Free Range Protocol- Tales of the Tschaaa Infestation

by Marshall Miller

  “Who are they?” Sharon asked.

  “Sounds like Church of Kraken,” Susanne answered. “No one knew they were in the area.”

  “Everyone in there, shut the fuck up,” a male voice yelled.

  The young women heard Maria and her children being thrown into the back of the van, as they cried out. They heard female voices, which they recognized as a couple of the other dancers. Then the van roll down door was slammed shut. They lay in darkness as the vehicle began to move.

  Sharon and Susanne managed to remove the bags over their heads, since the coverings had not been secured well. They could tell the supposed Church of Kraken members were used to bullying and abusing people who rarely resisted. Thus, the lackadaisical attitude towards the captives. After all, who could call for help? The police, the military? There had not seen hide nor hair of them for months. The two women were on their own.

  Thanks to their athleticism, even in the dark they were able to roll around until Susanne could try to chew on the plastic tie on Sharon’s wrists. The van motored on in the night, anybody who saw it oblivious to its contents, even if they cared.

  Susanne took a break in trying to gnaw on Sharon’s restraints. “I think we are heading south. I’ve always had a good sense of direction.”

  “Well, I hope the trip is long. Give us more of a chance to get out of these plasticuffs,” Sharon said.

  “They’re hard on my teeth. I’m trying not to break a tooth, but according to my tongue I think I’m wearing a grove in one.”

  “Here, take a break. Let me feel around with my toes for a nail or something sharp. Vans like these are rarely kept clean.”

  Sharon was rewarded about ten minutes later with a discarded metal can lid someone had been lax in disposing.

  “We’re in business”, Susanne said. The other occupants of the van had been pretty silent, other than Maria. She had been praying and calming her two children when they occasionally whimpered.

  Susanne was careful and managed to secure the sharp lid in her teeth without slicing her mouth. Sharon then began to slide her bonds back and forth on the sharp edge, careful not to push so hard as to dislodge the lid from Susanne’s teeth, a slow process. But after about twenty minutes, Sharon moved away from Susanne’s face and flexed her arm muscles, trying to move her wrists at the same time. An almost silent snap—and she was free.

  “God just smiled on us, lover,” she said to Susanne. Rubbing more feeling in her hands, she then went to work on Susanne’s bonds, which parted quicker.

  “Need to thank Hernando for those weights he got for our workouts,” Susanne said in a low tone.

  “Free the others?” she asked.

  “Let me check the roll up door first. See it it’s locked,” Sharon replied. It was locked.

  “Shit. So, do we free the others, risk them creating a fuss?”

  “At least Maria and the kids. I think we can keep them in control.”

  It took the two about an hour to free Maria and her children, as the can lid was becoming dull and bent. They explained to Maria the importance of being quiet and acting like they were still tied up if anyone opened the roll up door. The other two former dancers began to talk loudly, asking what was going on. Sharon tried to quiet them, just as the moving van braked and began to pull over.

  “Alright,” Sharon hissed. “Act like you’re tied up.” She then moved towards the front with Susanne, and they began to play act like tied up prisoners.

  Someone unlocked and threw open the back roll up door.

  “What’s all the talking?” an indistinct male barked out.

  “We gotta go. Use a toilet,” Susanne yelled back.

  The unknown Kraken follower grunted, then turned and yelled.

  “Lee, bring the buckets.”

  About a minute later, two large plastic storage buckets were unceremoniously thrown into the back of the moving van.

  “Hey, how are we…” Sharon began to protest, but was cut off by the one called Lee.

  “Your problem, bitch, not mine.” Then the roll up door slammed back down.

  “Well,” whispered Susanne. “At least they didn’t notice our hands were free.”

  “Yeah. Let me have the can lid. I’ll go have a little talk with the two other dancers.”

  An hour later, Sharon had already explained to Wendy and Charlene the importance of remaining quiet and waiting for the right moment, as she managed to cut their plasticuffs. She then went and sat back down next to Susanne.

  “Think they understand?” Susanne asked.

