Betrayal: A Red Dog Thriller (The Altered Book 2)

by Blou Bryant

Shazam laughed and shrugged. “I won’t be one of them anymore. Call them whatever you want.”

  “He gets to run this place, and he’ll use it to sell my product. It’ll be a franchise, like McDonald’s.”

  “And the price is… us?” asked Ari.

  Criggs approached her. She moaned, playacting more injured than she really was, but he was smart enough to not get close enough for her purposes. He said, “Your friend Wyatt is the price. You’re the bait. If you’re a good girl and do as you’re told, I might keep you alive and keep you.”

  Ira gave up moaning, nobody was buying it. “As what? Dealers? Bodyguards?”

  Criggs looked to the ceiling and howled laughter, and then suddenly stopped, growled, and slammed a closed fist into the wall. It went right through, smashing lathe and plaster. When he pulled it back, blood flowed freely, but his face held only a smile. “I have more strength than you can imagine and feel no pain, do you think I need little girls as bodyguards?”

  “What, then?” asked Ira, not that she had any intention of working for this madman. She noted a second time the red dots on his skin and the flecks in his eyes, he was altered. How, she didn’t know. Her sister pathed an echo of her realization.

  He looked her over slowly, starting at her feet and working his way up her body like so many men had done before. “I can think of some uses.”

  Ira shuddered with disgust. If he ever tried that, she swore to herself, he wouldn’t leave the room with all his parts. She pathed the thought to Ari, who appeared to hold back a giggle.

  “Why?” Ira asked, “Even a pig like you can get women, you didn’t do all this to capture us.”

  Shazam rolled closer to her, avoiding the now rolled up carpet. “You’re bait. For Wyatt. You know, your friend, the guy who can heal anyone, anything?” he said, his voice rich with anger. He indicated his legs. “The one who could have made me whole again? The one you never told me about?”

  “Oh,” she said, quietly. They’d considered asking Wyatt to help, and had talked to Hannah and Rocky about it, but it’d never happened. Shazam wasn’t a candidate, wasn’t a good one at least. There were a million—a billion—people in the world who wanted, needed healing, and he couldn’t get to everyone. And the risk of making someone special led the group to be cautious about who was chosen.

  “What are you talking about?” asked Ari, playing for time.

  “Don’t lie, I’ve heard rumors about him for years.”

  “It’s not true.”

  With a look of disgust, he pointed his baton at her. “You could have helped me.”

  “It’s not true.”

  “Was it fun for you, bringing your little crippled friend out? Was it fun, dancing with all the other guys while I rolled around the edge of the floor in my wheelchair?”

  “You were our friend,” interrupted Ira. “We wanted to…”

  “Ya, great, everybody wants to help. Funny, though. Nobody ever does. Doctors would like to help, but it’s expensive. My parents wanted to help, but I was too much for them. Joshua wanted to help too, but there wasn’t enough insurance. And he was a freaking millionaire.”

  “And you think this monster will help you?” Ira asked, getting up on one knee. Criggs’ guards pointed their guns at her and she didn’t move any further.

  Shazam made a little half-shrug. “You weren’t going to help me. Joshua wasn’t either.”

  Ira’s stomach knotted up at the realization that she’d helped push him to this. She was going to apologize and looked up but stopped at a quick urgent path from Ari. It was an image of Wyatt and Hannah and a sense of proximity. The two of them were here or at least were close. And they were about to walk into a trap.

  Chapter 21

  “Disconnected,” Wyatt said.

  “Try them again,” Hannah replied, took her phone back and did it herself. “Right to voicemail, damn it.”

  Wyatt told Seymour, “If he takes a turn for the worse, you call us. Right away. Don’t wait, is that clear?”

  “It is.”

  “Hannah said we can help him and we can. I can heal him. You don’t need to believe, but you need to accept that if you let him die...” Wyatt tore the gauze off his left hand and held the bright red wound pointed towards the other man.

  Seymour stared for a moment at the blood that dripped off Wyatt’s palm and appeared to understand the implication, or at least he thought he did. He nodded, said “Go,” and walked to the window of the operating room, giving it a quick knock. The bruiser opened the door. “Get Oscar to bring the car around to the loading dock and take them wherever they want to go.”

