Slayground

by Don Pendleton

  With a grim smile, Bolan finished examining the trap, taking care not to lay a finger on the stained tips. If the Seven Stars were using poisons, the traps could come in any number of forms. He moved on, slowed even more by the need for vigilance.

  Bolan came upon a small collection of outhouses that seemed to serve as maintenance huts, and he finally got the break he was looking for. Ahead was a cinder block house with a padlock that gleamed in the moonlight—unlike any of the other locks he’d seen. The earth around the building was also scuffed and disturbed, suggesting people had been here recently.

  He approached, quickening his pace. He pulled the listening apparatus from his duffel bag and applied it to the walls. Nothing. He moved around to the front and saw that the padlock hung open. He turned the knob and stepped inside, keeping close to the wall.

  The interior was clear to him through the night vision goggles, and his stomach churned at what he saw. There were stains on the ground that looked like blood. A foul stench filled the room and a filthy container of water sat in one corner. Footprints and scuffs in the dirt suggested a person had been dragged in a tight circle.

  Someone had been tortured here, and it didn’t take a wild guess to infer who the victim had been. But where was she now?

  With strengthened resolve and urgency, Bolan left the cinder block building and resumed his search. The soft earth was indented with recent prints, and a faint trail led from the maintenance area toward the entrance to the park.

  At least he was now sure where he would find Elena Anders. The downside was that she was likely to be in a heavily populated part of the park, and his escape route would be constrained by his limited knowledge of that area.

  As he moved forward, he stayed in the shadows and took advantage of the cover provided by the rides and booths. He was cautious of further traps, and skirted two along the way—a spring trap similar to the one he’d triggered earlier, and one with a more insidious design meant to catch those who were seeking cover. A deep recess between two rides, where the engineers would have gained access to the motors, was inviting as a hiding spot. Too inviting. An examination revealed a covered pit three yards deep, with wooden stakes pointing upward, the tips stained dark once again.

  How many more of these traps were scattered throughout the park? If he could secure Elena, then the best exit strategy would be the way he had come. At least he had a path to follow.

  But before he could contemplate this, he had to locate her. As he approached the cluster of buildings that he assumed served as the Seven Stars’ base, he noticed the noise and light emanating from one structure, while the others were dark.

  He cursed as he drew closer. The entire cult seemed to be congregated in one building. While it was a good opportunity to take them out in one fell swoop, there was every chance that it would mean taking the target—and any other innocents involved—with them. Bolan couldn’t risk that.

  Inside, the building sounded like bedlam. The shapes behind the painted-over windows moved wildly, and the voices he could hear were raised in incoherent screams and shouts.

  Just what the hell were they doing in there?

  * * *

  ELENA HAD TO LICK the toad’s back. She was being closely watched, and there was no way she could fake it. She knew that the oozing secretion on the yellow skin held a hallucinogenic toxin. Licking it would leave her defenseless. Around her, some of the other cult members had already greedily run their tongues along the spines of their toads. Some were already starting to react, though this quick response was more likely autosuggestion than genuine intoxication.

  Ricke had his eyes on her. Duane was at her elbow. There was nothing she could do, even though she knew she’d be lost if she ingested the toxin. If ever she needed a break, it was now.

  Maybe she was owed some luck after the suffering of the last forty-eight hours. As the cult members worked themselves into a pitch of excitement, three of them jerked and danced across Ricke’s sightline. At the same moment, another acolyte barged into Duane, knocking him to one side. As he spun instinctively to strike at the woman who had careered into him, he was for a second facing away from Elena. Only Susan still watched her, and she was likely unaware of the real significance of Elena taking the toxin into her system. She only furrowed her brow in confusion as Elena moved her head slightly so that her tongue touched the toad’s belly rather than its back, brushing it as lightly as possible.

  She knew that spitting would be pointless; the poison would already have been absorbed through the moist tissue of her tongue, and anyway, a hawk and spit would be too revealing. But at least she could ingest as little as possible, and try to ride out whatever effects it had.

  Which were very few, as the men and women around her began to get the full hit of the drug. Twitching, convulsing, dancing like dervishes and talking in tongues... She suspected this behavior was partially dragged up from their subconscious, a mimicry of cults they’d seen in old TV documentaries and other media.

  Ricke stood at the front of the crowd, now able to view the panorama unimpeded. His cold eyes fixed on her once more. Duane was upright again, keeping vigil by her side. Susan was gone, having joined the others in their hysterical mass hallucination. Elena had no idea what they were seeing, had no real desire to know, but she understood that she must try and fake it, and hope Ricke and Duane were convinced.

  She began to imitate the others. It wasn’t as hard as she would have liked; the small amount of poison she’d ingested was beginning to take effect, and it was all she could do to keep a hold on reality. The world around her began to blur at the edges, the cacophony in the room suddenly sounding distorted. She’d read about these things, but had never experienced them. Maybe some people liked these sensations, but she preferred to have control over herself, and now had to fight the waves of panic that were rising within her.

