Rogues of Overwatch

by Dustin Martin

“All I’m saying,” Aidan said, squirming in his seat, “is why do these kinds of cars always have no actual seats? What’s wrong with a plain seat like a van has?” He turned to the guards in the back, but both exchanged clueless looks with each other.

  “Uh, that’s just how they’re made,” one said.

  “But why? Certainly can’t be good for your back.”

  “To make the prisoners uncomfortable?” Jando said.

  “And the guards? Is it to keep them alert?”

  “Maybe,” Lydia said.

  He looked at Sylvia for the answer. “What do you think?”

  She was preoccupied with what was happening in front of them. She lifted off the seat a little and stretched her neck, saying, “I think we’re slowing down.” She tapped on the metal mesh. “What’s going on?”

  The transport came to a complete stop and the driver said, “There’s a crashed motorcycle in the middle of the road. They’re stopping to help.” Then he took out a cell phone and called for an ambulance. Sylvia’s brows knitted, as did Heather’s. They both wore a skeptical expression.

  “Hey,” Sylvia said to the driver. “Tell the lead transport we’ll continue on. We have to get to the safe house.”

  Suddenly, the first transport exploded in a fiery mass right outside the windshield. Sylvia toppled off her seat and the rest flew around, tumbling on top of one another. The first transport hopped in the air and crashed onto the road, hungry flames devouring it. Seconds later, a similar boom resounded behind them. On the radio panel up front, the third transport was shouting at them.

  “Transport two! Transport two! What was that?!”

  Sylvia banged on the mesh and the shaking driver yelped. “Get us out of here!” she said.

  The transport lurched forward, driving around the wreck. Two explosions set off in front of them and on the right. The driver swerved, heading through the flames. Bullets thumped their sides like hail. He turned onto a dirt path off the road and climbed a hill. The transport bounced and jumped as it traveled on the rough terrain, with more explosions setting off beside them.

  The driver grabbed the radio and asked, “Transport three? Are you with us?”

  “Yeah, we’re here!”

  “Transport four? Are you there?”

  “They’re gone!” transport three said. “Exploded out of nowhere! What’s going on?”

  Up ahead was a gated sawmill. The driver crashed through the gate and turned, stopping in front of the entrance with the passenger side to the front door. They waited for a few moments but there was no more gunfire.

  “Call the police,” Sylvia ordered. The driver fumbled with his phone as Sylvia dialed Agent Rogers, pulling on her sound-dampening gloves and drawing her pistol in the process. A guard picked himself up and threw the back doors open, hopping out with his gun raised. “No!” Sylvia screamed. A stream of bullets embedded into his vest from the sawmill’s entrance, knocking the guard into the doors. Aidan reached out and grabbed the guard by the shoulders, pulling him into the transport.

  “I’m fine, I’m fine,” the guard said, panting and running her hands over her vest. “Hurts something awful, but I’m fine.”

  “Who are these guys?” Jando asked.

  Spinning to Lydia, Sylvia pointed at the wall facing away from the sawmill. “We’re sitting ducks here. Make a hole and everyone else, follow her.” Lydia disentangled herself from the mess and raised her fist, slamming it into the wall. Stinging pain shot through her arm. The surface was tough, but she was tougher. Two more heavy punches and her fist broke through. She pushed aside the pain and tore the hole open wider, stomping the lower part and pulling the top, like ripping a curtain.

  When the opening was wide enough for a body, she slipped through and helped Jando out next. “Get them out. I’ll go help the other transport.” She raced to the end and peeked out from behind her transport. She couldn’t see the attackers. The third transport had parked behind them, and its driver was already crouched behind the front wheel, his rifle ready.

  “I’ll cover you,” he mouthed. Bouncing on the ball of one foot, and then the other, Lydia dove for the next transport. A short burst of gunfire chased her and missed. The driver traded shots. “Target down,” he said. “Two more.”

  Lydia wound up her fist. Just as the pain had receded a little, it returned in force as she left a deep dent in the third transport’s exterior. She continued hitting the side until she formed a hole. She tore through, only able to make a crawl space from her level. “C’mon!” she said, hurrying the guards inside through the hole. “Get out of there!”

  As the guards tossed their guns ahead of them and crawled out, Lydia checked on the road behind them. Nobody followed from the dirt path yet, although faint voices shouted at the bottom. On the road below, the other two transports were smoldering carcasses, swarmed by people running past them. Sporadic gunfire echoed across the hills.

  On the opposite slope, a few large vehicles were driving to the road, flashing through the trees. From above, she heard engines coming closer, traveling fast. More of those vehicles? she thought. “Hurry, hurry,” she said, yanking a guard through the crawl space. To the side, the drivers and Sylvia shot at the two enemies in the sawmill.

  The last guard climbed out and Sylvia yelled, “Target down! One more. Second floor.”

  The enclosing vehicles crashed through the trees, louder, almost on them. “Sylvia!” Lydia called. She mouthed, “I’m going in!” She beckoned Aidan to her, and he jumped from vehicle to vehicle.

  “On my mark,” Sylvia said to the guards. She counted down on her fingers, and when they stood, guns raised, and fired, Aidan flew Lydia to a grimy window on the second floor.

