by A. R. Shaw
After their smoke, a few of the guards wandered back to their posts and the portly delivery man handed off several boxes to the others that remained. One of the guards checked the items within the containers while another brought them into the building. “More than likely, that’s the kitchen area, so Sloane and Wren are not in that side of the building.” He found himself talking more and more to Ace as if he were a human. Then, just when he thought the man was going to leave with the girls in the back of the truck, he called over one of the guards and lifted a rope from inside. The rope was linked to the bound hands of the girls. At first, they didn’t budge…simultaneously, the cigar man slapped one of them in the back of the head and the guard yanked on the rope. Both of them stood hastily and scurried to the back of the pickup truck. The guard pulled them down hard. When one fell, the other fought the yanking rope to help her up.
“Crap,” Kent said, anger welling into his throat.
The dog looked up at him as if he understood exactly what his words meant and seemed to agree with his analysis thus far.
“We have to keep watching and try to get a clue where your mom is. Then we’ll blow stuff up and get them out of there. Good plan?”
Ace’s glossy eyes said yes.
The rain had picked up then. He could actually smell the creamy cigar smoke in the air. It made him sick to his stomach. It wasn’t so much the smell as the sick extravagance, knowing they held his loved ones inside. Thieves, human traffickers, and nothing more. These people had lost their humanity long ago.
By nightfall, Kent would have a plan in place. By nightfall, Kent would light up the sky.
21
Sloane
She wasn’t sure how long it would take to torture Rose. She’d only heard the others being hauled from their rooms in short intervals. I’m assuming again, dammit. Stop that. She told herself. Assuming things made you vulnerable to all other possibilities. Anticipate anything, never assume. You have to keep your mind open. Maybe they’re not torturing her. Maybe they’re getting her medical care? Yeah, right. Perhaps they’re moving her to another room. They don’t want us to compare notes. Maybe they heard me talking to her?
As she thought about all the possible scenarios, Sloan picked at the edge of the gummy elastic bandage around her calf, now spotted with dried blood. She lifted up a corner and began rolling it away very carefully and exposed a white gauze pad over the entry wound. “Geez…that’s going to leave a scar. Bastards,” she whispered. She stood up from the mattress and put the thin bloodied tab underneath and out of sight. The rubber elastic bandage, the same color as her skin, she wadded into a tight ball. “If this fails, I have another one, but I need to make this one count or they’re onto me.”
No sooner had Sloane replayed her plan in her head, she heard the guards coming down the hallway again.
“Keep still,” one said.
“We should have strapped her down like I said earlier,” said the other.
Then a clanging of the keys against the door as they unlocked it.
Sloane’s heartbeat went from resting to pounding like a freight train in seconds. At the same time, in her right hand, she continued to compress the little bandage ball tighter and tighter, wadding it harder and harder. It had to be just the right size to fit and she didn’t have time to test it out.
The door opened.
Rifle guy said, “Get back,” as he pointed the barrel of his gun at her center mass again. It wasn’t a comforting feeling.
Sloane slid up along her mattress, her back against the wall, but she kept her right leg on the floor. They couldn’t see it, but her left foot was positioned flat against the mattress, her knee pushed up like a spring. She was ready to go.
With her lips held in a tight, straight line, she glared at them and kept her stance hidden beneath her gown, the rubber weapon tightly held tightly in the palm of her hand.
Then, unexpectedly, behind the man the other guard backed in carrying a stretcher.
“Hey, over here,” the guard with the target on her said, demanding her attention. “Make one false move and I’ll shoot you dead.”
Sloane’s attention reverted back to the gunman.
Time to make some noise.
“What the hell did you do to her?” Sloane yelled. “You sleazy bastards. Did you take turns?” she yelled even louder. She had to throw them off.
One of the guards turned to her quickly and said, “We didn’t touch her like that. It wasn’t us.”
Breakable…that one, Sloane thought.
“Shut up,” the gunman yelled.
“We didn’t. We didn’t touch her. We didn’t do this,” the breakable one said in defense.
“Hurry up and get out of here,” the gunman said, gritting his teeth. His eyes never left Sloane’s.
The guards placed the stretcher carrying Rose down on the floor in the narrow space between their cots. There was no way she was getting around them and to the door from this position. Time to act.
Moaning came from the stretcher, causing Sloane to look down at Rose. The bloody garment she wore exposed shredded skin in more or less the same distinct pattern as before.
Anger flooded Sloane over fear then. “It doesn’t matter if you touched her or not…you’re complicit in this. Look at her,” she demanded, pointing to Rose. Her right hand thrust down. “You did this whether you touched her or not. You delivered her to a torturer…a monster. There’s an infection and fever already, dammit. She’ll die because of you. She’ll die of sepsis.”
That’s when Sloane pushed forward past the guards with the stretcher. “Go ahead and shoot me…because I’ll never let you do this to me. Kill me now. I’m serious,” she said, approaching the gunman.
“Step back. Step back, now. I don’t want to hurt you, ma’am.”
