by Lucin, David
“Do you understand me?” Dylan asked. “Nod if you do.”
The man nodded.
“Good!” Dylan exclaimed. “Now, my name’s Dylan. What’s yours?”
A defiant stare.
“He’s with the Major,” Jenn said. “Whoever that is. I tried to get more from him, but he called me and Val bitches and she took him out.”
Dylan gripped the man’s face and brought the knife to his cheek. “Is that right. That’s not very nice of you.”
More staring, this time coupled with the hint of a smirk. “Piss off.”
“Okay,” Dylan said. “Fine. I’m just trying to be friendly. Establish a rapport. I’ll forgive you for calling my friends mean things if you tell me your name.”
No response.
“Well, I need to call you something, so I’m going to call you Ian. You want to know why?” Before “Ian” could answer, Dylan continued. “I knew an Ian in the army. Real whack job. Guy used to masturbate in the showers when all of us were in there. You remind me of him.”
Sophie sparked another cigarette. The click of her lighter made Ian twitch.
“Now, Ian,” Dylan said and twirled the knife. “You tried to hurt my friends. I won’t bother getting into the ethics of what your crew and what your Major are doing. Frankly, I don’t care about any of you. We’re here to help someone. He’s a good man. Means a lot to us.”
Dylan took Ian’s foot in one hand. Ian began to squirm, but Sophie restrained him while Dylan pulled off his shoe and his sock.
Sweat collected on Jenn’s forehead, and her insides rolled. Her hands were clamming up, so she shoved them into her pockets.
“We’re going to play a game,” Dylan said. “It’s called Questions and Answers, and it’s the easiest game in the world. Here’s how it works. Rule number one: I ask you a question, and you answer honestly. All clear so far?”
Ian licked the blood off his lips.
“I’ll take that as a yes. Okay, so rule number two: if I think you’re lying”—Dylan flicked Ian’s big toe—“I remove a toe.”
Sophie pressed down on Ian’s legs when he tried to squirm some more. He bucked, trying to throw her off. Valeria came over and held him still.
Jenn’s stomach lurched. Dylan wouldn’t actually do it, would he? He was only a scapegoat for what happened in West Ukraine, not an actual murderer. He wasn’t capable of something like this. Jenn wanted to believe that, but the fire in Dylan’s eyes, the stone-serious face, and the mocking tone made her wonder.
“Let’s get started,” Dylan said. “The hospital near here. Does your crew have men there?”
Ian tried to kick, but Valeria kneed him in the ribs. He gasped, and blood fell from his lip. Jenn undid her ponytail and retied it so tight her hair pulled.
Dylan tapped the knife to his chin and continued. “Jeez, Ian, you’re not the smartest tool in the shed, are you? You forget how to play already? Do I need to remind you about rule number one? I don’t think that was an answer.”
“Screw you,” Ian wheezed.
“Have it your way.” Dylan eased the blade toward Ian’s foot, exaggerating the movement for effect.
Unable to watch, Jenn turned away. She loathed Ian, yes—he was nothing but a lowlife thug who preyed on the weak and would have killed her and Valeria if given the chance—but she didn’t want Dylan to cut off his toe. That was too much. There had to be another way, but her courage abandoned her, and she couldn’t speak.
She heard Ian struggling to break free and looked over. Valeria and Sophie pressed down hard to hold him in place.
“I’m going to ask you one more time,” Dylan said. “The hospital—do you have men there?”
Ian kicked again but didn’t answer.
“It’s interesting,” Dylan began. “About toes. Nobody understands how much we use them. Every step we take, we put weight on our big toe. Without it, you’re more or less a cripple.” He wiggled the blade between two toes. Ian’s clenched jaw told Jenn that Dylan had started applying pressure. “You think your Major, or whatever you call him, would be okay with you limping around? Will he still have room on the payroll for you then?”
Ian sucked air between his teeth. “You’re insane, man!”
“Wrong.” Dylan braced Ian’s foot and angled the blade. “You are, for not taking my threats seriously. Maybe you’ll listen after the first one. Sometimes it takes more than that. It’s a good thing we have ten to work with, eh?”
