My latest ebook, Shredder, will be released at 7.00pm on Saturday night.
A CLUSTER FUCK...
DATE: 21/07/10
OPERATION: STRANGLEHOLD
LOCATION: UNDISCLOSED...
Rain falls from the night sky and pummels the empty street, streaming from the cracked pavement and forming fast running rivers in the grime caked gutters. The overbearing heat of the day can be forgotten as the downpour cools the air, bringing with it a freshness that hasn't been experienced for months.
But no one comes out to dance in the streets, there are no celebrations...
Not here...
...Not now.
This is a place of fear, a city held in the grip of war. To walk the streets at night is to sign your own death warrant, to do so in the day is to play a dangerous game of Russian Roulette. Only those with a purpose, those who dare to try and benefit from conflict risk standing out in the open after dark.
Two such warriors run out into the centre of the road, their lower faces covered by loosely tied scarves. One of them holds his weapon, ready for use yet the other has slung his rifle across his shoulder. They pause momentarily and look back, seeing those who pursue them.
“Shit!” The hissed curse is not heard over the sound of the rain.
Three armed men step from the shadows of the ruined shop front, weapons raised and unwilling to wait for surrender.
They open fire, flashing muzzles clashing against the blue forks of lightning from the tumultuous sky. Those being chased stand little chance, their bodies pirouetting as bullets tear through flesh, shatter bone and pulverise internal organs.
As they fall to the soaked ground the air is filled with the acrid aroma of cordite and copper as thick blood puddles around the corpses, only to be washed away by the heavy rain.
No one is there to witness the execution and the three armed killers turn their backs on their victims with no guilty in their posture as they fade back into the shadows a moment before the street is illuminated by the headlights of an armoured Humvee, the first in a convoy of three.
The first vehicle swerves to miss the two corpses but the second and third show no such respect for the dead, bumping over the bodies without slowing. All three Humvees reach the end of the street and turn into the next, heading towards the sounds of combat.
***BREAK IN TRANSMISSION***
The rear of the lead Humvee hasn't been designed for comfort and those riding within are prepared for it. Its what they've been trained to do and its what they're paid to put up with. If they wanted comfort they'd take a holiday.
Four men all sit in silence, three of them waiting for the fourth to talk.
Corbin Keene knows why they wait and he's glad of the respect they show him, remaining quiet whilst he formulates a plan of attack. His face is illuminated by the Adam Tablet held in his grasp, highlighting the rough stubble covering his chin and the scar that runs from his right eye to the base of his ear lobe.
Keene swipes his finger across the touch sensitive screen, bringing up a blueprint of the building they are approaching. He double taps the centre of the screen and the diagram zooms in to show the ground floor in more detail. He studies it for a moment and then shuts the Adam tablet down, placing it on the empty seat at his side.
He looks around the tight confines of the Humvee and then raises a hand to the earpiece hanging loose at his neck, taking it between thumb and forefinger and placing it firmly into his ear. He taps the earpiece, a habit he finds impossible to kick.
“Campbell, Rogers... ETA in five minutes,” Keene announces via the throat mounted mic.
“Roger that, Keene.” Campbell's reply comes through the earpiece, distorted by static but understandable.
“We follow the brief to the letter... no deviations,” he says. “Units One and Two secure the area to the North and South, full quarantine scenario.” He pauses, looking at the three soldiers sat opposite him. “I'm with Unit Three... in and out... no more than fifteen minutes.”
“Business as usual,” Campbell laughs before signing off.
Lightning cracks the sky outside and Keene closes his eyes, leaning his head back in an attempt to relax before arrival at their desitination.
Sat opposite him are three seasoned professionals, Brent, Jenkins and Masters. They have fought together many times and they work like a well oiled machine...
Most of the time.
Jenkins leans forward and taps Keene on the knee before continuing. “I don't like this, Keene,” he says with a raised voice. “I got that feeling in my water.”
“Maybe you should try sitting down to piss,” Keene replies without opening his eyes.
Brent and Masters both laugh, causing Jenkins to glare at them. “Fuck you!”
“Maybe you're due on,” jibes Brent.
“You need a tampon, Jenkins?” chuckles Masters
“Wankers,” Jenkins turns back to Keene, looking for support.
“Enough,” Keene barks at them. “I need you focused.” He opens his eyes, realising he has no hope of gaining that moment of calm he searches for.
“I mean it, Keene,” Jenkins says. “I got a bad feeling about this one... We've got nothing to go on but a location? What the hell are we doing here?”
“We're doing what we do best... cleaning up someone else's fucking mess.” Keene points angrily at Jenkins. “So you take that bad feeling and stow it somewhere I don't have to listen to it.”
