Records of the Hightower Massacre by L. Andrew Cooper & Maeva Wunn

Author:L. Andrew Cooper & Maeva Wunn [Cooper, L. Andrew & Wunn, Maeva]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2024-02-12T00:00:00+00:00

Statement 25: Ash

I woke up strapped to a chair, like for the nightly conditioning sessions. My head spun. I wondered how many times they’d shocked me. I lifted my head as my vision started to clear. In the center of the room was a long steel table. On it lay Miles, a white sheet covering him from the neck down. His chest barely moved. I started struggling.

“Ah, there you are, my boy! We’ve been waiting for you.” Samson Cash’s voice echoed off the metal siding.

He sat at one end of the long table, his hands folded over his ample stomach. I tried to scream at him, but all I got out around the gag was a squeak.

“Sorry, Ashton, no questions right now. Save those for the end.”

Cash snapped his fingers, and the mysterious man I’d seen in his office stepped forward. He still wore the leather apron, leather face mask, and goggles. When I’d seen him before, he’d held his hands behind his back while standing at attention. Now that he was moving, I saw he wore dark, shiny gloves.

“Now Ashton,” Cash said, “I want you to know that actions have consequences, and nothing we do here is arbitrary. Mr. Goodman was caught messing around with some dangerous chemicals, putting not just himself at risk, but this entire facility and everyone in it. But I know he wasn’t alone in his little plot.”

I realized Aubrey wasn’t here. What had they done with him? Why was I here but not him? I tried to wiggle my hands free, to move my feet, anything, but I couldn’t.

“Normally I’m all in favor of discretion. But in this case, an example must be made.”

The man in the apron pushed a small metal cart up to the table. On it were shiny instruments, laid out neatly in a row. He gently folded the white sheet down to Miles’s waist. I noticed that his wounds had been cleaned, and a large bandage covered the spot where the hook had protruded from under his collar bone.

“I’m afraid Mr. Goodman is a lost cause. But you, Ashton, might still be of use. So today you’ll have a special training session here with us.”

I thought of the pig, the shower of hot blood on my hands and face, Marco guiding the blade… I felt the bile rise in the back of my throat. The man in the apron picked up a tool from the cart and held it up to the light, turning it back and forth so that the stainless steel glinted. It was a surgical scalpel.

“Observe, Ashton, a master at work.”

The scalpel cut away the bandages, revealing the ragged wound from the hook. I was confused. Were they changing the dressing? Were they done with poor Miles?

The scalpel descended again, this time cutting into the skin between his shoulder and his armpit. Miles twitched as the man in the apron ran the blade in a diagonal line over his chest and ending at his sternum. Bright blood welled up in the wound and began to run over.

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