by John O'Brien
“Only one way to find out,” I whisper to myself again.
I unlock the door and whisk down the lit passageway against the near wall moving briskly to the door. I peer inside. The room is dimly lit like the other one. There are two differences; three of the doors leading to the wings on the ground floor are lit as is one high up on the fourth level. No one is within the large room. Now to see if anyone is in the control room.
I swipe the card and enter keeping low. As the door slowly closes, I bring the mirror to the window and observe the room empty. Luck is still with me. A click behind me tells me the entry door is closed and I open the one to the room, entering and pressing close in the shadows against the wall. I keep an eye on the lit windows searching for a tell-tale shadow that someone is approaching the door. My heart thuds in my chest. I am in the lion’s den.
If someone enters at this point, I’ll scurry back to the small room and hope the door closes before they can get to me. If I open the hall entryway and wedge it open, they won’t be able to open any of the doors to leave. I would take this as a sole option if I knew there weren’t others to be rescued somewhere inside this area. I smile thinking of them waking to find the door open and them not being able to get out. That would be worth putting a wireless camera on the wall and watching their actions.
Edging to the first lit door, I crouch by the entrance. I rise, about to glance in the window when the light dims causing my heart to skip a beat and pumps in a fresh supply of adrenaline. Someone is close to the other side. I cross low under the window to the hinge side and crouch a little more than a foot from the hinge. It wouldn’t do to be right behind the door if it opens as it could hit me. Being farther away allows the door to open wider before making contact.
The light in the window darkens further. Someone is drawing closer to the door. I’m hoping it isn’t a lot of them. Actually, I’m hoping no one comes through the door but if any do, a crowd of them is low on my wish list. I prop my M-4 against the wall next to me preferring to use my Beretta if anything happens close quarters.
The door begins to swing outward without the corresponding click of a mag lock being disengaged. They have somehow managed to unlock the cell doors. It stops and I see a head pass by the window. A man walks out into the room and the door begins its slow journey back. Only one man exits and he begins walking across the room carrying an AR-15-style carbine over his shoulder. If he turns for any reason, I’ll be in plain sight. I would let him go but for two reasons. I don’t want someone behind me but more importantly, he may be going to the other side. I am not in a good position for any alarm to be raised.
Tracking him with my 9mm, I pull my knife from the sheath strapped to my lower leg. The carbine shouldered at his back will interfere with a knife kill to that side so I keep the gun in my right hand and knife in my left. The door closes with a faint thud. I tense waiting for him to turn at the sound. There have been a few times I’ve come close to being caught by someone turning instinctively at an innocuous sound; even one they created. If he turns, I’ll have no choice but to fire even though it’s the louder option.
His head begins to turn. I tense; the sights of my handgun aimed firmly at his head. He turns back to the front without turning fully around and keeps walking. I relax and push away from the wall, check the window quickly to make sure it’s clear, and begin crouch-walking silently in his tracks. I close to just behind the man getting ready to rise and plunge my blade into his kidney.
“Dammit,” the man says almost under his breath and turns.
I swiftly rise as he turns jamming the end of my suppressor in the meaty portion under his chin and fire. The bullet crashes through the soft tissue of his mouth going through his tongue and into his upper palate. A section of his cranium explodes upward spewing part of the inside of his head into the air. The only noise is the sound of the slide racking back and sliding forward. The spent cartridge bounces across the floor a few times and comes to rest. The man crumples downward and I catch him under his arms before he can hit the ground. I drag him to the wall, deposit him in the shadows, wipe the end of my handgun on his shirt, and place my knife back in its sheath.
Returning to the door, I retrieve my M-4 and holster the 9mm. I would prefer to use my 9mm inside the rooms but the length of the hall and the chance of someone else emerging from a room dictates the use of something with a little more accuracy over a greater range. Plus, if the alarm is triggered and they come out enmasse, I’ll have an auto option. I clear the hall and slide inside. Peeking in the window of the first cell to my left, I see a man lying on a lower bunk with his hands behind his head staring straight up. He’s either lost in thought or asleep. I look in the window of the cell across the hall.
There, a man has his pants down and is bent over a naked woman kneeling at the side of a bunk. I have found one of the women. A sickness settles in my stomach and anger rises. I open the door just enough to slip inside. With the door only partially open and closing, the sound of my shots will be muffled even further. Both the man and the woman look my way. The woman is sobbing and whimpering. The man’s face registers first anger at being intruded upon and then shock as my carbine comes up.
My round enters the side of his head and exits the other coating the ruffled blankets and pillow in red. He crashes to the bunk beside the woman and slides to the floor. The young woman draws in a deep breath, ready to scream. I hold my fingers to my lips hoping to catch her scream in time. She bites off her scream and nods. Tears have made pathways down her face and her red eyes regard me. She exhales with a whimper; sniffing loudly once.
I double check that the man isn’t moving or emitting any noise. Holding my hands up and out to my side, not wanting to alarm the woman further, I take a step toward her. She hasn’t moved from her position and cowers into the bed.
