Tortures of the Damned

by Hunter Shea

Genres: Horror; Thrillers; Supernatural suspense; Suspense

Synopsis

SHOCK… First, the electricity goes—plunging the east coast in darkness after a devastating nuclear attack. Millions panic. Millions die. They are the lucky ones. AFTER SHOCK… Next, the chemical weapons take effect—killing or contaminating everything alive. Except a handful of survivors in a bomb shelter. They are the damned. HELL IS FOR HUMANS Then, the real nightmare begins. Hordes of rats force two terrified families out of their shelter—and into the savage streets of an apocalytic wasteland. They are not alone. Vicious, chemical-crazed animals hunt in packs. Dogs tear flesh, cats draw blood, horses crush bone. Roaming gangs of the sick and dying are barely recognizable as human. These are the times that try men’s souls. These are the tortures that tear families apart. This is hell on earth. The rules are simple: Kill or die.

Release date: July 28, 2015

Publisher: Pinnacle

Print pages: 352

Sample

The trio of explosions ripped the biting January night air in two. Daniel Padilla was dozing between commercials when the sky exploded. He bolted from his recliner, as did his wife, meeting in the middle of the living room.

“I think the furnace exploded,” Elizabeth shouted, balling her fists tight at her sides.

“We wouldn’t be standing here if it did,” Daniel shot back. A framed picture of the family at last summer’s picnic at Orchard Beach crashed to the floor, making them jump. That last explosion shook everything in the house.

Footsteps thumped above them. The kids ran down the stairs.

“Mom, Dad, did something just blow up?” Rey asked. His youngest brother, Miguel, clung to his leg.

Daniel motioned with his hands for them all to calm down. “I’m going to check outside. It sounded like a plane. Everyone just sit tight.”

Max, Gabriela, and Miguel crowded around Elizabeth on the couch. Gabby’s cheeks were smeared with tears, her stuffed koala, Cody, tucked under her arm.

He ran to the closet and threw on the first coat he found. It was a track jacket that belonged to his middle son, Max. It was a size too big for Daniel, but it would do.

“I’m coming with you,” Rey said, slipping into the sneakers that he kept by the front door. He must have been lying in bed listening to his iPod because his short, jet-black hair was flattened on one side. His earbuds dangled around his neck.

There was no sense arguing. Rey was a senior in high school now. Some days he was more man than boy. “Okay,” Daniel said.

The frigid air stung his face and shocked his lungs when he opened the door. Lights were on in every house in the neighborhood. A good number of porches were filled with people searching the sky.

No one spoke.

There wasn’t a sound to be heard. Even the wind had stopped. Daniel didn’t feel the powdery snow around his bare feet.

He looked up and down the street and over the houses opposite them. With his high front porch, he had a clear sight line to the Bronx border. All he saw were stars blinking in a clear, black sky.

When Rey spoke, Daniel’s heart did a triple beat. “How come there aren’t any sirens?”

He was right. Whatever had happened sounded as if something massive had been blown to bits. The screech of police, fire engine, and ambulance sirens should be echoing around them.

“I don’t know. Go inside and see if there’s anything on the news.”

It was still a half hour until the eleven o’clock news, but Daniel was sure this would be breaking news on the local channels.

Buck, his next-door neighbor, was on his tiny porch dressed in full winter gear and wearing his cowboy hat. He was a solid guy in his early sixties with, as he himself claimed, a body made by good beer and medium-rare steaks. “Holy shit, Dan. What the hell do you think that was?”

The silence was becoming more disturbing than the initial blasts. Daniel wiped a sweaty palm over his face. “I have no clue, Buck. I thought for sure it was another plane going down.”

They’d both worked in lower Manhattan on 9-11. Neither would ever forget the sounds those planes made when they hit the Towers.

“I’m gonna call a friend of mine on the force,” Buck said. “I’ll come over and let you know what he says. In the meantime, you might want to put something on your feet.”

Daniel looked down at his snow-covered feet. The sight finally made him feel the cold. He shook each foot, flicking snowflakes, and went back into the house.

“There’s nothing on TV,” Elizabeth said to Daniel the moment he stepped back inside. She was worrying at her auburn curls, twisting the strands tightly around her fingers.

“What about the radio? Sometimes they’re quicker.”

Max held up the small transistor radio Daniel kept around to listen to Mets games when he worked in the garage. Puttering around, fixing things, and getting covered by grease and grime was always made better by baseball, even when the Mets lost—which was more times than most. “I’ve been listening to every station, but all they have is commercials or guys talking about politics.”

Daniel took the radio and ruffled his hair. “Buck is calling one of his cop friends. I wonder if it was an earthquake.”

