Suffer the Flesh (14 page)

Screams poured out of the speaker, voices yelling and laughing, the sounds of whips and belts destroying flesh. The whirring of drills was followed by shrieks.

“No …” she sobbed, sucking air, shaking her head. She brushed away tears and looked again at the carnage.

Women chained, hanging from walls and ceiling, some upside down. Being beaten and raped. A shrill scream drowned out the voices for a moment. Marie, tied to a beam, her nipples being burned by a cigarette lighter. Cathy, tied spread-eagle to rings jutting from the floor, was approached by a man handling a grotesquely oversized dildo. Some had been so severely beaten, their faces swollen and hidden by gore, that Zoey didn’t recognize them.

In a section of the room, Megan was tied to rings jutting from the floor. Her joints were being pulverized by a man wielding a hammer, and he methodically smashed bone after bone, bits of white, sharp cartilage poking through purple flesh. Her screams of torment were drowned by the noise in the room, by the pounding of the hammer.

They unchained her from the floor and threaded her mashed limbs through the spokes of an oversized wagon wheel, strapping her in place, securing her. Moments later they began to beat her with a bullwhip.

Zack stood at the front of the room, easily ignoring the crying and begging women. “Dinner’s ready,” he said. “Why don’t you guys—”

The door to the torture chamber was slammed open, and Tamara and Jessica came stumbling inside.

“Oh, no …” Zoey said, getting up. “Oh, god, no …”

Jeff followed them in.

“What’s wrong?” Zack said.

Jeff gestured wildly. “Pete’s dead. Kurt’s nearly dead. You should see what the fuck they did to them. That black bitch tried to sit on me, but I moved away too fast.”

“What
happened?
” Zack said, grabbing Jeff’s shoulders.

“They were loose in there, attacking everyone who went in.”

“
What?
” Zack looked at Tamara and Jessica. Other than the moans from those unable to help themselves, all other noise had ceased.

Zack grabbed Jessica’s hair and yanked back her head. “How did you get loose?”

Wide-eyed, Jessica stammered, threw her hands up to lessen his painful grip. He threw her to the floor.

He approached Tamara. “Tell me.”

She stood defiantly, didn’t seem like she was going to tell him anything until he punched her in the face. Arms pin wheeling, she went flying and landed on her back. He kicked her in her side. “Answer me, you cunt.”

“My hand got loose from the binding,” she cried, cowering.

“What binding?”

“I was on the rack,” she sobbed. “It loosened, and I slipped my hand out.” She sat up slowly, rubbed her cheek.

The men gathered around Zack. Face scarlet, as if with fever, he glowered at Tamara and Jessica. “What did they do to them, Jeff?”

“Pete’s dead. Looks like he was crushed. Kurt’s on the rack. Nearly torn apart.”

“Dead?”

“No, not yet. But he’s a mess. Balls are crushed, joints nearly ripped out of his sockets.”

“Leave him for now. We’ll get a doctor down here.”

“I think he needs a hospital,” Jeff said, scratching his ear.

“No hospitals. I’ll get him a doctor. But we’ve got some business to take care of first.” He glanced around the room, as if deciding on a plan of action.

“James gets a reprieve. Tamara here gets to take his place. And this one—Jessica—she gets the splitter.”

They lifted Jessica, screaming, flipped her upside down, and chained her ankles into two widely-spaced cuffs hanging from the ceiling, her head brushing the floor.

A large handheld saw was brought over.

Zack knelt beside her head. “This is an old-fashioned execution method. Quite ingenious in its simplicity. The idea is that in your position, the blood drains from the body and rushes to the head. When we start to saw between your legs, there will be very little blood loss, so your death will be agonizing and incredibly slow. We’ll slice right here.” His fingers brushed her mound for emphasis. “Right in your cunt. Slowly make our way down, very … very … slowly. It’ll be a while before we reach any arteries or major organs. This will take an eternity, Jessica.”

Jessica sobbed, twisting in the cuffs, her hands spread on the floor in an attempt to relieve the pressure.

