by L. T. Ryan
Barbara fell to her knees. Emma leaned over her and wrapped her arms around the woman’s neck.
The men pulled them apart. Emma walked. One of the men had to drag Barb out.
Emma didn’t trust the guys. No one who aimed a gun at two women could have good intentions. She had no choice but to go along. She knew that. So when the guy told her to walk, she did, falling in line a few feet behind Barbara.
They exited the barn. The bright sunlight felt like knives, jabbing into Emma’s eyes. She hadn’t been outside in over a week.
Had it really been that long?
In one sense, she felt freer. The breeze hit her from behind, and the air was clean and sweet. She felt oppressed at the same time. The air was humid and heavy. Smoke rose in the distance. Soon the stench of burning bodies would overpower her.
The bunker had been climate controlled. She figured no place in the world had such perfect conditions all day long, day after day. That didn’t stop her from trying to imagine one.
Emma angled her path to the left for a few steps to get a clear view beyond the woman in front of her. A pack of pickup trucks stood in her driveway and to the side of it. There were men hanging out in front of them. A fire burned to the left of the house. Black smoke rose toward the sky. She wondered if her mother’s bones would turn to ash.
“Back in line,” the guy behind her said.
Which one was it? She couldn’t tell by the voice, and she hadn’t looked back before they had started walking. She resisted the urge to do so now.
She took in all the faces at the other end of the yard before sliding back into line. None of the men were her father. She inched her head to the left and right, letting her eyes scan the property. She didn’t see him. She considered that both good and bad. She figured if he was there, that meant he’d been caught. However, if she’d spotted him, it meant he could rescue her and Barbara.
Against that many men, though?
Emma knew her father had extensive Special Forces training. He also had a prosthetic leg. And, while he never let it interfere with his life, she felt it did limit him at times. This would be one of those times. How would he maneuver well enough to take out a dozen or so men?
“Stop,” one of the men said.
Barbara halted. Emma took another step, nearly careening into the older woman. She thought about continuing. What would they do? Shoot her? They might, and so she stopped.
The bearded man walked around her and Barbara. He took off his hat. The top of his head was pale. It stood out like the full moon against his red neck. He made an odd call, kind of like a whoop, and waved his hands over his head. His hat made a flopping sound.
A breeze pushed past them from their right. Emma caught a hint of lavender from her mother’s herb garden. She wondered how long they’d continue to grow with no one there to pull the weeds.
An engine roared to life. The truck made a loud thump and then started rolling forward. The tall grass bent under the chrome bumper. It was the only thing that looked new about the pickup.
“On your knees,” the bearded man said.
“No,” Barbara said weakly.
The guy turned toward her. His brows were furrowed, and his eyes looked square. “On your knees or I shoot the girl.”
Barbara began to cry again.
“Shut up!” the man shouted.
Barbara choked back her sobs and fell limply to the ground.
“Straighten up,” the guy said.
Emma threaded her arm through Barbara’s and helped her lift her upper body.
“Easy,” Emma whispered. “If they were going to hurt us, they would have done it back there.”
Barbara nodded and used the back of her free hand to wipe her eyes and nose. She sniffled a few times, took a deep breath, and exhaled, shuddering as she did so.
The truck stopped about ten feet away. The doors opened. Two sets of brown leather hiking boot clad feet hit the ground. They left the doors open, and walked around the front of the truck. There was nothing distinguishing about the men. Emma might have seen them at the grocery store a time or two. They looked like a lot of the men who lived out here. A little overweight, some facial hair, or at least a week’s growth, unkempt hair, and a distant stare. The stare was new, but everyone seemed to have that now, from the people she saw on television, to her father and Barbara, to these men.
“Who’re they?” the man that got out of the driver’s side asked. He wore red and black flannel shirt with the sleeves cut off. His upper arms were tattooed. One of them looked similar to her father’s.
“Found them in the barn,” the bearded man said. “They were in some kinda underground room or something.”
“They sick?”
“Don’t appear to be so.”
The guy looked them over. “You guys go down there and check the room out?”
The bearded guy shook his head. “I glanced down. Looked like there was a tunnel or something.”
“You two feel comfortable staying back and checking it out? Everything’s squared away here. Scooter kinda freaked and went overboard. We were expecting a damn horde of those things. Found one already dead. Couple guys thought they saw someone in the field, but it all checked out. Anyway, I need to get everyone back to camp. We can spare you two for a few hours.”
“Sounds good.” The bearded man set his cap back on his bald head, patted the other guy’s chest, and both of them headed off.
“All right, get up,” Cutoff Flannel said. He reached behind his back and retrieved two bandannas, both black with white stenciling. He held them out in front of Emma and Barbara. “You each take one. Cover your eyes. Don’t try to be tricky if you want to keep ‘em.”
Emma folded the bandanna over and wrapped it around her head until she’d blocked the light out. She hoped Barbara did the same. One of the men grabbed her by the arm and pulled her away. She stumbled, but kept her balance. The guy made her stop. A door opened.
“Step up,” the guy said.