  “Oscar?” asked Wyatt when the other man left.

  “He and the others work for a private security company I use occasionally. Half of them are former criminals—at least I hope they’re former—but you can trust them completely.”

  Wyatt didn’t trust anyone, but given a choice, he’d take the criminal over a hackable machine. The small group made their way out of the building the same way they’d came in, without incident.

  Oscar was an older man, his face lined and rough. He wore a suit and when he opened the door for Hannah, Wyatt noticed the butt of a gun sticking out from under his arm. “Where to,” he asked in a faint accent that Wyatt wasn’t able to place. Lebanese, perhaps.

  “Hand-Up Center,” Wyatt said and gave the old mobster directions.

  “HUC, eh?” the man grunted.

  “What?” asked Wyatt.

  “Nothin’,” the man said, paused and continued anyway, “More like hand-out center. No offense. nothin’s free.”

  Wyatt grunted what might be taken as agreement. He didn’t have a strong opinion about the centers, even though he knew they were all over the country. He hadn’t used one other than during his recent overnight stays, he hadn’t had to, and never thought much about them. Politics was for busybodies, he cared about himself, and his adopted family. Everyone else, they weren’t his problem or his responsibility.

  As they drove, Hannah called the girls again and again, but the result didn’t change, no answer each time. Wyatt, however, kept his phone in his pocket. They’d arrive soon and sure enough, Oscar passed a local college and entered the Reclamation Zone. Minutes later they turned onto the road that led to the center. Wyatt leaned between the front seats and looked down the street. It was quiet, very quiet, considering it wasn’t long after dinner time. The street was empty, nobody eating, nobody standing around. “Was the meal cancelled because of the riot?”

  Hannah leaned forward as well and frowned. “Must have been.”

  Wyatt tensed up. The urgent notes from the twins had made it sound like a war zone. This was anything but. “What if it wasn’t them?”

  “Do you think someone got the phone from them?”

  “I don’t know,” he said as the car pulled up out front. Hannah moved to open her door and he put a hand on her arm. “Wait.” He turned to his left and right, taking in the neighborhood. nothing. No movement at all. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the blind in the bay window of the HUC move. That wasn’t suspicious, was it? “Call them again,” he said. She did, and there was still no answer.

  “Stay in the car,” he said and got out slowly. “Oscar, can you stay with her for a minute? I want to look around.”

  Hannah gave him an angry glare from inside as he came around to her side of the car. She opened the door and he blocked her. “No.”

  “What did I say about you being the big strong man and protecting me? We’re in this together.”

  “Yes, we are. But that doesn’t mean we’re not careful. Let me scout the center for a…” he said when a crash from behind stopped him mid-sentence.

  He turned and saw Ira on the grass at the base of the smashed bay window, blood streaming from her face and hands. She got up on one leg, screamed, “Run, Wyatt, run,” and collapsed.

  Wyatt slammed the door behind him and ran to her. A face appeared in the window—the big man from the police
station. Wyatt ignored him, reached Ira in a few strides, and kneeled next to her. Her right leg had a large piece of glass protruding from it.

  From inside the house, he heard, “Get him!” and the door to the center opened. Two shots rang out from behind him but he still didn’t turn away from her. Without conscious thought, he pulled off his belt, tied it around her thigh and yanked the glass out of her leg.

  “Run Wyatt, it’s a trap,” she said, between gasps of pain.

  That he already knew. He turned his head right to make sure there wasn’t anybody at the entrance to the house. He looked left and behind, and saw Oscar was out of the car, a gun in hand. “Get back here,” he yelled. It must have been him who’d fired.

  Wyatt pulled Ira to her feet, both of them bent over so that their heads were below the windowsill. A man ducked his head out of the window, a gun aimed down towards them. Oscar fired again and the man retreated. Seconds later a volley of shots rang out from the house, several hitting the car. Wyatt watched in horror and yelled to Oscar. “Get in, drive, get out of here.”

