Upon seeing Lauren approach, the Korean-American smiled at her. “Well, good morning,” he said, and glanced upward to the sky. “Beautiful day today.”
Lauren dropped her gear to the ground, propped her rifle on her pack, and wiped the sweat from her forehead. “Yeah. Gorgeous. I didn’t know I was training with you today.”
“Really? I knew I was training with you, though.”
“Yeah, I sort of figured you did,” Lauren said, glancing over to his truck. “Would’ve been nice to know what I was doing today. Would’ve been even nicer to catch a ride with you.” She cast her stare to the tables, which were covered in an assortment of knives, swords, and other edged weapons. “Let me guess, we’re training with knives today?”
Woo Tang nodded slightly. “Sort of.”
She looked to the pile of gear she had brought along. “So I probably won’t be needing much of what I brought, then.”
“Probably not.”
“Terrific.”
Woo Tang grinned for a moment before changing the subject entirely. It grew apparent he had something on his mind. “So, Lauren Russell, you have been coming here, training with Dave Graham for several months now, is that right?”
“Yeah. Since my sixteenth birthday. Every other weekend or so for about the past six months.”
The Navy SEAL tilted his head to the side. “You realize, of course, that is not a lot of time.”
“Sure feels like it. I’ve had so many things crammed into my brain since day one, it’s hard to remember them all.”
“From what I have heard, you have a mind capable of handling it.”
Lauren blushed slightly. “Well, thank you.”
“You realize how important this is—the brain is by far the most formidable weapon you possess in your personal arsenal,” Woo Tang said grimly. “Forget guns. Forget knives. Forget everything else you know or think you know. Without a brain, knowledge, and knowing how and when to utilize that knowledge, you are as good as dead. Your brain is your friend.” His mouth curved into a smile. “So take good care of it.”
Lauren smirked. “Is this the onset of a speech about drugs and alcohol, by chance? Because if it is, I’ve already heard it. It was a prerequisite of getting my driver’s license, and trust me, there’s nothing to worry about.”
“That is good to hear and to know. But this is the onset of something…a little different.” He paused. “So, Lauren Russell, daughter of Alan Russell, a man who loves his family and, therefore, plans ahead for the many uncertainties of the future, and speaks highly of his youngest daughter. Do you feel that in your time spent here, you have learned to do and are, therefore, prepared to do what may become necessary?”
“Necessary for what?”
Woo Tang shrugged. “To prolong your life and the lives of others at all costs. To cancel a threat by any means.”
Lauren nodded. She knew well what he meant, even though she hadn’t heard it termed that way before.
“As one of Dave Graham’s students, may I infer that he has tutored you on the concepts of violence of action?”
“For the most part.”
“And have you grasped those concepts in their entirety?”
“I think I have.”
Woo Tang stepped away from his spot at the tables and strolled in closer to Lauren. “You think you have? Or you know you have? I am sorry that I have to pose the question, but there is a major difference between the two—one that you must recognize now, before ever going further.”
Lauren thought for a moment and then looked into Woo Tang’s stone-cold eyes with a matching pair of her own. She nodded confidently. “I know I have.”
Woo Tang smiled and backed away, pointing a friendly finger at her. “And I believe you.”
“So what’s with all the knives?” Lauren asked. “Are you going to teach me to fight with them or something?”
The Korean turned away from Lauren and began sorting through his collection of blades. “Have you ever heard the expression about always bringing a gun to a knife fight?”
Lauren nodded. “Well, yeah. Who hasn’t?”
“The expression came about for several reasons but mostly because knife fights never tend to end well. Even if you win, you still get cut.” He pointed to the scar on his face. “I have a lot more of these in places you cannot see.”
“Yeah, but you’re an expert with knives, though, right?”
