“I’m going, too,” Sarah says. “LaRoux’s orders. She wants me to train.”
Shane apprehensively hands her a gun.
“You do know how to shoot a gun, don’t you?” he asks.
“Isn’t it like point and shoot?” She squints with one eye and mimics the motion with her fingers.
Shane grabs the gun back before tucking it into the waist of his pants.
* * * *
The sun is setting, and the dim light makes it difficult to see the old bottles and cans lined up on the table Shane dragged onto the tarmac. We have time for one quick lesson to show Sarah how to shoot a gun and not kill any of us in the process.
Shane tells Sarah about the different parts of the gun and shows her how to load it. We both take a step back as he fires a couple rounds off and knocks two bottles off the table. They fly high into the hair and land on the ground in a tumble. Watching him, I stifle a gasp as he pulls the trigger. Every muscle in his arm is tensed and controlled. A serious, concentrative look dominates his face…a look I am unfamiliar with.
Shane waves Sarah over, and I reluctantly watch as his arms hover around hers, showing her the proper stance and finger placement. Suddenly, I have the uncontrollable urge to wrestle her to the ground.
She shoots one round from the gun, and it hits the metal leg of the table, sparks flying from the ricochet.
“Damn,” she says.
For a minute I think she caught a piece of the bullet, but I know we are too far away from the table for that. I realize it was the recoil of the gun that has her hunched over in pain.
She leans on Shane for support until the pain passes.
“Your turn,” Shane says to me.
Sarah sits on a small patch of grass that’s broken through the asphalt.
“It’s fine. I don’t need—”
“It’s okay if you don’t hit a bottle. Just get a feel for shooting it.”
I turn my back to him. It’s the one thing dad taught me that has actually come in handy.
I position myself in front of the table and clasp the grip firmly in my hands, thumb over thumb. I stretch out both arms, locking them to control the recoil. I let my finger tap the trigger and the gun spits out four clean rounds. One by one, the bottles and cans fly high in the air, spinning as they fall. They hit the ground in the order they drop, leaving the top of the table bare.
I turn around to see Sarah, Justin, and Shane, mouths agape. I revel in their stunned silence, doing my best to stifle the satisfied smirk growing on my face.
Shane clears his throat. “That…that was good.”
He looks to Sarah, who is still holding her arm. “Stay behind Hazel,” he tells her, “and you should make it out of there alive.”
* * * *
I don’t know how we are all going to fit into the small pick-up truck, but we’ll have to make it work. Shane and Scratch throw the backpacks in the bed of the truck. Scratch has barely said two words to us, and by the look of his face, it’s obvious where he got his nickname. Long scars are settled on one of his cheeks. It looks like he was mauled by a mountain lion. Despite the harshness of the markings on his face, his has a mysterious attractiveness about him.
Sarah and I walk to the passenger side of the truck. Justin hops in the bed. As I’m about to hoist myself into the truck, Shane tells me to wait.
“You’re going to have to sit on my lap,” he blurts out.
I raise my eyebrows, which is enough to prompt another response from him.
“It’s the only way we’re all going to fit.”
Shane jumps into the truck, and I delicately plop myself on top of him. I hope the ride isn’t too long, since I’ll have to duck and bend my neck to fit my head.
The truck starts after a few clicks of the engine, and we make our way down the airport driveway. Once we get to the barbed-wire metal gate, two armed men swing it open to let us through. I feel a wave of relief to be beyond the confines of the airport fence, finally feeling like I’m making progress.
Sarah shifts uncomfortably as Scratch tries to shift the gear stick. His hand grazes her leg, and they exchange uncomfortable looks.
“Uh…about how long is this ride?” she asks to no one in particular.
Scratch stays silent and lets Shane do all the talking.
“The drive will probably take about forty-five minutes and then another half-hour of walking.”
Scratch swerves the truck to avoid a possum that decided it was a good time to run across the dark road. He hits a large pothole, causing my head to smash against the cloth roof.
