by JL Spelbring
“I know what I am doing.”
“You have no idea.” Leland spun around and stalked toward the door.
George felt heat rush into his face at the young man’s gibe. He inhaled once and maintained control.
“Leland,” the young assistant stopped, his shoulders clenched, “your badge.”
Leland yanked the identification off his coat and tossed it on the table.
“Security will meet you at the doors. I would not keep them waiting.”
As Leland walked out the door, George hit the intercom and alerted the guards. Afterwards, he contacted the Kripo unit and spoke with the man Angela had left in charge.
“I want you to keep close tabs on Leland.”
33
Under the soft glow of his flashlight and the moon, Rein examined the debris covering the drive leading to the weather-beaten farmhouse. Something was wrong. The decaying trunk looked out of place, as did the bushes.
As a matter of fact, nothing had seemed right since he and Woody had left the cavern. Right from the beginning, Rein’s radar had been tripped.
Davis’ absence nagged him. The ranger had failed to leave a message. He had to have known about the search. They’d checked all the designated points for communication—nothing.
The rusty Oshkosh was still parked in the barn where he and Doc had left it. They were hoping it’d still be there, because it’d be easier to move the supplies, but neither had really expected to find it. Then it’d seemed as if the search teams had completely disappeared, which spooked Rein more than the thought of running into them.
“I don’t like this,” he admitted while helping Woody pull the rotting tree trunk out of the way.
Woody rolled his eyes. “What’d you expect?” Grunting, he lifted his side of the tree over a protruding rock. “Listen, we’re going to load the stuff and get our asses out of here.”
Rein hoped he was right.
They finished the job and climbed back inside the cab, him with his doubts and Woody with a reassuring smile.
“We should consider ourselves lucky we haven’t run into anybody,” said Woody as the truck jolted forward. “You worry too much.”
Rein looked forward, concentrating on keeping the wheels aligned with the grooved tracks, once in awhile bouncing over a rut. Not an easy feat, but the full moon helped with navigation. “Seriously? After you being a jerk about Ellyssa, and your paranoia of about being discovered, now you’re all calm when your fears are justified. They’re searching for her.”
“I was wrong about her,” Woody said, his voice soft.
Although Rein knew Woody had had a change of heart about Ellyssa, he’d never expected him to admit his misjudgment. Surprised, Rein looked askance at his friend. “Really?”
“Yeah. The concern she showed for Jordan was something I’d never witnessed before,” Woody said, as he faced Rein. “She’d only known him for a couple weeks, and supposedly she’s an emotionless soldier, but she really cared about him.” He glanced down, lips pursed before he continued. “She cried. And I mean cried. Not just a few tears, but an ocean of them.” Sighing, he turned away. “Plus, she was there for me.”
Rein’s grip tightened on the steering wheel as jealousy reared its ugly head. He should’ve been there, not Woody, to hold her and make her feel safe during the emotional barrage. It was a part of her transformation that he’d never be a part of. A part of her she’d always share with Woody.
“Jordan was right. She’s special, Rein,” continued Woody, oblivious to Rein’s reaction.
“I know,” he replied in a low voice.
The dirt path roughened, and the two men bounced over the rain-washed potholes. The old truck rattled and creaked. Rein eased his foot off the gas and glided, trying to cut the jostling to a minimum. The last thing he needed right now was to leave a trail of parts.
From behind a thick fir tree, the rubble of the farmhouse glided into view. The mound of debris was silhouetted against the light of the night sky. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary. But with every meter the tires rolled, Rein’s apprehension radar pegged.
“Something’s definitely not right,” he said, bringing the truck to a stop.
Sweeping his gaze across the field, Woody said, “There’s nobody here.”
“There’s no one that you can see.”
“Do you honestly think we’d have gotten this far if they knew about this place? They would’ve stopped us on the road. Hell, probably back at the barn.”
“I don’t know, Woody.”
“You were all for this back home.”
“I know, but…” His words trailed off.
“Rein, you’re spooking yourself. Look, we at least have to get a few of the supplies, or we won’t make it. Let’s just grab a couple of boxes of food and get out of here.” He paused. “Okay?”
