THE ABDUCTION OF CASSANDRA

by William Melden

  'Tis grace hath brought me safe thus far

  And grace will lead me home.”

  Before the lines were finished, the hallway door burst open.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE: The Battle of Hangar Thirteen

  11:58 PM EDT: Roy charged into the white room, not stopping to look around, followed by Ethan, Olivia, and Celeste. They spotted Cassie and immediately ran to her. Turning to face the kidnappers, they fanned out in a protective barrier. “Who’s he?” Olivia asked, glancing over her shoulder at Brandon. She desperately wanted to hug her friend, but this wasn’t the time.

  “Livvie!” Cassie cried. “You guys!” Her eyes filled with tears, recognizing her rescuers even behind their face paint. “This is Brandon. He’s a friend! He’s with me!”

  “You know these people?” Brandon asked. Then he noticed Roy’s peculiar stance. “You’re the fighter. You’re Royal!” he blurted.

  The music changed. A choir of fifty voices, accompanied by a full orchestra, was now singing:

  “O God, our help in ages past,

  Our hope for years to come,

  Our shelter from the stormy blast,

  And our eternal home."

  Dayle was momentarily stunned, his mouth agape. He staggered backwards a half step, then stopped. “Who are these people?” he snarled. “Where’s that hideous music coming from? Get out of here!”

  “I don’t think so, mister,” Roy said, walking toward him. “Sit down and shut up. I won’t say it again.”

  “Go to Hell!” Dayle snarled. “You don’t know who you’re dealing with, boy!”

  Roy stepped off his good leg and drove his fist into Dayle’s solar plexus. The man dropped to the floor, trying to gasp, writhing in agony. “No sir, I sure don’t,” the young boxer replied. “But the name’s Roy, not ‘boy.’”

  The Goth only had one thought. Get the girl back! She lunged toward Cassie.

  Olivia didn’t hesitate. She stepped forward and lashed out at the strange creature with her right foot, catching her square on the shin. The woman howled in pain and hobbled back a few steps, almost falling down, but not quite. The padding in her leather jeans had saved her from a broken leg.

  As the choir began to sing “A Mighty Fortress is Our God,” a strange popping sound began to filter through all the noise. The skyrockets, Ethan thought. They worked!

  Celeste turned and grabbed Cassie and Brandon by their shirts. “Go! Straight down the hall. There’s a big hole. It’s covered, but be careful. Go fast, but don’t run. Roy’s van from work is parked outside. We’ll be right behind you. Go! Get out of here!” She handed Cassie her flashlight.

  “Just a minute!” Brandon cried. “Wait!” He darted back into the bedroom and returned with Cassie’s Bible. “Now let’s go!”

  The two were halfway to the door when the Goth, her balance recovered, hissed at them. “You’re not going anywhere!” All eyes turned to her, and saw the pistol in her hand, aimed at the doorway, ready to fire at anyone who made it that far.

  “No!” Ethan shouted. He charged at the Goth with the broomstick, like a lancer from a medieval battle. She swung the gun toward him.

  An ear-shattering burst of thunder, drowning even the music, and the lights went out. Lightning had finally knocked out the hangar’s electricity, and all was darkness. The music, continuing on battery power, was punctuated by three gunshots.

  * * * * *

  12:00 AM EDT: “Airport Police, this is Tower Control. Come in.” The air traffic controller, and two of his colleagues, were gathered at the 360 degree window, watching the sudden fireworks display.

  “Reading you, Tower,” came the reply. “What’s up?”

  “Airport Police, look south. Since when are fireworks allowed so close to an airport? Has somebody gone crazy?”

  A crackle of static. “We see it, Tower. I don’t know if anybody’s crazy, but we’ll put a stop to it. We’re on our way. We’ll contact Yorkville P.D. Sorry for the distraction.”

  “You’d better contact Yorkville P.D., and hope to God that this doesn’t cause an accident! Tower out,” the furious controller snapped. He returned to his station, where calls were already arriving from angry and alarmed pilots.

