911: The Complete Series

by Grace Hamilton

  “Y-y-y-ess.” Tears slid down her face.

  Fighting to stay calm, she blinked them away. She wasn’t a victim; she was a secret agent.

  His hands found her hips and yanked her jeans and panties down around her ankles in one rough motion. Instinctively, she tried to stand back up, but the palm of his hand struck her between her shoulder blades and shoved her back down onto the desk. She cried out and he grunted out a guttural pig sound.

  A thick finger invaded her, and her nerve broke.

  “Theo, please,” she begged.

  “Don’t worry, Sara, you’re my girl now.” He laughed. “You said so yourself.”

  Ripping through flesh, he entered her, taking her with all the clumsy, violent grace of a stallion on a mare, snorting through his nose in gasps. Sara bit her lip, but couldn’t help but cry out at times. When he reached forward and snatched her head back by her hair, she didn’t fight the tears anymore.

  When he finally released his grip on her hair, Sara pressed her wet cheek to the desk and stared at an open bookshelf while Truesdale rutted behind her. Even at twenty, she’d never given thought to losing her virginity, but if she had, it wouldn’t have been with this pig. Anger welled inside of her as she waited for him to finish.

  Then he took her picture.

  Afterwards, Sara huddled on the floor next to the desk. Truesdale tucked himself away and opened a filing cabinet drawer she hadn’t had time to inspect before being discovered. He threw a pad of paper on the desk, and then removed a half empty bottle of Maker’s Mark bourbon and a water glass.

  He eyed Sara, pouring himself four fingers before returning the bottle. “I know damn well the door was locked, Sara.”

  Sara looked up at him, her sight still blurry from her tears. “Theo, I—”

  I am going to kill you. Bet on it, you sick fuck.

  Truesdale waved her off with the hand holding the glass. It was an imperious, dismissive gesture.

  “Sara, you’re my girl now. You don’t need to make up stories or sneak around if you want some extra chocolate or strawberries. Those in the Church who put in the work get the rewards. I’m a firm believer in earning your way.” He grinned. “And you’ve earned your way.” He drank. “This time.”

  “Now, get dressed and go before someone comes around asking for you and gets the wrong impression.”

  She pulled on her clothes and hurriedly made for the office door. I can’t keep spying like this. Whatever information they need, there has to be a better way. Reaching the door, she turned the knob and opened it.

  “Sara,” Truesdale said. His voice was quiet to the point of lethality.

  She froze. If he tried to make her go back, make her do anything else, she was going to run. Run out the doors and into the vineyards, and then the woods.

  “Don’t forgot the requisition forms.”

  She turned back around, intent on grabbing the forms as part of her cover story and getting the fuck out of there as quickly as possible. Then she remembered.

  She looked at Truesdale. “The camera,” she started.

  The man chuckled. “Don’t you worry, Sara,” he grinned. “Strictly my eyes only.”

  Her throat constricted in response to the syrupy smoothness of his tone, but she swallowed hard and pushed on.

  “No,” she said. “I mean, how can you have a working camera? I thought everything like that was fried at the Event?”

  Truesdale studied her. “Dr. Marr and I didn’t see eye-to-eye on everything,” he said after a pause. “She had her tricks.”

  Heart beating faster, Sara took a chance. “Are there more things that are still good? Like, phones and laptops and stuff?”

  “Sara,” Truesdale said. “You leave the details to the Church elders.”

  “Yes, Theo.”

  Quickly leaving the suffocating atmosphere of the church office, she made for her dorm area. She needed a shower and to burn her clothes.

  5

  The black 350 Chevy rolled down the street, fog lights lit up and illuminating huge swathes of ground as it cruised slowly past. Crouched behind a closed and shuttered Texaco station dumpster, Parker, Ava, and Finn watched it shark past them, their hands on the butts of their pistols.

  “Good,” Finn said. “Let’s get our food and get gone.”

  “We need to forget about the food in the orchard,” Ava said.

  Parker was still considering the food. He saw in his mind the shaving kit of medicine he’d surreptitiously placed there, as well. “Let’s not be hasty,” he said after another moment. “I know there are patrols, but if we ditch the bikes, we could slip in.”

