Town at the Edge of Darkness (The Excoms Book 2)

by Brett Battles

  One of the assistants took the shotgun from Mr. Lean and carried it off the field.

  “You have each been assigned an observer,” Mr. Lean continued. “They are available to provide limited assistance. The actual tracking and eliminating of your prey will be up to you, of course.”

  As he spoke, six young men emerged from the woods and took spots behind the hunter they would be shadowing.

  “Are there any questions?” Mr. Lean asked.

  No one spoke.

  “Excellent. Then let’s get things started.” Raising his voice, he said, “Bring out the prey!”

  Rosario heard the rattle of metal beyond the door to her room. A lot of metal. When it stopped, the noise was replaced by footsteps and a door opening. Not hers, though. Silence for a minute, and then another door. And another.

  And then hers.

  “Time to play,” Slater said as he entered.

  Yates came in behind him, with a young guy who looked like another knockoff of the proto-adult she’d seen at the barn. The clone took a position halfway between the cot and the door, holding a Mossberg shotgun, while the two older men approached Rosario.

  They strapped a leather cuff around each of her legs, just above the ankles. The restraints were connected to each other by a two-foot length of chain. The men hooked up a similar rig to her wrists. The only difference between it and the one between her ankles was a three-inch metal hoop at the chain’s midpoint. Slater wrapped a final cuff around her neck. This, too, had a chain extending from it, only it wasn’t connected to anything.

  After they removed the straps holding her to the bed, Slater yanked on the throat-cuff chain. “Get up.”

  Rosario rose to her feet.

  “This way,” Slater said, giving her another tug.

  He and Yates led her out of her room, into a long hallway where another one of the young clones was standing watch over three people who, like Rosario, were in cuffs and chains.

  Yates hurried ahead and grabbed the end of a long chain off the floor. The other prisoners were already attached to it, so it was no surprise that Yates threaded the chain through the hoop between her wrist cuffs, and clipped them together once she was three feet behind the nearest other captive.

  “Stay,” Slater ordered.

  He and Yates and the kid with the Mossberg disappeared inside the cell next to Rosario’s, emerging a minute later with Tasha Patterson in tow. The chain was played through the woman’s hoop, and she was clipped in place behind Rosario.

  When the asshole brothers and their minion entered another room, Rosario snuck a peek at the guard who’d been left behind. He scanned the lot of them back and forth, his gaze never stopping. When his eyes had moved off her, she chanced a very low “Tasha” over her shoulder.

  The woman continued to stare at the ground, apparently not having heard her. Rosario was about to say her name again when a shout came from the room Slater and Yates were in.

  The hallway guard rushed to the door and looked inside.

  Rosario turned and whispered more loudly, “Tasha. Tasha Patterson.”

  Patterson blinked at Rosario.

  “We’re here to get you out. But you need to stay strong and alert.”

  Patterson said, “Get me out?”

  “Yes. Whatever happens, stay close to me.”

  “I don’t…know you, do I?”

  “No. We are friends of Scott Davos.”

  That got through. “Scott?”

  “He asked us to find you.”

  Confusion again. “Who is us?”

  Another roar from inside the room, followed by a body staggering out and smashing against the wall. Ricky turned and faced the way he’d just come, smiling. “That was good. You’re pretty strong, you—”

  The chain attached to his neck cuff jerked forward, yanking Ricky to the ground.

  “That is us,” Rosario said.

  On the list of things Ricky did not like, being restrained was right there near the top.

  His anger had been building since he woke, and had skyrocketed when the cuffs and chains were put on him.

  But Ricky waited, holding on to that fire. When Slater tugged on the leash and told Ricky to get up, Ricky did. Only instead of stopping once he was on his feet, he launched himself at Yates, aiming to head-butt him in the nose. But Yates turned his face away a second before contact, taking the brunt of Ricky’s thick skull in the cheek.

