Town at the Edge of Darkness

by Brett Battles

  Ananke examined the building through her binoculars. The open lawn area and the parking lot were illuminated by floodlights similar to those back at the gate. But unlike at the gate, an electronics scan revealed at least half a dozen devices, presumably cameras, attached to the lodge.

  Ananke opened the tracking map on her phone, and used the information the Administrator had given her to locate Ricky. The dot representing him sat squarely in the building, the dimensional callout putting his vertical location eleven feet below ground level—in the basement. That jibed with what Keller had told them.

  She led her team to the right, and circled through the forest to the other side of the lodge. As the back came into view, she saw that here, too, a clear area separated the structure from the trees, only it was mainly dirt, not grass. What caught her attention was the van parked next to the building, its back doors open wide so she could see inside.

  She signaled the others to stop and raised her binoculars.

  The vehicle was the same make and model as the one she and Harris had hijacked, but it wasn’t identical. It had a ramp leading from the back to the ground, and the four metal beds the other van contained were missing here. Instead, four people in wheelchairs occupied the space. The chairs appeared to be locked against the walls, two per side, facing the middle. Their occupants were all leaning forward, heads bowed. Unconscious or close to it, she guessed.

  Ananke couldn’t see any of the people’s faces, but the small person in the chair on the left, farthest back, was the same size and had the same long dark hair as Rosario.

  After a closer look at the others, she held her glasses out to Harris. Before the cop could raise them, Ananke touched her hand. “Remember, you promised to do what I say and not act out on your own.”

  Tensing, Harris began lifting the glasses, but once more Ananke stopped her.

  “Tell me you remember.”

  “I remember.”

  Ananke let go of her hand. “There are four people in the back of the van. I want you to look at the one on the right side, closest to us.”

  Ananke knew the moment Harris located the correct passenger by the way the cop suddenly squeezed the binoculars.

  “It’s Tasha, isn’t it?” Ananke asked.

  “Yes.” Harris packed more anger into a three-letter word than Ananke thought possible.

  A faint hum emanated from the area behind the lodge. Ananke grabbed the binoculars from Harris and aimed them at the noise.

  Light shot out of the ground adjacent to the lodge, and a few moments later, two men rose into view, standing behind two more occupied wheelchairs. Ananke recognized three of the people. The standing pair were Dalton Slater and his half brother, Leo Yates. One of those sitting was Ricky.

  Ananke checked her tracker, just to confirm. Ricky’s dot and his vertical location matched what she was seeing.

  Slater and Yates wheeled the chairs up the ramp into the van, where they anchored them with straps, one on each side. As they were doing this, two more men rose out of the hole. Young guys. More members of Slater’s youth brigade.

  When Slater and Yates exited the van, the younger men removed the ramp and slipped it into a slot below the floor of the rear compartment. Then they hopped in back, and Slater and Yates closed them inside. The two older men walked to the front.

  When the brake lights flashed on, Ananke lowered the binoculars but kept her eyes on the van. Keller had told them the “trials” were held farther north within the forest that belonged to the lodge. If he hadn’t lied, the truck would head in that direction instead of south, back toward the gate.

  The van slowed as it reached the far end of the lodge, and turned left.

  North.

  She grinned.

  Chapter Thirty

  10:17 p.m

  Built into the backside of a small crest, fifty yards from the clearing that served as the trials’ starting point, was the concrete building containing the final holding cells for the prey. The front portion was essentially a long, hallway-like room, from which there were entrances to ten individual cells. The only ways in and out of the rooms were through thick, steel-reinforced doors that had handles only on the outside.

  The highest number of cells ever used at one time had been eight, though plans were for nine to be put to use for this session’s final trial in two days, depending on the quality of product from the shipment due in that night.

  For the upcoming midnight trials, they were using six cells, starting from the right. Each of the prey had been laid out on army cots, and were still unconscious.

  That would change in one hour and twenty-eight minutes, when they would each be administered a jolt of adrenaline, and then at 12:03 a.m., paraded into the meadow and presented to the trial participants.

  Yates entered the building, shoving his phone back into his pocket.

  “Still on schedule?” Slater asked.

  “Yup,” Yates replied. “Truck’s about two hours south of Spokane. So, unless they blow a tire, we’re good.”

  “Ready for a fence check?”

  “Let’s do it.”

  Using Ricky’s tracking bug to guide them, Ananke and the others caught up with the van thirty minutes after it had left the lodge. More specifically, what they caught up to was a concrete building half buried in the side of the ridge. Ricky’s dot glowed from inside the structure.

  The team hid among a rock outcropping about seventy-five yards away and surveyed the site. A door in the middle of the building was the only access point. Yates paced outside, near the door, talking on the phone, while the two young guys who’d ridden in the back of the van stood sentry with M4 rifles at opposite ends of the ridge above the building. The only other details of note were the three 4x4 ATVs sitting next to the parked van.

  “No cameras attached to the building,” Liesel whispered.

  “Nothing in the trees, either,” Dylan added.

