The Mad Mick: Book One of The Mad Mick Series

by Franklin Horton

  "Spit it out. What are you thinking?" Top Cat asked. “Get it out of your system.”

  Lester looked at his boss with the same reluctance and grave seriousness one might use when bringing up the sighting of a ghost. "You think somebody might be following us?"

  Top Cat made some sort of dismissive grunt. "I fucking doubt it. There’s twenty-two of us. Who’s going to set out after twenty-two men?”

  “There were twenty-two men. There aren’t anymore. You’re counting men who haven’t come back and might not ever come back.”

  “I’m going to sleep,” Top Cat said, signaling an end to the conversation. “You should do the same.”

  “I’m taking watch,” Lester replied.

  “You’re a boss. You can make someone else do it.”

  “I’m good. I’m not ready to call it a night yet.”

  Lester voluntarily taking a watch concerned Top Cat a little. Although he suspected the man might be up to something, he wasn’t ready to lose sleep over it. The man didn’t like him but he didn’t think he’d do anything about it. Yet.

  It took a while but Barb allowed herself to fall asleep, knowing she’d need her rest for what lay ahead of her. Later, she awoke with a start as if something inside her mind had elbowed her awake. The forest was silent except for the deep breathing and snores of the people sleeping around her. It was the deepest part of night. It was time. Her odds were the best they would likely be.

  She shifted, acting as if she were simply stretching in her sleep. She positioned her head to where she should have been able to see the guard but she didn't see anyone. Men were strewn about the camp like discarded toys in a playroom. Some lay collapsed awkwardly as if their batteries had run down and they toppled over. It was impossible to tell which of them was supposed to be the man on duty.

  From her father's background in covert operations, Barb had learned the importance of having basic survival gear on your person at all times. Conor always carried enough kit with him that, should he be separated from his gear, he’d be able to make it to safety, whether safety meant an embassy, a hotel room, a foreign border, or a forward operating base. He’d impressed the importance of everyday preparedness on his daughter as well.

  Conor started off carrying a money belt that contained some basic survival gear. Eventually he found a better belt. He and Barb each wore one now as part of their everyday carry. Unlike money belts, this one didn't require removing the belt and unzipping it to access the hidden compartment. It was constructed of two layers of webbing sewn together at the bottom and sealed with Velcro at the top. With a little effort, you could work a finger between the layers and access the hidden compartments while wearing the belt.

  Each item was affixed in place so you always knew where it would be located on the belt. A single stitch of thread held a handcuff key where it could be accessed in an emergency and pulled free. A single drop of hot glue held a packet of fishing line and hooks in a fixed position. A short ferro rod for starting fires was in a sleeve beside a sealed plastic bag of Vaseline-soaked cotton balls. Most importantly at this moment, a spot of hot glue held a single edged razor blade inside the belt, protected by a cardboard sleeve.

  Barb had to move painfully slow to avoid tugging the rope and waking the other prisoners but she finally worked a finger into the belt. The belt was cinched fairly tight, which worked against her. She’d lost weight like most folks as a result of the change in diet and the increased level of physical activity. That meant a tighter belt to keep the jeans from falling off. Despite that restriction, she was eventually able to get through the Velcro and between the layers of webbing exactly at the point where the razor blade should be.

  With some deft manipulation of her finger she found the protected back edge of the blade. She twisted her fingers to widen the opening in the belt as much as she could, then pinched the razor blade. Holding tightly, she pulled it from the spot where it was glued. Once she had it in front of her, she used her other hand to slip the protective sleeve from the blade. She formed a small loop of rope in front of her, holding it tightly so she could apply cutting pressure without creating any unnecessary movement. The brand new razor blade cut quickly and in a few careful strokes she’d severed the rope and unthreaded it from between her arms.

