#RedTeam Attack

by S J Grey

  “Griff,” shouted Caleb.

  “Down here,” came the reply.

  They followed. Down and down—the equivalent of two flights. The walls were painted a shiny grey, and the steps covered in quality carpet. An ornate handrail was fastened to the wall. Concealed lights were soft. The whole setup reeked of money.

  They spiralled down further.

  Caleb’s heart thundered in his chest. Why weren’t they coming out? “Jonathan? Andi?” He tried the comm again but just heard static.

  He tried to think. He’d heard Jonathan a few minutes ago. Was he still in the building then, or down here?

  “Shit. Shit.” Griff kicked at a sturdy looking door. “It’s fucking locked. We need that door-buster the cops used.”

  Maybe not. Andi wasn’t the only one who could pick a lock.

  While Miller shouted into a hissing radio, Caleb dug into his pocket for the modified Swiss Army knife he carried. He’d added a set of tiny lock picks, no bigger than a standard car key.

  “They must be behind it,” said Griff. “It’s got a giant freaking spring. It’d close automatically if it wasn’t blocked open.”

  “I need a minute,” said Caleb. He peered at the lock. He knew how to pick this, but that was with a steady hand, when his heart was calm and hands weren’t damp. And without a cop watching over his shoulder.

  “Go find something to block it open,” he said to Griff. “Go, man.”

  “But—”

  “I need to focus. Shut the fuck up.”

  This time, Griff darted back up the stairs.

  “Can you do it?” Miller asked.

  Caleb gritted his teeth. “We’ll find out in a minute.” He tried to centre himself. Like a rugby player about to kick for the winning point, he sought the calm inside himself. He wiped his sweaty hands on his jeans and inserted the first pick—the tension wrench. The trick here was to apply a small amount of pressure, and then insert the second pick.

  So far, so good. A trickle of perspiration ran down his temple.

  With his left hand, he held the pressure on the tension wrench, while with his right, he scrubbed the pick back and forth in the key hole. One by one, the pins reset.

  The mechanism clicked. The lock opened.

  Thank fuck. Caleb sagged, his knees trembling. He snapped the picks away, while Griff and Miller hauled the door open and jammed a telephone directory in the door frame, to stop it from closing. The door was thick and heavy and lined with metal. A remnant of the nuclear bunker?

  “Holy fuck.” Miller sounded appalled.

  Caleb lifted his head and looked into the corridor. It stretched away from them, its rounded walls and roof like a giant sewer, but clean and polished and shiny with glittering paint. Tiny lights gleamed from the ceiling, and carpet lined the floor.

  What was he missing?

  A shelf ran along the wall on both sides, fairy lights twisting the length of it.

  Wait a minute. They weren’t fairy lights. The wires were connected to small, white blocks. They looked like power transformers.

  “Plastic explosives,” said Miller. “This must be what your girl saw.”

  “Andi.” Griff yelled her name. He sprinted down the corridor.

  “Get out,” said Miller to Caleb. “Get back up the stairs and tell the officers to get the fuck out of the building. Now.”

  “Is that where you’re going?”

  “Don’t say I didn’t tell you to leave.” Miller was racing away, following Griff.

  Caleb went with him.

  The corridor would be taking them under the street, and if he was right, towards the Greek restaurant. He turned a corner. Skidded to a halt. What the hell?

  The room was cavernous. The size he expected to find under the restaurant.

  The lighting was different. Red bulbs, bathing the floor and walls in a dark colour, like blood. The carpet was gone, replaced with shiny vinyl. Padded leather benches were positioned on small raised stages, along with shelves filled with ropes, chains, and whips.

  It was noisy. A muted thumping sounded, like a bassline, and then a higher pitched sound. Plates breaking? He was right underneath the entertainment. His guess was spot on.

  “Andi.” Griff’s voice was choked.

  Caleb spun around, and there she was, wrapped in Griff’s arms.

  “Hurry,” she said and pulled herself free. “We need to get the girls out. They’re locked up. I’m picking them as fast as I can. Kaali isn’t here.”

