by Connor Mccoy
“I’ll sleep in the, uh, man cave.” Criver pointed his thumb in the direction of the garage.
Cheryl’s head bowed, her eyes gazing at his chest. “Sure,” she said, easily agreeing, but there seemed to be a tinge of disappointment. “I think that would be the best thing, for now.”
For now. Those words sealed the deal. Cheryl started to her room. For now, they’d worry about the problem at hand.
“Sergeant Dennis,” Criver began.
Cheryl halted and turned around.
“Here’s to a successful rescue mission tomorrow.” Criver then saluted her.
Cheryl smiled. “Back at you.” She returned the salute before walking back to her room.
Chapter Eight
Cheryl lowered her binoculars. “Got some movement. Looks like an adult. Could be one of the two who took Amir.” She pointed to the west end of the building.
From their hiding place behind a parked truck on a nearby lot, Criver eyed the school. It was in decent shape compared to most of the city, having been spared a lot of the looting and vandalism. However, a few windows were boarded up, perhaps by The Coach and his men to keep prisoners from escaping, or to fortify the building from attacks.
He itched. This place unsettled him. During its normal operation, Eastown School had been a sanctuary, a place of learning, for kids, before tragedy violated that sense of security. Then it became a trap, where kids couldn’t escape, burned to death. Now that beast who called himself The Coach was using it as a personal dungeon to hold kids prisoner. Who knew what The Coach and ‘The Principal’ would do to them?
Criver shook his head. “I can’t believe there’s nobody outside on lookout.”
“They still could have some scouts inside behind cover.” Cheryl raised her binoculars and panned across the side of the school facing them. “We don’t know what these guys have stolen. They could have telescopes, anything to look through.”
Criver leaned against the truck. “If none of these bastards are outside, we’re going to have to smoke them out.”
Cheryl lowered her binoculars. “And I think I got our way in.” She gazed at the duffel bag sitting between her and Criver.
Criver planted the smoke bomb in the door handle. The last time I ever did anything like this was lighting fireworks when I was eight, he thought. Handling firearms was not a problem. Explosives, even smoke bombs, were still new to him. He wasn’t entirely comfortable handling things that could severely injure or blow off your hand if you weren’t careful.
Sweat dripped down his arm. Now he just had to turn the timer. Done! The timer was set for two minutes, the right time for this last smoke bomb he set. Cheryl had given careful instructions for how long to set each smoke bomb in each location. If she was right, they’d all go off at once, or close to it.
He hurried from the door, head down below the windows, darting to the south end of the school. He had been expecting a sniper to take shots at him as soon as he had approached this close to the school, but so far his efforts had gone unimpeded.
Once he got to the south end and rounded the corner, he found his partner waiting for him. She must have finished setting her round of smoke bombs. Then Cheryl motioned toward a single, closed door. Criver gave her a thumbs-up. She nodded, then turned and clamped a small device on the doorknob.
“Here’s our ticket inside,” Cheryl whispered. “It’s just enough to take out the knob. Stand back behind that bush.”
Criver took cover behind a tall plant a few feet away. After setting the timer, Cheryl ran over to him. Unlike the smoke bombs, this one contained a real explosive, not a powerful one, but enough to blast off the doorknob.
Criver gazed at his watch. The smoke bombs should be going off any second…
Pop! Pop! Pop!
The succession of pops went off all around the building, accompanied by gushers of smoke. At nearly the same time, Cheryl’s bomb exploded, tearing off the doorknob and sending it flying off the door, which jolted open.
“Go!” Cheryl cried.
The sergeant ran into the school first, kicking the door wide open. Then she jumped inside and flattened against the wall. Criver took the opposite wall. The pair were in the middle of a school hallway. In the distance, clouds of smoke from their bombs drifted inside. If the smoke bombs did their job, The Coach’s goons would go and check. Maybe enough of them would be pulled away that Criver and Cheryl could take out the remaining ones guarding Amir and any other kids.
