by Connor Mccoy
Unlawful Restraint
The Hidden Survivor Book 2
Connor McCoy
Copyright © 2018 by Connor McCoy
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter One
Although still frustrated by his captivity and the unresolved incident with Anna, Glen was feeling just a little smug. During a stop at the bathroom on his trip back from the house, he was able to remove a broom handle from the part that does the sweeping and smuggle it into the closet. Bossman wasn’t paying that much attention to him anymore. He didn’t even notice that Glen had stuffed a broom handle down the leg of his pants and the rest was sticking up, tucked under his arm.
They’d dragged a mattress into his closet while he was tending to Anna. Glen slid the broom handle along the far edge of the mattress, where it couldn’t be seen by a person standing in the doorway. He wasn’t sure what he was planning on doing with it, but he was sure it would come in handy. If nothing else, he could use it as a weapon and get out of this place.
He wasn’t sure if the darkness was a blessing or a curse. On one hand, the constant light deprivation was affecting his mood, on the other, he was pretty sure he’d be bored out of his mind in this closet with nothing to do if he did have a light. He was floating in the darkness in a kind of half sleep. He couldn’t tell if his eyes were open or closed. He listened to the sounds coming from within the house, trying to understand the rhythm of the place and how many people lived there.
His thoughts drifted to Sara and how utterly mesmerizing she was at Mia and Sally’s age. She’d been so independent and not at all impressed by the fact he had been in med school. He was a resident in neurology and, so, very full of himself. She brought him down to size with one yawn.
He’d been trying to impress her with his credentials. Talking about his prospects, his career path. He’d just finished recounting a tricky surgery he’d undertaken and how well the patient was doing when she yawned.
She apologized immediately, stating late nights and a heavy course load, but he’d never really gotten over her reaction. It was as though she was saying ‘I’m the important one here, and don’t you forget it.’ He’d realized that he’d been monopolizing the conversation, that he knew next to nothing about her and wouldn’t if he didn’t start asking questions.
She’d been brilliant. The moon to his moth. The next time he’d run into her had been at a party. He’d been bragging to his friends about his prospects when he noticed she was nearby. He kept bragging and caught her eye, flashing her a smile. She’d raised one eyebrow at him and turned away.
He hadn’t seen her again that evening, or any evening afterward for a long time.
They might not ever have gotten together except he was on a panel of doctors talking about neurological disorders and their treatments. By that time he’d begun pioneering a cure for a rare genetic brain disorder and had lectured at length about the benefits of the procedure. Sara had been in the audience. She’d liked the serious Glen much more than the posturing Glen and had asked if they could get coffee and talk about the physiology of brains. He’d agreed, of course.
And he’d wised up. He stopped talking about himself and instead talked about things he knew. Sara was interested in the anatomy of the brain and how it functioned, wanted to know what was known and unknown. She wanted to know what emotions really were and where depression came from and was studying the logic-emotion connection and why some people acted on feelings even when they knew the result would be detrimental.
They’d continued meeting and talking throughout that year, and finally, she agreed to go on a date where they would do fun things and not talk about the brain at all. She was so smart and funny, and he couldn’t help falling in love with her. But she gave up so much when she married him. And he regretted that now.
If he could bring her back, he’d do a lot of things differently, as the Kenny Chesney song says. They would find a way for her to keep doing the work she loved. They could have hired someone to take care of the house, and Clarence too, when he was born. It had been so unfair of him to make her quit her job, so egotistical. He was ashamed of himself.
But he was trying to make it up to her now, taking care of Christian, Mia, and Sally. He hoped Mia had been able to get Christian the anti-biotics. It weighed on his mind. If she hadn’t, then Christian would be dead now. But then they all could be gone. Terror’s men could have tracked them down. He wouldn’t be surprised if Terror had outsiders executed.
He’d been confused about Terror. He’d seemed almost decent until he’d smacked Glen on the head. And then there was Anna. Terror had shown no emotion about the state of that girl. If she’d been in Glen’s care, he would have been livid about her physical and emotional state. He would have hunted the man who’d abused her and made him pay.
It seemed likely to Glen that Terror was the perpetrator of the violence. He’d battered that girl and possibly raped her too. It may have started out consensual, but the minute his fist had inflicted that damage it had become rape. What was Glen going to do about that? What could he do? He didn’t have much power here. Maybe none at all. He only was needed when the community’s doctor was drunk, it seemed.
Glen wondered if Terror was psychotic. He showed signs of psychosis. That Terror was quick to anger, showed a lack of empathy, and displayed a certain amount of grandiosity was clear. Perhaps he’d hit his head growing up. Maybe there was an actual physical reason for Terror’s behavior. Glen would like to get a look inside Terror’s brain. A lot could be explained by a quick look-see.