  “My radio is dead,” said Miller. “How many girls?”

  “Too many.” Tugging Griff by the hand, she pulled a door open, and Caleb saw past her. Saw the horror of it.

  Metal-barred cages lined the walls, like a giant’s pet shop. Instead of animals, naked girls huddled in them. Some were bleeding. Most were bruised. All wore metal cuffs around their throats. Two cages were open. Two girls stood free, their arms wrapped around themselves.

  “Jesus,” whispered Caleb. He tasted bile. This was beyond perverted.

  “We need the Defence Force to sort out the explosives,” said Miller. He looked shaken. He turned around and stared at the dungeon—because there was no other word for it. “If they go off, there’s nothing to stop the blast coming in here. Nothing except this flimsy fucking door. We need to close it while we release the girls.”

  Caleb tried his comm again, but it just hissed at him. Miller’s radio was equally non-responsive.

  Would his phone still work? It didn’t rely on radio waves.

  He had one bar of signal. It wasn’t much, but it might be enough. “Phones are working,” he said.

  He sent a text—easier than making a call—to Jonathan and the entire Red Team.

  Caleb: in the basement now. need defence force asap. With andi and griff and miller

  Miller was furiously texting too. He looked up at Caleb. “I’ve no idea if it’s on a timer or remote detonation. You free as many as you can. I’ll try to get help, to stop this thing from going off.”

  Caleb nodded. He didn’t have words.

  “One last thing,” said Miller. “Take pictures. When we find the bastards who did this, every bit of evidence will help put them away. And keep this door closed behind me.”

  Was this why the door at the other end of the corridor was so thick? To withstand an explosion? Was that the plan if the police raided? Evacuate the clients and blow the dungeon—and the girls—to pieces?

  Bastards wasn’t a strong enough word.

  Caleb shook his head. He needed to help Andi. She was on her knees, attacking one of the padlocks, so he took another. Bolt cutters would be quicker, but they had none.

  He checked his phone. There was a reply from Nat.

  Nat: calling DF now. Is J with you?

  Caleb: No

  There was no time for anything more. There might not be enough time to free the girls, but he sure as shit wasn’t running away and leaving them trapped in their cages.

  He tugged off his jacket and handed it to Griff. “They need it more than me.”

  He worked as quickly as he could, feeling for the tumblers and ripping the lock open. Griff tugged the girl out, while Caleb went to work on the next. How long would this take? If the explosives were on a timer, it could go any second. Or would it be triggered by a phone call, like in a terrorist attack?

  Caleb had to wipe his face with his arm and keep going.

  Another girl free.

  No more texts.

  Where the fuck was Jonathan?

  The door opened and closed again, and Caleb glanced up.

  It was Miller. “Defence Force are on their way, to try—”

  The floor jerked beneath Caleb’s feet. There was a roar, like an express train, coming towards him.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Something was wrong. Caleb knew his eyes were open, but he couldn’t see anything. Was he blind? Or did the lights go out?

  His head hurt. Did he bang it on something?

  Over
the incessant ringing in his ears, came another sound. Moaning. A woman crying?

  He rubbed his eyes. Mistake. He smeared dust or grit or something into them, and now they streamed. And stung.

  The plastic explosive. Jesus fuckin’ Christ. It’d gone off.

  He was alive. Couldn’t see a damn thing, but his heart was beating and his hearing worked. He was lying on his side. Must have been blown off his feet. Gingerly, he felt around him, sweeping his arms into space.

  Where were the others? “Andi,” he tried to say, but his throat was full of dust, and it came out as a croak. He coughed. Spat. Tried again. “Andi? Griff? Miller?”

  “Over here,” rasped a male voice.

  Caleb didn’t know if it was Griff or the cop, but the relief of someone answering was immense.

  “I can’t find my phone,” said the voice. “Do you have yours?”

  Good question. It was at Caleb’s feet when he was picking the lock. He pushed himself into a sitting position and immediately regretted it. Holy shit, his back hurt. And his shoulders. And his head. It felt like he’d taken a kicking. Pain lanced across his skull, and for a second, he thought he was going to throw up. He swallowed. Held it in.