  JoAnn and Barb had been sitting side-by-side on the ground when they were roped together. The overall length of the rope restricted how far the women could move apart, so to some extent they slept like a pile of puppies in a basket. As the tablecloths they used for blankets provided little warmth, the contact of the other bodies was also a welcome source of heat. This meant Barb needed to move slowly and carefully to avoid jostling a neighbor. That was difficult for her. With her hands free, it was like someone had stepped on the gas pedal and flooded her with adrenaline. Barb wanted nothing more than to bolt upright and run like hell.

  She slipped her hand over JoAnn's mouth to muffle any cries of surprise and placed her mouth next to the woman's ear. "Wake up, JoAnn. It’s Barb. We have to go. Don't make any noise."

  Barb could only see the faintest outline of JoAnn’s face but knew her first expression would be panic. It must have been the hands on her that stirred this fear reaction but it quickly subsided as Barb's words registered. JoAnn nodded. She understood and was ready. Barb gave a gentle tug of the rope and pulled it through JoAnn's zip ties. With a flick of the razor blade, she severed those plastic bonds. With no safe way to store the razor blade for travel, Barb reluctantly dropped it to the ground. The two women were free.

  She sat up slowly, like a child awakened and confused about where she was. If anyone was awake, her movement would not immediately raise an alarm. She scanned all the sleeping forms, not finding a guard. She felt comfortable there was no one awake. She eased up onto her feet, careful not to wake the other women. She slipped a hand under JoAnn's bicep and helped her up. Barb knew every second they were in camp increased their chances of getting caught. It was not safe to waste time looking for a weapon, a pack, or even a bottle of water lest that hesitation result in them being caught.

  The women's eyes were fairly well-adjusted. Coupled with a clear night and gibbous moon they had a fighting chance against the darkness. Barb also paid close attention to how they had arrived at the campsite earlier in the evening. She wanted to have a basic knowledge of an escape route just in case the opportunity presented itself. Barb was in the lead, pulling JoAnn's hand. She took small steps that would make it easier to recover from any obstacles she might trip over. JoAnn started to speak a couple of times but Barb shushed her, not wanting to break the silence until they had a good distance between them and camp.

  Barb was fairly certain she knew what JoAnn was going to say anyway. She was going to ask about the other women. Barb had already thought about that. Part of her wanted to help every woman escape but she could not imagine wrangling that many women out of camp without waking their captors. Add to that the fact there were women among the group who appeared to relish the idea of being provided for, even if it meant living as a slave. They showed no indication of wanting to escape and going back to a life of providing for themselves.

  Completely abandoning the women was not the plan. Once she got free of the camp and met up with her father, they would return, free the women, and kill all these kidnapping bastards so they could never do this to another woman again. While that may have sounded cold, Barb had no intention of allowing them to continue roaming the land, marauding and stealing women as they pleased. Like her father, Barb was undergoing a change of heart on how to best weather this societal collapse. It was no longer about self-preservation and staying out of other peoples’ fights. This had become about being the sheepdog and killing any wolf who strayed too close.

  The two women stumbled through tall grass and overgrown roadside weeds, closing the distance to the road until they felt pavement beneath their feet. The blacktop still held some warmth from the day’s sun. With her feet firmly planted on pavement, Barb paused f
or a second to get her bearings and determine the direction of escape. She wanted to make certain she was going away from camp and toward home. When daylight caught up with them, they would move from the road to travel concealed in the deep woods, hidden from eyes and from anyone who might be trying to track them.

  No more than a few seconds passed before JoAnn squeezed her hand tightly and hissed, "Listen!"

  Barb did as instructed, fully prepared to hear an army of men bearing down on them, but this was a different sound. It was a rhythmic grunting that could have been a black bear or feral pig heading right for them. While the women were trying to interpret the sound a light clicked on mere feet in front of them. The woman named Bonnie, one of those so eager to be taken captive, was standing in front of Lester, pulling her pants back up.

  Barb's reaction was instant. She beat feet and sprinted away from the man, making sure she took off in the right direction, knowing there would be little time to put any distance between them. It hit her that she was by herself though. JoAnn did not have the reaction time and was gathering the impetus to move when Lester’s strong arms latched around her neck. Barb heard her cry out and paused. She had put thirty feet between her and the kidnapper by now. She could get away. There was no way he would catch her. Then JoAnn cried out again.

