Depraved 2 (26 page)

Killing her will put an end to that. And the sooner it happens, the better.

Sienna knew this was true, but the thought caused another of those strange, uneasy flutters inside her.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

“Bring him back…how?”

“I’m going to raise him from the dead. Make him live again.”

Allie made a little sound of disbelief. “Like a zombie?”

“Yes. Exactly like that.”

Allie shook her head. “Zombies aren’t real.”

Sienna smirked. “They are too real. I already made one today.”

“You’re lying.”

“Fuck you, I am not.”

Allie giggled.

Sienna frowned. “Don’t do that. This isn’t a joke. This isn’t a happy fun-time adventure we’re on here. I have magic powers and shit and I can bring dead people back to life. And part of how I do it is by sacrificing snotty little brats like you.”

“So…you’re a witch?”

“I guess. Sort of.”

Sienna gave the Durango’s steering wheel a hard spin as she took it around a sharp bend in the road, which was getting bumpier the farther away they got from Bedford. She didn’t have a lot of experience driving and the frequent deep potholes were giving her fits. It would only get worse the closer they got to Hopkins Bend. She knew this because not long ago she had blown an older guy in exchange for a ride out to one of the barricaded roads into the ghost town. The guy was fat and gross and his crotch smelled like unwashed gym shorts. Afterwards she’d spat his come in his face. The guy hadn’t minded, calling it “hot”. Sienna shook her head at the memory. And people call me weird.

But blowing the fat perv had been totally worth it from a reconnaissance standpoint. The visit refreshed her memory of the terrain and gave her a rough idea of where she might find her father’s body. It also did a lot to allay her concerns about a lingering military presence in the area. The posted warnings and barricades were intimidating at first blush, but it soon became clear there were no army people around.

At one point, Sienna got out of the fat fuck’s car and walked around the barricade to see what would happen. The answer was nothing at all. She had stood on the opposite and stared down the winding road into her old hometown for a longish period, lapsing into a trance-like state during which her mind boiled over with all the horrible old memories and the anger she had carried with her since the night of her father’s death. She hadn’t snapped out of it until the guy who’d given her the ride called out to her from the “safe” side of the barricade in an anxious tone. She told him he could perform whatever sexual act he wanted with her if he would drive her into Hopkins Bend so she could see what had become of the place.

Fatty’s answer to that had been a predictably emphatic NO.

Which was disappointing, but she had learned some valuable things and so opted not to press the issue. And some of those things were about to come in handy. Sienna had arrived at a point in the road where it forked off in two directions. The fork to the left was the beginning of Rural Route 42, the way into Hopkins Bend. Staying to the right would eventually take her out to the interstate and, potentially, the wider world beyond her insulated backwoods life.

She twisted the Durango’s steering wheel to the left.

Rural Route 42 was unobstructed for the first fifty yards. A bend in the road hid the barricade until you were right up on it. Except for the signs warning of a dead end, it was almost possible to believe that the quietly thriving little community of Hopkins Bend was still out there, just a little ways down the road. But then the Durango rounded the bend and there was the barricade that shattered the illusion.

The sight of the barricade so enraged Sienna she was tempted to build up speed in an attempt to crash through it. And she might have done it if not for her previous visit out here. The barricade was reinforced on the other side by steel drums filled with cement. A high-speed crash into the barricade would succeed only in demolishing the Durango and killing its passengers on impact.

But that wouldn’t be necessary. She could probably force the Durango around a side of the barricade. That also would not be necessary. The place she needed to get to should be within relatively easy reach by foot and the SUV couldn’t take them there anyway. She parked at the side of the road right up against the barricade and switched the engine off.

She grabbed her backpack, unzipped it, and dropped the keys inside. Before zipping it shut again, she took out the big Smith & Wesson pistol she’d found during her search of the farmhouse. Sienna sincerely hoped she’d never have to fire the damn thing because the recoil would probably knock her on her ass. But the real benefit of having the gun was that it was big and scary, enough so to hopefully keep the kid in line.

Allie’s face crumpled at the sight of the gun. “Please don’t shoot me.”

Sienna’s expression was stern. “I won’t shoot you, not as long as you behave.”

I’ll be cutting your throat in a little bit, though. You’ll probably wish I’d shot you then.

Allie wiped tears from her eyes. “I’ll be good. I promise.”

Sienna had another of those irritating and entirely unprecedented twinges of affection for the girl. It was too bad she didn’t have time to find someone else to use in the sacrifice ritual. Her brain conjured an unhelpful fantasy of just driving away from this place with Allie, the two of them subsequently surviving together on the road, a couple of young vagabonds having adventures and bonding together like sisters.

But it was just a stupid fantasy.

This was her destiny.

I’m coming for you, daddy.

They got out of the Durango. Allie stood at the edge of the tree line while Sienna shut and locked the SUV. She wasn’t sure she would ever have use for it again, but at least it would be here if she needed a getaway vehicle later, unless Delmont or one of his moron cronies came along and hauled it away.

She pointed the gun at Allie and indicated the barricade with a jerk of her head. “Around the side there. Get walking.”

Allie started walking.

Sienna shrugged on the backpack and followed her.

23.

Jessica’s disorientation and debilitated condition in the wake of her struggle with Billy worked to Zelda’s advantage. The assassin was able to secure her wrists in plastic zip-tie handcuffs before she could react. She then hauled Jessica to her feet, turned her around, and pressed the 9mm pistol against the small of her back.

