by Alex Siegel
Aaron was silent for a moment. "I'm extremely upset."
"We all are, sir, but we never had a chance. They used gas. We were ambushed and badly outnumbered."
"A legionnaire always has a chance. Gather up whatever evidence you can find. Then come back to headquarters. We will have a staff meeting as soon as you arrive."
"Yes, sir," Smythe said. He sighed and closed the phone.
Chapter Fourteen
A tingling sensation in Sheryl's belly woke her up.
Her memories and thoughts slowly came into focus. When she remembered she was a captive, fear made her whimper.
She was still lying on the floor in the back of an armored truck. She had bruises from bouncing around on the hard surface. Her hands were cuffed behind her back, and her shoulders ached.
She rolled onto her side and looked up. Four men were seated on benches, two on either side. They had thrown off the white cloaks. Underneath, they wore generic green military fatigues without any rank insignia or name tags. They were all in very good shape by normal standards. They held compact assault rifles on their laps and had pistols in holsters.
Sheryl got up on her knees. The men gave her stern looks, but they didn't stop her. She looked out the side window of the truck.
They were driving on a narrow road through dark, snowy countryside. Vast, open fields were broken up by the occasional tree or bush. She didn't see any lights. She had no idea how far they had travelled or in which direction. She didn't even know if they were still in Illinois.
She noticed a locked, copper box on the floor under a seat. Her all-important phone was inside. If she could just get a signal out, her friends would instantly know her location. She wouldn't have to wait long for rescue. Aaron would kill anybody who got in his way.
Now Sheryl understood the reason for the copper box. The metal blocked all radio transmissions. This particular enemy knew what they were doing.
"Hi, guys," she said in her sweetest voice. "Where are we going?"
The soldiers just glared at her.
The handcuffs were really hurting her wrists. She had a solution to that problem, but now wasn't the time to employ it. She was an expert escape artist, and she had always included escape tricks in her magic act. Out of habit, she still kept lock picks somewhere on her body at all times. She didn't feel properly dressed without them.
She pulled off her gloves and let them fall. She touched the back of her calf casually. The body armor was like a thick, heavy rug made of unbreakable fibers. Small pins and hooks were buried in the layers of fabric, and she could feel the metal tips poking out slightly. The picks are still there, she thought. It was a small advantage, but she needed every advantage she could get.
She realized she was going to be on her own for a while. Her main assets would be her wits and her courage. It didn't seem like enough.
Don't give up, she told herself. You're one of God's warriors. They should be afraid of you.
She settled down a little.
After a while, Sheryl saw lights, and she craned her neck to look around. The truck was passing through a gate. She glimpsed tall fences and dense spools of barbed wire. Men with guard dogs patrolled the grounds. Lights on tall poles turned the night into day. The place reminded her of a prison camp.
She felt a sharp stab of pain in her gut. What did I eat? she wondered. Maybe the gas gave me an upset tummy.
The truck drove into an enormous, white building. A regular grid of industrial floodlights made the interior very bright. It was some kind of factory. She saw sewing machines and giant bolts of colorful cloth. Racks held many spools of yarn and thread. There were big cutting tables with rubber clamps. Nobody was working at this time of night.
What are they making here? It certainly isn't gift baskets.
The armored truck turned and entered another area which wasn't as brightly lit. She saw big, wooden crates and forklifts. Boxes were stacked high on shelves. Some open crates were on the floor, and packing peanuts had spilled out. Finally, the truck squealed to a stop.
The back door opened. Sheryl was hauled out of the vehicle by other soldiers and set on her feet. They weren't being gentle with her. With four armed guards as escorts, she was hustled up a flight of stairs. Boots clanged against steel. A fifth guard carried the copper box containing her precious phone.
She intentionally tripped on a stair and fell hard. "Ow!" she cried.
During the moment of confusion, she grabbed one of the picks hidden on her calf. She held the sliver of metal between her fingers where it wouldn't be seen.
The guards picked her up and put her back on her feet. The group quickly reached the top of the stairs. The upper floor of the factory looked more like an office building. There was a long, white hallway with glass doors on both sides. The light fixtures were made to look like solid brass, but the coating was peeling away in spots to reveal plastic underneath.
The guards marched her to a double-door at the far end of the hallway. They entered a spacious office with blue carpeting. A fake palm tree stood in the corner. Recessed bulbs illuminated white walls.
Sheryl focused her attention on the man seated behind a glass desk. He wore generic fatigues without rank insignia like the rest, but all the other soldiers saluted him when they entered the room. He had dense, curly hair which had been cut down to the thickness of a finger. A long, straight nose divided his face. His chin was long and pointed, and the tip had an ugly little scar. One of his ears was missing.
He stood up and smiled at Sheryl. "They didn't tell me you were beautiful. What a pleasant surprise."
The guards forced her to sit on a wooden stool in front of the desk. Her lock pick was still nestled between her fingers.
The copper box was placed on the desk.
"Who are you?" Sheryl said.
"My name isn't important," the strange man said. "I'm the commander of this little band of misfits. Who are you?"
"My name is also unimportant."