  The shout of pain Yates let out was glorious, and Ricky would have sworn on a stack of Bibles he’d heard the guy’s cheekbone crack.

  Slater pulled the chain again to get Ricky away from his brother, which was exactly what Ricky was expecting. He went with it, using the momentum to swing over toward the punk with the shotgun. He came within inches of getting his hands on the weapon before Slater rushed over and shoved Ricky to the side, sending him shooting out into a hallway.

  Ricky twisted back around and grinned at Slater. “That was good. You’re pretty strong, you—”

  Slater tugged on the chain again.

  One second Ricky was standing, the next he was on the floor. Hands grabbed his arms and hauled him back to his feet. Slater and the clone marched Ricky over to where several other cuffed people were standing in a line.

  When Ricky saw Rosario two places in front of him, he was relieved. He’d been wondering what had happened to her after the gas. He winked at her, and she gave him the tiniest of smirks. She then flicked her gaze at the woman standing between them.

  Tasha Patterson. How about that?

  Looks like we wrapped this case up.

  He laughed, earning him a hard shove in the back.

  “What?” he said. “You got something against good moods?”

  Slater grabbed the shotgun from the kid. “I’ll tell you what.” He walked past Ricky and Patterson to Rosario, and stuck the double barrel under her chin. “Any more trouble out of you and your friend pays for it. So, you got another smartass comment, funny man?”

  Ricky glared at Slater. “I do not.”

  “Good.” Slater lowered the shotgun. “Next time I’ll just pull the trigger. No warning. Got it?”

  The rancher took a couple of steps away from the line and said in a loud voice, “We are going to walk out of here in a nice, obedient line. Anyone who causes a problem—walks too slow, weaves out of place…” He looked at Ricky. “…opens his mouth—will immediately be removed and shot. Are there any questions?”

  There were none.

  Dylan activated his comm. “They just came out of the building. All six prisoners are chained together, like in one of those old prison movies. Yates and Slater are with them, plus three of their lapdogs.” He watched for a moment through his binoculars. “They’re heading for the path to the meadow.”

  “Copy,” Ananke said. “Go ahead and reposition.”

  “Copy.”

  Eduardo glanced at the others in the line ahead of him as they were marched through the woods. He had no doubt they were being taken to their deaths, and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. The chain holding him to the others prevented any chance of running away, but even if it hadn’t been there, the weapons his captors held would take him down before he could move more than a few steps.

  But he would not give in to hopelessness.

  He had to believe there was still a chance of survival.

  Devon Rally held his arms out wide, like the ringmaster of a traveling circus who’d just introduced his main act.

  From out of the woods marched the prey for that night’s festivities—six unwanted members of society, chained together.

  The hunters eyed their soon-to-be quarry, each calculating which prey he should go after. The most skilled hunters, Mr. Wise and Mr. Reed, settled their gazes on the big white guy Slater had caught at the barn that day, while the least skilled, Mr. Hawks, seemed unable to decide between Tasha Patterson, the little Mex girl, and the older black guy.

  The prey were led onto the platform and t
old to face the hunters.

  Rally turned to the prisoners, and in a voice loud enough for everyone to hear, said, “Welcome to the midnight trials. In a few moments, your shackles will be removed and the event will commence. I’m sure you are wondering what I mean by that. The trials are a tournament of sorts, a test of skills, if you will. These gentlemen”—he gestured back at the hunters—“have paid a great deal for the honor of participating. They are all skilled hunters, and you are to be their prey.”

  Rally took particular pleasure in this moment, that beat before his words were fully absorbed, followed by the realization of what was about to happen to them. The horror on their faces was electrifying. At most of the previous trials, all the prisoners displayed the same piss-in-their-pants expressions. Tonight, however, four did not react in the expected manner.

  Tasha Patterson looked as if she’d already given up, which was understandable. She’d been their guest for over two weeks now, and had been living the whole time with the realization things wouldn’t end well for her. The Mex guy looked more pensive than fearful. Perhaps he was contemplating his demise, or planning to attack one of his captors. Most annoying, however, were the two intruders from that afternoon. They stared at Rally, their faces impassive.

