by Callie Hart
I grab him by the ankles and drag him down the hallway, leaving a long streak of blood on the tiles behind us. Not very subtle, but screw it. The whole world is about to come crashing down around these motherfuckers. They’re not going to be paying attention to a blood streak in a hallway. The kitchen is far from empty. A chef stands at the cook top, focusing on the pans in front of him, and three waiters and a sous chef stand to one side, talking. They look at me when I enter, their mouths falling open, though none of them say a word as I drag the unconscious guy into the room and drop his limp body onto the ground. Slowly, I raise my finger to my lips—ssssshhh.
I leave, running down the hallway, back toward the party. When I open the door, slipping back into the foyer, I’m calm and composed. There’s blood on the cuff of my shirt, though no one will notice. Not with so many groups of people now writhing and grinding on top of each other. I keep my head down as I cross the room. I can hear Fernando talking somewhere loudly behind me, but I don’t turn to find him. I move quickly and efficiently, taking the exit closest to the Bedouin tent room, where Plato is now balls deep inside the woman laid out on the floor. He watches me as I fast walk by the doorway, and then he is gone.
Fernando’s office is easy to find. I’ve sat in there enough times to know how to get there with ease. Surprise, surprise, when I try the handle, the door is locked. There’s a camera above the door, but I’m beyond caring about being seen at this point. I raise my leg and smash my foot into the wood, just below the lock, and the doorframe shatters, sending splinters of wood everywhere.
Inside the office, my goal is mounted to the wall above Fernando’s desk: a small, innocuous looking button, black with a small white circle on it. How many times has Fernando hit that thing in his rage? How many times has he hit it out of sheer boredom? Too many fucking times. I cross the room, my heart hammering away in my chest like a pneumatic drill, and I slam my palm down on the button.
For one terrible second I expect nothing to happen, but then a wall of sound blasts through the house, deafening, rattling the windowpanes in their frames. I’ve only heard the alarm once, when I was out in the forest with Natalia, and it was ear-splittingly loud then. Now, it feels as though the sound is alive, shaking the house with its bare hands, determined to raze it to the motherfucking ground.
This is not a practical alarm. It’s designed to strike the fear of god into the inhabitants of the house, Fernando’s Servicio, to warn them of what will happen if they step out of line. I’d say that it probably works.
I pick up a heavy cut glass ashtray sitting on the edge of Fernando’s desk, and I use it to smash the button off the wall. I have no idea if you disable the alarm by hitting the button again, but better safe than sorry.
Then, I’m running.
I don’t go back the way I’ve come. That way leads to too many people, and also to Harrison and his men. I race in the opposite direction, running as fast as I can until I reach the side entrance with the keypad Natalia led me to when we came down the mountain the other day. Thankfully I don’t need a key code to get out. The door smashes into the wall as I rip it open, and the heavy steel vibrates, making a jarring, warped, popping sound. Behind me, I hear screaming.
Outside, the night air is cool and smells of smoke. I don’t know what’s burning, but the air is thick with the acrid twist of something on fire. I carry on running, skirting the perimeter of the house until I reach the patio, where Fernando’s precious lawn begins. Hoards of people have spilled out of the house and are rushing about on the grass, mostly naked, trying to find their clothes or each other. Harrison is out there, too, squinting into the dark, presumably trying to figure out what the fuck is going on.
I stay hidden in the shadows. I need to find Fernando. If Harrison sees me now, he’s gonna be right on top of me, fucking up my plans. Side stepping, I duck low, holding my breath, waiting.
A sound slices through the night air, sending a ripple of panic through the crowd on the front lawn—a single solitary howl. A number of people begin to rally, holding each other’s hands, dashing back toward the house, as if they’re running for cover—the Servicio. They may be out of their minds on black tar heroin, but they’re conscious enough to recognize the low, blasting bass of the wolves’ alarm sounding from multiple speakers mounted onto the outside of the house, and they’re not sticking around to wait for the monsters to arrive.
Everyone is scattered, clueless, running into each other in their haste to escape the unknown threat.