Elizabeth stroked Gabby’s hair, keeping her calm. “Remember the one in the eighties?” she said. “I was staying at my grandparents’ house in the Bronx with my brother when it happened. My grandfather came rushing out of the bedroom in a panic. He thought the old boiler had exploded, too. When the house had started rumbling, my brother woke up and immediately shouted, ‘Earthquake!’ He pulled me to the doorway between the living room and dining room. I thought he was crazy at the time, but he was the only one who knew exactly what was happening.”

“But it sounded like it came from above us,” Rey said. He flipped through every channel, looking for any kind of news report.

“It was hard to tell,” Daniel said. “It happened so fast. And it was so loud.”

“Are we going to be all right?” Miguel asked in his high, quiet voice. He sat with his knees pulled close to his chest, his big, brown eyes watching, waiting for cues to panic or calm down.

Daniel sat next to him and pulled him onto his lap. “Of course we are. You’re all right now, aren’t you?”

He reluctantly nodded his head.

“And that’s just the way you’re going to stay,” Daniel said, kissing his forehead.

“Do you promise, Dad?” Gabby asked, reaching out for him. He held her hand atop his wife’s belly.

“I promise, pumpkin. It was just a loud noise. Now I’m just curious what caused it. There’s nothing to be afraid of. In fact, we might as well make a little party out of it. Why don’t you, Miguel, and Max go in the kitchen and make us all ice cream sundaes?”

Gabby’s eyes lit up. “Really?”

Elizabeth gave him a warning look. “Dan, it’s late.”

He kissed her cheek. “They don’t have school tomorrow. I think ice cream is exactly what we all need.”

She saw the hidden message in his gaze. Anything to take their minds off it. She sighed and nudged Gabby off the couch. “Make mine with extra cherries,” she said.

The kids tramped to the kitchen, Max hanging back, visibly upset that he, their fourteen-year-old, had been lumped in with Gabby and Miguel. Someone had to keep relative order in the kitchen. Not to mention, Max’s stomach was a bottomless pit. He practically lived with his head in the refrigerator. The clanking of bowls and spoons rang out, along with cabinet doors opening and closing.

The local news started, and Rey turned the sound up.

They began with a days-old story about a train derailment in lower Connecticut. Daniel put his arm around Elizabeth. She could feel the tension in his taut muscles. Four stories later, there was no mention of the explosions. They teased a story about one of the Kardashians and went to commercial.

“That doesn’t make sense,” Rey said. He changed to the other two local stations. No one was talking about it.

“Maybe they need time to get the reporters on the scene,” Elizabeth said.

Daniel shook his head. “Maybe. But you’d think in this day and age . . .”

Rey put the remote on the coffee table and dove into his phone. “I’ll see if anyone’s talking about it on Twitter or Facebook.”

That was a damn good idea. Daniel was always amazed by how resilient his kids could be. He’d never think of doing something like that. Then again, he only used social media sparingly to promote his business. He wasn’t one for sharing pictures or broadcasting to the world when he was going to the gym.

The doorbell rang.

“That must be Buck,” Daniel said, rising from the couch.

Rey’s favorite season was the spring, and not for the usual reasons such as the renewal of life, warmer weather, or it being a prelude to summer, which meant two months without school.

Spring was when he tagged along with his friend Nick after school to the paddocks at Yonkers Raceway. Nick’s father was a horse trainer. He’d worked at Yonkers, Monticello, and Freehold since he was around Rey’s age. When spring came, he allowed the boys to help him out every now and then. Stalls needed to be shoveled, new hay thrown down, horses had to be fed and groomed.

With senior year coming to a merciful end—Rey was not one thinking high school was the best years of his life—he and Nick were on an early dismissal schedule. That gave them more time to spend at the track. In just a couple of weeks, school would be over and he could come here every day. There was even the promise of being paid this summer. That money would come in handy to buy books when he started at Fordham University in the fall.

Today, Nick’s father was working with three horses: Bam-Bam Hanover, Shining Shamrock, and Run Scotty Run. The names sounded absurd, but they came out like music when the announcer called the races.

The paddocks were bustling. Almost every stall was full. Men and horses were in constant motion. The smell of sweet hay did little to mask the heavy, clinging odors of sweat and road apples. Rey’s mother hated when he went to the track. She said he made the whole house smell like a barn. His father, on the other hand, was glad to see he’d taken such an interest. “Boys can get into far worse things at his age,” he’d tell his mother.