She reached out, felt a cloth seat and lifted her leg, using the frame as a guide. She settled onto the seat, and whispered, “Barbara?”
“I’m here, Em,” Barbara replied.
“Both of you shut up.” It sounded like Cutoff Flannel.
Emma let herself fall to her left until her shoulder collided with Barbara’s. She felt the woman’s hair settle onto her skin, and caught a hint of her perfume. That was better than the musty odor of the truck.
Two doors closed. The truck sank to the left, then the right. Two more doors closed. The truck thumped as it was shifted into gear. They began rolling. The horn blasted. Several others went off in response. All around her, large engines roared to life. It sounded like a lion’s den at feeding time.
That’s where we’re going, Emma thought. Straight into the lion’s den.
Thirty-Four
Sean stayed low, using the trees for cover. He aimed through the MP7’s sights. One pull of the trigger could take the guy down. But his training took over and he backed down.
If he fired, every man standing there would descend upon his daughter and Barbara.
There were no more rules. Kill and kill alike. Sean would kill. Not yet, though. He needed a plan because the trucks were pulling out and soon they’d be gone.
And so would Emma.
He pushed forward as far as he could go without risking being spotted. Maybe he went a little too far. He knew some of these men. They were adept at spotting that which others might miss. He stayed on the ground, memorizing everything he could about the truck that held Emma and Barbara.
With fuel supplies likely running low, the men couldn’t have traveled far. His mind raced through options, the majority of which did not end well. There was no way he could out-muscle over a dozen men in this situation. Not when they held a hostage so precious to him. He had no means of neutralizing them all.
He considered boarding the final truck. He could take out two or three men, but with them pulling up the
rear, the others might notice. He figured his odds at twenty-eighty, give or take a few.
He waited while the first four trucks pulled away. Each vehicle stirred up more dirt than the last. By the time the fifth approached, the dust could have provided him with cover.
Through the haze of dust and grit, Sean noticed that one truck remained. He used his field glasses and spotted a man standing outside the barn. Why had someone stayed behind?
They must have found the tunnel.
He knelt down and hid behind a tree as the fifth truck rolled past. His odds looked better taking on one man as opposed to a dozen or so. Maybe the remaining truck had a map or GPS or some other way of locating where the rest of the group traveled. He could get the guy outside the barn to talk. That was the easy part. Getting to him before he left, or before the others returned, was what was important now. Sean couldn’t wait any longer.
He doubled back through the woods, along the road, turning right and passing the house. He continued toward the back of the property. At the rear corner, he turned right again, staying about twenty feet deep. The path led him to the barn.
The rumble of the trucks had long since passed. The air was filled with the obnoxious shrilling of the cicadas.
Sean eased forward until he reached the edge of the woods. Ten feet of open space separated him from the back of the barn. He moved quickly, turning to the left once he reached it. He slipped around the side of the barn, taking a step and stopping and listening. He halted at the final corner.
Cigarette smoke wafted past. The guy standing there cleared his throat.
Perfect. He won’t have both hands ready to respond.
Sean eased around the corner, MP7 extended and aimed at the guy’s back. He let out a short two-tone whistle.
The guy dropped his cigarette and reached for his sidearm while spinning around. Faced with Sean’s semi-automatic submachine gun, the man lowered his weapon to the ground, and lifted his hands over his head.
“What are you doing?” Sean said.
“Waiting.”
“For what?”
The guy gestured backward with his head. “My partner’s down there.”
“What’s he doing?”
“Investigating, I suppose.”
“Where’d they take the girls?”
“What girls?”
Sean felt his rage build. The man lied to him. He could see it in the guy’s eyes.
“Last chance,” Sean said.
“Fuck you,” the guy said.
“Turn around, drop to your knees.”
The guy did as told.
“Hands behind your head, fingers locked. Cross your legs at the ankles.”
“What’re you gonna do to me?” the guy asked, fear choking his voice.
“Just do what I say and nothing’s gonna happen to you.”
The man interlaced and locked his fingers. He lifted his right foot and let it fall over his left.
Sean leaned forward, grabbed the guy by his forearm and shook him to demonstrate the lack of balance the position afforded him. “Now, tell me what they are going to do with my daughter.”
The man said nothing. He twisted at the waist, looked back and spit.
Sean took a step back. He was getting nowhere with the guy. He pulled out his M9 and smashed it over the top of the guy’s head. The skin on the man’s head split open and blood gushed. The guy fell forward. Sean dragged him into the barn. He found a cord of yellow rope and tied the guy’s hands and ankles together. He reached under his arms and pulled him across the floor to the open hatch. The room below was empty. Sean pushed the man over the edge.
He stepped back and waited for a minute. No one called out. Footsteps didn’t echo from the tunnel. The other man wasn’t close enough to know what had just happened. Or he was smart enough to stay put. Sean figured it was the former, but he prepared for the latter.
He turned and eased himself down the ladder. Emma’s backpack hung from the ledge. He freed it and tossed it into the barn. He’d bring it along and return it to her.
