I watched Dave come out from behind one of the damaged buildings across the street. I climbed out the broken window and onto the ledge before I jumped to the ground below. “Nicely done,” said Dave with a smile on his face.
“Now, if I could only jump that high,” I said as I joined him next to the mousey man.
“Have you ever tried to?” he asked.
I shook my head no, quickly realizing I didn’t really know any of my new body’s limits, other than the ones I had experienced through trial and error.
I think Dave knew my train of thought because he replied. “Don’t worry we’ll figure out your abilities and limits soon.”
We both turned our attention to Mr. Mousey as he rolled across the ground in agony. Dave looked him over professionally and said, “He’s not going to tell us anything, his brain is bleeding, he probably couldn’t speak even if he wanted to.”
I asked, “Is he still….”
Dave looked at him as a cat would a mouse, “Oh yes, as long as his heart beats.”
Grabbing him by the shirt and coat Dave carried the man into the remains of the diner. I rolled my eyes and laughed at the irony of the moment. Through the diner’s broken windows, I told Dave I would meet him at our previous spot on the second floor of the police station. I figured every zombie for 50 miles heard the explosion and was quite certain that Chet and his little band of merry men would be along to see what happened.
I started walking to the back door of the station when I had a thought and stopped. The station’s second story side windows had also failed to survive the explosion. The station itself was set slightly into a hill. The old building was essentially two stories tall in the back, and almost three stories tall in the front and sides.
After taking a good look around, and stalling because I felt ridiculous, I crouched down and jumped as hard as I could towards the window, figuring I’d catch the window ledge. I was amazed as I soared past the ledge, and was equally embarrassed as my face and head impacted the top of the remaining window frame with a sickening crunch.
I spiraled gracelessly inside the building, flipping head over heels into chairs, desks, as well as other office-related items. I felt bones breaking, skin ripping, and pain as flew across the office like a thrown ragdoll. I came to rest upside down with my back against a large copy machine.
I rolled myself upright and used my hands to survey the damage to my face. I was blind in my left eye, again, but it was getting better by the second. My nose was broken, and I cursed at the pain as I aligned it, feeling the healing process start as soon as it was set. I felt the furrows of torn flesh on my scalp knitting themselves back together, the pieces of glass and concrete being pushed out and falling to the floor. I stood up and shrieked as my broken jaw set itself and two broken ribs popped back into place.
Dave vaulted up the stairs ready for battle, scanning the room for the source of my scream. Seeing no threat and looking completely baffled, he walked closer to watch my face, arms, and hands continue to heal from my escapade. The extent of my injuries only added to his confusion.
Pointing a still broken index finger at him, I said, “This is entirely your fault! ‘Have you ever tried to jump that high?’ he said! ‘We’ll work on learning your limits,’ he said!”
Dave turned away to look around the office. He found my path of destruction from the side window to the copier. He looked at me, then at my trail of debris and destruction one more time before he fell over, roaring with quiet laughter. I kicked him in the ribs, which only made him laugh more. After a few moments he looked up at me with tears running down his face, and the laughter started all over.
Now that the pain was beginning to subside, I couldn’t help myself and started laughing with him. We sat down together, and I replayed the whole event for him, which rekindled our laughter.
He said, “Well Ms. Ashleigh, I have not busted a gut like that in… well, in a long time. Thank you kindly.”
Turning serious, he continued, “We will start your training, in earnest, with fewer injuries, as soon as we are finished with our current situation. Let’s move to another building, The Depot will have men here anytime, and I saw a lot of undead, Hunters included, moving this way.”
59
It was just after 10:00 pm, and we still didn’t have plans for our assault on the Depot. We moved to a furniture store about two blocks away and had set up in the break room. No windows and a solid door meant we could use a light.
Wiping the sales goals and employee rankings from a large dry erase board, Dave grabbed a marker and drew an aerial view of the Guard Depot. He pulled out a little notebook, checking his numbers.
“My count is twenty-one hostiles, five visible prisoners, two Humvees, 5 passenger cars, and 3 deuce-and-a-half trucks. Most of the hostiles are carrying a mismatch of various rifles and shotguns. Some have visible handguns, but most don’t. My guess is less than 20% have actual military experience.”
I was amazed at Dave’s level of detail. I was also annoyed at myself for not doing that myself.
“I counted twenty-three assholes, the same hostages, and vehicles, but didn’t think to get weapon counts. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t worry Ash, I’ve had a lot of practice at this.”
He sat down next to me, “From your jump into the station window, I’m sure you could make the roof of the warehouse building in one leap.” I was a little worried after my last attempt, but I thought I could do it.
He continued, “Once you land, move quietly as possible and take out the guard. Feed if you need to, then wait until I click my mic twice before you meet me behind the three deuce-and-a-half trucks here,” as he pointed to three small rectangles on the map. “I think the men use the barracks on the second floor of the warehouse. We’ll head there next, you take the first floor, and I’ll take the second. Take out as many as you can, but make as little noise as possible. We’re pretty kill-proof, but 20-odd guys with guns might be pushing it. After we sanitize the whole compound, we can rescue the hostages. As I explained on the way here, do not make contact with any hostage before we are sure the compound is safe.”