He was right. Most seventeen-year-olds in Rey’s class spent their time smoking weed, Snapchatting ridiculous stunts or naked-ass shots, or having “Skype sex” when they weren’t actually messing around with any girl who would give them the time of day. Three girls in his class had gotten pregnant this year. Two dropped out. One said she didn’t give a shit what people thought and was proud to have her baby, even though the father, a sophomore, refused to even acknowledge it was his.

Here he was, feeding Bam-Bam some carrots, feeling the sun warm the back of his neck. A little stink was a fair trade-off.

“Slow down, Bam-Bam. You’ll give yourself a stomachache.”

The black-maned, chestnut stallion snorted, blowing Rey’s hair from his forehead.

“Gee, thanks. Your breath could melt wallpaper.”

Nick’s father walked by, leading Run Scotty Run by his bridle. “Got another one for you and Nick in a few minutes.”

Rey waved a hand to swat away a cyclone of flies. “Got it.”

He patted Bam-Bam’s nose and double-checked to make sure he had enough fresh water.

Now he just had to find Nick. Odds were, he’d be hovering around the race office, hoping to catch a glimpse of Dakota, the hot secretary who had all the guys in heat. Rey laughed. As if Nick even had a shot.

The piercing screech of tires spinning on asphalt brought Bam-Bam and most of the other horses into hysterics. Trotters were notoriously high-strung. An unexpected loud noise like that easily set them on edge.

Someone yelled, “Hey, who the hell did that?”

In seconds, it was pandemonium.

Bam-Bam reared on his hind legs with a high-pitched whinny.

“It’s okay. It’s okay,” Rey said to the horse, keeping his voice as calm as possible.

All he could see was the white of Bam-Bam’s eyes.

Rey tripped backward as he desperately attempted to move out from under the massive, frightened animal.

The bus ride home from School 7 always felt like it took hours to Gabby. Going to school was the opposite. She’d barely have time to tell her friend Cynthia about last night’s episode of American Idol before the dreaded, big brick building loomed outside the bus doors.

Today was worse than ever. Her mother had promised to take her out to look for a dress for this Friday’s daddy-daughter dance. She couldn’t wait to try on dresses and shoes, and if she was lucky, she could convince her mom she needed the new Selena Gomez perfume. Cynthia got a bottle for Christmas, and Gabby had been green with envy ever since.

The bus was its usual riotous self. Ed, the bus driver, was deaf in one ear and didn’t mind the noise. He was one of the few cool grown-ups.

“Do you know what color you want?” Cynthia asked.

A stray ball of paper bounced off the top of Gabby’s hair, landing on Timmy Doyle behind her. He whizzed it over her head, just missing Jerry Adams.

“Definitely purple,” Gabby replied, ignoring the paper war. “I saw this awesome dress in a Forever 21 catalog.”

Cynthia raised an eyebrow. “They only sell clothes for teens and adults, Gabby. They won’t have dresses in your size at Forever 21.”

That’s exactly what her mother had said to her. Gabby remained confident. She might be ten, but she was tall for her age.

“You’ll see,” she said to her friend.

The bus crashed into a pothole and the girls bounced in their seats. All of the kids gave a cheer. Some shouted for Ed to do it again. The old bus groaned in reply.

Gabby checked her watch. Still at least twenty minutes until her stop.

Come on, come on. Why couldn’t this be a day when a lot of kids were sick and there were less stops?

Her little brother, Miguel, came up the aisle, swaying from side to side in rhythm with the bus’s overworked suspension. He looked pale and his eyes were wide.

“What’s wrong?” Gabby asked him.

Up close, she could hear him wheeze.

“Where’s your inhaler?”

He shook his head. Escalating fear shone in his eyes.

“Hold on. Sit down.” Gabby got up and guided him to her seat. Taking a knee, she fumbled with her backpack. Miguel was always losing things, even the one that was so important it meant life or death. When Gabby was eight, like him, she hadn’t been so forgetful. Now at age ten, she often had to play the role of mommy when they were at school.

She found the blue plastic inhaler in her backpack’s side pocket. Giving it a quick shake, she placed it in his mouth and gave him two quick puffs. His breathing regulated almost immediately. The color slowly returned to his normally walnut cheeks.

“You feel better?”

Cynthia had placed a protective arm over his shoulders. Miguel smiled, taking a deep breath.

“Lots,” he said.

“Sit between us until we get home. I’ll grab your bag on the way out,” Gabby said.

The bus came to a jerky stop. The doors opened so three kids in Miguel’s grade could get out. Two mothers and one dad stood on the curb waiting, receiving hugs, and waving to Ed.

Miguel nudged Gabby’s side. “Look. There’s a big fire.”

“Where?” Cynthia asked.

