The man made a grunting sound. He was starting to awaken.
She would have to work fast. Almira grabbed him under his arms and pulled him with all her might in an attempt to get him up in the chair. But she could only lift him a few inches off the ground before her strength gave out and she had to let go, dropping him to the concrete floor again.
She breathed heavily, sweat forming on her brow. The man groaned and seemed to mutter something. Then his eyes opened.
Almira shrieked.
“What the fuck?” he said, groggily. He attempted to stand up, but his legs slid out from under him.
Almira grabbed the other end of the handcuff and tried to stretch it to reach the metal bar on the table. It was close. She stretched it again. Closer still, only a few inches away now.
“You little bitch,” the man said. “What the fuck have you done to me?” He started to get up again, then reached for his aching balls, smacking himself in the nuts with the heavy chain hanging down from the handcuffs. He moaned in agony. Then he opened his eyes and stared at her. His eyes drifted to the other end of the handcuffs which were in his hand. As if the light suddenly dawned, he got what was happening. He reached for the chain to yank it away from her, but his vision wasn’t quite right yet.
Almira wailed again, a crazy panicked scream. She stretched and pulled with every ounce of strength in her body, pulling his big arm closer and closer to the table. Two inches away. One and a half inches. One inch. Now almost there, less than an inch!
Almira felt the chain being yanked away, and her with it, the chain burning in her palms as it slid through and out the other side. She slapped the handcuff onto the table leg, just below the table top and leapt out of the way, rolling towards the door and what she hoped was out of his reach.
“Fuckin’ crazy bitch!” the man screamed. He’d been outsmarted by a teenage girl.
He reached for the chain with both hands and yanked on it with all his power. The chain wouldn’t budge, the handcuffs wouldn’t give, and the table stayed where it was. The man next ran towards Almira with rage so strong that this time rape would be too good. He would kill her, that’s all, that simple. Kill her with the utmost pleasure.
But the chain pulled him back as if he were a mangy dog in a junk yard. “Ugh!” He stumbled backward, hitting the table, twisting and falling to the cement floor.
Almira tried to scream when he charged toward her, but she couldn’t, no sounds came out. She relaxed almost imperceptibly now, as her brain registered that she was out of range of the threat.
Then her fear returned ten times stronger. In all the panic and struggle, the key for the handcuffs had been dislodged from her hands. It now lay just under the table. His back was to it now, but he would find it sooner or later.
Should she dive for it? No, she was safely out of his grasp. She crawled over to his shirt, which had slid against the wall by the door.
As he cursed and yelled things at her that would make a drunken pirate blush, she reached into the front pocket and pulled out his key card. Then she stood up and swiped the card through the card reader. The reader beeped, a green button flashed, and the door unlocked.
“Go fuck yourself,” she said, walking out the door. “You’ll have plenty of time now.” She let the door slam closed, but pulled it tight a couple of times just to be sure it had locked.
Then she ran as if a pack of starving wolves chased her.
Flower was about to begin her interrogation of Conner and Ricky through the solid metal door of how they could possibly get out of here. However, before she could begin her questioning, Ricky Martin suddenly stood in the hallway with her. He was less than a foot away, definitely crowding her personal space.
Flower glanced over at the steel door to the room he was just in. It remained shut and locked. So, she let lose a high-pitched scream; a true ’girly’ squeal, covering her mouth and widening her eyes as she did so.
“Sorry,” Ricky Martin said, waving at her to be quiet as if he was trying to put out a small campfire. “I’m so sorry. Didn’t mean to shock you. Just running a test.” He stared at her as she squirmed. “Umm. Be right back.”
He was gone again, as if he’d never been there. But before Flower had a chance to scream again, he was back. This time, he had Conner with him.
Flower fell backwards in a dead faint and landed on the floor faster than either Ricky or Conner had a chance to react.
“Great,” said Conner, throwing his hands up in the air. He was about to berate Ricky Martin when Ricky cut him off.
