Freedom Incorporated, Peter Tylee [literature books to read TXT] 📗

than he looked and was crushing the air from her lungs. “What? No! Get off me!” She raised her voice shrilly and twisted, trying to worm her arms free and reach the icepick.

He squeezed her right breast hard enough to bruise and used his knees to pin her arms to the floor, leaving his other hand free to undo the latch on her belt. He was kneeling on her injured wrists, making her skin smart and her joints pop.

She lashed out with her legs and rammed a knee into one of his kidneys. But, anesthetised by alcohol, it merely made him angry and he slapped her roughly across the face. The impact whipped her head to one side and split her lip, and the taste of warm blood trickling into her mouth. He’d worked her jeans down by the time she recovered from the shock, hopelessly entangling her legs in the unyielding denim.

“Hello, what’s this then?” He found the icepick.

“None of your fucking business,” Jen spat back. “Now get off me!”

Edward shook his head and tossed the icepick aside. “No, I don’t think so you stupid cow.” His fingers clutched at her underpants.

“Stop it!” Jen was nearly screaming, the pain in her wrists unbearable.

“You’d better do what the lady says, Edward.”

He stiffened, looking into the gloom with wild grey eyes. “Why? She’s a fucking whore, what does it matter if I drill her?”

“It matters to Esteban, do you want to argue the point with him?”

Edward hung his head and reluctantly released the pressure from Jen’s wrists. She clutched the opportunity to slam a fist squarely into his gonads, taking pleasure in his squeal of pain. He whipped his hands into a protective cup over his testicles, far too late to save them from permanent damage. He didn’t know it, but later it would develop into testicular cancer. “Ah, you fucking bitch!” He slapped her again, harder than the first time and drew his fist back to land a punch when Junior knocked him aside with a kick. Edward was too drunk to do more than lie on the ground and writhe in agony.

Junior used the remote to cast more light on the room, sending another stab of pain into Jen’s retinas. She pulled her jeans up and fastened her belt before gingerly rubbing her wrists.

“That bitch! Did you see what she did?” Edward moaned, incensed.

“Yeah, and you deserved it too,” Junior retorted. “You’re just lucky you’re as drunk as a skunk or it’d hurt even more.”

Jen rolled to her feet, snatched the abandoned icepick, and rose to a defensive crouch. Junior watched her with a mixture of surprise and amusement.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he scoffed. “Give me the pick.”

She refused and waved it menacingly, jerking it back and forth in the air with a stabbing action. If she landed it in the right place, she knew she could kill him, which was deterring enough to make Junior cautious. But she knew time was her greatest enemy. “You’ve been watching me?”

“Every move.” Junior saw no sense in lying. “We have cameras. We watch all new acquisitions until they’re accustomed to their surroundings.”

“So you were just going to let him rape me?”

Junior almost laughed. “Don’t be daft. I was the one who stopped it, remember?” He took a step toward her.

“Stay back or I will stab you.”

“I don’t doubt it.” Junior took a moment to collect his thoughts. “I want to help you, but first you have to help me.”

“How?”

“Give me that for starters.” Junior offered an outstretched hand, willing her to surrender the weapon peacefully. “If you give it to me I’ll make things go smoothly for you here. Without help it’ll be a nightmare.” He checked his watch. “Esteban’s already on his way, I woke him when you got into trouble with Edward, but if he walks in now there’s no telling what he’ll do.”

“Why’d you call him?”

“He wanted to know if you got into mischief,” Junior replied smoothly. “He wants you protected.”

“I see…” Jen said slowly with a crease on her forehead. “Until Dan turns up, right?”

Junior’s silence told her all she needed to know. On the surface, Junior would say he was willing to help, but he was incapable of delivering. Unless he lends me his chip. She took a chance and lunged, the icepick aimed deftly at his throat. If it connected, she knew she’d have time to continue stabbing him until he stopped breathing.

Surprise registered in Junior’s eyes a fraction too late to avoid the blow entirely. He twisted to one side and bashed her forearm with a defensive move, something he’d learned in primary school karate class that had worked into his reflexes. He wasn’t a skilled fighter, but the block was effective enough to save his life. The tip of the pick plunged agonisingly into the fleshy muscle on the side of his neck, well clear of major arteries and critical nerves. His skin split when the thick base of the pick entered the wound and it bled profusely, showering his shirt with a river of sticky red.

The sensation of pick piercing human flesh was a memory Jen would rather have done without. The feeling repulsed her and she fought the impulse to drop the handle. She jerked her arm back and retreated, waiting to see what would happen.

Junior predictably clutched his messy wound, ferociously scowling at her and cussing through clenched teeth.

“You see.” Edward was pushing to his knees, the pain in his testicles having subsided to a dull throb. “I told you the silly cow was a bitch.”

A sticky trail of blood trickled down the pick and coated Jen’s fingers, making her weapon even harder to grip. It made her ill and she wondered whether she’d have the tenacity to dig out Junior’s spine. “Stay back.” Now it was two against one, hardly good odds. She swallowed her fear and planted her feet firmly on the carpet, ready to lash out at the first person to come within striking distance.