  Security here was undoubtedly a delicate situation. The last thing they’d want would be to have recordings of their activities end up in the wrong hands. Better not to have any at all. Besides, even if a prisoner escaped, he or she would make it only as far as the fifteen foot-high electric fence. Probably not even that far, given what Keller had said about the tracking bugs they implanted in everyone.

  Poor Ricky. He must feel like a pin cushion.

  Yates lowered his phone as he reached for the door. For two seconds, Ananke had a view inside, but all she could see was another wall not too far beyond the entrance, and part of a door set in it.

  She lowered her binoculars and motioned for everyone to gather around.

  “Keller said there’s a clearing where the trial starts,” she whispered. “It can’t be far. Dylan, find it and learn everything you can about it. Liesel, I want you and Morgan to stay here and keep an eye on that building. If I’m right, nothing should happen until closer to midnight, but if I’m wrong, report right away. I’m going to scout out the area where this…hunt is supposed to take place.” She checked the time. “It’s ten-eighteen. We rendezvous back here in one hour. Questions?”

  From back toward the building came the sound of the door opening, then a voice, followed by a laugh, and another voice, younger.

  Ananke, Liesel, Dylan, and Harris all brought up their binoculars.

  Slater and Yates had exited the building, and Slater was talking to one of the guards on the ridge. When he finished, Slater and his brother walked toward the van. But their destination turned out to be the ATVs. They each climbed onto one, started it up, and sped past the building into the forest.

  Ananke glanced over at Dylan. “Try not to let them catch you.”

  “A little confidence, please,” he said. “I’m not Ricky.”

  They headed off in opposite directions.

  Dylan thought the easiest way to find the meadow was to locate the path leading there from the building.

  There had to be a path, right? If the building was where they kept the…victims—G
od, it made him sick every time he thought about it—then there had to be an easy way to take them to their deaths.

  Moving through the woods in an arc that never took him closer than a hundred and fifty feet to the ridge, Dylan looked for the path. Not far past the ninety-degree mark, he found it. While the ground wasn’t so beaten down that grass and clover stopped growing on it, someone had cleared away the six foot-wide strip of trees and large bushes.

  Not knowing if any other of Slater’s people were around, Dylan paralleled the path from a dozen feet inside the woods. It went basically straight for maybe a hundred feet before it took a gentle dip into a depression. Another fifty feet on, he found the meadow.

  It was shaped almost like a baseball field—one end coming together at a sharp point, with the meadow flaring out wide until it was swallowed again by the forest about a hundred yards away. Near the pointed end, a little farther than where a pitcher’s mound would be, sat a platform that had ramps leading off it on all sides but one.

  Using the binoculars on thermal mode, Dylan scanned the clearing for human-sized heat signatures, but it was clear. He trained the lenses on the woods surrounding the clearing. He couldn’t see through the trees, but could confirm no one was standing between them.

  Still not ready to step into the field, Dylan walked down to the rounded point. There he found another trail, wide enough for a vehicle. He followed it away from the clearing. It was nowhere near as long as the one that had brought him here, as it ended after fifty feet at a wide dirt area, sprinkled with footprints and tire tracks. It didn’t take a genius to figure out this was where the vehicles that brought the hunters parked.

  Dylan returned to the meadow, and continued around the “home plate” end to the other side. In a nook within the trees, he found what he could only describe as a spectator area—two rows of benches, the back ones set up on a mound of dirt so those sitting there could see over the heads of those in front. The idea of spectators here repulsed him even more.

  He searched through the woods all the way down the side, and continued doing the same across the far end of the meadow and back down the side from where he originally arrived. Though he discovered no other man-made items, he did note several potential ambush spots and hiding places.

  Upon completing the search of the surrounding woods, he checked his watch and saw he had just enough time left for a closer examination of the meadow.

  At the beginning of her scout, Ananke used the sound of the ATVs to guide her, thinking Slater and Yates would be checking the grounds where the trial was to take place. This led her into a densely wooded area, north-northwest of the meadow Dylan was checking.

  What she really wished she had was a pair of night-vision goggles. She’d have to talk to the Administrator about including them in future missions.

  Future missions? Am I really considering that?

  Refocusing on the task at hand, she buried the thought.

  She may not have had night-vision goggles, but her binoculars were equipped with an adequate night-vision setting. The only problem was that she had to be farther away from her target than if she were using goggles, not to mention she’d need to raise the glasses whenever she wanted a more detailed look.

  A sweep through the trees ahead revealed several items of interest. She proceeded to the first, a pine tree about thirty feet away with an almost oval chunk of bark missing. She ran a hand over the spot, and found the exposed wood splintered and ripped and riddled with dozens of tiny holes. She was tempted to shine a light into one of the holes, but the risk of exposure was not worth it. Besides, she knew a shotgun blast when she saw one.