“You stay here and help Flower,” Ricky said. “I gotta go for just a second.”
Ricky Martin vanished again. There was a significant argument within the room. Detective Meehan raised her voice once or twice. Ricky used terms like, “trust me,” and “it’s perfectly safe.”
Apparently, she relented. Because just at the moment Conner had Flower conscious again and back on her wobbly feet, Ricky Martin popped into the hall again, this time with Sergeant Meehan in tow .
Flower fell backward again with a loud sigh, this time safely caught in Conner’s arms.
Directly across from her, Detective Meehan fell back toward Ricky Martin. Unfortunately, his reflexes weren’t quite as sharp as Conner’s. She fell to the hard floor, her head bouncing off the concrete.
“Shit,” Ricky said.
“Let her lay there for a minute. Raise her head,” Conner said. “Try to bring her to.”
“I’m sorry, Conner. I just didn’t know cops ever fainted.”
“Neither did I,” Conner said.
“Do you hear something?” Flower asked, coming to from her fainting spell.
“Like what?” Conner asked her.
“Like a runaway train, headed our way?”
Almira rounded the corner on two wheels, so to speak, her arms pumping like pistons and her legs moving in a blur. It was as if a plume of dust trailed behind her, à la the Road Runner. She nearly collided with her three cohorts and Sergeant Meehan, but was able to simultaneously skid to a stop and swerve, avoiding disaster.
“Guys!” she shouted, as she slid past them.
“Almira!” they all shouted back (all except the detective, who nodded weakly, her head propped by Ricky Martin). The four hugged, even though Ricky was still on his knees attending to Detective Meehan.
“We need to get out of here,” Almira said, her smile fading to seriousness. They all stopped hugging to agree.
“Okay, let’s look for some kind of mode of egress,” Ricky said.
The other three friends turned to him, their faces blank.
“An exit,” Ricky said sheepishly. “I’ve got a vocab test coming up . . . ”
“Ah.”
The only problem with this plan, as good as it was, was that it came just a few minutes, or even seconds, too late. For the commotion had not gone unnoticed. Armed men from the floors above were pounding their way down the stairs and through the basement hallways toward them.
“Well, we’re screwed,” Almira remarked.
“Not really,” Conner said.
“What do you mean?”
“Ricky has a, um, a plan.”
“Yeah, I do. It’s like this: You know what I was trying to tell you on the football field that night—?”
“Ricky, I’m sorry, we just don’t have time for the full presentation right now. Explain the details later, okay, man?”
“Huh? Oh, sure, sure,” Ricky said. “Okay, everybody hold hands.”
“Hold hands?” Almira said.
“Ricky, what?” Flower added.
“Hey, you’re just gonna have to trust the guy,” Conner said, punching Ricky on the shoulder gently.
“I have to second that.” Meehan got to her feet and grabbed Ricky’s left hand.
A bullet flew over the group’s head, ricocheting down the hall.
“That’s just a warning. Next one counts!” ’Mr. Geist’ stood at the end of the hall, walking towards them,
gun in an outstretched hand. Behind him, four more suits, each with a gun as well, all pointed their way. “Now, hands up and face the wall.”
“Almira,” Ricky whispered loudly, “take my hand. Come on.” He shook his hand at her. Conner had her other hand. Flower was on his other side and the ring was nearly complete with Meehan.
Confused and a bit reluctant, Almira grabbed Ricky Martin’s hand. He squeezed it tight.
“Last warning, clowns. Hands up. Or I start shooting. I wash my hands of the responsibility for anything that happens to you.”
’Mr. Geist’ realized, a bit slowly, that he was talking at air, at an empty hallway. He squeezed out a single shot that whizzed through the shadow of a thought where five people had just been standing in some kind of pagan circle.
The bullet shattered into the concrete at the other end of the hall.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Something Different. Something New.
“We’re here. We’re here, on the street, next to my car.” Detective Meehan said. Her ’97 Chevy Impala sat just where she’d left it. “Is this some kind of dream?”