  Sharon shrugged. “Don’t know, really. I hope they do. I suggest we get to our feet the next time we stop, get ready to move—while still acting like we are tied up. If we get close, we can kick the shit out of those two Krakens, or whatever those assholes call themselves.”

  The van trundled down the highway in the night with no other stops. Susanne found that someone had put water bottles in the waste buckets, apparently to be used to clean up any messes. She passed one around and everyone sipped at it. Some six hours after the trip had begun, the van slowed down and changed the angle of travel. Then, it began to make a series of turns.

  “We just left the highway,” Susanne said. “We’re near the ocean, I can feel and smell the salt air.”

  About thirty minutes later the vehicle jerked to a stop. Then the engine was shut off.

  “Get ready,” Sharon hissed. “Wait until Susanne and I move before you all do.” She stood up and stretched. If given the chance, she would make these so called people pay.

  Susanne stood up next to her. “Love you. Always will.”

  “I love you, Susanne. We’ll get through this, together. We’re the bad-ass beach volleyballers.”

  The roll up door was shoved up hard, slamming at the end of its travel and rebounding backwards. Charlene chose that moment to panic and run screaming towards the perceived escape. She was almost cut in half by a shotgun blast.

  “Fucking stop!” a new male voice yelled. “You think we are stupid or something? Turn around. Walk backwards towards this door. I have more shotgun shells to use if you want them.”

  “Fuck,” Sharon whispered.

  “Hang in there. We’ll make it,” Susanne whispered back. As the two athletes reached the back of the truck, they were tazed once more, collapsing into rough arms as they fell out of the vehicle.

  “Not taking any chances with you two nasty bitches,” the same male voice growled.

  Susanne and Sharon were groggy, as they were frog walked past a combination marina office and small motel. At large berth was a long yacht that had seen better days, but was still afloat. Within minutes they were shoved into a cabin at water level that was now a holding cell. Wendy was marched down to a cabin towards the yachts bow. Maria and her children were seen taken into the Marina office and motel area.

  With guns to their heads, Sharon and Susanne had thick leather dog collars placed around their throats and secured with small hasp locks. The dog collars were also connected by hasp locks to double loop dog tie out chains that had been secured by large screws in the deck.

  “That ought to hold you,” said a large and ugly man with a full face tattoo of some form of tentacle beast on his face. He seemed to be the one in charge, as all the other men, around a dozen, demurred to his decisions and opinions.

  Sharon managed to stand and looked around. She saw some partially filled water bottles and a waste bucket that looked like it had just been dumped out.

  “What do we do for food and water? Not to mention clothes and blankets.”

  Tattoo Face sneered. “Be nice to our clients, customers, you get food, water, blankets.”

  Sharon’s face flushed with anger. “Look. You may look like Jabba the Hut, but we’re not Princess Leia in slave girl attire…”

  Tattoo Face jammed a shotgun barrel into her stomach, making her stumble back.

  “Bitch, your smart mouth means nothing here. No negotiations. We own you. Now, shut up and
sit down until we say different.” With that, the Krakens left and shut the cabin door. A lock clicked closed on the door.

  Susanne sat next to Sharon on a crude bench, touched her hurt stomach.

  “Hang tough, lover. We’ll wait and get the drop on them later.”

  Sharon began to cry. “I want my mom. I want my dad. I want to go home. This last year has been a bad dream. I want to wake up.”

  Susanne hugged her best friend and partner. “You have me,” she whispered.

  “You’re the reason I’m still sane, Susanne. Like I said before, you are a rock to me.”

  The two women sat quietly for a few minutes and just listened as they held each other, when they heard an argument.

  “What do you mean, we’re low on ammo?” Tattoo Face’s voice rang out.

  “Brad, you told us to hit quick, grab people, new meat and stuff we could find and get out. There were a lot more people running around than we thought.”

  “So, fucknuts, what did you get? I know you got these women, a couple of guys and some booze. What else?”

  “We only had time to find two pistols. A bunch of people came in cars and trucks from down the road. Locals. I guess, friends of the club.”

