by A. R. Shaw
They looked tired but disciplined. Clad in muted greens, the driver at least wore a camo shirt. He couldn’t tell if the passenger wore the same attire. That hint might help him decide their identity of military or militia. Were they the ones who invaded their camp? Those questions he still didn’t have answers to, but he certainly gleaned quite a bit from this encounter. They were up to something here and it wasn’t good.
Just then, the SUV came to a stop. The driver pointed out the window with his left finger nonchalantly. The passenger leaned forward.
Kent drew his own attention in that direction and saw a deer to the left, in front of them, grazing on tender shoots of grass near the road. The animal stopped and paused a moment longer, looking to the metal monster.
The barrel of the gun the passenger held remained still. The driver drove on steadily after the lingering moment. The deer suddenly took off like a flash when the SUV neared.
From this, Kent also assessed the men in the vehicle weren’t hungry. No one, not in this world, would stop as if at an animal park to gaze at a meal in waiting.
Hell, Kent’s mouth salivated at the sight of the animal. He was tempted to shoot the bounty himself.
“What do you make of that, boy?” Kent asked Ace, who tugged in jerks at the collar, as if asking why they weren’t going after the deer as well. It must have been confusing for the dog.
“Time for stalking, not hunting,” Kent said to the dog as if to answer his unsaid question. Through the woods, Kent and Ace followed alongside the parking lot of a winding road when the rain began to fall, turning the blue mid-morning to gray. The dreary cast was a harbinger of what came next.
17
Sloane
“Wren?” Sloan yelled.
There was a moment there listening to Rose’s dissipating cries that she suddenly heard another voice that hit her in the gut. In a sudden panic, she caught herself. “It’s not Wren, you idiot…you’re losing your mind,” she said to herself. “Stop it. Don’t panic. They might have her, but you’ve got to keep it together. Wren won’t go easily. She’s too much like me, though she doesn’t know it yet.”
Pacing the small cell with a limp in her leg and talking to herself. That’s where she found herself then. “I’ve got to keep moving or I’ll end up like Rose.” Hearing several footsteps pass her cell again, she waited for them to clear her cell before she tried the handle on the doorway. Figuring they were busy with another prisoner and not paying attention to the sounds the other prisoners made provided her the perfect opportunity to see just how secure they were.
“If only one of the buffoons would forget and leave the damn thing unlocked. Of course, I’m not that lucky.” With one hand on the doorknob, she pushed the lever down and met an unyielding turn. “Think, dammit…how do I get out of here? What do I have?” Roaming her hands over her own body she came up with the few items within her grasp. “Literally, bloody bandages, a thin gown, a mangy mattress, a deranged Rose and a will to survive. Mustn’t ever forget the will.”
Flashing on the rifle aimed in her direction that morning, she examined every move, every possibility for an opening. They came in threes. A gunman and two handlers. Rose grabbed the doorway as they dragged her out.
There was only one scenario that might barely work, and she didn’t like the plan but that was all she had. It was risky. She probably wouldn’t make it out alive, but she had little to work with. While she waited she’d walk the small space and work her injured leg, pushing the stiff muscles into flexibility, because she was going to need everything she had to pull off what she was about to try. This was going to be the fight of her life so far and she had only one chance to make it happen; otherwise, they would be onto her and she’d never have the same deception to use again. The stakes were that high.
18
Wren
After the darkened room, they led her down a dimly lit hallway. Her vision was now compromised to a mere slit, and that only let in a stinging, blurry view. Light came in from high windows. It was dim outside…raining, most likely.
The constant overcast provided little light, but enough for the guards to see by. Above her, there were pipes and electrical conduits. She suddenly realized they were in what looked like an old office building. Perhaps this building was a former school or some other kind of industrial warehouse. She didn’t know and it really didn’t matter. What did matter was that she collect all the information coming to her in those little bits and pieces. Even the smallest observations could save her life, even though at the moment she could only depend on her hearing and even then, she still had a slow thrumming running through the sounds of footsteps. Still…staying attuned to any information was the only way she’d find an escape.
Shadows, too, flooded the concrete flooring from under the door spaces. Some of the rooms they passed had high windows in them as well. Others did not. It seemed as if they’d walked nearly a quarter mile through a maze of hallways already. Wait…where are we going? Wren thought. This isn’t the same way they led me in.
“Hurry up. He’s going to want us to take back the other one and she won’t be able to walk once he’s done with her. We might need the stretcher.”
“Why can’t we carry her?”
“She was pretty bloody the last time, dude. I’m not touching that. She’s infected. And this one is going into room 212, on the far end.”
They continued their conversation as if Wren wasn’t even there. Not worthy of acknowledgment. To them, she wasn’t even human—or what if they had compromised their souls to stay alive in there so much that they were no longer human?
Then she caught Boyd cast a glance at her. It was a sideways look. The others never caught it. This one had a conscience. He was afraid of the others and slow, but he was also aware of the injustices going on in there. That, or he had a thing for her…and that idea was a little creepy to her.
“I can take this one, if you guys want to head back and grab the stretcher. She’s not a problem,” Boyd said.
