Devil's Den

by Jeff Altabef

  He spits blood and a chunk of his tongue, but that doesn’t lessen his resolve. He grips my throat tighter this time. Lights burst in front of my eyes and his face twists. I reach for his sausage-sized fingers to break one, but the world goes fuzzy and gray.

  He’s going to kill me. I’m not afraid to die. I lost that fear a long time ago. Part of me embraces the idea, but to be killed by an idiot like Joey is beyond embarrassing. It disrespects all the better people who have tried over the years.

  I find his pinkie and yank upward with all my strength. It snaps. I’ve broken it, but he still holds on.

  A light shines in the distance. Bright. Piercing. It’s coming closer or I’m going to it. I can’t tell if it’s real or a hallucination created by my oxygen-deprived brain.

  Joey turns and squints. His grip loosens, and he growls, “What the fuck is that?”

  A Homeland SUV barrels down on us. It drives right over Robert like he’s a speed bump and skids sideways, plowing into two members of the extraction team who had closed in on us from the alley. The driver door opens, and a massive shadow jumps out. An M18 fires in short bursts and blows apart the extraction team.

  Joey is so confused he’s mostly forgotten about me. I jam my right thumb into his eye and press hard. He claws at my hand. My thumb stabs into his eye and blood streams down his face. When I pull, I yank out his eyeball. He’ll never use it again, and I let go.

  “I can’t see,” he says as he stumbles around, hands clutched to his face.

  The driver of the Homeland SUV steps forward and bashes Joey in the head with the butt of his assault rifle. The blow knocks the big guy out.

  My savior smiles at me. He’s truly a giant—a full head taller than me and eighty pounds heavier. A red afro and curly beard contrasts with black skin. A black T-shirt strains to cover his chiseled body. He’s as large as the two brothers, but there’s no fat on him. On the shirt, white lettering says, “Homeland Security – Special Agent. Deal with it.”

  “Thanks, Gabriel,” I say.

  “I was in the neighborhood, so I thought I’d drop by.”

  “Hey, now that you’re a special agent for Homeland, aren’t you supposed to warn people before you start shooting?”

  He grins. “I’m new. I missed orientation.”

  Everyone is disabled but Kirkland. He lifts his hands in the air and whimpers with his back pressed to the building. The assault rifles lie at his feet, useless.

  I step over to the weasel. “What’s The Farm? Where are they?”

  His terrified eyes flicker between Gabriel and me, unsure who frightens him more.

  “Tell me about The Farm.”

  He pisses his pants and his voice loses the fake European accent. “I don’t know much. I overheard some of the bosses talking. They provide the Angels for the experiences.”

  “Are they in Walden? The same place as the apple orchard.”

  He nods. “Don’t tell them I said anything.”

  I glance at Gabriel. “Let me borrow your handgun.”

  “Sure.” He tosses me a Glock.

  “D-Don’t shoot,” sweat is pouring out of Kirkland now like a freakin’ geyser. He’s practically drowning himself.

  I point the gun at his forehead. “Do you know anything else about them?”

  “N-n-no. They’ll kill me if they know I’ve told you this much. Don’t shoot me.”

  “It’s too late for that,” I say.

  “Why?”

  “You’re already dead.” I pull the trigger and he’s gone.

  I toss the gun back to Gabriel.

  “A friend of yours?” he asks.

  “He pimped out teenagers as sex toys. He got off easy.”

  We both get in the SUV.

  “We need to go to District 12,” I say. “My friend’s in danger.”

  Gabriel blasts down the street.

  “Let me use your phone.” Gabriel hands it to me and I call Kate, but the call goes straight to voicemail.

  I force my mind away from what ifs and ask Gabriel how he found me.

  He grins. “I’m a special agent at Homeland now, right? I know stuff. Oh, there are two farms in Walden. Both operated by a cult we don’t know that much about.”

  “You could have called and told me.”

  “And then I figured you would’ve gone off on your own. Even the Lone Ranger needed Tonto. This way I get to tag along, right? How else am I going to pay your sorry ass back for saving my butt?”