“Ma’am, I’m not here to hurt you but I need you to get dressed and wait here until I return. I also need you to be very quiet. Can you do that?” I ask.
Her frightened, wide eyes continue to look at me fearfully but she nods. She looks over to the man on the floor and then begins searching the room for her clothes.
“Okay, good. Just be brave a moment longer and I’ll be back. I’ll get you out of here, I promise,” I say. She nods again and rises to her knees on the floor, covering her nakedness with her arms. She is sobbing quietly. I turn and exit the room heading across the hall.
The man is still resting with his hands behind his head and facing away from me. I ease the door open and slip inside. He turns his head toward the door and appears about to say something when my round slams into the top of his head. The bullet tears through his skull, the soft brain tissue, and then exits out of the lower part of his face, tearing his right jaw from its hinge. Blood sprays down the front of his shirt. His arms and leg twitch violently on the bed, becoming sporadic tremors and then he is still. His jaw lies at an angle to his head held on only by a portion of his cheek.
I head down the hall going room to room with similar scenes played out in each. The next wing plays out the same. I find one other woman and have her come with me after I clear the rooms. I take her to where the first woman is now sitting dressed and on the bunk with her arms around her drawn-up knees. She flinches as I enter but calms immediately when she sees me. Tears still run down her face. Both women are a wreck and rightfully so. I figure it will be better for them to be together. I tell them to stay put and the woman I just brought sits on the bunk and they wrap their arms around each other’s shoulders.
Replacing my mag, I clear the third wing in a similar manner. Apparently the men retired to their rooms for the night and aren’t wondering around. Most are asleep or close to it when I enter. Each and every one of them are now experiencing the first few moments of their afterlife. I find a third young woman, the wife of the man who was beaten, and bring her to the other two after having to spend some extra time calming her down. It took a few minutes to convince her I wasn’t one of the others.
I step out into the main room and look upward to the fourth floor where light shows from a door to one of the wings. There’s a fourth woman and I’m guessing she’s up there. I haven’t run across preacher man or any of his entourage yet so I’m guessing they are taking residence above.
This one may be a little trickier, I think looking upward. If they’re his personal body guard, they may be more alert. At least some of them will be. I feel tired and dirty. I know my face must look like a mess as I felt several splashes against it from some of the men, using the term loosely here, as I took them out. When I get home to Cabela’s, I’m taking the longest shower of my life. It will be measured in days.
I apprise Greg of my progress and my plan. Greg’s response is faint with the radios having to go through so many thick, concrete walls but I hear him acknowledge me. I think about taking the three women to him before heading to the fourth landing. If something happens to me, they will be left here and I won’t have helped them much. There’s still time before dawn approaches and the teams begin their journey down so I’m not as caught up with a time crunch as before. However, I’m here and the situation is pretty much under control although that could change in an instant.
“Well, there’s nothing to it but to get to it,” I say quietly to myself with a sigh and start for the first set of steel steps leading to the catwalks above.
Setting my boots carefully on each rung in order not to let my steps ring out, I cautiously climb to the first catwalk level and mount the stairs leading to the third level, and then the fourth. The door with the light shining through the small window is the second one down. I ensure the first wing is empty before crouching at the lit window.
Peering in, I see an empty hall like the others. Apparently preacher man feels secure with his bodyguards, assuming that’s what they are, only being close by. I open the door quietly and make my way down the room as on the lower levels; increasing hell’s count one soul at a time. I reach the last door and peek in. Sure enough, it’s the one who thinks he was called to purify the earth.
He is standing with a woman on her knees in front of him. He has a handful of hair and a gun to her head. I can’t go in like the other rooms. If I take him out, he could have a responsive twitch and shoot the woman. I swing the door open and step inside with my M-4 aimed at his head. The woman turns her head to glance at me and preacher man whips his around.
“Who the fuck are you?” He asks angrily.
“I’m the last person you want standing in this room with you,” I answer.
“Put that gun away or I’ll call my guards,” he says not releasing the woman or moving the gun from her head.
“You mean the ones who are soaking the bed sheets with their blood,” I say.
“You’ll never make it past the others,” he says; his eyes widening a touch with fear.
“This is just not your day for being right, is it?” I say. His eyes widen further.
“Stay back or I’ll shoot her,” he says thrusting the gun harder against the woman’s head.
“Go ahead. She means nothing to me. It’s you that I’ve come for,” I reply. “But I tell you what. You have two doors to choose from. One, you can shoot her and I shoot you, or two, you can release her and I let you go. A life for a life either way. You choose.”
The door closes. His eyes dart around the room fearfully, as if a way out will appear, before coming back to rest on the end of my suppressor only a few feet away and pointing unwaveringly at his head.
“If I let her go, you’ll let me go?” He asks.
“Yep,” I answer.
“Okay, I choose door number two,” he says.
“That’s the one I’d pick,” I say.
He releases the hold on her hair and removes the gun from her head. The woman scrambles to her feet and backs away from him wrapping her arms around her body.
