James Axler – Freedom Lost

“Try the other pair,” Dean suggested.

J.B. snorted. “I’d rather take my chances with these.”

“I’m serious. Right now I’m not going to be laughing at how they might look, that’s for sure.”

Taking his hands away from the locking mechanism, J.B. quickly took out the case with the wide-framed lenses and placed the pair of backup glasses on his nose.

Dean couldn’t help himself. he giggled.

“Nerves,” the boy explained.

“Right.”

J.B. went back to his task, making another quick adjustment.

“Okay. Dean?”

“Yeah, J.B.?” the boy replied.

“Oh, never mind.”

“What?”

“I was going to tell you to step back to the rear of the cell, but if this thing goes off, it’s not going to matter where you’re standing.”

“Oh,” Dean said, debating this. “Thanks for thinking of me.”

“I’ve got one wire left to cut on this sec lock. Cutting it should short the current and allow the door to be slid open without activating the charge.”

“Guess the key word here is ‘should,’ right?”

“Yeah.”

“You think I should crawl under my bunk?”

“Only if it would make you feel better.”

“Nah. Guess I’ll stand here and face it with you.”

J.B. reached out with the miniature pair of pliers. “There is one thing you could do for me, Dean.”

“What?”

“Stick your fingers in your ears. That way, you won’t have to hear the blast in case I did screw up.”

Before the boy could offer a reply, J.B. squeezed the pliers shut and cut the connecting wire.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Beck Morgan, puppet master of Freedom, had chosen his stand near a former Royal Thomasville Furniture Store that had been remodeled into a tattoo parlor. The wooden chair hanging over the doorway and marking the store’s entrance hadn’t been removed when the new tenants came in. All they had done was add a posed mannequin covered in a patchwork of ornate body art showing off the proprietor’s wares.

Morgan had gotten out his private arsenal and was battling a bottom-floor stickie horde almost single-handedly. The leader of Freedom Mall was bleeding from several superficial wounds, most of which appeared to have been caused by shrapnel from the blown wall or from the pieces of brick and concrete the stickies were lobbing at him instead of bullets.

The mastermind behind the stickies’ attack on Freedom had chosen their lower point of entry and advancement well, blasting in through a former side entrance into the predark mall that had once been nothing but tinted glass and metal framing. The wall had been bricked shut and reinforced during the Freedom renovation to make the former retail pleasure palace a virtual fortress, but this was still a potential weak point that had been allowed to exist without worry or fear.

Until now.

“Come on, you stupe bastards! I’ve got a lead tattoo for your sorry asses!” Morgan boomed before launching into another steel-jacketed salvo. He knew his supplies of ammo were running low, but he couldn’t afford the luxury of taking the Uzi in his hands down to single shot.

A huge mutie came rushing around the temporary barricade of rubble and debris Morgan had chosen for his safe haven. The man-beast’s arms were flailing, and its eyes rolled in their huge sockets like pinwheels as the creature ran, bare feet slapping hard on the tile floor. Before Morgan could squeeze off a round, the mutie had eagerly jumped the barricade.

“Budd will get you,” the mutie proclaimed.

“Death at close range or far off, it doesn’t matter much to me, asshole!” Morgan cried as he snapped the clip of his blaster and fired at the stickie, causing the brute’s wide torso to churn up in a frothy, bloody mess. The shots didn’t even slow the big mutant as it continued to lumber forward, grabbing the shocked leader of Freedom by the shirt with both hands and boldly lifting him up into the air.

Blood continued to pour from the wide furrows Morgan’s weapon had made into the stickie’s chest, and still the creature lifted the man even higher. The mall administrator kicked his feet weakly as he struggled in the crushing grip, trying to shut out the unearthly shrieking the mutie was making in a language only others of its kind could hope to understand.