  Some of the acolytes had left the cafeteria, and the rush of night air coming in through the doors they had thrust open hit her like a miasma, creeping and crawling over her skin.

  She was still lucid enough to identify this possible means of escape. She moved with the throng as it started to gravitate toward the doors. She’d put some distance between herself and Duane, and looking back, saw him exchange a brief glance with Ricke, who gave a tiny nod. Duane followed quickly behind her. If she could just keep enough of a grip to conceal herself in the night, then she might have a chance.

  Outside, the darkness seemed to be undulating in black waves, the rides spreading over the park as skeletons come to life, looming in and dipping down over her. Flames cast shadows and light over the immediate area as some of the acolytes set fire to the trash heap that had accumulated. It burned high and bright, and Elena cursed as it lit the patches of dark that she had hoped to use as cover. At the same time, she was relieved, as a feeling of dread at the menacing blackness had started to rise unbidden within her.

  She whirled with the other acolytes, who had clustered around the flames. She thought she would try to hide among them until she could make her escape, yet all they did was bump against her and hem her in.

  She could see Duane on the edge of the crowd, standing on his toes to peer over the heads of the mass, to pick her out. Behind him, Ricke stood in the doorway, waiting.

  She knew what he was waiting for, and she knew what she could expect if Duane dragged her back to the cinder block cell.

  Duane caught sight of her—she could tell by the way he looked back at Ricke before turning and plunging into the throng.

  She pushed through the dancing, wailing acolytes, their shouts and gyrations reverberating in her head, blurring her perception as her poisoned nervous system tried to cope with the sensory overload. She stumbled, then pulled herself upright with the forward momentum, and glanced over her shoulder. She paused, confused. Duane had stopped and was staring directly past her.

 
; She turned and followed his gaze.

  This poison was affecting her in an unexpected way. She could swear that a man in a combat suit had just stepped out from beneath the shadow of a roller coaster scaffold.

  Chapter 10

  Bolan stood in the darkness, watching and waiting as the first of the cult members danced out of the building and into the moonlight. He watched as they built a fire of the trash heap and set it alight. He had no idea why they were doing this, or why they should wish to, but it was clear that they were on a different plane of reality than he was. He inferred this not just from the things they were doing, but also from their jerky, hesitant actions, the way they danced around each other as if only just noticing other people were there. They were barely in command of their senses and their motor functions. He couldn’t say what kind of drug they had taken, only that they were extremely stoned.

  Their intoxication would make them unpredictable, but they weren’t as much of a threat in this state as they could have been sober. The chaos and revelry should make it easier for him to extract Elena Anders, but he also had no way of knowing what state she’d be in, or what challenges he’d face in whisking away a hallucinating girl.

  The entire community seemed to pour out of the building and congregate around the fire. The flickering light made it hard to identify faces, and each person was clothed in an identical purple robe.

  Then he picked out a figure that moved through the crowd with more purpose than the rest of the acolytes. It was a woman, and she was obviously intoxicated, but perhaps not as much as the others. If she was, then she had an iron will that was driving her on. It looked very much as though Elena Anders was her father’s daughter.

  Bolan began to step out of the shadows, but held back when he saw the man behind her. He was advancing with the same sense of purpose, trailing in her wake. Bolan recognized his face from the bank raid CCTV footage. If he’d taken the drug, too, he showed no sign of it. He didn’t appear armed, but his loose clothing could be concealing weapons.

  Bolan paused to allow the situation to develop. He wanted to be as sure of the ground as possible before making his move.

  He was glad that he’d waited when another man appeared in the doorway of the building. Even at this distance, it was obvious from his demeanor that he was stone cold sober. Through the diffused light of the blazing trash heap, the soldier could see the hard glint of his stare as he scoped out the scene.

  Bolan guessed that Elena was taking this opportunity to try and make a break. Maybe she had before, or maybe she was under special supervision for some other reason—her political connections, perhaps. Either way, Bolan was certain she wouldn’t get far with both Ricke and Duane on her ass.

  It was go time. The young woman was coming toward him, and if he could deflect Duane, then he could get a head start before the stoned throng could get any kind of act together.

  He stepped into the open, holding the HK downward so Elena wouldn’t be threatened. She froze, stricken by what must have seemed like an apparition before her.

  Duane kept on coming. Beyond him, Ricke had caught sight of the soldier, too. He scowled, then disappeared back inside the building. Bolan had no doubt that he was going for a weapon.

  Time was of the essence.

  * * *

  ELENA STOPPED, UNABLE to believe what she saw.

  As the man in the blacksuit broke into a run and came toward her, she heard cursing and felt a hand close around her upper arm.

  “You ain’t going nowhere,” Duane whispered in her ear. She felt his fetid breath on her shoulder.

  She was unable to form words, but together enough to take some kind of action. A wordless scream escaped her, and she pulled her arm away from him, flailing with her free hand as she twisted in his grasp. He tried to circle her waist with his other arm. She struggled, but his grip tightened.

