Rise of the White Lotus

by H L Stephens

  When he fell to the ground, I had to peel his fingers from around my throat. I sat there gasping for air. Sobs wrenched forth from me against my will. This death was my tipping point. Where was my Daddy when I needed him?

  Sorrow and Regret

  The soul can only take so much horror, and I felt as though I had reached my limit. I was not a hardened killer. I was just me - a not-quite-fifteen-year-old kid. Yet in a moment of self-preservation, I had watched a man die in as close and intimate a fashion as it gets, wondering if my life would be forfeit in the process.

  I had held many a wild animal in their final moments and cried as their life essence left them. I was there when Rascal died because his little body just couldn't go on anymore. He was in my arms when he breathed his last breath. The memory of my father's warm arms closing around me was still fresh in my mind. Him protecting me from the pain of losing my four-legged best friend.

  Each little death had impacted me in a profound way and had torn at my heart so that I thought it would never heal. My parents said it hurt so much because I loved so much and had a tender heart, yet here I was staring into the face of a man I had just killed. I had watched his life extinguish. This was not a bird that had hit the window or a cat that had been struck by a car. It was not even a dog I had loved with all my heart. This was a man created in God's own image, and that image was now destroyed.

  In that moment, I just wanted to wake up from this terrible dream and find myself in the comfort of my home. As I closed my eyes to escape this nightmare, I could almost feel the warmth of my bed in dusty Ironco and smell the familiar remnants of my mother's cooking. I yearned to hear the clatters and thumps of my parents doing their dead level best to be quiet while I slept. The safety of home was what I needed and desired more than anything, but my current would not allow such an escape.

  Like it or not, I was where I was because of men like the one I just killed. His death would not have been necessary if he had just left well enough alone. Such justification was the only way I could get through such a moment; that and the blood curdling scream that came from the room beyond.

  Two down. One to go.

  I tossed the Beretta and loaded my Ruger, readying myself at the edge of the door. Taking a deep breath to steady my nerves, I stepped inside, gun poised. The Asian girl was in the center of what had once been a Spartan room and was now a disheveled mess thanks to the blast. Behind the frightened girl was a woman with sandy blonde hair and dark roots. Her eyes were a piecing glacier blue that were so pale, it looked like all natural color had been sucked right out of them. When our eyes met, she smiled at me, revealing a distinctive gap between her teeth.

  "So, we meet again," the gap toothed woman said to me.

  I edged closer.

  "Ahh, ahh, ahh," the woman said applying pressure to the girl's throat, causing the girl to stiffen and cry out a second time. "I wouldn't come any closer if I were you. Otherwise, I might be forced to hurt your friend here."

  I debated the best course of action to take. This woman could not gain the upper hand in this situation. If the blonde won this encounter, the girl at a minimum would be dead.

  "She's not my friend," I said, maintaining my YanMei identity.

  "You have gone to an awful lot of trouble to save someone who isn't your friend," the woman said.

  "And you have gone to an awful lot of trouble for one Asian girl," I said. "I had to kill eight, no nine men just to see what was behind this door. And all I find is a gap toothed bitch who hides behind little girls. Not worth my time. I guess Kovalski's information was wrong. I see nothing of value here."

  At the mention of Kovalski, the woman's eyes flashed with rage.

  "You," she said between clenched teeth. "You're the Asian whore who seduced him and took him."

  "Awe," I said. My lips pouted as I circled her looking for a place to strike. "Are you his girlfriend? Tisk, tisk. No wonder he turned to my bed so quickly. You know. It's funny. He never mentioned you while we were together, but men rarely mention their ugly girlfriends when they are in my arms. Don't worry. After we had our fun, it was straight to business. I promise."

  The woman's eyes narrowed at me. I had struck a nerve that ran deep within her. It was a deadly play on my part. Her jealousy could backfire, but I remembered one thing Oz told me in our training sessions. If you could trigger an emotional response in your opponent, regardless of the source, sometimes you could cause them to make a mistake, and mistakes gave you the advantage. Sometimes.

