Constant Fear

by Daniel Palmer

  More footsteps bounded down the stairs. How many sets Jake couldn’t say. He had made a body count in his head: one in the bathroom, three down in the pit, and five confirmed kills in the auditorium mêlée. How many did that leave? He would find out from Andy later, but not now. Now they had to run.

  “Go! Go! Go!” Jake yelled to the pack of teens.

  “It’s dark down there,” Hilary said.

  “Start running!” Jake ordered.

  A gunshot blast came from behind the closed metal door. They were going to shoot it open. Handguns would be underpowered. But these men had high-caliber weapons at their disposal that could blow the hinges off the door. Jake had killed a guy with a shotgun, and that was an ideal weapon for the task.

  The gunshot sent Rafa running like a starter pistol had gone off. Smart kid. He squeezed past the others and, soon enough, Hilary fell into step behind him. The pack became a line. But it was dark, as Hilary noted, and there were pipes and wires and other things to trip over.

  Jake heard a smack that sounded like bone on concrete. David cried out in the darkness. Jake heard another loud bang; this time, it was Pixie who yelled. These kids were literally running blind, Jake realized.

  Rather than waste time fishing a flashlight from his backpack, Jake took out one of the flares he’d stored in a pocket on his chest rig. He undid the top and it became a torch. He passed it up to Andy, who passed it along to Hilary, who got it to Rafa. Then Jake sent another flare up the human chain. All this happened as they ran.

  The tunnel glowed ruby red and sparkled like a mobile fireworks display. Smoke from the burning flares fanned back and filled Jake’s mouth with the metallic taste of potassium and magnesium. Smoke began to fill the tunnel as well, ironically making it more difficult to see. But no one wanted to abandon the light for the alternative.

  There were grunts but no words spoken, and footfalls, and lots of heavy breathing, but nothing close to conversation. This was all about escape. They were a line of seven people hunched over, weaving down the Stygian tunnel.

  Behind them, Jake heard another blast. If they got the door open now, they’d be dead. Just like that. This place offered no cover. They would fire high-capacity weapons blindly down the tunnel and hit something. Guaranteed. Jake could return fire, but he was last in line, so he’d be shot first. Then what? One by one, they would gun down these kids. Simple as that.

  Another blast hit the door.

  Up ahead, Rafa was first to reach the branch off the main tunnel. He stopped there and yelled back, “Which way?”

  Jake paused to think. They could take that branch to the staircase, then spill out into the janitor’s closet. From there, it would be a trek up to the first floor; if they crossed The Quad without getting shot, maybe they could reach the forest. Jake processed that scenario in a flash. There would be congestion getting up the stairs and through the closet. Delays.

  Farther ahead was a crawl space. It would act as a shield. If they could get through that crawl space, they could take the exit by the Terry Science Center. Up and out, and then into the woods from the basement exit. If Jake could send their pursuers off on the wrong course, it would buy even more time.

  Jake yelled, “Go. Keep running straight!”

  As he ran, Jake unsheathed the knife strapped to his ankle and used it to cut a long swath of fabric from his shirt. At the tunnel branch, he stopped and fixed the cloth to a jagged piece of stone that jutted out from the passageway. The cloth looked like an arrow pointing the direction to go. Jake lit another flare, carried it partway down the branch so the smell of smoke and burning magnesium would be there as well, and then he extinguished the flame with his boot. He left the flare on the ground like a discarded cigarette. His hope was that these killers would mistakenly go up the metal stairs and chase their prey into the janitor’s closet.

  Jake returned to the main tunnel. “Keep as quiet as possible,” he called in a low voice.

  A short time later, Jake could see the ragtag line of escapees up ahead. Sound carried here, and Jake heard another gunshot in the distance, followed by an excited yell and a loud bang. The pit door was open. They were coming.

  Gunshots came rapid fire. Bullets sank into the darkness. Some careened off concrete pipes, while others ineffectively sprayed the tunnel floor and walls. Jake couldn’t see any flashes, which meant they couldn’t see any flares. The whole line found a sudden burst of speed.