The Humvee grinds to an abrupt halt and Keene once again taps the earpiece as he stands up. “All units move out.”
Keene pulls on his helmet and moves to the rear of the Humvee, throws open the doors and jumps out into the rain drenched night. He is quickly followed by the others.
“I still got a bad feeling,” Jenkins mumbles to himself and shakes his head.
***BREAK IN TRANSMISSION***
The entrance hall to the building is silent and empty. The only sounds come from outside, the steady thrum of rain and the intermittent bursts of gunfire. The power is out but the walls are illuminated by the headlights pointed towards the building.
The front door is kicked open with vicious suddenness, the top hinge giving way with a squeal of screws tearing free of wood. The door swings wide, hits the wall and comes to rest at an odd angle.
Jenkins and Brent enter first, keeping low as one of them heads left whilst the other takes the right. Both hold their automatic weapons raised, sweeping them from side to side in a fluid motion, fingers rested on triggers ready to squeeze at the slightest provocation.
Jenkins looks over at Brent and nods an 'all clear'.
Brent looks back over his shoulder and makes a circular hand motion, a silent message to Keene and Masters that its safe to enter.
Masters enters in a similar way to Jenkins, crouched low and rifle raised, but Keene walks in as if its just another day at the office. He wastes no time looking around and then heads towards the stairs with confident strides.
“I want a full sweep,” he states without taking his eyes off the staircase. “Jenkins, ground floor... Brent, second floor... Masters, third floor.” Keene starts up the stairs.
“What about you, boss?” asks Masters.
“I'll take the penthouse.” Keene continues upwards as Brent and Masters drop in behind him, leaving Jenkins to his own devices.
***BREAK IN TRANSMISSION***
Keene doesn't raise his rifle until he steps out onto the Penthouse landing, using his thumb to activate the barrel mounted light. He pans the beam across the carpet, a thick pile that once held a vibrant pattern that has been walk down over the years.
Keene moves forward with a caution he would never reveal to his men. They need to see him as strong and fearless, they don't need to see their leader ever show hesitation. The landing isn't long and holds only one door at the far end. Keene raises the rifle and keeps the light focused on the door handle as he edges closer.
After a few steps the carpet becomes wet underfoot and Keene pauses, crouching down and running a glove covered finger across the sodden fabric. He rubs the liquid between finger and thumb, feeling its oiliness before raising the finger to his nose and taking a sharp sniff.
“Shit,” he curses out loud, wiping the soiled hand on the hip of his combat pants.
Keene stands again, hoists the rifle into a usable position and heads straight for the door, the carpet growing spongier with each step. He reaches the door and waits for a second, listening for any sign of life.
Only when he 's sure nothing awaits him on the other side does he reach out, take the handle and push the door open. He sees what the penthouse holds and can manage only two words. “Jesus Christ.”
Keene doesn't enter the room, just stands in place and takes in the scene of desecration spread out before him. The floor is littered with human detritus, flayed skin, broken bones and shredded offal spread across the room like something from an Andy Warhol nightmare.
The room is suddenly lit by a flash of lightning and, for the briefest of moments it reveals the line of heads sat on the sofa. Keene doesn't have time to count them all but takes a guess at more than twenty, each one missing their eyes.
“What the fuck?” Keene passes the barrel mounted light over a rack and is sickened by what hangs from it.
The number of blood filled bags outnumbers the heads but Keene has no time to wonder at the meaning of it all. He reaches up and taps the earpiece.
“Masters... You clear down there?” Keene asks, his eyes darting around the carnage filled room.
Nothing down here but rat shit and dust,” comes the crackled reply.
“Brent... report status,” Keene snaps the order.
“Three dead,” replies Brent through the earpiece. “Smells like they been that way for a few days.”
“Jenkins?” only static comes as a reply. “Jenkins?” Keene asks again, a slight stammer of uncertainty creeping into his voice.
“Ground floor's clear, but I've located a basement,” Jenkins finally answers. “I'm going to check it out.”
“Brent, get down there with Jenkins,” Keene orders.
“There's some... do... ere.” Jenkins voice breaks up.
“Jenkins, hold back and wait...” Keene leaves the sentence hanging as a something in the penthouse catches his attention, a shimmer of black within the shadows.
“Kee... I... Bodies... least... Dozen,” Jenkins tries to explain but the connection is poor.
Keene raises the automatic rifle and plays the light across the room and its grizzly contents, moving steadily from left to right.
“Fuck... missing... where... eyes...” Jenkins sounds scared. “What the fu...” Jenkins voice is replaced by gunfire.
