Rick leaned against the bars.
"There has to be a way out," Morales muttered. "These locks are old. If we had something thin enough to—"
The screech of metal on metal cut him off.
Every head in the cell block snapped toward the sound. The heavy door at the far end of the corridor groaned open.
A scar-faced man appeared, dragging Carl with him.
"Dad!"
Tears were already streaming down Carl's face, and he was fighting against the man's grip.
"Carl?!"
Rick slammed into the bars so hard the whole cell shook. His hands shot through the gaps, reaching, grasping at nothing but air.
"What are you doing?! Let him go!"
"Carl!" Shane was at his own cell door, both hands wrapped around the bars. His face had gone red, veins standing out in his neck. "You touch one hair on that boy's head and I will fucking kill you! You hear me?! I will tear you apart!"
The scar-faced man did not even look at them. He yanked Carl forward, making the boy stumble, then shoved a pistol into his hands.
Carl nearly dropped it.
"Kill him."
The scar-faced man's voice was flat. He pushed Carl toward Rick's cell.
"Prove your loyalty."
The corridor went silent.
Rick's breath caught in his throat. For a moment, his mind went blank. Then it came roaring back. He stopped trying to reach through the bars. His hands fell to his sides, fingers curling into fists so tight his nails bit into his palms.
His eyes locked onto the scar-faced man through the bars.
"Shoot!" The scar-faced man jabbed the gun harder against Carl's skull, making the boy flinch. "Do it, you little shit!"
Rick shouted, "You are going to die."
The scar-faced man's smile faltered slightly.
"I swear to God," Rick continued, his eyes never leaving the man's face, "I will kill you with my own hands. I will make it slow. And I will make sure you are awake for every second of it."
The smile vanished entirely. The scar-faced man's expression darkened.
"That depends on whether you get the chance!" He pressed the gun barrel against Carl's head again. "Shoot!"
Carl's whole body was shaking. The pistol trembled in his grip.
That was his father.
"No."
"What?"
Carl turned to face him. His eyes were red and swollen from crying.
"I said no."
The gun barrel pressed harder against his head. "You little—"
"If I kill him," Carl interrupted, "then I am useless to you."
The scar-faced man blinked.
"You can only use me because they are still alive! But if I am the kind of person who would kill my own dad... Then what makes you think you could still threaten me with my mom? Why would I care what you did to anyone if I already killed him?"
The scar-faced man stared at him.
"You would not trust me. Nobody would."
For a moment, nobody moved. The other cultists who had followed to watch the spectacle were staring at Carl.
Then the scar-faced man threw back his head and laughed.
"Hahaha! Goddamn! Smart kid! I will give you that! You pass!"
He snatched the pistol from Carl's hands and grabbed him by the collar, yanking him away from the cells.
"Carl!"
Rick's roar followed them. He was slamming against the bars again. "Do not take him! Carl!"
"Dad!" Carl tried to twist around, but the scar-faced man was already dragging him toward the exit.
"Shut up!" The man backhanded him across the face. "You passed the test, but that does not mean you get to run your mouth."
The door slammed shut.
---
Women and children huddled together in the corner of the chain-link cage. Some were crying, while others sat frozen in silence.
The gate screeched as it swung open.
Lori's head jerked up at the sound. The moment she saw Carl stumbling inside, her heart seized. He was shoved forward by the scar-faced man who had been tormenting them.
"Carl!" She surged to her feet and rushed toward him, but Carol caught her arm and held her back.
"Do not give them a reason."
The scar-faced man was smiling. That was worse than if he had been angry.
"Your boy is smart. He passed his first test."
Lori's blood went cold. "What test? What did you do to him?"
"Nothing he could not handle." The man's smile widened. "But the thing about being useful is that you have to remain useful. And right now, we need to trim some dead weight." He pulled out his pistol and checked the chamber.
He turned his gaze to the other side of the cage, where Jenny was huddled with Duane pressed against her.
"No," Jenny whispered. Her eyes went wide. "No, please..."
"That one." The scar-faced man pointed with his gun. "Kill him."
Time seemed to stop.
Carl's face went white. "What?"
"You heard me." The scar-faced man grabbed Carl by the shoulder and shoved the pistol back into his hands. "Prove you are worth keeping around. Put him down."
Carl stared at Duane. "I cannot..."
"Why not?" The scar-faced man crouched down to Carl's level. "You think we got room for everyone? You think we can afford to feed every useless mouth?"
He jerked his chin toward Rat.
"See, we already got one of his kind. And one is all we need."
Rat's face flushed. He looked down at the floor, hands clenched at his sides.
"This one is not even as tough as Rat" The scar-faced man waved dismissively at Duane. "He is defective. We do not keep defective merchandise."
"No!" Jenny shouted desperately. "Please! Please, he is my son! Take me instead! Kill me!"
"Shut the fuck up!"
Rat moved before the guards could. He grabbed Duane by the collar and yanked him away from Jenny. When Duane tried to resist, Rat's fist caught him in the stomach.
The boy went down with a wheeze.
Rat kicked him. "All you do is cry! Worthless piece of shit!"
He kept going.
Jenny was screaming. Jacqui was trying to pull Rat off. But the guards raised their rifles, and everyone backed off.
When Rat finally stopped, Duane was curled in a ball on the concrete.
He turned his savage gaze to Carl. "What are you waiting for?! Do it!"
Carl stood frozen. For half a second, he looked at the scar-faced man. A wild thought flashed through his head. But he saw the other guards. He did not even know how to use a gun properly. Even if he got lucky, even if his first shot somehow hit, they would kill everyone.
It was a trap. No matter what he chose, people died.
His eyes burned. Tears blurred his vision, but he blinked them away. His hands shook so badly the gun barrel wavered in the air.
"I cannot," he whispered.
"What?" The scar-faced man grabbed him by the hair and yanked his head back. "Speak up."
"I cannot do it! I will not—"
The backhand came out of nowhere. It caught Carl across the face hard enough to split his lip. He tasted blood.
"Then you are useless too."
The scar-faced man lifted his pistol and pressed it toward Carl's head.
Lori screamed, and Carol wrapped her arms around her to hold her back.
The safety clicked off.
Carl shut his eyes.
Curled on the cold concrete, bruised and bleeding, Duane watched his friend prepare to die for him.
He felt useless. He had never felt so worthless in his life. All he had done was cry and tremble and make his mother scream. He lay there while Carl was forced to choose between killing him or dying in his place.
If Lucien were here, things would be different.
The image of that blond boy suddenly flashed through Duane's mind.
He would figure something out. He would not be lying on the ground waiting to die like some kind of broken thing.
But he was not here.