Exacerbyte (Ellie Conway Book 3)

by Cat Connor

  Another shot from below me somewhere.

  A single report in reply.

  And Sean’s voice, “They got the shooter. Over.”

  One down.

  Nicola cried out and ran toward me. Beyond her terrified figure, I saw Sam and Lee block the tunnel entrance. No sign of Doc.

  “It’s okay,” I said, as she hid behind me. “Sam and Lee didn’t mean to scare you.” They both sprayed beaming smiles at the kid who cautiously peered around me. She noticed the badges they wore around their necks. “Same as yours,” she said quietly.

  “They’re with me.”

  She started to smile at Sam and Lee and then let loose an ear-piercing squeal. “Oh my gosh!”

  Lee’s smile dropped clean off his face as Nicola launched herself at him.

  Oh, for the love of God! Lee caught the kid. She sobbed hysterically into his chest. It’d all been a bit much for the poor kid.

  Sean’s laughter bounced in my head.

  I spoke to him, “Can we take her out the way Sam and Lee came in? Over.”

  “Copy, all clear out here. Lee, bring her to me. Over.” Sean said.

  Lee looked at me and nodded. “Off we go,” he said and scooped up the kid into his arms.

  Sam and I waited until they were out of sight. Our ears filled with the fading sobs through Lee’s microphone.

  With a little luck, we’re all going to get out of here.

  “Come on,” I said to Sam, leading the way.

  We checked for movement before leaving the only cover around and ran quietly along the wall to the first bathroom.

  “Who do you think it is?” Sam asked.

  “Samantha, Tasha, or Melanie, or maybe all three.”

  Sam went in first. I followed closely behind.

  “FBI,” he said softly, his deep voice echoing regardless, in the concrete room. “Samantha? Melanie? Tasha? Anyone here?”

  Sam moved down the row of stalls, pushing each door wide open as he did.

  “Samantha?”

  No one replied.

  “Melanie?”

  “Tasha?”

  The last two doors looked properly shut. Sam flung the first one open.

  Empty.

  I pushed open the next one.

  Jackpot.

  Twenty-One

  Wild Horses

  Curled beside the toilet in the cramped stall, covered in blood, was a young woman. She wasn’t moving.

  I stepped closer and felt my breath stick in my throat. I knew right away that she wasn’t any of the missing girls. She was older but not old enough to be the Harris woman.

  “Hello?”

  Her eyes opened.

  My heart thumped so hard I thought I was going to vomit. She was alive.

  “I’m Special Agent Conway. We’re going to help you.”

  She looked up and started to struggle to her feet. Her hands were pressed tightly to the side of her neck. Blood cascaded through her fingers. My instinct was to get her out to where I could help her. The toilet cubicle was gross and there was no room for me to get close to her, and certainly no room for paramedics. Paramedics need room.

  Her voice crackled and emitted a quiet word, “Samantha?”

  The movement caused blood to gush from her neck. She moved her hand and I got a faceful of blood. I wiped my eyes and took her arm. She swayed precariously. Blood poured. The floor was slick and hard to stand on.

  I clamped a hand over hers on her neck and slowly I backed out of the stall taking the messed-up young woman with me. The full light of the open room gave me a better idea of her injuries. I also took a good look at her face. Her eyes and jawline looked familiar. Sam pointed out the trail of blood she’d left along the wall and floor as she moved out of the cubicle. She started to fall, Sam and I held her, lowering her to the ground with care and resting her back against the wall. I wadded up paper towels and held them to the gash in her neck, hoping to stem the flow of blood. I spoke into my collar, “Break-Break. Doc I need you up here. Over.”

  Doc replied, “Copy. I’m on my way. Over.”

  I turned my attention to the woman. The paper towels were soaked in blood. I wadded up more towels and pressed them over the soaked towels against her neck.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Gloria.”

  Sam spoke, “Doc, we need paramedics. Are we clear for that? Over.”

  Sean replied to him asking for a location.

  “Gloria, hold this on your neck,” I said, putting her right hand over the wadded up paper. I waited until I felt her hand apply pressure then moved mine. I wanted to get an idea of the extent of her wounds. The neck seemed the worst but blood seemed to come from all over.