“Ow!” I shout, using my hands to prop myself against the top of the truck. Shane and Sarah chuckle, and I catch a hint of a smile on Scratch’s face.
Shane wraps both hands around my hips and holds me steady with a firm grip. I try to ignore the tingly sensation spreading through my body. At the angle I’m sitting, our faces are just inches apart, so close I can feel his faint breathing on my skin. His eyes catch mine, and our gazes lock. For a few moments, I am lost in them. The smell of his skin brings back a gush of memories. My anger melts away, finally admitting I’m just as guilty as he is. It takes every cell in my body to break my eyes away.
Looking out the windshield, I recognize nothing in the night of Salem. This part of Ward One is desolate, and we drive miles before we see other buildings. But even those are abandoned and crumbling.
Scratch pulls over and stops the truck.
“Far as I can go,” he says.
Shane clumsily pats his hand looking for the door handle of the truck, my body obstructing his view. He manages to plant several pats on my body, not even close to touching the door.
“More to your right,” I say to him.
He smiles as he clutches the door handle and swings it open.
I slide out and am relieved to be able to straighten my neck that has developed a nasty crick. I give my head a few gentle rolls around my shoulders as Sarah and Justin get out. Shane grabs the bags from the truck bed. We thank Scratch for the ride and agree to meet him back at this spot in a few hours. He drives off, leaving us to our own two feet.
Shane throws us a backpack and leads us down the road that wraps around the mountainside. We quietly walk in a line, each one of us concentrating on where we step. This stretch of the road is steep and littered with potholes and large cracks. There is no guardrail on the open side, and when I peer over to have a look, I’m met with a dizzying drop.
We take no breaks, and I’m thankful that most of the trip is downhill. When we reach the base of the road where it begins to dip up again, there is the faint glow of lights shading the sky.
“Just a little farther up this hill,” Shane says.
We drudge up the road, my breathing becoming heavier and my legs starting to burn. When we get to the top, we each throw our bags on the ground, the trees and thick brush giving us some protection.
“What now?” Sarah asks, panting.
“Guns,” Shane says as he pulls his out of his bag. He wedges it in the waist of his jeans, and we do the same.
He points to a small building farther up the road.
“There’s where they’ll be.” As Shane says it, the light around the Pigeon Post disappears, swallowed by the darkness. A blackout, and for once, I’m grateful for it.
“See?” I say. “And you thought this was going to be hard.” Shane gives me a crooked look, and I see it only because I’m standing so close to him.
“Don’t forget what I showed you,” he tells Sarah, referring to the gun. She nods with nervous enthusiasm. I try to ignore the nervous tension brewing in my gut.
Shane leads us off once again, and we follow like three jungle cats slinking in the night, looking for our prey. We run between old stone buildings and abandoned cars. The area around the house is quiet and still, making me think that we have come all this way for nothing. Once again, I’d have to admit Shane was right all along…a satisfaction I’ll be hard pressed to give him.
We are feet from the post, using an old shed as cover. It’s just as dark inside the large front windows as it is out.
“It doesn’t look like there’s anyone there,” Sarah whispers.
It’s not two seconds later when the beam of a flashlight cuts across the room, illuminating a bloody and beaten face.
Chapter 32
Dreams are images, emotions, that happen during certain stages of sleep. It is said that in an eight-hour period of sleep, two of those hours are spent dreaming. When you wake up, the dream is over and lingers as a haunting afterthought to your consciousness. They aren’t supposed to replay themselves in reality while you second-guess if you are really awake. I pinch myself.
This isn’t a dream.
I watch in horror as Luka is struck in the face with a flashlight. The chair he sits on sways, and for a second, I think it will fall. My first instinct is to run toward the building, but Shane grabs at the hem of my shirt, pulling me back behind the shed.
“Are you crazy?” he yells at me in a whisper.
It’s not the first time I’ve been asked that question. Am I crazy? If crazy means not letting Luka be beaten to death. If crazy means running into that building, hellfire and all. Then yes, I’m as crazy as they come.
“We have to do something,” I yell back. “Now!”
“Stay here, and I’ll try to get a closer look.”
