“They’re alive,” I say. He looks up sharply at my words. “Christina and Rob, they’re alive.”
He shakes his head, his voice a low growl. “You lie. It took nearly a month, but finally Boss let me scout alone. First chance I got I went back to the farm, but it was too late. They were gone, and the place had been taken over by a roaming gang. I lost it, seeing them in my home like that. I attacked. The place was a bloodbath by the time I was finished, but not before I learned the truth: my wife and son were dead, killed by those pieces of filth the night they took the place. One of the men confessed before he bled out, gloated about it. So don’t paint me a fantasy, Morgan. Not when I know the truth.”
I lean forward. “That man lied to you,” I say. “I don’t know why. Maybe he just wanted to torture you. But it’s not true. I’ve known you over half my life, Frank. I wouldn’t lie to you about your family.”
His stare is piercing, brows narrowed in mistrust. But slowly, my words sink in, his features softening as he realizes what I say is true.
“They’re alive.” The words are hardly more than a whisper, his face one of stunned disbelief. His eyes settle on mine once more, desperate now for the information I have. “Tell me everything.”
I oblige, my turn now to explain the events that led me here. I start with our arrival at the farm, and the challenges we’ve faced to ensure our survival. I explain how Rob found us and told us of the conditions he and his mother were subjected to while being kept on the Sawyer’s Ranch. Rescuing Christina; killing Pete Sawyer and his lackeys; allowing the few survivors of the ranch to join us; I include it all. I speak of Felix’s guilt, and our decision to help him search the town despite so many risks. I tell him of Lylette and Byron and sparing as many details as I can, tell him of their vision of building a community.
“We were planning on visiting their operation first hand,” I say. “We’d already searched everywhere we could think of. It killed Felix, but even he knew it was time to move on—to accept he wasn’t going to find you...and then there you were. Can’t say the universe doesn’t have a sense of humor.”
Frank has not interrupted me once since I started speaking, soaking in my words in an almost manic intensity. Still, I can tell that learning these truths is as much a burden as they are a relief. I saw it in the way his face lit up after hearing of Rob’s arrival, and in the shadow that fell upon learning of the suffering he and his mother received at the hands of a man he once considered a friend. Now that I’ve finished I see the longing in his face—the desire to see them, hold them in his own arms. It’s a desire I know will not fade. Justifying the deeds he’s done for the survival of his girls is one thing. But knowing now that the rest of his family still lives? He’ll put everything he has into making his family whole. At least, that’s what I’m counting on. Because if I know one thing, it’s that I won’t make it out alive without his help.
“I’ve always thought of you as family,” I say, pulling him away from his thoughts. “The things you’ve done, what’s happened this morning, doesn’t change that.” I pause, taking the opportunity to lean closer, guaranteeing I have his full attention. If I’m going to make a play for his help, now is the time.
“Nothing in this life matters without family and friends,” I say, speaking the words for the second time today. “Do you still believe so? Or is that man truly gone?”
A fire burns inside him—that wild, unchecked courage that only burns inside the young. He’s not the first to enter here with such spirit, resolved to withstand the horrors that would soon follow. A chill runs down my spine as I think of those poor souls—of the flames that were snuffed within these very walls. I should know. For months, my job has been to mold the soldiers of this army. But to mold them, first, I had to break them. It’s why this room exists, everything within it a tool for me to use. Some lasted longer than others, but eventually, all who’ve entered this room have been broken, molded into something else. Me most of all.
Every scar I inflicted, every scream I extracted, every moment spent within these cursed walls have taken their toll. I feel it in my very soul—a darkness born of the sins I’ve committed. Frank Chavez vanished months ago. In his place as has risen El Matador, one of Boss’s three captains, charged with managing the army he’s amassed. I hate him, but out of necessity, I’ve lost myself in him. Now I stand at a crossroads, either path irrevocable in the course they will send me.