  She had defensive wounds on her hands and forearms, several facial cuts, a large neck wound – someone had tried to slit her throat – and cuts to her head.

  “Anywhere else?”

  “I don’t know,” she replied, her voice shook. “Where’s Samantha?”

  “I’m just going to lift your shirt, and make sure there are no more wounds.” Cautiously I lifted her blood-soaked tee shirt. “Sam?” I said turning to look over my shoulder.

  “Yeah.”.

  Sam moved closer to me.

  “Gloria, this is Sam Jackson, he works with me,” I said. “We’ve been looking for Samantha and two other girls, Melanie and Tasha.” I grabbed more paper towels for her neck, adding them to the sodden wads she already held. “I’m going over to the door to talk to my friend here and to see if our doctor has arrived with the paramedics yet.”

  Her fear-filled eyes watched me as she spoke, “Samantha is my cousin.”

  She might be a source of information but there was something more pressing. Sam followed me to the door. I could hear running feet coming up the ramp on the far side of the concourse beyond the bathroom.

  “Stop them,” I ordered.

  Sam turned to me. “What?”

  “Stop the paramedics. Gloria is a bomb. Looks like an explosive device attached to her belt. I don’t know if I can get it off. There’s a cell phone attached to it.”

  Bet the cell phone wasn’t connected to the problematic network we’d heard so much about. Our luck wasn’t that good.

  “Cell phone,” Sam replied and ran out the door; he reached the top of the ramp in time to stop the paramedics from stepping foot on the concourse.

  Doc spoke in my ear, “I’m almost there. Over.”

  “Copy. You can’t come in. Stay back with the paramedics. Over.”

  “Negative. You can’t do this by yourself. Over,” Doc said.

  “Stay back. Over,” I warned.

  Sean’s voice resounded in my head, “Sending a bomb squad to you. Over.”

  I heard Sam relay a message to the bomb squad about a cell phone RCIED. It meant that the bomb was radio controlled and the cell phone was the set to initiate the firing circuit. All the phone had to do was receive an incoming page or text message and boom.

  Sam’s voice again, “She needs help, Sean. I’m going back. Over.”

  Sean’s loud veto hurt my ear. “Negative. Sam, Doc, you have to stay with the medics,” I whispered. “I’ve got this. Over.”

  My eyes closed for a second and took a deep breath. Centered, I went back to the young woman. She was scared and not very old, maybe nineteen. I couldn’t leave her. Four voices fought to be heard in my ear.

  “Don’t make me take the receiver out. Over,” I said quietly. “Stand down. All of you. Doc, how do I control this bleeding? Over.”

  “Let me come in. I have QuikClot in our field kit. Over.”

  “Negative. Pressure, can I do it with pressure? Over.”

  “Copy. I believe you could do it with sheer contrariness. Over.” Doc said.

  I ignored him.

  I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be. In my mind, Carla shook her head and said, ‘Don’t leave me.’ I saw Mac slip an arm around Carla and tell her I’d be home soon.

  A silver
butterfly flittered around a light.

  “Okay Gloria?”

  “Yes,” she rasped. I sat down in front of her with another wad of paper towels and wiped some of the blood off her face; it did no good, more blood just took its place.

  I spoke into the microphone on my shirt. “Doc, it’s her carotid.”

  “You need to get in the wound and pinch the artery closed. Over.”

  I wished I could just let him in to do it for me. Blood is so slippery. I wiped my hands dry on a cleanish patch of my jeans.

  “Gloria, I’m going to take these towels away now.”

  “Okay.”

  “It’s going to be all right,” I said quietly, as I removed the sodden towel. Blood spurted. There was so much I couldn’t see. I wiped my hand again and stuffed my fingers into the hole in her throat feeling for the severed artery. I found it – it wasn’t fully severed. I grasped the edges between my thumb and forefinger and squeezed. The blood flow slowed to a trickle. I grabbed more paper towels with my free hand and wiped some blood away from the wound so I could see. Sitting on the ground with my fingers inside someone’s throat was not something I ever thought I would be doing.

  Doc was in my ear, “Hold that artery closed, Ellie. How’s her airway? Over.”

