Melt Down by Edward W. Robertson

Author:Edward W. Robertson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: virus, postapocalypse, postapocalyptic, meltdown, science fiction series, breakers
Publisher: Edward W. Robertson

19

The post stuck from the dust like a warding finger. Ness' mouth was dry. Gulls laughed from way on down the river. Larsen nodded, his face as flat as a tablet. The eyes of the workers urged Ness forward as strongly as a hand to the small of his back. He stepped to the post and raised his arms above his head. Gently, Larsen tied the thin ropes to Ness' wrists. Sweat prickled his back and brow. He twisted his head around. A whip dangled from Larsen's hand.

"No speeches," the tall man said. "You all know what this is about. Don't make me repeat it."

"Do you really think this will make me work harder?" Ness moaned.

"Hell if I know," Larsen said. "Five lashes. I'll keep track if you can't."

The first stroke fell before Ness had time to tell him he was ready. It hit his back like something molten. His knees collapsed and he dangled from the ropes, writhing, spikes of heat searing his spine. He screamed and choked. He had no frame of reference for the pain: a hundred bee stings, followed by a hundred more, followed by a hundred more—pain without end, his back tensing so hard he thought his bones would break. Sweat dripped from him in cataracts, soaking his shorts, pattering to the ground. Blood mingled with it; the crowd was so silent he could hear it hitting the thirsty dust.

On the second stroke, he wet his pants.

The third stroke stole what little strength was left in his legs. He hung there, too dizzy to find his feet, panting without end or ease, white sparks overwhelming his sight. Time became a single awful thing. He forgot to scream. Spit dribbled from his lips.

There was no fourth stroke.

"Looks like enough," he heard Larsen say. A strong arm wrapped around his shoulders. Ropes scratched his wrists and fell away. Larsen carried him to his bed and laid him on his stomach. Someone cleaned his back while he was still too dizzy to speak. Nausea cramped his belly. He emerged from the fog and wished he hadn't. Pain beat his back like a tide, drawing back just enough to think it would soon drain away before surging back in a white-hot roil that left him gasping for breath. The swamp cooler strained at the window. He sweated through his sheet.

"You don't look too hot," Shawn said from behind him.

He opened his gummy eyes. He'd somehow been asleep. The light from the window was the yellow of late afternoon. "Feels like I was left in the oven too long."

"They said you haven't been working. I'm shocked, man."

Ness rolled a couple inches on his side, back burning. It was worth it to sneer at Shawn. "Why are we here?"

"To kill the aliens. As long as they're on our dirt, that's the only duty we got."

"I'm not sure how many aliens I'm going to kill by growing corn for the tailors of Spokane."

"Shit." Shawn sighed and sat on the neighboring bed. "We all got to do work we don't want to, Ness.

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