  * * * * *

  Cassie and Brandon were halfway down the hall when they heard the gunshots. She stopped short and whirled around, the beam from Celeste’s flashlight bouncing off the walls of the hallway. “Wait! Gunshots! We’ve gotta go back. My friends — “

  Brandon grabbed her arms. “Your friends just risked their lives to rescue you. Did you see how well prepared they were? Look here, they even covered the hole!” He moved her hand down, to shine the flashlight on the coffin lid. “How did they know to do that? You owe it to your friends to get out of here!”

  Trying to pull away from him, Cassie began to cry. “I can’t leave them, they might need me —”

  Brandon shook her, none too gently. He couldn’t look in her eyes, with the flashlight pointing away, but he pulled her close and spoke in her ear. “Cassie Hixson. Listen to that music. You’ve been telling me to have faith, that God was gonna help us. And he did. Have you ever seen anything like this? I haven’t.” He took the flashlight from her and thrust her Bible into her hands. “Remember this? The miracle? Now, can’t you trust him to take care of your friends? Huh? Tell me, Cassie! Do we trust God, or not?”

  “Under the shadow of Thy throne

  Still may we dwell secure;

  Sufficient is Thine arm alone,

  And our defence is sure.”

  Cassie brought herself under control, although she was still shaking. He’s right. I’m sorry, Lord. Please, please take care of my friends! She clutched her Bible in one hand, and grabbed Brandon’s hand in the other. “Um, I was . . . I was weak. That happens a lot. I’m sorry. Let’s go.” She walked across the lid, leading him.

  Brandon shook his head in wonder. She thinks she’s weak? Unreal. . . .

  They made their way down the stairs, and stepped out into the night air, free at last.

  * * * * *

  The sounds of fumbling and groaning filled the white room. The music had stopped now: the brief medley had been created for a distraction and a morale booster, not a concert. Celeste and Olivia were on their hands and knees, trying to find their friends, Olivia clutching her flashlight. The beam fell on Ethan’s still form, the broomstick slowly rolling away from his fingers. Olivia cried out, crawling to his side.

  Then, suddenly, the power came back on: it had only been a momentary outage. Everyone blinked as they surveyed the scene.

  Dayle was on his knees, having just vomited, trying to regain the strength to stand up. The Goth was on her back. Roy was sitting on the woman’s abdomen, his bad leg stretched out, his strong hands pinning her wrists to the floor. The pistol had been knocked or thrown to the far side of the room, near the exit door.

  “Ethan!” sobbed Olivia, kneeling by the boy, whose black shirt shone with blood. The bullet had caught him just below the left shoulder. She slipped her forefingers into the hole in the shirt, and ripped it open, exposing his wound. Celeste joined them, kneeling beside him, and glanced over at Roy, who was in complete control of the Goth.

  Ethan’s eyes flickered open. The first thing he saw was Olivia’s face. Tears of pain filled his eyes. “Ouch,” he groaned. “I think I got shot?”

  “Oh, Ethan. . . .” Olivia murmured, pressing her hand over the bullet hole. The blood was seeping, not spurting. She knew that an artery hadn’t been hit. But it was seeping quickly.

  The wounded boy stretched out his uninjured arm and pointed to his duffel bag. “Stuff in there. Get it,” he mumbled. Olivia crawled over and retrieved the bag, rummaging through its contents. She pulled out a package of pressure bandages and a foil envelope of antiseptic powder.

  “Powder . . . then bandage,” Ethan breathed.

  “Hold on a sec,” Roy said. Without a moment’s hesitation, he drew back his fist and struck the Goth square in t
he chin, knocking her out even through the leather collar. Sorry, lady. . . . No, I’m not. He climbed off of her and sat next to Ethan and Olivia.

  “Stop the bleedin’ first,” he said. He reached into a pocket in his cargo pants and pulled out a small amber bottle of adrenaline. “This isn’t meant for gunshot wounds, but it’ll have to do.” He looked into Ethan’s eyes. “This is gonna sting, brother,” he warned. “I’m sorry.”

  Celeste scuttled around and put her arm around Olivia. “It’ll be okay, Livvie,” she said. “I mean, he’s not hurt too badly.”