Fernando’s in front of the house, then, head shaking from side to side as he tries to comprehend what’s happening. He looks furious, his brow pinched as he takes in the madness. “Please, everybody, be calm. We will have this under control shortly. Head back inside.”
Aside from the Servicio, who know better, no one else looks like they plan on heading back inside. It goes against their nature. They’ve been trained for as long as they can remember that an alarm as shocking and aggressive as this means evacuation. The smoke, wherever it’s coming from, isn’t helping matters as far as their panic levels are concerned. I’m sure they must think the house is on fire or something, which isn’t going to persuade them back indoors any time soon.
I need to separate Fernando from Harrison and his men. I need to somehow get him on his own. I’ve been patient thus far, so I’m just going to have to be wait a little longer. In the forefront of my mind, as I’m crouched down in the dark, I’m freaking the fuck out. Where is Natalia? I don’t see her outside anywhere. Would Fernando have left her on her own? If he had, would he have left her with someone surely? She’s a capable woman, but I can’t help myself. I’m worried about her.
The wolves howl again, and this time there are many voices joining the song. They are on their way. I shiver a little as I picture what’s about to go down—the violence and the bloodshed that will be unavoidable once the animals arrive.
I don’t feel bad. I’ve been pushed too far here, in this fucking evil place. I won’t help Fernando’s guests as they’re mauled to death. I will step over the shredded remains of their bodies as I walk away. Not a scrap of guilt will plague me as I go.
It won’t be long before it begins.
Overhead, somewhere on the second floor, a window breaks, sending shattered glass raining down to the ground. I can hear the tinkling, smashing sound as people scream. Looking back over my shoulder, I finally see the source of the smoke in the air: flames rushing out of one of the bedroom windows, angry red and orange tongues of light licking up the façade of the building. What remains of the curtain material billows out of the yawning window frame, being consumed by the roaring blaze.
“Fuck!” Harrison screams. “That’s my room.”
Fernando graces him with a disgusted look. “Just find Garrett. Do your job.”
Harrison runs out into the dark, gun raised, talking into his earpiece. Apart from the fact that his bedroom is on fire, he must be feeling pretty vindicated right now. If Fernando had listened to him in the first place, I’d already be dead. I wouldn’t be running around out here in the dark, ruining their party and generally making trouble for them.
Now that Fernando’s on his own, I’m in a prime position to make my move. I get ready, preparing to race around the front of the house, take the steps three at a time and grab the motherfucker. But just as I’m about to go, I hear something that has me hugging the wall again, attempting to vanish into the darkness:
Jurassic 5.
I spin around, and there he is, Ocho, headphones blasting music louder than ever, and I don’t have time to react. I’ve been so focused on Harrison and Fernando’s whereabouts that I forgot about the weathered old mute man. He lifts his arm, and a jolt of ice-cold adrenalin slaps me hard. I’m expecting him to have a gun, for him to shoot me dead, but he doesn’t. The object he’s holding in his hand is much larger than that, and unmistakable in its shape—a garden shovel.
As he brings the flat blade if the shovel down, swinging it thr
ough the air, I kick myself. I should have really been more observant. I should have seen this coming.
******
I don’t know how long I’m out for. My head is throbbing as I crack my eyelids open, and the sound of people screaming fills my ears. The night sky overhead looks orange, great clouds of dirty gray smoke funnelling upwards, and I think I’m about to throw up. I am no longer by the side of the house. I’m laid out on a small patch of dirt, surrounded by trees, maybe only twenty feet away. I can see the grand white building in snatches through the forest, people running, the flash of fur and teeth as something lithe and limber runs by. God, my head is killing me. It hurts to fucking blink.
“You didn’t need to hit him so hard,” a voice whispers in the dark. “He probably won’t be able to walk now.”
My stomach rolls. I’m having fucking hallucinations. Ocho is looming over me like a paunchy, sour-faced statue, his face cast in highlight and shadow, making him look even sterner than normal. And next to him, my sister is pulling a knife out of a cracked leather sheath, turning the blade this way and that in the dim light. She looks down at me, shaking her head. There are dark circles under her eyes, and her blonde hair is dirty, knotted in a snarled tangle around her head. She looks like she’s just gone five rounds in a cage fight.