  Rally’s eyes narrowed. There was something familiar about the woman. But whatever it was, he couldn’t place it, so he continued with the script. “You see the forest behind you? Go ahead. Take a look.”

  All the prisoners looked over their shoulders, save the two intruders who continued to stare at Rally.

  “When you are given the signal, you will run into those woods. Three minutes after you reach the trees, my friends behind me will…” It suddenly hit him. The woman was Caroline Cruz, Shawn Ramey’s assistant. Why had she broken into the barn? “…um, will come looking for you.”

  Clearly Cruz was not who she’d said she was, which meant there was a good chance Ramey wasn’t, either. But it didn’t matter. Within a few hours at most, Cruz would be dead. As for Ramey, she needed to be eliminated in case she was involved. Rally would instruct Yates to make sure she would not see another sunrise, either.

  With renewed strength, he said, “If you will please turn back around.” The prisoners did. “The good news is that somewhere in the woods is a way to freedom. I’m not saying it’s easy to find, but if you do, your life will be yours again. As long as you never breathe a word of what happened here to anyone. If that happens, we will come for you and your family and everyone close to you.”

  Though there was still fear in several of the captives’ eyes, Rally could see his words had given them hope. False hope, of course. There was no way out. The only freedom waiting for them would come from the business end of one of the hunters’ weapons.

  He looked at Slater. “Have the prey been ranked?”

  “Yes, sir,” Slater said.

  “Please reveal the rankings.”

  Slater went down the line, stopping in front of each prey to announce his or her difficulty level. The ugly Caucasian woman was proclaimed the sixth hardest, Tasha Patterson fifth, the black man fourth, the woman who went by the name Caroline Cruz third, the Mexican man second. The man who had been with Cruz at the barn was awarded the distinction of being judged hardest to kill, meaning whoever claimed him as trophy would receive the golden Mossberg.

  Rally turned back to his paying guests. “Gentlemen, if you will raise your rifles. We will now remove the prey’s restraints. If anyone makes a move to get away or try to hurt one of the attendants, you are free to kill them here and now.” Rally then said to his cousins, “You may begin.”

  Liesel watched the meadow through the scope attached to her collapsible Accuracy International AWM sniper rifle. Devon Rally had arrived, and then the hunters assembled before him. Though Rally was facing away from her, and too far away to hear, his hand gestures made it obvious he was giving a grandiose speech meant to inspire his guests.

  After a few minutes, the captives were led in. Liesel picked out Rosario, Ricky, and Tasha Patterson at the end of the line. When the hunters raised their rifles, she wondered if Keller had misled them and the prisoners were to be executed where they stood. But then Slater and Yates and a couple of their men began to unfasten the chains binding each captive.

  Once the chains were removed and Rally’s people had stepped out of the way, Rally lifted an arm into the air.

  Liesel whispered into her comm, “Looks like things are about to start.”

  “Copy,” Ananke said. “Dylan, you ready?”

  “Ready.”

  “Morgan?”

  “Ready.”

  “Gentlemen, prepare yourself. It is now time to start the midnight trials.” As Rally swung his arm down, he said, “Release the prey!”

  Slater, Yates, and several members of the youth brigade shouted, “Run! Run!” and “Get moving!” and “You stay, you die!”

  It didn’t take much prodding to get the captives racing toward the woods. Even the defiant intruders wasted no time hanging around.

  The moment the first of the runners reached the trees, Rally said, “The three-minute countdown begins now.”

  “Release the prey!”

  Rosario grabbed Tasha by the arm and yelled, “Come on,” as she ran for the far end of the clearing.

  Sprinting beside them, Ricky said, “Some hills to the right. We should head that way.”

  Rosario saw the rise in the terrain. “Good idea.”