Inhaling deeply, the word no dangled on Rein’s lips. An urge to run twitched in his gut. Instead, he released the brake, and the truck jerked forward.
“Four boxes of food.”
Pulling the truck next to the sagging wall, Rein pushed the gear into neutral. He left the engine idling. “Four boxes.”
Woody glanced at him and wagged his brow. “This is it. Keep your eyes open.”
“Stop it.”
Woody scrambled out with his gun, and Rein reluctantly stepped from the driver’s side. A low wind rustled through the grass, carrying the scent of fall blooms and pine. He peered into the line of trees, seeing nothing more than a rugged black outline that circled the overgrown field. There were no sounds of insects or curious wildlife.
Everything was eerily quiet.
He grabbed his rifle off the seat and moved to the other side of the truck where Woody waited.
Everything appeared normal, but the tiny hairs on the back of his neck said otherwise. He moved the branches aside and grabbed the edge of the old tin door. The door swung open easily, without a squeak. He gazed into the gaping hole. Darkness swirled.
“I hate to say it, but I told you so,” Woody said with a smug grin.
Rein ignored him.
Switching on his flashlight, Woody said, “You ready?” He directed the beam into the mouth of the basement.
“Not really,” Rein replied. He descended the steps anyway.
A chill met Rein at the bottom of the stairs, sending a shiver down his spine. He didn’t remember the cold being so biting before. He swept his flashlight to the right. The beam revealed boxes and cartons of supplies piled along the walls. Everything as it should be. Relieved, he stepped toward the bounty, but as he moved, the light flashed deeper into the hand-dug basement. From his peripheral vision, a reflective glimmer caught his eye.
Rein stopped dead, as did Woody. His heart leapt into his throat and raced in his ears. His first impulse was to flee, to run up the steps, hop into the truck, and tear out of there. But voices, and the soft clicking of shoes on the scrap above them, told him escape wasn’t a possibility. For a split second, ice ran through Rein’s veins and his muscles seized. Then, everything fast-forwarded.
“Move,” he shouted, shoving Woody toward the stairwell. His friend’s flashlight clattered to the ground; the light winked out.
Woody stumbled under the steps and slipped behind a wooden beam as Rein rolled behind the stack of supplies. He flicked off his flashlight and gripped the gun, pulling it into his chest. The coolness from the metal penetrated the thin material of his T-shirt.
Swallowed in blackness, as if time itself had disappeared, everything else seemed magnified. The clicks and voices from above, his breathing, his heart rate. Rein stared over where Woody was, but he couldn’t make out anything other than a dark silhouette.
“Put your weapons out where we can see them,” said a feminine voice, filled with authority. Deep satisfaction saturated her tone.
A familiar hum Rein had lived with all his life resonated, and a blinding light flooded the enclosed space. Ducking behind the boxes, Rein glanced at Woody. Ter
ror drained all color from his friend’s face as he pressed his back against the beam like he was trying to melt into the wood. His grey eyes were wide and scared, hair slicked to his head. Rein knew his expression mirrored Woody’s.
“Don’t move,” Rein mouthed.
Woody gave him a duh look.
Rein worked to loosen his death grip on the rifle. As the blood ran back into his fingers, he slid the bolt back and chambered a round. The click echoed in his ears, drowning out the thumping of his heart.
“If you value your friend’s life, drop your weapons and show yourselves. I want to see your hands first.” The same feminine voice, only this time, anger pulled at each word. “Now!”
Friend?
Taking his eyes off Woody, Rein peeked through a small gap between two of the boxes. Beaten and bleeding, Davis sat slumped in a chair, a strap around his chest and two leather bindings around his wrist holding him in place. His head cocked strangely to one side, one eye blackened and swollen like his lips. Blood ran from the edge of his hairline down the side of his face. The ranger opened his one good eye and desperately stared toward the stairs as if looking for rescue.