The four of them stopped suddenly. The taller of the guards looked at him and paused. The wheels and gears spun inside his small brain.
Wren wasn’t sure which way he was going to go. He looked at her and then at one named Boyd, then said, “No talking to the prisoners, Boyd. Remember that. Get her in. Lock the door. That’s it. No chit-chat.”
“I’ve transported this one before. She’s not a problem, yet. It’s after he gets hold of them for a while that they start to become a problem. Ever notice that?”
What the hell was that supposed to mean? Wren wondered. Yet…oh, I am a problem…just you wait and see.
The other two released her into Boyd’s care and turned to leave. The taller leader of the group turned and gave him a cautionary look.
Boyd nodded, casting his eyes to the floor afterward.
“Move,” Boyd said with his fist clenching the tender flesh of the back of her arm. He could have pressed harder like the other guards did, but he didn’t. He just pressed enough to make it look like he had a good hold.
She complied but knew this was a fleeting opportunity. “Who are you people? Why are you doing this to us?”
He huffed a breath but said nothing in return.
“What is it that these guys have over you? Do they have your relatives in here too? Did you make a bargain with them? You’re not one of them. Why are you letting them do this to us?” She kept up the questions in a lighter tone. His clench on her flesh tightened a little harder…by the time they stopped in front of a locked door, his hold on her lessened. He never answered her questions but as he unlocked the cell door, she looked to him, and instead of shoving her in the cell as she expected, he simply nodded toward the entrance with his chin into the opened space within, his face shamefully cast to the ground. He couldn’t look her in the eyes then. Something she’d said struck a nerve. She’d been right about something. He bargained for his service in here. He was as much a prisoner as she was.
As the c
ell door slowly shut, Wren knew she’d made some small victory. Cultivating that was her only way out of there. She had to keep trying.
19
Rose
“One more day…one more day…one more day.” The relentless chant she kept up within herself. She could do it for one more day. No matter what they did to her. To keep them safe, she’d survive one more day. There was no way to kill herself. Had that been an option, she would have taken her own life long ago…at least that way, they’d never find them. She’d do anything to keep her family safe, and she’d proved that at least.
All the sadistic torture he came up with didn’t matter. They’d beaten her so badly, she couldn’t see for two weeks. Starved her. Burned her. Water-boarded her. They’d done everything short of raping her, which with everything they’d done so far, she was surprised they were above that heinous crime. Seriously, did Hyde think he was better than a rapist? This latest torture was just as bad.
He was slowly sawing her in half. She knew the pain between her legs was bad, but the infection was even worse…just a few more days and the infection would take her. There was already a fever working its way through her bloodstream now. Death by infection…I’ll take it.
It was a foregone conclusion that she’d never see the light of day again.
“Hello, Rose. What do you have for me today? Any news?”
Her tormentor’s voice always felt as if he used a forked tongue to lick up the back of her spine. The cruel sweetness made her skin crawl.
Then, when he did touch her…he usually started off soft and kind. At first she wasn’t sure what to make of him touching her. He’d stoke her hair like a child, brush the back of his hand across her cheek…caress her shoulders. And then the next thing she knew, the pain began. He went from benevolent to masochist in an instant. And it wasn’t sexual. At least…not so far. Only cruelty. Now…when the softness began, she clenched, knowing what came next, and he smiled gleefully through it all.
“Come on, Rose. We’ve been at this for weeks now,” he said, brushing his hand along her upper arm.
She was sitting in front of him on the edge of his desk where he’d placed her earlier; he reached down and grabbed the hem of her garment in his hands and lifted the edges violently up and over her head. A simple covering ripped away and suddenly Rose was utterly exposed to him.
In the days before, when he did this, she feared rape. He was her father’s age. There was a twinkle in his eyes, as if he’d just opened a surprise package. He rubbed the palms of his hands over her exposed nipples. He roamed with his hands all over her, but never did he breach that point. Instead, he began hurting her. Asking her questions she’d never answer in a million years. Jeopardizing her family was the last thing she’d ever do…to her dying day. In her mind, she’d purposely forgotten the location of her loved ones. Putting them behind locked doors.
But he knew this already…he knew her before.
Hyde worked with her husband at the Astoria camp before everything really went to hell. Nathan brought him into the camp, hoping his expertise as a local FEMA leader would strengthen their numbers after the camp dissipated into nothing more than mob violence.
But Nathan was always a bit naïve. She’d even tried to warn him. He didn’t listen. Not until it was too late. Thankfully, she’d made sure they got away in time. It only took one little sacrifice. Her sacrifice. But if her children were safe with their father and the others, she’d done her job. Hyde already knew her name. What he didn’t know and was trying to find out was where all their caches and equipment stores were housed and to find that out, he needed Nathan. Only Rose could deliver Nathan, and that would never happen. Nathan who?
“Rose, just tell me where he is, darling,” he said as he rubbed the back of his knuckles along her right nipple. “All the pain will stop. I promise.”