Zack took away the shirt that had pooled around her head. “I wouldn’t want you to miss seeing anything.”

“And you,” he said, approaching Tamara, “what did you think you were going to do? Save everyone? Is that what you are, a savior?” He stroked her chin, and she yanked her head back. “Well,
savior
, you’ll meet the same fate as our last Savior.”

Large wooden beams were dragged to the center of the room. Behind that, another man carried a large rubber mallet and a box of carpenter nails.

Tamara moaned, sank to her knees. Zack laughed. “Here’s your chance for martyrdom, savior.”

“What about him?” Jeff pointed toward James. “I thought he was going to be crucified.”

Zack pulled out a cigarette and lit it. Shrugged. “Plan B then. We’ll think of something. I didn’t bring enough wood to do two, and she deserves it more than he does.”

Zack then addressed the rest of the men. “Go back to what you were doing. No need to stop enjoying yourselves. I’ll let you know when I’m ready.”

One by one they returned to the women.

Zoey studied the room. In the corner sat the former guards, hands and feet bound. They weren’t going to be any help. Even if they weren’t bound, she doubted they’d be useful.

Beside Jessica now, Zack licked two fingers and thrust, fucked her with them, jamming them deep. Then he added another finger, then a fourth, twisting and turning his hand until it disappeared. He grinned, seeming to enjoy her screams, her spastic jerks.

Brutally raped her with his fist, left it in there as he spoke to Jeff. “Still too much blood. She’ll die too quickly if we cut now.”

Jeff nodded.

“Hey, go fuck something, would you?”

Jeff snorted, grinned, walked toward the massacre.

Jessica’s blood dripped off Zack’s hand when he pulled it out.

A plan, she needed a plan, but Zoey’s mind wasn’t cooperating. If she went in shooting, there was no telling who she might kill. The idea to wait until the men went to bed crossed her mind, but Tamara and Jessica would probably be dead by then. And there was no telling when these men would need to get some sleep. It seemed as if they were wired, and with all the drugs they kept boasting was roaming their systems, she wasn’t surprised.

Crying wasn’t much help, but she couldn’t control it. This was too much, it wasn’t fair! How was she supposed to help those women?

Zack’s voice pulled her out of her crying jag. He was testing Jessica’s blood flow again with his fist, and said to the man with the mallet, “This is taking too goddamned long, Doug. How long does it take blood to drain to the head?”

Doug hoisted the mallet over his shoulder like a lumberjack. “I don’t know, Zack. What about that dinner you mentioned? We can eat, do her when we get back.”

Zack clapped him on the back. “Guys, listen up.” Some of the men looked, a couple were too busy. Zack waited for them to finish. A minute later he had everyone’s attention. “Let’s grab something to eat. When we come back, we’ll have our crucifixion and our sawing ceremony. I need two of you to stay here and stand guard.” He lit another unfiltered cigarette.

“Why?” Frank, the one who had beaten Zoey with the belt in the nursery, asked Zack. He pointed at Tamara. “You worried about that one? Put a fucking bullet in her brain, man. Or at least chain her up somewhere.”

“She’s escaped once already. I’m not taking any chances.”

“Then why don’t we do the crucifixion first?” Serge asked, patting his fat stomach. “It sure would give me an appetite.”

Zack didn’t answer for a moment. Took a drag of his cigarette, shrugged. “Why not? It’ll get her out of the way. Line up the wood.”

Men dragged the planks to the center of the room, and from the floor, Tamara began to scream.

“Shut up!” Zack yelled, kicked her in the stomach with his boot. Tamara doubled over and fell on her side.

Serge yanked her shirt off. Rolled her onto her back, her enormous breasts sliding to the outsides of her chest. He yanked his cock a few times, spread her legs. He raped her to the sounds of pounding nails, fucked with the rhythm of hammer strikes. She didn’t move. Didn’t scream or try to push him off, as if she had given up.

Serge pulled out, looked up at the circle of men surrounding them, and climbed off, using her stomach for support.