Woo Tang pursed his lips. “I know more than the average joe. But that does not make me exempt from the rules of knife fighting.” A pause. “I once observed two men fighting each other in Bangkok over a bicycle, using two-handed spring steel machetes—razor sharp. Sharp enough to cut through bone. They chopped at each other like lumberjacks until one man stood victorious over the other, but he did not stand for long after, nor did he get to enjoy the spoils of his victory. He died ten minutes later from blood loss.”
“Okay,” Lauren said, a confounded look befalling her. “So if showing me how to fight with a knife isn’t the plan today, what is, then?”
Woo Tang tossed a pair of Kevlar forearm protectors to her, followed by a pair of Kevlar gloves. Lauren put them on while watching him palm a pair of combat knives, one with a stainless-steel serrated blade, the other with a curved, powder-coated blade. “Today, we are moving things a step forward, not because I think you are ready, but because I know you are. Today, the plan is not showing you how to fight with a knife. Rather, I will be instructing you on how to kill with one.”
Chapter 25
Mountains west of the Trough
Hampshire County, West Virginia
Thursday, December 2nd. Present day
When Lauren cracked her eyes open, she wasn’t expecting to see that night had become day. Her initial thought was that Austin should have woken her not more than two hours after she’d gone down so she could take his place on watch. They would then alternate the whole night through until morning. Lauren actually felt well rested for the first time in a long while, but that feeling, along with the advent of dawn’s early light, was deeply unsettling.
A sudden chill rocketed through Lauren’s body as a wintry wind gust out of the western Alleghenies blustered through the camp and indicated that her blanket of leaves was no longer insulating her from the cold. It had either wafted away overnight or, worse, had been removed somehow.
Lauren peered through the slits in her eyelids. There, in the blur, directly in front of her sat Austin Brady, his legs crossed awkwardly in a lotus position. He had duct tape wrapped in layers around his face and a garment of some kind—possibly a sock, stuffed into his mouth underneath. His arms were pulled tightly and restrained behind his back, and a pair of filthy denim-covered legs stood just behind him. Moving her right eye to the highest far corner, Lauren could see the owner of the legs—a middle-aged bearded man, a man she did not recognize. He wore a thick wool coat that was missing some buttons, and he had the muzzle of his double-barreled shotgun pointed to the back of Austin’s head.
Right then and there, Lauren put the pieces of the puzzle together and knew exactly what had happened. Austin had fallen asleep while on watch, and with no lookout or prior warning of inbound danger, they had been found. Her heart plummeted. After the multitude of unfavorable events happening thus far, this was the last thing they needed. She silently cursed herself for allowing this kid sitting before her, Mr. Chatterbox himself in the flesh, to take the first watch, knowing how paramount it was.
Lauren couldn’t tell if she had a weapon pointed at her head or not, but it didn’t matter. This had become a life-or-death situation for both of them. To make matters worse, she was lying on her left side, but she couldn’t feel the Glock pistol holstered to her leg anymore—she could sense the thigh rig was still there, but the rigidity and girth of the weapon wasn’t there. Had it been taken?
She had given Austin her M4 and spare magazines just before she had bedded down, and now there was little doubt it had been taken as well. Lauren was
exposed now, no weapons available to her, and no advantage to speak of. The time had come to improvise. She only hoped that it wasn’t already too late.
Lauren played possum for a moment, yawned and stretched her arms, and then rolled over so she could see who or what was behind her. She only opened her eyelids into slits—narrow enough for her to see, yet still appear closed to anyone caring to look. As soon as she initiated the movement, Lauren was grabbed, yanked upward, and hoisted into the air while her feet dangled inches from the ground, two men on either side of her providing the foundation and restraint.
“What have we got here?” asked an imposing male voice from behind. “Looks like we found the stray dogs that got loose yesterday.”
“Wanna tie her up and gag her?” the man holding Lauren’s right arm asked. “Like we did with the pansy?”
Lauren hung her head, moaned incoherently, and fluttered her eyes, trying her best to appear delirious or even euphoric. She fully relaxed her muscles and allowed her body to droop into dead weight.
“What in hell’s wrong with her?” a brusque voice asked from her left. “She drugged up or something?”
