by Hunt, James
“I wasn’t the one who pulled the trigger on a defenseless boy,” Wren retorted.
Edric laughed. “Don’t travel the high road with me, Burton. I know what you were planning today. I just beat you to the punch. It’s amazing what you hear over pillow talk.”
Ella. The foolish girl must have told her boyfriend what they had planned. That’s how Edric knew. “The plan isn’t over yet.” Wren narrowed her eyes, knowing that she had nothing up her sleeve. But any shadows of doubt she could stir in the back of his mind was reason enough to keep prodding. “What do you think is going to happen when you head back to camp? They’ll know what you did. Whatever control you think you have will disappear the moment the community sees you walk in with half the group missing.”
Edric leaned forward, and grazed the scars on his face, his fingers digging into the grooves and divots that ran along his cheeks and jawline. “The same people who gave me these tried something like you did. Although, as you can see, their plan was slightly more effective than yours.” He reached for his belt and plucked a grenade. He held it out between the two of them, cradling it gently in his hands. “Have you ever been hit with shrapnel from an explosive, Burton?” He tapped the side of the grenade against his cheek. “It’s nasty business. The metal comes flying at you with a velocity faster than a bullet, tiny shards tearing through your flesh like a disease burrowing itself into your body until you bleed out.” He pointed to his scars. “Transport detail. Afghanistan. Roadside car bombs had become the weapon of choice for the enemy, and any suspicious vehicles were thoroughly inspected. It was my second tour, so I had a pretty good intuition when it came to spotting something meant to kill me. A skill I still use today.” He pulled the pin on the grenade, clutching the lever tightly in his fist, and Wren drew in a breath as he waved the grenade around like a conductor’s wand. “The enemy was a master of deception. You could never be entirely sure if the man in the robes walking down the street had a pack of C-4 strapped to his chest, or if the woman in the burka to your right had a machine gun underneath her garb.” He frowned. “Every person there looked like they wanted to kill us. No matter what we tried to do about it.”
The truck smacked into a large divot, and Wren’s heart jumped as Edric’s fist wobbled, but the grenade clung tightly to his palm. Her worry broke out in the beads of sweat along her face and neck. “And that’s how you see everyone now? Your enemy? How long before that enemy turns into the kids at the community? Or someone who says something you don’t like?”
“You know why we lost so many men in that war, Burton?” Edric leaned forward, but her eyes were still glued to the explosive in his fist. “We couldn’t fight the battles the way we needed to in order to win. The administration was so caught up in red tape and public opinion that we couldn’t kill them the way we needed to kill them. I’m not going to let that same bureaucratic nonsense destroy what I’ve built here.”
“So that’s why you’ve planned your little coup?” Wren asked. “You think the community is better off living in fear of you?”
“I think the community is better off living.” Edric slammed his back against the side of the truck, stretching his legs. He tilted his head to the side. “You know, I heard you speaking with your husband that night.” He leaned forward, then gave her a look up and down, the same look she’d seen from catcallers since she was a teenager. “It’s a shame you couldn’t pick a man to handle your spirit.”
“Well, real men have been in short supply lately.” Wren’s nostrils flared, and she grimaced at Edric’s stench. “But I’ll let you know when I find one.”
Edric grabbed her throat, choking the life out of her with his left hand. The pressure compounded in her head with every second he kept hold. “I’ve thought about the different ways I could kill you. I wanted to see how long I could draw it out. You people, in your cities, standing atop your ivory towers, you have no idea what it’s like for the individuals whose backs you stand on. You have no idea of the sacrifices it takes to keep security.” He pulled her closer, Wren’s face shifting from red to purple. “But you will.” He shoved her back forcefully, releasing his grip.
Wren collapsed to her side, gulping in giant breaths of air, hacking and coughing, her throat sore and raw. Her head rattled against the truck bed, and with her hands bound, she struggled to push herself to an upright position as she watched Edric place the pin back into the grenade. “You’re not protecting people, Edric. You’re nothing more than a prison warden now.”