  “So you ran.” Tattoo Face began to curse.

  “Alright, Tom. Put the word out. We have new talent. Guns and ammo only for payment. Well, get a move on! Put the word out. And next time I lead the raid.” Tattoo Face walked down the gangway from the yacht, grumbling, “Can’t get decent help at all these days.”

  Sharon and Susanne managed to adjust their chains and looked out the cabin porthole.

  “Look,” said Susanne. “I saw them put Maria and the kids in the motel area.” She began checking the size of the porthole.

  “We may be able to squeeze out…”

  “Yeah, after we’ve been starved a bit,” Sharon answered. “Not before. And not in broad daylight.” She began to look at and test the chains.

  “Cheap bastards are using pet store dog chains. Cheap dog chains at that. We look for a weak link, start bending on it. Then we are loose next time they unlock the door.”

  Susanne smiled at her friend. “Bad cop is back.”

  “She never left. You just help me remember what is needed. Like I said, you’re the rock.”

  As the two began to examine their prison more closely, they heard a voice shout out.

  “Hey, Boss. Visitors.”

  The two women looked out the porthole and finally caught sight of two figures walking towards the yacht gangway. Tattoo Face Brad came from another nearby dock to intercept the two apparent strangers. He met them at the end of the yacht gangway.

  “Can I help you two?”

  The older looking one of the two, a beefy red-headed, late middle aged man with a red handlebar mustache, shifted his hands under a well-used dark plastic rain poncho.

  “Understand you have some new talent.”

  Brad’s face broke into a broad grin, his tattoo being stretched in an odd manner.

  “Man, word travels fast. Just got three new pieces of meat today. But we’re only taking weapons and ammo as scratch. You have any extra?”

  The companion of the red headed man, a younger, clean shaven man with Hollywood style good looks, tight physique, and short brown hair under a baseball hat, looked at Brad. Then he nodded to Redhead.

  “Yeah. Boss here seems to think we —”

  Before the older man could finish his statement, the younger man produced a sharp bayonet from under the back of his battered Air Force flight jacket and shoved it into the stomach of Brad. He did it in such a smooth and quick motion—it was as if he had only meant to shake hands, and the blade had appeared by magic. The younger man moved the razor sharp blade sideways and up, then yanked it out and stepped back.

  Things happened so fast that Brad watched his intestines begin to fall out before the pain registered. He then shrieked as he fell over, trying to hold his guts it.

  “My God,” Susanne exclaimed at the porthole. “What the hell just happened?”

  The two strangers began to clamber up the gangway to the yacht, the red headed man producing a double barreled sawed off shotgun from under his rain poncho.

  Sharon pulled on Susanne’s arm. “Come on. We’ll see if we can pull your chain loose from the deck if we do it together.” Their combined strength and Sharon’s accurate assessment of the dog chain’s cheapness resulted in a bending, then a snapping, as Susanne’s chain was freed from the deck. They started on Sharon’s when someone pounded on the door.

  “Who’s in there?” It was a new voice, from the younger stranger. He did not look through the porthole.

  “Two pissed off women, buddy,” Sharon yelled back as she motioned Susanne to position herself by the door. The brunette began to make a garrote from her free dog chain.

  “Know where the keys are at?” The younger man asked.

  “If we did, would we be in here?” Sharon shot back. The man grunted.

  “That was kind of a dumb-ass question, wasn’t it?”

  “Hey, Boss,” came from the red-headed man. “The others noticed you gutted their boss and are starting to make plans to get us. I thought we were going to wait until the Admiral showed up with his people.”

  “Chief, that tattooed piece of shit had fresh blood on his boots. Bet you it was human. So it seemed the right thing to do.”

  The one identified as Chief chuckled. “Adam, you always did have trouble with being patient. Well, I’m going to need some help when the buddies of the guy you killed get their nerve up.”

  “We’ll help if you get us out,” Sharon said in a loud voice.

  “How’s that?” Adam aka Boss asked.