  Breaking through the window and onto a catwalk, Lydia and Aidan spun to their left. The shooter was shocked to see them. Before he aimed, the two pounced on him, punching and kicking him until he was out cold. Aidan waved an all clear to those outside.

  Jando ran from cover first and kicked open the shoddy front door. He urged everyone inside as the vehicles cleared the trees. Two Humvees, both with swiveling gun turrets, peppered the sawmill. A large APC stopped and popped its rear, spilling armed people. Jando pulled the door shut and jumped back as bullets pounded it.

  “Half of you, go up top,” Sylvia ordered the guards. “Jando, go with them. Do your thing.”

  “You got it,” he said, climbing the stairs with the guards.

  “Watch the door,” she said to two others. “And watch Heather.” Their prisoner sat in the corner against a support beam, dazed from being thrown around. “The rest of you, follow me. We need to secure any other entrances. We’ll hole up here until the FBI and the police arrive. Should be soon.”

  One of the Humvee gun turrets fell silent. On the catwalk above them, Jando pumped his fist and made two more guards disappear while firing. “Take that, scumbag!”

  The rest of the sawmill was dark and empty. Conveyor belts traveled between the first floor and the catwalks on the second floor. All conveyor belts led to and from large machines or empty metal bins. Most of the machines were equipped with old, rusted saws that still smelled faintly of sawdust.

  In the corner up top was a foreman’s office, furnished with an empty desk and a bare bulletin board, and there was one side entrance on the first floor. Lydia strained and struggled with one of the smaller, still heavy machines, ripping through the tough wiring connecting it to the wall and pushing the machine in front of the entrance. Meanwhile, Sylvia found a generator in the back. To their relief, there was still some fuel in it. She turned it on and the lights flickered to life. The machines started, too, buzzing and whirring, and conveyor belts delivered empty loads to the saws.

  In the front, a blast shook the building. Everyone regrouped to the front. A guard was dead and a hole was blown out of the second floor, leaving a large gap in the catwalk and wall. “This whole place is going to fall!” one of the guards said.

  “We got to take out the RPG!”
Jando said.

  Sylvia sprinted to the top floor and, together with a guard, aimed at the man outside loading another round into the RPG. As he shouldered the weapon and aimed, they sprayed him with bullets. Several struck his arms and neck and he fell over, the RPG going off on the ground. The shot went under the APC and exploded, bouncing it up and rocking it on its wheels. Slowly, it groaned and tipped on its side.

  The people outside stared in disbelief and the guards cheered. A guard took advantage of the stupor and grabbed a grenade off the enemy Lydia and Aidan had taken down. She lobbed the grenade at a Humvee, and it threw the vehicle up and over. The turret shooter shrieked and ducked inside his seat, very nearly squashed.

  Two other Humvees and an APC approached and stopped. “Great,” Aidan said.

  Several people climbed out of the APC, some familiar to Lydia. She recognized Emeryl, who ranted and chewed out the attackers below, tapping the barrel of his pistol to his head. She realized they must be mercenaries.

  “Think!” Emeryl said, whacking one mercenary in the forehead and slapping an RPG out of another’s hands.

  Beside him, Mark, the people from Washington, and others she had never seen before looked at the hole. That group was not heavily armed like the rest. Were they all BEPs? More important, “How did they find us?” she asked aloud.

  “We’ll worry about that later,” Sylvia said. “Let’s take care of this first.”

  A clean, professional gentleman stepped away from the group and raised his hands to Sylvia. “Hello,” he said, almost drowned out by the factory noise. “May I speak to Sylvia Romero?”

  Sylvia raised her head a little, studying him. “What do you want?”

  He gestured to his people to lower their weapons, and they complied. “I want to make a deal,” he said. “I think we can all walk away from this without any more bloodshed.”

  “How’s that?”

  “We want Heather. That’s all,” he said.

  “For who? Roland Whyte?”

  “Our employer prefers to remain anonymous. I will tell you they want Heather, and I’m sure they’re open to a deal. Give her to us and you can leave.”

  Sylvia looked down at Heather and reloaded her pistol. “What guarantee do we have you won’t just blow up the building with us in it?”

  “How about I come in and talk?” he said. “Alright? My people won’t shoot as long as I’m in there.”

  Below, Heather shook her head, muttering, “No,” over and over.

  Lydia, Aidan, and Jando huddled near Sylvia. “We have to stall,” Sylvia said. “Rogers will be here with backup soon.”

  “We can’t trust this guy,” Aidan said.

  “Seagull’s right,” Jando said and Aidan punched his shoulder.

  “Some of my colleagues would prefer to blow you and the mill up now and dig Heather out of the rubble. Dead or alive, either is fine with them,” the man said.

  “He’s bluffing,” Lydia said. “Check out Emeryl. He looks pretty upset about the RPG.” She glanced at Heather. “I don’t think they want her dead. They won’t blow up the mill if we refuse.”

  At Emeryl’s direction, one of the people below loaded another RPG and pointed it directly at Sylvia. “You willing to bet on that?” the agent asked.