We had heard rumors of the community he spoke of, of their recruitment inside the town. It’s the reason behind our raid this morning, why I was tasked with leading it. Their growing numbers, their proximity to the town, it poses a threat. And now I have proof of its existence. I could force the truth out of his companions, use the tools at my disposal to break them as I have so many before. I would report to Boss, and he would order a strike force large enough to crush their fledgling community. It would be massive, and it would be complicated, and I could use the ensuing frenzy to sneak my girls away. I could return home. I could make my family whole again.
“Nothing in this life matters without family and friends.” His words echo inside my head. “Do you still believe so, or is that man truly gone?”
It’s not a question I can so easily answer. But in my heart, I know that if I do this, if I torture the truth out of his companions and leave him behind to suffer Boss’s wrath, Frank Chavez will cease to exist. El Matador will be all that I am. The realization hits like a slap in the face. Suddenly, I know with complete certainty the path I must take. There will be risks. Danger. But it is the only way my family can ever truly be whole. I turn toward the fiery young man before me, a rush of affection I have not felt in months blooming inside my chest.
“I don’t know if that man still exists, Morgan,” I say. “But we’re going to find out.”
We discuss all of the options available to us. I draw out a map of the hotel, going into as much detail as I can. I mark hallways and stairwells, exits and areas most occupied with soldiers. I walk him through our security: snipers, patrols, barricades. I include anything I can think to mention, anything at all that could help us figure out a way out of this. In return, he gives me information, telling me of those left at the farm, and the kind of firepower they have stockpiled. When the time comes, we’ll almost certainly need outside help. Which means I have a house call to make, a prospect that gives me goosebumps just thinking of seeing my wife and son again. We continue as long as we can so as not to arouse suspicion.
I return him to the holding area, faking cosmetic injuries lest the guards grow suspicious. I expect to continue onto the others when a runner informs me that Boss has requested my presence in the War Room. Climbing the stairs, I feel only a fragment of the hatred which usually consumes me at Boss’s summonings. Perhaps because I am finally working against him as I’ve always wanted to.
I enter the War Room to find everyone already seated around the table. At the head is Boss. To his left, sits Captain Vonn. To his right, sits his brother and second in command: Captain Barr. Beside Barr is an unfamiliar man, his clothing ragged, his hair and beard a matted mess. He casts me a quick, furtive glance, our eyes meeting long enough for me to discern the shameful resolve in his stare. I know that look well—a look I’ve seen in my own reflection too many times to count. Whatever’s brought this man here, it can’t be anything good.
“Matador,” Boss says, tipping his head in greeting. “Congratulations on this morning’s raid. I knew I could count on you to get the job done.” I hate hearing the approval in his voice, seeing the cold satisfaction in his eyes. I hate knowing that I’m the reason for both. I want so badly to reach out and wipe the smirk from his face, to hurt him the way I’ve hurt so many on his orders. Soon, I tell myself. Soon you’ll have your chance. For now, I bottle my emotions, acknowledging his words with a nod as I take my place at the table.
“Thank you, sir,” I say smoothly. “I’ve already begun the interrogations.”
“Glad to hear it,” he s
ays. “But for now, they can wait.”
Boss shifts his gaze to the man on my left. My eyes follow, alarm bells ringing in the back of my mind. Boss has been after the community Morgan spoke of for some time, ever since we learned of their presence and recruitment within the town. What could this man possibly have to offer that would make him cease the interrogations?
“Do you recall the break-in we had at the end of summer?” Boss asks.
As if I could forget. Nearly a dozen of our soldiers killed, grunts escaping in every direction, Molotov cocktails exploding against our first responders. It was chaos. We were the predators who stalked at night. To have the tables flipped on us was not something we were prepared for.
Naturally, we retaliated. We hunted down as many of the escapees as we could, bringing them back alive whenever possible. Some chose to fight back, to attack us with whatever they could get their hands on. They were killed of course, put down as if they were pets who had turned rabid. In truth, they were the lucky ones. At least they were spared the days that followed, the pain and suffering those we captured were subjected to, a warning to the remaining grunts. In the end, they too met their deaths. They begged for them.
