The Dark Horde (21 page)

“I’ll bet,” Brian spat.

Douglas smiled back at his former colleague.

“Aren’t you going to tape-record this?”

“Won’t be necessary,” Douglas answered. “What transpires here won’t ever be admitted in any court.”

“I thought you would have tried to maintain a semblance of proper procedure. But obviously you don’t even care for that.”

“No Brian, I don’t. I only care that you do exactly what I say.”

“Ha! And what makes you think I’m going to cooperate with a slimy fuck like you?”

“Come now Brian, be reasonable. We’re both adults here and you’re not doing yourself any favours.”

“Be reasonable? You arrest me without a scrap of fucking evidence and you expect me to be reasonable? I know you’re in on this and obviously the rest of your arse-licking officers are too, so go fuck yourself.”

Douglas sighed and shook his head disapprovingly. “It really doesn’t matter what you do, Brian. They can’t be stopped.”

“Then why even bother talking to me, if it makes no difference?”

A note of irritation crept into Douglas’ voice. “Because I’m offering you the choice I was never given, the choice to join us.”

Brian snorted. “Get fucked.”

“Join us and you can have all that you desire. Alternatively, you can refuse and leave me no option but to have you, your family and that dumb slut you call your girlfriend killed.”

Brian launched himself forward. He crashed over the table onto Douglas, knocking him backwards off his chair. Brian’s handcuffed hands grabbed Douglas’ throat as Douglas tried in vain to wrest them free.

“And what’s to stop me crushing the life out of you now like the worm you are?”

Douglas could only choke in reply.

“If it doesn’t matter what I do, then I might as well... Then we’ll call it even!”

Brian’s fingernails dug into Douglas’ windpipe, drawing blood that glowed purple under the muted fluorescent lighting.

At that moment, Constable Harrington rushed into the room, wielding a syringe. Whilst Brian and Douglas struggled, Robert plunged the needle into Brian’s arm.

Brian pivoted to slam his boot into Robert’s knee. Robert cried in pain and grabbed his knee, releasing the syringe now planted in Brian’s shoulder. Still choking Douglas, Brian followed up on Robert with a kick to the head, knocking him backwards.

“You spineless leech,” were the last words Brian uttered before he collapsed unconscious to the floor.

Douglas coughed and rubbed his wounded neck. “What took you so long?”

Robert, fretting over his own wounds, paused to answer. “I thought you had the situation under control.”

Douglas stepped forward to knee Robert in the groin. Robert doubled over in agony.

“The next time you fail to provide backup when needed Robert, I’ll execute you myself.”

“Yes, sarge,” Robert managed to splutter.

“Now put Brian into one of the cells until tomorrow. Hopefully he’ll be more reasonable with the light of day.”

Robert winced as he limped over to Brian’s body and began to drag him by his feet out of the room.

“And before you’re done, Robert, handcuff his hands
behind
his back. I don’t want any repeat performances.”

TUESDAY 10:09
PM

He stood on the wooden veranda outside the Unit.

Angry.

He looked in at the life of H Unit that he hated and was soon to destroy.

Deadly.

He loaded his gun and slammed the breech home, gritting his teeth.

Let the carnage begin.

The door opened and a short, skinny, brown-haired boy stood at the entrance a moment before entering... Shotgun in hand.

Ben didn’t look up from the table tennis table, “Hey Danny, can ya get me some snakes from me tuck box.”

“I don’t think so,” Danny replied, levelling his gun point blank at Ben’s chest and pulling the trigger.

The blast scattered Ben’s innards across the room in small, bloody chunks.

Alex stood frozen on the other side of the table.

“Hey Alex, d’you want some Maltesers?” Danny said, turning the barrel towards him. “Well, have some lead instead!”

Danny unloaded another pellet spray, striking Alex in the face. Fragments of flesh landed in the dormitory beyond, others splattered against the wall and stayed there. Alex slumped to the ground in a widening pool of his own blood, his head a featureless mess.

“Hmm, not enough choke,” Danny commented, adjusting his weapon.

Danny stepped over to Alex’s body and put another blast through his nose, sending a parade of multi-coloured marbles dancing across the wooden floor.

Now Danny turned to enter the pantry...

Damien was there, like he suspected, raiding Danny’s tuck box, like he always did.