The truck came to a stop, and Wren suddenly realized that the forest had disappeared behind them as they pulled into an abandoned parking lot on the outskirts of town. “In a few minutes,” Edric said, “you’ll be wishing you had some bars of your own to keep you safe.”
Two of his goons grabbed her roughly and flung her to the pavement. Her shoulders and arms smacked against the concrete, a portion of her face scraping against the grainy gravel, and she felt the warm burst of blood trickle down her cheek. More arms scooped her off the ground, the air stinging the fresh wounds.
They’d stopped at the town she could only guess was their original destination. Edric walked over to her while the rest of his men unloaded some of their food. “I just want you to know that I will not pass judgment on the rest of your family for your crimes. Unless they defy me, no harm will come to them.” Those scars formed another wicked smile. “And besides... by the time your two girls come of age, women will have their uses. And if they share your looks, then I know I’ll enjoy them.”
Wren spit in his face, thrashing against her captors. “You fucking bastard! You lay one hand on them, and I will find you. You hear me? I will fucking kill you!” She kicked, screamed, and flailed her arms, but no matter how hard she fought, she couldn’t break free.
The outburst depleted what was left of Wren’s strength, and she hung limply from the hold of one of the guards. Her mind raced through the horrors her family would encounter back at the camp. I’ve failed them. I’ve given them up to this monster. She fought back the desperation welling up in the corners of her eyes. She would not give them the satisfaction of seeing her cry.
“Sir, we have movement. Three o’clock.”
Wren perked up at the noise, a brief flash of hope that it was someone from camp. Maybe Iris had another team. A backup. But when she looked, all she saw were a few men she didn’t recognize slithering out from behind an old lumber warehouse. They held rusty pipes and tire irons. Their faces were thick with scruff, their clothes dirty, and their hair as wild as the overgrowth creeping in from the patches of grass along the streets.
“You’re late,” Edric said as he approached the three men, his tone as rough as his peers. No handshakes were given, and no smiles were cast. “Where’s the rest of your men?”
“Where they can see you, but you can’t see them.” The man who spoke had yellow-stained teeth, and she smelled the sour stench coming off him from ten yards away. When they made eye contact, he flashed a wicked smile. “That her?”
“Yes.” Edric led the self-appointed leader over, while his other two henchmen stayed put, patting the ends of their rusted weapons in the palms of their hands.
The man with the stained teeth stopped just inches from Wren’s body as the guard holding her still stiffened her back, standing her up straight. He stroked her hair then moved his hand down to her chest, where he fondled her right breast, smiling. “She’ll do just fine.”
“And two weeks’ worth of rations. Just like we agreed upon.” Edric motioned to a pair of his men, who dumped half of the sacks and crates of the food cache. “We have a deal?”
The man released Wren’s breast, and she felt a shudder run through her body as he nodded. “My men will not attack your compound for the next month. After that, should your contributions prove… worthwhile”—he glanced over to Wren—“we will come up with a new arrangement.”
Wren watched the bastards shake hands as if she were a product to be sold, and her new captor su
mmoned his own goons. “We’ll have some fun with you,” he said as Wren was dragged against her will. She watched the trucks drive away, leaving nothing but dust in their wake, and she felt foreign hands dig into her flesh. She jammed the front of her forehead into her captor’s jaw, knocking loose his grip but leaving her head ringing. “Hey!” But before his partner could interfere, Wren slammed her heel into the toe of his left foot then drove her knee into his crotch, sending him to the ground with his friend.
Wren sprinted. Her arms were tucked tight behind her from the restraints, but less than ten feet into her escape, she tripped and violently smacked onto the concrete. The pavement was hot and coarse against her body, and she lay there, moaning from the impact.
“Dammit, Coolgan! Can’t you keep hold of one woman?” The voice lashed the words harshly, and when Wren looked up, she saw Stained Teeth glancing back down at her. “Look what you did. Her face is all fucked up.”