  Jake was running at a sprint and didn’t notice a figure down on the ground in front of him. It was pure agility that allowed him to hurdle Solomon without landing on the boy’s head, but Jake’s right boot kicked Solomon’s leg hard. Airborne, Jake outstretched like he was making a diving catch. When he hit the ground, the tactical helmet Jake wore bounced off the concrete. He heard a horrible crunching glass sound, and Jake knew his night vision optics were no more. At least Jake still had his headlamp.

  Solomon lay on the ground close by and may have tripped over a pipe or his own feet. Jake stood and helped Solomon find his footing. Behind them, the gunfire continued unrelentingly. Only the angle of the tunnel was keeping them safe.

  “Get up! Get up!” Jake yelled.

  Solomon staggered to his feet and Jake held on to the boy’s hand, dragging him forward. Up ahead, Jake saw the kids gathered in front of what he knew was a tight crawl space into the next section of the tunnel system. They were unsure of what to do. Jake let go of Solomon’s hand, but glanced back to make sure the slower boy kept pace. The flares in Hilary and Rafa’s hands hissed like a snake pit, expelling pungent smoke. Jake took the flares and extinguished them with his boot. He kept his headlamp on, but the flares were more likely to give them away.

  The sound of gunfire down the tunnel sputtered and then stopped altogether. The kids were covered in filth and grime, breathing hard, stooped over, hands on their knees. Jake shushed them to better hear. He was counting on his bit of misdirection to send their pursuers off course, and his plan appeared to have worked. It was impossible to hear footsteps from this far away, but the quiet was a telling indicator.

  Jake removed his backpack. He took an extra flashlight from within and powered it on. He handed the flashlight to Andy, along with a couple of flares.

  “Andy knows these tunnels,” Jake whispered. “He takes the lead. This is it for light, so going forward hold hands. Andy, call out any obstacles, but do it quietly. Get out the Terry Science Center exit. Hit the woods and start calling for help. Understood?”

  Jake shone his headlamp on six terrified faces and got confirmation from each.

  “We have time,” Jake said. “Don’t rush. A broken bone or even a twisted ankle here could be real trouble, so use your flares if you have to and go slow. Stick together and you’ll make it out alive. Now go.”

  Andy reached out and took his father’s hand. “Dad—”

  “Not now, son. You’re the leader here. Get everyone to safety. That’s all that matters. Here, take this.” Jake pressed the Ruger into Andy’s hand.

  “How are you feeling?” Jake asked. “Your diabetes, I mean.”

  Andy said, “Better now,” and he gave Hilary a look. “I’m so sorry, Dad. I’m so sorry.”

  Jake put his hand on Andy’s shoulder “These guys, who are they?”

  “Drug cartel from Mexico,” David answered.

  Jake gave Andy a hard look that said the explanation could wait.

  “How many total?” Jake asked.

  Andy said, “Twelve,” without hesitating.

  Jake did the math again. Nine confirmed dead left three still alive. “Don’t hesitate if you have to use this,” Jake said. He squeezed Andy’s hand around the butt of the pistol.

  Andy examined the weapon in his hand before he stashed it in the waistband of his jeans. He gave his father a quick embrace. Then Andy got low to the ground. “Follow me,” he said to the others as he crawled through the opening on his stomach.

  One by one, the kids wormed their way through the narrow
crawl space that linked the tunnels between the Academy Building and the Terry Science Center. Jake would go last.

  He removed his helmet. Sure enough, the optics were trashed; the glass was cracked and not functioning. Jake ditched the helmet and his hearing protection entirely. He stuffed his backpack through the opening, which was two feet high and not much wider. It was a tight fit for an average-sized person, but it also provided lots of thick concrete that would stop any bullets if they came this way. He hoped that wouldn’t happen. By the time the cartel men realized the mistake, everyone would be long gone.

  Jake checked his ammo for the rifle. One mag was already loaded in his gun, and the other he had strapped to his battle belt. He still had the Glock. With any luck, none of it would be needed.

  The last in line to go through was Solomon. The boy shot Jake a frantic look.

  “You got this,” Jake said.

  Solomon got low to examine the opening. He pulled back. Andy poked his head through.

  “I’m coming,” Solomon said.

  “Go!” Jake said to Andy. “I’ll stay with Solomon.”