  Moving on, she saw other trees had also been marred by firearms. She didn’t want to imagine what might have happened here, but it was impossible not to. A captive running for his or her life. Some entitled asshole stalking him with a shotgun and a tracking device showing exactly where the prey was. A series of blasts as the hunter flushed the runner out of a hiding place. Then somewhere, probably not far from where Ananke was standing, the shot taking down the innocent. Blood splattering the ground. A shout of triumph from the hunter. The prey either dead or reeling in pain. Perhaps there was a final shot to put the victim out of his misery. Or maybe the hunter and his colleagues stood around and waited for the prisoner to take his last breath.

  Ananke’s face hardened.

  She picked up her pace, and squeezed out every second she had to scout the area before it was time to head back.

  At 11:00 on the dot, a four-note musical alert repeated three times from speakers in the suites of all the participants. This was followed by the voice of Miss Riefenstahl. “Good evening, gentlemen. I hope you have had a pleasant rest. In twenty minutes, please join me by the fireplace for some quick refreshments.”

  All the participants were in the main room well ahead of time. The hostess entered at exactly 11:30, followed by two young men carrying trays of hors d’oeuvres. The men set the appetizers on a table next to the bar, and began pouring flutes of champagne.

  As soon as they were done, Miss Riefenstahl grabbed one of the glasses. “Gentlemen, please.”

  When they each had a flute, the hostess raised hers.

  “May the coming trial provide challenge, excitement, and, most of all, success.”

  Everyone drank.

  “Help yourselves,” she said, gesturing to the appetizers. “But I’d advise against eating too much. You won’t want to be sluggish on the field. There will also be a full breakfast once the trial is finished.”

  At first no one approached the food, but soon, one by one, the men made their way to the trays, taking two or three of the treats before moving on.

  The hostess moved through the room, sharing a word of encouragement with each man and wishing them all good luck. At 11:35, a young man appeared briefly in the dining room doorway and gave her a subtle nod.

  The hostess returned to the front of the room. “Gentlemen, it is time. If you would follow me, we will pick up your weapons and return to the carts.”

  Dylan had returned by the time Ananke got back.

  “Any change?” she asked Liesel, glancing at the half-hidden building.

  “Slater and Yates drove back about ten minutes ago and went inside. That is about it.”

  To Dylan, Ananke said, “Tell us about the meadow.”

  After he described what he’d found, Ananke did the same about her recon, and then laid out how she wanted to proceed.

  When she finished, Dylan grinned. “I like the way you think, boss.”

  “You’ll be okay with the rifle?” Ananke asked Liesel.

  “Of course.”

  Ananke turned to Harris. “Last chance for you to get out of this.”

  “No, thanks.”

  “Then I guess it’s time to get into position.”

  They each grabbed the equipment they required and set out for their assigned spots.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  11:45 p.m

  Ricky’s eyelids shot open and he gasped for air. He tried to sit up, but quickly discovered he wasn’t going anywhere. Straps across his chest, waist, and thighs held him down, while thinner ones secured his wrists and ankles.

  “Deep breaths,” a voice said.

  Ricky twisted his head toward the sound.

  “Welcome back,” Yates said, smiling.

  Ricky kept his expression as blank as possible.

  “You’re a tough one, aren’t you? That’s good. You might even be the last one standing.” Yates leaned in and whispered, “We could make it a little easier on you, you know. Make sure you don’t suffer too much. All you have to do is tell us who you are and who you’re working for.”

  Ricky snorted.

  “Your call,” Yates said. “But in about twenty minutes, you’re really going to wish you talked.”

  Ricky burst out laughing, as if it were the funniest thing he’d ever heard.

  Rosario woke to find Slater standing over her, an empty syringe dang
ling from his hand.

  Every cell in her body tingled as if each had received an individual jolt of electricity. She glared at her captor, jaw tense.

  “Hola, chica,” he said. “You’ll have to forgive me. That’s about the extent of my hablo espanyol. You speak English?”

  She didn’t reply.

  Shrugging, he said, “Well, if you do, I’d advise you not to try to break free. It’d be a waste of energy you’re going to wish you still had later. I’ve seen it happen before.” He turned for the door. “We’ll be back in a bit.”

  Rosario watched him leave and then looked back at the ceiling. She didn’t know what they had planned for her, but she wasn’t going to sit back and let it happen.

  The off-road golf carts brought the participants back to the trial’s starting point, where the men were once more escorted onto the field. Lights mounted in the trees lit the clearing from one end to the other. Like that afternoon, Mr. Lean waited for them on the platform, only this time he held a long, cloth-covered object in his hands.

  “Good evening, gentlemen,” Mr. Lean said. “Welcome to the midnight trials. Some of our past guests consider this to be the most difficult and rewarding event on the schedule. I’ll leave that for you to decide, though.

  “Tonight, you will all take the field at the same time. Six prey will be released. You are each allowed one kill. Once you’ve bagged your trophy, you will return here to await the others. As an added incentive, whoever takes down the one we have determined to be the most difficult target will receive this.”

  He removed the cloth covering the item he was holding. Underneath was a gold-plated Mossberg shotgun mounted on a long, black plaque.

  Though each participant was more than wealthy enough to commission hundreds of such prizes for himself, their eyes lit up at the sight of the prize.