He pointed at the window opposite them. A big, black, roiling cloud billowed high into the sky. It was hard to tell how far away it was. Other kids saw the smoke, as well, quieting down long enough for the distant blare of fire engines to be heard.

“I wonder if it’s coming from the apartment buildings on Bronx River Road,” Gabby said.

“I bet it’s a car fire on the parkway,” Miguel said. “I wish we could drive there and see.”

Like most boys his age, Miguel wanted to be a fireman. He was hooked the day the local fire department showed up at school last year and let him ride in the fire truck. He’d gotten himself so excited that day, he’d had to use his inhaler twice.

The ebony plumes of smoke looked sinister, like an evil, living villain straight out of a Disney cartoon.

Gabby had no desire to see what was causing such a terrifying thing to blot out the blue, cloudless sky.

Today was not Max’s day. And things didn’t look like they were going to get any better.

“Give me your iPod,” his mother said, her arm thrust out, palm flat.

“But it wasn’t my fault,” he pleaded, knowing it was a losing cause.

“I don’t care whose fault it was. This is the second time this semester I’ve had to get you from the principal’s office for fighting. Did you not listen to a word your father and I told you the last time?” He could hear her grinding her teeth. “Well, did you?”

He flinched when she shouted.

“I did,” he mumbled into his chest.

“What?”

Max looked up, but couldn’t go so far as to meet his mother’s eyes. “I did.”

He pulled his iPod out of his pocket and handed it over. She snatched it away, jamming it into her pocketbook.

“You can forget seeing that for the next month.”

A protest died in his throat, withering under her stare.

“And that’s just the start of your punishment. When your father gets home, we’ll talk about what else will be in store for you. When we’re through, you’ll think twice before fighting again, I promise you.”

Max stared at the black-and-white tiled floor. He felt hollow inside. The knuckles on his right hand hurt from punching Chris Nichols in the forehead—he was aiming for the jackwad’s nose—but he knew better than to ask for ice right now. His mother had to talk herself down first.

“Do you understand me?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t know what’s gotten into you this year. You think because you filled out a little you have the right to push other kids around?”

“Chris is a jerk. He’s picked on everyone in the ninth grade, even the girls. Someone had to stand up to him.”

His mother put her hands on her hips. “Are you going to tell me you were defending a girl?”

If he said yes, he knew she’d go easier on him. What actually happened was far, far worse, and not something he could readily tell his mom. It would be embarrassing. It might even hurt her.

No. He wasn’t going to lie. But he wasn’t going to tell her everything, either.

Before he could answer, a loud, piercing wail sounded from outside. It was like a thousand penny rockets going off at once. Even his mother stopped, her mouth half-open.

They both ran to the kitchen window, looking up.

“I don’t see anything,” his mother said.

“Me, either. Maybe it’s coming from another direction.”

The back door slammed behind them as they stepped into the yard, turning in slow circles, scanning the sky.

The screeching grew louder, coming closer with each passing second.

Daniel Padilla was putting the finishing touches on a new web design project for a national car rental company when the lights in the four-man office flickered.

“Don’t you die on me,” he pleaded with his computer. All he needed was another two seconds to save his work.

His partner, Tim Giordano, popped his head over the partition. “I think that’s a sign,” he said.

“Oh yeah, of what?”

Tim ran his fingers through his unruly hair. They’d met working at a major design company in the city in the late nineties. Eight years ago, they broke free from working for The Man and started their own company. A handful of clients followed, and word of mouth spread.

“When the lights start to go out, it’s time to go home. Especially on a nice day like today,” Tim said.

The beauty of being your own boss was that they could pick up and leave any time they wanted. Two junior designers, Vinod and Uday, worked part-time and weren’t in the office today. The biggest project they had was now done. Tim had a point. After all, they’d gone out on their own so they could strike a better work-life balance.

Daniel pocketed the thumb drive and made a second backup. This one would go in the small fireproof safe tucked under his desk.

“I think you’re right. I have to take Miguel to Little League practice in an hour anyway,” Daniel said.

Tim let out a long groan. “Lucky me, I just remembered that Stacey wants me to do the food shopping.” He pulled a list out of his shirt pocket. “Maybe I’ll stay here a little bit longer.”

Daniel laughed. “You can’t hide here forever. Might as well get it over with.”

“Yeah, but it’s only three thirty. Every blue hair with a walker will be clogging the aisles. It’s like stepping into a zombie flick.”

He patted Tim on the shoulder. “Hey, don’t knock them. You’ll be one of those doddering old folks sooner than you think. Some young guy will be stuck behind you, fuming that you can’t decide which brand of prune juice to buy.”