The torture their contact had suffered was incomprehensible, but gauging from the lean woman in off-duty, civilian clothing, flared jeans and a black blouse, Rein began to understand. The woman’s blond hair was cut short, cropped at her neck, and her face was pinched in hardness, sharpening the angle of her cheeks and thinning her lips into nonexistence. She aimed an electroshock weapon at Davis’ head.
Her mouth pulled into a smirk as she thumbed a button on the weapon. Davis’ muscles locked, his hands gripping the armrests and his head rocking from side to side. She released the button and Davis stilled, his head flopping back over to the side. Spittle streamed from the corner of his mouth to the collar of his shirt. His good eye rolled under his lid.
Horrified, Rein couldn’t look away.
“Do you understand me, now? First, your weapons.”
Hands shaking, Rein carefully placed his rifle on the ground where she could see it. Woody copied his actions.
“Put your hands where I can see them, and step out.”
A grin stretched across the woman’s face as Rein stepped out, palms up. Woody stopped next to him.
“That’s better,” she said. “Let me introduce myself. My name is Detective Petersen. And you are…?”
When neither Rein or Woody responded, the detective’s eyebrows pinched together. “I see. Introductions can wait. You gave us quite the run, didn’t you?” she said as she walked around Davis, her weapon still trained on him. “Captain Jones, would you remove their weapons?”
Two men stood next to the generator, both tall, muscular, and blond. The one dressed in a green police uniform was older with sea blue eyes and defined cheekbones. He shifted from one foot to the other, as if nervous, and kept glancing over at Davis with a mixture of regret and hate. The other was dressed in regular jeans and a T-shirt, young, with alabaster skin, his hair platinum, his features familiar. He looked bored, unaffected.
The older one stepped forward, his electroshock weapon trained on them. He warily walked toward the men. “Step over there.” He motioned toward the front of the staircase with the electroshock weapon .
Rein nudged Woody, and they both moved.
Captain Jones gave them a wide berth as he picked up both shotguns and swung them over his shoulder with one hand.
“Come down,” he called as he backed to his previous position. He leaned both weapons against a beam far from Rein’s reach.
Two policemen descended the steps, moving to opposite sides of Rein and Woody. Rein felt the cold touch of the electric gun against his neck. Buzzing surged within the weapon, and it vibrated gently against his skin.
“Now, the backpack,” the detective ordered. “Toss it over.”
Before Rein complied, the officer next to him jabbed him with the metal prongs. “Careful.”
Slowly, Rein removed the bag from his shoulder and slid it across the ground.
“Micah.”
The younger man grabbed Rein’s pack. He looked up and stared at Rein with Ellyssa’s eyes—only cold and completely emotionless. The color of his hair, the alabaster skin, the flawless features—too perfect.
Everything connected.
Numbness washed over Rein. He took a step forward, then he was on the floor with a electroshock weapon inches from his face.
“Get up,” commanded the policeman, shoving Rein with the toe of his boot.
Pulling himself onto shaky legs, Rein looked at Woody. His friend tipped his head; he’d made the connection, too.
Gripping the bag, Micah closed his eyes.
“Your contact is very loyal,” Detective Petersen said, strolling in front of Davis’ chair, her gait confident, in charge. “Couldn’t get names or the location of where you stay. Nothing.”
Rein pursed his lips. She wouldn’t be getting anything from him, either.
“I wonder if you’ll be a little more cooperative.” She slipped behind Davis’ chair as he began to stir. “Of course, it can be done the easy way or the hard way.” Grabbing a handful of hair, she wrenched his head back. Davis’ eye popped open as he screamed.
“You’ll get nothing from us,” Woody said, through gritted teeth.
“That’s too bad,” the woman said, not looking like she felt that way at all.
Without warning, she gripped her baton and whacked Davis across his jaw. Blood splayed from his mouth as he went lax against the strap. Rein flinched. The detective didn’t.
“Captain,” she instructed.
The captain, looking a little peaked, grabbed a bucket, sitting on the floor next to him and tossed water on the unconscious ranger.
Davis sputtered as more blood poured from his mouth. “Please,” he begged, the word barely decipherable. A pleading eye rolled and locked on Rein.