  And now I owe Gabriel.

  I only hope we get to Kate before The Farm does.

  Gabriel skids the SUV to a stop in front of Kate’s building. I jump from the passenger door before the vehicle fully stops. Someone’s leaving the building as I reach the door, so I hold it open for Gabriel and he hands me his Glock.

  We bound up the stairs and race to Kate’s apartment. It’s ajar, and my heart backflips in my chest. Not a good sign. I shoulder my way in and swing the gun in an arch that covers the empty living room. No one’s in sight. I check Megan’s room first, Gabriel behind me. Nothing.

  Next, I open the door to Kate’s bedroom and stop in the doorway. No one’s here, but I’m frozen in place. The room is identical in size and shape to Megan’s, but Kate has hung a dozen paintings on the wall. All watercolors she painted. A version of me, over the years, appears in each painting. One has me as a teenager in Kissing Park and another, a close proximity to what I look like today, sans beard.

  The paintings are more than just random scenes with me in them. They tell a story of what could have been, from our first kiss to who we could have been as a couple together. Emotions jump off the canvases: longing, love, passion. They imagine a possible version of me, of us together, but it’s a fantasy. It’s not real. They don’t show the demons inside me. The part of me that likes to hurt people. The part that’s bad, that would have poisoned any chance of happiness Kate and I could have had together.

  Gabriel says, “Your friend has real talent, but who’s the ugly guy in the paintings? He ruins them.”

  “Funny,” I say.

  “She’d sell them if she changed muses. I’ll volunteer to sit for her. I figure that’ll make all the difference.”

  “Let’s get her back first.” I tear myself away from the paintings and go back to the living room. A splatter of blood dots the floor by the edge of the couch. It’s not much, just a few drops, probably from a bloody lip or a scratch. The couch is twisted out of place, the coffee table is tossed away from the couch and the throw pillows are scattered about the place.

  I picture what happened. The extraction team picked the lock and surprised Tina and Kate. The team had at least four members: three who snuck into the room and one who waited with the SUV out front. Tina scratched one of the goons who came for them, and Kate threw a punch and maybe a kick or two. The extraction team would have been professionals. They would’ve had no problem taking the two women.

  At least The Farm wants Kate unharmed. If they wanted to kill her, she’d be dead, and they would have left the body. They must have plans for her. That’s good. It buys me time to get her back. At least a day and probably two.

  I sink onto the couch, and everything catches up to me like a sudden typhoon. I’ve screwed up and now Kate’s missing. I’ve fucked up before, but never like this. I’ve lived through more than my share of low points, but I feel shattered as if my heart has exploded into a million tiny pieces. If I could trade my life for Kate’s, I’d sign on the dotted line without hesitation.

  Gabriel points to Kate’s tablet on the cocktail table. “Looks like there’s a message.”

  A notice flashes on the home screen. Tina set up an automatic notification to alert us if The Farm responded to the message we sent them on the swap site. I click on it and read the response.

  We’ve taken her. Stop investigating and we won’t harm Kate or Megan. It’s better this way. Make the right choice, Stevie. Otherwise...

  “Get back in the game, Cupcake,” ba
rks Caesar. “Now’s not the time to feel sorry for yourself. You’ve got work to do.”

  He’s right.

  I hand the tablet to Gabriel whose red eyebrows scrunch up. “I thought you went by Steven, right? Who calls you Stevie?”

  “Good question, and what happened to Tina?”

  A noise comes from Megan’s room and my blood jolts. We open the closet and find Tina. Duct tape covers her mouth and binds her hands and feet.

  I cut her loose and she’s all fire and vinegar. “Those bastards took Kate. I tried to stop them, but there were too many— three of them and they were armed.”

  A nasty bruise that will soon turn purple and black darkens her left eye.

  I introduce Tina to Gabriel and walk her to the living room where I hand her the tablet.

  Tina’s voice turns acidic. “So, this is your fault. They found out you were after them and they came for Kate.”

  I could argue with her, but she’s right. They recognized us at Brad’s apartment. I should have found a way to destroy the surveillance system first.

