by T. Hammond
“Bas says that’s perfect. He can see your hands. He told me to tell you he loves you.”
I tried to focus on Red’s words, and was able to sign:
I love you. Feel groggy.
“Your last shot was six hours ago. They normally last eight hours before you show signs of waking, and they dose you again,” Red told me. “We’ll try to get to you before the next injection.”
Sick (my brain couldn’t form the spelling for nauseous). Thirsty. Pissed off.
“Last night Bas told Russ he’s gonna kill every single one of those motherfuckers,” Red added solemnly. I was pretty sure Bas hadn’t coached him on the last disclosure. I managed a weak grin. “The scrawny guy cut your clothes off with a switchblade. The Mustangs were really mad. Bas went into a blind rage—well, that’s what Russ called it. Bas threw one of the weights into a mirror. There was glass everywhere.”
I could relate. I was so furious, my normally laidback nature took a backseat as I contemplated revenge.
Messy. Violent. Maybe Bastian would loan me a gun? And, being blind and all, if my aim was a little off and it took a few extra bullets to do the job? Well, oops!
“Bas said to tell you there have usually been two masked men on the cameras at a time. We know there were three snowmobiles. Can you confirm there are only three people who took you?”
Yes. Three men. Adamson. Grainger. Banner.
For good measure, and because I was feeling grumpy, I added:
First asshole hit me. Second boss injections. Third psycho with knife.
As before, my signing was restricted by the duct tape to spelling out each letter alphabetically, and I wasn’t sure how clearly Bas could see my hands, but I felt better for the venting. Bas knows me better than anyone, except maybe Janey. He would understand the second list’s number-order corresponded with the first.
“Bas said to tell you Adamson now has a special place in his heart, and he will be sure to spend quality time with him. He said Grainger was an important name, and it’s helpful to know it.” There was another pause. “Bas wants to know, if you know where you are.”
Sadly, I knew very little.
House. Garage. Quiet. No car traffic.
Inspired, I added:
Pizza delivery. At least twice. One chicken garlic pineapple olive pizza.
With limited range in my bound hands, it was time consuming because I took care to make sure each letter was clear.
“Bas says you’re brilliant. He will have Russ look into pizza deliveries. Bas says we are going to start driving again. He wants to train glate your position.”
It took me a moment to realize he meant to say triangulate. The idea made sense. Our mind-speak range was approximately one and a half miles, if Red was able to connect with me via mind-speak, or better yet mind-sight, they may be able to dial in on where I was.
Love you both.
I heard the rattle of a deadbolt as the door opened. Dragging footsteps alerted me to Adamson’s presence.
“Bitch,” he snarled. Yep, it was the asshole all right. “I have to say, black and blue is a good color on you.” His laughter held a rusty quality, as if he was out of practice. I could hear him approach slowly. Circling me like a wary predator. It was satisfying to know he had a healthy respect for my feisty nature.
“For every bruise you’ve given me, my people will return the favor threefold,” I slurred exaggeratedly, hoping to convince him I was still heavily under the influence. Probably not smart to poke the bear, but I’d had it with the asshole. “You’re on camera,” I reminded, “and I guarantee if they witness you hurting me, you will never be safe. They will find you.”
“Ha. We’ll be long gone, with the computer program, before they find you. The boss says we can’t kill you, but he’s promised I can give you a parting gift,” Adamson threatened, with sexual innuendo strong enough to cause me momentary panic. Closing my eyes I focused on maintaining calm breaths; I promised myself I would survive this.
“Touch me, and Bastian will never stop looking for you.”
I was startled when his sweaty, callused hand ran up the length of my bare thigh, I hadn’t realized he had gotten so close. Repulsed, I attempted to roll away from him, but he slammed his weight into my lower back, pinning me in place. “Oh no, bitch. You’re not going anywhere,” he growled in my ear, his sour breath offending my nostrils. Eww, oral hygiene was not high up on this guy’s priority list.
“Goddamn it, Adamson, leave the woman alone. You’ll get your chance later,” a voice, Grainger’s, said from the doorway.
Taking advantage of the distraction, I slammed my head backward into where I assumed my assailant’s face would be. I was rewarded by the crunch of cartilage and a yelp of pain, as I scored a direct hit against his nose. Having stunned him, I twisted under Adamson’s loosened grip, trying to roll on my back so I could use my bound legs to thrust him away. He would have rocked back on his knees to cradle his injury, and so I swept my feet sideways to kick him away from me.
“Fucking bitch!” he snarled, just before I connected my knees to his ribcage. Crap, he hadn’t been more than a foot or two away. I didn’t have much force behind the hit, but I’d gotten lucky with a blow he hadn’t blocked. His body crashed back against the same cans he’d hit last time we’d did this dance.
“No!” Grainger snapped sharply, I assume to stop whatever retaliation Adamson planned. “Leave her be. When we get what we want, I promise to hold the bitch down for you, but you have to leave her alone for now. That’s an order! You touch her again before I have what I want, and you’ll forfeit your cut. The woman now, or your money and the woman later; your choice.”
