by A. R. Shaw
“Hurry, she stopped breathing again!” Maeve yelled, and Alyssa ran forward.
Throwing her bag on the table, Alyssa grabbed her stethoscope and bent over Louna and assessed her condition again. “She is breathing; it’s just very shallow.” She opened the bag and pulled out a vial and a syringe. The smell of alcohol emitted from a wisp of air as Alyssa rubbed at Louna’s pale arm with a swab. She injected her with a clear solution. And said to Maeve, “It’s epinephrine. Should speed up her vitals a little” as she again listened intently to her lungs.
Bishop looked at Maeve, met her eyes and then caught Ben’s. He gave him a brief smile as Alyssa nodded her head finally. “It’s working.”
Bishop found a few stools nearby and pulled them over for Maeve and Alyssa to sit near the patient. After Maeve sat down nervously, Bishop placed his hand around the back of her neck. She leaned into his touch, and he kissed the top of her head as he stared down at the girl.
“Is she stable?”
Alyssa answered, “I…hope so. I don’t know, but I’ll keep an eye on her.”
“Okay, I’ve got to go. I’ll be back as soon as I can. You guys are safe in here?” he directed the last question to Alyssa.
She nodded and said, “Yes…well enough for now.”
As he left, Alyssa called out to a woman named Carmen. He heard the footsteps sound against the flooring, but when he turned, it was Ben following him to the door.
“You have to stay here, Ben. Stay with your mother.”
“I was just going to lock the door behind you.”
“Oh, okay. Then guard the door. No one in and no one out.” He bent down to the boy, hugged him briefly, and tried to make up for the harsh tone he’d given him.
Ben nodded, and true to his word, as soon as Bishop closed the door behind him, the metal latch was set into place.
Not certain where Walt and the others brought the prisoners, Bishop only remembered they were headed down another flight of stairs. He called out to them and peered down the staircase to the next level; a new face looked up at him. “Where have they taken them?”
The guy below looked to be in his late thirties, with a big head of close-clipped brown hair, and wore jeans and a wide-striped white-and-navy rugby polo T-shirt; Bishop didn’t like him already. He did not seem ex-military, even though he carried a rifle in his hands; it was the way he held the rifle—loose and flimsy, not like he meant it, not like one trained to fire, to defend, and even to kill. No, this guy wasn’t even a weekend hunter. However, that wasn’t why he disliked the guy. He stood there as if someone made him. Like a two-year-old put in the corner. His performance was a chore, as if a parent had asked him to sweep the floor and he reluctantly held the broom in his hands while sulking.
In answer to Bishop’s question, the guy raised his lazy shoulders to his ears. “I don’t know.”
Great. An asshole too.
“Five people walk by you and you don’t know which direction they were headed?”
“Hey, I’m standing here, aren’t I? Are you one of the new guys? Have you seen my father yet?”
That’s when it hit him. This was Geller’s kid. And a smartass at that. Bishop took the stairs down a little more slowly, wondering how to best break the news to him. “When’s the last time you heard from your father?”
“What the hell do you care?”
Bishop shrugged. “Just hoped you weren’t an asshole.”
The man’s lips made a straight grim line. “What?” he said and drilled Bishop with his brown eyes.
“I said…I hoped you weren’t an asshole.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s dead.”
Emphasizing the dead part caused the man before him to jolt.
“What the hell, man, don’t even joke!”
“I’m not joking.”
He took two steps away from Bishop, holding his rifle out before him.
“I didn’t kill him, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“Who are you?”
“My name’s Bishop, and I’m here to take over.”
“Where are all the others?”
“What? Were you asleep or something when all the gunfire and explosions were going off?”
The man turned to run through the far double doors.
“Where the hell do you think you’re going?”
The guy continued to try and scramble through the door, nearly dropping his rifle in the process. This guy’s is probably a smart-alecky computer nerd in his day job.