The team still held hands, were still in a circle just as they were when they stood inside the building, deep down in a locked and fortified basement.
“This is no dream,” Ricky said, with uncharacteristic gravity. “This shit is real.”
Almira and Flowers unclasped hands first, not necessarily because they were creeped-out by Ricky’s transformation into a supposed tough guy. The circle of hands disconnected. They all looked around them, blinking. The sunny skies that started the day had since turned overcast; a storm was approaching.
“Pretty dark for this time of day, isn’t it?” Flower said. “Speaking of which, what time of day is it? What day is it, for that matter?” She brushed her hair out of her eyes. “I’ve kind of lost track. Being in a coma and all . . . ”
“Oh, yeah, right. Sorry, Flower,” Conner said. “It’s Wednesday already. You’ve been MIA for two days, and in intensive care for almost a week before that. And before that—”
“She doesn’t need to think about that right now,” Almira said, cutting him off with a smile.
Detective Meehan jumped in. “Well, Flower, to answer your first question,” she said, glancing down at her wristwatch. “It’s about 3:30. Come to think of it, I’d better call in.”
She slipped into the passenger seat and switched on the CB radio, her cellphone having been confiscated by the Homelanders.
“I don’t think we should hang around,” Ricky Martin said while the detective communicated with her team. “Those guys inside will be out here soon. They’ll be searching for us. And I don’t think they’ll be in too good a mood.” Ricky gulped and looked over his shoulder.
“Well, can’t you do that thing you just did?” Flower said, smiling. “You know, jump us through space and time and all that?”
Ricky Martin rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. “I’m not sure how many times I can do that ’jump’ thing,” he said, clearing his throat. “At least not with the whole group.”
“Yeah, good point,” said Almira. She leaned into the car and touched Detective Meehan’s shoulder. “Hey, detective—”
“Hold on,” Meehan said into the microphone. She turned her gaze to Almira. “What is it, Almira?”
“Sorry, don’t mean to interrupt you or anything. But unless you are calling for the cavalry, I think we should get the fuck out of here before the bad guys show up.”
“Of course. I was requesting backup, actually.”
“Yeah, well, backup might not be fast enough,” Flower said, interrupting. Shaking her hands rapidly in front of her as if drying them off, she added, “I just think we should just go.” She bit her lower lip, pleading with her eyes.
Detective Meehan squinted slightly and studied Almira and Flower. “Okay,” she said. Then: “Everyone, get inside the car.” Meehan turned back to the radio. “Cancel that request for backup. I’m coming in.”
The voice on the radio replied, “You want the crew to come in and clean up the mess, just the same?”
Meehan thought about that a minute, her eyes closed. She rubbed one finger back and forth across her forehead. “No, I don’t think so, not at this time,” she said. “It’s still a Homeland operation, rogue or not. We’re just a tiny bit outside our jurisdiction.”
“Roger that.”
“10-4.”
Detective Meehan hung the mic back up on the dashboard hook and slid over to the driver’s side. All five were soon inside the car with doors slammed shut.
“But first, I’m taking you guys home,” Meehan said. She started the car and pulled away, the tires spitting pebbles.
As they drove off, both Conner and Ricky stared behind them out the back window.
The dark was lowering as if the sky had been filled with squid ink, suddenly black and impenetrable. The sun was lost and soon the day seemed like night. Detective Meehan’s car pulled up in front of the Martin home and idled. Three doors opened and four teenagers climbed out, looking worse for wear. There was some general waving and mutterings of “bye.” Then doors were slammed and the car moved away from the curb, the headlights piercing the mid-afternoon’s midnight air.
“Well, we’re home,” Ricky Martin said. “My home anyway. Come on inside.”
“I’d just like to get home, myself,” Flower said.
“I thought I’d get you guys some food first. And maybe we could sort of talk about it. Don’t you want to know how we—how I—transported like that?”