  Andy nodded and then he was gone.

  Solomon put his head into the opening, but again the narrow fit unnerved him, so he slunk out and turned himself around. He took a long time to calm down. Too long.

  By now, Andy and the others were already out of earshot. Probably out of the building.

  “I’ll back in,” Solomon said.

  Jake kept his headlamp on Solomon’s sweat-drenched face. He watched Solomon’s feet get through, next his legs, then his hips, and then Solomon stopped moving entirely. Jake heard the boy grunt and struggle, but he didn’t move another inch. Solomon began to hyperventilate and Jake’s headlamp illuminated every crevice on the boy’s panic-stricken face. The part of Solomon’s body Jake could actually see squirmed in a frantic wiggle.

  “Help! Help! I’m stuck!” Solomon screamed.

  Jake’s eyes went wide with horror. The boy’s screams would give them away, for sure. Jake crouched in front of Solomon and said in a calm voice, “Take it easy, buddy. Take it easy. You’ve got to keep quiet.”

  “Help!” Solomon screamed again. “I’m stuck! I’m stuck!”

  Panic. Pure, terrified panic.

  Jake couldn’t see through the opening; Solomon blocked the way. But he could hear just fine. He put his hands on Solomon’s shoulders and gave a shove. The boy didn’t budge. Next, Jake took hold of Solomon’s wrists and gave a hard yank. No movement in either direction. Solomon was lodged in there good. Most of his body was through the opening. If Jake could get to the other side, he could probably pull him through. Of course he couldn’t reach his legs because Solomon’s body blocked the way.

  Solomon kept screaming. “Please! Get me out! Get me out!”

  Jake put his hand over Solomon’s mouth to quiet him. “Easy there, easy,” he said in the whisper he wanted Solomon to mimic. “You’ve got to be quiet. You don’t want them to hear you.”

  Solomon was hearing none of it. If anything, his pleas and cries for help grew only louder. Amidst the racket, Jake heard another sound, one as terrifying as gunshots—footsteps.

  They were coming.

  CHAPTER 45

  The man’s eyes gazed upon Ellie like two black moons. His long hair framed a thin, angular face. Under the weight of his boot, Ellie writhed to get free, but the man’s foot held her in place. Her strength weakened with each spurt of blood that shot out from the holes in her legs. The pain was all-consuming, and her thoughts were gummed with terror.

  The man bared his teeth like a set of fangs and tucked his gun into the waistband of his pants. Evidently, he had something other in mind for Ellie than a final bullet. With a wicked grin, he extracted a knife from a holster latched to his belt. The massive blade looked to Ellie like a sword.

  He lowered himself down onto her. Soon he had the blade pressed against Ellie’s throat. She could feel him getting hard. Ellie had no weapon with which to fend him off, and little strength left to fight. Her last bit of resolve pumped out her leg and colored the green grass red. The man put his face close to Ellie’s, close enough so she could smell onions and peppers on his breath.

  He pressed into her, hips grinding, and she felt his excitement build. With his free hand, the attacker reached behind Ellie’s head and seized a clump of her hair. He gave it a hard yank, as if pulling a rope.

  Ellie cried out in pain. “Help,” she whimpered. “Help me.” Her voice grew in volume until Ellie finally found the scream she’d been looking for. “Help me!”

  Her voice sailed into the night, catching the breeze, going nowhere and to no one. She listened for sirens. Perhaps someone had heard the gunshots and called the police. But all Ellie heard was the man’s heavy breathing, Kibo’s desperate barks, and the blood that thundered inside her head. The man cupped her mouth with his calloused hand. He pushed the blade harder against her throat. Hatred consumed him. Blind to the possibility that help might be on the way, he was determined to make her suffer to the greatest extent possible. It seemed that was all that mattered to him.

  “Voy a hacer que dure,” he said.

  Ellie knew “voy a hacer” was Spanish for “I am going to.” Going to what? Kill me? Cut my throat? Rape me? All of the above, she believed. Every single one of those things. Even if that wasn’t exactly what the words meant, it was what he was going to do.

  The man pulled Ellie’s hair and breathed into her ear. “Te va a encantar mi verga.”