Wren spit out a wad of blood, her cheeks on fire and a sharp pain cutting up the left side of her back. The man jerked her up and gripped her throat, forcing her to choke on her own spit. “You listen to me, bitch. We can do this the easy way, or the hard way. There are at least thirty men here who haven’t fucked anything but their own hand in over a month, and you’re their prize for behaving so well. So are you gonna play nice?” Wren answered, but the man’s grip was so tight that her words gargled incomprehensibly from her lips. The man leaned closer. “What was that?”
“Go fuck yourself.” Wren strained the words through her throat and spit a wad of blood in the man’s face. She received a backhand for the comment that sent her to the ground once more, the world spinning underneath.
“Wrong move, bitch.”
Chapter 11
The chants and screams from the men watching Wren as she was paraded through the camp were frenzied and tilted off the edge of lunacy. The vulgar taunts paired with a few choice words told her everything she needed to expect from her stay. But when the man with the yellow-stained teeth led her inside a dimly lit room with nothing more than a few candles burning in the corner, something felt wrong.
“Boss gets to have you first when he gets back.” Yellow Teeth prowled around room, sniffing at her, flashing his stained smile. “But don’t you worry. When he’s done with you, I’ll get my turn. And I’ll make sure you get everything you need, baby.” He blew her a kiss, and hysterical laughter trailed behind him as he slammed the door shut on his exit, the rush of wind blowing out the few candles inside, sentencing her to darkness.
Wren pushed herself to her feet, running for the door he’d just closed, and wiggled the handle in a fruitless effort to escape. Outside, the chants and echoes of the men permeated the walls of her cell, all of them relishing in whatever sick fantasies they hoped to use her for. The thought forced her to swallow a retch of vomit, and she collapsed against the wall for support. She slowly slid to the floor, her dignity and courage falling with her as she sobbed silently in the quiet of her own solitude.
The salty tears stung the cuts on her face, but it didn’t deter the tears from falling. She curled up into a defenseless ball, clutching her legs close to her chest, letting the fear run its course. She wanted to get it out now. She wouldn’t cry when they raped her. She wouldn’t give them anything but cold, stoic indifference.
When the wells of her grief ran dry, she pushed herself up from the floor, forcing herself to sit upright. Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness a little more, and the shapelessness of the room cleared. All of the walls were barren, and from what she saw, there wasn’t a single piece of furniture in the room. Nothing she could fashion into a weapon, nothing to help her escape.
I can’t die here. I can’t let Edric hurt my family. Wren shuddered at Edric’s last words, knowing full well that he wasn’t the type of man to offer empty threats. She had to escape. Wren leapt to her feet as quickly as her bruised body allowed and pressed her hands against the wall, running them across the grainy surface until she found the candles, nothing but small nubs, the pooled wax around the shafts still warm to the touch. But they sat on no holders of any kind, and the mushy wax itself offered no defense against what she would have to fight.
Think, Wren. She shut her eyes, trying to drown out the hum of voices beyond the walls, which had grown louder. With her ear tilted to the side, she inched closer to the back wall, the chants building in volume with every step. She crouched low, running her hands against the bottom of the wall until they stumbled upon a vent.
Wren nearly screamed in elation but managed to keep her calm. The vents of the lumber yard were large to help with ventilation from the sawdust. If she could crawl inside, she would be able to find a way out. She fumbled her hands to the corners of the vent where the screws protruded. She squeezed her fingers around them, trying to twist them free. Her skin pinched against the rusted metal, and she felt flakes of rust fall from the screws with every attempt.
After a few tries, blood dripped from Wren’s fingertips and rolled down the back of her hand. Every droplet that splashed into the growing pool of dark crimson beneath the air vent sent tiny droplets onto her pant leg. Each turn of the screw shredded her skin. Her fingers ached, and the screw she struggled with rusted with defiance as it neared the end of its length. With a shaky hand, she palmed the metal, where it sat stained in blood, and then placed it in her pocket. She peeled the free corner back, but it wasn’t enough to make room for her to maneuver inside.