They grabbed her arms and feet and dragged her to the boards, now nailed together in the shape of a cross, and centered her on it.

Arms stretched across the wood, palms up. Small pieces of plywood were laid on her hands.

“No …” she groaned.

“Hold her. Doug? Let’s go.” Zack squashed his cigarette beneath his boot.

He gripped the mallet like he was choking up on a bat and then raised it overhead. A carpenter nail was held in place, and Doug swung, pounding the nail through her flesh and into the wood.

Tamara screeched, her body bucking. Several men held her in place, sat on her flailing body. Another swing of the mallet and the nail was buried. Sprays of blood covered Doug, the floor, the man holding the nail.

He moved to her other hand, pounded in the nail.

Ashen complexion, a luster of sweat covering her body. No more screams; the shock had taken over.

Several other women were crying and screaming, begging them to stop.

Tamara’s legs were pushed together, ankles placed one on top of the other. Doug pulled a spike out of his pocket, handed it over. A small piece of wood was laid on top of her feet, and the spike was pounded in. They reinforced her wrists and ankles with rope, securing her firmly to the cross.

“Gonna need help with this,” Frank said. “We have to lift her.”

The men groaned.

“Couldn’t you find someone smaller to crucify?” Serge bitched.

“Oh, but she was okay to fuck, right, Serge?” Zack said.

Serge turned away.

Four men leaned over, grabbed the cross by the arms. One footed the base while the others lifted, pushing it upright. They dragged it to a nearby support beam and propped it.

“Now we can eat,” Zack said. “I still want one guard in here. Volunteers?”

“I’ll stay,” Serge said. “Fuck, Zack, it’s better than eating whatever you’ve cooked.”

Zack laughed. “Good man. Someone want to go get Ralph?”

Zoey’s heart stopped when Zack looked up at her. “Hey, Ralph?” Filled with terror, wondered if he could see her through the glass.

“Ralph? Can you hear me up there?”

She didn’t know what to do.

“Ralph?”

She banged on the glass. Zack nodded.

“We’re going to grab dinner. Come on down.”

“He can eat with me,” Serge said. “Keep me company.”

Zack looked up again. “You mind waiting? Bang on the glass if you’ll wait to eat with Serge.”

Zoey banged on the glass.

“Good. Hey, Serge, think you can find something to keep yourself busy?”

Serge smiled, shrugged. “I’ll think of something.”

Zack pointed at Jessica. “Do me a favor and check her once in a while. See how the blood flow is coming along. I want to start sawing when we get back.”

The women had been deserted in awkward, painful positions, limbs stretched and contorted, genitalia burned or whipped beyond recognition. Head slumped forward, blood and pus oozing from grisly wounds, Tamara moaned nonstop.

Zoey hefted the pistol and reached across the panel to grab her prisoner’s gun.

Chapter 15

H
uddled at the head of the stairs, gun aimed at dead air, Zoey waited. Ralph’s gun was on the floor beside her, not even a waistband to tuck it into, only the T-shirt on her back. Ralph’s pants might have fit, but she wasn’t about to untie him to remove his clothes.

The door downstairs was open a bit, which she’d done a minute earlier, hoping to avoid suspicion. Bursts of laughter and conversation flew up from the corridor. Zoey swallowed, and raised the gun in shivering hands. Death would be certain if they were to come up now, but she planned to take as many with her as she could.

But the voices faded, trailed until they became nothing. She cried out in relief, wiped the back of her hand across her forehead.

Ralph moved, grunted into his gag. Looked into her blue eyes, pleaded with his own. Babbling into the gag as she approached him, bobbing his head, groaning. The words were unintelligible but she knew what he wanted.

“Not a chance in hell, buddy,” she whispered as she cracked the butt of the pistol on his head. Out cold again, blood gushing from his newest wound. Through the two-way glass, she watched Serge stroking himself, standing in the center of the room. Looking from woman to woman as if sampling a buffet, deciding what he wanted to try first.