Dylan leaned into the knife, ready to cut.
Jenn thought she might be sick. She’d killed two people this week, but the prospect of Dylan torturing this man revolted her. There had to be other ways to get the information they needed. They could sneak up at night, under cover of darkness, and scout it out. Maybe they could ask Lionel for a flying drone to photograph the area. Or maybe they could find another hospital nearby. Anything that didn’t involve mutilating a human being.
She held up a hand. “Dylan, wait. You don’t have to do this.” The words sounded desperate and pathetic, even to her. “We can try something else.”
He ignored her. “Okay, Ian. Shut your eyes. You’re not going to want to see this.”
Jenn was about to grab Dylan’s arm, but before she could, Ian screamed, “Wait! Wait! I’ll tell you. Please!”
Her knees nearly gave out—whether from nausea or relief, she didn’t know, and she didn’t care.
Dylan had pulled the knife away. “I’m listening.”
Ian vomited words. They came out clipped, and sometimes he spoke so fast that Dylan told him to slow down. Once or twice, he made sniffling sounds like he was crying.
According to Ian, the hospital was indeed occupied. Eight or ten men, he said, all with guns. At least five patrolled outside. When Dylan asked if the building had power, Ian said no. For once, that was a good thing. If it did, its occupants might have access to security cameras.
“What about your Major?” Dylan prodded. “Is he there?”
Ian shook his head. Tears wet his cheeks.
“Where is he?”
“I . . . I don’t know.”
Dylan angled the knife toward Ian’s foot again.
Ian screeched and tried in vain to break free. “I don’t know!” he pleaded. “I swear to God. I never met him. I never even heard his real name. I just joined up because me and my girl hadn’t had any water in two days. Please, you gotta believe me! I told you everything.”
After a long gawk at Ian, Dylan said to Sophie, “You trust this ass hat?”
A shrug from Sophie.
Dylan looked up at Jenn. “You?”
“Yes,” Jenn said quickly. Maybe too quickly, because Dylan raised an eyebrow at her.
Finally, after what felt like minutes, Dylan cleaned the blade of the knife on Ian’s pants and closed it.
“There any windows in the bathroom?” Sophie asked.
“No,” Jenn said, remembering its layout when she and Valeria cleared the house.
Sophie grabbed one of Ian’s arms and lifted. “Val, help me drag this idiot in there. We’ll lock him inside and tie him up to something.”
“No,” Ian protested as the women dragged him down the hall. “You gotta let me go. I won’t tell anyone. I promise.” He smiled as warmly as his bruised face allowed. “Please, you can trust me.” Shooting a frantic glance at Valeria, he said, “I take back what I said. I didn’t mean it. Please! My girl, she’s part Mexican, too. We—”
The slamming of a door cut him off. Muffled shouts continued, but Jenn couldn’t make out the words. While Ian was being restrained, Dylan said to Jenn, “You’re looking a little green, Jansen. You all right?”
“No,” she blurted. Her nausea was turning into rage. “You were going to slice off his toes.”
Dylan’s expression was soft. Apologetic. “No I wasn’t.”
“But you had the—”
“Torture doesn’t work,” he said. “As soon as you hurt someone, they’ll tell you whatever you wan
t to hear, whether it’s the truth or not. But the threat of torture? That’s different. People are usually pretty cooperative when they’re terrified of you.”
His explanation made sense, but it still bothered her. What if Ian hadn’t broken down and talked? Would Dylan have simply let him go? Jenn didn’t think so. The Ukraine story continued to pester her.
After a few minutes, Sophie and Valeria returned. Valeria’s face was flushed red, and there was vulnerability in her features. Pain, even.
“All right, then,” Sophie said. “That was . . . interesting. Can’t say I ever want to see something like that again. I was convinced I was going to throw up for a while there.”
Jenn clung to those words. At least she wasn’t the only one who found this disturbing.
“So,” Sophie continued. “Ten men. Eight if we’re lucky. There’s four of us and Carter. Plus, they’re on the defensive. I’m no Sun Tzu or anything, but that doesn’t sound like particularly favorable odds.”