"Then I will refer to you as 'prisoner,' and you will refer to me as 'your highness.'" He smirked a little.
She glared bravely at him. "Are you going to torture me?"
"No." He shook his head. "I'm simply going to turn you over to my employers. That will happen in the morning. I expect they'll handle all the torturing."
"Employers? You're not responsible for this mess?" She furrowed her brow.
"We're hired help. Very expensive hired help. To be honest, I brought you to my office just to have a nice conversation. My curiosity is piqued. Your people did a lot of damage to my forces despite being gassed, ambushed, and outnumbered. I was shocked when I heard the reports."
"What a shame," she said wistfully.
The commander walked around the desk and sat on the edge facing her. He was tall and solidly muscular. He crossed his arms.
"Don't feel bad for me," he said. "Dead mercenaries are easy to replace. The world will never run short of vicious, young men looking for a big paycheck. We'll be at full strength again soon enough. But I don't want to discuss my tedious business. I'm much more interested in talking about you."
"Me?" Sheryl raised her eyebrows innocently. "I'm just an ordinary girl. I want to meet a nice farm boy, get married, and squeeze out some kids."
"It's obvious there is nothing ordinary about you. I rarely meet female adversaries, and you're not just a woman. You have a face that belongs on the cover of a fashion magazine."
"I bet you say that to all your prisoners."
He leaned forward and stroked her shoulder. "And I've never seen body armor like this."
"When I get home, I'll send you the name of my tailor."
"Witty besides. It's a pity we met under these hostile conditions. You're my kind of lady."
A sudden pain in Sheryl's gut made her wince.
"Something wrong?" the commander said.
"I don't feel right. Maybe it was the gas you used on me."
"The side effects are headache and nausea. Is tha
t what you're feeling?"
"No," she said, "my head is fine."
In fact, she was feeling remarkably sharp. The world was in bright focus.
She wondered if this sensation was another form of God's breath. Normally, it was a mild tingle like the pleasant burn after a spicy meal. She could draw strength from it when she needed a little boost. This pain was much more severe.
"Capturing me was a big mistake," Sheryl said.
The commander raised his eyebrows. "Why? Because your comrades are going to rescue you and kill me in some horrible way? You can't imagine how many times I've heard that old line, and I'm still alive."
"Are you in the kidnapping business?"
"Kidnapping, assassination, theft, sabotage, whatever pays the bills."
"And spreading a disease that causes cannibalism?" Sheryl said.
"Yes. We're being paid very handsomely for that job. This is far and away the most profitable assignment I've ever done. I'll seriously consider retiring after it's over."
She couldn't understand his attitude. No amount of money could justify the crimes he was committing.
"I'm a little confused though. Why are we in a factory? What happened to the chocolate shop?"
"That shop was a decoy." He grinned. "The gift baskets were my clever idea. I planted them to draw you into the trap. They actually have nothing to do with the disease."
She cocked her head. "Then how is it being spread?"
"Your pretty face is beguiling, but I won't tell you all my secrets." He winked.
"Do you understand what's going on out there? People are eating each other! The entire population of Chicago is in a panic. They're running for the hills or boarding up their houses. The whole metropolitan area could be under martial law by tomorrow."
"We were paid to produce exactly that result."
"You're a monster!" she said.
A wrenching pain made Sheryl double over and moan.
"Do you need a doctor?" the commander said. "You're worthless to me if you're dead."
This time, she was able to clearly identify the pain as God's breath. The Lord was seriously pissed off. Hey, take it easy on me, she thought.
No, God replied.
Sheryl was stunned. The Almighty was actually talking to her.
The commander turned his attention to the copper box containing her phone. He took a key out of his pocket and removed the padlock. She perked up.
"Don't get too excited," he said. "This building is a Faraday cage."
"A what?"
"Copper mesh is embedded in the walls and ceiling. It keeps unauthorized transmissions from getting out. There are many security measures in this place."
"You own this building?" she said.
He shook his head. "My employers made it available to us. Why would mercenaries own a factory?"
He opened the box and took out her phone. A soft beeping noise indicated it wasn't getting a carrier signal. She had never heard anything so depressing.
The sight of it gave her an idea. The phone had an interesting feature that she could use to her advantage. It was a huge gamble. She would lose the phone permanently and maybe get injured besides.
It's my best shot, she thought. She would have to perform this trick just right though.
She began to pick the lock on her handcuffs. Her movements were slow and subtle so the guards wouldn't notice.
The commander hefted the phone. "Heavy. We were told these phones are very important. It looks armor plated. Is it made of steel?"
"I honestly don't know what the metal is," Sheryl said. "Who told you about our phones?"
"My employers." He opened the clam-shell cover. "Locked. Too bad."
She smiled.
"What?" He looked at her.
"I didn't want you reading my personal email."
He stared at the phone in his hand. "Something just occurred to me. I agreed to hand you over in the morning. There was never any discussion about your possessions. I could keep your phone."
"Isn't that rather petty?" She raised her eyebrows.
"It's a treasure trove of secrets. Names, numbers, passwords. The right buyer will pay dearly for that information. It might also lead me to the rest of your gang. More captives mean a lot more money for me."