A higher-pitched voice, almost too shrill to belong to a man, spoke up. “She looks drunk to me. Could be anything, ya know? Mushrooms or somethin’. Hard to tell these days, know what I mean?”
The owner of the shotgun nudged Austin with the barrel. His voice was gravelly and distinctive and moved at a lumbering pace. “What say you, boy? Did you get this here girl drunk so you could get her alone and screw her in the woods?”
“I bet that’s why he tore off after her like he did yesterday,” the man on Lauren’s right said. “Kid ran off like a bat out of hell—chasin’ tail.”
“He sure did! Wonder what he used to get her all tore up?” the shrill man’s voice asked. “Maybe he’s got something we can use ourselves! Know what I mean?”
The imposing voice quelled the ensemble. “You idiots, shut the hell up, and start gathering up all their shit.” He stepped forward in front of Lauren, reached forward, and lifted her chin. “Hey!” he shouted. “Wake the hell up, now. We don’t want to have to carry your ass all the way back.”
“I could think of a couple things I’d do to her ass besides carry it,” the brusque voice commented.
“Well, that ain’t up to you,” the leader said, still eyeballing Lauren.
Lauren opened her eyes and rolled them into the back of her head. She didn’t know how long this act of hers would work, but thus far, it had bought her precious time. While they’d chatted, traded small talk, and bickered with one another, she was now aware of how many enemies she was dealing with.
“This bitch is tooore up,” the alto voice said.
The leader removed his hand from Lauren’s chin, allowing her head to fall to her chest once again. Then he drew back and slapped her across the face. “I said wake the fuck up!”
An instant surge of heat flooded her cheek, along with the pain of the strike. Lauren tried hard not to react, but the man’s strength was formidable and the discomfort was considerable. She opened her eyes momentarily, and spotting the sling and suppressed muzzle of a rifle just behind the man’s shoulder, Lauren knew the leader had taken possession of her M4. Unbelievable, she thought. Her next order of business was visually locating her Glock.
Smack!
The man backhanded her across the face using the same hand, the force nearly knocking her free from the men holding her. Lauren winced in pain as the added blunt force from his knuckles tore through her jaw.
As he went to grab hold of her hair, Lauren whipped her head away from his hand defensively and opened her eyes. The act was over.
“Well, hello there, hazel eyes,” the leader said in a mocking tone. “Looks like you’re just a big faker. Ain’t it funny how a smack in the mouth can sharpen the wits?”
There was no denying he was right about that, but Lauren chose not to respond. She remained silent and only glared at the man.
The man wielding the shotgun shoved Austin with the muzzle again. “Is that true, boy? Is your girl a big faker?” He laughed. “What else does she fake?”
“That ain’t her boyfriend,” the man holding Lauren’s left arm said gruffly. “Look at his eyes—he doesn’t give a shit about her.” He shook Lauren’s arm. “Or maybe it’s her that don’t give a shit about him.”
“Maybe they had themselves a little fight—a lover’s quarrel, even,” another voice said.
Austin began sobbing audibly through the wad of material stuffed in his mouth. Not long after, he lost control of his bladder, urinating himself to the utter delight of his onlookers.
The leader laughed and spit on the ground and went nose to nose with Lauren, close enough for her to smell what he’d eaten for his last meal. “Did you think we’d forget about you? We saw you all run off like cowards right when the shooting started. It took us a while, but we knew we’d eventually find you. And don’t worry about your friends. We took real good care of them. Right about now, they’re headed somewhere real nice—and I ain’t talking about no luau, neither.”
Lauren took the man’s words to mean only one thing. The others had, indeed, been killed in the gun battle with these men and the forty or fifty others that had ambushed them. It was the product of all she’d feared. As much as those thoughts tore her to pieces, she tried not to dwell on them now, as her problems were only just beginning.
The man persistently taunted Lauren, both verbally and visually, while the men on either side tightened their already viselike grips. “We were lucky to have acquired the talents of ol’ Gus here. The man is a treasure. I’m telling you—it’s like his momma bred him with a coonhound.”