At the bottom, Sean reached down and checked the man’s pulse. It was rapid and strong. The guy was still unconscious. Sean tore off a section of the man’s shirt and wrapped it around his head, gagging him. One less voice to worry about.
He stepped past the threshold and entered the dim tunnel. He heard a growl. A pair of eyes reflected light. Sean whistled. Marley limped forward, whimpering. Sean knelt down and inspected the dog. He’d been shot in his rear left leg. The wound had gone through and must not have caused too much damage. He figured whoever had done it had left the dog for dead.
“Come on, boy,” Sean said, leading Marley through the doorway. “Just relax while I lift you.”
Marley whimpered as Sean lifted him, but remained calm. He set the dog on the ground above.
“Wait there. I’ll be back.”
He descended, stepped into the tunnel and shut the door behind him without latching it. He was on even footing down here, unless the other man had night vision goggles on, which Sean doubted. Still, he remained close to the edge of the wall, hurrying past the emergency lights and lingering in the shadows. He followed the curves, eventually nearing the bunker. A soft glow lit the space in front of the door.
How had Emma managed to leave it open?
Sean took a deep breath and diffused his anger. He couldn’t be mad at her. She wouldn’t have left the bunker unless she or Barbara feared something. They would have been in a hurry. Closing and securing the door was the last thing on their mind.
Unsure of what he’d find, Sean pushed forward. Either someone was in the bunker, or they were lying in wait further down the passage, out of his view. This meant that he had to explode the last few yards and get inside. The bunker would provide another set of challenges. The main room provided little cover, but there were three doors on the other side. The man could emerge from any of them. He had to secure the living space, then the bedrooms.
His mind drifted to the last time he faced such a situation. The sights, smells and sounds of the Nigerian facility washed over him. Sean shook his head, freeing himself of the thoughts.
There’s no time.
He moved quickly through the lights and the shadows, jogging the final ten feet. He burst into the bunker, MP7 leading the way.
The man sat at Sean’s computer, his pistol off to the left. It took a moment for him to react. When he did, he fell to his right, out of the chair.
Sean lunged forward, driving the chair out of the way with his leg. He yelled at the guy, “Down on the floor, flat on your belly. Kiss the carpet.” He kept the MP7 trained on the guy. When the man didn’t respond, Sean fired a round toward the other end of the room. This got the guy’s attention, and he rolled over.
Sean stood over the man for several seconds, breathing heavily and saying nothing. After a while, he said, “I’m going to make this simple for you. Tell me where they took my daughter, and I’ll let you live.”
“Okay, okay, okay,” the guy stammered.
Sean stepped back. He glanced to his left through the open doorway. “Get up. Stand up. Keep your hands on the wall.”
The guy did as instructed.
“Take off your shirt.” Sean waited for the man to comply. “Now drop your pants.”
“What?”
“Do it.”
The guy did.
“All right, turn around with your hands high.” Sean kept his weapon aimed at the guy’s chest as he spun in place. “Now, tell me, where did they go?”
“To…to…to the camp, man.”
“What camp?”
“It’s down there off of 501. Couple miles south of town.”
Sean calculated the distance in his head.
“What the hell you guys doing out here?”
“Man, you lit up like a damn Christmas tree. You know that? We been monitoring for signals. Ain’t been shit the last week anywhere except for your location. We sent some guys out to check it out.
Only one made it back. He was scared shitless, talked about a damn pack of those things. Boss man said he wanted a group to come out here and check it out. If we could get rid of the things, this might be an option for a second camp.”
“You took two females into custody. Why?”
“Couldn’t leave them out here, could we?”
“They were forced, at gun point.” Sean didn’t know this, but the man’s reaction told him his bluff worked.
“Look, it’s dangerous times out here man. Can’t trust anyone. Half the people you run into are sick. The other half is…I don’t know…turned or something. Like zombies, you know?”
Sean nodded. He knew all too well what the man spoke of.
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” Sean said. “We’re gonna walk out of this tunnel, and then we’re gonna get in your truck. You’ll lead me to that camp where I’m going to exchange you for the two females.”
The guy shook his head. “Boss man will never go for it.”
“Then he’ll watch you die.”
“It won’t work man.”
“This isn’t up for debate.” Sean stepped back toward the bedrooms. “Move toward the doorway. Stop two feet in front of it. You go any further, you’re dead.”
Sean continued backward until he reached the cabinet with his weapons. He pulled out another MP7 as well as additional rounds of ammunition. He couldn’t carry anything else. Doing so would put him in a situation where the guy could get his hands on a weapon.
He glanced back. The man took a step to his right.
“Not another move,” Sean said. He’d left the guy’s pistol on top of the desk, almost within arm’s reach.
Sean hurried across the room, grabbed the handgun and tucked it in his waistband.
“Through the door and turn right.”
They walked through the tunnel without speaking. Sean stopped every so often and let his eyes adjust. He scanned the area in front and behind. He hadn’t ruled out the possibility that a third man hid down there.
They reached the end of the tunnel. Sean instructed the man to pull the door open and step into the next room.