"I swear there is nothing of value in that phone," she said with a twitchy smile.
"Then tell me how to unlock it. Let me see for myself."
She kept her mouth firmly shut.
He stood up and leaned over her. "You won't be the first pretty face I messed up."
"You said you wouldn't torture me."
"A few bruises won't diminish your value. I can claim they happened during the fight earlier."
Her handcuffs finally unlatched. She didn't move so nobody would notice she was free.
"I'm not talking." She raised her chin.
He slapped her across the face hard enough to make her see stars. She gasped in pain and blinked slowly. Getting hit was part of the plan though. She wanted him very interested in that phone.
"Oh?" he said.
She straightened up. "That's the best you got?"
He grabbed her throat and squeezed until she choked. Then he hit her with the back of his hand so hard she almost fell off the stool. She made sure the handcuffs stayed on her wrists, but it was difficult to maintain the pretense.
"Not bad." She spat a little blood.
The pain in her belly wasn't helping. It had become a drumbeat of gut-clenching agony.
"I can do a lot worse," the commander said.
"I'm still not talking."
He kicked her in the head. With her hands behind her back, she couldn't stop her fall and hit the floor hard. The world flashed white on impact.
Sheryl realized her handcuffs had come off. She rolled onto her back to hide that fact.
She looked up at her tormentor. Her eyes were crossed, and it looked like there were two of him.
"OK!" she cried. "I give up! I'll tell you the passcode."
The commander smirked. "See? You're not so tough."
"It's 2-3-2-3," she sobbed. She didn't have to pretend to cry. Her tears were real.
He began to type in the code. Then he hesitated.
Smart man, she thought.
He handed the phone to one of his flunkies. "You do it."
"Sir?" The young soldier looked confused.
"Step back a few paces and put in the code. That's an order." The commander gave him a serious look.
"Yes, sir."
The soldier entered the code.
Sheryl rolled onto her stomach and covered her head with her arms.
The phone self-destructed. It contained just a half-ounce of C-4, but that was more than enough for her purposes. The concussion was stunning.
She was on her feet before anybody else could recover their wits. She grabbed an assault rifle from one of the guards and sprayed the room. The weapon's recoil was brutal, and bullets flew everywhere, but she managed to kill two guards and wound a third before the clip ran dry. The fourth guard had lost his hands when the phone had exploded.
She grabbed a pistol from a dead guard's holster. She turned to shoot the commander, but he was already aiming at her. She barely dodged a bullet fired at her head. She shot back, hitting him twice in the chest. He collapsed backwards.
Sirens started to wail. Reinforcements are coming, she thought. Time to go.
She ran out of the office and looked around. She didn't like the idea of going downstairs. There wasn't much cover on the ground floor. Hiding in one of the offices upstairs seemed like a smarter play for now.
She ran down the hall, picked a door at random, and threw it open. The office was dark, and she almost tripped over a chair in her haste.
Pain in her gut made her drop to her knees and sob. Tendrils of fire were spreading through her body. God, what are You doing to me?
The Lord was silent.
Sheryl forced herself to get up and move. She heard ra
pidly approaching footsteps in the hallway. She looked around desperately and spotted a couch. She crawled behind it despite a tight fit. It was a good thing she was skinny.
The commander's voice blasted through speakers. "All squads! We have an armed intruder on the premises!"
Damn, Sheryl thought. He must've been wearing a vest under his uniform. I should've shot his face.
He continued, "A woman with brown hair. Lock everything down. Cut off all communication. Nobody gets in or out until she's caught. Try to take her alive. She's worth a great deal of gold to us. And I need medics in my office now."
A moment later, somebody entered the office with Sheryl. The lights turned on. She tried to stuff her body even deeper behind the couch.
She looked underneath and saw two pairs of boots. Two men were searching the office. It was only a matter of seconds until they discovered her.
She shot the men in the ankles. When they fell down, she shot them in the head. The pistol made a terrible racket, and she wished she had a suppressor.
She shoved the couch aside and stood up. Going back into the hallway was no good. The enemy was there. Aaron had trained Sheryl to climb when she was in trouble, and she looked up. Drop ceiling tiles could be pushed easily out of the way.
She jumped up onto a desk and pushed out a tile. There was a thick pipe in the dusty, dark space above. She shoved her gun into her pants. She leapt, grabbed, pulled herself up, and wrapped her legs around the pipe. With one hand, she slid the ceiling tile back into place.
She was amazed at her own skill and athleticism. Aaron forced her to endure daily workouts that bordered on cruel and unusual, but now she was very glad for all that hard training. She was performing feats that she would have thought impossible six months ago. He would be proud of her.
Sheryl inched along the pipe in the darkness. Filth got in her nose, and she wanted to sneeze. She wasn't sure where the pipe would take her, but anywhere else was better than here.
She heard crashing noises in the room below the ceiling tiles. The soldiers were turning over furniture.
She pulled herself along until she was suspended over a different room. Her arms were getting tired, and if she didn't climb down now, she would fall down. She lifted a ceiling tile and found it was dark below. She silently dropped to the floor.
