Life Sentence: Two Tales of the Living Dead Read Online Free Page B

officers to take note of those who fled and, later, they’d be taken to the stockades, so they could see that the Others weren’t the all-powerful demons of their nightmares.
    Once they were convinced, they’d react to that cry very differently. They’d join the other soldiers now lining Stockade Walk to watch the parade of prisoners. They wouldn’t jeer, wouldn’t say a word, would just stand firm and watch, the hatred so thick you could smell it, heavy, suffocating.
    As they walked into the main hall, already choked with soldiers, Gareth said, “You can watch from the second floor, Commander.”
    “Like hell.”
    A wave went through the assembled men and women, grunts and nods of approval from those who’d overheard, whispers going down the line to those who hadn’t. Yet another crowd-pleasing routine , she thought wryly. Gareth won approval for the suggestion and she for refusing.
    As they entered the hall, Gareth’s shoulders squared, pulling himself up to his full six-foot-five, his limp disappearing. The crowd of soldiers parted to let them through. Those who didn’t move fast enough earned a glower from Gareth, and scrambled aside so fast they tripped. Him, they feared and respected. Her, they loved and respected. Yet another of their routines.
    Monica took up her usual position at the first corner. When the prisoners walked into the hall, she’d be the first one they saw, waiting at the end.
    She could hear them outside the doors now. This was the toughest part. Nearly every man and woman in this hall had been in this same situation, waiting in their hideouts, hearing the Others approaching, praying they passed. Oh God, praying they passed.
    Gareth moved up behind her. Out of sight of the soldiers, he rubbed the small of her back.
    When the footsteps stopped at the door, a few soldiers broke ranks and, shame-faced, bolted back to their bunks. It was still too much for them, the memories too fresh.
    The door started to open. Monica’s own memories flashed. In that first moment, she didn’t see soldiers and prisoners. She saw the gang of Others who’d burst into her own hideaway ten years ago. She heard Jim’s shout of rage as he rushed forward to protect them, yelling for Monica to take Lily and run. She heard his screams as they fell on him. She heard Lily’s screams as she saw her father torn apart. She heard her own screams as she grabbed Lily and ran for the basement, as they caught her, ripping Lily from her arms. Her screams for them to show mercy--Lily was only a child, only a little girl. They hadn’t.
    Gareth moved closer, letting her rest against him. He leaned down to murmur reassurances in her ear, then, as she relaxed, the reassurances turned to reminders. Stand tall, babe. You’re in charge now. You own their asses. Don’t let them forget that.
    Now she saw prisoners, strangers, not the monsters who’d slaughtered her family, raped and tortured her. Broken and cowed and filthy, they shuffled along the gauntlet of soldiers.
    Gareth tensed. Monica looked up sharply, gaze tripping over the prisoners, trying to see which one had triggered his old cop instincts. Sure enough, there was one at the end, long greasy hair hanging in his face, but not quite hiding the furtive looks he kept shooting her way.
    She stood firm, gaze on the prisoner. He looked away as he passed. Then he wheeled and lunged at her.
    Gareth leapt forward so fast all Monica saw was a blur and a flash of silver. The prisoner’s head sailed from his shoulders. It hit the floor with a dull thud and rolled. When it came to rest at a soldier’s feet, the young woman kicked it. A cheer started to surge, choked off at a simple, “No,” from Monica.
    She motioned for someone to clean up the mess. The procession of prisoners continued on. None even gave any sign they’d seen what happened. They just trudged along, gazes down, until they disappeared from sight.
    Word came next that the scouts had been spotted. They were