But she knew if he took the shot, he’d risk shooting one of the other guards.
She continued to walk slowly, carefully, with determination toward the barrel of his gun, shaking her head and crying, tears streaming down her face. “I can’t…please, just go ahead and kill me now.”
“I said stop. Don’t take another step,” he warned her.
Continuing the play, she pushed forward. Only a couple more steps. Each bare foot she placed before the other in a slow ballet.
“Can you seriously sleep with yourself doing this? What if this was your mother? Your sister? My God…you’ve all compromised your own ethics and become monsters yourselves.” Her voice continued on to a near shrill.
“Don’t shoot her!” one of the guards behind her said.
She was sure it was the one who defended himself earlier.
“Get her back, then!” the shooter said.
That’s when Sloane knew she had to take the chance. The shooter was backed up out the doorway’s threshold.
Lurching forward, she begged him, “Please! Just let me die now. I don’t want to end up like this.” She held her hands up to her chest in a begging prayer. Already at the entrance, she didn’t attempt to flee down the hallway, though the temptation was nearly impossible. She knew that was a death sentence right there. Instead, she felt the guard behind her grab her by the back of the left arm and that’s when Sloane used her right hand to grab at the door frame, right where the lock-jamb hit, as she’d seen Rose do earlier before the torture trip. She held on and pleaded, “Please! I’m begging you. I don’t want to end up like her.” She cried, holding the gunman’s attention.
The guard behind Sloane wrenched her away like a ragdoll and shoved her back behind them as the other guards brought out the empty stretcher.
They left but before they did, the defensive guard said, “Don’t try that again. It won’t work.” He shook his head. It wasn’t a threat. It was meant as advice.
Sloane knew at least that one had a conscience.
He pulled the door closed behind him and Sloan held her breath.
There was no customary click in the latch. And to keep them from suspecting anything was
awry she yelled out in a deceptive plea, “Please!”
22
Wren
Inside the room, Wren finally realized what damage Hyde had done to her. Her nose bled freely for a while. He’d missed his punch a few times around her eyes and cracked the bridge of her nose. It was probably broken in a few places. “Kent will put me back together,” she muttered with sustaining hope. She used her sleeve to stem the mingling flow and intermittently held her head up, trying to gaze at the small window with what little fleeting vision remained in her swelling eyes as her brain pounded inside her head.
Her lip was tender and swollen. She was pretty sure her left eye was going to swell shut soon. It was odd, but she never really felt the pain until she was confined to the room. Not only that, she shook uncontrollably now, and though she held hope the tears began to come. Huddled into the corner of the concrete room, Wren held herself and sobbed as silently as possible. She remembered being left alone as a girl when her dad and mom were sick in the hospital during the pandemic year, with her little sister Mae to care for. That was hard enough, but she didn’t have anyone trying to hurt her then. No one trying to extract information with the threat of torture. Sure…later she had a stepfather who slapped and tormented them from time to time but nothing like this. After a while, she fell asleep and woke shortly after in complete darkness.
“All right. Stop it!” she said to herself. “That’s enough. You can be a baby another time. Now is not the time to wimp out. Think, dammit.” Wiping her snotty and bloody nose on her sleeve again, she pulled herself together. “I’m not a weakling. They’ve messed with the wrong family. I’ve got to get out of here and get to Mom and get back to the others.”
Then suddenly, the door opened to her cell and her right hand sprang up to shield her eyes from the beam of light meant to blind her good eye, because the left one was nearly shut now so that didn’t matter.
The holder of the light said nothing but held the light on her for a few seconds too long.
“What the hell do you want!” Wren yelled out.
The light went out and the door slammed shut with a metallic crash.
“Hmm…they check on you at night.”
Wren rose from the corner of the room in the pitch dark and pulled the mattress from the metal frame. She made her way over to the opposite corner near the doorway by feel alone. There was no way she could see anything now, light or no light. After she settled the mattress down again on the floor, she planned. The next person that opened that door was going to be met with a surprise.
23
Kent
Out of the bag Kent brought along, he pulled wire cutters. Of course, there were wire cutters inside; Sloane had packed the emergency bag. There were all kinds of useful things carefully packaged inside. Things he would need really soon, as it turned out. Weapons to use. He snipped the corner of the fence wire as carefully as possible. The clipping still made a defining pinging sound as he went along. Cringing inside as he went, he watched the sentry on night duty in between the pings, hoping the man had had too much cigar smoke and beer for the night to keep his senses dulled and his trigger finger out of the weapon’s guard. He’d watched the young guard and was sure he’d turned a few shades of green trying to keep up with his buddies earlier in the evening. He was probably ready to puke at any moment now.
One more ping and Kent put away the handy wire cutters. He used his gloved hands to bend up the bottom portion of the fencing. He couldn’t risk getting caught as he snuck through the wire. Once on the other side, he continued to keep an eye on the sentry by the front gate.