It was just before 4:00 am when I approached the back of the warehouse. Again, the geography of the area worked to our advantage. The almost-flat warehouse roof was a short two stories tall in the back and much taller in the front. I positioned myself at one of the building corners. After a couple deep breaths, I jumped as hard as I could. I soared upwards, clearing the building’s roof by about four feet. Landing lightly on the roof, I tucked and rolled further up the roof to remove myself from the sound of my landing.
The roof guard stood up and headed towards my landing area, turning on a flashlight as he approached. I launched myself into the air as the beam passed underneath me, coming down on top of him. I clamped my left hand over his mouth, wrenching his head back as I ripped out his throat. I fed on his blood only, I needed the boost after my encounter with the Hookers, and the fiasco in the police station.
When I was finished, I did a quick pat down, searching him for keys, notes, or other useful information. I pocketed a key ring with three keys on it and made my way towards the inside edge of the roof. I squatted down to observe the inner compound, waiting our prescribed signal.
I dropped down into a small alcove, half-filled with 55-gallon drums, pallets, and other odds and ends. As I moved towards the rendezvous point, I ran into someone. I clamped a hand over his mouth and spun him face down on the pavement. He was old - late fifties to early sixties, with white hair and scraggly beard, and the terrible body odor of those more concerned with their next high vs. personal hygiene. He was shaking his head and trying to say something.
I whispered into his ear, “Try to scream, and I’ll break your neck, got it.”
He nodded an enthusiastic yes. I loosened my grip on his mouth, and he whispered, “Please don’t kill me, I’m not really one of them, I just cook and do stuff the women can’t.”
I wasn’t co
nvinced, so I asked, “How many men are here?”
He responded, “There are about fifty guys here right now. Most are asleep in the barracks.”
I knew he was lying, and I was about to kill him when I felt something that could only be a gun barrel pressed to the back of my head.
“Let him go, now. You okay, Chet?” said the man with the gun to my head.
I released the old man as some strong arms wrenched me to my feet. Chet turned to face me as he gained his feet, his eyes filled with pure evil as he spoke.
“I was wondering when you’d show up, just never thought it would be a bitch that caused me so much trouble.” as he punched me hard in the stomach.
I crumpled in the arms of the man behind me, hiding the fact Chet hadn’t really hurt me.
“When my guys on the 220 didn’t report in, I was just curious, but when you destroyed my Bradley and killed my son, I knew someone was fucking with me. You are gonna pay dearly for that, you bitch,” he said with pure hate in his voice.
He grabbed my left breast and squeezed as hard as he could. I gasped in real pain and tried to pull away.
He growled through his teeth, “Oh no, there’s no escape for you, we’re gonna use you until you beg to die. Then we’ll have fun tearing you into little pieces. Get her into the warehouse.”
As we turned towards the front of the warehouse, I felt my captor’s grip loosen as he collapsed to the pavement. Chet turned to see what the delay was about and I kicked him in the balls and clamped a hand over his mouth. I added a quick right cross to his jaw to ensure his silence. Dave crept up and retrieved a throwing knife from the dead man’s back.
“Sorry for the delay, I had to get close enough to make the throw effective. Who’s the old guy?”
I looked down at the unconscious man and said, “Dave, let me introduce our host, Mr. Chet himself.”
Dave’s face became a mask of visceral hatred as reached for his combat knife.
I grabbed his arm and said, “No, let’s tie him up and gag him, I think the surviving women here should help decide his fate.”
Smiling like a viper, he said, “I’ll gag and truss him up like a Thanksgiving turkey and hide him in the back of one of the Deuces.”
Dave took care of Chet, and I hid the other man behind the drums and debris in the corner alcove. We both made our way over to the personnel entrance to the warehouse. Looking through the small wire-laced windows, we saw an empty Formica tile foyer and staircase. A couple small candles cast a gloomy, shadowed, light over the whole area. Dave opened the door slowly, listened, and then entered with me following close behind.
We had worked on our silent communications hand signals while we traveled from the 220. Silently Dave told me he would go upstairs, I would take the downstairs, and we would meet back here in 30 minutes. Yes, it was our basic plan, but it also helped to use what you learned. I found an evacuation plan on the wall next to a fire extinguisher. I studied the downstairs layout before moving on.
Passing through a set of swinging double doors, I entered a hallway darker than the foyer. One lonely candle on a small table was the hallway’s only light. I listened carefully as the door swung shut behind me. I could hear some loud snoring coming from the first room on the right. I drew my combat knife as I headed for the door. The door wasn’t locked, the handle turning silently in my hand. I pushed it open silently and saw the source of the snoring at once. A quick scan of the rest of the room offered nothing but an empty cot with disheveled sheets, on the other wall. A pile of personal gear was on the floor next to it.
I made a mental note of a possible roommate, as I silently approached the sleeping man. I got a good look at his face, recognizing him from our surveillance. I heard someone moving at the far end of the hall, and couldn’t wait anymore. I clamped my hand the snoring man’s mouth, and slit his throat. The man tried to rear up out of the cot, but I held him down. His struggles ceased just as I heard the door latch click. I launched myself to the wall behind the opening door. The newcomer moved to his cot, letting the door close on its own.
