by Mike Kraus
The pain from her fractured ribs no longer bothered her, as it had been overshadowed by what Omar had done to her over the two-hour period. His voice had remained calm and steady as he moved from tool to tool, beating her across her whole body, twisting her extremities into painful knots but never crossing the line of breaking anything more than her already fractured ribs. She felt as though everything was broken, though, and wondered when he would tire of playing with her and simply end it.
“Freezing to death is a terrible way to go, isn’t it?” Omar walked around her, a small baggie of ice held against the knuckles of his right hand. “Especially when you know you’re trapped in a nursing home, knowing you’re too weak to escape, having to figure out how to cope with your imminent death.”
“Screw. You.” The words were quiet, but defiant. She wanted to break her bonds, to leap from her chair and slam Omar against the wall, push him down and throttle his throat with her bare hands.
“Come now, shey’taan.” He tossed the baggie onto a nearby table and massaged his hand, the knuckles red and raw. “Aren’t you curious about how I know about your parents?”
“Mole. I assume.”
Omar walked by her again and she braced herself for the blow she knew would come. A second later it did, into her right side through the gap under the arm in the chair. She spasmed and coughed, spitting more blood out onto her pants and the floor.
“Moles, actually. Plural. More than one. You can’t pull off something like this with just one source.” Another blow, with something more solid than a fist, this time to her right shoulder. “I’ve been watching your family for quite a long time, you know. You were harder to track down, but I picked up enough bits and pieces of your trail to make sure you were always a few steps behind me.”
“Why.”
“Why what?” Omar circled around to the front and crouched down just outside of spitting range. “Why do all of what I did? Or why keep you here, alive, for as long as possible?”
Linda raised her head slightly, meeting his gaze. Her eyes were bloodshot and she could barely keep her eyelids open. Each and every breath and word were pure pain. “Why. Alive.”
“You’ve haunted me,” another punch, “for so long,” another kick, “so I’m going to keep you alive long enough to give you a taste of what I’ve had to endure.” Omar’s smooth voice wavered ever so slightly as he kicked at the side of her chair, knocking her over onto the floor. Linda couldn’t do anything except lay still and wait for his next attack. Instead, though, he waved to one of the other men lurking in the corner of the room who quickly ran over, picked her and the chair back up and then returned to his place.
“Now,” Omar intoned, walking over to a nearby table on which Linda’s sparse assortment of possessions had been strewn, “can you tell me why you were so underprepared when my men brought you in? You had a single spare magazine for your pistol, a few for your rifle, some odds and ends in your vest pouches and not much else.”
Linda’s eyes flicked over to the table, roving over the belongings there until she caught sight of the small tracking device mixed in with the rest of the odds and ends. She was surprised that Omar hadn’t noticed or thrown out the device, then she realized that he likely had no idea how significant the small piece of metal was. This suspicion was confirmed when she watched him pick up the device along with her flashlight, knife and multitool and slip them all into his pockets.
“Guess I was… packing light.” She forced a crooked smile as a few more drops of blood fell from the edge of her mouth to her pants leg.
“And what of your friend, Frank Richards? My men tell me he ran down the street, leaving you alone to defend yourself. I didn’t realize he was such a coward after everything you two had been through.”
“He got… scared.” Another wave of pain shot through her body and she shivered involuntarily.
“Hm. Somehow I doubt that. In spite of his relatively uninteresting past, his actions alongside you seem to indicate that he is more likely to be running for help than running away.”
Linda started to raise her head, but stopped and let it hang against her chest. Her mind, however, was racing. One of the men who had bound her earlier had told her that Frank was dead, shot in the back. But Omar’s account was different, telling her that Frank had apparently escaped. She thought for a few seconds and decided to feel Omar out. “Then he’ll be back. With reinforcements.”