  Oscar ducked, keeping only his hand and the weapon over the roof of the car. He returned fire and yelled, “Not without you. Get over here!”

  Wyatt knew that wasn’t possible, the run from the house to the car would be death for both him and Ira. “We can’t make it. Get out of here,” he yelled back. He saw Oscar through the front window. Wyatt was impressed at the man’s composure and assumed it wasn’t his first gunfight.

  Oscar fired a volley of shots and then, in the lull, nodded to Wyatt’s left. The implication was clear, I’m covering you, move, move!

  When he hesitated, Ira whispered, “They’re here for you, not us. Run, draw them away, that’ll give Ari a chance.”

  That decided it, both of them could draw them off. He lifted her up and put one of her arms around his neck and asked, “How many?”

  Heads still down, the pair hobbled to the side of the house and across the neighboring driveway, protected by shots from Oscar at the house. “Four, no, five or six,” she said. “Shazam is with them.”

  As he turned the corner, Wyatt looked back and saw Oscar get in the car and peel off, not bothering to shut his door until he was several homes away. Hannah was visible in the back seat, staring back at them through the broken window, anguished. There was nothing she could do.

  Wyatt moved as quickly as possible into the neighboring backyard. He hesitated. The men in the house would be coming for them, and would find them soon. A quick look around revealed several options for hiding, but they’d be found, it wouldn’t take long. Without effort, he picked her up and lifted her through a broken back window, the only one that wasn’t boarded up.

  “I’ll draw them away.”

  “I’m coming with you,” she objected.

  “Not with that leg, you’re not, you’ll slow me down. Stay here and when they’re gone, find a way to get Ari. Get in, now!” he whispered.

  Ira stared down at him, blood flowing from cuts in her face and head where she’d broken glass jumping out of the front window. She leaned down and kissed him on the forehead. “Run,” she said, and dropped backwards, out of view, into the house.

  Chapter 22

  Wyatt immediately sprinted away and was halfway through a second backyard when he realized that just running straight out wouldn’t work. If he escaped too fast, they’d search the neighboring houses, and they’d find Ira. He jumped a flowerbed and vaulted a gate, pausing next to a beat up Pontiac. He heard voices, but they were too close, too relaxed, to be his pursuers.

  With an excess of caution, he worked his way around a yellow wooden garage. At the corner, he met two men sitting on a porch wearing sweatpants and nothing else. They glanced at him, and he smiled in their direction. “Hey,” he said.

  “Sup?” the younger of the two responded. Neither looked surprised to find him sneaking around the corner of their house. Come to think of it, it probably wasn’t their house.

  “Not much, you know, running away from psychopathic killers.”

  “Huh.”

  “Don’t sound like fun,” said the other.

  “Don’t you know it,” said Wyatt. “Crap day.” He glanced at a pair of wristbands that sat on the ledge of the porch.

  “You ain’t government?”

  “No, and I don’t care about your bracelets.”

  “Good. How about you move on?” the older one said. “We don’t want no trouble.”

  “Meh,” said the other. “Could be neighborly, offer him a beer.”

  The old one, also the much fatter of the two, thought about it for a moment, while Wyatt tried to see up the street.

  “Cops after you?”

  Wyatt wasn’t surprised that they assumed psychopathic killers might be police. “These ain’t cops.”

  “Gangs?”

  “Sorta,” he replied, bending down to look up the street. There was a group out front of the HUC. A large man was waving a gun around, berating the dirty cop that Wyatt had met earlier—Ultov, he remembered. The guy looked down at the ground and didn’t argue. Well then, thought Wyatt. Vincent had been right; this guy wasn’t in charge.

  “Hmm,” the guy on the porch responded and took a swig of his beer. He held the bottle up to the light and decided that he might as well finish it, and turned it up again, draining it. “Goin to get nother beer, seems like you ain’t got time for one?” he said, apologetically.

  Residents didn’t want trouble that would attract attention, nobody was supposed to live in the Zone. “No, probably not,” said Wyatt. “How about you tell them where I am, where I went.” That would get his pursuers to chase him and leave Ira alone.

