungry beast waiting for the final slaughter. Then Wilson torches
her skin with the heavy iron as another guard restrains Mac.

“Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!” She shrieks in agonizing pain. The sizzle of her skin and smell
of the burning flesh reaches even me. Her head flips back, the tendons tight, as her
mouth opens to scream again.

The sound of her shrill vocals snaps Mac from his bloodied stupor, and the next part
happens so fast I barely catch the blur of movement. Mac breaks free and uses his
remaining hand to pull a dagger from his boot. He lunges forward and throws it straight
into her heart with a sickening thump. Instantly, her chin flops to her chest.

“Oh my God!” escapes from my mouth.

Wilson shakes his head, aims his pistol, and blows Mac away. Bits of brain and blood
spatter those closest to the stage and they frantically try to brush it off. I bend
over and heave at the sickening sight.

“What a pity,” Wilson says. “I wanted to torture him a tad longer.”

The people around us stand with grim faces. I feel their hatred, anger, and despair.
The message is clear—the guards still own the Hole and no one, not even their own,
is free from their judgment.

I look at Cole, but he shakes his head as if saying
don’t speak
. I wonder if he knew the guard who was executed, but there’s no chance to ask him
as he pulls me along while shoving through the crowd, dispersing with heavy feet.
I feel hopeless.

Cole leads me around the back of the hospital and past the stares of several groups
of distraught guards. The eyes I want to avoid most are Wilson’s, but he glares right
at me. His uniform is slick with the blood of his victims—a picture of Satan himself.

“ID card and access code,” the guard says at the post. Cole hands over his ID.

“Access code 0406.”

“I need to see hers as well.” The guard motions to me.

After checking the paperwork, he turns, eyes me with a hungry smile, and winks. “You
may proceed.”

I wonder what the paper says, but there’ll be time to ask later.

We enter a garage filled with tanks and other military vehicles. No graffiti lines
the walls, no broken glass littering the cement floor. It’s the cleanest place in
the Hole. The incandescent lights of the training center brighten the garage, making
it seem almost livable in comparison to everywhere else. Halfway in, I stop to throw
up between two parked vehicles. I can’t purge my mind of the images of the executions,
and my stomach won’t settle.

“Pull it together. We don’t have time for this.”

“I’m trying,” I say, trying to catch my breath. But then I heave again, making a loud,
retching noise.

Ugh, stop bringing attention to yourself.

“Is that it? Geez.”

“You could try being sensitive, you know.” I stand and wipe my face with my collar,
trying to make myself presentable.

“You saw what happens to those who’re sensitive. Now come on.”

“But that’s different,” I mumble back.

He jerks me aside. “Are you trying to get yourself killed? Me? Just shut up and move.”
He stands so close I can see the veins in his eyes.

“I didn’t mean—”

“Is there a situation here?” A guard interrupts us.

Cole steps back and salutes. “No, sir.”

“It sounds like your sinner has quite a mouth on her. Do you need me to set her straight?”
His icy stare is unreadable, but his hand moves to the baton strapped at his side.

“No, that won’t be necessary. I have it under control, sir,” Cole says.

The tall guard glares at me with cold, blue eyes and steps forward until he stands
in front of me. He twists his head toward Cole. “I know she’s your first female prisoner,
so I’m making this clear now… Weakness is
not
acceptable.” Then he touches a lock of my hair, fiddling with it between his fingers.
“She’s delicious though, isn’t she? Lust. How tempting. You should really watch that
mouth of yours, darlin’, or we’ll find a better use for it.” He hisses in my ear like
a snake.

I pull my head away from him and step backward into Cole. His chest tightens the second
I touch him, so I freeze.

“At ease.” The guard spins, but shouts as he walks away, “Oh, Cole… don’t forget we’re
watching you as well!”

For a moment, I’m frozen and Cole’s face turns various shades of red. I can’t tell
if he’s furious with me or with the guard, but he’s definitely angry. Zeus whines
at his side, startling me. With the intensity of the morning’s events, I forgot he
was even with us.

“Let’s get out of here. And don’t speak,” Cole says.

Fear overrules my humiliation. My fingers tremble and my heart flutters anxiously.
I stay close behind him as we enter the training center. The last thing I want to
do is enter a building teeming with more guards, but I have no other choice.

The training center looks like an indoor dome. Different stations take up sections
of the massive room. On the walls, I glimpse an arsenal of weapons comprised of numerous
makes and models of guns and knives of all sizes and even unsuspecting weapons such
as sticks and batons. Everything gleams in the light as if polished daily. I don’t
have a name for most of the things I see, but I know they’re all lethal in the hands
of a guard. At one particular station, men line in a row, shooting at a moving target.
The noise is deafening without ear protection and I cringe at the echo of each discharge.
Another group suit up in all of their combat gear to perform a simulated attack. Some
turn to watch us, while others focus on the task at hand.

“Keep your head down and walk,” Cole says to me. Zeus growls at the man nearest to
us, so the man turns around and goes in another direction. The elevator door closes
after we step in and Cole swipes his badge.

In the relative safety of the elevator, I can’t hold it in any longer. “I can’t believe
he killed her. Why would he kill her? If he loved her—”