  “I got it, Doc. Wasn’t fully severed. She’s breathing. Over.”

  “If her chin was down when someone tried to cut her throat then the artery can sometimes be nicked not severed. Over.”

  Then it wasn’t a professional who’d attempted to slit her throat. Unless, of course, the person wanted us to think that and botched it on purpose.

  I spoke to Gloria again, “We have to wait a few minutes for some police officers.”

  She didn’t say anything but, “Okay.” Her head leaned back on the wall and her pale eyes closed.

  So long as you don’t explode, everything will be okay.

  “Gloria? Don’t go to sleep,” I said, touching her shoulder. “Can you remember what happened?”

  “Sam rang me; she said she was going to the concert and to meet her. She was with some guy and was scared.”

  “Did he have a name?”

  “Dave …” she whispered.

  “Did you hear a last name?”

  She tried to nod but my hand inside her throat wound stopped her.

  “Addison, I think.”

  Why was that name familiar?

  “Did you see your cousin?”

  “Yes, that’s the last thing I remember.” Tears rolled through the blood on her face.

  “I can talk to my team while talking to you. So don’t worry if I say things that make no sense,” I told her. “Sean – Dave Addison. Over.”

  Sean commented in my ear, “Moonlighting. David Addison was Willis’s character in Moonlighting. Now get out and let the bomb squad help her. Over.”

  “Negative. Can’t do that, Sean. Over.” I replied.

  “Copy. Then listen to me and listen good … my sister – your Director – will hang me from the nearest yardarm if I let anything happen to you. Do not go bang! Over.”

  “I’ll do my best. Over,” I whispered, the words sticky in my dry throat. “Find the other girls. Over.”

  Sean kept talking, “The shooter carried an identity card; his name is Art Jeffries. Mean anything to you? Over.”

  “No. Over.” I said in a hoarse murmur. I squeezed the slippery artery tighter. Her own hand fell away. Blood ran down my arm. With my other hand, I reached up and pulled more towels from the dispenser, wadded them up against my leg and added them to the sodden pad I held against the rest of the neck wound. I wished I carried a field first aid kit like SWAT. QuikClot or even some hemostatic sponges would’ve been damn handy. Deep down I knew they wouldn’t have helped: I needed a vascular clamp and a surgeon.

  “Doc – give dressings to the …” I couldn’t say bomb squad; I didn’t want to panic Gloria.

  “Copy. I already have, they should be with you any second. Over.”

  “Thank you. Over.” I was more grateful than could be expressed over our microphones.

  “Art Jefferies is another Willis character,” Doc said. “Doc out.”

  “Unsub is quite a fan,” I muttered.

  Or, for some reason the characters meant something to him. I knew I needed to work out what … but not right now. Now I needed to concentrate on breathing so I didn’t scream.

  Two men abruptly appeared next to me.

  “Agent Conway, this is Bobby and I’m Mike. How’s the girl?” Mike dropped two sterile packages on my knee. “Dressings and clamp.”

  Words were difficult to use, clearing my throat didn’t help. “She’s still in one piece. See if you can keep her that way …” I touched her arm. “Gloria wake up.”

  She didn’t move. I ripped the first package open with my teeth and pulled out a vascular clamp with my left hand as the packet fell. I held the artery and tried to attach the clamp using my left hand. It wasn’t going to work; I needed to keep the pressure on with my right hand and couldn’t coordinate the scissor action with my left.

  “Leave it and go,” Bobby said. Mike crouched beside us; he had already opened his case and was inspecting the bomb under the bloody shirt at her waist.

  “It’s attached to her belt at the buckle and extends most of the way around the back,” Mike said. A few seconds later he said, “I’m going to try to remove the belt.”

  “Do what you do. I’m staying.” I moved to the side, maintained pressure on the artery I dropped the clamp and held Gloria’s hand with my free hand. Her fingers closed around mine.

  My team all yelled at once; my head nearly burst with the noise. I think even the bomb disposal guys heard it.

  As a concession, I moved as far out of their way as I could, while still holding her hand and maintaining as much pressure as possible on the artery, which wasn’t as much as was needed. “Hang in there; we’ll have you in hospital real soon.”