  “Just cut us loose. I promise you we are not shrinking violets.”

  There was a pause. Then Adam spoke. “Alright. Chief, keep an eye out while I try to locate some keys or a good crowbar.”

  “Roger that, Boss.”

  Adam found a crowbar and smashed the cheap padlock off the cabin room door. He then yanked it opened and stepped back, with a semi-auto pistol in his right hand. Susanne stepped through the doorway.

  “Excuse me. Can I borrow that crowbar so I can free Sharon?”

  Adam gave the nude, attractive and dirty young lady a once over, then handed her the crowbar.

  “Thank you, sir.” As Susanne turned to re-enter the cabin, Adam asked a question.

  “You were ready to choke me with that length of chain, weren’t you?”

  “If necessary, yes.”

  Adam grunted. “Yeah, I can see you might be of help. Get your friend, any others free, then look for weapons. Got it?”

  “Got it…Boss.”

  It took less than a minute for Sharon to be free of being attached to the deck. She wrapped the left-over chain around her right fist.

  “That’s going to hurt your hand if you hit someone,” observed Susanne.

  “It’s going to hurt whom I hit more,” Sharon replied.

  Adam walked up and handed the two nude women some blankets and a small knife.

  “Here, ladies. Slice a hole in the center for your head and instant poncho.”

  “Thanks,” said Sharon. ‘By the way, I’m Sharon Wagner, this is Susanne Shaw…”

  “Adam Lloyd, the Director. No time for niceties, look for weapons, anyone else who needs to be freed.” Adam turned and walked stern, where the Chief was watching the gangway.

  “Well, Boss, I think we’re in for it now,” the Chief said as Adam walked up next to him. The Chief was using part of the access hatch to the center cabin walkway as cover.

  Adam looked out, made a quick survey, and then ducked back in.

  “Yeah, I count twelve nasty looking Krakens milling around by the Marina office, trying to get organized. I thought the Admiral would have been here by now.”

  Chief William Hamilton snorted. “Have we really ever been able to figure out his schedule since we met him? Isn’t there some comment about a dr
ummer…”

  “He marches to the cadence of a different drummer, that he does. But he’s been honest with us so far.”

  “Honest according to his reality. I think he’s a can or two short of a six pack.”

  “Well, hopefully he’ll still show up as planned. What do you have in your little diddy bag, Chief?”

  “Spare shells for the twelve gauge, my Desert Eagle, and spare loaded mags for your M-9.”

  “Let me have the spare mags. I’ll climb up on the next deck before they start shooting at us, help cover the gangway, and watch for anyone trying to come in from the water on the port side.”

  “Gotcha. Head and ass down, Boss.”

  “Head and ass down, Chief.”

  As Adam left to go top side, Sharon and Susanne showed up with a very scared Wendy. She had just been tied up with rope, so it had been easier to free her. Now she stood in a makeshift poncho, shivering with fear.

  “Three of you young ladies, I see,” the Chief said.

  “That we know of… Chief, I guess that’s what the Boss calls you.”

  “Chief Master Sergeant William Hamilton at your service. Formerly of the United States Air Force, when there was one.” He looked out the yacht hatchway to see what was going on with the Krakens. They still seemed to be milling around in the Marina office area, like ants in a disturbed nest.

  He glanced at the three women. “Any weapons?”

  “I recovered Hernando’s hand cannon, with four rounds in it,’ Sharon replied.

  The Chief glanced at the huge revolver. “Jesus H. Christ, what is that thing?”

  “Hernando said it was a 500 Smith and Wesson Magnum. He inherited it from the owner of Toys in the Attic in Jacksonville.” Sharon paused. ”Now I guess we inherited it.”

  “The Director and I heard someone had a going community around a former gentlemen’s club up there. Had been planning on paying you a visit.”

  “Don’t bother,” Susanne interjected. “Everyone there is either dead or scattered.”

  The Chief grunted. “Yes, Ma’am, these a-hole Krakens have that effect on just about everyone they meet.” He glanced at Sharon again. “Can you handle that pistol?”