The two of them crept along opposite walls. Cheryl’s eyes scanned toward wall corners and the ceiling, while Criver watched down lower for enemies crouched in wait. But all the doors were closed, and with no cover, it didn’t seem likely anybody was waiting to ambush them, unless they were inside one of these rooms.
Cheryl picked out the first classroom in the hallway. Criver yanked open the door, and the pair ducked, expecting a hail of gunfire. Instead, nothing. It was just an empty classroom, illuminated by the sunlight through open windows.
“One down, a bazillion more to go,” Criver quipped.
The pair opened the door to the second classroom in a similar fashion. Once again, a room empty of human life. This repeated itself for each classroom. Soon, they threw caution to the wind and just kicked in doors, desperate to find Amir before his captors did anything to him.
Finally, they got to the school’s cafeteria. Again, no one was there, just a large room with tables, chairs, a counter and a buffet line that hadn’t been used in weeks. Cheryl opened a nearby janitor’s closet. Still nothing.
“This doesn’t make any sense.” Furious, Criver kicked over a table. It angered him that he didn’t hear so much as a cry from Amir or one of the kids, but they could have been bound and gagged. What if these bastards picked up on their arrival and killed the kids on the spot? But then where were the bodies?
“Hey.” Cheryl pointed to a door on the other side of the room, near the cafeteria’s buffet line. The pair proceeded, cautiously, to the door. Once again, Criver opened it wide, and then they crouched down low.
No gunfire—yet.
They slipped inside. It was a quaint little art studio, probably meant for after school activities. Posters covered the blackboard, and a few tables lining the wall had clay displays. But there was one thing very different about this room—it was occupied.
Criver and Cheryl stopped, their firearms at the ready. One man sat at the teacher’s desk as if he owned it, with two men flanked behind him, with guns drawn and pointed at them.
The man at the desk was short, and with his short nose and long jowls, had a bulldog quality about his face that made him look repulsive, which wasn’t helped by his balding head. But he appeared to have decent muscles, no trace of a gut or fat. He was flanked by Amir’s two kidnappers, who sat behind him brandishing firearms.
“Nice little party we got here,” Criver turned to the man who had snagged Amir and tricked him at the parking lot. “I remember you. You’ve got some payback coming, you son of a bitch.”
The man shifted slightly, allowing the sunlight through one of the art room’s windows to show the chain wrapped around the man’s shoulder and arm. “Yet, I made you put down your gun. Give the right command and the dog will obey his master.”
“Yeah, well, that’s not going to happen again.” Criver pointed his weapon right at his opponent’s head. “You know why I’m here. Where’s my boy? And where’s all the other kids you’re hiding?”
“Hiding?” The short man let out a sickening guffaw. “Why so angry?” He smiled in a way that made Criver’s stomach churn. “This is a school, is it not? This is a place where children should be, to learn from their teachers.”
“And who the hell are you?” Criver glared at the man.
“The top official of this august institution.” He held out his hands as if he had made a grand introduction. “The Principal.”
Criver exchanged a glance with Cheryl. So, this guy was the right-hand man of The Coach who Justin
had described. He definitely was unsettling to look at. The Principal’s eyes were wide, almost frantic, not at all like the steady and cold demeanor of The Coach. He seemed like someone who could suddenly jump up and tear your throat out in an instant.
The Principal stood up. “So, you’re the kid’s guardians? I’ve heard things about you.” He gestured to the man with the red beard. “You’ve already met The Disciplinarian,” Now he turned to the man with the chain. “…and The Tutor.”
Criver shook his head. “Coach, Principal, Tutor. You guys have serious issues with school, you know that?”
The Principal grinned. “After all, almost everyone’s first major experience with authority comes from school. Haven’t you felt the terror of being called to the principal’s office for disciplinary action?” Then he drew a blade from the left-hand side of his belt. From this distance, Criver could make out a sharp curve on its end. “And I’m quite effective at dishing out discipline when it’s needed.”