A burly man, much taller than her present company, hobbled over and stood beside the leader. Gus had fat cheeks and a goofy, almost cartoonish grin to go along with them. He grunted like a pot-bellied pig when the leader patted him on the back.
“You’ll have to excuse him,” the leader said. “He’s not much of a talker. The woods around here used to be his backyard before he got locked up. He knows them like the back of his hand.”
“You mean ‘paw’?” Lauren rasped.
“What was that?”
Before Lauren could offer a reply, the leader hauled off, viciously slapping her again. Lauren yelped as her head recoiled from the blow. The taste of iron filled her mouth, and she tongued a small laceration on her inner cheek, where blood had begun flowing freely.
The leader grinned and rubbed his knuckles. “You should take better care of the words you let escape from that pretty little mouth of yours. They might just get you killed someday.”
Lauren spit out a wad of mixed blood and saliva onto the ground. “Self-control has never been my strong suit.”
The man snorted. “Is that right?” He turned to the others. “I think we found ourselves a live one, fellas!” He shifted back to Lauren and rubbed the thin whiskers on his chin. “What exactly is your strong suit? And don’t say hiding. We already know that ain’t the case.”
The word practically rolled from her tongue. “Killing.”
The grin on the leader’s face flattened. “Is that right…”
She glared at him, her eyes fuming. “You’re going to find out soon.”
“Oh? Well, hell, hazel eyes. You’ve got my attention now. Only, don’t procrastinate. You should never put off things you can do right this very moment, so why wait? Do it now!”
Lauren didn’t respond. There wasn’t much she could do anyway while being restrained by two men, one on either side.
After enough time had passed, he said, “That’s what I thought. All talk.” He turned his attention to the others. “Let’s get going. Grab the piss-pants sissy and gather up everything. Let’s head back to base.” He pointed to Lauren, his finger touching the tip of her nose. “But this one right here is mine—leave her to me. If she thinks she’s tough enough to kill, I wanna see her try it on me. Better men have tried.”
> Lauren and Austin were led by the group of jeering men at gunpoint down the mountain in the opposite direction they had hiked in the day before. They marched side by side at first, but Lauren’s guard pushed her to maintain a faster pace, knocking her down numerous times in the process.
“So what time are we supposed to be back?” the gruff voice asked.
The leader, who followed only inches behind Lauren, replied, “We’ll be back when we get back. Why?”
“Well…because I was thinking of having a little bit of fun before we got out of here,” the gruff voice said. “I could entertain myself for a few minutes with that one.”
Lauren could sense the man was gesturing to her. You wouldn’t make it five seconds.
The man with the shrill voice spoke up. “Let’s not count the boy out, now,” he said. “We could have some fun with him, too. Kinda like old times, know what I mean?”
The downhill slope of the mountain reached a point where the grade became nearly sheer. A seasoned trekker with hundreds of miles under her belt, Lauren trudged on, undeterred. Her sentinel, the leader of the group, was doing a satisfactory job of following her closely, but she could tell that his caution was to his footsteps and not so much to her.
Lauren listened intently to the voices of the men to her aft, as well as the sounds they made with their feet, using both to judge how far behind they were. She and the man guarding her had not only separated from the group, but had gained a great deal of distance from them.
Slowing her pace a bit, Lauren began moving sluggishly to bring her guard in closer to her. She slumped over, hoping it would further indicate she had become fatigued. When she felt the cold surface of the rifle’s suppressor touch her neck, she knew he had trespassed within the critical distance she had learned so much about.
Lauren dug her feet into the ground and forced her body back into the man, placing an elbow deep into his abdomen, followed by a hard strike to his groin. A split second later, with every ounce of energy she had, Lauren latched onto him and dropped low, beyond his center of gravity, and pulled him over her, causing both their bodies to roll, one over top of the other, through the leaves and underbrush and down the steep embankment.
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