David Morrell - Creepers

"Do what you're told!"

Balenger heard the rustle of knapsacks being removed.

"You, too, hero," the first voice said.

A metal object tapped Balenger's shoulder. Moving as quickly as his injured stomach and side would allow, he slipped off his knapsack.

"Let's see what we got," a voice said.

Balenger heard zippers being opened, objects dumped on the floor.

"Rope, duct tape, a crowbar, a Leatherman tool, equipment belts, a hammer, walkie-talkies, hard hats, headlamps, flashlights, tons of batteries. I have no idea what these meters are for. Hell, a person could open a hardware store with all this stuff," the third voice said.

"A first-aid kit. Candles. Matches. Look, candy bars." The second voice sounded excited.

Look? He said look. Balenger began to understand. He heard a wrapper being torn open, a bar being chewed noisily.

"Water bottles. But what's in these other bottles?"

Balenger heard a lid being unscrewed.

"Smells like… piss. These dummies are carrying piss around in bottles in their knapsacks!"

"Found another gun!" the third voice said. "What kind of… This thing's not real. It's a damned water pistol."

Balenger heard someone sniffing.

"Vinegar?" the third voice asked. "Is that what you've got in here? That's as stupid as carrying around piss."

"Piss and vinegar," the first voice said.

"Knives. Got plenty of knives."

Balenger felt a hand at his jeans. Before he could resist, his knife was unclipped from his pants pocket. His spare pistol magazine was yanked from a pouch on his belt.

"Yeah, a hardware store," the first voice said. "Or a knife-and-gun store."

Hands pawed and poked him, searching. "Found a cell phone."

"Me, too. They've all got one."

"Stop touching me!" Cora said.

"Hey, we gotta make sure you don't have weapons."

"In my underwear?"

"Leave her alone." Rick suddenly groaned. "Oh, Jesus, my nose. I think you broke my nose."

"That was the idea," the third voice said. "Anybody else got something to complain about?"

Except for the shriek of the wind far above them, the landing became silent.

"Finally, a little cooperation," the first voice said. "Okay, everybody, put your arms out in front of you."

Balenger heard a few hesitant movements.

"Hey, don't make me say it again!"

The movements became rapid. Balenger put his hands out. His right one hurt where it had been struck, but at least nothing seemed broken.

"Now press your wrists together," the first voice said.

Balenger knew what was coming. He'd suffered through an ordeal like this before, except that the darkness had come from a sack tied around his head. He still had nightmares about it. He wanted to scream, to fight. But he was powerless. Sweat soaking his clothes, he struggled not to hyperventilate.

Footsteps approached. He strained not to wince, anticipating a blow to his head. Instead, he felt duct tape on his wrists, heard the sticky sound of a strip being pulled off a coll. The tape got tighter and tighter.

"That'll hold you for a while," the second voice said.

The footsteps went away.

"What are you doing?" Cora said in alarm.

"Shut up and keep still, or I'll shove my hand in your pants again."

The only sounds became Cora's harsh breathing and the unpeeling of duct tape.

"Who's next? How about buddy boy with the broken nose?"

The tape made a repeated tearing sound.

"Now you, pal."

Balenger didn't know whether that referred to Vinnie or the professor.

"Hey, this old guy passed out," the second voice said.

From the pain when he fell and his leg hit the floor, Balenger thought. His fury helped distract him from his increasing fear, the terrible suffocating impression that he again had a sack tied around his head.

"Banged up as he is, he can't hurt us," the third voice said.

"Tape his wrists together anyway."

The professor moaned.

"Good," the first voice said. "Now let's have some light."

Balenger felt air move against his face. A hand reached for his headlamp. Its sudden beam made him squint. He found himself looking at a large belt buckle. A piece of pipe was tucked under the belt. Must be what he hit my arm with, Balenger thought. Dirty black pants. A grimy denim overcoat.

Except for the professor's, the other headlamps came on. Beams zig-zagged across the balcony, revealing three young men. As Balenger raised his eyes toward the one before him, he heard Cora gasp. Then he saw what made her do so and felt as if an icy needle touched the back of his neck.

The men wore night-vision goggles, making them resemble characters in a science-fiction thriller: bulky binoculars that seemed to grow from their faces. At home in the dark. We like it here. Look, candy bars.

"Surprised?" the first man asked.

Balenger was surprised, but by something else. The first man was tall and muscular, a build that reinforced his cyber appearance. His scalp was shaved. It and his face and the portion of his neck that showed above the overcoat were red, blue, purple, and green with tattoos, a swirl of unrecognizable forms.

"What are you staring at?" the first man asked.

"The goggles," Balenger lied.

"Yeah, clever, huh? I hear ten years ago they cost a fortune and the army kept control of them. Now you can buy them cheap in any military-surplus store."

"You can use them to hunt Bambi or spy on your neighbors," the second man said.

Balenger swung his gaze to his left and saw a slightly less muscular guy in dirty dark clothes taking off goggles. His left cheek was covered by the whorls of a burn scar almost as white as the five-legged albino cat. This young man-around twenty, Balenger estimated- had his scalp shaved, also. But no tattoos.

"All things are revealed," the third man said, removing his goggles. They left red marks around his eyes. Standing between Rick and the professor, he was well built and yet seemed almost skinny compared to his companions. He was also shorter than the others, who seemed to be over six feet. Unlike the others, his scalp showed hair, a close military-style cut. "Let's own the night."

"Kind of cool. Makes everything look green." The first guy's swirling tattoos extended almost to his eyelids. "Reminds me of that song." He started humming "It's Not Easy Being Green."

"Those were the days," the third guy said. "Watching Sesame Street. Not a care in the world."

"When the fuck did you ever watch Sesame Street?"

They're talking so fast, are they high on drugs? Balenger wondered. He fought to control his trembling muscles. Like the last time, he thought. If I let fear get the better of me, I'm done. Passive means I lose.

"Time to get acquainted," the first man announced. "So our new friends here can try to bond with us the way it happens in, what do they call it, the Sweden syndrome. Isn't that what they call it?" he asked Balenger on the floor.

"The Stockholm syndrome," Balenger told him.

The first guy kicked his left leg.

Balenger clutched it, groaning.

"Who the fuck asked you?" the first guy said. "I'm sure they called it the Sweden syndrome in that Kevin Spacey movie we watched the other night."

"The Negotiator," the second guy said.

"Was that the title? All I remember is the hostages kept trying to make pals with their captor. Or maybe it was another movie that had the Sweden syndrome in it. It is the Sweden syndrome, right?"

"Right," Balenger said.

"Sure, it is. So let's get acquainted. My name's Tod. And this is…"

"Mack," said the man with the burn scar on his cheek.

"Call me JD," the younger man said, the one with the military haircut. He looked to be about eighteen.