  Emeryl gave the go-ahead, and the RPG-holder lifted her weapon and pulled the trigger. The shot hit the roof, knocking out a gap, and the building rumbled. Part of the roof crumbled onto the floor and the mill creaked. “Next one will take out the rest of the wall,” Emeryl said.

  Sylvia sighed and banged her head on the catwalk’s rail. “All we have to do is buy some more time. Drag out the negotiation. Any little bit helps,” she said. She poked her face out to the man. “Alright. But send in Mark.”

  “I’m the duly designated negotiator here,” he said. “I’m afraid it’s me, period.”

  After a long moment of deliberation, Sylvia said, “Come in unarmed.” The four of them waited for him with a pair of guards at the front door. As he entered, the sun disappeared behind a cloud, shrouding the mill in shadow, and unease rushed through Lydia’s veins.

  “Nice to meet you. I’m Roy,” he said.

  Heather yelled slurred warnings at them. She exhaled her toxins and urged Lydia to remove her filter to hear her clearly. At Sylvia’s approval, she did. “Keep him away from the windows!” Heather blurted out.

  “Nice to see you, too, Heather,” Roy said. He kept his hands in the air, spinning and allowing a guard to pat him down for weapons. Once deemed clean, he headed for a window and wiped some of the grime off. “This place is pretty filthy. The germs in here are a nightmare.”

  “Get away from there,” Sylvia said, training her pistol at his forehead. He obliged. “Why does Whyte want Heather?”

  “My employers have their own reasons. Suffice to say that they want her. So, are you going to hand her over?”

  Heather scooted herself onto her feet against the beam and whispered to Sylvia, “Don’t trust him. Shoot him now.” Sylvia shushed her.

  “Do that and all that will be left of you is rubble,” Roy said. “Come now, let’s be reasonable here.”

  “He can blind you,” Heather said, her mind clearing. “Uses the sunlight to blind people. As soon as the sun comes out, he will.”

  He smiled. “I’m here to find a peaceful solution.” Then he swept his hands at the rifles pointing at him from the catwalk. “I think I’m sufficiently covered, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Don’t trust him,” Heather said in Sylvia’s ear. “Shoot him.”

  Grimacing, Sylvia’s pistol rattled, and Lydia saw the faint trail hovering between her cheek and Heather’s lips. Without waiting, the girl snatched Heather and strapped the filter to her mouth, then shoved her to the ground, silencing her furious protests. Sylvia thanked her. “Get her out of her,” she said. Lydia dragged Heather to one of the guards, and he held his gun to her head.

  “Do you really want to hold onto someone like that?” Roy said. “She’ll manipulate anyone. Believe me, she’ll kill you as quickly as she would me if it benefited her.” He approached Sylvia, and the guards steadied their weapons. “Let us take her off your hands. You won’t have to worry about her, and I guarantee she won’t cause any more trouble. She’ll receive justice, mark my words.” He opened his arms. “Now, come on. That’s a good deal. We’ll take her, no muss, no fuss.”

  “Sorry, but Heather is not leaving our custody,” Sylvia said.

  “You’re honestly going to risk your life and everyone else here for her?” he asked. “You’re protecting a murderer.” He turned to Lydia as well. “You two, of all people, should appreciate my proposition for justice.”

  Lydia looked at Heather. Although the offer was definitely against the BEP Division’s training, and they would indirectly be killing her no matter any excuses they told themselves, that didn’t stop Lydia from entertaining it for a few brief seconds. Ridding herself of dealing with Heather for any longer and saving all of their skins was enticing. Plus, the idea of Heather getting her dues from someone who scared her wasn’t half bad either. Lydia’s long look perturbed Heather, who stared anxiously as if she thought the other girl might hand her over.

  When Lydia faced Roy, she shook her head. “Tempting, but Sylvia gave you our answer.”

  “Don’t you want a punishment worse than jail?” Roy asked. “Don’t you want her to face justice? I can’t think of anything worse than my employer’s punishments.”

  “I want justice, sure,” she said. “For your group and your employer.”

  The sun peeked out from the clouds and Roy sighed, defeated. “I suppose there’s no changing your mind then?”

  “No,” Sylvia said. “If I were you, I’d clear out of here. Backup will be arriving soon.”

  “Oh, they won’t find anything by then,” Roy said, turning to leave, his head hanging low.

  “Is that a threat?”

  “I’m only telling you what my partners will do
. You’ll be dead and we’ll be long gone before the FBI comes. Pity to return to the bloodshed. I gave you a chance. Things seemed promising.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and kicked his feet. “I really wanted to avoid this. Pity.”

  He stopped under a portion of the catwalk near a window, where sunlight streamed in. “Hmm, I think I dropped something on my way in.” Then he patted his pockets and crouched, searching in front of the window. “Anyone got a light?”

  Heather’s cries of “No!” distracted Lydia. The woman squeezed her eyes shut.

  Too late Lydia realized what was about to happen. “Close your eyes!”

  “Oh, never mind,” Roy said, spinning around. His cheeks and neck lit up as if he’d swallowed a small sun and it had lodged in his throat. “I have my own.” Lydia covered her face, and the next thing she knew, the whole mill was blanketed in solid white light.