by L. K. Hill
Still on the ground, Kyra pressed her face against the chain link, trying to see down the lane. The angle of the fences were such that she simply couldn’t. Not beyond twenty feet or so. “I don’t know.”
Mirelings in the cages further down screamed and wailed. Kyra still couldn’t see anything. Obviously those three or four cages down could. Suddenly, two cages over, Big Johnny turned wide, terrified eyes on her. She couldn’t hear him when he spoke. She had a clear view of his face, though, so she read his lips.
“Supra! They’re killing us!”
Everything clicked at once and Kyra’s limbs went weak with terror. She’d expected these people to simply scatter when the cops showed up, and many of them had. But not all. Like white-collar crooks shredding documents before they could be exposed, the guards were destroying the evidence of their depravity.
They were shooting the prisoners.
Pop, pop, pop. BOOM.
Four men, three with handguns and one with what looked like a deer rifle moved into view a moment later. At each cage, they stuck the muzzles of their weapons through the chain link and fired in succession. With the more crowded cages closer to the front of the warehouse, they’d probably had to repeat it several times to hit everyone. Now, near the back of the lane, there were fewer prisoners in each cage, which meant the closer they came, the faster they moved.
“You happy now?” The black woman was on her feet again. Kyra had gotten to hers at some point, too, though she didn’t remember doing it. “We’re all gonna die.”
“No we aren’t!” With no idea how it could be true, she swung her head and eyes around wildly, looking for some way out of the cage.
Her eyes fell on a coil of steel wire that anchored the chain link against the fence posts. If she could uncoil a few of the anchor points…. No. It would be impossible. Not only were her fingers not strong enough to manipulate the twist of wire, it was coated with some kind of clear sealant, which cemented the coil in place. Abandoning it, Kyra pressed as hard as she could at different parts of the chain link, looking for loose spots or other weaknesses. Perhaps they could find a place to wriggle out of…
“Don’t you think we haven’t tried that before,” the woman said irritably from beside Kyra. She yelled over the din of the other prisoner’s wails. “They’ve made sure we can’t break out of these.”
She wasn’t wrong. On most chain link fences, the steel wire served as an anchor every three to six feet, depending on the fence. Here, it either secured chain link to fence post or chain link to chain link where two sheets met every eighteen inches. All the coils were coated in sealant. Short of spontaneously-appearing wire cutters, the only way out of this cage was through the door.
“Okay,” Kyra told herself to think rationally. Panic flailed in her chest and her thoughts become frenzied. “Okay. Just…keep moving. Don’t stop.”
“And go where?” The woman’s wide eyes held equal parts scorn and terror.
“Nowhere. Everywhere.” Kyra struggled to keep her mouth and her brain in alignment. “It’s harder to shoot a moving target. That’s why they tell you to run in a zig-zag if someone’s shooting at you.” The woman’s baffled expression intensified, and Kyra sighed. “Keep moving. If you don’t stand still, they’ll have to work to hit you.”
“There are four of them!” The woman shrieked, her composure evaporating along with Kyra’s nerves. “You can’t dodge four bullets at once in this space.”
“Look lady,” Kyra snarled. “I know you’re scared and you have a right to be, but your lack of optimism is really starting to piss me off!”
It was upon them.
The four guards approached the cage right beside them. They raised the muzzles of their guns to the chain link and fired, one right after another. Pop, pop, pop. BOOM.
Like Kyra’s cage, that one only contained four prisoners. Each shot hit its target, and all four prisoners hit the ground with solid thunks she felt in her spine. Or was that her soul? Two cages over, her eyes fell on the figure of Big Johnny, lying on the floor, dark liquid oozing from his stomach and puddling on the cement beneath him. Her heart and her intestines clenched at the sight, and suddenly she struggled to breathe.
The group of guards turned to Kyra’s cage and she backed up, ready to run ladders like she’d never run them before.
“Wait a minute. Dorner, I’m out,” one of the guards said.
