Dark Resurrection by James Axler

Author:James Axler [Axler, James]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin Enterprises
Published: 2009-01-01T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fifteen

“Time to start the dying…”

Fright Mask’s saliva-spraying declaration turned out to be prophetic, but not at all in the way he’d intended.

The noose hung suspended two feet above Ryan’s head as he knelt on the floor beside Chucho. The one-eyed warrior strained to hold himself in check as the red sash pole-bearer began to lower the garrote-on-a-stick. He knew that when the loop was snugged up around his neck, the ability to free himself from the ankle and wrist cuffs would become irrelevant. Ryan hated all forms of restraint with a newfound passion—he had been locked up in them night and day for more than three weeks. And he hated this particular brand of restraint the most of all. There was no doubt in his mind that the noose pole was another of the Matachìns’ inventions: it smacked of their brutal ingenuity. Strangulation at a distance of five feet was the perfect way to control prisoners who had nothing left to lose. Unconsciousness was just a cord-pull away.

As luck would have it in this case, a very distant cord-pull.

Before the red sash could drop the loop, the entire structure, from the bedrock-coral foundation up, was rocked by a tremendous explosion. The floor shuddered violently underfoot, limestone dust from the ceiling rained down on Ryan’s head. The noose-bearers froze, poles extended, looking wide-eyed at each other instead of their quarry.

Then the lights went out.

Suddenly it was darker than dark. And the darkness was like a blow to the head. Like having the eyes plucked from their sockets, and the sockets then stuffed with wads of cotton wool. Perspective, proportion, proximity, all were gone, as was all sense of up and down.

It was so dark no one dared move.

No one except Ryan Cawdor.

Perhaps he had an advantage already being half-blinded. Perhaps his life in Deathlands had trained him to react by instinct, to seize opportunities at a moment’s notice. Eight feet away in the pitch-black, the cell door stood ajar. His enemies were caught flatfooted.

“Now,” he said softly to his look-alike.

Further explanation was unnecessary.

Ryan and Chucho snapped the threads that held their heavy wrist and ankle cuffs in place, but neither man tossed the manacles aside. Instead, they gripped them by the middle of their connecting chains—turning the restraints instantly into wicked, close range, offensive weapons.

In effect, battle axes or nunchakus.

Great minds thought alike.

Shifting his brace of chain link and heavy steel bands to his left hand, Ryan found and grabbed hold of his double’s wrist. Again, no explanation was necessary; it was a necessity that had instantly occurred to them both. Chucho in turn locked his fingers around Ryan’s wrist. Not just twins anymore, but conjoined twins. Thus connected, they couldn’t lose each other in the dark, and they wouldn’t hit each other by accident.

As one, the two men rose from their knees, windmilling their manacles as they rushed forward, toward the open cell door. Ryan’s cuffs immediately thunked into something.

The something squealed like a stuck pig as it fell back.

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