I reluctantly agree and watch as Shane ducks into a low crawl, creeping his way to the side of the building. A Pigeon comes through the front door, casually lighting a cigarette. He inhales slowly, the orange ember glowing with each breath.
Shane raises his gun and nods us over. We slink across the dark open space and join him alongside the wall.
“There’s two ways to do this,” Shane says. “A, we can storm in there shooting everything in our path until we find Luka and Riley. B, we approach them peacefully and try to negotiate.
We exchange looks.
He maintains a serous face. “Okay. Plan A it is.” He peers around the corner of the building, his back flat against the wall. “Here goes nothing,” he says under his breath.
Shane disappears around the corner, and we follow him.
The Pigeon has finished his cigarette and is now talking on the phone. He does a double-take when he notices three people approaching, their guns pointed in his direction.
Before he has a chance to utter another word, Shane gives him directions. “Keep your mouth shut, and I’ll convince these three to let you live.” He gestures at us. “Hang up the phone.” The Pigeon reluctantly abides.
“Put your hands high…higher!”
Shane looks to Sarah. “Grab the gun.”
She grabs the gun and gives it to Shane. He tucks it into his waist.
“Drop to the ground.” The Pigeon does as he’s told, cursing under his breath. There’s a commotion brewing inside, and I’m even more anxious to get to Luka.
“You.” Shane looks at me. “Come with me.”
He tells Sarah to keep her gun pointed at the Pigeon and shoot at any body part that moves more than an inch. She nods, her fingers trembling just above the trigger. Justin stays to cover her back. I’m hesitant to leave them alone, but we’ve come this far, and Luka and Riley are just within grasp.
I follow close to Shane as he turns the doorknob slowly and swings the door open. We both hide behind the wall of the exterior of the building to be sure the area is clear before we storm in. The darkness acts as a double-edged sword. We are harder to see, but so are the Pigeons. We listen quietly for a few seconds before making our way in. So far, this rescue mission is going easier than I expected. But just like everything else in these Wards…easy doesn’t last long. I grow suspicious, and my heartbeat follows suit.
“Look, man, I told you. Tell us where she’s hiding, and we’ll be finished here.”
The words echo through the building. The whooshing of another strike across the face fills the air, the light from the flashlight swinging across the room with the movement. I hear Luka’s chair skirt across the floor, and I must hold myself back from running into the room like a screaming maniac.
Shane and I creep into the room where I finally get a glimpse of Luka up close.
The Pigeon’s flashlight flickers, and he smacks it with his hand a few times to jolt it back on. Luka’s bloodied and swollen eyes gleam to me.
“You’re wasting your time.” His voice is hoarse, and he barely gets the words out.
My heart sinks to my stomach. It’s my fault, I think. He’s here because of me.
As Luka says the words, Shane advances toward the Pigeon, then places his gun at the crown of his head. “Don’t say another word or I’ll blow this bald spot clean off your skull.”
The Pigeon raises his hands in surrender, the flashlight illuminating across Luka’s face. Both eyes are severely swollen and bruised, and his face is smeared with blood, some of which is dried…an indication that he’s been through this before.
“Untie him,” Shane says to me.
I run to Luka, who’s hanging his head low. His hands are bound behind him with frayed rope. I struggle to undo the massive knot.
“I need a knife…something sharp,” I yell.
Shane holds the gun with one hand and throws me his bag. “Knife. Front pocket.”
I fumble with the zipper, trying hard to control my trembling hands. I snatch the utility knife and hastily cut away the binding around Luka’s wrists. His arms fall to his sides like sacks of potatoes. I wrap one around me and help him get up.
Shane directs the Pigeon to sit in the chair. “Tie him up.”
I lean Luka against the wall, hoping he doesn’t slump to the floor. I try to make the strongest knot possible around the Pigeon’s wrists. Shane holds his gun steady. I throw him back his bag.
“Where’s the other one you took?” he asks the Pigeon.
He snickers and shakes his head. “Now why would I tell you that? You’re going to kill me either way.”