“Back inside, bitch. And none of that ninja shit this time. First hint I get of you trying something, I’m putting a bullet in your spine.”

The gun pressed harder into her back and Jessica had no choice but to comply. Zelda stayed close as they climbed the steps to the deck and entered the house. It was darker inside now and Jessica banged her hip on the kitchen table. The screech the table legs made on the floor tiles startled the assassin and she shoved Jessica forward hard enough to make her stumble and drop to her knees. Zelda did this in case hitting the table was part of some planned diversionary tactic. It wasn’t, of course, but the woman’s reaction suggested she had been badly rattled by the outcome of their previous confrontation. This was a woman unaccustomed to being on the losing side of anything and she wasn’t about to let it happen again.

She hauled Jessica upright and steered her into the living room. The room was cloaked in shadow now and Jessica again banged into a piece of furniture as Zelda pushed her forward, this time into the coffee table. One of the tools she’d used on Billy slid off the table and thumped on the floor. Zelda cursed and grabbed her by the neck, maneuvered her around the coffee table, and shoved her onto the musty old sofa.

Zelda clamped a hand under Jessica’s jaw and squeezed hard to force her mouth open. The sight of the gun scraped the roof of Jessica’s mouth as the barrel was rammed into the open cavity. The trigger guard mashed against her chin. She gagged the way she had as a child when the doctor stuck a tongue depressor down her mouth at checkup time. Jessica had squared off against some formidable opponents over the years, but Zelda was the scariest. The woman was her match on every level and it was clear sheer luck had played a large role in her narrow escape this morning.

“I should end you now. Just paint that wall behind you red and be done with this shit.”

Zelda shifted her grip to Jessica’s throat, making her gag again as her hand clamped tighter against her flesh. The sound of her discomfort made the woman smile. She was getting off on making Jessica suffer, which was surprising. The best professional killers did the work without emotion. It was how Jessica had worked until things started going wrong, until she lost her grip. So maybe that was happening to Zelda now. This was no longer just a job. It was personal, a grudge match. Given time and even just a little freedom of movement, Jessica might have found a way to take advantage of the woman’s fury, but there was nothing she could do with the barrel of a gun filling her mouth.

Karma had come down on Jessica like the proverbial ton of bricks. A short while ago she had been on the opposite side of this equation, the sadist terrorizing a helpless person. Not for the first time, she figured she was probably getting what some malevolent cosmic force thought she deserved.

Zelda took the gun from her mouth and let go of her neck. “There’s some things I want you to know before you die.”

Jessica coughed and winced at the rawness in her throat. “What possible difference could any of it make?”

The back of Zelda’s hand snapped across her face. “It makes a difference to me, bitch!”

She hit Jessica twice more, harder each time, before backing off and stalking away to the other side of the room, where she stood in a corner and seethed without speaking for several moments. Her breathing came in harsh gasps and it was clear she was struggling to control her rage. The room had become so dark she looked like a faceless mannequin someone had propped in the corner. The illusion was spoiled, however, when she took a cell phone from a pocket of her tight leather jacket and made a call.

“Hey. Yeah. I’m in sector eight. I need power.” There was a brief pause. “Uh huh. Grid three. Lot nine. Yeah. Okay.”

Jessica was privy only to Zelda’s side of the brief conversation, but what she heard was enough to make her insides churn with worry. An agent of the enemy should not have access to anyone with the ability to turn the lights on in Hopkins Bend. She spent the next few seconds praying she had misinterpreted what she’d heard. This desperate hope was crushed when the overhead light popped on, illuminating a smallish room festooned with cobwebs.

Jessica looked at Zelda.

The assassin was smiling.

“Are you starting to get it now, bitch?”

Some obvious possibilities came to mind right away, including a few complicated and unlikely scenarios. The most plausible by far was also the simplest one. Simple logic told her it had to be true, but the possibility was so disturbing that no part of her could accept it. All she could do was shake her head and mutter words of denial in a plaintive voice.

Zelda laughed. “Ah, the veil has been lifted. Go ahead and cry, Jessica. You must feel so hurt, so betrayed. I’d cry, too.”

Jessica’s expression turned steely. “You’re not a foreign agent.”

“Give the lady a prize. She’s not as dumb as she looks.”

The assassin’s mocking tone grated, but Jessica worked hard to rein in her emotions. A fire was burning inside her, building toward an explosion that would probably get her killed. Once she knew all there was to know, she would launch herself at this smirking cunt with everything she had. With her hands cuffed, the attempt was doomed to fail, but she would try it anyway. She had little left to live for at this point and would rather die fighting than on her knees. And, hell, maybe she’d get lucky, maybe catch the bitch just enough off-guard to hit her hard and break her goddamn neck.

But first…

“You’re U.S. military. Black ops, like me.”

Zelda smiled and said nothing. It was answer enough

Jessica shifted to the edge of the sofa and rolled her shoulders to loosen the muscles. The slight stiffening of Zelda’s posture indicated she was ready for anything. The odds were still stacked overwhelmingly in her favor, after all. She had the gun, the coffee table was between them, and Jessica’s hands were zip-cuffed. Regardless, she knew better than to take Jessica lightly.

Hoping it would keep Zelda from getting too twitchy, she put a note of real-sounding defeat in her voice. This wasn’t at all difficult to fake with these latest revelations, which proved her situation had achieved an irreversible level of fucked-up beyond all recognition. There would never be any putting things right again. There would be no resumption of her normal life and no going home again, not ever. “My own people sent you to kill me. This isn’t a revenge thing, it’s a CYA thing.”