Sun Tzu. Gary had a copy of his The Art of War on a bookshelf in the office.
“No,” Dylan agreed. He moved into the kitchen and sat on a counter, and the others followed. “But we have the element of surprise and we can wait until dark. Get a look at the place, then sneak in, sneak out. Hospitals are big. Lots of rooms to hide in. Ten men isn’t much if you think about it.”
Jenn leaned her shoulder against the nearest wall. Were they actually doing this? Yesterday, when she volunteered to go to the hospital and find antibiotics for Ed and other supplies for Lionel, the concept seemed vague and surreal. It would be easy, she’d thought. No sneaking around in the dark, no killing. Now they’d been chased by a pickup truck and hunted by men with guns. Was she in over her head?
“Getting inside is the problem,” Sophie was saying. “Ten people is more than enough to cover every entrance into that place.”
The others continued talking. Dylan proposed splitting into two groups. Sophie countered and said they’d be stronger together. Jenn was hardly listening. Gary told her once that only a quarter of the soldiers in modern war ever kill someone. Thanks to drone technology, he thought that number was probably lower now. That meant Jenn had killed more than at least seventy-five percent of the tens of millions mobilized to fight World War Three.
She was a soldier, too. A different type, but still a soldier. She fought to protect the people she cared about. Sam, Nicole, Gary, Maria. Even Ed. Sophie believed in Jenn, and so did Dylan. They loved Ed, so Jenn would help them in any way she could. More than that, this Major, whoever he was, had built himself an empire here in north Phoenix, and Jenn had seen his policies firsthand. If attacking the hospital struck a blow to his operation, however small, it would be a bonus.
“Rusty,” Jenn said over Sophie.
Three sets of eyes fell on her. Dylan spoke first. “I thought about that, but like I said, these drones are meant for urban street fighting. It won’t really be effective in close-quarters combat inside. Plus, it’s bulky and easy to spot. I wish we could use it, but I just don’t see how.”
“No,” Jenn said, still leaning against the wall. A smile tugged at her lips. “We can. I have an idea.”
* * *
Jenn couldn’t sleep. In junior high, she suffered from debilitating test anxiety. When her brother Andrew left for war, she lost her tutor. She would study and study and study, but when it came time for bed the night before an exam, she would lie there, eyes open, staring at the ceiling and overanalyzing everything her brain could overanalyze.
Now, with a body and a bound prisoner locked away in the bathroom of this strange house, she was overanalyzing again.
She lay on the hard laminate floor. Sophie, Valeria, and Carter, whom Dylan and Valeria had fetched as soon as the sun set, were across the room. One of them was snoring. Carter, probably, though Jenn had learned firsthand how ferociously Valeria snored, especially when drunk. The Dodge and the Nissan were parked out front. Rusty was awake and in the back yard, guarding the house.
Rifle in hand, Dylan stood watch at the window. He hadn’t slept a wink all night. Jenn went over and sat next to him, careful to keep herself hidden from anyone outside who might be watching. It was dark, but she wasn’t taking any chances.
“Can’t sleep?” Dylan asked her.
“No point in even trying.”
“Only a couple more hours, anyway.”
They’d agreed to sneak into the hospital at 2:30 a.m. At that time of night, Dylan hoped, moving into position with the trucks and Rusty would be easier than during the day. Maybe a few of the men guarding the place would be asleep.
“Here,” Dylan said. He took a soy protein bar from the windowsill and handed it to her.
“Thanks.” Jenn wasn’t hungry, but she tried to eat anyway. She never had much of an appetite, and her mother always hounded her about eating enough, especially before school or softball games. Now, as she prepared to steal supplies from a well-defended hospital, seemed like as good a time as any.
“I didn’t mean to spook you,” Dylan said. “Earlier, with Ian—or whatever his name is.”
Jenn bit off a piece of the protein bar. It was dry and reminded her of overcooked rice pasta with no sauce. Through a mouthful, she said, “It’s okay. I’m just new to all this.”
“To what?”
“War.” That wasn’t the right word. Although this was war for her, it certainly wasn’t war for Dylan. “Fighting. Whatever.”
