Girls In White Dresses: A Detective London McKenna Novel

by Alex Gates

  “McKenna…” He looked up as the rumbling shudder quaked through the bunker. “Get under the desk.”

  Then came the explosion.

  A thunderous burst of popping squealed through the bunker’s metal garters. The very earth crumbled as the sudden detonation of a series of bombs ripped through the ceiling.

  “Get down!”

  Rick’s last words heralded the collapse of hundreds of tons of dirt and steel. The ceilings ruptured with a crack of righteous thunder. The tiles gave first, clouding the room in a white dust as the steel beams un-welded from the corners.

  Everything fell.

  I didn’t have time to scream. To think.

  To hide.

  I dove under the desk moments before the bunker collapsed upon itself. Dirt and stone poured through the fissure in the ceiling, mixing with the broken and burnt beams that once held the structure intact.

  A metal beam punctured through the desk.

  I screamed, inches from impalement. The metal gashed a chunk of my hair out, ripping through has it staked into the desk.

  A second and third explosion tore through the bunker. The ground shook, tossing me side to side while trapped within the cracking frame of the desk.

  The wood wasn’t strong enough for the entire weight of the bunker on it. I screamed. The forest seemed to collapse over the Goodman’s shelter.

  They’d destroyed the bunker.

  Set the bombs. Blasted it apart.

  Oh, God. How many people were trapped inside?

  The cracking of dirt and roots softened, and the muffled crunching slowed. The air choked with a musty, chemical smell—fibers and dust. I coughed it out as best I could, amazed my lungs still functioned.

  The radios had ceased their blasting chatter. I gave it ten seconds, listening hard and shaking in my own cowardice to leave the safety of the desk.

  Debris littered the floor, blocking every available path. I kicked, shaking loose a chunk of drywall that crumbled over the chair. The bunker went black. Even with a flashlight, dust and dirt filled the air. My eyes watered, but I rubbed them clear.

  The ceiling above me remained intact, but there was no escaping through the hall. The walls had collapsed, and more dirt than construction materials littered the path.

  Rick was gone.

  Buried.

  The bunker shifted, giving an ominous twist of the uneven floor beneath my feet.

  I’d be killed next if I didn’t find a way out of here.

  I called on my radio, clicking on a flashlight from my belt. The intense beam of light surveyed the wreckage.

  “McKenna.” I heaved uneven breaths. “I’m okay. The bunker’s collapsed.”

  The radio crackled. I couldn’t make out the reply. I’d worry about it later. I had to get out before the rest of the structure fell in upon itself.

  I knew they wanted to put me in a grave, but we were a bit deeper than six feet under. This was overkill, even for the Goodmans.

  The explosion had destroyed everything in the room. Rock, debris, and construction materials blocked the path to freedom. I didn’t want to aim the flashlight at the ceiling for long. The light seemed too intense for the fragile truce struck between the earth and remaining walls.

  I radioed again. “Detective McKenna. I’m safe, but I’m trapped.”

  The fuzzy response clicked more than it formed words.

  The panic tightened my chest. I ignored it, just like I fought the wave of leg-wobbling nausea that crippled me. I had no idea if the other officers received my transmission, and I couldn’t hear what they’d radioed in panic. But I was not waiting in the cold and dark for a rescue team to strike the wrong wall and fold the rest of the bunker onto me.

  I kicked a path around the desk. Three of the filing cabinets fell during the explosion. Another angled, ready to drop. I tried to move one and gave up immediately. The things weighed more than me.

  Panicking wouldn’t help, but it sure felt familiar.

  I breathed hard and searched the room. Maybe Jacob had a satellite phone? A CB radio? Something that could communicate with the outside world?

  Then again, what did Jacob want with the outside world? Nothing, except to escape it.

  I gagged. A coppery tang layered within the haze.

  Blood. Rick’s and mine.

  A solid stream of crimson bled from a cut on my bicep. I hadn’t noticed it in the initial crash. Whatever got me had been jagged. Probably the metal. The ache pulsed deep. Not good, but at least I still stood.