Junior was trying to reassure himself that his would wasn’t fatal. The pain throbbing from his torn flesh was blindingly intense and a gong-like scream for revenge went off in his mind. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

Jen reworked the grip on the icepick, daring him to step closer. She brazenly stepped an inch forward, threatening to stab again if they didn’t back away. It was gratifying to see two large men backing away with fear clouding their eyes.

“No, you really shouldn’t.” It was a familiar voice and she turned to see Esteban waltz into the room. He levelled a pistol at her and calmly invited her to drop her weapon. “You want to put that down now?”

“I’d rather not,” she replied, staring at his gun. “You’re not going to shoot me.”

“Oh no?” Esteban smiled sweetly. “That depends how much you irritate me.” He secretly enjoyed watching her stand there, fist coated in blood. It thrilled him in ways that Michele and Claire were incapable of.

“You need me alive.”

“Yes, but just because I shoot you doesn’t necessarily mean you’ll die.” Esteban cocked both eyebrows. “How much do you like your kneecaps? I’ve heard it hurts like a son-of-a-bitch to have them shot off.”

Just standing in the same room as such a monster revolted her. “Fuck you.”

Oh, you will. “Later perhaps.” He enjoyed the jolt of fear that thought evoked in her. “Now be sensible and drop the icepick. What do you think you’ll achieve against the three of us anyway?”

Jen wasn’t sure anymore, it just didn’t seem appropriate to surrender voluntarily. “Tell me one thing first.”

“Okay, what?” Esteban couldn’t see the harm in entertaining her for a while.

“How do you get away with this?”

Esteban was intelligent enough to understand to what her question pertained. “You’re all sanctioned apprehensions that have, shall we say, slipped through the cracks. Every now and then, someone gets lost in the system and ends up here.” He looked around. “Have you asked yourself why nobody’s bothered organising a revolt? They have nowhere to go. If they leave here, the only place they’ll end up is prison. Your friend, Claire, she’s a killer. Ask her if you don’t believe me.”

Jen felt the determination drain from her body and she knew she was moments away from defeat. She wasn’t yet ready to release hope, but neither was she ready to give Esteban an excuse to kneecap her. She tossed the icepick aside.

“Good.” Esteban waved at Junior and he reluctantly took his gore-drenched hand away from his neck to grip Jen’s arms and twist them behind her back.

Esteban tucked his gun into its holster and drew a needle from his pocket. He used his teeth to remove the protective plastic jacket and spat it to the floor.

“Oh no, please…” Jen wriggled but Junior held her fast. “You don’t need to use that.”

“I beg to differ,” Esteban replied with a tinge of malice. “You’ve woken me up once tonight already and I’m sure Junior would like to visit the hospital. This is my insurance.”

“I’ll be good, I promise, please.” Jen watched him draw the clear liquid into the syringe and flick it to remove the air bubbles. “No, don’t.” Her voice was getting shrill.

“Shut the fuck up,” Esteban commanded. “Or I’ll dig out your vocal cords.” He prompted with his eyes, deliberately tempting her to test him. “Have you ever seen a set of vocal cords?” He waited until she shook her head, muted by the threat. “Well they’re really quite fascinating, so if you’d like an impromptu anatomy lesson just go ahead and keep screeching.”

Jen bit her lip when he inserted the needle, standing as still as possible to minimise the damage to her surrounding tissue. He injected the blend of drugs with somewhat less than a surgeon’s precision and although it was less painful than the previous time, it still hurt.

She was sobbing when he retracted the chilly syringe and they walked her back to her room. Her vision was already fading by the time they laid her on her mattress and the last thing she heard before blissful unconsciousness snatched her was Junior complaining about the gash in his neck.

*

Saturday, September 18, 2066

International Portal Terminals

20:08 Sydney, Australia

Dan couldn’t believe his luck - or lack thereof, depending on how things went. He checked his watch. Damn, Chuck, what sort of hours are you pulling? Christopher Delaney was at his usual counter, validating international travellers. Now what? It made things tricky. If he picked anybody else’s counter Chuck would be suspicious, but if he went through Chuck’s counter, he would know Dan’s chip was fake. Dan had changed and tested his new identities twice in anticipation of international travel. Both tests had proved successful - nobody had suspected he wasn’t Tedman Kennedy and Brent Bertrouney. Either that or they didn’t care to look surprised. The chip selector currently displayed Tedman Kennedy and he’d spent half an hour memorising details such as the birth date, blood type and medical history of the persona. It would be disastrous to forget who he was pretending to be.

But Chuck caused a new set of problems and Dan cursed the fact that his frequent travel had made him such a well-known passenger. Dan couldn’t afford to have anyone scan his real chip, it would forewarn of his impending arrival. No, not acceptable. He sipped a cup of bland coffee at a nearby café to consider his options. It was his third for the day and his mind was zinging with caffeine. I could wait… But that idea merely piqued his desire for haste - Jen was in danger now. Besides, he had no idea whether Chuck had