by James Hunt
It was smart, going after Becca and the kids. It would draw her in, and the emotional connection would cloud her judgment, but the one thing Demps and his monster had forgotten to consider was how fucking pissed she was. It was an anger that soaked through her bones. She’d been running on it ever since she’d watched the life go out of Ben’s eyes. And now it just needed to burn a little longer.
The CIA agents’ vehicle was easy enough to spot: a grey sedan, inconspicuous and easily forgettable. Sarah kept to the west side of the house, where there were the fewest windows and places for him to spot her approach. The second-floor balcony window would be the best way in, so long as he wasn’t keeping everyone upstairs, which is what she would have done.
Whenever you wanted to kill someone, the best way was surprise, but if you couldn’t do it that way, which the man knew he couldn’t, then pulling them into a kill box and forcing them to fight on your terms was the next best thing.
The house to the left of Becca’s was two stories tall, with a tree on its far west side. She hopped over the gate and shimmied up the tree, her pistols swinging in the shoulder holster underneath her jacket that she’d changed into on the way over. When she passed one of the windows in the house, a toddler spotted her, and his pacifier fell out of his mouth. Sarah pressed her finger to her lips then kept climbing. She dashed around the back side of the roof, keeping her feet light, then crouched on the back corner edge to scan Becca’s house.
The curtains were drawn, blocking her view of the inside, but they were also thick enough that the captor couldn’t see her, either. With a quick sprint, Sarah ran to the edge of the roof, launched herself toward Becca’s house, then shoulder checked the window, shattering it and landing hard on the floor of Ella’s bedroom. When she rolled to her knees, both pistols were out. No point in being coy.
Sarah sat there, waiting for any sound, any creak, any peep that would give away their position. Then, after a solid thirty seconds of silence, she heard the familiar creak of the third step on the staircase. She jumped out the doorway and fired down the flight of stairs. Bullets splintered penny-sized holes in the steps as the tall man retreated around the corner in the living room. Sarah slid down the bannister, both pistols poised to shoot, then landed with a light thud on the wooden floorboards. The steel in her hands shifted as she repositioned her fingers. Her feet avoided the shell casings on the ground, and she edged to the end of the wall of the living room behind which the tall man had disappeared. She slid down, crouching as low as she could, then pivoted on her left foot and turned the corner, but the room was empty. She rose slowly, the ends of her pistols scanning the room, her body moving forward in its programmed fashion, needing little help from her mind, which she used to concentrate on locating Becca and the kids.
The living room fed into a back hallway, off of which opened the utility room and a small office Becca used for side projects. That room connected back around to the kitchen, which lead back to the front of the house. It was like a disjointed circle, and as Sarah stepped into the study, the pistols almost fell out of her hands.
Becca and the kids were tied up at their wrists and ankles, their mouths gagged, and they were blindfolded. She holstered her pistols and ripped the blindfolds off their faces and yanked the stuffed pieces of cloth from their mouths. “Are you guys all right?”
“Sarah!” Becca screamed, and it came in tune with the loud thump of heavy feet behind her as the tall man brought the side of a bat to Sarah’s head, which she half blocked with her forearm, her head taking the rest of the blow. The double vision made it hard to see which hit was coming where, but before another swing could collide with the front of her skull, she rolled to the right, the bat narrowly missing her. Her fingers fumbled for the inside of her jacket as she reached for the pistol at her side. Before she could draw, her elbow was blocked and the tall man was on top of her, pinning both her arms down and slamming his knee into her ribcage.
Shots of pain rang through Sarah’s body while Becca and the kids screamed. Sarah shimmied her right leg between herself and the man’s torso and used the leverage to flip them both to their sides, allowing Sarah to free a fist that she brought to the side of the man’s jaw, giving her enough time to squirm out of his grip.
Again Sarah aimed her guns, but the tall man brought the bat across the steel, knocking both to the ground. Then he charged Sarah and picked her up in a sprint. Dishes and glasses shattered from the slam into the kitchen table. One of the glasses she landed on broke and dug into the meaty flesh of her upper back. With each ounce of pressure the tall man applied, she felt the jagged shard excavate her muscle, each tear and gash weakening her ability to fend off her assailant.
