Damnation Code (William Massa) - William Massa Page 0,22
she was working late? The presence of guards near the doors of the assembly hall made her frown. Fortunately, she knew of a back way that led to the auditorium’s balcony.
Giving in to curiosity, she made a go for the less-guarded second entrance.
This turned out to be the biggest mistake of her life.
After witnessing that monstrous scene inside the auditorium, she found herself at a loss. What should she do? Who could she reach out to for help? She feared that if she went to the cops they would laugh at her and word would soon get back to Omicron. Who knew what might happen if her colleagues realized she had witnessed their crime. Nothing good, that was for certain.
A day later George committed suicide and obviously this news rattled her further. The man she’d started dating three months ago was full of life and hope for the future. Like many of the young computer talents in start-up land, George was driven and empowered by a sense of manifest destiny. He was going to play his role in shaping the technologies of the world to come. The George she knew was a far cry from the man who took a dive off the Golden Gate Bridge.
Becky’s first sign of hope came when Michelle rang her and wanted to talk about George’s suicide. It didn’t take much convincing for her to break down and spill her story. But somehow the cult found out about the meeting. And now they’d found her.
The SUV stopped and the door was opened. Rough hands reached for her and she felt herself being dragged out of the parked van. The garage door cranked shut and the cultists pulled Becky out of the car. She fought back weakly but her muscles were still recovering from being zapped by the Taser. Once inside the living area, one of the kidnappers switched on the recessed lights, revealing a tastefully decorated home. Incongruously, a plastic tarp had been laid out over the hardwood floor in anticipation of Becky’s arrival.
The three hooded men hefted Becky’s limp body onto the plastic and her eyes grew wet with terror. She held no illusions about what was going to happen next. The news stories about Michelle’s grisly murder popped into her mind. All she could do now was pray that the end would be swift and relatively painless.
The ring of urban monks slipped on their robotic skull-masks and whipped out their knives.
“Please you don’t have to do this-”
One of the cultists taped her mouth shut with duct tape, silencing her.
Oh God, let it be over soon…
The blades drew closer. Becky closed her eyes.
And that’s when a car alarm shattered the silence of the sleepy nighttime neighborhood outside.
***
The glass-paneled front door swung open and one of the hooded kidnappers emerged from the eco-house. Without the intimidating robot mask, his harmless countenance stood in sharp contrast to the brutal act he’d been ready to commit moments earlier. He stalked up to the SUV and killed the alarm.
Talon lurked in the thick bushes that lined the driveway. Features hidden by a black balaclava, hands covered in leather gloves, silencer mated with his Glock. The moment the cult member turned his back on him, he darted into the open home.
Outside, the cultist finished his inspection. Reassured that no car thief was hanging around the property, he headed back into the house. As soon as he closed the door, Talon’s gloved hand reached for his throat from the dead corner of the door. He wrenched the man‘s neck back with a bone-snapping crack and caught the lifeless body before it could slump to the ground.
Without making a sound, Talon lowered the cultist to the floor and edged deeper into the house.
The other cultists never turned around as Talon stepped into the living room. Their attention was entirely devoted to the upcoming blood sacrifice.
Talon met Becky’s terrified gaze.
The two men must have read the change in their victim’s expression, because they finally spun around. Talon never blinked as he fed the first cult member two bullets.
The robotic mask erupted in a hail of fiberglass, blood and brain matter, the bullet punching out a fist-sized exit wound.
The cultists hit the tarp and painted it red. Only muffled sounds emanated from beneath the duct tape covering Becky’s mouth.
The third cultist faced Talon, blade up, aware that he stood no chance against the Glock aimed at him.
“Drop the knife and you’ll live,” Talon said.
He was lying.
They’d forfeited their lives when they murdered Michelle.