“Ha!” I laugh, then wincing at the sharp bolt of pain that needles me in the head. “I thought the dead would look a little more glamorous in the afterlife.”
Ocho makes a loud gurgling sound, stabbing a finger toward the forest, twisting his left hand around in a series of strange gestures that my dead sister seems to understand. “I know, I know,” she hisses. “But he’s completely out of it. Look at him.”
Ocho does look down at me, and he doesn’t seem too impressed. More gurgling, and more hand gestures follow. His headphones are looped around his neck, silenced, and I realize that this bizarre, out of body hallucination I’m having is the first time I’ve ever seen the man try to communicate with anyone. He makes a growling sound, pretending to gnash his teeth together. My sister shakes her head, sighing. “They’re not going to attack us,” she says. “Not when there are so many people out there to pick off.”
Ocho grimaces, rolling his eyes. He glances down at me again, nudging me with the toe of his boot, then makes a gesture that I do understand; he extends his index finger and stabs it repeatedly toward the sky.
Up.
And not just up.
Get the fuck up. Now.
He digs his boot into my ribs again, and a blast of pain shoots through me, ricocheting around the inside of my head like a pinball. I try to sit up, but the ground beneath me pitches sideways, threatening to tip me right off the very surface of the earth.
“Wait, damn it. Give him a second to figure out what the fuck is going on,” Laura whispers. She touches her hand to the side of my head, grimacing when her fingers come away bloody, and suddenly I’m not breathing. Not blinking. Not moving. Not able to make my brain function in any way whatsoever. My sister? My sister in front of me, dressed in a dirty black shirt and dirty black jeans, giving me the same look she always used to give me when we were fighting as children? What the fuck?
My lungs are screaming. I need to take a breath, but I’m too goddamn scared. If I move a single muscle, take my eyes off her for even a second, I fear she’ll disappear. How is this happening? How the hell on earth can this possibly be real?
A weak, sad smile slowly spreads across Laura’s face. She looks older than I remember. Tired. Different, in so many ways, and yet still…her. She takes hold of my hand and squeezes tightly.
“Hey, brother of mine.”
I couldn’t make a sound, even if I wanted to. I just stare at her, aware of how real and solid her hand feels in mine.
“I assume you came here for me,” she asks, “and not because you wanted to attend one of Fernando Villalobos’s top secret parties?”
“I—fuck, this can’t be happening,” I rasp. Reaching up with my free hand, I move my fingertips over her face, scanning her features, searching for some dissimilarity between this woman and my sister, trying to prove to myself that it can’t possibly be her. But it is. It fucking is. “Natalia told me you were dead,” I whisper. “I thought you were gone.”
Laura’s eyes are full of hurt. She looks like she’s trying her best not to cry and doing a horrific job. She always did find it hard to hide her tears, even as an adult. “She couldn’t know,” she says. “She had to believe I was dead. Everyone had to. Ocho helped me escape.”
I turn my head to look at the short, aging Ecuadorian man, immediately regretting the movement when my vision begins to swim. “You? How could you…?” Ocho is Fernando’s right-hand man. He’s been watching me since I showed up in Orellana, always there, loitering in the background, observing everything with those dark, unfathomable eyes of his. How can he have helped Laura escape?
Laura smiles up at the old man like he’s an old friend. “Ocho’s been hiding me in the forest for a long time, Cade. I told him about you, of course. When you showed up here, he brought me to the outskirts of the estate to show you to me. He said you were here to buy drugs, but I knew the truth. I’ve been waiting for you to leave the estate so I could come to you, but you’ve never been alone. Always with Natalia, or with Fernando.”
I screw my eyes shut, trying to process all of this, but it feels like an uphill climb that I’m not cut out for just now.
“You think you can get to your feet?” she asks. “We have to move. It’s only a matter of time before the wolves are finished with the guests. Once they’re in a frenzy like this, they don’t stop killing when their stomachs are full. They only stop once everyone is dead.”
“I can’t leave. I have to go back. Natalia’s still inside.”
“I know, but we’re out of time. If we don’t get down the mountain before Fernando has a chance to rally his men, then we’re all dead.”
