The Infected 1: Proxy Read Free Page B

cell finally, screaming in pain and grunting as he rolled, the only form of movement left. Roll on to his side, scoot a few inches over, grunt and gasp for breath. Then repeat. The water slapped his face and drove into his mouth over and over again. He spit it all out, even dying of thirst as he was. Behind his back the hands didn't have any feeling, except a bitter coldness he suspected would be due to either nerve damage or blood being cut off by the cuffs. Not that it mattered, but he knew his hands might be dead, starved of everything they needed to stay alive. At least they didn't hurt anymore.
    It was something.
    A bright side to the whole mess.
    After a long time of rolling he discovered that the room wasn't really empty, it had a toilet made of metal but no bed or cot that he could find. The metal felt cold, like there was water inside, but he couldn't reach it. The best he could manage was to rest his face against the outside and try to lick condensation from it. Water was right there, inches away, teasing him. He didn't know for sure, but he thought he could smell it, clean water, right up there, where Brian couldn't possibly reach it.
    If he'd been healthy, unwounded and in much better shape... it still would have been out of reach. The cuffs and chains were just too short. Brian thought he could have balanced on his knees, maybe, if he could get up on them. That just didn't seem likely at all. The best he managed in this state took him to a wall, screaming again from the effort. He couldn't even work himself part way up, much less rise enough to be of use.
    Thirst dug in, his throat raw and parched like he'd never even imagined it could be. Inside Brian knew at that moment, if someone would free his hands, he'd commit murder for a big-gulp of Pepsi. Or even Dr. Pepper. Literally bash someone's brains in for it. Or kick them in the groin for some water. He started to chuckle, a low, pain-filled thing that sounded more like a sob. Brian got that the police were bad, evil even, and meant to kill him, but he couldn't understand how come they hadn't done it already. Why torture him first? What did they gain from it?
    It didn't make sense.
    The door finally opened again about a day after that. Brian had gone from just thinking he'd die soon, to wishing for it, just so that he didn't have to put up with this shit any more. In the end Brian just wished he could take the police with him. That kind of evil needed to be stopped. Good people out there trusted these monsters and believed they were actually there to help people. The ultimate con job.
    Brian laughed again, pain stabbing through more places than he could count, but not caring any more, thinking that the ninety percent of bad cops gave the other ten percent a bad name. What really shook him was having spent twenty-three years believing that the police were there to help you as long as you didn't break the law.
    He hadn't, all he'd done was try to save a life. Fuckers.
    Still, when the door opened again Brian couldn't tell if it had actually happened or not. A lot of things had been happening in the dark that he knew weren't real. That he ignored the voice talking to him as well as he had was impressive, though it just told him things like "don't drink the water" and that help was coming. It was a lie of course, his mind trying to get him to live, even when all hope was gone. Was this a dream or hallucination now?
    Probably.
    The silhouette in the door looked big, but then everything did from the floor. It skewed your perception, lying helpless for so long, he'd discovered. Brian tried to ready himself for another beating or possibly something worse. These monsters seemed capable of anything, after all. That they hadn't sodomized him with anything yet was probably just an oversight.
    The man ordered the police to get him out of the cell, barking at them and sounding angry. Gruff and commanding. Powerful.
    This would be the one then.
    The one that killed him and