  “You called me ‘brother,’” Ethan whispered, closing his eyes against the pain that was coming. “Am I . . . I mean. . . .”

  “If you’re not, you will be,” Roy whispered back. He pinched the bullet hole closed with his thumb and forefinger, then poured the adrenaline fluid onto the wound. Ethan groaned. “I know it hurts,” Roy said. “I have a knife, but I’m not diggin’ that bullet out. It’s a small one, .22 or .25. Praise Jesus for that. They’ll fix you at the hospital.” He held the hole shut for half a minute, then released it. Blood still seeped out, but at a much slower rate. Roy tore open the antiseptic packet with his teeth and sprinkled the yellow powder over the wound. “Bandage, Celeste?”

  “Got it,” she replied, handing him the pressure bandage that she had just removed from its envelope. Roy laid it over the wound and pressed down with the heel of his hand. The bandage, invented for exactly this type of injury and bought from an Army surplus store, held fast.

  “Ouch,” Ethan repeated. He opened his eyes. “Is it over for now?”

  Tears ran down the cheeks of his three friends, making rivulets through the heavy face paint. “It’s over for now,” Roy said. “You got her, brother. You knocked her down, so I could jump on her. Your shoulder. . . . You’re gonna have a warrior mark.” He leaned over and kissed the boy’s forehead.

  Across the room, Dayle was still on his knees, holding his side. “Damn you, whoever you are, I’m shot!” He had pulled out his shirttail and lowered the side of his torn trousers, revealing a deep, bloody crease along his hip. The bone showed through the gash. “I didn’t even feel it at first, with all that infernal music!”

  Roy stood up. “Is anybody else hit? No? That third shot must’ve gone wide. We’ve gotta clear out of here ASAP. Y’all start straightenin’ up, and I’ll tend to the garbage.” He was looking at Dayle.

  The girls began gathering everything they’d brought and stuffing it into Ethan’s duffel bag. Ethan managed to sit up, but kept his hands flat on the floor, to support himself.

  Roy walked over to Dayle. “So you’re the big kidnapper, huh? You and that Halloween woman been tormentin’ our sister in Jesus for all this time?” Dayle’s eyes burned with hatred as Roy spoke. “I oughtta let you bleed out, but that scratch you’re cryin’ about ain’t that serious. The bullet’s probably in the floor someplace. But just to keep the infection down, I’ll close it up for you.”

  As Dayle watched, Roy reached in his pocket and pulled out a tube of Super Glue. “Hold still now,” he warned, “or I’ll make you hold still, like I did your girl over there.” He uncapped the tube, pinched the bloody crease shut, and applied the glue along the full length of the wound. In 30 seconds, it was sealed tight. Roy carefully laid the tube on the floor. “Celeste?” he called. “I need those bungee cords.”

  With a moan, the Goth began to stir.

  “Um, Roy, I don’t think we have time to do ‘em separately,” Celeste said. “Let’s get this . . . thing . . . to sit up, and we can tie ‘em together. You know, back to back.”

  “Good idea,” Roy said.

  “There’s no way in Hell that you’re going to tie me up with that woman,” Dayle snorted.

  “You ain’t in Hell yet, you fool,” Roy replied. “Sorry, Celeste. You aren’t in Hell, I mean. But if you don’t shut up, I’m gonna pull those pants down and glue your butt to the floor. Would you like that better?” Dayle bit his lips until they bled, refusing to speak.

  Roy walked over and sat by the Goth. “I don’t mean to complain, but Lord, it would be a blessing if I could squat like you people!” As Celeste and Olivia came closer to watch, he pushed down hard on the woman’s shoulder with one hand, and took hold of the zipper of her jacket with the other. As she began to awaken, her eyelids fluttering, he jerked the zipper down to the waist.

  “Dear Jesus, can this be true?” Celeste gasped.

  “I can’t . . . no, I can believe it,” Olivia replied. “Even if it’s unbelievable.”

  Roy looked up at the girls. “You know this . . . freak?”

  The freak in question opened her eyes, then opened them wider when she got a good look at the girls. “Hello again, Agent Maclean,” Olivia said sweetly. “It’s always so nice to see you.”