  "Where is he?" the woman hissed.

  I laughed as though I hadn't a care in the world. I laughed as though she didn't matter.

  "Still in my bed where I left him, I would imagine," I said. "He seemed to like it there." With the last word issued from my lips, all smiles dissolved from my face. I gave the woman my coldest, dead-level stare. I had laid the final straw upon her back, and I would either reap its consequences or its reward.

  The woman's hand gave a subtle twitch, and the girl she held went stiff. I hadn't noticed the ring the woman wore, but now it stood out in stark contrast against her pale skin. With a yell that spoke of her rage and anguish, the woman shoved the girl at me, sending the two of us reeling across the room. The impact knocked the gun from my hand, and for just a moment, I feared the woman would use it to her advantage. In an odd twist of luck, she did not want a swift end to me. She wanted to see the light leave my eyes beneath the pressure of her own two hands.

  The Asian girl I was determined to save was now paralyzed just as Dorthia had been. As I struggled to disengage myself from the tumble of her lifeless arms, the would-be blonde with the gappy smile flew at me with a blood curdling scream.

  I have to give her credit. She was a worthy opponent. She was all over me like stink on a dead skunk. She might not have looked like much at first glance, but her punches and kicks hurt. I was already beaten to a raw, bloody pulp from my earlier encounters, and blow from my enraged attacker felt like her skin was packed with lead. My reflexes were beginning to slow and my head felt sluggish. With every painful blow and with each well-placed kick, it was impressed upon me that the Russian wench was fast as lightning, or so it seemed. At the most inopportune moment, I caught myself breath-humming the song "Everybody is Kung Foo Fighting" and resented having a song to commemorate the encounter.

  It was all I could do to stay out of her way. Unfortunately, my face, my stomach, my kidneys and my legs just weren't fast enough. And let us not forget the inglorious moment when she punched me in the cheek of my ass and gave me a Charlie horse that had me hopping away going 'ouch, ouch, ouch'. Not my finest moment. I suddenly found myself wishing for a Bratva head butt. Those I could deal with.

  My saving grace came when I surprised her with a wad of concrete instead of my face and broke her punching hand in the process. The tables turned in that instant, and I didn't wait to take advantage of it. I could have killed her quickly, but I wanted to know what had happened to Dorthia. Dishwater Blondie knew something, and I was going to find out what it was.

  When I had given her as many bodily blows as she had given me in areas that would tear her down fast, I smacked her in the temple. Not hard enough to knock her out or kill her. It was just hard enough to make her 'punch drunk' as they call it. It wasn't quite as effective as truth serum, but it usually worked well enough to keep lies at a distance. When my adversary was relatively incapacitated, I threw her to the ground and sat on top of her, immobilizing her arms in the process. I wanted answers.

  When I saw she was beginning to come back around from the effects of the temple punch, I smacked her hard across the face to get her attention. Then I smacked her again because my kidneys still hurt from where she beat the crap out of them. The look she gave me was one for the record books. I just gave her a big smile in return.

  "You know the rosy glow on your cheeks suits you," I said.

  My prisoner struggled underneath me, but I had her pinned well enough that she wasn't going anywhe
re.

  "Not so fast," I continued. "I have questions for you. Like what happened to the older woman you snatched the same day you took me?"

  "Why do you care about her?" the woman asked.

  "Because I do, now answer the question," I said. "Where is she?"

  The woman remained silent so I slapped her again. This time, I put as much power into it as I could. I caused her lip to burst and my hand to bruise in the process.

  "I will ask again," I said in an even tone. "Where is she?"

  I raised my hand as if I would slap her again.

  "I don't know," the woman screamed. "All I know is he wanted her, so we grabbed her."

  "Who is 'he'?" I asked, rabbiting my fingers.

  The woman remained silent. I smacked her face across the other cheek.

  "I will ask you again," I said slowly. "Who....is....he?"

  The woman said nothing so I raised my hand again.

  "Gadyuka," she whimpered.