Omar chuckled and shook his head, and Linda wondered if he was about to come over and begin the torture anew. “Oh, I’m afraid not. We’ve added several security measures since your arrival. Anyone attempting to assault us here will fail, and, it doesn’t really matter either way. My forces are converging on your city and the deactivation codes will be mine before the day is out.”
Linda couldn’t help but smile ever so slightly,
Omar leaned in close to Linda, grabbing her roughly by the chin and pulling her head up to force her to meet his gaze. “Your attempt was noble, but in the end it failed as miserably as your other attempts over the years. You came close, but couldn’t seal the deal.” He let her head fall as he walked back to the table, taking her pistol in hand and gently seating in a new magazine. He aimed the pistol at her stomach, his fingers slowly tightening around the grip. “But, as much fun as this has been, I think you’ve just about served your usefulness in venting my frustrations.”
As Omar walked closer to Linda, she put all of her remaining energy into one last defiant gesture. Bracing her legs and rocking herself forward, she tipped the chair up and swung her head upward, smashing her skull into the bottom of Omar’s chin. There wasn’t much force beyond the maneuver, but she could hear his teeth rattling together and his cry of pain as he shuffled back, letting her topple over to the floor with her arms and legs still bound to the chair. He aimed the pistol at her head, wiping a streak of red off of his bloodied lip and gave her a cruel smile before lowering the weapon.
“On second thought, perhaps I’ve not completely finished venting all of my frustrations.”
***
“You sure nobody saw us?”
“I’m pretty sure they’d be jumping down our throats right now if they had. Now c’mon, just two more blocks to go.”
“You sure you want to do this?”
“Absolutely. You try to put me at the back and I’ll shoot through you.”
“Ha. I’ll bet. Just stay to the side if it gets bad.”
“No promises.”
“I hope to hell she’s still alive in there.”
“You and me both. You and me both.”
***
While Linda had managed to buy herself a temporary reprieve from death, she wasn’t sure if it had been worth the price she was paying. Omar had rolled up his sleeves and gone to work on her, no longer concerned with making sure she survived to the end of the session. Black leather gloves adorned his hands to protect his already raw knuckles, and they were quickly becoming slicked with her blood. His face contorted with every blow, his mouth twisting into shapes of anger and hatred all mixed with pleasure and joy. His intent was no longer to seek mere revenge—he intended to beat her to death. Linda withstood the blows as much as possible, and even though he avoided hitting her in the head to avoid her blacking out earlier than she otherwise might, she felt as though she was going to pass out at any second.
A sudden bang from the floor below stopped Omar mid-blow and he turned to look at one of the men standing off to the side. “What was that?” His voice was ragged and he breathed heavily from the exertion he was putting out. Another bang turned into a muffled explosion and Omar turned to look at Linda. Her eyes were open and she forced the edges of her lips up into the slightest of smiles as she whispered. “Told you… he’d… come back.” Omar’s confident expression wavered as he glanced between Linda and his men, trying to cope with the idea that a situation had sprung up that wasn’t entirely within his control.
***
Six figures stood
tensed outside the entrance to the office building, weapons held at the ready position and their eyes roving over the windows and doorway, looking for any emergent threats. “Three. Two. One. Go.” The countdown and command were whispered, but what followed was anything but quiet.
The door to the building burst open under the weight of the portable battering ram, the wood and metal splintering and twisting with just a single blow. The bang of the doors flying open and rattling against the interior walls echoed through the halls of the building. As soon as the doors opened the two figures holding the battering ram dropped it and stepped back, allowing the two men behind them to step forward. They dashed inside the building, their weapons held loosely in one hand as they each cradled a small metallic object. They threw the objects into the two rooms just off of the entry hall to the building and dashed back out to the front steps. A few seconds later, amid the surprised shouts and callouts from those inside the building, a pair of loud bangs and flashes of light went off.
