“Who’s in here?” he asked in the darkness.

     “Pop?” asked a familiar voice.

     Avery’s spirits were lifted. Despite the utter hopelessness of the situation, he had achieved his objective. He located Peter. He anxiously felt along the perimeter of the cell until he found his son in the corner. Peter’s hands and feet were chained together. Avery couldn’t see him, but he was relieved to know he was alive.

     “How did you get here?” Peter asked with bewilderment .

     “You’re my son. I love you. I had to do everything I could to help you,” replied Avery.

     Peter couldn’t believe his ears. Not only did his father risk life and limb to rescue him, but for the first time he could remember, he said he loved him.

     “And I wanted to find you so I could kick your ass for getting mixed up in this garbage,” Avery added.

     Even with the impending foot up his ass, Peter was thankful his father was there. If anyone could get them out of this hellhole, it was his old man. Avery managed to get his pen knife out of his pocket and started to work on the locks of his hand shackles. As he fiddled with the cuffs, he demanded an explanation from his son.

     Peter said he had tried hard to get into the film industry but couldn’t catch a break. He was starving and on the verge of being evicted when he took the job at the dirty movie company. After he was on board, it turned out that all they wanted him to do was supply the cast and crew with drugs. Peter swore he never used any illegal narcotics; he just made buys for the pornographers. Peter was moving so much product that he caught the attention of one of Orosco’s suppliers. The supplier gave Peter a kilo of cocaine on spec. After he sold the dope he decided to splurge. He saw they way everyone else was living and he wanted some of that sweet life too.

     He’d gone through most of the money living the high life. Peter knew he had screwed up, so he had ripped off some of the street dealers he knew. But he couldn’t come up with enough cash to repay the supplier. That’s when Orosco’s people kidnapped him and brought him to Castigo Roca.

     “Stealing is wrong, even if it’s from scumbags. Why did you do it, son?” asked Avery, desperately looking for a silver lining.

     “I wanted to impress you. I just wanted you to think I wasn’t a complete loser. I guess I failed again,” said a defeated Peter.

     Avery knew he’d always been hard on Peter. He was good at turning boys into lethal weapons, but not so hot at turning his own boy into a man. He didn’t know how to communicate an apology for all the years of berating and belittling. Instead, when he got his cuffs off, he put his hand on Peter’s shoulder. No words were spoken, but father and son were closer. They had reached a new kind of understanding.

     Now free, Avery got to work on Peter’s bonds. Each extremity had its own lock. It took a while, but Avery finally unshackled his son. Now all they needed was an escape plan. The cell was locked from the outside, so they’d have to get someone to open the door. They decided that because Peter had been a pretty good actor in school, he should play the role of suffering victim.

     Peter began to wail as if in great pain. He was so convincing that even his dad felt a little uneasy. After a moment, the two guards came to the door.  “What’s going on?” they asked gruffly. Peter ignored them and kept screaming in fake agony. Eventually, the guards opened the door and entered the cell.

     Avery was waiting behind the door, with a piece of chain wrapped around his fist. He delivered a powerful strike to the back of the first guard’s neck. Avery knew he had delivered a death blow and was certain the guard was gone before he hit the floor. The force of the hit caused the chain to unravel. Before the second guard could process the situation, Avery wrapped the chain around his neck and twisted it. He brought the second guard to the ground, keeping the pressure of the link garrote tight. When the guard stopped kicking, Avery released his lifeless body.

     Each of the dead guards had a semi-automatic handgun. Avery took one for himself and gave the other to Peter. He knew his son could handle the firearm because of the training he’d received in military school. The father/son team left the cell, closing the door behind them. Avery had a keen sense of direction and remembered the way out. The men walked quietly through the dark prison.

     Avery led his son back to the main entrance. They were almost free. Peter noticed a surveillance camera overhead and pointed it out to his father. Avery was pleased to note his son’s astute observational skills, but he knew what it meant: They were being watched. This wasn’t going to be easy.

     At Avery’s instructions, Peter opened the heavy front door. At least a dozen wild-eyed prisoners waited in the courtyard. When they spotted Avery and Peter, they became frenzied. Avery pulled the door closed as the crazies rushed. As he brought down the metal locking bar, he could hear the prisoners banging and clawing at the door.