  I spun, checking what remained of his desk. The drawers were locked. I doubted A man like Jacob wouldn’t carry his own first aid kit, not when he could make a teenager play his naughty nurse. The bookshelf was no help either. Just bibles. Annotated bibles. Theology lessons. Prepper books. I pulled them out one by one. Survivalist manuals. First-Aid manuals. Plant and tree identification. Everything people would need to survive once the rest of the world had collapsed.

  A third Bible. I ripped it from the shelf with a grunt. How dare this man destroy the lives of so many and still think himself righteous? He didn’t just hurt the girls.

  How many police and SWAT officers did his explosion kill?

  I’d have his balls in a sling for this.

  I’d survived death too many times before to be at the mercy of some hackneyed, sadistic, pedophilic false prophet—

  My flashlight reflected against a plastic knob tucked within the bookshelf. I leaned down, squinting through the dust.

  A door.

  “Oh, you slick bastard.”

  I gripped the knob and pulled. The entire bookcase swung only a few inches before lodging in the debris on the ground.

  I kicked the drywall and flung books across the room. The shelves had cracked and fallen, and I grabbed whatever I could to shovel away the pieces of roof, wall, and dirt that blocked my path. The secret door opened another inch.

  And the bunker shuddered again.

  “No, no, no…” I dove under the desk just as more rubble poured through the ceiling. Three harsh cracks precipitated another stomach-twisting lurch in the ground.

  The rescue crews.

  The other officers must have started to dig.

  Oh, God. They tried to get everyone else out…but moving the dirt and stressing the bunker trapped me deeper inside.

  I had to escape now before the chance was taken from me.

  Fresh air streamed from the half-opened door. I crawled along the floor, chucking pieces of wood and rocks from my feet. My fingernail caught on a piece of wood, nearly ripping away before I yanked my hand back. I ignored the pain. Had no choice. I’d rather have a piss-poor manicure than a mouthful of dirt.

  Another quake. More beams dislodged. Dirt trickled from the ceiling. Closer this time. The walls began to bow under the pressure. I ripped at the bookshelf, dragging it against an unwilling floor.

  But the steel beam impaling the desk blocked my escape. The bent metal had crashed at an angle into the desk, preventing the door from swinging open. I looked up.

  My words shook the structure. “Cut me a break…”

  The only portion of the ceiling still intact was held in place by the benevolence of the hanging beam. It supported the crumbling load well enough to let me wait as my future tomb shuttered, eager to fill with dirt.

  I didn’t have a choice. The wooden desk had already splintered. It couldn’t take much more weight.

  I grabbed a rock, took a breath, and slammed it against the desk. The frame split along the crack. I aimed the rock again, busting through the wood. The desk shuttered.

  I hoped I wasn’t making a terrible mistake destroying my only form of shelter.

  Not that I had a choice.

  The beam was too heavy to push. I sat on the ground, crouching next to the door. My feet kicked out, slamming against the metal.

  Once.

  Twice.

  The beam fell away.

  I launched for the door, escaping inside just as
the ceiling roared and splintered down. Rock and mud filled the room. The debris ripped from the wall, the metal crunching in half under the force of the rock.

  Then it went quiet.

  And I had no idea where I was.

  The flashlight lit only a part of the shaft. It wasn’t large, but it fit a single person. It stretched upwards, untouched by the explosions. At least…I thought it did. The ladder fixed to the side seemed stable.

  Of course, Jacob would have built an emergency exit in his own private study.

  I tucked the flashlight in my belt, aiming it upwards so I could see the ladder’s rungs. The cut in my bicep ached, tearing with every stretch of my arm. I gritted my teeth and climbed. It’d hurt in the morning, but at least I’d have one.

  The shaft ended in a hatch. I looped the bad arm around the ladder and struggled to twist the escape. It budged at first, caught with disuse after a hopeless moment, then finally shrugged forward.