The man’s massive hands choked Sarah, and each second that passed made it harder and harder for her to breathe, the gasps that escaped becoming shorter. A shimmer caught the peripheral vision of her left eye, and she saw one of the shards from the glasses that had busted. She quickly reached for the piece then rammed the tip of the glass into the man’s arm. A gush of blood erupted from beneath his shirt, and the pressure around Sarah’s neck loosened. She immediately brought the blade toward the side of the man’s neck, which he blocked, freeing Sarah from his hold. She used the momentum and wrapped her legs around the man’s torso then rotated her hips, flinging the two of them off the table and onto the tile.
Sarah slammed her fist into his face, and the blows dented the flesh and bone in front of her. Each crunch, moan, and crack that filled the air between them only fueled her rage. She reached for another shard but caught a blow to the stomach, and the two tussled on the ground. Sarah felt the weight and power of the man, who had at least a foot of height and a hundred pounds on her. With each movement across the kitchen floor, she felt her body weaken.
Their tumbling came to an end as they fetched up against the wall. A knee slammed into her stomach, and she felt the rush of wind escape from her lungs. The man grabbed a fistful of hair and flung her body into the living room.
Sarah scrambled to her feet, wobbling as blood dripped down her back. The man smiled at her, gaps showing where a few of his teeth had gone missing. “You know, I’ve killed just as many or even more people than you. Some I’ve done with a bullet, others with a blade. But you”—he gave a light chuckle—“you I wanted to kill with my own hands.”
“That makes two of us.” Blood stained Sarah’s knuckles, and she fought the urge to collapse. The pain in her back was numbing, and she no longer saw two of him. She regained control of her breathing as she slowly circled the living room. Because of the man’s height, he had at least a six-inch longer reach than she did. If she tried staying on the outside, she’d get worked over, but trying to get on the inside was dangerous. She was stuck between a rock and a hard place. Time to break the rock.
Sarah moved in quick and landed two vicious jabs to the ribs before the tall man knew what had hit him. He tried pinning her down, but she spun around to his back faster than his arms could wrap themselves around her. She jumped up behind him and locked her arms like a vise around his neck, yanking him backward, and squeezed.
The thump of the man’s pulse from the vein running down the side of his neck beat against Sarah’s forearm. She increased the pressure, the man squirming underneath her grip, trying to extend what precious life he had left. His hands groped up to Sarah’s face, where she tried to avoid his fingers and thumbs attempting to dig out her eyes. Fingers pressed against her cheek, brow, nose, and jaw like hungry spiders trying to eat their way into her flesh.
The man’s elbow found Sarah’s ribs repeatedly, each blow trying to weaken the hold she had around his neck. The fourth blow caused Sarah’s body to spasm to the right, giving the man just enough wiggle room to wedge his chin between his neck and the crook of Sarah’s elbow. Another blow to the same position on Sarah’s side, and the man had enough room to free himself and flip back on top of her, bringing his fist down onto her face. His knuckles connected to her nose, chin, forehea
d, eyes, and cheeks, turning her skin into clusters of red welts. The vicious hits cut tiny rivers of blood that ran down her face. The warm claret heated her skin, and she tasted the metallic flavor as streams rolled over the beaten pieces of flesh that were her lips.
Before he landed another blow, Sarah twisted her neck to the left at a hard angle, and his fist smashed into the floor, cracking the wood underneath. She grabbed hold of his arm and rolled left, torqueing his arm harshly until she heard the distinctive pop of it disconnecting from the shoulder. He wailed in pain, and Sarah followed up with her heel to the point of his nose, destroying what was left of the cartilage underneath.
The two grappled on the floor. Each kick, punch, and strained effort from the exertion of her fatigued muscles brought with it a soft cry, her body’s last attempt at digging for energy it was quickly running out of. Her body was running on borrowed time, and it wouldn’t be long before her debtors came to collect.