     “Zombies,” offered Peter.

     Annoyed, Avery said, “I thought you said you weren’t taking drugs.”

     “I’ve been here for a couple of days. I’ve seen them. If they’re not zombies, you tell me what they are, Pop.” said Peter sincerely.

     Avery had to admit he couldn’t explain the bizarre and violent behavior of these prisoners. They could be drug-crazed, they could have been brainwashed. Whatever the case, they were what they were and Peter and Avery would have to deal with them.

     Like a sudden avalanche of flesh, a wave of prisoners came running down the hallway. Peter started shooting at the moving wall of undead. Avery told him to aim for their heads. Both men dropped several prisoners, but there were too many of them to take out with just two handguns. Avery spotted a door to their right. He grabbed his son and they ran through the door just before the mass of insanity reached them.

     Avery and Peter sprinted down a long corridor. After they made a turn, they found themselves at a dead end. They could hear the prisoners thundering toward them. Avery quickly looked around.  A sizeable air vent was flush with the wall eight feet up. He jumped and ripped the metal screen off. He jumped again and managed to pull himself up into the vent, then reached back down to help his son. Peter was halfway into the vent when the crazy gang reached them. In a moment that was too quick to measure, the mob had grabbed Peter and pulled him down.

     Peter screamed in horror, and this time it was real. Avery saw his son disappear into the swirling swarm of prisoners. It looked hopeless, but one of the lessons he’d learned in combat was: Leave no man behind. Avery jumped down from the vent and landed on the heap like a bomb. He swung wildly and felt himself being pounded on from all angles.

     Both Avery and Peter were engulfed by a swarm of predatory, unyielding men. They were struck, clawed, and bitten. Avery kept fighting despite the unbelievable odds. He would battle to the bitter end. Peter’s will was not as strong. He was resigned to the fact that it was over. He curled up into a ball and waited for the zombies to finish him off.

     As he tried to evade the pummeling, Avery realized that he and his son were on top of a rusted metal grate. He redirected his blows to the corroded iron. Avery’s desperate bashing and the weight of the zombie pile caused the grate to collapse. Avery, Peter and the bulk of the rabid prisoners crashed through the floor and landed in a sewer tunnel below. A foot of putrid water softened the landing somewhat.

     Avery acted quickly. He picked up Peter, gave him a shove, and told him to run. The prisoners were momentarily stunned, but shook it off and gave pursuit. Although Avery and Peter both had numerous superficial wounds, they were still in pretty good shape. Feeling like they had cheated death, they ran through the sewers invigorated.

     A number of grates in the ceiling let in just enough light to navigate. The sewer system was a maze of twisting and intersecting tunnels. The walls were coated in slime and rats scattered in all directions. Avery followed the flow of the vile water, hoping it would eventually lead the way out. Three things he could always count on were: God, guns, and gravity. As long as shit still ran downhill his plan should yield an exit. The moans and screams from the zombies echoed through the tubes, providing an eerie, constant reminder to keep moving.

     Under normal circumstances the humidity and stench of human waste would have been incapacitating. These were not normal circumstances. They reached the end of the tunnel. There was evidence that iron bars had covered the exit at one time, but they had been destroyed long ago. Perhaps Avery and Peter weren’t the first ones to escape through the sewers. Father and son rushed from the horrid tunnel. The water from the sewer emptied into a stream that stretched into the blackness of the jungle.

     As they ran for freedom, Peter stumbled to the ground. Avery went back to help him and, as he bent down to give Peter a hand, he felt a sharp pain in his neck. At the same moment, he saw a tranquilizer dart protruding from his son’s back. Avery put his hand to his neck and realized that he, two, had been shot with a dart. Seconds later he began to feel woozy and dropped to his knees. He saw Malvado in the distance, silhouetted by the light of the prison, holding a rifle. Just as his consciousness was ebbing, Avery saw the zombie prisoners running madly from the sewer exit. He blacked out.

* * *

     Avery wasn’t enthralled to be awake.  It meant he’d been captured alive and that usually meant torture was next. He was securely chained to a chair in a space that resembled an operating room. Having received three Purple Heart medals, he was familiar with the equipment necessary for surgery. In addition to the life-saving machinery, there were banks of computers and miscellaneous electronic components along the walls. The modern gear was in stark contrast to the stone dungeon walls of the room. Another man was strapped to a table in the middle of all this high-tech gadgetry.