Damien just had time to look around from his position crouched over the box, before Danny slammed a boot into his face. Sending blood, spittle and teeth flying, Damien crashed against the wall, unconscious.

Danny followed up by ramming the nozzle of his weapon into Damien’s neck.

Damien stirred once, gurgled twice, and then was dead.

His work done here, Danny left the pantry. Now carrying an automatic rifle, he headed for the sounds of life coming from the dormitory...

Between two rows of beds that lined the long room, four of them were kicking a football that barely missed windows and lights.

I don’t believe my luck.

Mike stood closest to Danny, his attention on the incoming football...

Which would never reach him.

Danny struggled to contain his shuddering rifle as it discharged a furious volley of silvery death. The volley of bullets sliced through Mike, walls, windows, beds and the football, which fell to the bloody ground in red strips.

Mark was next to Mike and dived for cover behind one of the nearby beds, as did Didge at the other end of the dormitory. Clint, also at the far end, was not so quick...

And merciless, lethal fire tore into him where he stood.

Clint’s corpse fell onto the shattered and blood-speckled window behind him. The upper half of his mangled body flopped backwards out of the opening: a grotesque expression of death.

Danny unleashed another burst of fire at Clint’s exposed belly, severing his body. The truncated torso slid out of the window, dragging with it long loops of leaking intestines. Clint’s disjunct lower half flopped sideways to the ground.

“This is fun,” said Danny, blood-smeared, cradling his toy.

On cue, Didge stuck his head up over the bed he hid behind...

To see Danny staring down the gun sights at him...

Who did not hesitate to kill.

An onslaught of bullets slugged through Didge’s head, shattering his skull and scattering grey chunks of brain. The force of the strike lifted him off his feet and dumped him on the bed behind.

Mark crouched in-between beds not far from Danny, not daring to move. He heard determined footsteps approaching and closed his eyes, praying for salvation.

Danny reached the aisle where Mark crouched, shaking with terror.

Danny looked down on him with contempt. “Any last words?”

Mark pulled his body into a tight ball, squeezing his teeth and eyes shut.

Then the gun fired again and he knew only darkness.

“Guess not,” Danny said with a shrug, before moving on...

Danny stepped into the togs room and saw with a smile that Scuza was here, his back to Danny, bent over one of the low benches, polishing his boots.

Danny drew a long machete from his garments and plunged its wicked blade into Scuza’s back.

“Hey, Scuza, have some blood to polish those boots!” Danny taunted as Scuza screamed in agony and the knife emerged out the other side of his abdomen.

“Remember that time you told me I was too wimpy to even hurt a fly?” Danny grunted in Scuza’s ear, lifting Scuza against him by the hilt. “Well, I’ve learned to kill now. And let me tell you it’s a
real rush!
”

The knife twisted inside Scuza, cutting up through his stomach. His screams ended and Danny let him slide off the blade to fall in a bloody heap on the floor...

Danny stuck his head into the bathroom and saw Robbo was there, brushing his teeth.

“Have you got gills, Robbo?” Danny said as he entered.

“What the fuck do you want, turd face?” Robbo swore at him in flecks of toothpaste.

“VENGEANCE!” Danny shouted, running at Robbo.

Before Robbo acted, Danny had one hand threatening to break his arm behind his back and had the other hand forcing his head into the basin that was rapidly filling with boiling water. Such speed and strength, Robbo had never known.

“Do you say you’re sorry now, Robbo?” Danny mocked as the scalding water swept around the edges of Robbo’s freckled face. “Do you take back all the shit you’ve given me over the years, all the insults, all the beatings?”

Robbo desperately tried to struggle free, but Danny’s grip was strong as his will to murder. Robbo could only gurgle in pain.

“Say you’re sorry! SAY IT PUNK!”

Robbo’s reply was lost beneath a wave of water.

“I CAN’T HEAR YOU!” Danny taunted. “SPEAK CLEARLY, YOU FUCK!”

Robbo emptied his lungs, trying in vain to sound words that merely emerged as bubbles.

Phlegm and tears merged with the scalding water now surging down Robbo’s throat, running its course of ruin. Danny continued to yell, “I STILL CAN’T HEAR YOU! SPEAK LOUDER, SHIT-HEAD!”

His head submerged in the overflowing basin, Robbo went into a fit of coughing. In throes of death he vomited blood and bile, unable to stop from reflexively inhaling it back again.