Then he pointed the rifle in Bishop’s direction. “Don’t follow me.”
“That’s your first mistake, right there. Put the rifle down.”
“You killed my father.”
“No…I didn’t kill your father, but I would have given half the chance.” Veins were sticking out of the guy’s neck. “You need to calm the heck down.”
“He’s really dead?”
Bishop didn’t understand if he was slow or what, tears were now streaming out of his eyes.
He nodded his head. “Yeah, he’s dead as hell, and you’d better lower that damn rifle, or you’ll be dead too in about half a second.”
That’s when Bishop saw through the crack in the door over the man’s head, Yeager coming his way.
“Seriously, you’re going to want to lower your weapon and do it now!”
An awful noise erupted from the man’s throat. Bishop shot a glance over the man’s head at Yeager, thinking perhaps he’d stabbed from behind or something. Yeager looked back at him with a wtf look and shook his head—like, I didn’t touch him.
Yeager raised his shaggy eyebrow at the man in question.
That’s when Bishop gave Yeager a nod, and he tackled the man from behind. The rifle, now pointed down, clanged to the floor and went careening five feet forward, while the man sobbed and yelped as Yeager’s large frame had him bound and subdued in no time.
Without a word, Bishop walked over, and with Yeager on the other side of the man, they turned around, and Yeager led them where the other prisoners were down two more flights of stairs and a long darkened, curved corridor.
Bishop found it funny that while doing so, Yeager hummed a joyful tune, never said a word during the altercation, but his facial expressions spoke volumes.
After leading them down a long darkened corridor, Bishop saw the light cascade on the concrete flooring from an opened doorway as the hall bent in a curve.
“Hey,” Bishop shook Geller’s sobbing son, “what’s your first name?”
“I don’t have to talk to you.”
Yeager lifted his eyebrow expectantly at Bishop again, waiting for him to give him the signal to go ahead with an incentive.
Bishop nodded, noting that Yeager was always eager to flaunt his skills.
Not knowing what Yeager had in mind, he was still surprised to watch Yeager reach over the man, grab his right nipple through his obnoxiously wide-striped shirt, and twist his bulging flesh hard. The bound man jolted backward in a yelp.
Bishop raised his eyebrow at Yeager, who merely lifted a sly smile to the side and shrugged.
The kid was efficiently creative, he’d give him that. He seemed to know the right kind of pressure to exude at the exact moment needed. It was a gift, really.
“I’ll ask one more time. What’s your name?” Bishop said.
Breathing hard, they had to pull him upward, seemed the titty twist took a lot out of him. He glared at his captors.
“What the hell is wrong with you guys?” he cried in outrage.
“Really? You want the other one treated the same?”
Yeager reached over the man’s chest, and just in time for him to struggle, Bishop asked, “What’s your first name?”
He mumbled but merely struggled and then began twisting the other way, terrified that Yeager was going to grab his left nipple and torture him some more.
Again, Bishop nodded to Yeager’s expectant look. Instead of going for his left tit, as expec
ted, Yeager grabbed him by the back of the hair with his left hand, and with his right, he applied serious pressure, with his thumb against the slight indentation of his jawline and his index finger pushed painfully against the nerve center under the man’s nose. Few realized what a painful position this is until held in such a grasp.
“Name!” Bishop growled.
“Ahh! Donovan!” Geller, Jr. yelled, tears brimming over his eyes.
Bishop shook his head in disgust. “Man, why was that so hard? I already had your last name. It’s not like I was asking for the weapons cache—yet.”
Once inside the room, Bishop recognized the other prisoners, Walt standing guard, and a woman Bishop had not yet met. She was nearly as tall as Walt. She was dressed in the black garb of the other soldiers and had long chestnut-brown hair. Her AK was almost casually slung over her shoulder, but the look in her eyes made Bishop know instinctively that was a ploy. If she wanted to, she could draw instantly.