  “Where did they take them?” asks Tina. “Tell me you know where these dick wads are located.”

  “A small town called Walden.”

  Tina steps toward the door. “Let’s go.”

  I grab her arm. “Not yet. We all need to be on the same page. We can’t afford another mistake.”

  I tell Gabriel everything I’ve learned, starting with Megan’s abduction, Frankie, Otherworldly Experience, the organic apple cider. Everything.

  He takes it all in. He’s sharp and thoughtful. It doesn’t take long before he wraps his mind around what we’re dealing with.

  When I finish, I ask him, “So now it’s your turn, big man. How come you said the cult owns two farms?”

  “The government pays close attention to cults and militia groups. They’re worried that some of these groups might take up with rebels in the ghettos to initiate an uprising.”

  “The enemy of my enemy is my friend type of thing,” I say.

  “It’s a reasonable concern, but I doubt we have that much to worry about, right? I mean most of these militias are white nationalists and want nothing more than their own little white nirvana. Still, not all of them feel that way. And if they combined with the ghettos, the government would have a hard time with a war on two fronts—the cities and the rural areas. Now if we add in some of the industrial sectors, the Originalists have real problems. Those meat packers are jammed with angry people, and they’re more likely to join with the ghettos, right?”

  I nod, and he continues.

  “Anyway, The Farm appeared on their radar two years ago. They couldn’t find out much about them, just rumors. Homeland caught its first break a few months ago and placed an asset inside the cult. So far, they haven’t figured out who’s behind the operation, although you’re right about Otherworldly. They do provide Angels for their experiences. And even worse, they sell some of these Angels to wealthy business people around the world as sex slaves. We’re talking about bad people.”

  “What the fuck!” says Tina. “Why hasn’t Homeland shut these assholes down?”

  “Sex trafficking is a huge business—over 35 billion dollars. We’re looking into it, but more than two and a half million people, mostly woman and girls, are sucked up in it. We used to be an importer of these women. Now we export.”

  “With that much money in play, some wealthy folks must be making a ton off of it,” I say. “It won’t be easy to shut it down.”

  “Bingo,” says Gabriel.

  “But this is going on right here,” says Tina. “And we know about it.”

  Gabriel shrugs. “I’ve just joined Homeland and I don’t think Sheppard even knows about this group. It’s bad, but it’s small potatoes in the grand scheme of things, right? There are so many risks in the country, this one is a low priority. Plus, we want to know who controls the group first. Shutting down a farm or two might make us feel better, but it won’t do much if the head guy starts up a new operation in a month in another state.”

  It sucks but it makes sense. Sheppard and Gabriel have to prioritize their efforts, and the ghettos represent a bigger threat than a cult like The Farm.

  Tina looks at me, a light-bulb-just-came-on look in her eyes. “Wait a second. Sheppard? You know the president?”

  She shoots me a look like I’m a traitor for not telling her, but I’m not going to fall for it. “Yeah, maybe I know the president-elect. So what?”

  Tina says, “I thought he had more sense than to hang out with a guy like you. That’s all.”

  Gabriel snickers.

  “Gabriel, you said they have two locations in Walden.”

  “They operate two different farms, both in Walden. The farms are a front for the cult.”

  “Do we know which one they’re using to hold Megan?” I ask.

  He shakes his head. “We communicate with our asset infrequently and I just read the file a few hours ago. Our asset has a satellite phone hidden on location somewhere. We sent the asset a communication today with Megan’s picture. Hopefully, we’ll get a response tonight.”

  “We can’t wait around for a hopefully,” says Tina.

  I feel the impulse also. It pulls at me to do something bold, but years of experience and training hold me steady. “We can’t go to the wrong farm. We’re only going to get one shot at this. We need to know.”

  Tina jabs her finger into my chest. “You screwed up and got Kate kidnapped. Now you had better fix this train wreck.”

  Gabriel grins at me. I know what he’s thinking. He likes Tina. In spite of myself, I like her too.

  “I’ll get them both back,” I say.