“Of course, sir,” I say, anxiety rising inside me.
“We found them!” Barr speaks in place of his brother, unable to hold back his excitement any longer. “The bastards who did it.”
“You’re certain?” I ask, nodding to the unnamed man. “ He has proof?”
Barr looks to the man, a twisted leer on his face. Wordlessly, he snatches an upturned photo from the table and hands it to me. I stare at it for what feels like an age. My face doesn’t betray me, the emotionless mask I’ve earned after months of servitude hiding the current that ripples beneath the surface.
A family stands captured in time, their smiles grand and true, assembled around an elderly man who sits before a giant cake, two numbered candles lit, marking his 90th birthday. Far to the left, almost out of frame, stands the man at our table. Three of the faces have been circled in pen. A boy and a girl who look to be in their mid-teens stand just behind the old man, their faces more youthful than I ever saw them in person, but no less recognizable. And they are not the only faces I recognize.
“I never forget a face,” Barr says, his words a low growl. He reaches and taps his finger on the third person circled. “He was behind it, I’d bet my life on it. That makes it twice he’s gotten the better of us. It won’t happen a third.”
“Captain Barr and yourself will lead the engagement,” Boss says. “Bring him in alive. I want his screams to echo down every hallway, up every stairwell. I want to make an example of him: a warning to anyone foolish enough to cross us. I wouldn’t task this on anyone but you. I know you’ll get the job done.”
Details of the engagement follow: men, resources, firepower. The scope of the operation is massive, larger by far than any we’ve ever attempted. It’s proof of how badly Boss wants the man who attacked us. Only the plan won’t work. It can’t because the man they seek isn’t there. He’s here, two floors below our feet. Now everything he and I discussed before this meeting is for naught. And if I don’t figure out something in the next few hours, both of our families will feel the full extent of Boss’s cruelty.
Chapter 25: (Lauren)
The sun fades at our backs, the temperature dropping as the light grows weaker. Not that I feel the cold. My anxiety keeps me numb from such things. The wait was torture, the walls around me like a cage I couldn’t break free of. Only through sheer force of will was I able to resist the urge to leave, to throw caution to the wind and return to the farm alone. But after the fiasco this morning there was bound to be patrols in the area. Getting caught wouldn’t help anyone.
We make up for the hours lost, covering the snowy terrain as fast as we can manage. It’s still too slow. Already Leon and Morgan have been at the Animal’s mercy for too long. Just thinking about it fills me with dread. Surely they were taken for a reason. And knowing what they’re capable of, I know it can’t be anything good.
I push myself harder, desperate to move faster, to outrun the thoughts plaguing my mind. No such luck. I’ve not felt fear like this in some time; not since Denver, not since the journey home. Memories of the trail return to me: of the night Morgan was captured in Salida, and the unrelenting worry that followed. I remember waiting with Maya as Emily fought off her infection, waiting to learn of Morgan’s fate. In so many ways this situation reminds me of then. Only this time I will not simply sit and wait. I will do everything in my power to free the man I love. I don’t care about the odds, the danger. I won’t give up on him. He would never give up on me.
Night has fallen in earnest by the time we reach the driveway, the house standing like a darkened shadow at the end. A voice rings out of the shadows, warning us of our trespassing.
“It’s us, Richard,” Emily yells out.
A spotlight shines down, scanning each of our faces in turn.
“Where are Morgan and Leon?” Richard asks. “Who the hell are these people?”
“They’re friends,” she says. “Look, we have a lot to discuss, and it’s freezing as hell out here.”
Richard is silent a beat. “Come inside. But your friends hand over their weapons or they don’t enter.”
“Then we don’t enter,” Byron says.
“Byron—” Felix is cut off before he can even get a second word out.