Lightning flashes and reveals the silhouette of a muscular male, naked from the waist up and glistening in a coating of wet red fluid. Keene takes a step back into the hallway as the figure opens its mouth in a silent scream, blood flowing over its lips and down its chin.
Lightning flashes again and Keene sees that the man is looking straight at him with eyes that cannot be real. There are no pupils and no iris, both eyes the colour of liquid mercury.
“Get on your knees,” shouts Keene but the man isn't listening.
Keene opens fire as the man charges towards him, bullets tearing into his stomach, chest and face. The man keeps coming, twitching with the impact of each bullet. Keene's finger is still on the trigger when the man collides with him.
The blow lifts Keene off his feet and sends him backwards, his head making a crushing impact with the wall. Unconsciousness takes him before he hits the floor.
***BREAK IN TRANSMISSION***
Keene comes around slowly only to find himself laid on his side at the base of the wall. He pushes himself into a sitting position and takes a quick mental check.
No bones broken...
Vision... 20-20
What the fuck was that thing?
Keene releases the chin strap on his helmet and then removes it from his head, throwing it to one side before rotating his neck from left to right and then back again, flinching as a hot poker of pain lances down his left hand side. He raises a hand and taps at the earpiece.
“Jenkins... Brent... Masters?” White noise is his only reply.
Keene leans to his right and retrieves the automatic rifle, checks it over with the speed and efficiency rarely seen. Once satisfied with the weapon's operation he gets to his feet, stretches and then looks around. The first thing he sees are the fresh hand prints on the wall, leaving a trail that leads down the stairs.
“Masters... You hear me?” Only the crackle of dead air. “Shit!” Keene blinks once and then takes the stairs at a run, only stopping when he reaches the third floor.
“Fuck!” Keene sees the blood first and then the severed arm. He knows the tattoo on the forearm.
“Keene,” says Masters through the earpiece. His voice is weak.
“Masters... What the fuck happened?” Keene kicks out at the severed arm, sending it sliding through the slick of bodily fluids. “Jenkins is dead.”
“Come... See... for... Self,” Four words and then the line goes dead, the steady hiss of static once more.
“Masters,” growls Keene, on the move again, following the smeared blood that tracks down to the second floor.
Keene reaches the second floor and slows as he pans the light from left to right, revealing Brent's corpse, the throat slit and the eyes missing. He heads over to the dead body and leans down, reaching inside Brent's t-shirt and pulling at the dog-tags hanging at his neck. The chain snaps and Keene wraps it around his gloved hand as he heads down to the ground floor.
“Masters... Give me your location now!” Keene snarls in anger and frustration.
“With Jen... Down... Basement.”
“I'm coming.” Keene pulls the mic from around his throat and throws it aside as he crosses the entrance hall.
***BREAK IN TRANSMISSION***
Keene takes the steps into basement with a cautiousness not shown earlier. He knows that something is very wrong in this place... something that goes beyond the horrors of war.
He is greeted by the sound of rhythmic thumping, a steady heart beat that pulses through the very walls of the building. As he nears the bottom of the stairs the sound grows louder... dirtier... wetter.
“Jenkins?” he asks, knowing the question is pointless.
Jenkins is hanging upside down from the ceiling of the basement, his ankles bound so tightly that the electrical cable used has sunk through the flesh and is rubbing against bare bone. His stomach has been torn open, the contents piled on the dusty floor. His remaining arm dangles loosely, the finger tips brushing against his own innards.
“Fuck me!” Keene crouches down and studies the holes where Brent's eyes should be.
“Its wonderful, isn't it?” Masters asks and Keene looks up to find the source of the thumping sound.
Masters is stood next to another hanging corpse, the third in a line that numbers more than thirty. He has his rifle slung over his shoulder and holds a vicious looking blade in his left hand.
“They should have told you why we were sent here.” Masters slams the blade into the corpse and begins to use the blade to saw upwards. “Maybe then we wouldn't have had to die.”
“What are you talking about, Masters?” Keene looks passed Masters.
He is intrigued by the strange object that appears to float in the far corner, an eight foot tall tear drop, opaque in nature and seamless in design.
“I never realised how beautiful death could be.” Masters leaves the knife embedded in the corpse and turns to face Keene, raising his rifle.
“Lower your weapon, Masters,” Keene shouts.
“So beautiful,” sighs Masters. “Let me show you.”
Both men squeeze down on the trigger at the same time, filling the basement with the deafening retort of automatic fire.
The last thing Keene feels is the burning sensation of kinetic lead ripping into his torso.
***END OF TRANSMISSION***
Shredder Teaser Trailer: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZTo-96SqGpw
Adrenaline-kicking teaser Garry, plays like the first-person shooter (or is that first-person shredder?) to end 'em all, wish you all the best with it!
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