     The Matador could have easily killed Avery, but chose to let him live. Why? This was a question he hoped he could avoid finding the answer to. He struggled uselessly against his bindings. He looked to his left and saw his son strapped to a similar chair. Peter was still knocked out, but Avery could tell he was breathing. Malvado entered the room. When he saw that Avery was awake, he smiled.

     “Three times you have gone against my creations, and three times you have escaped the Grim Reaper. You are a warrior of amazing skill and I admire that deeply,” Malvado said with a hint of a smile.

     “You obviously have a sick obsession with me. Let my son go and do with me what you will,” hissed Avery.

     “Not an obsession, just respect for your talent,” replied Malvado.

     “If you truly respect me, put me out of my misery. I’m tired of this damned game,” Avery volleyed back.

     “If it were up to me, I would. I know that every second you live, the chance increases that you’ll destroy everything I have built,” replied Malvado. “But Mr. Orosco is a man of emotion, and he wishes for you to suffer. So it appears I have no choice.”

     Malvado walked over to the man strapped to the table. He picked up a stainless steel scalpel from an adjacent instrument tray. With diligent skill, he made an incision on the forehead and peeled back the scalp. He then took a bone saw from the tray and began to cut into the man’s skull. The high-pitched whirr of the blade ripping through the cranium was unnerving. Malvado cut the circumference of the top of the man’s head and removed the skull, leaving the brain exposed. Reacquiring the scalpel, he cut open the protective membrane allowing him access to the nooks and crannies of the brain.

     Avery couldn’t see what was going on, but it looked like Malvado was tinkering with the man’s head. As Malvado worked, he talked over his shoulder. He told Avery that he was once a highly respected neurosurgeon in Madrid. He began to experiment on animals, eliciting responses by applying electric stimuli to various points of the brain.

     Malvado had identified and isolated both behavioral and physical terminals of origin in the mysterious gray matter. To display his knowledge, he had rigged a bull with a cranial device. To the astonishment of eighty thousand Spaniards, he stopped the charging bull with the push of a button. As incredible as Malvado’s work was, he was shunned by the medical and scientific communities. His experiments were viewed as gruesome. Many felt he had stepped over a line that man shouldn’t dare to cross.

     Out of work and without funding, Malvado found a friend in Orosco. The drug kingpin saw a use for the ground-breaking technology. He sponsored Malvado with the idea that robotic humans could be created to do the grunt work of the drug trade. People stole and they made mistakes. Radio-controlled zombies would do as they were told.

     “The peasants call me the Matador. But I am not a killer. I am a man of vision. A man of science,” he said, as if trying to illicit sympathy.

     Malvado walked to a workstation and picked up something that looked like a small transistor board. He looked at Avery.

     “Of course, the prototypes that you have battled are nothing more than savage killing machines. Already they’re obsolete. Computer and electronic technology is entering a new age. I’ll be able to program my creatures with complex commands and basic personalities. The next generation will be something truly incredible,” Malvado said with pride.

     The psycho surgeon returned to the exposed brain of his subject and continued working. He imbedded the small electronic device in the hapless man’s brain and began connecting tiny wires to various points in the frontal lobe. Listening to Malvado, Avery felt a combination of rage and despair. The use of medical science in this manner inflamed his sense of righteousness and insulted his spiritual beliefs. This sick madman was an affront to God, he thought. It reminded him eerily of the horrors he had uncovered at Lausong.

     Peter regained consciousness just in time to witness Orosco and a handful of armed bodyguards entering the room. The thugs fanned out into quasi-defensive positions. Orosco approached Avery.

     “I thought I only had one and now I have two. You and your son are going to serve me well,” Orosco said smugly.

     He went further with a taunting explanation of his plans for Avery and Peter. Once Malvado’s next-generation mind control device was proven to work, the father and son would be turned into programmed drug runners. Because they were white and U.S. citizens, they would be able to travel between Castigo Roca and America without raising suspicion. They would be used to carry drug shipments in to the United States and cash back to Castigo Roca.