  The door lifted up. Sunlight streamed in.

  I grunted, breathless, and hauled myself in the snow, clawing away from the shaft with bloodied hands smeared with dirt.

  I cleared the ladder, flopped onto my back, and took a breath.

  A gun barrel tapped my skull.

  I opened my eyes.

  Simon Goodman towered over me with a sneer.

  “Detective, how many times must I tell you…” The gun cocked. “Stay off of our land.”

  26

  Why are you so afraid?

  Don’t you know it’s almost over?

  -Him

  I’d just crawled out of a hole in the earth.

  Now I’d get dropped six feet under again.

  I didn’t move, but my every instinct screamed to fight, punch, and kick. Unfortunately, the gun was a decent deterrent. Simon read my expression and simply shook his head.

  “Be a good girl now, Detective.” He reached for me. I tensed, but his hand only grazed my side, aiming for the weapon on my belt. “Relax. I’m not going to touch you.”

  “What’s the matter? Am I too old for you?”

  He cracked the gun against my head. I grunted, my vision brightening for a long moment. He hauled me onto my knees. The barrel pressed into my forehead.

  “I told you once to behave,” he warned.

  I took some pride in that. “I’m not as malleable as your girls.”

  “They know their place.”

  And staring into the gun, I knew mine. “What are you going to do? Kill me?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’ve already killed a lot of officers today, Simon. Sure you want to add another consecutive life sentence?”

  “They invaded our land. Our privacy. Our families.”

  “They’re not your family. Those women are your captives.” My knees dug into the dirt. Uncomfortable. A rock lodged under my leg. It wouldn’t be a good weapon, but it was better than praying for the gun to jam.

  Simon’s jaw clenched, tensing a thick vein in his neck. It pulsed upwards, throbbing through his forehead. “We protect what is ours.”

  “You mean you’d kill for Jacob. Think he’s gonna save you when I haul your ass to jail?”

  “They shouldn’t have entered our home.”

  “The police have a warrant.”

  “What a coincidence.” His voice loosened, deranged. “We had a demolition permit.”

  The gun aimed to kill, and I believed in his intentions.

  The Goodmans ran scared now—forced off their land and into the real world where not every woman cowered beneath them and not every man condoned their abuse.

  “So, now what happens?” I stared at the weapon. “You kill me, stage some elaborate rescue of twenty-some women and children, and run?”

  “If we have to.”

  “How do you plan to get them out? They’re in police custody. Some are too young to move easily. Others entirely too pregnant…” I should have quieted, but I liked the twitch in his eyebrow. Had any woman ever spoken so freely to him? “Seems you’re in quite the bind.”

  “And your predicament is no better.”

  “I’m not ready to die like Jonah’s wife.” I raised an eyebrow. “And his girlfriend. Strange. I thought you guys were monogamous?”

  “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Of course, you do. Every Goodman male gets his own pre-pubescent virgin, a little girl to transform into a perfect wife and busy little breeder. My question…does Jacob promise them to you…or do those directions come from God?”

  “You talk like you don’t have a gun to your head.”

  “What do I have to lose?” I shifted. The rock wiggled too. Good. I’d have no time to dig it out. “Tell me about Jonah.”

  “You’ve already slandered him enough.”

  “Then correct me. What happened to your nephew? Did he want out of the family?”

  Simon frowned. “He lost his way.”

  “With a gun in his hand.”

  “It should have been a Bible.”

  “Harder to kill people with a book.”

  “He never learned what it was to be a man. To take responsibility.”

  “Like by…kidnapping a child to make her his bride?” My mouth was a magnet for the bullet, but I refused to shut up. “But he had a young wife. He took Nina Martin…I mean, Rachel. Even had a baby with her.”

  “Those are some wild accusations.”

  “I’ll get a confession soon enough.”

  “You should be confessing your sins, Detective.” He offered me a smile. “I’m giving you an opportunity.”