Luka bears most of his weight on me, and I struggle to keep from toppling over. His swollen eyelids are inflated, covering most of his eyes. Headlights cut across the room, and I scamper to lead Luka toward the back of the house. We need to find Riley. Now.
I trudge along with Luka and finally make it to the back. I sit him down in an empty room, hoping there is no one hiding around a dark corner. This is my first rescue mission, and I have no freaking clue what I’m doing.
“Don’t move,” I tell Luka as I lean him against another wall.
He groans.
The Pigeon Post is an old house with two bedrooms and another door that I’m guessing leads to the bathroom. Riley is in neither of the bedrooms, and my hopes start to sink when the worst-case scenario plays through my head. I open the bathroom door. I can’t see a thing in the windowless room. If it weren’t for his moans, I would never have known he was there.
Sarah screams, and I run back out into the hallway. Shane is still holding the Pigeon at gunpoint. I dash outside only to be confronted with a Pigeon pointing a gun toward her temple. His arms are wrapped around her neck, and he moves awkwardly as she fights against his movement. Justin is out cold on the floor, a gash bleeding from his temple.
I inch down the hall as Shane’s eyes jump from me to the Pigeon sitting in front of him.
“Don’t move,” the Pigeon warns me. “I’ll blow her head right off her shoulders!” Sarah struggles, but his grasp is too tight, his rage too primal. The Pigeon looks to me. “You…untie him!”
I hesitate for a split second.
“Now!”
I walk toward the bound Pigeon, moving as slowly as I can while still moving. Not now, I think. Not when we are so close. How could I be so naïve to think we could pull this off?
Just as I reach the chair, a gunshot blows from the back of the house. Everyone flinches, including the Pigeon holding Sarah hostage. Scanning the room, I make out Luka huddled on the floor, holding a gun pointed toward the
ceiling. Sarah uses the opportunity to give the Pigeon’s groin a swift kick, and he doubles over in pain, releasing his grasp on her. Once she’s free, she deals him another blow. This time it’s a quick kick to the face. The Pigeon drops like a ball of lead. Sarah rips the gun from his grip.
“Let’s get the hell out of here,” she says. Her chest is heaving with every breath, and sweaty hair sticks to her forehead.
“Where’s the driver?” I say, referring to the mysterious vehicle that pulled up moments before chaos ensued.
“Dead,” she says. “I panicked and just started shooting. It took me a few tries, but I got him…eventually.”
Sarah leaves to fish Riley out of the bathroom.
“You’ll never get away with this,” says the Pigeon still sitting in the chair.
Shane gives him a sharp look. “Yes. We will.” His finger bends toward the trigger, and the Pigeon’s body slumps forward as the bullet makes contact with his chest. Shane stomps toward the Pigeon on the floor and pumps two bullets in his back.
I watch in horror as Shane transforms into a cold-blooded killer right in front of my eyes. Or maybe he was always this way, and I just never knew it.
He looks up at me, recognizing the sickened look on my face.
“I had to,” he says. “There’s no way we could have left them behind alive.”
I nod, trying to convince myself he’s right. I guess I knew all along that lives would have to be taken during this whole process. It still doesn’t make seeing people dying right in front of you any easier. I try to shake the thought that this “job” these Pigeons were carrying out was just another means to feed their families.
There’s a commotion brewing behind me, and I turn to see Sarah dragging Riley out of the bathroom. He looks worse than Luka, making it hard to tell he and Shane are twins.
I look to Shane, hoping he knows what’s next in this half-assed plan.
“I’ll grab Luka. Help her load Riley into the van.”
I swing Riley’s other hand over my neck, and we drag him to the Official van. It’s similar to the one that Netty and I rode to the Antioch. There are bullet holes puncturing the windshield. The engine is still running, and the driver is slumped on the ground near the open driver’s side door. His arm is flopped over his head, covering his face. Shameful relief washes over me as it means I won’t be able to add it to the other faces shot dead in our wake.
The Unforgiven (The Propagation Project Book 1) Page 15