“The fucker finally stopped snoring.” he whispered as he flopped down onto his cot.
The man must have sensed me as I approached. His head came up just as I slammed it back onto the cot, and ran my blade across his throat. He thrashed three or four times, then laid still. The smell of fresh blood permeated the room, almost overwhelming my senses. I wanted to feed again but held myself to my mission. I quickly swept both corpses and their gear for anything relevant, but found nothing. Listening at the door but hearing nothing, I moved on.
The next two rooms were locked. I tried the keys I lifted off the sniper, with mixed results. The second door opened, but the first one did not. The open room held dry good and cleaning supplies, but nothing more. Remembering the evacuation map, I knew the double doors at the end of the hall led to the warehouse part of the structure.
As I cracked the right door, my nose was assaulted by the smell of unwashed bodies, decay, urine, and feces. The warehouse was in such complete darkness even my enhanced eye sight was unable to penetrate it completely. I entered carefully, letting the door close silently behind me. My eyes adjusted to the almost no light conditions.
My vision in these conditions reminded me of the grainy, green tinged videos my brother showed me from his time in Iraq and Afghanistan. It wasn’t about seeing actual detail, but more about understanding shapes and movement. Dave had told me that his low light vision of warm objects had almost an infrared quality to it. I wished I had the same ability now. I was shocked out of my thoughts by a hacking cough coming from the far left corner of the warehouse. I moved quietly, but quickly, towards the source of the sound.
My senses were not prepared for what I encountered. The back corner of the warehouse had been modified with chain link fence to create a pen approximately 20 by 30 feet. Crowded into the pen, I counted around 40 naked, emaciated, filthy, sick, and dying women. Tears streamed down my face as I looked at the depravity in front of me. The smell, the sight, and the sound triggered a large group of Adachi’s massively intense memories of Dachau. I felt like I was going to throw up. Panic and claustrophobia set in as I backed out of the warehouse and into the hall. Adachi’s nightmares continued to haunt me now, as I curled myself up into a ball by the warehouse door. I wanted to run, to escape from both the new and the inherited trauma, but I needed to help these women. I touched the door, silently telling them to hold on a little longer, help was on the way.
60
During our walk from the 220, Dave instructed me not to let any hostages see me, no matter what.
“These people will be desperate, delusional, hurt, and very scared. If they see you, they will want you to get them out immediately. They will get angry and loud if you don’t. We need to clear the area of hostiles first, or we’ll have a bloodbath, and probably end up killing those we are trying to save.” he explained.
I made my way back to the stairs to wait for Dave. He had another twelve minutes before I went looking for him. He whispered in my ear bud about seven minutes later.
“Upstairs is clean, meet me at the top of the stairs.”
I crept to the top of the stairs as Dave’s dark shape separated from the shadows. I was amazed that such a large man could move so silently.
Dave said, “I neutralized two on the front roof, four in the building below, and eighteen upstairs.”
I was shocked at how many men he had taken out in less than an hour. There was obviously a lot more to this man than met the eye.
I said, “I had two hostiles in a room downstairs, but there’s more.” I took a deep breath, feeling my eyes water up.
“There’s a pen in the warehouse with 40 women in it.”
I broke down, my back heaving with quiet sobs. “It’s horrible, we have to help them!” I said, grabbing his body armor.
Dave’s face hardened as I described the condition these poor women lived in, but it softened just as quickly, as he lo
oked me in the eyes. Touching my hair and head almost reverently, he spoke softly, comfortingly,
“It’s okay Ash, we’re going help them. We won’t leave them any longer than we have to.”
He stood, motioning me to follow him downstairs. He made no effort to hide his presence anymore. We walked out the door, towards the front buildings.
He spoke as we crossed the parking area. “There are seven women in the left building. It must be where they keep the new, unbroken women.” Pointing and shaking his head in disgust as he spoke. “I heard one of the women speaking; she seems like someone who has lead people in the past. She is in the last room on the left. I want you to talk to her first.”
I was shocked, and my face must have shown it.
“These women have been raped, beaten, and abused by these men for days, weeks, or more,” he explained. “They will trust you a lot faster than they will me.”
I was just as shocked at how much sense that made.
As Dave opened the door, a large combat knife whistled through the opening, embedding itself in the right side of his chest. The owner of the knife let it go and used his body’s momentum to punch Dave in the jaw.
He said, “I guess we missed one.” as he grabbed the man’s fist, and crushed it.
“You like doing that don’t you?” I asked with a smile. I had absolutely no sympathy for these bastards after what I witnessed in the warehouse. They all had to die for what they had done.
Dave smiled, shrugged, and said, “It’s effective.”
Holding the screaming man’s crushed hand, he removed the knife from his chest, reversed it, and plunged it into his attacker’s throat. He left the man, knife and all, where he fell, forgotten like the trash he was.
The Ashleigh Rhodes Chronicles (Book 1): Dark Rhodes Page 26