Dorner? Kyra hadn’t realized Dorner held the deer rifle. The one leading the execution squad. They all stopped when the first guard spoke. The others carrying handguns checked their weapons.
“Me, too,” a second guard said.
The third shrugged. “I only got one left.”
Dorner leered toward Kyra’s cage, his cold, calculating eyes meeting hers. He pressed his lips together. Then he turned. “Come on. They’re pooling the extra magazines two lanes over. Is Masuri’s team still one lane that way?”
“I think so,” the first guard answered.
“Good.” Dorner said. “Go tell him to come this way when he finishes and start at the back. We gotta start on the outside and move in to give ourselves the most time.” The first guard moved away in a different direction to relay the message while Dorner and the other two disappeared down the lane.
Kyra turned her gaze on the black woman.
“Quit looking so relieved,” the black woman’s voice oozed bitterness. “The next guards will be here in minute. Probably less.”
Kyra scanned the lane, her mind whirling. Only the prisoners on her side of the lane were dead. Dorner and his men went up one side of the lane and down the other, rather than side to side the whole way up. After killing Kyra and her cell mates, they would have moved to the cage across from hers—which was actually vacant—and then back down that side of the lane.
“They don’t know,” she said aloud, then turned to the black woman. “They won’t know when they get here which cage Dorner’s men left off on.”
The look that said Kyra was a stark raving psycho returned. “I think they’ll figure it out given that we’re all still alive.”
“Exactly.” Kyra couldn’t save the prisoners in the other cages. Not from inside her own. But she might be able to save herself and her cellmates. Moving to the side of the cage, she knelt, staring at the dead prisoners in the cell beside theirs. She refused to lift her eyes to the lifeless form of Big Johnny beyond. Reaching through the chain link, she easily reached one of the corpses lying with his back to her. Obviously hit by Dorner’s gun, a golf ball-sized hole peered out from his ruined abdomen. It went straight through, probably taking out whole organs in the process. The copious amount of blood leaking out was more than a person could sustain and live.
Kyra pulled the corpse toward her until it lay right up against the chain link barrier. She said a silent prayer for the man’s soul, as well as one that he didn’t have any STDs, and plunged her hands into the wound. She winced at the sickening warmth—swiftly dissipating—and squishy sliminess of what she felt. Her hands came out soaked in blood to her wrists.
“What the hell are you doing?” the black woman choked from behind her.
Kyra turned, addressing the other man and woman in the cell. “Lie down.” The man rocked back and forth, hugging his knees and moaning. Kyra winced, hoping she hadn’t plunged her hands into the gore for nothing. She knelt beside the man. “You have to stop. You have to be quiet. Pretend, or they’ll kill us.” He stared up at her, expression bland. She had no idea if he understood. “Here,” she guided him onto the floor with her hands. He grimaced, but did as she said. When he lay on the ground, facing the back of the cage because she didn’t trust him to keep his eyes shut, she slathered blood all over his back. It took longer than she’d have wished to make it look real, but if he didn’t move, anyone glancing into the cage would assume he’d been shot.
Returning to the side of the cage, she covered her hands in fresh gore and turned. The other woman in the cage watched Kyra with haunted eyes,
but laid down on her own and stayed still. Kyra covered the woman’s upper back and neck with the blood, then returned for more. When Kyra returned a third time, the black woman was still on her feet. She met Kyra’s eyes, her face unreadable. Without a word, she lay down facing the door. Good. If all of them faced away it might look suspicious, and she and Kyra were the only two with the presence of mind to pull it off.
Kyra returned a final time to the corpse and slathered blood all over her stomach and abdomen, flicking strings of it across her neck. Lying down, she wiped her face on her sleeves. She didn’t know when she’d started crying, but she forced the tears to stop falling, her limbs to stop quivering.
“Hold your breath when you hear them come near,” she said quietly, but loud enough for her cell mates to hear. “If they see one of us breathing, they’ll know we’re all faking.” She lay down and waited.
It didn’t take long for the thud of boots to reach her ears. Voices accompanied them.
“…said they got almost to the end of this row,” a man’s voice said.