“When I’m done with you, you’ll be bleeding, broken, and begging,” he threatened, ominously. He lashed out with a punishing kick which landed on the same thigh he’s stroked earlier, and snickered at my cry of agony.
Moments later, the door closed, and the lock clicked. As I listened to the pair of footsteps walking away, pain and fear curled me into a fetal ball.
“Teresa?” Red’s voice was tentative. “Bas is real worried. He’s so mad he’s shaking and swearing. Are you okay?”
In my terror and rage, I had forgotten there were people watching me. People who cared about me. I could imagine Bastian, as well as the Mustangs, seething with anger on my behalf.
Is Bas watching.
There was a slight pause before Red answered, “Yes.”
Laboriously, I spelled out:
Grainger promised me to Adamson once they have software.
There was a pause before Red answered. “Bas wants me to remind you, we’re close. We’ll find you. We’ll find you before Adamson hurts you again.” Red’s tone was sad and worried, contrasting with his hopeful words.
Should not have head butted. Reacted. Didn’t think.
“You’re a warrior, and a survivor. Bas says he would have fought back, too. We’ll be there soon, Teresa. We’re going to start driving again so we can locate your position.”
Love You Sebastian.
I fell into a half-sleep… yeah, okay, so I think I was most likely unconscious. In the hour or two following, I was peripherally aware of Red’s mental presence as he popped in and out of mind-speak range, yet never close enough to establish mind-sight. Cold, sore, scared, it was a comfort to know they wouldn’t stop until they brought me home.
****************
The light of early dawn woke me. I watched as Red retracted his head through the window to alert Bastian he had established mind-sight. I didn’t know where I was in relation to the camera, so I rolled onto my stomach, and signed:
I can see.
Bastian’s head whipped around to look at Red, and I watched as he pulled the car over to the side of the road and checked the navigation program. The laptop sat open on the padded console between their seats. There I was, laying on a cement floor, stripped and bound. On a positive note, I was able to adjust my body to afford my rescuers a better view
of my hands. I repeated:
I can see.
“Bas is making sure Russ has the coordinates, and we’re sending drones to locate the correct house. You’re near the Nine-Mile dam.”
I concentrated, but couldn’t hear noise indicating I was next to the river.
Do not hear rushing water. Confident no one would hear me yell. Isolated.
Red watched Bas as he opened a metal briefcase. Nestled in what resembled a felt-lined egg crate, were a dozen helicopter-like mini drones. The crate lifted out to reveal a keyboard—that’s when I noticed the lid held a flat screen monitor. Convenient. Pretty smart, these PreClan boys.
Bastian paused, glancing at Red, reaching out a hand to scratch the dog’s ears, I watched his mouth form words for Red to relay.
“Bas has a combination of heat-seeking and streaming video drones. He’ll be looking for four heat signatures. It’s been almost three hours since we talked. Bas said it’s almost seven a.m. We’ve called Russ, so the Wild Horses are on the way. With the snowfall, it will take thirty minutes to get here.”
How much snow. I hear someone awake.
“Bas wants to verify the garage is attached to the house. That would help narrow down the search. Most of the houses close by have detached garages on the alley.”
Attached. House has fireplace.
“We have had about two feet since Friday. It’s over Tank’s head. I almost lost him yesterday, but he started howling so Fritz and I found him. He slid off the deck into the berm. It’s a good thing he’s so loud. I’d been watching him,” Red was quick to reassure me, “but he slipped off the far end, so I had to go around to the stairs and cut a trail to look for him. Puppies sure get into a lot of mischief.”
Red’s nervous chatter was endearing. While I was grateful he could not sense my pain and fear, I wished I had some way to reassure him.
“Okay, Bas has programed a grid pattern and we’ll release the drones. He will drive us around some more to help triangulate while the drones search.”
I smiled with realization, Red now knew the word triangulate. Red watched Bastian open his car door, balancing the computer briefcase on the hood of the SUV. Bas placed the twelve drones evenly spaced, about a foot apart, on the plowed surface of the road. Ever curious, Red crossed over the driver seat to hop down through the open door. Red moved immediately to sit at a spot beside Bas’ thigh, but was no longer looking at the man, more interested in the drones. I could feel him fight the impulse to leap on them.
As a unit, the drones lifted off the ground, hovering together in perfect symmetry. When they reached approximately thirty feet up, possibly higher, clearing the telephone lines, the drones suddenly split off, darting in separate directions.
The search was on.
“Wow, Teresa! Did you see that? These drones are wayyyyyy faster than the ones at the house!”
Bastian and Red settled back in the vehicle. Through Red, I watched Bas make some swift keystroke adjustments to whatever he was watching on his monitor. After a minute or two, he placed the open case on a bracket mounted on the dashboard. He was now able to see the computer and access the keyboard while driving—I’m sure that broke a half-dozen laws.
Before placing his vehicle in gear, Bas cupped Red’s head to link their gazes. I didn’t need Red’s translation, I saw the words on his lips and in his eyes.
“I love you, Babe. I’m coming for you.”