Because he was no longer the trusting sort, and there was too much to lose, he acted. One hand brought his intentions known before she could even respond, and the defeat in her eyes for the lack of anticipation was defining. She even let out a huff of cold air.
Walt’s hands were immediately in the air. “Hey! Whoa! What just happened?”
She said nothing, but her itchy fingers were still in play. What she didn’t see, and only Bishop knew, was that Yeager, standing behind him, had already drawn on her as well. Bishop slid slowly to the left, revealing Yeager who held Donovan out in front of him as a shield.
She smirked and dropped her hand slowly to her side. Bishop could only imagine; Yeager had waggled his bushy eyebrows at her to make her laugh. He was, like, Yeager…right expression at the right time, with no words to get in the way.
“Hi, Donny. Got yourself in trouble, I see?” she said, a slight tone of defeat echoing in her words. Her back against the wall, she seemed to know when she was outplayed.
“Move against the wall; keep your hands where I can see them,” Bishop said.
Her expression changed then. It had a slight look of defeat. She kept her hands above her head and turned slowly, making each and every motion deliberate, which was a wise decision.
Walt said, “Just do what they say, Cassie. It’s for the best. Trust me.”
“New friends of yours, Walt?”
“Are any of us really friends? I can tell you this, though—we’re better off.”
Yeager handed Donny over to Bishop and went forward to secure the female soldier while he kept cover.
Bishop watched her every move, but Yeager had her under control.
With his left hand, he wrapped his large hand around the back of her neck—her long, straight hair in place—and pressed her against the wall, her face turned to the left. After kick nudging first her left boot out and then her right, he removed the sling of her weapon. Never taking his eyes off her, he lifted the firearm out and away from her, handing the weapon to Walt.
“She’s not going to do anything,” Walt said. “I’ve known Cassie for a long time.”
Cassie shot daggers at Walt.
“We can get to know one another when she’s secure,” Bishop said back with a chuckle.
As Yeager held her against the wall, he patted her down, finding first a knife on a chain wrapped around her neck that he yanked away, handing it to Walt. Then a sidearm in a holster on the left side of her waist. Then another pistol on a holster at her inner thigh. As well as another knife.
Further down and not convinced that was all, Yeager seemed intrigued as Bishop watched him pat down even her slim ankle and finding another knife on the inside of her left boot with a keep holster. After handing each piece, Bishop noticed the look on her face as she stared at the ceiling now, biting her lip.
Yeager quirked his head to the side…he didn’t trust that was all there was to find on her.
And because of her expression, Bishop knew she was keeping more secrets.
“Seriously, I’m sure that’s all,” Walt said.
“If that’s all, Yeager would give up. He’s got a nose for this kind of thing.”
And Yeager wasn’t done. He looked intrigued, as if he were dealing with some sort of puzzle. He pulled off both of her boots and felt up each calf, her inner thighs, around her hips, and even through her groin, which she bore with a roll of her eyes. He then felt her slim waist and lower back, and just when Bishop thought Yeager was about to give up, he smiled, and Cassie stiffened suddenly.
Front and center, tucked between her breasts, was something not as pliable as it should be. He’d even missed it before. From behind her, his boots held steady in the inside of her stance, blocking her movements, Yeager reached up under her shirt, his knees and pelvis pinning her to the wall, just in case. His right hand still holding the back of her neck to the wall, she let out a frustrated breath as he fumbled with something there and then pulled out a small pistol.
Handing it backward to Bishop, it lay warm with her body heat in his hand.
“Uh…restrain her,” Bishop said. There was no telling if there was more, which he had no doubt now that there was.
Taking out PlastiCuffs from his cargo pants, Yeager zipped her wrists tightly together behind her back, and then with two more, he ankle-cuffed her so that when she walked on her own, she merely made tiny steps.
“Walt, what the hell, man?” Cassie whispered.
In a soothing voice, Walt said, “Cassie, just trust me. We’re better off than with Geller.”