“All the way, by the looks of it,” a second, deeper voice said. “Let’s start over there.”
“How much time we got?” the first voice asked.
“Not enough. They got the barriers down, but it’s only a matter of time before the pigs break through. The tunnel’s open. If they get in before we’re done, we’ll have to make a run for it.”
The boots passed Kyra’s cage and moved several feet away. The wails of the prisoners rose up again, polluting the air with a tangible chill. Pop, pop, pop, pop. The closest shrieks cut off, and Kyra shuddered. Fresh tears pooled in her eyes. She kept them firmly shut, not allowing the tears to fall.
The gunfire and shrieks faded as the squad moved down the lane and away from Kyra’s cell. Iciness spread through her stomach. Where was Gabe? Why hadn’t she seen a single police officer yet?
Even as she thought it, a series of hollow booms from various corners of the warehouse met her ears. Then more gunfire, with a different sound than before. Bang, bang. Bang. Bang, bang. This gunfire she knew. The heavy-sounding fire from a police-issue Glock.
She felt too exhausted, too soul-weary to feel relief. At least it was over.
A shadow fell over her. She hadn’t moved or opened her eyes, and she could only pray the shadow’s owner didn’t see her stiffen. She hadn’t heard them approach, but the chances of hearing one set of footsteps above the din was unlikely. The metallic rattling of someone jiggling the lock reached her. A scraping sound and a distinct click announced the padlock on the door had popped open.
Icy dread swept over Kyra. A cop wouldn’t open the door. He or she would announce themselves or simply move past if they believed everyone to be dead. No, this was someone else.
She could feel the mass of a body standing over her. She held her breath, willing her body to remain still. Movement somewhere above her. She felt the visitor lean directly over her. Breath came hot against her neck and one side of her face. A soft grunt.
“Chameleon.” The voice whispered. It was definitely male, but she didn’t recognize it. She flinched at the unexpected sound of the voice so close to her ear. Perhaps she’d hidden it better than she thought because nothing happened. He had to be crouching directly beside her, his face inches from hers. She could feel his eyes running over her. “Beware the key, Chameleon.” She flinched at the sound of his voice. No way he could have missed it. Another soft, guttural laugh fell onto her ear, sending chills down her spine.
“Hey, you in there! What are you doing?” This second voice Kyra recognized right away. It was Jenkins’.
“Getting to know someone,” the gravelly voice above her ear said.
The chills dancing across Kyra’s spine intensified. The squeak of metal reached her ears as Jenkins pulled the kennel door open wider.
“Damnit to hell,” he cried. “I didn’t want them to kill her. Wanted to kill her myself.”
The only reply the man standing over Kyra made was the whisper of his breathing. Though she had no idea what this man looked like, she could imagine him squatting there, staring steadily at Jenkins, emanating darkness.
“What do you mean, getting to know someone?” Jenkins went on. “Everyone in this cell is dead.”
Kyra felt movement. When the gravelly voice came again, it was from father above. “You think so? Well. That’s why this operation just fell apart.”
Footsteps moving away from her, a thud, which she thought was Jenkins being shoved backward, and another creak of metal as the first man left the kennel.
“Hey wait,” Jenkins said. “Who are you? Are you one of Manny’s?”
Kyra barely suppressed a gasp.
“No. But he sent me.”
“Then you must be one of his,” Jenkins snapped.
The chilling, guttural chuckle again. “Keep telling yourself that. Brother.”
His footsteps retreated down the lane. Jenkins’ breathing still came from less than three feet away. Kyra wondered whether his gaze was on her and her fellow prisoners, or the man who’d now walking away.
Her nervous cellmate wouldn’t be able to hold out under scrutiny. She was amazed he’d lasted this long. If only Jenkins left the door open…. She held her breath as a foot stepped near her head, and got ready to vault to her feet.
Meaty fingers dug into her neck and yanked her upward. Kyra screeched and the other three prisoners jumped in unison, their little charade shattering. Jenkin’s fingers dug painfully into her neck. Her hands went numb, and a strong arm wrapped around her waist.