  “The road in that direction is crawling with Council bastards. We’re outgunned even if we want to fight, which I don’t,” Finn admitted, coming around to Ava’s argument.

  “Big surprise, there,” Ava muttered.

  Finn looked away, apparently stung. “I’ve done plenty of fighting, Ava.”

  Ava sighed and reached out, touching her friend’s hands. “I’m sorry, Finn. I’m just angry.”

  “Anger is a secondary emotion,” Parker said. He stood and lifted his bike. “I learned that in a counseling program.” Actually, in Narcotics Anonymous, he silently corrected himself. “You feel something else first—frustration, fear, regret, and when that’s unresolved, it becomes anger. Anger turned inwards,” he added, “is depression.”

  “Then Ava should never get depressed,” Finn said. “She lets it all out.”

  Ava laughed and gave her a side hug. The girls picked up their bikes then, cinching their packs down tight on their backs. They’d taken an opportunity to outfit themselves with the holsters and carry rigs matching their handguns.

  “Finn’s right,” Parker said, realizing suddenly that there was still beer on his breath. “We’re going to have to leave the food, make do with the MREs from the house cache.”

  Finn nodded, but Ava turned away. Parker knew she was thinking about the events at the checkpoint, what she’d done to divert attention and how it had made her feel.

  “Ava,” he said. “Ava, look at me.”

  She didn’t turn.

  “Ava,” he repeated. “I’m sorry, about everything.”

  She turned on him, her jaw set like a boxer coming in for the clinch. “Are you? Are you sorry?” she asked. She wasn’t shouting and she wasn’t ranting; her words were cold and clipped, the control highlighting how upset she was. “What happened to you, Parker? You’re not even acting like yourself, at least not the self I met that night. You risked so much for me; Finn told me everything you guys faced to come find me. You were,” she paused, searching for the right word and then finding it, “… a hero. An actual hero. You weren’t reckless, but you were the one driving things, moving forward, pushing the fight. Since that night, it’s like you became a different person.” She snapped her fingers. “Just like that. Now you’re weak, indecisive, unsure. Weak, indecisive, unsure people who put off hard things with lame-ass excuses don’t do extraordinary things.”

  “Ava,” Finn said.

  “No,” Parker told her. “She has a right to speak.”

  “Do you get that, Parker?” Ava asked. “Do you get that what we’re about to do is extraordinary? We’re basically pushing through Mordor here to rescue your daughter and bring the fight to the Council and, so far, all you’ve done has been to react to things, to let outside events push you along. You’re not in control and you’re sure as hell not acting like a hero anymore.”

  “Then go,” Parker said. He kept his voice soft. “Go. Sara’s not your daughter. She’s not even your friend; she’s someone you saw in passing. You want to bring the fight to the Council? Then go do it; go get all Red Dawn on them to your heart’s content. I have to save my daughter and I’m going to do it the best way I see fit.” He turned to Finn. “You, too, Finn. What are you doing here? You have a family of your own and you’re no longer bound by a travel visa. Why aren’t you going to them?”

  Finn turn
ed her face away; she didn’t answer. Because you love, Ava, Parker answered for her in his mind. But he wouldn’t expose her.

  Ava looked at him and he met her eyes, his gaze steady. Slowly, Ava unfolded her hands and began clapping her hands together quietly, her bike leaning against her hip.

  “Fuck you,” Parker half-snarled.

  “No,” Ava said. “Seriously, bravo. You’ve finally done something after six weeks of stalling. Of course, you’re still only responding to me, not actually initiating some kind of kick-ass plan. And it’s pretty easy to stand up to me, isn’t it? You’re acting like I’m the burden here, like you’d be better off without me, or Finn. I don’t know if you’ve been keeping up on current events, but that’s not the new you. Eli—who, by the way, behaved like a goddamn hero—was right. I should be leading.”

  “Eli’s dead,” Parker said. He hated himself for saying it as soon as it came out, but there it was.