“Yeah, yeah, fine, you’re screwed in the head. Now, where’d you put Amir and the rest of the kids?” Criver almost wanted to ask where The Coach was. He couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that the giant he had fought a few days ago suddenly could tear his way out of these walls at any moment. Why the hell were there just three of these guys here? The Coach had the city at his feet. Surely, he had more goons at his service than just this bunch standing before him.
The Principal gently pricked one of his fingers with the end of the knife. “Now, that’s not how it goes.” He licked the spittle of blood that came out of the finger wound. “When you get sent to The Principal, it’s not for negotiation or niceties. It’s for discipline and punishment. I’ll let The Disciplinarian and The Tutor introduce you to my personal brand of punishment.” Then he widened his eyes fully. In them, Criver saw the fury of a beast ready to pounce.
The time for talking was over.
“Tom!” Cheryl shouted. But Criver already knew what she was thinking, and turned to flee the art room. The pair dashed out the open doors and separated, one to either side of the room. Two rounds zinged through the doorway, but missed them.
In the open cafeteria, the battlefield would be more favorable, or so they hoped. They were about to find out. The Tutor and The Disciplinarian rushed through the doors. Criver and Cheryl kicked down tables to form quick cover. Criver aimed and squeezed off a shot at The Tutor. In turn, he jumped and ducked behind the door, then fired in return. His bullet punched out a piece of wood, but missed Criver’s head by inches.
As for The Disciplinarian, he received a surprise as a table suddenly slammed into him. Cheryl had kicked up one of the smaller tables and sent it hard into the thug’s face. Her foe distracted, Cheryl jumped and sweep kicked him his legs, sending him tumbling over, and losing his firearm in the process. Then she kicked the firearm far down the cafeteria floor to the other side of the room. Better to keep the weapon out of her enemy’s hand than trying to pick it up and leaving herself vulnerable.
Her instincts proved correct, as The Disciplinarian rose quickly and swung with his fist. Cheryl ducked, then swept his second blow to the side with a sharp martial arts move. Backing away, The Disciplinarian drew his baton. Cheryl remembered that weapon from when she had caught up with him in the alley chase. This guy was lethal with it. If Cheryl wasn’t experienced in staff and baton fighting, she’d have been pushing up daises by now.
He lunged at her, intending to smash in her skull. Cheryl countered by quickly sidestepping him, and then pushing him forward, sending him tumbling into a set of double doors that opened to the outside. Unhitching the baton from her belt, Cheryl followed after him.
Meanwhile, both The Tutor and Criver had pursued each other while using tables as cover, but they were now out of ammo. With no usable firearms, the pair pushed aside their respective covers and faced each other in the open. Now this war was down to a brutal street brawl.
The Tutor had coiled his chains around his two hands, leaving enough of the end loose to crack it around like a whip. Criver moved fast to avoid the blows, which left holes in the walls and a gash in a nearby microwave. A single strike from those metal links could crack his skull.
Criver thought he saw his chance. As The Tutor withdrew from his latest strike, Criver moved in and threw a kick. But The Tutor was quicker than Criver realized. He jumped to the side, then wrapped his chain around Criver’s leg, and spun around to slam Criver onto the floor.
Criver winced from the pain of the impact, but he refused to slow down. He brought up his free leg and slammed The Tutor in the chest. The Tutor hadn’t wrapped the chain too tightly, so Criver was able to kick free. Then he jumped forward and grabbed The Tutor in a wrestling hold. He had to pin his opponent and stop him from using his chain.
Gritting and hissing, the two rolled around on the ground. The Tutor was strong. This guy was not going to be easy to take out.
Finally, The Tutor managed to pull free. Then he snaked his chains around Criver’s chest and yanked him up to his feet. The pull burned Criver’s chest, but The Tutor didn’t have much leverage, he must have grabbed the chains further to the middle. Unfortunately, it left Criver with little room to maneuver.