  Ellie knew for certain what was to come when he undid her belt. She clawed at his face. Clawed. The blood loss had left her completely drained. Her attack couldn’t repel a fly. Ellie writhed beneath him. She kicked haplessly. Fatigue beat out resolve and Ellie began to give in. Her mind went blank and the pain went away. The brush of steel against her throat became nothing.

  She felt her body rising up off the ground. Suddenly there she was, ten, maybe fifteen feet in the air, maybe higher, just floating. She looked down upon herself and the man on top of her . . . but then, it wasn’t her. It was someone, somebody else thrashing beneath this stranger. How horrible it was, she thought, to see this poor woman being savaged in such a vicious manner.

  Where Ellie was now, nothing hurt. She felt no pain, only peace, profound peace. But the woman, that poor woman. Something had to be done to help this woman. It was her duty, though she couldn’t exactly say why. She felt nameless. She had no past. No future. She was just a presence watching over this woman in such duress.

  She called out, “Somebody help!”

  Her voice was a hiss of air, a whisper in the wind.

  Poor woman . . . poor woman . . . I’m so sorry . . . .

  With a sudden stab of horror, Ellie understood she was the woman. In the very next instant, Ellie returned to her body, and the pain came back sharper than ever. It flooded her eyes, her mouth. It was shards of glass against her skin. The pain sank deep into her joints and the fibers of her muscles. She wished herself back to the place where she was floating, where she was nothing and everything all at once. The blade sank into her throat and a tug on her pants pulled them to her hips.

  Ellie’s screams grew softer. She was thinking about that place. The place without any pain. A noise in the distance registered in her ears. What was it? Strange but familiar. She wasn’t scared of this sound at all. It grew louder until it made sense to her. Until she knew what was coming. It was the sound of growls, and snarls, and snapping jaws. It was the sound of paws slapping the soft earth. It was the sharp bark of Kibo streaking at the man like a missile on target.

  He had heard her. In her cruiser, he had probably barked, spun around in the front seat, pawed at the door handle, and nuzzled it with his snout until he got it open.

  And then he ran.

  Ellie saw little of the attack. But it was enough.

  Kibo flew in the air over her head and struck the man in the chest with the full force of his eighty-five pounds. He snarled and snapped
his jaws into the man’s shoulder. His paws ripped long streaks down the man’s face. Then Kibo sank his teeth into the fleshy part of the man’s leg and shook his head from side to side. Ellie heard a ripping sound as the flesh came free. Then Kibo bit again.

  Free of the man, Ellie reached for her Glock and managed with a stretch of the fingers to take hold of the weapon. From the ground, she aimed through the gauze of her vision and fired a single shot, which found the center of her attacker’s head. The man fell backward. Kibo pounced on his chest and snarled in his face. When the man didn’t move, and his scent changed, Kibo got off and came over to Ellie. He curled up next to her, licked her face, and whimpered.

  At some point, a new voice came from the dark. “Hello? Hello? Are you hurt?”

  The voice was a boy’s. Kibo growled.

  Ellie managed to wheeze out, “Easy, easy, Kibo. It’s fine, sweetie. It’s fine.”

  The boy held his ground. “My name is Gus. We’re being held hostage, but I think you might have killed them all. I called the police. They’re on the way.”

  Kibo growled low and menacing. The boy would not approach. He was smart to be cautious. Ellie gripped Kibo’s fur to keep him close, though she knew for certain her guardian angel would never willingly leave her side.

  CHAPTER 46

  Solomon wore his terror like a gruesome mask. His mouth hung open wide, lips twisted and curled, eyes bulged from strain as he pushed futilely to get through the compact opening. Stuck in that hole, Solomon’s cheeks billowed and collapsed from the effort. He kept up a steady stream of grunts, groans, and cries for help. How much time did he have before the cartel men showed up and started shooting? Fifteen seconds? Thirty? A minute. Not much more, that was for certain.

  Jake focused again on those approaching footsteps, and something clicked. He could distinguish two distinct sets. Two people were coming for them. Jake flashed on his count again. Three of the cartel were still alive, assuming Andy’s information had been correct, which meant one of them had taken the wrong route, while the other two had come to investigate Solomon’s racket.