Taking a deep, agonizing breath, I push myself up into a sitting position, bracing against the throbbing inside my skull. I’m numb everywhere else. I still can’t believe it. She’s alive. Laura is alive, and Ocho has been helping her. I have so many questions. Too many. If I start asking them now, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop, though. Getting to my feet is seriously fucking shitty. If I could, I’d lie down in the dirt for the foreseeable future, until everything quits spinning like a merry-go-round, but I can see the worry on Laura’s face and her fear is all too real.
Once I’m upright, Ocho’s grabbing at the sleeve of my suit jacket, trying to hurry me off, deeper into the forest. I jerk myself free, and then I’m taking hold of Laura, pulling her to me, crushing her in my arms. I remember the last time I cried. It was two days after Laura disappeared, when I realized that she wasn’t coming back. When I realized that she was gone, and that someone had clearly taken her.
Now, holding her in my arms, I cry again. “Fuck, Laura. Seven years. Seven fucking years.” I want to tell her about the countries I visited, the people I’ve killed, the thousands and thousands of miles I’ve traveled while I’ve been looking for her, trying to bring her back home. Instead, all I can do is squeeze her tightly, stroking my hand over the back of her tousled hair.
“I know,” she whispers. She’s crying too, now, allowing her tears to spill; I can hear how choked up she is in her voice. “It feels like half a lifetime.”
I don’t want to let her go. I can’t. Ocho doesn’t appear to be willing to sit through our emotional family reunion, though. He yanks on my sleeve again, making yet another anxious gurgling noise. Laura releases me, sniffing.
“We have to leave now,” she insists.
She’s right. I came to find her, and here she is, found. I shouldn’t risk another moment standing around on the side of this mountain where Fernando could capture us again any second. But when I think about slipping off in the dark and leaving, I know I just can’t do it. I turn to Ocho, steeling myself for what I’m about to say. “Take her. Get he
r out of here. Look after her. I’ll be right behind you guys, I promise.”
Laura grabs my hand again, her grip almost painful. “Please, Cade. I—” She’s about to beg me not to remain behind, but her eyes settle on mine and something hardens in them. A kind of resolve she never possessed back in Alabama. “No. You’re right. No one should have to stay here against their will. Go and find her, Cade. Find her, and get her out.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
REVELATION
I took a shit load of drugs in my youth, but I never took acid. I think this is probably what it feels like to trip balls, as I sneak back onto the estate. Nothing feels, looks, or smells real anymore. I’m trying to focus on the nightmare scene in front of me, but all I can think about is the fact that Laura wasn’t buried in one of those mass graves. She wasn’t buried at all. I have no idea how Ocho managed to convince not only Fernando that she was dead, but Natalia, too. However he did it, it obviously worked. If Fernando suspected for even one second she was alive, he would have turned over every stone, and chopped down every single tree in the forest in order to find her.
As I predicted, there are dozens of dead bodies on the lawn. I don’t see their faces, don’t recognize who they are. I hurry past them, my focus directed toward the house and the people who still remain inside. Fernando is nowhere to be seen. I enter through the open doorway, straining to hear or see anything, but the entire lower floor is choked with smoke, and the only sound to reach my ears is the crackling roar of the fire that’s taken hold.
Where would she be? Not on the second floor. The fire must have started early on, before I hit the alarm, so it’s unlikely she would have gone up there. Not when the smoke was obvious. So downstairs, then. Not Fernando’s office. Not the kitchens. Not the—
It hits me all of a sudden. The library. Of course. She said that’s where she used to go when she was little to escape her father. It makes sense that she would go there to hide from him now, when everything is disintegrating into madness. I cover my mouth with my arm as I run down the hallway, heading in the direction of the library at the other end of the house. Left. Right. I have no idea where the fuck I’m going. I know I’m heading north, though, and the library overlooked the northern most aspect of the lawn, so I have to be getting close. People rush by me in the hallway, nothing more than dark shapes headed in the opposite direction, out, toward the main entrance, choking and coughing as the smoke settles on their lungs. I ignore every single one of them as I continue to hunt.