“Ma’am, go into the hall and wait for me there,” I say. With a look at the man and then at me, she scurries past me and out of the door.
“Nice and slow, set it on the ground,” I say nodding at the gun he is holding at his side. I track his every move waiting for any quick movements as he kneels slowly and sets it on the floor. He then stands back up.
“Are you clean and pure?” I ask. A confused look crosses his face.
“Yes, I am,” he answers with a quivering voice.
“Good. Then that’ll make your transition easier,” I say. The confused look continues. His eyes then widen as he catches my meaning.
“But you said…” he stammers backing up.
“I lied,” I respond.
The bright flash highlights his open-mouthed fear as if caught with a camera. Part of his brain, which once held his very confused and warped thoughts, splatters on the concrete wall; his life-giving blood streaking down to the floor. The muffled gunshot lifts him from his feet and slams him into the sink against the wall. He falls to the side slumping over the steel toilet. Fitting end, I think gathering up the woman’s clothing and leave the room.
The woman is squatting in the far corner by the door with her arms wrapped around her; her body shaking. “Is… Is he?” She asks with a trembling voice. I nod setting her clothes on the floor beside her.
“Good,” she spits. “All of them?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I reply turning around so she can get dressed and to keep an eye on the far door.
She finishes quickly and we head down the stairs to the other women. There could still be others patrolling that we missed so I remain alert. Gathering the women, we start back through the building with me clearing the route and them behind me. One of the women still occasionally sobs but we make it to the roof stairs without encountering anyone. I let Greg know we are coming up and we trudge upward stepping out onto the roof. I take a deep breath in anticipation of feeling the refreshment of the chill night air. I do get my breath of fresh air but forgot about the dead cattle in the distance. The air that rushes into my mouth and nose is tainted with the undertone of thousands of dead, rotting carcasses. It’s only a little better than the stifling and stale air inside. The ambience of the building is thick with the horrors of what went on inside.
The sky is clear and the moon casts light downward making for good visibility. The wife of the man looks around the group huddled together on the flat roof. With a cry of discovery, she runs to where her husband sits. He stands and they embrace. He flinches with her tight hug from his injuries but folds his arms around her.
“You made it,” Greg says as I move over to him. “Does that mean the bill has been delivered?”
“Paid in full,” I answer.
“Good. You look like a mess,” he says eying my face.
“I feel like a mess,” I say. There is the release of tension in finishing what we came to do. The adrenaline ebbs and an overwhelming tiredness replaces it. “I’m going to lie down and rest. Keep an eye on the door.”
“Will do,” he replies. We are interrupted a few times by the men and women coming over to thank us.
“Thank us later, we’re not out of here yet,” I reply a couple of times. A shriek sounds out from far away, like the faint howl of a coyote on a still summer night; almost forlorn. I feel adrenaline try to enter into my already tired system but exhaustion has set in. All heads turn toward the distant sound. We all know what that sound is and it strikes dread in all of us, especially as we are all outside.
“Perhaps we should go inside,” I say to Greg.
“Might not be a bad idea although I kinda like it out here,” he replies.
“Yeah, me too but that could change in a hurry,” I say.
I really don’t want to move again but I’m sure our scent is being carried on the night air. We are still a few hours away from dawn and not out of danger yet. Greg and I gather everyone up and head inside. There are a lot of bumps and some curses as the others shuffle and grope in the dark. We find a large room close to the bottom of the stairs and hole up for the night.
Ther
e’s No Place Like Home
The rest of the night passes without incident. I take the first aid kit and administer what I can to the man who was beaten and whipped. We get little rest although Greg and I take separate watches in order to try and recoup some of our lost sleep. At daylight, we move through the tangle of corridors until we find a way out into the sunshine.
We walk around the large prison structure until we find the loading docks. The walls cast shadows deep into the compound from the low lying sun of the morning. Several pickup trucks are parked in the loading area. There should be enough to bring everyone out but if not, we’ll scout the area and find others. Horace and the teams should be about an hour or so away if they left at daybreak. I would open the rear gate but I’m not sure these people didn’t have friends that might show up.
The sky promises another clear and brilliant blue day. That of course means another warm one. My eyes feel dry and gritty with the lack of sleep but we’ll hopefully be here only one more day. I feel so grungy but that isn’t an entirely new feeling, just one I didn’t really want to be having in my later years. During the wait, I let the ones who were held captive know about our place and that they are welcome to come with us. If they want to stay, we’ll make sure they get to where they want to go. Most take us up on our offer wanting to leave this place and the horrid recent memories. Some have family in the area and opt to stay. There are plenty of weapons inside and I offer up a team to escort them in when they arrive.
Greg radios and communicates with Horace as the sun rises to the top of the wall. They aren’t far away and arrive at the rear gate ten minutes later. We lift the big bar holding the gates shut and the teams drive in. Bri exits and runs over to give me a big hug.
“I’m so glad you made it, Dad,” she says.
“I’m glad to see you too, sweet Bri,” I reply. Robert strolls up shortly after.
“How was it?” He asks.