  There was the pop of a fist pounding into flesh and Barb knew Lester had punched her. Wrestling with her obligation to this woman she barely knew, Barb stood in the road anguishing over the decision, torn between freedom and obligation. The man had control now. His light was clutched in his fist, glaring upward into his face and illuminating JoAnn’s, which was clenched in a brutal headlock. The effect of the strong under-lighting only accentuated the ghastly nature of his face and the suffering on JoAnn’s.

  Seeing now that he had Barb's attention, that she had paused in her flight, Lester drew back a fist and punched JoAnn in the face again. She cried out, and he did it again. His eyes were not watching his actions nor JoAnn’s reactions, but were instead glued to Barb. He was enjoying this. He was enjoying seeing her torn between freedom and responsibility. He was making her suffer by remote control and he liked it.

  Lester had no idea who he was messing with. He lowered his eyes to JoAnn's tortured expression, relishing it. He drew back his fist to pummel her again but Bonnie cried out. Lester barely raised his eyes in time to see Barb cartwheel in front him, her legs falling on either side of his head. Barb’s momentum unsettled him and he fell over backwards.

  Before he even hit the ground, those legs were tightening around his neck like a vise. They crashed to the ground but she did not let go. If anything, her grip only tightened. She gritted her teeth, grunted, and put all her effort into choking him out. He tried beating on her legs, tried gouging his fingers into the soft tissue of her legs, tried everything but he could not get her to let go.

  His head was getting foggy and he knew time was running out. He only had a short amount of time to fix this or he was a dead man. He remembered a knife on his belt and reached for it, but as quickly as he did, Barb grabbed one of his fingers, tugging it from the knife. His first reaction was almost amusement. She thought with her weak girl’s grip that she could do any damage to him?

  He felt pressure against the tip of his finger then blinding pain as she snapped the bone at an acute right angle. He screamed but it sounded far away, lost in the pounding of the blood trying to get to his brain. He was starting to lose consciousness but her grip weakened, her legs loosened, and he rolled away. He couldn’t even function enough to raise his head from the pavement.

  Through his blurry vision he saw Bonnie with the flashlight in her hand. She drew it back to hit Barb across the head a second time.

  “No!” he groaned. As much as he enjoyed seeing that bitch get what she deserved, these women were his responsibility. He couldn’t let her be killed or disabled. He was already going to be in enough trouble over this.

  He collapsed to the pavement, gravel pressing painfully into the back of his head. He could hear the other woman, the one he’d punched, crying.

  “The other men are coming,” Bonnie said. “You better get up.”

  Lester tried standing but the world was spinning. He staggered sideways a couple of steps before falling back down. He surrendered to it, lying back on the pavement and watching the stars spin over his head. The next thing he saw was Top Cat’s face over his own, illuminated in the ambient light of several flashlights. Even through his foggy brain he could tell his boss was not happy.

  19

  No one at the camp got much sleep after the escape attempt. Top Cat obviously blamed the whole thing on Lester. If Lester hadn’t decided to sneak off with that woman there would have been a guard there to catch the troublemaker before she even got out of camp. If Lester had done his job, the same troublemaker wouldn’t have a nasty wound to the head.

  "If she dies, you're explaining this to Bryan," Top Cat raged, spittle flying from his mouth and hitting Lester in the face. "We can’t afford to lose any of these women. I want you taking care of her yourself. I want you to babysit her for the rest of this trip. If she dies, I'm not responsible for what happens to you."

  Lester grumbled but took his medicine. He hadn't really intended on fraternizing with the prisoners but that chick Bonnie made it clear she was available. She was his if he wanted her. Now he could barely move his neck from that ninja bitch trying to take his head off.