  My legs were freezing as I sat cross-legged on the bloodied wet concrete; my fingers ached from applying pressure to her neck. In front of me, Mike and Bobby worked as quickly as they could.

  Blood dripped from the various wounds. I could see and feel the blood seeping through the wound; at least it wasn’t pouring. I hoped what I was doing would at least buy us some time. Gloria remained unconscious.

  A blessing.

  Mike opened up a large yellow blanket.

  “This is a ballistic blanket,” he said.

  A heavy, padded, fleecy-lined blanket was put over me and some of Gloria; it covered her head and shoulders. They got down to the nitty-gritty of defusing or removing the bomb. All I could see was the inside of the blanket and some of Gloria. The weight was stifling.

  Maybe it was better not to see.

  There was an aroma under the blood. I closed my eyes. A faint residue of a scent came off her clothing. The cologne. I remembered it from the tunnel.

  My mind wandered and I considered I could soon be sitting on a seat next to Mac. The thought of Mac right beside me made me smile.

  Mike spoke, “Got it, don’t move.”

  I felt another heavy blanket land on us, blocking all light. I heard footsteps sliding on the wet floor and eventually a muffled boom, which I experienced as a dull noise beyond the ballistic blankets covering me.

  Where was it?

  It was suffocating under the blankets and I couldn’t move. There were too many voices in my head; everyone seemed to be scrambling for information all at once. It was hot and air felt in short supply.

  Sam asked someone something but I couldn’t hear who he was talking to.

  The words I needed stuck like cotton wool in my dry mouth, “Get me out of here. Over.”

  “Copy, Chicky Babe!” Sam said. “I’m coming. Over.”

  Gloria let my hand go. Her arm fell with a thud. I tried to shuffle closer to make sure she was breathing, pushing the blanket up as I moved.

  “Where did the bomb explode? Over,” I asked.<
br />
  Doc’s voice came back clearly in my ear. “They put it under a heap of ballistic blankets down the far end of the bathroom. Over.” he said. “They explained earlier, that they’d detonate it as safely as possible if they couldn’t defuse it. Are you okay? Over.”

  “I’m fine. Over.”

  Blankets moved above us.

  “I don’t think she’s breathing. Over.” I said, holding my hand in front of her mouth. Weight lifted. I guessed someone lifted the first of the ballistic blankets clear. From the corner of my eye, I saw dust falling. My eyes adjusted to the haze. I saw Sam’s hands holding the handles on the side of the first blanket. He was moving backward. I helped push the other blanket back so I could see Gloria. I still didn’t know if she was breathing and was ready to do CPR until Doc arrived. She slumped sideways; my fingers searched for a pulse and I started to lay her down.

  I turned my head to Sam and said, “No pulse.”

  Everything changed. A sudden noise burst from behind her. An explosive pressure pushed me backwards. Sam disappeared from view. The air filled with particles of red and stung my eyes. Hands grabbed for me and pulled my body free of the blanket.

  Life caught in my throat. I coughed, spluttered and gasped. As the movement stopped, a different hand placed a mask over my mouth and nose.

  “Slow breaths.” Doc was there.

  I breathed and coughed. My ears needed to pop. Everything seemed distant and too quiet, as it was under the heavy blanket. I hooked the earpiece from my right ear. I held my nose, closed my mouth and blew. My ears popped. I could taste blood. Dark blue eyes scrutinized mine.

  Doc. “Okay?”

  I nodded. “Sam?”

  Every time I attempted speech, a coughing fit ensued. Doc crouched in front of me. I was sitting on something. A gurney. Paramedics hovered around Sam. My mind raced over the probable happenings and settled upon another explosive device.

  Sam turned to me, “I’m okay. I was still holding the blanket when the charge went off,” Sam said. “Took a bit of shrapnel but I’m okay, Chicky Babe.”

  I looked to Doc for confirmation. “Doc?”

  “Sam’s okay. A few stitches in his hands and one arm, some antibiotics and Sam’ll be good as new,” Doc said. “Look at me.” I saw the damn little torture light he loved so much in his hand. He flashed his hateful little light into my eyes.