“No!” Byron says. “We’re not handing over our weapons. We may be here, but make no mistake, that doesn’t mean that I trust you! If we didn’t need help getting our people back—people captured by your uncle—we wouldn’t be here at all. So we enter with our weapons, or we take our chances alone.”
Felix stares at Byron for a quick moment and nods. “They keep their weapons,” he calls up to Richard.
“The hell if they—” it’s my turn to cut someone off.
“They’re keeping their Goddamn weapons!” I shout. “If you want to shoot us, shoot us, but we’re wasting time we don’t have. We’re coming in.” I march forward, the others following close behind me. From above I hear Richard curse, but he doesn’t try and stop us. We walk around to the back entrance, the door opening for us as we reach the porch.
The moment I enter I am nearly tackled to the floor by Grace, her thin arms squeezing me for all they’re worth. I squeeze back even tighter, barely able to keep the tears from falling as she sobs silently into my chest.
“I’m here Gracie,” I whisper. “I’m here.”
I needed this more than I realized—a moment where all the pain of the outside world cannot touch me—where nothing exists but Gracie and me. Just the two of us. Like it used to be. I fight to hold onto the moment as long I can, but already I feel it slipping away. It’s in the swell of voices, the movement of those around us. It reminds me that it’s no longer just the two of us. It hasn’t been for some time now.
Finally, I break the moment, untangling myself from Grace’s arms. I scan the faces before me, my eyes drawn to Mrs. Taylor’s like a pair of magnets. I know those eyes well, seen them in her son every day since this all began. I search them now, hoping they might settle my nerves as they so often have before. But it doesn’t help. If anything they grow worse, weighed with what I must tell her.
“Morgan and Leon were captured earlier this morning,” I say. I nearly have to shout to be heard over the others. When they hear me, they grow quiet. I shake my head, dreading this next line most of all. “They were taken by the Animas Animals.”
The noise returns. Curses and questions sound from every corner of the room, everyone vying for their voices to be heard over the others. I hardly hear them, my attention still on Mrs. Taylor whose eyes close at the news, the composed facade she normally maintains betraying her as it all hits home. Beside her, Mr. Taylor steps forward and wraps his arms around Emily.
“It’s going to be alright,” he says, voice cracking with grief. “It’s all going to be alright.”
/> I don’t know if she believes him. I don’t know if he even believes himself. But in her father’s arms, she comes undone, no longer holding back the flood of emotions she’s fought so hard to repress. Mrs. Taylor moves forward and I shift to the side, certain she too wishes to embrace her daughter. To my surprise, however, it’s me she reaches for, wrapping me firmly in her arms.
“Thank God you’re alright,” she says, the relief in her voice genuine and heartfelt. Hearing it, feeling the warmth of her love as she holds me close, it’s all too much for me to handle. I break. The guilt, the worry, the hate—it all comes pouring out of me.
“I’m sorry,” I say, barely coherent. “I...I should’ve—”
“Shhh...” she breathes into my ear, the sound low and soothing. “If there was anything you could have done to bring my boy home, you would have. I know that as certain as I know anything.”
Fresh tears squeeze past my eyelids at her commendation. The woman is amazing. Embracing me as if I were her own, easing my pain with words of comfort when inside her own pain must be agony. It’s proof of her enduring strength. I lean on that strength now, feeding off it until I feel it in myself. I don’t know if there was anything else I could have done. In any case, it’s too late. Nothing I or anyone else does can change what’s happened. But I didn’t come here to mourn and grieve. I came because I’m not the only one who cares for them. And if I’m going to stand a chance in hell in getting them back, I’m going to need some help.
“Thank you,” I say, breaking the hug and quickly wiping my eyes. I don’t even know what I thank her for. For the hug? For her words? For actually caring whether or not I live or die? Perhaps for all of it. And from the way she looks at me now, I know she understands all the same.
A Cruel and Violent Storm Page 29