     Malvado finished working on the man on the table. He reattached his skullcap with a series of metal staples. He stretched the scalp back into place and sutured the incision. Satisfied with his craftsmanship, he released the straps that held down his newest creation. Malvado grabbed a palm-sized remote controller and started punching codes on the keypad. Orosco held his breath in anticipation. Suddenly, the man sat up. He then got off the table and stood at attention. Both Malvado and Orosco were pleased.

     “Make him dance for me,” Orosco commanded.

     Malvado punched more codes into the keypad. In an instant, the experimental man began a rudimentary flamenco dance. There was nothing human in the man’s eyes. Avery was deeply disturbed by the contemptible display. Orosco looked at Peter.

     “I would say this one is a complete success. I will even let you name him,” said Orosco with a grin.

     “Go to hell,” spat Peter.

     “Hell? Okay, we shall call him Diablo.” Orosco turned to Malvado. “Now it is time for the brave Americans to become obedient servants of Paulo Orosco.”

     While Orosco was strutting about, flaunting his power, Avery had worked his pen knife out of his pocket. He was discretely sawing through the leather straps that pinned his arms to the chair. The kingpin was so intoxicated by his position of superiority that he didn’t even notice.

     With morbid glee, Orosco said to Malvado, “Do the young one first. I want the father to watch you cut into his son’s brain.”

     As Malvado approached Peter, one of Orosco’s lieutenants entered the room. He whispered something that appeared to trouble Orosco. The drug lord lost his cheerful demeanor and commanded Malvado to hold off on the surgical procedure until he returned. Orosco and his posse hastily exited the room.

     Malvado walked up to Avery. He tried to conceal the pen knife, but it was no use. The Matador had spotted it. He was busted.

     “You never quit. I respect that,” smiled Malvado as he bent down to remove the knife from Avery’s hand. “I have to transform your son. I am sorry, but that is my reality. I promise to make it as clean and painless as possible.” He leaned into Avery. “As for you, I have an another plan.”

     Avery didn’t want to think about what Malvado had in mind. He had to find a way to get free. With Orosco and his goons out of the room, this was his best chance. The chair was wooden. Avery thought if he could get some leverage with his feet, he could propel himself against the back wall and break it.

     There wasn’t enough time for Avery to test his theory. Orosco came back into the room. He was furious.

     “The rebels have taken Puerto Sangria. El Presidente hangs from a light pole,” growled Orosco. “They are calling for the head of The Matador.”

     With fear in his eyes, Malvado backed toward Avery and surreptitiously dropped the pen knife in his lap. Avery knew the surgeon was hoping he’d free himself and kill Orosco.

     “The people want the monster who kidnapped their children and killed their fathers,” continued Orosco as he pulled a handgun from his shoulder holster.

     “That’s not true. You know I never did any of those things,” pleaded Malvado.

     Orosco pointed the gun at the doctor. “My empire is gone because of you.”

     “No, no. I can help you rebuild,” Malvado appealed. “My creations will make that possible.”

     Orosco’s face twisted.  “You are wrong.  I will rebuild, but not with you. My men are gathering our assets and then we will burn this place to the ground. We will find a friendly port where we can start over. The only thing you will find is an eternity in hell.”

     Orosco pulled the hammer back and began to squeeze the trigger when Malvado punched a button on his remote control. Diablo, the recently converted zombie, sprang into action. He got to Orosco just as the gun discharged. The bullet missed Malvado, finding a home in the far wall. Diablo brought Orosco to the ground. The terrified drug dealer kicked and flailed, losing his gun. He managed to wriggle away from the attacking automaton, scrambled to his feet, and ran from the room. Diablo chased after him.

     Malvado went to his computer banks and frantically entered a series of codes. He hurried from the room through another door. Avery opened the pen knife and cut through the binding straps. He went to Peter and freed him as well. Avery could imagine the chaos that was erupting elsewhere in the prison. Peter saw an odd gleam in his father’s eye as Avery picked up Orosco’s discarded handgun.

     Avery led Peter through Malvado’s escape door, explaining that the doctor probably had a better way out. They ran down a corridor, through a set of double doors, and found themselves in a large room that at one time might have been the prison cafeteria. Now the room was being used to house Malvado’s surgically altered foot soldiers. At least a hundred of the vacant-eyed auto-killers were in the room.