They had an old army truck parked in front of him, shielding the direct view of his actions. There was another guard to the south, as well as two others on either side of the compound. It was apparently a square and they only kept watch on the four corners, including the entrance. That worked in his favor. He only needed to find a place to hole up and observe for a few more hours, and the army truck they had parked in the corner provided the perfect cover. The back right blown tire told him the vehicle wasn’t going anywhere any time soon and had probably been there a while, until they found the right replacement parts.
“Come on, Ace,” he whispered and motioned with his hand for the dog to go through. Fortunately, the black dog was barely visible in the night.
Ace stood and looked at him like, “What? I’m not going in there. You go first.”
“Go through the hole, dammit,” Kent whispered.
Ace took two steps backward.
Shaking his head, Kent wanted to strangle him.
“Fine,” Kent said and slunk through first. “Probably get us caught anyway.” Once through the tight opening, Kent said, “See. Your turn, dummy. Come on.”
Ace just stood there.
Taking a quiet, deep breath, Kent decided it was probably best to leave him there when suddenly Ace decided he wanted to come along through the hole and bolted through to the other side, nearly toppling Kent over in the process.
Kent let out a low growl and took care to re-bend the tines back into place. At first glance, no one would notice the cuts. He thought perhaps they’d gotten into the compound without detection when suddenly, Ace’s wagging tail hit the fencing, sending out a metal chime. “Oh, crap!” The deafening clang sent fear clear through him.
Then bright imposing lights beamed into the corner. “Who’s there!” the nearest guard shouted.
Another voiced yelled, “What the hell was that?”
Kent had crouched down beneath the vehicle and held onto Ace’s furry body and muzzle. Kent pressed his lips in a thin line and shook his head at Ace as if to say, You big idiot. You’re gonna get it.
“It’s a deer...happens all the time,” one of the guards said.
“Go check it out.”
Not crapping his pants was Kent’s first priority then, but that wouldn’t get him out of the current predicament. His entire plan was about to put not only him in jeopardy but all he cared about as well.
“Wait. It could be a distraction. Don’t move. I’ll radio for Chuck to come and check it out. Everyone stay where you are. Watch your posts.”
Hoping that Chuck would take his time, Kent pulled Ace underneath the vehicle with the one flat tire as much as he could without making a sound over the graveled lot. He felt like he was packing a sardine in next to him, only this one was black and furry and smelled pretty bad. Then he looked for the next way out. If Chuck took more than a cursory look in the corner, they were in trouble after he detected the cut fencing.
After what seemed like an eternity he heard another voice.
“What’s all the commotion? Can’t a guy take a nap? Leave you babies alone for five minutes…”
Kent guessed this was Chuck
“Can you check out the southeast corner? Probably an animal but just take a look.”
Chuck seemed annoyed by the inconvenience, Kent thought, but that didn’t matter if he held a weapon and gave more than a half-assed effort doing his job. With his weapon out beside him, Kent calculated how many of the guards he could take down before they found him out and shot him to death. His other hand was still around Ace’s muzzle when he felt a rumbling growl coming from the dog. Shaking his head no in a silent plea for Ace to understand, he saw then the boots coming their way. “Shh, shh, please, or so help me I’ll make you into jerky,” he begged the dog with a slight murmuring, knowing he had to remove his hand from Ace to retrieve his weapon. “Stay,” he said and then pointed his gun at the man named Chuck.
The brown, ruddy boots were barely tied at the ankle and the hems of his jeans were scrunched and lopsided. This guy had been asleep before they woke him for the job. They were lax but that didn’t mean they weren’t deadly.
Tracing Chuck with his sights, Kent watched him approach the fence line. His boots stopped and shifted the loose gravel around a bit. The muzzle of his rifle lifted a fern frond with the tip, pushing it to the side.
Just when Kent moved
his finger into the trigger guard to fire Chuck yelled, “There’s nothing back here!” He used his weapon to point in the general area as he chastised the guard on post. “Deer and coyotes come this way all the time. They brush against the metal fencing. Why didn’t you guys check this out yourself?”
“We didn’t want to leave post in case it was a distraction.”
“That’s your job, you idiot,” Chuck said. “Your job is to keep guard while I sleep and then in the morning it’s my job while you sleep…you morons. Do you understand the difference between your job and my job now? It’s like night and day, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, sir,” came the halfhearted reply.
“No, no…that’s not it. Only Chuck. I’m not military and I’m sure as hell not your father.”
“Yes, Chuck.”
“Let me get some goddamn sleep and don’t wake me up with this bullshit again. Unless I hear shooting, I’m not coming. And the other guy better be dead, or I’ll shoot you myself. Understood?”
“Yes, Chuck.”
Moments later as the building door closed with a slam, Kent thought, Thank you, Chuck…you sweet bastard.
Not a peep came from the guards for a while. They were obviously embarrassed by Chuck’s admonishment.
Kent finally eased up on his clasp over Ace’s hold but didn’t let him go entirely. It was too risky. The dog was pissed. He could tell by the intermittent slap of his tail on the ground and the occasional low growl. He was probably wondering why Kent wouldn’t let him bite the bad mans.