The tall man rushed at Sarah with a burst of energy and tossed her body across the room, where it landed roughly on the hardwood floorboards. Her arms shook as she pushed herself up, the tall man stumbling over to her, his face bloodied and broken, his right arm sagging from the dislocation.
“You just don’t know when to quit, do you?” the man asked and picked her up by her hair with his good arm and dragged her back over to where Becca and the kids were still tied up. She flopped on the ground at their feet. A lump of something hit her stomach before she fell, and she tried reaching underneath to feel what it was, but her body was so numb that the object underneath was foreign. She lifted her head to look up at Becca, whose mouth quivered as tears streamed down her face. Ella and Matt had the same look, and she tried to force a smile, but with her face numb, she wasn’t sure if she managed to make one.
A loud crack sounded as the man slammed his shoulder back into place, and Sarah felt the vibrations from his steps ripple through the floor. He gripped the back of her head and forced her to look Becca in the eye. “Your husband squealed more than this bitch. I have to admit that I’m impressed.” He slammed her face back into the ground, and the pain that flooded her mind disoriented her past the point of comprehension. When she looked up and saw that Becca had a knife to the side of her neck, she tried to remember how she had gotten here, why Becca and the kids were in the middle of one of her missions. They should be with Ben at home, not here. Not in this place. It wasn’t safe.
But slowly, everything came back, and she remembered why as she started to comprehend the man’s words. “You couldn’t save your brother. Your parents are dead, and now I’m going to slaughter the rest of your family in front of you. You lost, Agent Hill.”
Sarah’s fingers continued to fumble over the object underneath her stomach until her right index finger felt the smooth, thin piece of metal. “You know your problem?” Sarah asked, flecks of blood flying out of her mouth as she spoke. “It’s the same one that keeps popping up on my performance reviews.”
“And what’s that? Letting your family die?”
“No,” Sarah answered. “You talk too much.” Her fingers gripped the handle and, in a motion faster than the blink of an eye, she aimed the barrel of the 1911 and emptied the clip into the man’s chest, sending him backward and onto the floor in a massive heap of meat.
The pistol smacked against the floorboard when Sarah released her grip, and she rolled to her back, finally feeling the pain from all her wounds set in. Between the ringing in her ears and the pounding in her head, she couldn’t make out Becca screaming her name. She finally managed to stagger to her feet and crawl over to Becca to untie her restraints.
It was all the energy Sarah could muster to let Becca out, and once she was free, she untied Ella and Matt while Sarah collapsed on her back again. She felt like she was sinking into the floor, an elephant sitting on her chest. She felt like she was never going to get up until she felt a hand on her shoulder and the lightest touch on her face. When Sarah opened her eyes, Becca’s blurred figure stared back at her.
“Sarah? Oh my god. Sarah, can you hear me?”
Even through Sarah’s blurred vision and swollen eyes, she could see the distress in Becca’s face, the wrinkled lines in her forehead, the redness of her eyes, the downturned smile of grief. She’d seen that face before, but she never thought it would be for her. “Are Ella and Matt okay?”
“I put them in the other room. They’re fine. What do I need to do? Do I need to call the cops? That number your people gave me? You need a doctor.”
Sarah fumbled at one of the compartments around her belt and pulled out a small pill. “Water. I need some water.”
Becca nodded frantically then rushed away and returned with a glass of water, spilling its contents over the side. Sarah popped the pill into her mouth and washed it down. She drank thirstily, draining the entire cup as some of the liquid spilled out from the corners of her mouth. She set the cup down and closed her eyes, breathing slowly through her nose, which was broken, then out through her mouth. She waited for the pill to take effect, restoring some of the faculty of her body and mind. When the clarity kicked in, she managed to push herself off the ground. Her fingers found her nose and, with a quick jerk, pushed it back into place. The crack made Becca wince, and Sarah let out a loud gasp then breathed deeply through her nostrils. “Whew. That’s better.”
Before Sarah had a chance to say anything else, Becca threw her arms around her, her embrace bringing with it the sensation of the bruises and cuts along her body, but the fact that Becca was actually happy to see her alive outweighed the pain. “It’s good to see you, too.”