Chapter Fifteen
I was still having problems shaking off the effects of the last drug dose. It was hard to stir from the prone position I’d adopted in the center of the garage. Would I ever be warm again? Based on time information Red last relayed, Grainger would be checking on me soon to go through the ritual: bathroom, water, pizza, needle. Red had his head out the window as Bas drove up and down streets, stopping periodically to tweak the drones. At one point, the mind-sight link abruptly blacked out, but I took that as a positive sign. They knew where I wasn’t.
“I let Bas know I lost the mind-sight. We have a secret code,” Red explained. “One bark means we have mind-speak. Two barks means we have mind-sight. When I growl, Bas knows I lost whichever connection. The growl was my idea,” he added proudly.
The emotion didn’t reach my face, but inside I smiled at their version of the childhood Hot-Cold game. It only took a few minutes for the visual link to reestablish. The first thing I saw was Bas putting the vehicle in park while he did some lengthy changes to the drone program. I saw his mouth moving while he spoke, and I assumed he was talking to Red until my dog said, “Bas is on the phone with Russ. Did you know he could talk to his car and it makes phone calls? Call. Russell. Thomas,” he mimicked. “Totally awesome. Anyway, when we lost mind-sight, Bas shifted the drones to a different quadrant. You’ll have to tell me later what a quadrant is. Russ is almost here, but will park by the main road. We don’t want a lot of car noise alerting the bad guys we’re coming.”
Red stuck his head out the window again, and I caught a quick movement in the trees—probably one of the drones. The vehicle went into motion again, and Red ducked back into the car to look down at the laptop Bas had placed on the passenger floorboard making room in the vehicle dock for the drone monitor. Seeing myself stretched out on the concrete floor reminded me of how chilled I was. Belatedly, I realized it should be colder in the room due to the snow. I finally registered the sound of a space heater, oscillating from an area to my right. I would have preferred a pillow and a blanket, but I suppose I should be thankful they gave me a heater. Of course, now I was creeped out someone had been moving around in the room while I was unconscious.
I heard a toilet flush. Damn.
Surprisingly, it was another ten minutes or so before the door opened and Grainger asked, “Awake yet?”
“Getting there,” I slurred weakly. “Feeling groggier than last time. A little queasy.” I hoped to delay the next injection by feigning an upset stomach and slow recovery. Wary of his threat to send Adamson or Banner to assist me, I’d decided to always answer him when he asked me questions. That didn’t mean I couldn’t exaggerate my state of mind.
Red must have alerted Bas to movement on the monitor. In my mind, Red said, “Lights out, Teresa. We don’t want you to give anything away.”
My world went black as I focused on what Grainger said to me.
“Well, let’s get the bathroom out of the way,” he replied. “We ordered breadsticks with dinner last night; they may be easier on your stomach than pizza.”
As usual, he cut the tape from my wrists and ankles with a knife. He’d gotten into the habit of placing my hand on the crook of his elbow as he led me slowly through the house. This time, as we turned the corner from what I think was the mudroom, into a hallway, a sharp wolf whistle alarmed me so badly, I stumbled and fell against the wall, bumping my head on a doorframe. Holy moly! That hurt. I guess I really wasn’t all that sturdy on my feet yet.
“Grow up, Adamson. Christ, that goddamned noise even startled me. Unlike Miss March, I’m apt to pull out a gun and shoot your ass.”
Adamson’s voice was coming toward us. “Aww, come on, boss. A half-naked broad is traipsing through the house, just flaunting herself. The least I could do is show my appreciation.” Fetid breath, a fascinating combination of cigarettes, beer, and bad oral health, wafted across my face as the big man brushed close, making a point to rub his groin across my hip. I had to hold back the smirk and smart-ass comment as I realized he was not size proportionate, even semi-erect. Ha, I’m betting my balls were bigger than his.
Grainger pressed a palm against my spine and motioned me past Adamson. I managed to keep my feet under me, but halted after a couple steps, as I wasn’t sure how far we’d progressed down the hallway. My captor must have realized my dilemma, capturing my wrist he placed my hand on the doorknob to the bathroom.
“I assume you know the layout by now,” he said. “Go ahead and close the door this time.”
“Yes, thank you. I’ll only be a minute.”
It was a show of mercy, as I hadn’t heard Adamson continue down the hall. I assume he had stopped with the intention of watching me. Pervert.
Not wanting to lose this small privilege of privacy, even though I was confident I was about to be rescued, I hurried through my standard routine, feeling grateful as my hands warmed for a moment under the faucet. Swishing water around in my mouth, I also used a finger as a faux toothbrush to wipe away some of the sour taste from the drugs.
I opened the bathroom door, waiting patiently for Grainger to wrap my fingers around his arm and escort me back to the garage. Adamson was in a nearby room, chatting with Banner about retiring in Fiji. If they managed to get away, I was positive a trip to the South Seas would be on Bastian’s short list. Such idiots to speak so freely around a captive—then again, maybe they really had no intention of leaving me alive. That thought sent a chill spearing through me.