“GO!” Jackson’s voice was loud as he bellowed out the command, no longer bothering with any pretense of stealth. Four men dressed in black and dark olive green charged past Jackson and Frank, dividing into two teams and entering the rooms that had been flash banged. Bursts of gunfire erupted as Jackson and Frank passed by the rooms, heading for the stairs at the back of the hall.
Jackson took the lead as he and Frank headed upstairs, checking each corner and potential blind spot as they went along. Frank tried to imitate Jackson’s movements as much as possible, though he knew full well that in a true firefight he would be just slightly more than useless.
“First floor clear.” A staticky voice came through Frank and Jackson’s earpieces. “No sign of her. Sanders was hit but still alive.”
“Copy. Move up ASAP. Out.” Jackson whispered back, his reply coming through loud on the radios thanks to his throat mic. “Richards,” he continued as he glanced over at Frank, “watch right. I’ve got left. Shoot anything that moves unless it’s her.”
Frank nodded and shifted his attention from the hall in the center of the room to the right-hand side, depending on Jackson to cover his back. They moved lockstep with each other, peeking around the corner of each room before dipping inside, scanning the corners with their rifle lights and then dipping back out into the hall. It took less than thirty seconds of slow, stealthy movements for them to near the end of the hall, at which point Frank ducked into the next room and nearly dropped his rifle in shock.
“Linda!” He shouted and ran forward as he saw her still tied to the chair, head slumped over on her chest. As he ran toward Linda, Frank felt a presence from the side and turned to see a man leaping out through a window, shouting in a foreign language as he went. One other man followed behind him, but Frank paid them no mind, focusing on Linda instead.
“What the hell happened to you?” He knelt down next to her and gently pushed her head up, sighing with relief at the sight of her still drawing in ragged breaths. A rattle of gunfire came from the room across the hall and Frank turned to see Jackson run in a second later.
“Three made it out the windows; get outside and see if you can run them down. Out.”
“Make that five; there were two more in here with her.”
“Copy. All units, correction: make that five targets. Out.”
“One… of them… was him.” Linda’s eyes were still shut as she whispered to Frank. He slid a knife from its sheath on the belt at the small of his back and quickly cut the zip-ties that held her hands, arms and legs. She started to fall forward and he caught her, lowering her gently to the floor. She smiled faintly as her eyes fluttered open and caught sight of his face.
“Jackson!” Frank called out to Jackson who was peeking out one of the windows to see if he could catch sight of the fleeing enemies. “She said he was here.”
“Who, Omar?” Jackson turned and advanced on Frank and Linda, stopping short and giving a shallow gasp at the sight of her.
“Yes.” Linda replied weakly as she tried to nod.
“Holy hellfire…” Jackson dropped to his knees and craned his neck to activate his microphone. “All units, change of plans. Get back and secure the entrances and make absolutely sure this building’s clear. I’ve got Rollins here in bad shape. She’s our first priority.”
“No,” Linda started to speak again, then winced as pain shot through her side, “leave me and get him!” She wheezed the words out amid a smatter of coughs and groans.
“Not a chance, Rollins. Now shut up before you make this worse.” Jackson dropped his rifle on the floor and whipped off his backpack and large medical bag attached to it and spread them out on the floor. “Frank, ease her down and go stand guard by the door.”
“But—”
Jackson looked up at Frank with fire in his eyes, nearly snarling as he barked back a reply. “Now, Frank! I’ve got it from here!”
Frank nodded and gently lowered Linda to the ground, squeezing her hand as he stood up. Jackson took a deep breath as he removed his combat gloves and slipped on a pair of powdered latex ones from his medical bag. “Give me a report, Linda. Where’d you sustain the worst of it?”
“Didn’t get me in the head except once or twice. Mostly in the chest, sides, extremities.” Her words were whispered but determined as she worked to give him as much information in as short of a time span as possible. “Couple of cracked ribs makes it hell to breathe. Maybe some light internal injuries but most of it is exhaustion and pain. Lots of pain.”