She absolutely hated that even now, with a raging fever, filth, and starvation, her body still responded to his unwanted touch. She trembled. It was an unspeakable cruelty that created only inner shame. She had no control over that reaction other than it made her loathe this monster even more. Though, as in the torture sessions before, the pain would soon begin, and no sooner than she’d come to this conclusion he yanked her up off the metal desk like a ragdoll and hauled her over to his latest in torture devices. It wasn’t new by any means. She’d heard of the contraption before she was ever its modern-day victim. It was called the Spanish Donkey and this one had spikes along the seat of the saw horse-looking contraption.
He flung one of her legs over the side, straddling her across the pointed top while she kicked and pulled. She knew what came next: the piercing pain of the spikes impaling her along her tender, swollen inner thighs, making her scream out in excruciating pain. After binding her arms behind her back, he grabbed her hips and pushed her down, back and forth. The screaming never helped. He enjoyed this too much. But as in times past, Rose knew that wasn’t all. Next came the weights. He loved this. Reaching down, he buckled the thick leather cuffs connected to chained weights around her ankles. With nearly thirty pounds per side, her slender legs couldn’t resist the excruciating gravity. Slowly he sawed her in half. It might take weeks, but he had time.
“Where is he, Rose? Just tell me and all this will end. I promise. Why do you do this to yourself? Maybe you like the pain. Maybe you enjoy me hurting you.”
This was nothing new, which made Rose believe only one thing. She’d never answer his questions and he knew she never would. He would continue to escalate the torture until he killed her, if she didn’t die of infection soon. That time wasn’t far away. She welcomed death now.
But more so…Hyde loved her torture. This was his bliss, something he enjoyed too much to logically let her go.
20
Kent
Kent followed the meandering car-lined drive to the gray building he currently watched over. Fear struck him. “How in the hell am I going to get in there?”
The building looked like one of those obscure manufacturing facilities with a sign outside displaying an acronym like ACM, but he wasn’t convinced yet that this wasn’t some kind of government agency gone rogue or a militia that took the whole damn thing over. Probably a combination of the two. It didn’t seem to matter anymore. The source of their pain was still a mystery. However, the large structure was surrounded by ten-foot wire fencing, topped with razor wire. “Not getting over. Must get through.” That was the first dilemma. The second dilemma was getting inside the fortress, not to mention rescuing the princesses with a gangly, disobedient canine.
There were sentries every hundred feet, armed and ready. Still no official uniform. They looked like a thrown-together bunch but that still didn’t provide any clues. Who they were fighting seemed less a problem now. What difference did it make who these aggressors were? Their goal was to take what they had by force, no matter what the costs. How he’d respond to them would make no difference. It was still the same plan either way. He’d learned much from his sweetheart over time and blowing things up was a reasonable course of action in this case as well.
He just needed to wait a little while longer and see where the prisoners were and the actions of the guards. Their tells would indicate where the staff remained most of the time and how to create a diversion. This would take some time. He didn’t want to accidentally kill the wrong people.
As he watched from his spot hidden in the forest tree line, another truck, this time a gray pickup, pulled up to the gate. There were several cardboard boxes in the open bed, soaking through in the midday rain. And that wasn’t all. There were also two human forms sitting back there.
“Oh damn.” His heart sank. A guard came out with his rifle slung over his shoulder and opened up the gate. The lone driver waved to the man granting him access.
“That seems lax,” Kent mumbled to himself. “He’s the delivery boy.”
Whoever drove the gray truck seemed to have free access. When he did pull into the compound the driver s
lid the chain-link gate closed again with a lock. The driver of the truck stepped out. “Holy cardiac arrest, man,” Kent said. The portly gentleman smoked a cigar as he emerged with some effort. His snap button-up shirt parted at the ends, exposing his wide belly. He smiled and laughed at their unheard conversation and shook the guard’s hand. Cigar smoke lingered up and around the pair.
That’s when the driver stepped over to the bed of the truck and swiped away the collected moisture from one of the boxes. He didn’t even acknowledge the two people in the back who seemed to huddle together against the corner. Opening the lid, the cigar guy pulled out a plastic bag filled with something Kent couldn’t see in the distance. After a few seconds, there were several more guards standing around with smoke swirling around their heads like thought clouds…only they were blank of actual thoughts. “Those are women…actually, they look like teens. That’s not Sloane and Wren.” He shook his head in disgust. “Scumbag.”
The driver handed out several more cigars without regard to the females in the back. What a useless find. But also a tell that Kent found useful. The guards were complicit and complacent. They were apparently in control of their domain for longer periods of time than Kent initially thought. So much time and routine had passed that they were lax. Someone was obviously in charge. Their well-run setup had afforded them this luxury. Apparently, they had few challenges or else there was no way they would have let the driver of the truck inside, willingly let him rummage in his own bag without checking them first. They trusted this guy and that was fine. It was something Kent would use to his advantage. There was always something like this in war. Suppliers that played both sides, but human trafficking…no. Even during the civil war, arms dealers ran between the two. Modern wars were no different. The ethics of those that convinced themselves it was fine to make a dime off the bloodshed in war as long as they didn’t hold weapons themselves were responsible for a silent genocide; they were warmongers by their very essence.