  She looked up to find the man in the blacksuit in front of her. His face was unreadable. Duane, still holding on to her, failed to respond as the man suddenly raised his rifle and struck past her with the stock, slamming it twice into Duane’s face. She heard him yelp in pain, felt hot blood spatter on her arm, then his grasp slackened and he fell backward.

  When the man in the blacksuit took hold of her, she offered no resistance and allowed herself to be dragged away from the trash fire and into the shadows of the deserted rides. She had no idea who he was or where they were headed, but it had to be better than what was behind her.

  * * *

  BOLAN STEPPED FORWARD and smashed the stock of the HK into Duane’s face, splitting his nose and knocking him backward. Pain and shock stopped the man from taking any further action. But with Ricke guaranteed to return with a weapon at any moment, Bolan needed to move fast. He grabbed Elena. She was a little slack-jawed and surprised, but he could see in her eyes that she was desperately trying to make sense of what was going down. She didn’t fight him.

  The soldier turned and ran, pulling her after him. He was headed for the section of fencing he had used to get into the park. Their progress was slowed by Elena’s unsteady gait, but she was making an effort to keep up.

  Bolan reviewed their options. The majority of the cult members were too out of it to move with any kind of speed and precision. Duane was temporarily out of action, but he would be pissed as hell when he dragged himself to his feet, and that made him even more of a danger. The other problem was Ricke.

  Bolan had a head start on them, but was slowed by Elena. It was time for a risk assessment. They had rounded several corners and put a lot of scaffolding between themselves and the enemy. He pulled Elena behind a boarded-up stall and faced her.

  “Elena, can you understand me?” he said slowly and clearly.

  She tried to nod, but her motions were jerky. “Toad...lick. Not as much as...others. Tried spit. Get away...”

  Bolan nodded. “Good. You’ve done great so far, and I’m here to help you. But you’ve got to help me, too. Can you run?”

  “Not good...”

  “Climb? We have to get over the fence.”

  She smiled weakly and shrugged.

  “It’s okay, just do what you can, and I’ll help you. You’re one hell of a girl, Elena, and you stick to it. We need to make the best time we can. You ready?”

  She nodded, though her eyes betrayed her worry that she was making a promise her body wouldn’t let her keep. He let this slide, giving her arm an encouraging squeeze before leading her onto the path. He wondered if their head start would be enough.

  He heard a burst of SMG fire, and figured it might not....

  * * *

  RICKE RUSHED THROUGH the temple and into the back room. There were some weapons there, though the majority were kept in the armory block. Despite their state, his people were well indoctrinated and would respond when he could get their attention. Ricke hadn’t studied post-hypnotic suggestion and drug use during his psychology major for nothing. If you want to be a guru, then you have to know how to make your will count above all others.

  Elena Anders represented serious money, and through her he could step up from the level his community was operating on at present. Like most cult leaders, Ricke was a strange mix of the venal and the evangelist. He believed in his message, but he also thought most people were just waiting to be taken for a ride. If anyone was going to take advantage, then why not someone like him? He wouldn’t let success get away from him when he could almost taste it. He ripped an Uzi from the cupboard, then grabbed a second one. He checked that both had full magazines and then ran back to the temple’s entrance, where he could see Duane picking himself up from the dirt, shaking his head and snorting out blood and mucous. Ricke cursed the stupidity of petty criminals.

  All around Duane, the hyped-up acolytes danced and frolicked, lost in their own worlds. Ricke pointed the Uzi toward the sky and fi
red a short burst.

  The scene before him froze into a tableau as the gunfire penetrated the revelers’ altered states. Ricke didn’t give them a chance to make any further movements.

  “People,” he yelled. “We have been violated. While we celebrate, an outsider has come in and taken one of our own. Elena is gone. She has been snatched, and we must get her back at all costs. Break open the armory and take your weapons. He is only one man, and we are many. We will track him down and kill him. She must not be harmed—she is one of us,” he added hurriedly. “Now go. Find our sister and bring her back!”

  Duane was headed for him, still clutching his nose. Ricke was glad to see a murderous glint in the criminal’s eye. He tossed the second Uzi. Duane caught it with one hand, nodding as much to himself as to his leader.

  “Duane, she’s valuable,” Ricke said. “Make sure we get her back in one piece. And don’t let that fuck get the better of you this time, all right?”

  Duane seethed at the implied criticism, but such was the hold Ricke had on him that he would feel his leader was right, and that he must atone. He nodded, then loped off in pursuit of Elena and the intruder.

  Ricke sniffed the night air. The park was full of traps for the unwary. In his view, it was astounding that the man had gotten this far without falling foul of them. What were the chances he would be able to get out again unscathed?

  * * *

  DUANE FOLLOWED THE trail as far as he could. There were no visible signs of Elena and the man, but he knew the path they’d set off on, and when he found that the traps had been nullified along the route he traveled, he stopped to figure it out.