While Linda was talking Jackson had been busy gently probing her from top to bottom, checking for anything that was broken or didn’t feel right. “Okay, here’s the deal.” He sat back on his knees and feet and looked at her. “I think you’re right, and you do definitely have a couple of cracked or broken ribs. I want to evac you back to the city where we can start treatment as soon as possible.”
Looking bloodied, bruised and utterly helpless as she did, Jackson didn’t expect a vicelike grip to latch onto his arm and twist, sending pain shooting through his wrist and hand. “Jackson.” Linda’s voice was hoarse and rough, her face twisted into a mask of pain and anger. “If you try to ship me back there I swear to you I will gut you and hang you by your own intestinal tract.”
“Ow, dammit, Rollins!” Jackson tried to shake his hand free but her grip was too strong. “You need attention! I can’t just have you trotting around out here; you can barely stand!”
Linda nodded at the medical bag as she pursed her lips tight. “You confirmed nothing’s broken except a couple of ribs. Everything hurts but that’s manageable. Give me a speedball and I’ll be back on my feet long enough to help finish this.”
“A speed—are you kidding me?!”
“I know they’re standard issue in the kits. For use in emergency situations only. I’d say this counts.”
“Rollins, those things are dangerous as hell!” Jackson tried to argue, but Linda only squeezed harder on his wrist, prompting him to grunt with pain as he tried to pry her off. “Okay, okay! Fine!” He relented and she let go, sighing as though she had just expended nearly all of her energy on him.
“You,” he mumbled as he dug through the bag, “are insane. You know that, right?”
Linda closed her eyes and snorted in amusement. “Part of the job, Jackson. Part of the job.”
After several seconds of searching, Jackson pulled out a black case from the depths of the bag. He cracked open the case to reveal three small, thin syringes sitting in plastic holsters that both kept them safe and from being affected by any movement. He pulled one of the syringes out and held it aloft after removing the plastic sheath on the end, tapping on the side of the syringe while gently depressing the plunger to remove any potential excess air.
“You sure about this?” He looked down at her. “These are fairly low dosage but in your condition who knows what could happen.”
Linda’s eyes shifted over to Frank, who was still standing by the stairs with his rifle at t
he ready. “I’m not going back to the city. I’m going to finish this, come hell or high water.”
Jackson tapped the syringe one last time and took a deep breath. “He’s going to kill me if your heart ends up exploding because of this.”
Linda smiled again. “Just make sure you don’t do that, ‘k?”
While the technical term for the cocktail in the syringe wasn’t “speedball,” the name had carried over from illicit drug usage and become lodged in popular lexicon among the medics who were still getting used to the new drug. A potent combination of a stimulant and a painkiller, speedballs were popular amongst druggies who liked to mix drugs like cocaine with heroin or morphine to achieve a high that would just as often kill them with an accidental overdose.
Some versions of the speedball had uses in legitimate medicine, such as giving terminal patients both relief from pain and enough lucidity to spend time with their loved ones before death. The use of the drug in combat situations was relatively new, though, and was reserved only for certain cases where soldiers needed to be able to move on their own two feet but required both pain relief and a stimulant in order to make that happen.
As good as the potential results were from the mixture of painkillers and stimulants, the possibility of an overdose was greatly magnified due to how the drugs interacted. Even with the cocktail Jackson was injecting into Rollins being highly refined and measured, there was still the chance that she could die from it. As afraid as he was of Linda if he didn’t comply with her request, he wondered if he shouldn’t be more afraid of Frank’s response if she did end up dying.
As the drugs wound their way through Linda’s bloodstream, they had a remarkable effect on her disposition. She went from lying on the floor, gently wheezing for air to starting to push herself up in a matter of minutes. As she tried, though, Jackson held her down and shook his head. “Not yet. I want to watch you for a few more minutes.”
“Jackson,” she replied, in a voice that was remarkably loud and clear, “stop being such a sissy.”