  In a shitty mood that only got worse, Top Cat made them pull out at first light. He ordered all the women saddled and tied with no breakfast. His own men got nothing to eat either, and had to pack all their gear by flashlight. Top Cat told them they could eat from the saddle while they rode but people grumbled. Top Cat wasn’t a tough guy but he was serious about discipline. He probably wouldn’t hesitate to kill one of the crew if they risked screwing up the mission. There were plenty of men living around Douthat Farms who would gladly take their place for the promise of regular hot meals

  As if Top Cat’s mood weren't bad enough, Lester had to point out the obvious, bringing up the fact they had missing men. "The men we left at the warehouse still aren't back."

  Top Cat glared at Lester as if deciding whether he should go ahead and kill him right then. Lester was bound to only cause him more headaches. Should he just cut his losses and pop the guy right in front the whole crew? It would send a message.

  “Thanks for pointing out the fucking obvious. You’re a very astute individual. Shame you didn’t get to finish your education. I’m sure you were destined for great things."

  Lester ignored the commentary. "I think we should send somebody back for them. If something happened to the guys we left at the warehouse, then the guys we left at the restaurant might not find the turnoff. Those guys could just be back there wandering around lost. This could turn into a goat rope."

  "It’s already turned into a goat rope," Top Cat grumbled, impatiently shoving gear into his saddle bags. He was ready to be back at Douthat Farms where life was a little more predictable. “What are you proposing?”

  "Let me pull off two guys. Riding at a good pace, they could be at the warehouse in about forty-five minutes. It shouldn't take them more than a half-hour to poke around and figure out what happened. I'll tell them not to worry about any salvage. Just see if they can figure out what happened, then haul ass back here. If they make a good pace they should be able catch up with us by 10 or 11 AM. That might also help us answer the other question we talked about last night."

  Top Cat slapped the flap on his saddle bag shut and buckled it. "What question?"

  Lester lowered his voice. "Whether we’re being followed or not."

  Top Cat shook his head in disgust. "You haven’t given up on that dumb-assed idea?"

  Lester shook his head. "I have a weird feeling. I feel like I’m being watched."

  The remark went ignored. “It’s light enough to ride now. Let’s get out of here.”

  Perhaps Top Cat should not have been so q
uick to dismiss Lester's hunch, because the group was indeed being watched. Ragus had slept through the previous night’s escape attempt and the ensuing fight, and he was up early. He wanted to take advantage of the opportunity to collect some intelligence on the kidnappers. They were camped on the playground of an old school. While the grounds were relatively flat and open, they were surrounded by a chain-link fence approximately four feet tall. The fence was overgrown with ivy and weeds, creating a nearly impenetrable wall behind which Ragus was hidden and listening to their conversation.

  He had a small pair of binoculars he had stolen from one of the men he’d killed. He pressed them against the fence, trying to catch a view through the dense greenery. Among the bound women, he spotted Barb and was shocked by her condition. She had a bruised cheek and her face was stained with dried blood. He hadn’t been able to get a good look at her since catching up with the kidnappers but even at a distance he felt he would have noticed her condition. This had to be recent. It made him want to rush into the camp and kill all of the men. If he'd had even a glimmer of hope that he could accomplish this, he would have done it. He had several rifles and a couple of handguns now. His level of firepower had increased. The problem was that his level of manpower had not, and that was what he needed more of. Something to improve his odds of success.

  From his concealed position, Ragus listened to the plan to send men back to the warehouse. He saw this as another opportunity to level the playing field. If he couldn’t add more men to his fighting force, he could continue to reduce the size of their force. Gnawing away at their numbers would slowly improve his odds. He needed to catch those men at a safe distance from camp and ambush them, then get back on the trail of the main group of kidnappers.

  When the men started putting the women on the horses, Ragus saw for the first time how each captive was tied to a stirrup so they could not even dismount without assistance. Their hands, bound in front of them, were zip tied to the saddle horn. He needed to remember that little bit of information. Whatever rescue he put in place, he should not have the expectation that Barb could just leap from her horse and take off running.