Taken Hostage

by Jordyn Redwood

  “When?” Regan asked, hoping her voice didn’t betray how anxious she was.

  “Two hours.”

  “What about Olivia? Colby?”

  “What’s most important right now is you and what’s in this lab. Help me start packing.”

  Regan’s throat tightened. Whatever Brian’s plan was, it didn’t include the two most important people in her life.

  They were going to die if Regan didn’t do something to stop him.

  EIGHTEEN

  Regan stood stock-still as Brian began pacing around the lab. He stopped at a closet, pulled open the door and yanked out several folded-up cardboard boxes.

  “You need to help me. What do you think is the most important thing we should take?”

  Adrenaline poured into Regan’s blood. I can’t believe I’m even considering doing this. Can I do this? Can I incapacitate Brian?

  “The notebooks, of course,” Regan said.

  From the closet, Brian pulled a couple of rolls of packing tape and threw them onto the closest lab table. “Of course.” He turned and smiled at her. “I can’t believe this is really happening!” His voice didn’t give off a hint of betrayal, but rather excitement.

  “We’ll finally be together. We’ll be rich! Richer than either of us thought possible slaving away in that lab for years.”

  Perhaps her thinking was correct about Brian had envisioned a personal relationship budding between the two of them if he could keep her confined and forced to interact with him.

  An emotional prison could be just as confining as a physical one. Olivia’s father had used words and his hands. Regan could have freely left, but the trauma from his onslaught had kept her chained for a long time just as easily as a pair of handcuffs. She’d been in prison before. She wasn’t going back. And certainly not with Brian. Whatever his plan was, she couldn’t allow them to leave the facility.

  It would be the place of her last stand in this nightmare.

  Regan stood straighter and the plan in her mind firmed up. “I’ll go see what cultures we need from the freezers. You have a way to transport them?”

  “Ah, yes. I have plenty of coolers and dry ice. Did you see that I had some variations that I wanted you to check while I was gone? Not airborne, but I think they’re definitely more virulent than regular polio. Isn’t that the weirdest term? Regular polio.” Brian chuckled to himself.

  Regan’s blood ran cold.

  She walked back to the space that held the freezers. She opened one of the units, the one that held all the existing petri dishes, pulling the syringe from her pocket before she knelt down.

  With her back turned to Brian, she rustled the syringe out of its package and threw the wrapper into the bottom of the freezer. She then pulled the three vials from her pocket. The spilling mist helped hide her movements. Despite her fear, she couldn’t use the paralyzing agent. She couldn’t kill Brian. That left morphine or ketamine. She grabbed the ketamine and discarded the other two drugs.

  Pulling the cap off with shaky fingers, she plunged the needle into the clear liquid and drew up three milliliters of the ketamine. That dose should definitely be enough to incapacitate him. The problem would be keeping Brian from killing her until the drug took hold.

  Regan stood and pushed the bared needle through the bottom of the pocket of her lab coat. The metal could easily be seen if Brian was looking for it. She bent over, grabbed a stack of petri dishes from the freezer and walked back to Brian, setting them on the lab table and unstacking them so they sat side by side.

  “I think these are the best ones to take. How about you?”

  He fastened one more piece of packing tape to the bottom of a box and flipped it over. From his pocket, he pulled out a pair of reading glasses and began to examine the notations on the cultures.

  As he leaned over, Regan pulled the syringe out of her pocket.

  “Is this some kind of joke?” Brian asked.

  Regan tucked the syringe behind her back just as he straightened.

  Her eyes widened—a natural response when someone attempted to look as innocent as a kid with her hand in the cookie jar. “What do you mean?”

  He motioned his hand across the plastic containers. “These aren’t even polio.”

  Regan’s stomach knotted. Her next action was going to feel as unnatural as anything she’d ever had to do in her life. She stepped closer to Brian. “Why just stick with polio?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m sure you’ve heard about what other foreign governments are doing. Cross-breeding certain highly virulent agents into their own creations.”

  He eased back from her, one corner of his lip slightly downturned. “You’d want to do something like that?”

  Regan placed her hand on his shoulder and pulled him gently toward her. “Do you think it would bring more money?”

  Brian’s smirk turned into a smile. He eased his hand behind her back and rested it between her shoulder blades, pulling her gently toward his body, nestling his face against her neck. “Did you have something specific in mind?”

  Acid wormed its way up Regan’s throat. “Just this.”

  Regan brought her hand up and thrust the needle into Brian’s shoulder with one hand, using her other arm to grab him around his back to hold him close to her as long as she could.

  Sometimes keeping the enemy within reach was the easiest way to control them.

  She pressed the top of the syringe so hard that the tip of her thumb numbed under the pressure and she managed to get most of the dose in before Brian’s mind tuned in to her betrayal and he shoved her into the metal lab table. She whiplashed backward—the table at her waist, her head making contact. Her vision fuzzed and she heard the dishes scatter to the floor, knowing their tops popped off, spilling their contents into the open air.