The Tutor yanked hard. Criver felt the air being squeezed out of him, and he couldn’t get his fingers under the chain to pull back. Instead, he socked The Tutor with the back of his fist. He punched again and again, but The Tutor did not budge, even as Criver caught The Tutor’s blood on his knuckles.
So Criver did the last thing he could think of. He charged hard backward, propelling both himself and The Tutor through the door into the kitchen behind the cafeteria. The Tutor, his back to the kitchen, hit the stove hard. Criver’s assailant cried out in pain, which finally broke his hold over Criver and allowed him to pull the chain loose and get out of The Tutor’s hold.
Criver spun around and the fight began anew. The two pummeled each other throughout the kitchen, but it was clear Criver had the advantage. A punch sent The Tutor into a sink. One of Criver’s kicks bounced The Tutor across kitchen cabinets. And with one hard pull, he tore the chain off The Tutor’s hands and flung it over his head into the opposite wall. The Tutor, battered and bleeding, made a last-ditch attempt to escape, but Criver’s boot met his stomach, sending him spiraling onto the floor. He did not get up.
Criver panted. The Tutor had to be one of the top five toughest guys he’d ever fought. He reached down and seized The Tutor by his torn shirt. “Okay buddy, our little dance is over. Now, where’d you stow Amir and the other kids?”
The Tutor’s eyes fluttered. He had taken a beating, but Criver didn’t care.
“Tell me!” He then spun around and slammed The Tutor against the wall. “You want to die today? Spill it!”
The Tutor’s eyes widened. Criver could see into them. The hunter’s eyes, the ones that fueled this man, were gone. Now he was the prey—Criver’s. Not all these assholes were stupid enough to want to die for their leader.
“Alright,” he said. He pushed himself up to standing with his wobbling legs. Staying close, Criver drew one of his knives and held it close. The Tutor sure as hell wouldn’t pull a fast one. “I-I tell you, you let me leave.”
“I get Amir back and any kids you got, then I’ll call it a day on your ass. Now talk,” Criver said.
The Tutor opened his mouth…
But instead of what Criver wanted to know, The Tutor only let out a pained gasp. He snapped straight. Criver then spotted the knife in The Tutor’s upper chest, but it wasn’t his.
Then The Tutor collapsed to the floor. A short, menacing figure stood in the kitchen, near the open doorway. The Principal!
Chapter Nine
Cheryl ducked. That last blow could have bashed in her head. The Disciplinarian drew back, letting Cheryl spin out of his path. The two had battled on the outside of the school for the past few minutes. The Disciplinarian was pretty quick for a guy his size, but ultimately his bulk was hindering him. He just coul
dn’t keep up with Cheryl, but he could wear her down if she didn’t close out this fight.
“Damn,” she whispered. In her days in the military, she had experienced quite a number of bouts in the ring with some of her fellow soldiers. She couldn’t match them strength for strength. Instead, she had to learn how to take down men bigger and stronger than her. Fights weren’t just a matter of punching and kicking until the other guy went down. It was like a checklist of steps. You had to take out their ability to throw a punch. Go for the hands. You had to slow them down. Go for the legs. And if you had a clear shot, go for the head.
Naturally, in sparring, she never would make a move that would cripple or kill an opponent. On a battlefield, with no guns, just bare fists and hand weapons, things were different.
As Cheryl leveled her sight at The Disciplinarian, it occurred to her how she wasn’t surprised by anything that had happened. In her gut, she knew she was born to be in a world like this.
The Disciplinarian and Cheryl now circled each other. The brute’s face was marred by a few bruises and cuts, plus he had to steady himself to stand straight, but he was still in the fight.
“You’re not the talkative type,” Cheryl said. Unlike his partner The Tutor, this guy hadn’t said a word to her or Criver.
Cheryl raised her baton. “I think it’s time you did,” she said. “I’ll make it simple. Tell me where you’re hiding all your prisoners, including the boy you stole from us. Then you can walk away.”
The Disciplinarian’s eye fixed on Cheryl. There was a flicker in his pupil. Was he open to reason, or was he an unfeeling monster who was beyond human civility?
