Read Online The Loner: Seven Days to Die by J.A. Johnstone - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: J.A. Johnstone
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right in the middle of some of those smug faces surrounding him.
One of the guards snapped a pair of shackles around his wrists. They were connected by a short length of chain. A longer length was also attached to the shackles. Another guard took it and tossed it over the hook above The Kid’s head. He pulled on it and forced The Kid to raise his arms.
The Kid wound up facing the post with his arms stretched above his head as far as he could reach. At the same time, he had been forced up on his toes so that his stance was painfully awkward and a lot of weight was on his shoulder sockets. He felt his bones and muscles groaning under the strain.
He twisted his head to look at the men around him and rasped, “You know this isn’t right. Some of you have to know I’m not Bledsoe.”
“We just do our jobs, mister,” one of the guards said.
“You look a hell of a lot like that bastard Bledsoe to me,” another put in.
They began to move back, and even though The Kid couldn’t see Fletcher, he knew the warden was coming.
Fletcher circled the post so he could look at The Kid. He had taken off his coat and tie, but still wore his vest. His shirtsleeves were rolled up a couple of turns. He carried a coiled blacksnake whip in his right hand.
Fletcher glared at The Kid and said, “I’d tell you that you have one last chance to avoid this by admitting where you stashed the loot, Bledsoe, but it would be a lie. You’re getting this whipping no matter what you tell me now. You’ve got it coming.” He paused. “Still, I might be inclined to be a little more merciful if you cooperate.”
“I can’t tell you something I don’t know,” The Kid said between gritted teeth. “The only thing I have to say to you, Fletcher is…go to hell.”
That show of defiance brought a smile to the warden’s face. “You’re about to be more convinced than ever that’s where you are,” he said softly.
He let go of the whip except for the handle. It uncoiled and slithered around his feet with a sinister whisper. Nodding slowly, Fletcher moved out of The Kid’s line of sight again.
Silence hung over Hell Gate as The Kid waited.
The first strike didn’t come without warning. The Kid heard Fletcher’s grunt of effort and had a split second to close his eyes and steel himself for the lashing impact. The whip struck him at an angle across the back and cut into his skin and flesh, leaving behind a streak of hellish fire that made The Kid surge forward against the post. He panted as agony coursed through him.
“That’s just the beginning,” Fletcher warned.
With a snake-like hiss, the whip retreated, then sprang forward again as Fletcher wielded it with a cruel, efficient touch. He jerked it back so the weighted tip popped just as it touched The Kid’s left shoulder blade. The Kid bit back a yell of pain as the tip gouged out a chunk of flesh.
The song of the whip continued its grim tune. Fletcher varied his brutality, moving the blacksnake around so that it left a criss-crossing grid of bloody stripes on The Kid’s back, which was also dotted with wounds from the tip that oozed crimson. At first The Kid tried to hold himself upright, but as the torment continued, the sea of pain in which he found himself engulfed him so completely that all he could do was hang limply from the shackles attached to the whipping post.
Somewhere in his brain, a part of his mind numb to the agony wondered if the prisoners inside the cavern called Hades could hear what was going on. They couldn’t see it—the whipping post was shielded from the tunnel mouth by one of the barracks—but it was so quiet in the prison compound they had to be able to hear the whip popping and slashing.
He wanted to scream in agony, and the prisoners would have been able to hear those cries for sure. He swallowed the cries again and again, because he didn’t want to give Fletcher the satisfaction of hearing them, but the screams were coming closer and closer to
One of the guards snapped a pair of shackles around his wrists. They were connected by a short length of chain. A longer length was also attached to the shackles. Another guard took it and tossed it over the hook above The Kid’s head. He pulled on it and forced The Kid to raise his arms.
The Kid wound up facing the post with his arms stretched above his head as far as he could reach. At the same time, he had been forced up on his toes so that his stance was painfully awkward and a lot of weight was on his shoulder sockets. He felt his bones and muscles groaning under the strain.
He twisted his head to look at the men around him and rasped, “You know this isn’t right. Some of you have to know I’m not Bledsoe.”
“We just do our jobs, mister,” one of the guards said.
“You look a hell of a lot like that bastard Bledsoe to me,” another put in.
They began to move back, and even though The Kid couldn’t see Fletcher, he knew the warden was coming.
Fletcher circled the post so he could look at The Kid. He had taken off his coat and tie, but still wore his vest. His shirtsleeves were rolled up a couple of turns. He carried a coiled blacksnake whip in his right hand.
Fletcher glared at The Kid and said, “I’d tell you that you have one last chance to avoid this by admitting where you stashed the loot, Bledsoe, but it would be a lie. You’re getting this whipping no matter what you tell me now. You’ve got it coming.” He paused. “Still, I might be inclined to be a little more merciful if you cooperate.”
“I can’t tell you something I don’t know,” The Kid said between gritted teeth. “The only thing I have to say to you, Fletcher is…go to hell.”
That show of defiance brought a smile to the warden’s face. “You’re about to be more convinced than ever that’s where you are,” he said softly.
He let go of the whip except for the handle. It uncoiled and slithered around his feet with a sinister whisper. Nodding slowly, Fletcher moved out of The Kid’s line of sight again.
Silence hung over Hell Gate as The Kid waited.
The first strike didn’t come without warning. The Kid heard Fletcher’s grunt of effort and had a split second to close his eyes and steel himself for the lashing impact. The whip struck him at an angle across the back and cut into his skin and flesh, leaving behind a streak of hellish fire that made The Kid surge forward against the post. He panted as agony coursed through him.
“That’s just the beginning,” Fletcher warned.
With a snake-like hiss, the whip retreated, then sprang forward again as Fletcher wielded it with a cruel, efficient touch. He jerked it back so the weighted tip popped just as it touched The Kid’s left shoulder blade. The Kid bit back a yell of pain as the tip gouged out a chunk of flesh.
The song of the whip continued its grim tune. Fletcher varied his brutality, moving the blacksnake around so that it left a criss-crossing grid of bloody stripes on The Kid’s back, which was also dotted with wounds from the tip that oozed crimson. At first The Kid tried to hold himself upright, but as the torment continued, the sea of pain in which he found himself engulfed him so completely that all he could do was hang limply from the shackles attached to the whipping post.
Somewhere in his brain, a part of his mind numb to the agony wondered if the prisoners inside the cavern called Hades could hear what was going on. They couldn’t see it—the whipping post was shielded from the tunnel mouth by one of the barracks—but it was so quiet in the prison compound they had to be able to hear the whip popping and slashing.
He wanted to scream in agony, and the prisoners would have been able to hear those cries for sure. He swallowed the cries again and again, because he didn’t want to give Fletcher the satisfaction of hearing them, but the screams were coming closer and closer to
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