  Phone. He had to find his cellphone. He patted the floor. It was littered in chunks of something hard and dusty. And a wet patch. He froze. Fuck. Was that blood? His own or someone else’s?

  Breathing hurt too. His lungs felt clogged with dust. It was on his tongue. Coating his teeth.

  His heart galloped along like a runaway racehorse, and he felt sick.

  He didn’t want to be here. Panic was a heartbeat away.

  He forced himself to keep searching. Sifting through the mess. His fingers closed around smooth metal. A phone.

  “Got it,” he whispered, because talking wasn’t happening.

  He rubbed the surfaces with his hand. Turned it around, searching for the home button.

  Found it. He pushed the button. It lit up. The screen was cracked to fuck, the case hanging off it, but it might still work. He swiped up for the menu, and then hit the torch option.

  The light flickered, but then held.

  Thank. Fuck.

  With shaking hands, he raised the beam and shone it around. Dear God. He thought this place looked like a giant’s pet shop earlier. Now that vengeful giant had swept his hand through the room and smashed it to pieces. The ceiling hung in tatters, light bulbs dangling on wires, and concrete dust swirling in a thick fog.

  Miller was hunched over and coughing fit to burst, a hand over his mouth. What about Andi and Griff?

  Caleb swung the torch to the right, to where Andi had been standing. A tangle of bars and metal lay there now. Shit. The poor girls in their cages.

  He coughed and spat again onto the ground. Moved the torchlight and saw a flash of bright red.

  Was it his? Aww, man. His right leg looked bad. The denim was ripped below the knee, and the skin underneath was churned up like hamburger meat. Christ, that hurt.

  He couldn’t look at it now. They had to get out. Somehow.

  “Shine the light over here,” croaked Miller, and Caleb did so.

  “Got it.” The cop tugged a phone from underneath a boot. A boot?

  Caleb glanced at his own feet. Both still attached, motorcycle boots still in place.

  Was it Griff’s? Where was he? Where was Andi?

  “My phone’s got no signal,” said Miller. “Yours?”

  Idiot. He didn’t think to look for that. He ran his fingers across the top of the cracked screen, to clear the dirt. “One bar,” he whispered. He could contact the outside world with one bar of signal. He could do a lot with that.

  He sent a text. He couldn’t focus properly on the screen, and his fingers jabbed all the wrong places, but it was a text of sorts. He replied to the most recent message, the conversation with Nat.

  Caleb: nd hlp

  Caleb: snd hip

  It vibrated moments later. He squinted at the message, the letters distorted by the broken screen.

  Nat: thk fck u r still alive, sendg hlp now

  Caleb swallowed around the lump that appeared in his throat. “Help is on the way.”

  “Good work,” said Miller, before coughing his guts up some more. “Let’s check on the others.”

  That required movement, and moving hurt like hot knives driving into Caleb’s spine. His lungs protested, but he did it. He rolled to his knees and shoved up, to stand wobbly as a new-born foal. His right leg burned like it was on fire.

  He was fucking swaying with the effort of being upright, but he was alive, and Nat was sending help.

  Miller shuffled to his side. “Fuck,” said the cop. “Help me.”

  Griff lay face down, his back covered with debris. He was shielding Andi. Together, Caleb and Miller pushed away the chunks of concrete, and Miller hunkered down with a groan and pressed his fingers to Griff’s throat.

  “He’s alive,” he said. “Andi too.”

  She lifted her head. “Griff? Babe? Are you okay?” She immediately started coughing.

  “Hang on,” said Caleb. With Miller’s help, they lifted Griff’s arm and tugged Andi free, then positioned Griff on his side. He might have spinal injuries, but they couldn’t leave him face down in a sea of dust.

  “Oh my God. Oh my God.” Andi knelt in the dirt, her hands to her face, her gaze on what used to be the corner of the cell.

  The girls that huddled together earlier now lay in a heap, arms and legs tangled in unnatural positions, eyes open and sightless.

  Caleb wanted to throw up. What about the girls in the cages? Someone was crying. There was at least one survivor. The cages were strewn across the floor like oversized dice, the girls inside tumbled around.

