James Axler – Rat King

these thoughts through logically. The memory was too much. Of course they knew

that he had ended up in Strasser’s hands after being flung forward by the

whitecoats at Chronos. Of course they knew that this was where Ryan Cawdor and

his band of survivors had entered Doc’s life. Of course they knew that this was

where he was about to escape, to be set free. They couldn’t change that…could

they?

Strasser was silent as he prepared the next torture. He had already burned Doc,

and the frail man’s limbs were aching where he was stretched out on the torture

table, tied so tightly that he felt as though his wrists were about to burst

with pent-up pressure, and his fingers were numb where the circulation had been

stopped.

“It’s a pity you’ve lost the sensation in your fingers,” Strasser said quietly

as he picked up a pair of pliers. “It won’t be quite as effective as it would

have been if you still had feeling there. Ah, well, it’ll just be a delayed

torture for you, won’t it? You’ll just feel the benefit of the pain when you’ve

been untied and left to rot for a few hours…when the feeling returns.”

“What do you want from me?” Doc husked, aware that his throat was dry and sore.

“Want?” Strasser asked in surprise. “Who says I want anything? I enjoy doing

this. That’s reason enough.”

“I know, you ugly, stupid fool,” Doc whispered hoarsely. “I wasn’t talking to

you.”

“Not talking to me?” Strasser said, a flicker of a smile crossing his face. “I

knew you were crazy, old man, but I didn’t think it would amuse me so much.”

“Shut up. You will be overwhelmed soon enough when Ryan and Krysty arrive.” And

the short, rounded Finnegan, with his tall black friend Hennings—good warriors,

long since lost but not in this moment of time. A silent tear left Doc’s left

eye and trickled down his cheek as he remembered their chilling, and the

chilling of Lori, and the others who had traveled with them across the

Deathlands but had bought the farm before reaching this stage. Good people.

Doc was unaware that he had rambled all of this in an undertone the whole while,

and that Strasser was looking at him with a bemused expression.

“You’re beyond crazy, old man,” he said softly. “I can’t enjoy my work if you

don’t shut the fuck up. So I guess I’ll just have to shut you up myself, won’t

I?”

He took the pliers, and instead of grasping one of Doc’s hands, he used the

powerful fingers of his free hand to pry open Doc’s jaw. Doc was so weak that he

couldn’t resist Strasser’s grip, and moaned incoherently as his jaw was held

open.

He felt the cold metal of the tool’s nose as it touched his tongue, felt the

cool scrape as Strasser opened the nose. The tickle of the metal as it searched

for the edge of his tongue, one half of the nose slipping underneath his tongue,

the other sliding over the top surface. He felt the pinch as the two halves of

the nose started to move together, the pressure on the top of his tongue turn

into a cutting edge that drew salty blood as the nose began to bite into the

flesh.

The pain shifted gear, moved into another dimension as the pliers took a firm

grip, and Strasser started to exert pressure. He pulled on the pliers, the

tongue moving out of Doc’s mouth, extended at the root until the pulling was

painful to him. Until he felt the flesh and tendon at full stretch.

Until he felt the tendons start to tear, the flesh start to rend, the pain start

to drive him over the edge…

But this was a false memory. It hadn’t happened like this. So why was it

occurring now?

“To show you our power to alter reality—to be reality. We are the rat king, we

are God. And you will be a part of us.”

Doc heard the words echo in his head, louder than any outside volume; louder

than it would take to rupture his eardrums and make them bleed; louder than his