He’d become so used to floating in and out of consciousness that when the noise woke him he wasn’t sure if he’d dreamt it. But it came again shortly, the pop, pop, pop of gunfire. It wasn’t close, probably at the border of the town. Was it Christian, Mia, and Sally? Had his trio discovered weapons and come to rescue him? Or maybe they weren’t here to save him, but to plunder the town. They had admitted that they were prepared to kill people.
He got up and felt his way to the door, testing the handle to see if it still was locked, even though he’d already tried it. Damn those kids. They didn’t know what they were up against. If Terror got hold of the girls, who know what he’d do. He’d lay good money on the chances that Anna’s injuries were at Terror’s hand. The man was unstable. Maybe even psychotic.
The gunshots continued ringing out, and he thought maybe they were coming closer? It was hard to tell from in here. How long could the three of them hold out against a town full of gun-toting men?
Then the screaming and crying started nearby. And so many guns. Too many for it to be Glen’s trio. And probably there were things going on out there that he didn’t want to see. But he was a sitting duck in this closet. Nowhere to escape the bullets when they found him. He felt his way back to the mattress and grabbed the broom handle. He almost tripped moving back to the door but caught himself.
Shoving the broom handle in the crack of the door, Glen p
ushed with all his weight, trying to pry the door open. Nothing. The door wouldn’t budge. And suddenly the wood cracked and Glen’s head slammed against the wall. There was a sharp pain, and stars flashed in front of his eyes. The damn broom handle had broken.
He considered if he should pound on the door. The drawbacks were evident. If the wrong person heard him and opened the door, he could be dead. And he didn’t know who the wrong persons were. Would the group overtaking the town free him because he was a prisoner of the original inhabitants, or would they consider him one of them and just shoot him? That’s what Terror would do, he thought. Why bother to deal with the unknown? Just kill him and get it over with.
Glen banged his head gently against the door. What should he do? Hide in the corner behind the mattress? Pretend to be dead? Maybe it didn’t matter. Perhaps they wouldn’t bother to open this door, and he would die of dehydration. No one knew he was here, and no one ever would.
He shook the negative thoughts from his head. There was no time for morbidity. He had to think his way out of this closet before he was at the mercy of whoever found him here. He tried pressure on the handle in different degrees and at different angles, but it was no use. The door wouldn’t budge.
He went back to sit on his mattress, what remained of the broom handle across his lap. He wished there was at least a little light because he knew he would be blinded if the door did open. There was gunfire all around now, yelling, screaming, and sobbing. His nerves were on edge. So far nothing seemed to be affecting this house. No bullets were thudding into the woodwork. No screaming or yelling or crying from within.
How much longer would that last? He felt fear building inside him, and he shook his head. There were probably a hundred houses in this town, many of them would be untouched by whatever the hell was going on out in the streets. He probably was safe until the fighting stopped anyway. He should try resting until the fighting came to him.
Chapter Two
Mia was slogging along in the rain at the back of the pack. Her cheek was stinging again, but at least Sally was paying attention now, and she’d stopped letting branches whip back and smack Mia. The rain was pounding, and she hoped they would get there soon. She would love to be dry and warm. Christian was leading them deftly through the woods. He’d apparently memorized the way, because he forged on confidently, not needing to stop and consider which direction they were going. He knew.
Mia hoped it wouldn’t take too long to get there. Her face was hurting, burning really, and she wanted to lie down and sleep for a really long time. It was probably the whole reaction to the medicine and then the effects of the epi-pen that had worn her out. It was all she could do to keep putting one foot in front of the other.
“Yes!” Christian exclaimed from in front of Sally. She hoped that meant they were nearing the house. Sure enough, he motioned them to slow down and creep along, and before long they popped out of the woods into the backyard of an old farmhouse.
Christian motioned them to stay behind a shed while he checked the house. Time seemed to crawl by. Mia sat on the grass and leaned back against the rough wood of the shed. It was wet from the rain, but she didn’t care. She was tired.
She must have dozed off because the next thing she knew Sally was shaking her awake. “Come on,” Sally said. “Christian just gave the all clear.”
Mia got up and stumbled toward the farmhouse, where she hoped there might be an actual bed.
It was even better than that. Not only was there furniture but the propane tank still had fuel in it, and Christian was able to turn on the oven for heat.
“We could start a fire in the woodstove,” Christian said, “but then someone might spot the smoke from the chimney. This way we can dry out without advertising to the world that we are here.”
Mia pulled off her boots, jacket, and soggy sweater and hung them over the back of a chair to dry. Then she padded through the house in her socks looking for a place to lie down. Her damp feet left footprints on the dusty floor as she traveled from room to room. Whoever had left this house had cared for it. The furniture was covered in dust sheets, and there were rodent traps in strategic places. The mice had long since perished, and there was nothing left but little mouse skeletons.