  “Yeah,” Ava shot back. “And whose fault is that? Who didn’t want to tell their war vet best friend about the plan until it was too late? The ‘plan’ being to remain passive as the clock ticked down on us being discovered?”

  Parker opened his mouth, but Ava cut him off.

  “And also, by the fucking way, unlike you, I know what it’s like to be held prisoner by the Church. Maybe I don’t know Sara well, but I understand what’s she’s going through a whole hell of a lot better than you do. I’m not going to let someone like that suffer; I’m going to help them, and I’m goddamned sorry I let you talk me into waiting six weeks to do it. I’m going to follow the example of a pretty great man I once knew and do something, now. You can tag along if you want.” She got on her bike. “Try to keep up.”

  Ava started pedaling away. Parker watched her go. After a moment, Finn mumbled an apology to him and began pedaling after Ava. Parker stood motionless for a long time, reflecting. He rubbed his tongue against his teeth and felt his taste buds react to the residue of beer.

  He looked down at his injured hand. Why was he still wearing the bandages? Abruptly, he grew furious with the whole situation and began ripping the wrap off his hand. Wrapping it up into a tight ball, he threw it into the bushes along the side of the road where no one would find it unless they were looking.

  He glared at the new pink skin grown over his wound. As fast as his anger had come on, it burned itself out. He decided he needed something for the pain in his rib.

  Up ahead, Ava and Finn were bicycling off into the darkness. Parker undid his pack and opened the bag of pills. Taking one, he shoved several more into his pockets for easy access, his hands shaking; then, packing them away, he followed Ava’s lead.

  Parker pedaled fast. They’d turned off River Road onto Doolittle, heading for I-64 by the time he’d even begun to catch up to them, and were pretty far along when, riding in the rear, he heard a big diesel engine coming up the road behind them. Breathing heavily, he covered the hundred yards between him and the girls as headlights appeared in the darkness behind them.

  Ava and Finn had stopped while Finn took a drink out of her water bottle.

  “Truck!” he said. “Get off the road!”

  They reacted instantly, hopping off their bikes and running for the side of the road. This was farm country and there was little wooded cover, so they hustled behind a patch of wild brambles that engulfed a section of fence. They lay on their bellies, watching the road with their bikes laid flat nearby. Within seconds, the heavy growl of a Humvee’s V8 diesel engine approached them.

  Cruising at a sedate 30 mph, the turret rider swung a floodlight along both sides of the road as the vehicle passed. Seeing it, Parker realized this was no random highway security sweep. They were being hunted. He reached down and pulled the Ruger free. Finn drew her own handgun in response. Ava’s Glock was already out.

  As the vehicle rolled closer, the floodlight swept the roadside. It passed over their bramble patch without slowing, and Parker felt his hopes rise only to see the searchlight then sweep back past them and rest on something lying by the side of the road. His heart slid into his belly when he heard the squeak of the vehicle’s reinforced anti-lock brakes.

  Engine idling, a soldier opened the rear passenger door and got out. Another, sitting in the shotgun seat, unzipped his window and pushed the clear plastic flap down. Parker squinted against the intense glare from the searchlight.

  The soldier from the rear of the vehicle walked to the side of the road. He was in full kit and body armor, one hand resting on the pistol grip of an M4 hanging off him in a three-point sling.

  “What the fuck you see, Stoddard?” the soldier asked.

  “Right fucking there, asscrack,” answered the soldier behind the searchlight, presumably Stoddard. “At your feet.”

  Through the screen of brambles, Parker watched the bulky figure bend down and pick something up off the gravel shoulder. His chest tightened when he realized what the man was holding.

  “It’s a stupid fucking water bottle,” the soldier complained.

  Finn’s water bottle.

  “There still agua in it?” the soldier riding shotgun asked.

  “Yes, sir,” the first soldier asked.

  “Like maybe someone was just fucking drinking from it?” Stoddard asked, his voice sarcastic.

  “Like maybe it’s going to be a long fucking night if we keep stopping for every piece of trash left on the side of the road, do you mean?”