Dylan scanned the streets outside. Jenn caught herself taking a look as well. “You’re ahead of the curve,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
“This world we live in now.” The faint moonlight in the window silhouetted his face. Jenn couldn’t read his expression. “Where violence is the law of the land. I’ve seen what the breakdown in society looks like. Petty warlords ruling gangs and taking advantage of people. This’s just the beginning. It’ll get a lot worse before it gets any better.”
“West Ukraine?” Jenn asked, then wished she hadn’t.
“That’s right,” he said. “Who told you?”
She took another bite and chewed.
He crouched beside her, snatched the protein bar, and bit off a piece. “It was Vladdy, wasn’t it?”
“Nope.”
“Val?”
“Yeah,” she admitted. “At the motel. I think she was drunk.”
Dylan sighed through his nose. “Typical Val. Can’t hold her liquor. You know how many beers she had? Less than two. I had to take the second one away before she could finish it.”
“Don’t tell her I blurted that out,” Jenn said. “I promised I wouldn’t say anything to you.”
“Secret’s safe with me.” Then, after a few seconds, “It’s not true. What they say I did. It was BS politics. They needed fall men to save the lieutenant’s ass. Me and two other sergeants went down for it.”
“I know. I believe you.” At first, she didn’t, but really, she had no reason not to. At the bridge in Camp Verde, he might have shot first, but Jenn shot first in this house. Besides a punch to the face, he never hurt Ian, either, just threatened him. That sounded like the behavior of a soldier and someone protecting his friends, not a person who killed defenseless women and children. Jenn would have done all those same things and more.
She considered asking him about what happened, but Gary said that Liam struggled to share his experiences from West Ukraine. The last thing she wanted was to trigger painful memories, so she picked the rest of the protein bar from his fingers and stuffed it into her mouth with a wry smile.
Dylan shot her a harmless glare and tucked the wrapper into his pocket.
Jenn checked on Sophie, who lay on her side in the living room, asleep. “Sophie said something interesting this morning,” she whispered to Dylan.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah.” She looked over to Sophie again. Still sleeping. “Did she ever have a kid?”
Dylan’s gaze drifted toward Sophie. When she didn’t
stir, he said, “You really can’t go blabbing about this if I tell you. Sophie will literally shoot me in the gut.”
Jenn shifted her butt and brought her knees close to her chest.
He must have taken that as her agreeing to his terms. “Apparently she and Ed got pregnant when they were like seventeen. This was out where they’re from originally. Indiana somewhere.” Someone made a gargling sound, and Dylan paused. When the house went quiet again, he continued. “Her parents were deadbeats. The dad was a drunk, I think. Abusive. All that.”
Jenn’s talk with Sophie from the day before they left returned to her. She’d mentioned her father’s death in a cold, almost emotionless way. At the time, Jenn thought nothing of it. Now it made sense.
“Anyway, they wanted her to terminate the pregnancy. She said no and married Ed instead.”
“So her kid lives in Indiana still? With her parents?”
Dylan’s head dropped. “She lost it. Miscarriage.”
That hit Jenn like a fastball to the temple.
“I think they moved out here a year or two later,” Dylan said. “To take over the shop from Ed’s grandparents. Staying at home was too hard. Pretty sure Sophie hasn’t been there since.”
“Why didn’t she try to have another kid?”
Dylan checked outside again. “She did, but it never happened. Some medical reason why. I don’t really know the details. It’s too bad. Being a mom was all that mattered to her for a while. Ed supported her every step of the way, obviously, because that’s what Ed does.”
Jenn couldn’t imagine how awful that would be. It wasn’t fair that Sophie had wanted a child so badly when Jenn’s birth parents gave her up like someone might send back food at a restaurant. “Why didn’t she adopt a baby instead?”
She almost told Dylan that she was adopted, but sharing that detail felt too personal, even now. Maybe some other time. Then again, he could have figured it out already. After all, she wasn’t tall, light-haired, and blue-eyed like her last name implied.
“No idea,” he said. “I never thought to ask.”
Jenn hummed an acknowledgment. “How do you know about all this, anyway?”