“Laugh it up now, Dan. You’re only two years behind me.”

Daniel hit the lights and was locking the door when a deep, drawn-out rumble of thunder reverberated through the building.

“Sun storm?” Tim said.

The key was in the lock, but Daniel had yet to give it the final turn. He stood still as a stone, listening.

It started again, sounding closer. The doorknob vibrated in his hand.

“I don’t think that’s thunder,” Dan whispered.

Turning the key, he bolted down the hall, stopping at the big window overlooking the parking lot.

Towers of black smoke loomed in the horizon.

Tim bumped into him, breathless. “What the fuck?”

They saw a flash of white arc across the sky. It exploded in a brilliant blaze of sparks and flame over what appeared to be the center of Yonkers. Daniel’s eyes slammed shut, the image of the fireball burned onto his retinas.

He and Tim both turned away from the window, shielding their faces.

The building went eerily quiet. The lights shut off, as well as the air-circulation system.

“Jesus Christ, we’re under attack,” Tim said, rubbing his eyes.

Grabbing his shirt, Daniel led him to the stairs. “Come on, we have to get home!”

Running down the emergency stairwell, Dan fumbled for his cell phone.

I have to call Elizabeth. Please, God, let the kids be home. I’ll tell her to take them all to the basement and stay calm. I’ll be there in five minutes.

The phone was dead. It had been sitting in its charger all day.

Tim hit the steel door to the parking lot. A few people were standing around, looking to the sky.

“Is your phone working, Tim?”

Tim looked at his smartphone. “No. How the hell can that be?”

“I’ll call you from my landline phone when I get home, make sure you and the family are okay.”

They ran to their cars, Daniel clipping a portly man in a disheveled suit who was mesmerized by the sky’s horrid tableau.

“I don’t have a landline phone anymore, Dan. I’ll plug my phone in when I get home. Call me on that.”

“Be safe!” Dan shouted, pressing the entry button for his car. The car didn’t chirp back and his door didn’t unlock. The keys felt like lead weights in his fingers. He managed to slip the correct one into the door lock. It was the first time he’d ever used the key to get into his car.

He jumped behind the wheel, praying to God his family was safe and to guide him home to them.

Rey rolled out from under a terrified Bam-Bam a second before the horse brought its powerful legs down on the very spot where he’d fallen. He scrambled to his feet, running a safe distance from the riled horse.

The paddocks had erupted into a melee of screaming horses and shouting men. Rey was terrified; they were surrounded by one-thousand-pound animals that could easily crush a man.

Something crashed to the ground on the other side of the paddocks with a dull thud. Rey could feel it in his chest more than he could hear it. The ground shook, and he almost lost his footing again.

Where was Nick?

He knew he should probably help the trainers settle the horses down, but he was rooted to the spot.

The secretaries poured out of the race office, staring wide-eyed at the chaotic scene.

Someone shouted at them, “Get back inside!”

Like Rey, the secretaries couldn’t move.

A cloud of thick, white smoke wafted over the paddocks. The breeze carried its scent to Rey. It smelled sweet, with an underlying scent of something sharp and metallic, like an overheated blow-dryer.

“Are we on fire?” he heard one of the secretaries say.

“It looks like it. Come on, get your purse, and let’s get out of here,” another one replied, her voice high and trembling. Rey looked. There was no sign of Dakota. Was she still in the office?

A man shrieked, “Fire! Fire!”

Horses broke free from their stalls, splintering wooden barricades like they were made of toothpicks. They ran full tilt in every direction, nipping at anyone in their path. Men dove for cover. Rey watched in horror as a horse sideswiped Old Joe, a semi-retired trainer who liked to give Ray and Nick tips about who would win a couple of that night’s races. Of course, they were too young to bet, but Rey always checked the next day’s racing form and Old Joe would be right most of the time.

The old trainer went down, skidding on his back into a bale of hay. The horse wasn’t done with him. It turned back, reared on its hind legs, and came down full-force on Old Joe’s chest.

Rey shouted, “Nooooooo!”

A fountain of blood geysered from Old Joe’s mouth. The horse dipped its long head, opened its mouth wide, and bit off his face. With one quick jerk of its neck, Old Joe’s crimson skull was revealed.

Rey wanted to throw up. Men streamed past him. Even Nick’s father headed for the parking lot, not bothering to give him a second look. Someone who looked like Nick was right behind him.

“Nick!” Rey shouted. His friend didn’t even glance back.

If he stayed here much longer, it would just be him and the horses. Another one kicked a man in the small of his back, folding him in half.

He looked into the open race . . .