“I hope you’re right. Seems to me that we’ve just exchanged devils.” She glared at Bishop as Yeager nudged her forward to lock up.
She was right about that, Bishop knew. He was a devil, just as much as Geller and he had to be if they were to survive, because only a degree of devil ensured the likelihood of a prolonged life. You just had to know when to embrace the devil and when to let him go before you sold your soul.
A lock clanged as Bishop faced Walt again. “I need a tour of this place, and I need you to be straight with me. Any more challenges coming our way? Did you know about those attackers? Were they a problem before? Anything I should know about this place before you head back to pick up the next group?”
Shaking his head, Walt said, “Look, man, I did not tell you about those people. Where in this world would you not have enemies or those who are desperate to take everything you have? No, I didn’t know they’d be here. As far as I know, they were watching them, but they had not yet attacked. I’ve been straight with you this whole time. As for the next group, I need sleep and some time with my family before I head back there—at least a few days.”
“Of course. We agreed to this already.” The trip was long and full of perils, Bishop knew. He was reluctant, but he knew Walt needed time to rest before heading back. The plane needed refueling and maintenance as well. In fact, it would take weeks to ferry everyone here who wanted to come, and they had to be careful; the weather was getting worse by the day, and the fuel was limited. The winds were becoming stronger, and there was no telling when or if they had any clear-weather windows in order to fly in.
His thoughts were interrupted when Walt said, “Down here, the time of day gets lost. There are no windows, and after a few days, you’re really not sure what time it is. So it’s important to keep track. Most everyone wears a watch, because if you don’t, people lose track, and depression sets in.”
After posting guards on the current prisoners, they walked back up the corridors to the upper levels, the sound of their boots echoing down the empty halls as the chill seeped through his clothing.
“How do you know this? You said you’d only been here for a few weeks.”
“I was told the same thing when I arrived here with Alyssa and the kids. Just passing it along. I guess some of the original soldiers couldn’t take it…not being able to see the outside.”
“What did Geller do with them?”
Walt’s eyes met the floor. “Well, he couldn’t
really let them go, knowing as much as they did about the location and loot in this place.”
“He killed them?”
Walt took in a deep breath suddenly. “He executed them, Bishop—them and their families—and, moreover, he made a few of the officers watch, as an incentive. It was brutal, Bishop.”
“I can imagine. What’s the story with those people who attacked earlier?”
“I honestly don’t know. The guards kept tabs on them. Most of them are dead now, but Cassie can tell you more when she calms down. She was in charge of the night crew. She’s very capable.”
“She looked it” came Yeager’s voice, and that’s when Bishop realized he’d totally forgotten Yeager was following along behind them. He spoke seldom, causing you to forget he was even there.
Bishop chuckled, and suddenly Yeager looked embarrassed.
Smiling, Walt said, “She’s something. She’s tough as hell and loyal. It’ll take her some time to transfer her loyalty. Just give her a few days. I’ll talk to her before I go back.”
“I think Yeager can deal with her. Probably the only one who could,” Bishop said and chuckled.
Walt laughed. “I’d like to see him try. She’ll eat him for lunch.”
Glancing behind him at Yeager, he had his doubts, but the blush on his cheeks, even in the dark tunnel, made him think Yeager was already caught in the web.
Climbing back up the stairs, they were met by Alyssa in the hallway. Walt’s attention was riveted to her, and Bishop looked at him for explanation. There was a dynamic he wasn’t privy to. Her line of sight switched suddenly from her husband to him, and her smile disappeared.
With one hand on her hip, she said, “Well, since you murdered the others, I guess I’ll have to take care of your housing arrangements.”
Meeting her glance Bishop asked, “How’s Maeve and the children?”
She nodded her head, but that hand was still cocked on her hip. “They’re fine. I think the girl will survive, but she needs constant care. We’ll know more soon. I’m sure the flight helped to dry her damaged lungs out even more. That wasn’t a good idea. She could have died.”