  “Screw you,” Stoddard replied. “Lazy fuck. You may not be smart enough to remember, but one of the bitches we’re looking for is that hot-ass blonde from the checkpoint the other day; word is she was down for it. She may need rescuing.” Stoddard moved the searchlight toward the rear of the vehicle and let it rest.

  “Really?” the first soldier asked.

  “Yeah, fucking really, dumbass.” Stoddard said. “Lieutenant, I gotta piss.”

  “Take five,” the officer said.

  The driver cut off the engine and got out of the vehicle. Night vision ruined, Parker had difficulty making out his features as he made his way around the front of the vehicle to join the others.

  “I was there,” the driver said, “when the marshals did their little public service announcement.”

  “Yeah,” Stoddard laughed as he passed them, undoing the front of his BDU pants. “I heard one of the prisoners shit themselves; fucking hilarious.” Stopping in front of the brambles, he began urinating.

  “That’s one kinky whore then,” the first soldier said. “I mean, three pieces of shit get gakked right in front of her, one of them shitting himself, and she lets the whole checkpoint detail feel her up—I mean, search her for contraband,” the guy finished sarcastically.

  Parker closed his eyes in disgust as the squad laughed. He felt Ava stiffening beside him, and he reached out to touch her arm in case she was thinking of doing something stupid. She recoiled from his touch, and he froze as Stoddard stopped pissing on the other side of the brambles.

  “Yeah,” Stoddard said. He buttoned his pants. “She definitely needs rescuing.”

  “Rescuing?” the driver laughed.

  “Fuck yeah, from not having my big hog in her motherfucking pussy.”

  More monstrous laughter followed, but they were suiting up and preparing to head out, the water bottle forgotten.

  The three of them lay still, breathing the stink of Stoddard’s piss as the squad clambered back into the Humvee and then drove off.

  6

  They made good time through the rest of night. Riding mostly in silence, they covered twenty miles on I-64 as the terrain around them turned into the rolling, wooded hills that covered so much of southern Indiana. With no interference from man-made lights, the stars shone down brightly, lighting their way and making it easy to navigate around any cars still left on the interstate. As morning began creeping up out of the east, Ava spotted a derelict barn near to falling over.

  Physically tired from the trip and emotionally exhausted, the girls fell
asleep almost instantly after Parker offered to stand watch for a while. He waited until he heard their breathing even out and then deepen. Once he felt sure they were asleep, he quietly reached into his pocket, pulled a few pills out, and looked down at them.

  There was a funny phenomenon with alcoholics, he knew. Once addicted, their tolerance grew exponentially, until they had to consume vast amounts of alcohol in order to seem relatively sober. After a while, as their liver began functioning less and less, almost miniscule amounts could leave them shit-faced.

  He held the round white pills up, eyeballing them in the shafts of morning sunlight cutting through cracks in the barn wall. Hay motes floated up among the beams, and outside birds had begun calling to each other. Percocet, he decided. Tasted nasty, unlike Ativan.

  Once upon a time, he’d been a functioning addict. Able to hold his job as a 911 Operator, able to keep a tight, disciplined mask in place while interacting with his friends, Eli and Al—Al, who’d disappeared one night and was never seen again.

  He’d been a high-functioning addict even on the night of the Event, slowly destroying his life in private, but able to function under the extraordinary stress of being a 911 dispatcher.

  For that one long night and through the next day, he’d risen above the burgeoning addiction that had followed his killing that boy, which had blunted the pain of his wife leaving him and Sara being kidnapped. Then he’d stalled out, losing his inertia under the excuse of his injuries and in the endless cycle of apple picking while the Council had tightened their control, making passage through checkpoints without the necessary paperwork impossible. Maybe in the beginning he’d been right to rest and resupply, but then a month and a half had whisked by and, well, it seemed objects at rest tended to stay at rest. Somewhere in all that resting and resupplying, he hadn’t been high-functioning anymore; he’d simply become a goddamn addict.

  Angry, though at what he didn’t precisely know, he shoved the Percocets into his mouth and chewed them. They might taste nasty, but buccal absorption through the mucous membrane diffused much faster into the bloodstream, thereby speeding up their impact.