Sarah felt Becca’s body shake with her sobs. She pulled Becca’s face back and smiled. But before either of them could say a word, tires screeched out front. Sarah pushed herself to her feet and checked the front window to see a cluster of agents rush the front lawn. Sarah grabbed Becca by the shoulders. “I’m going to come back for you. Whatever happens, do not tell them what happened. Demand to speak with a lawyer. They won’t hurt the kids. Trust me. No matter what they tell you, do not say anything.”
“Where are you going?”
“The people that killed Ben, some of them are still out there. I have to find them. I have to finish this.”
Ella and Matt watched Sarah from a distance, and when she reached out her hand to touch Ella, the girl recoiled, hiding behind the chair with her brother. Sarah simply nodded her head. It was too soon. The kids had seen too much. They would understand. But not until later.
The agents surrounded the house, and Sarah ascended the steps to the second floor. When she made it to the top, the front door burst down, and she was back out the window through which she’d entered, hobbling over the rooftops as fast as she could until she made it to the other side of the neighbor’s house. She kept to the backyards, ducking behind fences and cars when she needed to but always moving forward.
Even though the other board members were still alive, she no longer had the time to track them down. Demps would keep sending men to try and kill her family. He had to go, and the last piece of her puzzle to find him was in Milwaukee. That was all she needed. Once he was dead, it would be done. She repeated that to herself like a prayer, but the longer she walked, the more she said the words, the more she felt herself hollow from the inside out.
Mack sat behind his desk, his leg bouncing up and down in a blur. He kept his eyes glued to the elevator entrance, the rest of his body frozen. Every now and again he would look to Bryce, whose face was glued to the same spot. He wasn’t sure how it was going to end, but he couldn’t allow Sarah to keep killing witnesses in connection with the world’s worst terrorist attack and the biggest security leak in GSF’s history.
The elevator doors opened, and Sarah stepped off, her jacket and pants caked with red patches, her face beaten, worn, and dirty, dark circles under her eyes. Every pair of pupils watched her, but every bit of concentration on her face was focused on getting to Branston in the holding unit, which Ma
ck had locked down, not letting anyone enter. He didn’t bother calling out to her; he knew she wouldn’t stop, not until there was a barrier in her way that she couldn’t break through, and the fingerprint coded cell that only Mack could open would do the trick. So he waited. And less than sixty seconds later, Sarah turned the corner of his office and nearly broke the door’s glass when she entered. “Let me inside, Mack.”
Bryce watched Sarah come in and wasn’t far behind her. He shut the door behind him, locking the three of them inside. Mack looked at her eyes, the same pair he’d seen a million times before. They’d always been curious, playful, mischievous, but what he saw now was something different. The deaths of her parents and her brother had caused hard callouses to replace the familiar eyes he’d once known.
“You won’t be going back out there anymore, Sarah,” Mack said. “As of right now, you are suspended. Bryce has already pulled your security clearances and blocked passports, accounts, and any other aliases you have.”
“Only the ones he knows about,” Sarah replied. Even though the remark was directed to Bryce, she kept her stare on Mack.
“Sarah,” Bryce said. “We need the board members alive. What Branston is giving us isn’t a hit list, it’s information we need to assimilate.”
“I’ve dealt with Branston in the past,” Mack said. “He was the head of our review board. Politics come easy to him. He understands how to manipulate. He’s using you, Sarah.”
“I don’t give a shit what he’s doing,” Sarah replied. “He won’t give up Demps’s location until the rest of them are dead. The others don’t know anything. All we need is Demps.”
“And what happens when you find him?” Mack asked.
“He’ll get the justice he deserves.”
“And what justice is that, Sarah?” Mack rose from his chair, stepping around his desk. He stood a good half a foot taller than Hill and had at least a hundred pounds on her. But she still looked like she’d break him in half. “Your justice? A bullet through his forehead that kills him and everything he knew about the attack, about Global Power, about his partnership with Branston?”