  Before Regan could right herself, his hands were around her neck. The cold metal of the lab table bit into her back and her feet scrambled to find purchase on the floor. She clawed at his fingers wrapped tightly around her neck. The pain of her fingernails gouging into his skin seemingly fueled his strength and, impossibly, he squeezed his hands tighter. She pulled her knees up and kicked out into his belly to knock him backward. The force did little to knock him off his feet, but did loosen his grip enough that she was able to take several lungfuls of air as she flipped her body to the side and pulled herself off the table.

  As she crashed onto the concrete floor, Brian’s grip broke. Regan scrambled forward, pulling lab stools down in her wake to make further obstacles. She briefly turned around and found him on his knees trying to clamber over the stools with awkward, stilted movements, like a baby just learning to crawl.

  In one last attempt he heaved his body forward and clasped onto her ankle with a grip that still had a fair amount of strength. Regan flipped onto her back and pulled her foot toward her with all her strength. A couple of good yanks and she was free.

  Her vision blurred and she laid her head against the concrete.

  That was when she heard the pounding of boots on the cement, coming straight for her.

  * * *

  The whir of the helicopter blades cutting through the air pulled Colby’s attention to the window. He barely caught a glimpse of the aircraft as it passed by. In the flash he saw a faint glimpse of something that could be military but, in all honesty, he was speculating.

  Whatever it was, he was worried. He looked over at Olivia. Ice Man keyed through the door, and Colby stepped down off the chair. Without requesting her to, Olivia scurried to Colby’s side and he placed a protective arm around her shoulder.

  There was a hint of something in the man’s eyes that didn’t bode well for Colby and Olivia. He’d seen it before in many men—a combination of madness and determination. His jaw was set, the muscles taut
at the sides of his face, and his eyes were matted dark, like the last ember of goodness had been consumed by the blackness of the deed he’d come to do.

  Even Olivia, a young girl with years’ less experience, sensed the same thing Colby did, and her body shook next to his. He squeezed her shoulder reassuringly even though calm was the last thing he felt.

  Ice Man and Colby stared at one another as if facing off in an old-fashioned duel—except Colby was unarmed. Colby glanced around the room quickly. Was there anything he could use as a weapon that could be effective against an automatic weapon?

  Ice Man’s right shoulder twitched and Colby propelled Olivia to the ground, took two steps and jumped into the air, hitting the man square in the chest before he could raise his weapon. Colby grappled him in a bear hug, the weapon trapped between them. Ice Man wiggled his arm free and was able to place his hand on the trigger.

  “Olivia! Get under the bed!”

  From Colby’s vantage point, he couldn’t see Olivia clearly, but he heard rustling and hoped it was her dive-bombing for cover.

  Ice Man pressed the trigger and bullets released from the tip of the weapon in a hail fire of fury, spraying into the wall and knocking down plaster.

  Colby’s heart thudded wildly in his chest. His ears rang. Was Olivia screaming? He couldn’t distinguish between that and the high pitch of injured eardrums. If he didn’t fix this situation quickly, they were both going to die.

  Colby eased up slightly and placed both his hands on the gun and then flipped over. The man arced over him and, as Ice Man was airborne, Colby pulled the weapon free from his hands. He then scrambled to his feet, turning the gun around before his attacker could right himself, and pummeled the end of the gun into the man’s head. His body fell limp and Colby hit him again for good measure.

  Colby used the strap to shoulder the weapon and began to disassemble Olivia’s bed so he could get to the sheet. Using his teeth, he quickly tore several strips of cloth. He flipped the man over onto his stomach, grabbed his hands and wrapped the butterfly-print strips several times around his wrists, tying the binds tightly.

  Colby then bound Ice Man’s feet. “Olivia. It’s okay. You can come out.”

  Her hand ventured out from beneath the bed. It was as bright and pale as a full moon on an autumn night. She whimpered.

  Colby finished binding the man’s ankles and began to rifle through his pockets. He found what he’d hoped for. A lighter. Their prison key.

  Nothing else other than the weapon proved useful.

  Once Olivia had her head out from under the bed and saw the man was incapacitated, she scrambled into Colby’s arms. He held her tightly and everything that had been emotionally closed off since his wife’s death sprang open like a dam at flood stage.

  Tears coursed down his cheeks and he hugged her tightly with one arm and smoothed his other hand over her tousled hair. With everything in him, he wanted to speak soothing words. To tell her it was going to be all right, but he was never one able to lie.

  My own lost daughter would have been Olivia’s age right now.

  One loss he had never fully grieved was his daughter not ever being born. All that he had missed. Her first smile. Her first words. Would it have been mama or dada? Crawling. Walking. Taking her to kindergarten. Giving her away to the man of her dreams.

  Colby bit his lip, hoping the pain would stop this flow of tears. He had to pull himself together. None of them was safe yet. He had to find Regan. Was she still alive?

  He swallowed hard. “Olivia, we’re okay.” He pushed her back and thumbed the tears away from her cheeks, the pink slowly returning.

  She placed her hands over his and squinted her eyes closed. “Thank you.” She popped them open, the pale blue vibrant. “Colby, please, don’t leave me.”

  “I won’t.”

  I can’t.

  Were those words just for now or were they for forever?