  “Look after Griff,” Caleb told Andi. He needed to help Miller with the cages.

  They worked through them, searching for survivors. Two girls were alive and crying. The rest were silent.

  Did he still have his lockpicks? Yes, they were in his pocket. He couldn’t hold them still enough to use.

  “Let me.” Miller plucked the tools from Caleb’s hand. His hands weren’t steady either, but he managed to get the padlocks open, and that was more than Caleb could do.

  A cop, picking locks. It sounded like the punchline for a bad joke, but Caleb didn’t want to laugh. He wanted to get out of here. Get outside, breathe fresh air, see the sky. Feel clean, cold rain on his face.

  He wanted that so badly. But he wasn’t the only one stuck in here.

  They found three girls alive. The rest—at least eight that he counted—were dead. What a fucking waste of life. They were young, all of them. Abused and tortured, and then killed.

  He couldn’t look at them. He crawled on his hands and knees to where Griff lay unconscious with Andi holding his hand.

  “He’s breathing,” she said, her voice tight. “He pushed me out of the way and covered me, the stupid, brave idiot. When he wakes up, I’m going to rip him a new one for being so heroic.”

  “Nat says help is on the way.” Caleb told her. He couldn’t stay in this room a second longer. Not with all the bodies lying here.

  Miller’s phone torch held steady, so Caleb ventured out into the dungeon—or what was left of it. The ceiling was bowed, and great slabs of concrete blocked his path. He skirted around them and tried to find the tunnel. Their exit.

  It was gone. The strings of plastic explosive were effective. As far as Caleb could tell, the tunnel had collapsed. There was no way out.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  “It’s blocked,” Caleb told Miller. “There’s no way to get to us.” They survived the blast. They had to survive this.

  “There has to be another exit,” said Miller. “We just need to find it.”

  “How? Go take a look out there.” It was useless. The rescue party would have to come down from above them. Dig a hole in the street and tunnel down.

  Oh no. It wasn’t the street directly above them; it was the restaurant
. Where Emma was having dinner with her friends.

  Caleb typed out another shaky text and sent it to Nat.

  Caleb: Em in grk rest is she ok

  He made himself take a calming breath and then sent her a text too.

  Caleb: Em pls say u r ok

  Nat replied a few seconds later.

  Nat: Don’t worry about that. Focus on getting out of there.

  Fuck. That wasn’t a yes. It was a perfectly typed message from someone who thought carefully about what to say.

  Caleb: Tl me t truth is Em ok

  Nat: I don’t know yet. The emergency services are here. We’re trying to figure out how to get to you. How many are there, and how badly are you hurt? Is the tunnel blocked?

  Logic told Caleb that if the ceiling above him had fallen in, then the restaurant had been affected.

  Fuck.

  It was Caleb who told Emma to stay there. And she did. If she died, it would be on him. He sent her another text.

  Caleb: Em, pls reply I nd to know u r ok

  Nothing.

  Caleb clutched the phone to his chest and tried to think. Nat wanted information. He had to reply. His hands were trembling too much to type properly.

  Caleb: Grif dwn Andi n Mlr n me r ok

  Caleb: 3 grls alive. Rst ded

  While Caleb texted, Miller stumbled around the walls, banging on them with a metal bar. Part of one of the cages. The thumping echoed inside Caleb’s brain, straining his last nerve to breaking point.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” He tried to shout, and immediately regretted it when he inhaled another mouthful of dust.

  “There has to be another exit. I’m trying to find it. Also, the emergency services will follow the noise.” Miller limped over to Caleb and placed a hand on his shoulder. “We’ll get out of here. Stay calm. You’re doing fine. Keep sending messages to the people looking for us. They need to know we’re still alive.”

  The contact was unsettling, but it jarred something in Caleb’s memory.

  He thought hard. “In the restaurant basement, people heard women crying behind the brick wall.”

  Miller nodded. “And if that wall was a temporary structure, hastily thrown up to partition the restaurant from the bunker, that’s our weak spot.”