  While Ricky moved in front of the two women to lead the way, Rosario glanced over at the other prisoners, who were fanning out to her left. The Latino guy was by far the best runner of that group, and had already surged several yards ahead of the other two. Rosario, Ricky, and Tasha were pretty much keeping pace with him, though Tasha’s strained breaths made Rosario unsure how long the woman could keep up.

  “We’ll slow down when we get into the trees,” she told Tasha.

  Tasha managed only a nod.

  The Latino guy hit the woods first, followed by Rosario, Ricky, and Tasha seconds later, all painfully aware that in less than three minutes, the hunters would come looking for them.

  Liesel watched the prisoners spread across the meadow and race toward the woods where she was set up.

  “Rosario and Ricky are with Tasha,” she reported. “They will leave the meadow farthest east. The other three are each running alone. The first one to reach the forest will be a man, coming in a dozen meters west of center point. The other two are about half a minute behind him. One will enter right at the center, and the other, five meters west of the first man.”

  Ananke adjusted her position based on Liesel’s information, and hunkered down again. She was in the woods approximately a hundred feet from the meadow.

  “First one in the woods,” Liesel announced. A short pause. “Rosario, Ricky, and Tasha, in.” The next pause lasted nearly three times as long. “The last two, in.”

  Footsteps pounded the dirt, faint at first, but growing louder by the second. Ananke raised her binoculars and scanned the area between her and the meadow. The body-sized heat signature of the first man flickered between trees.

  “Dammit,” she said under her breath.

  If he’d kept on the straight line he’d been on while crossing the meadow, he would have run right past her, but he was now on a diagonal path heading farther east, closer to where she’d been set up before.

  Her original idea was to grab him as he ran by, but there was no time to reposition so she took off on an intercept course. Though the man was young and in decent shape, Ananke’s superior conditioning allowed her to quickly narrow the gap, getting to within twenty-five feet of him before he realized she was there.

  He panicked when he saw her and increased his speed, changing direction again.

  “Slow down,” she called. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

  This only seemed to heighten his fear. Why should he believe her? He’d been told he’d be hunted, and would perceive anyone as
a threat.

  She raced after him, the chase taking her farther from where she was supposed to be.

  Dylan had been tasked with grabbing whichever captive entered the forest farthest to the east. This turned out to be the African-American man, who was obviously running out of energy. The moment he transitioned from the meadow into the woods, his all-out sprint turned into a staggering jog. By the time he neared Dylan, it couldn’t even be called a jog anymore.

  Dylan was close enough that he simply reached out and wrapped his arm around the man’s arms and chest.

  “Hold on there, my friend,” he said.

  The man tried to twist away but didn’t have the strength. When he realized this, he slumped in Dylan’s grasp. “Please, don’t kill me. I’ll do anything. Please. I’m not ready. I’m not ready.”

  “It’s okay, it’s okay. I’m not one of the bastards who want to shoot you. I’m actually here to make sure they don’t.”

  The man blinked. “I-I don’t understand.”

  “Come on. We need to get you somewhere safe.”

  Suspicion clouded the man’s vision. “You’re just going to take me to them, aren’t you?”

  “I’m not. But if I was, you’re in no condition to stop me, are you?”

  The man shook his head.

  “All right, then. The faster we get going, the faster you’ll see I’m telling the truth.”

  Morgan heard the woman’s staccato breathing before she heard the woman’s steps. The captive’s trajectory was west of Morgan’s position, but not by much.

  Morgan eased behind a tree along the woman’s path, waited until the captive was within ten feet, and stepped out.

  The woman skidded to a stop across the needle-covered ground, her eyes wide.

  “Don’t worry,” Morgan said. “I’m a police officer. I’m here to help.”

  “Police?” The woman sounded as if she wanted to believe it but wasn’t sure she could.

  “Yes, ma’am. We have the place surrounded. Nothing is going to happen to you. I promise.”