Wren winced in anticipation of the pain to come as her raw fingertips touched the next screw. Sweat rolled down her forehead, cheeks, and neck. It collected under her arms and rolled down the sides of her ribs underneath her shirt. She turned the stubborn metal fervently, but despite the effort, it withdrew painfully slowly. She smacked her forehead into the wall. Fatigue and frustration were catching up with her. She felt her grip on reality loosen, and each laugh and cheer that echoed through the walls from the dozens of men outside only slickened her fingertips as she dangled over the edge.
Wren punched the concrete wall, the only reaction from the room a dull thud that was quickly lost in the chants outside. She brought her left hand to the screw, its fingertips not as raw and bloody as her right, but her grip not as strong. She focused on returning to Addison and Chloe. She thought of her only son, alone and broken, and what that madman would try to do to him. She gritted her teeth and heard the rusted screw squeak on its turn. Her entire arm shook from the pressure, but she pushed through the pain as fresh skin tore from her fingertips and clustered in the screw head’s grooves, spouting a fresh well of blood that stained her hands and the metal underneath.
Every tenth of an inch the screw protruded, Wren felt her heart race. So close. She looked back to the door behind her and the menacing intentions that lay beyond. The pain reached a crescendo on the last turn as the screw clanked against the floor. Wren took hold of the opened side and pulled backward with all of her might, the old metal vent straining against her will. With a final yank, the metal bent ninety degrees and opened a path large enough for her to wiggle through. The weight under her bloodied palms caused the metal to buckle, and with it a noise loud enough to pierce the celebrations outside.
Wren froze, slowly turning to the door behind her, waiting for it to burst open with the men who meant to rape her. But no one entered. She turned back to the vent, crawling, feeling her way through. The space was tighter than she anticipated, and her shoulders scraped against the sides while her stomach slid across the bottom. She ducked her head, and her legs stuck out straight behind her. Each movement forward was as slow as pulling the screws from the wall.
Built-up sawdust, dirt, and grime smeared across her body and limbs as she pressed forward. If the room was dark, the vent was as void of light as a black hole. Twice she smacked her head against a wall as the vent reached a dead end, forcing her to go left or right. And with no schematics to the facility, every turn through the airshafts was a gamble. She had no idea where she would end up,
but with no option other than forward, she pressed on.
Finally, the glow of firelight through one of the vents offered the first look at freedom, but along with the light came the grunts and voices of the men who’d captured her. She approached cautiously, doing her best to avoid the loud bumps and pops of the sheet metal that comprised the airshaft as she crawled forward.
The yellow-and-orange light flickered through the vent’s open grates on her left. When she peered through the narrow slits, she saw the large fire that was the source of the flames. Six men sat and circled the inferno, all of them with bottle of liquor in their hand, save for one, whose face remained hidden on the far side by the fire.
“This deal is temporary, and it shows just how desperate they are. They truly believe they are safe behind those walls. It’s only a matter of time. We’re gaining more men along with the weapons to arm them. The food they bartered with us will be put in reserves for when we need it.” The hidden voice spoke with an elegance that contradicted the Neanderthal-like faces that surrounded him.
“And the girl?” one of the men asked and spilled some of the liquid from his bottle as he sloshed his arm drunkenly back and forth. “The men are waiting for your word. They want you to have her first.”
Wren held a curse under her breath, and for a while the only sound from the scene below was the crackle of the fire. Every face around the flames looked to the man she could not see. She tried moving to the right, reaching as far as the grate would allow her, and for a moment she saw a sliver of his profile. Unlike most of the men, the man’s right cheek was smooth and shaven, his hair combed and slicked back. “I care nothing for the woman. But if it lifts the men’s spirits, tell them to have their fun. They could use a distraction. A reward for their loyalty.”
The men around the fire sniggered, and Wren had to keep the bile in her stomach from spewing through her mouth and nose. They spoke of her like an object to be used and disposed of, and they did so with candor. As the others departed, Wren lingered behind to see who their leader was, but he remained seated behind the fire.