  “We’ll get them both back,” Gabriel says. “And I have a team on standby when we need them.”

  “Well, let’s get going,” says Tina as she marches toward the door. “This circle jerk isn’t getting us anywhere. And I don’t have all the equipment to play along.”

  She’s right. We have to go to Walden, but not yet. I have one stop to make first.

  Megan’s thoughts churn in wild circles as she returns to the cabin where the other Angels wait for her. She wrestles with her experience in the chapel and what it means. Nothing in her life prepared her for this, yet here she is. She has to find a way to sort things out or they’ll overwhelm her.

  May greets her at the door, her voice breathless. “You went to the sanctuary and spoke to God?”

  Megan isn’t sure what to say. She was in the sanctuary, but did she actually speak to God? Maybe. It certainly felt that way. She never experienced anything like it before, but the entire vision felt surreal. One thing she’s certain of—she wants to do it again. It’s all she can think about.

  Unable to put her thoughts into words, she just nods her head.

  May hugs her. “It’s amazing, isn’t it?”

  When May steps back, Megan searches for Petal who stands at the far end of the room, her arms crossed against her chest. She looks angry and doesn’t say anything. Megan wants to tell her that God looks a lot like her, but she can’t say that in front of the other Angels, who have all spoken to God before. How does God appear to them? Does everyone see Him the same way, or does a different version of Him exist for each person?

  Before she can ask, Frankie opens the door, a torch in his hand. “Come on, Angels. We have a burning tonight. Everyone out.” He speaks to everyone, but his eyes stick on Megan.

  A fire burns in those eyes — hotter than the torch, and it scares her. She tries to avoid looking at him as she falls in line with the others and goes outside, but she sneaks a look anyway and doesn’t like the satisfied grin on his face.

  Outside, she smells moisture. It clings heavily to the cool night air and feels like the sky might open up at any minute. Frankie’s torch blazes against a nearly complete black backdrop as he leads them through the hemp field. Men in red jumpsuits, holding torches, accompany other Angels marching with them, the atmosphere charged, as if t
hey’re headed to a concert.

  Megan had been to only one concert in her life. Last year Eddie had to see the Goldfish. He fell in love with the two lead guitarists and singers, a brother-sister duo. They dye their entire bodies gold and perform naked. Eddie won’t say which one he prefers, but he certainly wasn’t alone. The large crowd felt electric.

  They had tickets for the standing section and danced the entire night. By the end of the concert, she couldn’t hear anymore, but she didn’t mind. It was cool, a moment of fun that stands out in her childhood like an oasis in the desert.

  The concert was in District 8, so their ticket included a bus ride. They boarded the bus at a checkpoint in their district and got off when they reached the venue. Afterward, they boarded the same bus, which took them back to District 12. The bus’s windows were darkened, so Megan and her friends couldn’t see much of the better districts. She managed to scrape away a tiny strip of paint. It looked clean and the air didn’t smell rank, like spoiled food.

  Megan searches out Petal and walks beside her. They have no privacy here, so they can’t talk. She wants to tell Petal everything before she forgets it all. As it is, the details are starting to fade like a vivid dream she can’t hang on to, leaving behind only echoes of the real thing and the need to do it again, right now. A maddening itch.

  When they clear the hemp field she sees a round clearing on top of small hill. A half dozen priestesses in multi-colored jumpsuits form a circle, each with a lit torch. Others fill in the circle behind them. Megan can’t count them in the darkness, but there must be over two hundred gathered together. At least a hundred Angels in yellow, many of whom look older than those Megan has seen so far. Most have purple armbands. They probably bused them in from the other farm.

  Besides the Angels, all of the other color jumpsuits mingle here, creating a chaotic rainbow. Those in black, who send a shiver up Megan’s spine, patrol the outside of the gathering.

  Petal gently pulls on Megan’s jumpsuit, stopping their progress and letting others stream past them. They end up along the outer rim of onlookers. The air smells like the incense from the enclaves. A bonfire burns in the center of the priestesses. Random crackles and pops fill the clearing and the smoke swirls above the crowd.