  As soon as the word escaped her lips, a look of terror went across her face. She looked around franticly as if the very walls were watching her.

  "He will kill me now for telling you."

  The woman jerked her arm hard, and in so doing, freed her hand for just a moment. I thought for a moment that she would attack me again, but instead, she twisted around another ring she was wearing, unscrewed the top with her mouth, and stabbed a minute needle into her neck. Instead of going rigid, her body began to jerk and convulse. Foam issued from her mouth followed by blood until all movement stopped. I looked for a pulse but could not find one. She was dead in a matter of seconds, and there was nothing I could do.

  In her fear of this mysterious Gadyuka, the woman had seen suicide as her best option to escape his wrath, just for uttering his name. I was stunned. Yet another disturbing topic I would have to discuss with my therapist if I ever found one who took teenage assassins on as patients.

  Lost and Found

  I couldn't stay there and bemoan the loss of a reprobate female, especially when Dorthia was still waiting to be rescued. My heart still held out hope that Dorthia was out there. I had come too far to give up now. It was time to vacate the dead zone I had created so I could once again receive help from Marcus to guide me to the other guarded location.

  Before I left, I took the dead woman's rings. Much could be learned from the dead woman's elixir, and if anyone could unravel its secrets, Jameson was the one to do it. I figured Jameson could analyze any residue that was left within their poisoned interiors and perhaps even synthesize a bit of the paralyzing agent for our own future use.

  The girl I had just rescued was still unconscious, but at least the rigidity of the drug had worn off. Thankfully, she didn't weigh much. I was able to throw her over my shoulder without much effort. Carrying a limp girl was problematic because it left me vulnerable to attack. All the more reason for me to reach a location where Marcus could offer me the tactical advantage of his intel. Knowing an enemy combatant was coming before they were right on top of you was very helpful.

  It was a challenge bobbing and weaving through the maze of corridors toting 110 pounds or so of dead weight. It was a blessing for her sake that she was unconscious because I was pretty certain her head made contact with more than one inanimate object along the way. I did not envy the headache she would have as a result. My charge grew heavier by the minute, and I was relieved when I was finally able to reach Marcus on the com.

  "How goes it, Bo Peep?" Marcus asked. "I lost visuals on your position. I was starting to get worried."

  "I tried out a few of Little Foot's pineapple grenades," I said, using Avery's code name; the code name he hated the most out of all code names.

  "I see," said Marcus. "I wondered if it might have been something like that. Any luck finding the package?"

  "Yep," I said. "Well, one of them at any rate. Got the other Asian girl slung over my shoulder as we speak. In fact, is there anyone in the vicinity? I really need to do a drop off before moving on to the second target. I can't carry her the entire way."

  "Roger that," Marcus said. "Let me see what I can do."

  I heard a garbled discussion in my com between Marcus and another voice I did not recognize. Marcus came back online and said, "I have a contingent of Triad coming your way to get the girl. Stay where you are."

  Within three minutes or so, I could hear the sound of boots on the ground and voices barking orders back and forth to one another. I had hidden the girl and me in a small alcove and had barricaded us in as best I could. As soon as I was certain of the identity of the approaching men, I called out in Mandarin. The leader of the group gave the 'safe' word, so I came out, carrying the girl.

  They were a fierce bunch, this contingent of Triad men. You could see death in their faces. Their eyes like windows into leaden souls that bore the burdens of unspeakable actions. Yet when they saw my face, beaten and bloodied by many a cruel hand, and when they saw me in my condition carrying the limp body of another girl who had bore the same marks of ill treatment, a glimmer of their humanity rose to the surface and shone in radiant abundance. Many hands came to alleviate me of my burden, and those who were not encumbered with the girl's weight insisted on acting as my escort to the second location. It was not a debatable point, and with as exhausted as I felt, I welcomed the added support. The girl was whisked away to safety and the rest of us began following Marcus' directions to the other site.

  We were about halfway there when Marcus said, "Bo Peep, I think we may have a problem. The Bratva guards are leaving the other location. This might be a dead end."