Rein wanted to look away. He couldn’t bear to watch. But the horror kept his gaze glued to Davis.
Detective Petersen slowly blinked, cat-like, with a smirk on her face. She enjoyed this. Patting Davis’ head much like a dog, she said, “Shh. If you and your friends cooperate, you won’t have to feel any more pain.”
Davis whimpered in defeat that tore a canyon through Rein’s soul. He wished there was something he could do besides helplessly watching Davis be tormented.
“Would you like to tell me where the camp is?”
An anguished cry pulled from Davis. He knew as well as Rein that the community couldn’t be sacrificed. Tears ran down his face, mixing with the blood.
Straightening, the detective returned her attention to Rein and Woody. “Are you really willing to watch such a loyal friend be punished? No wonder you are all beneath us. How selfish.”
Tsking, she smacked Davis close to his temple. A crack sounded with the impact. His head swiveled to the side and back. Passed out or dead, Davis drooped forward, blood streaming from his head. The woman went behind the chair and unbuckled the strap. Like a ragdoll, Davis slid from the chair and crumpled to the ground.
As strong as a magnetic draw, Rein’s gaze stayed trained on the crimson pooling under Davis’ head. Rein had known the consequences of being captured, the danger, but to have it play out in front of him was beyond surreal. The woman’s viciousness, the way she enjoyed torturing her helpless captive. Even now, Rein saw the amusement flitting across the detective’s face.
She flicked her head up, indicating Rein. The policeman next to him grabbed his upper arm. “You’re next,” he sneered.
“No,” the picture of perfection said. His accent sounded just like Ellyssa’s when she’d first spoken to Rein.
Within the nightmare, Rein had forgotten about him. Xaver held Rein’s music box. His thumb stroked over the glass dome.
The detective whipped her head toward the young man, and she nailed him with a lazer-like glare. Apparently, she didn’t like having her fun interrupted. “What is it, Micah?”
“Your name is Rein,” he stated.
Rein tried to hide the surprise at the mention of his name; he lacked the training of The Center’s children. His eyes widened as they moved from the music box Ellyssa had held a few days ago, to the azure eyes of the boy. Hadn’t Ellyssa mentioned a brother who could read things from touching them? His heart skipped a beat.
Micah watched him, his expression giving away nothing. After a moment, when Rein didn’t respond, he nodded, and the guard next to him gave a small zap. Against his control, every muscle clenched as the short burst of electricity traveled through his body and tunneled through to his feet. He fell to his knees.
Micah wound the key. Music floated in the air as he held it up. The little figures glided in a circle.
“Interesting,” he said, although his voice and face showed nothing of the sort. He looked from the box to Rein. “Very interesting.”
“What?” demanded the detective, moving to Micah’s side. “What do you see?”
“Platinum hair, sky-blue eyes, a flawless face. Beautiful.” Micah’s eyebrow arched. Finally, a subtle expression. “You know my sister?” he asked Rein.
Detective Petersen turned toward Rein. “You’ve met Ellyssa,” she accused, “and you still live?” Her voice lost all of its superiority, and she sounded baffled.
His face smooth again, Micah closed his eyes, his palm cupping the dome. “Ellyssa is different, though. Her eyes and face show emotions. And…” he said, landing his gaze on Rein, “it seems she has a…liking for our Renegade here. She let you touch her.”
“Where is she?” the detective asked, stepping closer.
Rein shook his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Do not bother denying it,” Micah said. “I can see everything. The conversation. The looks you share. You are in a cave.”
“Which cave?” Angela extended her arm, holding the electroshock weapon firmly. “Talk.”
Before Rein could answer, a loud oomph sounded from Woody’s guard. The blond man leaned over, holding his stomach. Woody grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and pulled him in front of himself, like a shield, as two electrodes connected to long wires extended from Detective Petersen’s weapon and attached to the guard’s clothing. An instant later, the man flopped to the ground as tremors rocked his body. By the time Rein could comprehend what was happening, Woody had disappeared up the steps.