  “You . . . you. . . . I’m going to — ” Maclean sputtered.

  Roy grabbed her face in one strong hand and twisted it toward him. He looked in her eyes. Celeste almost shuddered. She had never seen real anger in his eyes before.

  “Shut up . . . whoever you are,” Roy said, biting off every word, his breathing heavy. “You’ve been . . . torturin’ my sister. You’ve been . . . coverin’ up this whole thing. And you just shot . . . my friend. One of my best friends.” He paused, his nostrils flaring, forcing himself to breathe normally. “But you know what? He’s gonna be just fine. Say hello to her, Ethan.” He never took his eyes off her, but turned her head in Ethan’s direction.

  Still propping himself up, the boy managed a little wave. In a state of semi-shock, he didn’t seem surprised when he recognized his attacker. Always curious, he greeted her with a question. “Hi, Agent Maclean. . . . Did the broomstick hurt?”

  Roy jerked her face back to look in her eyes. “We’re gonna tie you and this other guy together now. I’ve knocked you cold once. If you struggle, I’ll do it harder. It could break your neck, without that fancy collar on. Really. Don’t . . . say . . . one . . . word.” He drew back his fist. Very slowly, very carefully, she raised her hands in surrender.

  “We’ve got to hurry, Roy,” Olivia said. “The police will be here soon. Listen, I’m really good at tying knots. Drag her over here and put her with this guy, please. Hurry!”

  As Roy complied, hauling Maclean to Dayle and setting them back to back, Ethan piped up. “Uh-huh. . . . Livvie knows about knots.” His voice sounded drowsy, but clear. “She even did some fancy knots when she made Fifi.”

  Dayle’s curses continued as the girls began wrapping the bungee cord around them. Fifi again, Celeste thought. Her nose wrinkled when she saw that Maclean was sitting in the man’s vomit. She pulled the cord tighter as Roy and Olivia held the two people still. The lengths of cord, now hooked together, were elastic, but when wrapped tight like this, were strong and secure. Finally, after binding their torsos from their waists to their shoulders, Olivia squatted in front of Maclean and began tying the knots she’d learned as a child at the Jewish girls’ Camp Pembroke.

  “One more thing,” Roy said. “They can still walk, if they cooperate. Let’s fix that.” He walked over to the heavy wooden coffee table and dragged it across the floor. He pushed it, lying on its side, onto Maclean’s lap. It would leave bruises, but it wouldn’t hurt her if the police arrived soon enough to remove it.

  “Let’s go,” Celeste urged. “Come on!”

  Olivia looked around the room a final time to make sure that they had packed everything they’d brought. Ethan’s duffel bag, now hanging on Celeste’s shoulder, bulged. They had never needed to use the walkie-talkies. The only thing they were leaving behind was the bungee cord and a crumpled tube of Super Glue. She moved to Ethan, now being held unsteadily on his feet by Roy, and put her arm around his waist. “Celeste, you want to lead us out of here? We’re ready.”

  Dayle’s profanities and obscenities, soon joined by those of Maclean, were the only thing they heard as they moved down the hall. After they crossed the hole, as Celeste moved to pick up the s
peaker and jam it in into the duffel bag, Roy turned and nudged the coffin lid with his toe, causing it to fall into the shaft.

  * * * * *

  Cassie jumped when she heard the faint clattering from inside the hangar. “What was that?” she asked Brandon, standing with her next to the van.

  She was answered by a flashlight beam coming from the doorway, followed by her four rescuers. “Thank God!” she exclaimed. “You’re not. . . . Oh, Ethan!” She started to move toward him, but Brandon laid his hand on her arm.

  “They’re coming,” he said. “Let’s not get in the way.” He had witnessed the aftermath of violence before, and could see that all four of the rescuers were in relatively good shape. He opened the rear doors of the van as wide as possible and stood aside.

  Celeste reached the van first, tossing the duffel bag in, then standing back so that Olivia and Roy could help Ethan climb up. “Hi, Cassie,” he smiled as he moved past her, his eyes half closed. “Hi, Cassie’s friend,” he said to Brandon.