  I wasn’t intimidated, just half-drugged with my own adrenaline and bad luck. “Right back at ya. Tell me what the hell your family’s been doing, and I bet the DA can get you a deal. Couple years shaved off your sentence.”

  “You have an awful lot of confidence, Detective.”

  “For a woman?”

  “For a woman like you.”

  “What about me?”

  He just laughed.

  I shifted, but I didn’t reveal my would-be weapon digging into my knee, not with the gun poised at my face. The rock slid in the snow, no larger than a baseball. Not the greatest weapon, especially for a right-field reject like me. Softball wasn’t my sport, and the few innings I’d played in junior high stuck me in the outfield where I wouldn’t cause any trouble. I could shoot a target at fifty yards, but toss a ball? Voodoo. It didn’t bode well.

  Simon brushed the gun along my cheek. “We’ve been reading up on you, London Serenity McKenna.”

  “Oh, a middle name. Someone did their Googling.”

  Simon’s grin turned cold. “I know why you became a detective.”

  “The pleasure of meeting assholes like you.”

  “So tough. So vulgar.” His stare turned vile. “But I know the real you.”

  No one knew the real me. Not even James. “Who am I?”

  “A scared little girl.”

  “Maybe you’ve just been around too many of them.”

  Simon shook his head. “No. I can smell the fear on you.”

  “An aphrodisiac?”

  “Just a talent.” He grunted. “You’re scared, and that’s why you became a cop. You want to feel in control again, don’t you? You’re looking for a big, bad man to punish, a way to cope with all those terrible things done to you in the past.”

  I wasn’t impressed. “That’s not fair. I like to punish all bad men, not just the ones who screwed with me.”

  “Oh, did he screw you, Detective?” Simon licked his fat lip. “They didn’t print that in the papers.”

  “I’m surprised you read anything but the Bible.”

  “And I’m surprised you never turned to the scriptures after all those horrible nights spent with that creature.” Simon lowered his voice. “A kinder man would have kidnapped you and provided a home, warm bed, and family where you could live your days in simple, holy matrimony.”

  The rock felt good digging into my kn
ee. “Are you confessing?”

  He shrugged. “A strict hypothetical.”

  “We’re among friends here, Simon. You can tell me the truth.”

  “Good.” He stared at me, and I hated how his gaze crawled over my skin. “It’s strange, Detective.”

  “What?”

  “That after all those things he did to you…you still recovered.”

  “I’m stronger than most.”

  He smirked. “But you’ve become a functional member of society. A law enforcement agent. They trusted you enough to wield a gun and chase after all those bad men that remind you of him.”

  I scoffed. “Think you’re the first one to suggest it? Our DA schools idiot lawyers who think The McKenna Defense will get their clients off. But they keep on citing undiagnosed PTSD as the reason I unjustly collar their clients. Never works.”

  Simon edged closer. “So the past doesn’t bother you at all? You don’t have trouble sleeping? Don’t see him in every shadow?”

  “No.” A lie.

  “But you were kidnapped by the Rustbelt Sadist. What was his real name?”

  I’d never wanted to know. “We didn’t exchange formalities.”

  “Must have called him something.” Simon leaned close. I pretended not to see the bulge tensing in his trousers. “Tell me. You were held in his captivity. Bound. Beaten.”

  “And?”

  His lips twisted into a confused smile. “Did he really try to eat you?”

  Simon got off on the details. Didn’t surprise me. A sadist never hid his true fetishes. Unfortunately, I’d learned that lesson too late.

  Which was why no Goodman would ever scare me.

  Nothing could scare me as much as him.

  “You looking for ideas?” I held his stare.

  “It must still frighten you. Let it off your chest. It’s obviously eating at you.”

  “Lower the gun, and I’ll tell you anything you want.”

  “I’ll keep the gun right here, and you’ll tell me anyway.” His voice layered thick with excitement. “What was it like sharing a bed with a cannibal?”

  He’d never raped me. That almost made him a better man than Simon.

  Almost.

  I sneered. “What’s it like sharing a bed with a child?”