“I do, but I’m too damn tired,” Almira moaned.
“Yeah, me too,” said Conner.
“Okay, okay. You want to wait until my folks are back so they can give you a lift?”
“Not necessary,” Conner said. “We’ll walk. It’s not really that far for any of us.”
“True, I suppose. But I worry,” said Ricky, making a face as if he’d eaten worms.
“Well, don’t. I’ll walk with Almira and Flower and get them home safely. Then I’ll backtrack to my house.”
“It’s mostly you I’m worried about,” Ricky said, grinning.
Conner let out a tired laugh and gave his friend the finger.
As the group split up—Conner and the girls heading down the street and Ricky walking across his lawn up to his front door—a darkness observed them all, a shadow at the upstairs window.
The Shadow thing burned with malevolence and pulled away from the window. Then, following dark places out of the room and across the hallway, it floated down the stairs.
“I understand, yes. Perfectly.” Sergeant Brent Wilcox slammed his phone down as Detective First Class Gloria Meehan strolled through his door.
“Who was that?” she asked.
“Funny you should ask,” Wilcox said, standing with his hand still on the receiver. “Seems the ’rogue agents’ at the address I gave you weren’t so rogue after all. We may have broken a few hundred Federal laws there.”
“What? They held me against my will, kidnapped those kids—”
“Believe it or not, they have the right to do that. If a Federal emergency had been declared.”
“Well, had it?” Meehan asked, her eyebrows raised.
“Yes.”
“That’s ridiculous. What was the emergency?”
Wilcox and Meehan recited at the same time, “They weren’t at liberty to say.”
Meehan shook her head. Then she smiled and despite his attempt to act dignified, so did Wilcox.
“What do we do now?” Meehan said, absently examining a bronzed baseball on his bookshelf.
“We wait,” said Wilcox. “They’re sending some of their people over now. It’s not going to be pretty.”
“Never is. Well, I’m ready for them.”
“No you’re not.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Meehan asked, placing the baseball back on the shelf and turning to glare at her boss.
“You are officia
lly suspended.”
“Why? For what?” Meehan dropped her arms and hooked her hands on her hips.
“Bad behavior.”
“What?” Meehan looked at her superior in disbelief, her mouth open.
“Gloria, I need you out of here,” Wilcox said, no smile. “I don’t want you to have to defend what you were doing because you were doing it on my orders.”
“Well, I don’t want you to have to defend yourself to them,” Meehan said, crossing her arms, “when you were only supporting me. It was my idea, my intel, remember?”
“Yeah, I remember,” Wilcox said, dropping into his chair. He sighed. “It makes no difference, because I’m your boss, remember? And I want you to get out of here, preferably go home. Sometime before the shit hits the fan. I’d reckon you’ve got about ten minutes.”
“Shit.”
“Yep, that’s what we’re in. Up to our armpits. But you let me handle it—at least for now. All right?”
“All right,” Meehan said. “But I’m not happy about it.”
“You’re never happy about it.”
“That’s not the point.”
“This one time, you may be right.”
“Screw you.”
“Go home, Gloria.”
When Ricky Martin entered his house, it was as dark as a crypt. The air was unnaturally cold, as if all the windows were open. He crossed the front hall and hit the light switch, but no lights. He was about to head toward the kitchen when instinct told him to fall to the ground. A cold arm of a shadowy ghost passed above him. An arm whose touch meant certain death. These days, certain and unpleasant death.
Ricky rolled, then leapt up and ran. He reached the kitchen and dashed through to the back yard. The shadow thing was upon him in a blink of the eye. Ricky was outside standing next to the pool, which was covered with the winter tarp.
In the next blink, the thing joined him and Ricky bolted to the end of his back yard. The thing joined him there, too, and was about to strike Ricky when he, for reasons he couldn’t explain, struck first.
SHADOWS OF DEATH: Death Comes with Fury (and Dark Humor) To a Small Town South of Chicago Page 15