She found a bedroom and pulled the sheet off the bed to reveal a brass bed frame and a mattress covered with a quilt. Mia pulled back the covers and saw a sandwich of blankets and clean sheets. There were no signs of mice, which surprised her. Surely the rodents would want bits of this to take back to their nests? Then she noticed the strange cones on the legs of the bed frame, kind of like the contraptions her grandma used to use to keep the squirrels out of her birdfeeder.
Somebody thought they’d be coming home.
She slipped out of her wet pants and pulled her T-shirt over her head, then she slid between the sheets and pulled the covers up around her neck. It had been so long since she’d slept in a bed that she couldn’t remember where it had been. It felt like heaven. She rolled onto her side and went to sleep.
She woke to the sound of distant gunfire.
She rummaged in the closet and pulled out an old jacket and put it on. Then she picked up her damp clothes and carried them back into the kitchen. The room had been turned into a laundry room. The wet clothes from their packs had been draped over every available surface, and Christian and Sally had even run a line across the length of the room.
It may have looked like a laundry room, but it smelled like heaven. Something was bubbling in the pot on the stove. She lifted the lid and inhaled the fragrance of chicken soup and rice. It was thick and hot, and her mouth was watering like crazy. Hopefully, they could eat soon.
Mia tossed her pants and T-shirt over the line and went in search of the others. She found them in the pantry, listening at the window. Mia was distracted by the cans of food lined up on the shelves. They wouldn’t have to forage again for ages.
“Where’s the gunfire coming from?” she asked, and both Christian and Sally jumped and turned around. “Sorry,” Mia said, “didn’t mean to startle you.”
“We think it’s coming from the town,” Christian said. “And we think we might be able to use it to our advantage.”
“How’s that?” Mia asked.
“We could sneak into the town under cover of the chaos,” Sally said. “And then we could search for Glen.”
“Wouldn’t that be dangerous?” Mia asked. “It sounds pretty serious out there.”
“We’d have to be careful to stay away from the battle,” Christian said. “If the fighting is in the south we go in from the north. Or the other way around, depending.”
“So, we sneak over the wall and do a house to house search?” Mia asked, but she didn’t expect an answer. “That still sounds dangerous. We’ll really have to blend in with the scenery.”
“If we are on the opposite side of the town from the fighting, no one will be looking in our direction,” Christian said.
Mia couldn’t help but think otherwise. If it were her, she’d post guards all around the wall to prevent an ambush. They’d just have to be extremely careful.
“Can we eat first?” Mia asked. “I’m starving for some real food.”
“We already ate,” Sally said. “We’re keeping it hot for you. Come on, I’ll serve you.”
They stepped back into the kitchen and Sally grabbed a bowl from the cupboard. She wiped it with a towel from a drawer.
“Dusty,” she said, looking at Mia, “but the towels were stored in a plastic bag, so they are clean.”
She filled the bowl using a giant metal ladle and took it into the dining room where a place setting already had been laid for Mia. When Christian sat at the table, Sally set a cup of something hot in front of him. Mia sat at the first real dining table that she’d seen in months. Sally disappeared from the room and came back with a large mug of tea and some of the travel bread. Mia waved the bread away.
“Right now, I feel as if I’ll never willingly eat that stuff aga
in,” she said. She looked down in her bowl. “But this? This looks like paradise.”
She dipped her spoon into the bowl and blew on the contents. The first bite was too hot, and she had to hold her hand over her mouth and pant until it was cool enough to swallow.
Christian laughed.
“I did that too,” he said. “I was so hungry for a hot meal that I burned my tongue.”
“Yeah, me too,” Sally said sitting across from Christian. “I had to drink cold water because, of course, there isn’t any ice. Need electricity for that.”
Mia remembered her mother had said to eat the soup near the edge of the bowl because it cooled faster. So, she let the next spoonful cool a little longer before putting it in her mouth. That helped. She actually could taste the soup.
She closed her eyes as she swallowed, feeling the warmth spread through her. She would remember this meal for the rest of her life.
“Good, right?” Sally said. “I never in my life thought canned chicken and rice soup would taste so good. I ate way too much.”
“Mmm,” Mia responded. “So good. Orgasmic really.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Christian said. “It is only soup.”
“Best soup ever,” Sally said.
Mia ate with delight as the others planned their attack on the town.
“You’ve been there, Mia,” Christian said, “what do you think?”
“There are a lot of houses to search,” Mia said. “And you know there are going to be families hiding in some of them. What are we going to do about those people?”
“That’s a whole issue of its own,” Sally agreed. “We can’t kill them all.”