  "If it is all the same to you, I still want to check it out," I said.

  "Well, you better hurry," Marcus said.

  With as much as I hated to run, I gave the Triad men with me the signal to do so. I was already near the tipping point where exhaustion plunges into collapse. Once that summit was crested, it wasn't something I would be able to push beyond. I needed rest, but I could see none in my near future. Tears of weariness sprung to my eyes, but there was no time for them. I scrubbed them away with an impatient hand. For now all that was left to me to do was run.

  I kept the image of Dorthia in my mind. The moment when terror struck her. It drove me onward and kept my feet moving. I didn't know how much fight was left in me, but whatever I had would be for Dorthia. I just prayed we weren't too late.

  Marcus gave us instructions over the com. Left here. Straight for a time. Down these steps. Right there. I listened mechanically and passed the instructions on to the Triad guards who had taken a diamond position around me. We met with some opposition along the way, but it was nothing my entourage couldn't handle. I never had to so much as flex a finger to pull a trigger along the way.

  When we reached the second location, there was nothing but a door. No Bratva guards. No bodies. Just a blank, welcoming door. It felt like a trap. It was too easy. For the first time since arriving in this Godforsaken place, I wasn't certain what to do. My hand trembled as it reached for the handle of the door. For some inexplicable reason, my flesh rebelled from actually making contact with the metal. No matter how hard I tried to force myself to complete the action, I could not do it. Something was wrong. Every fiber of my being screamed it.

  I told the Triad leader we needed to pull back. When he asked why, all I could say was I had a feeling. The man looked deep within my eyes. What he was hoping to find there, I cannot say. Truth perhaps. The meaning of life. My phone number. Who knows. Whatever it was, he listened to me and pulled his men back to a safe distance. Then he sent in that one guy.

  What is it about the one guy that makes him destined to die? He is the one in the movies who always gets killed first. The terrible thing is, you know it's coming. Whether it is falling off a cliff, getting eaten by flying sharks, or getting chopped up by a guy wearing a warped William Shatner Halloween mask, it seems inevitable. Queue the music. The one who opens the door, peers out the window, or creeps into the darkened room with the unreliable
flashlight is going to meet his maker. They typically don't even bother to give him a name in the movie. It winds up being something like 'the janitor' or 'the guy at the gas station'. There is never a name. Just a job description.

  The same was true with the Triad minion who was elected as the door opener. The leader didn't call out his name or give any indication that the poor guy had an identity. The leader just pointed at him, grunted (and I meant that literally), and waved at the door. Apparently the designated door guy was simple enough in the head to understand that the grunt and corresponding wavy-hand motion translated into 'hey you guy, go over there and turn the handle on the door that is rigged with explosives and open it while we huddle at a safe distance'.

  I watched in stunned, paralyzed horror as the nameless guy walked over and grabbed the handle.

  Maybe he'll be okay, I thought as he unlatched the door. My hope of a good outcome was blown to smithereens along with the door and the poor guy who opened it.

  I was the most protected of the group because I had ducked around a corner out of the blast zone when the guy had first approached the door. Many of the Triad in my escort were not so lucky and suffered varying degrees of injuries. I called out to Marcus that we needed help fast and then took a survey of the damage.

  Some of the men were just shell-shocked, stumbling around with ringing in their ears and dazed expressions on their faces. Others had some abrasions and nothing more. A few were badly injured. The door opener was a lost cause. My heart broke for him. I paid him the one honor I could bestow a fallen soldier who had sacrificed so much for the rest of us. I asked the Triad leader for his name so he would never be forgotten; at least not in my memory.

  The blast had been highly controlled and directed outward with the extent of the damage limited to the exterior of the doorway. Whatever the Bratva had in the chamber, they wanted it protected, and they were willing to kill anyone who tried to acquire its contents. I entered the room with great trepidation; taking care to look for any booby-traps that might be placed within. The explosives might not be the only means the Bratva employed to protect the secret that lay hidden in the room.