Cia Rose Series Box Set by Rick Wood

Author:Rick Wood [Wood, Rick]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Post-Apocalyptic | Horror
Publisher: Rick Wood Publishing
Published: 2019-09-12T04:00:00+00:00

THEN

Chapter Twenty-Five

It took a lot for Dalton to be able to push his way into the segregation unit.

It was supposed to be unvisited. Isolated. So that those being punished could be left alone.

But there was no way that Dalton was letting Brooklyn rot away in a tiny room with a wooden slab for a bed and a pot for his shit – not after what Brooklyn had done for him.

Brooklyn’s actions had been stupid, yes, but still – it was Brooklyn’s interpretation of loyalty, however misguided his actions were.

As he waited for the verdict as to whether he’d be allowed in, he ran through the afternoon’s events once more, helplessly picking apart what he could have done differently; at what point he could have asked Brooklyn to stop, begged him to come around.

But no, Brooklyn had his own misguided stubbornness that no one could change.

“At ease!” the general had said, marching down the corridor.

All the soldiers on floor three had stepped out of their rooms and stood to attention. Now, at the general’s prompt, they separated their legs and placed their hands behind their back. They stood in a row, obediently dormant as General Hark patrolled the space before them, inspecting their beds.

It all felt a little bit…childish. Like they had to have their beds analysed for creases. There were monsters outside the Sanctity, killing people, as they had done the vast amount of the world’s population, and here they were having to stand in silence as some pompous, self-righteous arsehole checked whether they had made their beds in sufficient time.

“Okay,” Hark muttered as he passed one private’s bed.

“Yes, fine,” as he passed another.

He paused beside Dalton.

“What’s this?” Hark demanded.

“What’s what, sir?” Dalton responded with his face stiff and his voice confidently compliant.

“This shit sty you call a bed?”

Dalton glanced over his shoulder. His bedsheets were somehow untucked and his pillow skewwhiff. He must have missed it.

“Did I tell you to look at it?” Hark barked.

Dalton turned and faced ahead again.

“No, sir.”

“So tell me, what the hell is this?”

“I don’t know, sir.”

“Do you not know how to make a bed?”

“I do, sir.”

“Then why is it such a fucking mess?”

Dalton hesitated. Allowed himself a sigh he knew would only incense Hark. Hark didn’t want an actual answer, he just wanted to show Dalton up, and Dalton knew he just had to ride it out.

“It’s just a bed, sir.”

“What!” Hark shouted, moving his face so close to Dalton’s he could smell the tuna from last night’s dinner.

“I mean, with all respects, I don’t consider a crooked pillow to be that important,” he said, then made sure to add, “sir.”

Hark retracted a baton and, without warning or cause, swung it at Dalton’s leg. Dalton moaned in agony as he fell to his knee.

“Let’s have it better next morning,” Hark instructed, then moved along to the private next to Dalton: Brooklyn.

Brooklyn’s bed hadn’t been touched at all. It was a mess. Completely unmade.

Which was strange, as Dalton could have sworn he’d seen Brooklyn making his bed that morning.

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