Eventually the convulsions subsided and Danny released his grip. Robbo’s lifeless body slumped to the floor, his face a mess of red, blue and green.

“Such a shame,” Danny said, shaking his head.

Turning away, Danny saw that one of the doors to the toilet cells was closed: its occupancy confirmed by a ‘pfft’ sound.

Redrawing his machete, Danny rammed it into the toilet door near the lock. With a loud crack, he forced the door open...

Within, Bill sat prone, trousers crumpled at his ankles. He looked up at Danny, blood-spattered and grinning with a long heavy knife in one hand.

“Danny? What the hell are you doing?”

Danny replied by lunging forward with his blade at Bill’s exposed scrotum. There was a sound like sheets ripping and then a soft plop as Bill’s disembodied testicles landed in the toilet bowl.

“Who’s the one without any balls now, Bill?”

“SOMEONE HELP ME!” Bill screamed as he pulled his knees up to his chest and tried to ward Danny off with outstretched arms.

“I wouldn’t worry about the loss,” Danny reassured him. “You’ll be dead in a few seconds anyway.”

Danny struck again, stabbing his knife through Bill’s forehead, pegging him against the cistern behind.

The cistern ruptured, washing blood down Bill’s shirt and onto the tiles below.

“Let’s go check the boiler room!” Danny said to himself, tingling with anticipation...

Price and Derrick were there, kneeling on the concrete floor as they chopped wood for kindling to light the boiler.

“That’s not how you split it!” said Price in frustration, his back turned to Danny as he entered the room.

“No, but this is!” interrupted Danny, lifting an axe lying against the side wall.

Price turned to face Danny as Danny brought the axe down onto the crown of his head and cleaved it in half.

Derrick, staring at Danny through blood-spattered glasses, jumped back onto his feet, incredulous. “What’s happened to you, Danny?”

“Question is,” Danny grinned, “what’s gunna happen to you.”

Derrick bolted for the door leading outside, but Danny was too fast, swinging his axe at the back of Derrick’s retreating knees.

The sharpened axe-head bit into Derrick’s flesh, slicing bone and causing Derrick to buckle backwards. His head hit the concrete, sending his glasses tumbling. Through a blur of red, he looked up at Danny, now standing over him.

“Why, Danny?” was all he had time to utter before the blunt side of the axe impacted on his head, flattening it against the floor.

Danny paused to scrape a bit of red pulp off his shoe, before stepping outside...

On the slope outside the Unit, under the gaze of floodlights, Bruce and Jamie were working together with a hacksaw on a stubborn log.

Bruce looked up as he wiped his brow. “It’s the geek.”

Danny approached, the wolf to the sheep...

Bruce took a few menacing steps towards Danny. “Fuck off, geek.”

Danny shook his head, coming closer.

“You’re really asking for it, geek. Now FUCK OFF!”

Danny moved to within Bruce’s striking range, glutton for punishment... Or to punish.

Bruce raised a fist and in response, Danny raised a revolver to his face, pulling the trigger.

Bruce’s head exploded backwards as the large calibre bullet ripped out the back of his skull, fanning gore over a wide area.

Danny looked down at his pistol. “Not bad, the old Smith and Wesson.”

“YOU’RE FUCKED NOW!” Jamie screamed, eyes bulging from his sockets.

“You think?” Danny answered with a smirk.

Jamie came at Danny with a low gut-punch, but by the time he swung, Danny wasn’t there. Danny had moved beside Jamie in an instant and kneed him in the stomach. Jamie doubled over with a groan as his breath left him.

Before Jamie could recover, Danny hit him again, bringing his heel down onto his spine. Jamie slumped to the ground.

“That’s for calling me, geek!”

Danny slammed his boot into Jamie’s groin, drawing a muffled cry of pain.

“That’s for always telling me what to do!”

Jamie lay writhing, trying to blink away the dirt that filled his eyes, but could do nothing more.

“And this is for making me eat shit!”

Danny jumped above Jamie’s head and came down on it so hard, that it split open against the rock, spilling its seeds.

All was calm around Danny now. His vendetta was complete.

Then he heard the sound of something growling... Nearby.

Danny turned to the source to see a large black wolf emerge from a stand of gum trees, fiery crimson eyes flashing in the mottled light. He stood transfixed as it dashed across his path and was gone...