“So that freak was right.” His voice held triumph. “You must not have been his bag of dope. Did you think I didn’t know the moment you came in, that you were different? Did you think you could hide amongst darker people? You must be a cop.”
“I’m not a cop,” Kyra growled through gritted teeth.
“Well you’re certainly not one of them,” Jenkins hissed. She saw his chin jut toward the other prisoners in her peripheral vision. “None of them could have come up with the idea to fake their deaths. Or had the stomach to stick their hands into a corpse.”
Jenkins dragged her backward out of the cage and threw her onto the ground hard enough that she rolled, stopped only by the cages on the other side of the lane. The breath left her lungs and for five seconds she couldn’t breathe or get her bearings. When she managed to raise her head, Jenkins was securing the padlock on the cage with the other three still inside, mercifully unharmed, the only prisoners still breathing on this row.
Turning her head, her eyes fell on a man walking away down the lane. He must be the one who’d first leaned over her. He wore shorts and a tank top. Dark, stringy hair brushed the nape of his neck. His back told her little else. He seemed to be flicking a coin up into the air and catching it over and over again.
She filed all her observations in three seconds flat, then turned her attention back to Jenkins.
Kyra kicked her way to her feet and ran. She thought she might actually get away. For all of three seconds she thought it. Jenkins’ hand closed around her jacket and yanked her back against his chest. He forced her arms into an X over her chest and pinned them there. She fought as hard as she could to free herself—her jaw ached from clenching her teeth—but she couldn’t so much as free her arms. Jenkins pushed her forward easily.
Think Kyra. Think. The guards said something about a tunnel. If Jenkins went that way, maybe it was a good thing. She could only assume it bypassed the conventional entrances to the warehouse, and therefore the cops. If it led into the alleys of the Slip Mire, it would be to Kyra’s advantage. All she’d have to do was kick her way free of Jenkins and lose him in the red light and shadows. She could double back and find Gabe. If only she could…
The plans babbling through her mind ground to a halt when Jenkins opened one of the many vacant cages closer to the back of the warehouse. Why would he throw her in another cage with the cops in the building?
After unlock
ing the padlock, he swung the door open and stepped inside with her. His palm cupped the back of her head. The wall came at her faster than she could process.
Shapes and dim hues swam in her vision like watercolors. As they solidified, the sound of Jenkins clicking the padlock shut rang in her ears. On the inside of the cage. Not that she’d be able to get out. Not without a key. No one would be able to open it from the outside, either.
Jenkins turned from the door, a predatory glow in his eyes. Kyra scrambled to her feet. Before she could get her balance, Jenkins slammed into her, shoving her against the wall and digging his fingers into her throat.
“The…cops are…here,” she croaked.
“It’ll take them some time to make their way back there. If I haven’t killed you yet, they’ll have nothing on me. But I think I can get a few good screams out of you at least.” He pushed her painfully down the wall, hard enough to gouge the skin from her back and forced her roughly to the cold concrete floor.
***
Squatting beside an Abstreuse PD SUV beside Tyke, Gabe’s knee bounced restlessly. He fought to keep a tight rein on his anxiety, but it needed an escape. Smells of old, rank pavement and urine filled his nose, and the sides of shadowy alleys rose up like rearing demons around the warehouse Abstreuse’s finest now surrounded.
Tyke hadn’t left Gabe’s side since Kyra’s call. He kept throwing concerned glances Gabe’s way. “She’ll be okay,” he whispered for the fiftieth time. Of course he couldn’t promise that—no one could.
The SWAT team had gone in minutes before, followed by gunfire from all parts of the warehouse. More than forty detectives and double that number of uniforms waited for the order to go in. It wouldn’t be safe, even when they got the order. An operation like this would take hours to get under control. They’d have to clear the warehouse, make dozens of arrests, and identify where all the guns were. The SWAT team couldn’t do it by themselves, but they would sweep away the most immediate danger.
Because of that, every cop waiting to head in wore a Kevlar vest, a helmet, and a grim expression.