  NINETEEN

  Colby pulled Olivia behind him, scanning the cross hallway and finding no one coming down the path. He placed two bullets in the coded lock and burst through the lab’s door.

  Adrenaline began to leak through his body like water through sand and he felt the strength leave his muscles. At first, he didn’t see anyone.

  Then he saw the tousled components on top of the counter, the overturned chairs. He ran that direction and saw two bodies lying on the ground. Brian, something clearly wrong with him, was making ineffectual body movements, like a slug trying to slither through molasses. His eyes ticked back and forth like a metronome.

  Colby grabbed Brian by the ankles and pulled him back. Regan was moving, her fingers at her forehead. Colby kneeled next to her and grabbed her hand.

  “Regan, it’s Colby—”

  Her eyes popped open. “Olivia?”

  “She’s here.” He looked at Olivia. “Your mom’s okay.” He turned back to Regan. “What happened?”

  “Brian said he knew the military was coming. He was getting ready to escape with just me and some of the stuff from the lab.”

  “Is he dead?” Colby asked.

  Regan eased to a sitting position and swayed slightly. “No. Ketamine. He can’t move—but it’s not going to last long. Thirty minutes at a minimum.”

  Colby heard the roar of two car engines and scuttled to the window. Through the blinds he could see two Jeeps of armed men. Four new foes altogether. He scrambled back to Regan. “Up you go. We need to see what kind of weapons we can get our hands on.”

  Regan got to her feet and pressed two fingers into her temple. “Dizzy.”

  Colby grabbed her hand and eased her forward as much as she could tolerate. “Concussion, probably, but I guess I don’t need to tell you that.”

  He scurried them into the locker room. “I need to get the det cord out of that locker.” He tried to recall which one it was. First one he opened was a no go. In the second he found the treasure he was looking for. He grabbed it. “I need you to get a bag of the IV fluid.”

  At the door, he scanned the hall. A couple of men marched his way. He pulled back into the locker room and pressed his ear against the door. They were fading away—likely going to the cell that had held him and Olivia. That meant they would find their injured comrade and discover Colby was alive.

  They were losing time to escape, and fast.

  Colby peeked out the door again and saw the hall was vacant. He hustled them across the space and into the medical supply room. Regan clambered toward the metal cabinet and pulled out a bag. Colby grabbed it from her and motioned them back into the hall.

  * * *

  Regan huddled next to Olivia at the edge of the hall as Colby constructed a rudimentary bomb out of their pilfered items. From his pocket, he lit the fuse and motioned them back into the medical equipment room.

  He huddled them together. “Once that goes off, everyone is going to come running our way. Just do as I say when I say it. Don’t overthink it. I’m hoping there’s some good stuff in that room to help us. If not, all we have is this gun.”

  Regan nodded and gripped Olivia’s hand. Lord, we need Your help. All of us. If there’s any way You can see to get us out of this alive and in one piece, then—

  The explosion was louder than Regan imagined it would be, and the vibration rattled her bones. Colby opened the door, took a quick glance, and the three of them poured through the door to the room that as of yet had been unexplored. The door hung on its hinges, swaying brokenly in the wake of the concussive blow. They piled into the room. Colby opened several of the cabinets. He grabbed a handgun. He found a bag and loaded it with several rounds of ammunition.

  When Colby opened the next cabinet he pumped his fist into the air like a boy who’d got exactly what he wanted for Christmas. What he pulled out looked to be a rocket launcher.


  “Yes! Hold this.” He laid it in her arms, and she bent slightly under the weight. Colby continued to search through the cabinets until he stood with two large pieces of ammunition held in each hand. “We just might survive this.”

  First, Colby threw the small bag of ammunition over his neck and snuck his arm through so it was easily accessible for his right hand. He then secured the automatic weapon over one shoulder so it sat crosswise in front of his chest. The handgun was placed in the band of his jeans at the small of his back.

  Colby took the weapon from her and motioned to the corner of the room. “We’re going out that door.”

  Regan smiled weakly. A boy and his toys—the same amount of jubilation regardless of the level of danger.

  Just as Colby shouldered through the door, a screeching alarm sent needles of fear through Regan’s body.

  If the explosion hadn’t disclosed their location, then the alarm certainly would.

  * * *

  Colby huddled against the building. The assault rifle across his chest left his hand available for the rocket launcher.

  “What’s your plan?” Regan asked.

  “I’m hoping they’ll stay busy inside the compound looking for us and we can make it to one of those Jeeps and drive off the property.”

  He shifted the assault rifle so it felt more centered. “Come on.”

  They ran to the end of the building. Colby peered around the edge. No one...yet.

  They took another sprint down another length of the building, and when Colby peered around that corner, which was the vantage point of the lab, he didn’t see anyone. Both vehicles were sitting idle. He just hoped there were keys inside. He didn’t want to have to take the time to hot-wire the car.

  “We need to get low. Crawl. We have to stay under the windows.”

  They all got down on their hands and knees. The shrubs were dry and pokey, but he didn’t hear one word of complaint from Regan or Olivia. They slithered forward to the closest Jeep, staying as near to the building as possible to keep from being spotted. Colby glanced up—the guard tower appeared empty.