  The fat one didn’t reply, hauled himself out of his chair, leaned to the left, farted, and walked back into the house. Probably after that beer.

  To the other, Wyatt said, “How about you? Wanna turn me in? Might be a reward.”

  “Name’s Andy, and I’m not a snitch.”

  Wyatt didn’t reply at first, creeping forward to get a better view as he heard a car door slam. “You’re not?” he asked as the car drove off. As it passed, he saw Ultov alone in the front.

  “Nope. Mom raised me right.”

  Wyatt smiled at the man again and tried to imagine the day that mom had sat Andy on her lap and discussed the merits of snitching. He giggled.

  “Sup?”

  “Nothing,” replied Wyatt. “You know that it’s not snitching if I ask you to tell them. That’s being neighborly. And they might give you a reward.”

  “You’re worth money?”

  “Lots, all you gotta do is turn me in.”

  “You wanna be caught?”

  Not really, he thought, but he needed the gang to come after him and not Ari. There were five men out front of the HUC. The big man, Criggs, had been one face identified by Hannah at the police station. He appeared to be in charge, yelling at the four others, who moved to search the grounds of the four houses closest to the center. It was time to move. “No, but you’d get the cash if I do or don’t, does it matter?”

  “How about you?”

  “Huh? What about me?”

  “Do you got money?”

  This guy was impossible, Wyatt gave up and instead tried to see where the four men were. Large old trees and a van blocked his view, so he continued to creep forward. Still nothing. “I got some, but they have more, how about it, I run away, and you tell them where I went?”

  Andy turned, spat and said, “I suppose. Seems strange.”

  The other man returned, two beers in hand. “One’s for you,” he said, pointing the base of the bottle towards Wyatt.

  “Carbs are good for exercise, right?” Wyatt asked and walked back to the pair. Neither replied, so he took the bottle, drained half of it and put it on the ledge. “Thanks. Owe you. If any guys come by, tell them you saw me and I ran down the street.”

  Time for some fun, he thought to himself, revving himself up for the trials to come. “Thanks, boys
,” he said.

  “Yer welcome,” the thin one said.

  The fat one burped and tipped his beer in Wyatt’s direction.

  I could like these guys, he thought, tapped a finger on his thigh five times for luck and sprinted across the street. As he crossed the yellow centre line, he heard two shouts from his left. A quick glance told him he’d been seen—as planned.

  A quickening of his pace saved his life as three shots rang out before he got to the corner of a little brick house with boarded over windows. He made for the backyard. The inside wouldn’t be safe. He needed to draw them away and outpace them. At the same time, he needed them to be close enough that they’d stay on his trail, and get farther away from Ira.

  The backyard was overgrown. Tall grass, weeds and garbage surrounded two rusting old cars. He stepped carefully, avoiding the risk of running through what was essentially an overgrown dump. A pile of needles on top of the trunk of one car validated his caution, and he moved even more slowly. With a quick glance behind he saw they hadn’t rounded the corner yet, but they would and he’d be in view soon.

  Three, four, five more steps and he was on the tightly mowed yard of the back neighbor and running again, this time past a small one story brick home with a fresh new deck on back. What a messed up neighborhood, he thought, with a look to the left and another to the right.

  Two steps up brought him onto the deck, which he used to scale the brown wooden fence separating the yard from the neighbor’s. He jumped down and landed on another pile of garbage. Where the other side of the fence was painted a fresh brown coat, on this side, the wood was bleached a dull gray by years of sun.

  The sound of his black-clad pursuers running through the next yard told him that they’d almost caught up, so he jogged up the gravel driveway and onto the street. The yards to his left and right were too open, he couldn’t stay out here so he kept going straight on to the next house. It was boarded up as well, with an eight-foot wooden fence blocking him from the backyard.

  Wyatt risked a look back and saw the two men struggling over the fence between houses. He jumped onto an abandoned green minivan parked in the driveway, leapt upwards, caught the edge of the gutter and swung himself up on the roof of the garage. His second step smashed through rotten boards and he fell forward, just catching himself before he fell all the way through.