by Justin Bell
The darkness swallowed him as he progressed down the hall, but he clung to the wall as he moved, his eyes glaring out ahead of him, as if waiting for some special signal. It didn’t take long.
Another quiet squeak up ahead and a peeling square of light showed him that the figure he’d spotted near the glass door was now exiting the building through a rear fire door of sorts. He let the door ease closed, and it slammed shut, so Tamar released some of his control and broke into a run, feet clapping the tile as he hurled himself toward the exit.
He reached it in seconds and slowly pushed it forward, opening it slightly, out into an alley beyond. It was early morning, the sky a pale pink above, casting just enough light down onto the streets so he could see the looming, dark forms of bracketed buildings, intimidating with their solid, stoic brickwork, and closing him off as if he was some kind of laboratory rodent trapped inside a city-sized maze.
A block ahead, he could see the figure moving and he pushed himself forward, trying to be quiet as he moved along the pavement underneath, running from wall to wall, from dark corner to dark corner, keeping the figure ahead in the light and himself in the shadows. As he pursued, he had to stop and adjust a few times as his prey halted his progress and glanced back to make sure he was still alone.
Tamar wanted him to think he was.
Up ahead he could see the figure running toward another alley, then clamoring up a wooden slat fence, and pulling itself up and over. Tamar dashed across the road, over into the second segment of the alley, then jumped and pulled himself over the same slat fence, pausing for a moment at the top to look and make sure the person he was chasing was far enough in the distance to not notice. He could see the figure preparing to turn right just past a building and he threw himself from the top of the fence, landing gracefully on the trash littered pavement, then ran, picking up the pace so he wouldn’t lose his target. Tamar was at the corner of the building in seconds, pinning his spine against the hard brick surface, just glancing around the edge to make sure he could see who he was trailing without them seeing him. He saw the figure shuffle slowly across another road, then charge left, running at a full tilt, so Tamar spun around the corner and gave chase, getting to the road in moments, then heading left in the same direction as the other had gone.
But the figure was nowhere to be seen. The person he was following was gone.
Tamar lowered into a crouching walk and snuck into the shadows, glancing left and right, looking for his target, but still saw nothing. He moved forward and hugged the thick brick wall of yet another structure, moving alongside it, foot-by-foot, then reached the corner and looked around it cautiously.
He knew exactly where he was.
The first things he saw were the scattered armed guards lining the perimeter of the loading dock. Several corrugated metal garage style doors were pressed closed along the surface of the concrete dock, and two unmarked delivery trucks sat in the parking lot, side-by-side. A few feet away from one of the trucks was a dark green Humvee.
It was a warehouse. And Tamar was willing to bet it was the warehouse. He was skulking behind the corner of the leftmost building and could look out across the parking lot fairly easy at the armed guards wandering back and forth. In the low light of pre-dawn he couldn’t make out any specific features, but he could tell they wore padded vests and carried rifles with two hands, watermarks of the Ironclad goons he’d tussled with far too many times for his comfort.
His eyes roamed, looking for the person he’d been following, and then as they scanned left, he saw a shadow move in a narrow alley between two of the buildings on the opposite side of the parking lot. The two buildings weren’t part of the warehouse complex itself, but were in good position for some kind of surveillance, which seemed to be what was going on.
Tamar drew in a breath and dashed over the pavement, running fast but quiet, hoping the guards hadn’t happened to be looking his way when he did. It took no time at all for him to reach one of the opposite buildings, pressing himself against the rough, hard wall, sliding out of sight of any of the gunmen. Ducking low, he moved forward, clinging to the wall, then rounded a corner, took four long strides and rounded one last corner until he was looking down the alley where he’d seen the shadow.
The form was still there, at the opposite end of the narrow passage, a huddled, dark mound pushed tight against the left most wall. It shifted slightly, adjusting its weight and he moved forward as quickly as he dared.
He could see the person now, and he picked up the pace, taking a few longer strides, and as his excitement got the better of him, his shoe scuffed on the pavement of the alley, a sound that might as well have been nails on a chalkboard.
Immediately the rumpled figure whirled on its back, extending an arm, fingers wrapped around a semi-automatic pistol.
“Brad, it’s me!” hissed Tamar in a quiet whisper. “It’s Tamar!”
The weapon hovered for a moment, then drew back in toward the shadowed form and Brad leaned forward, the pale light of the moon illuminating his face just enough for recognition.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
“I might ask you the same thing, dude.”
Brad shook his head. “I wasn’t going to sit around there and wait for the adults to make some kind of decision.”
“So what are you going to do? March in there with your eleven-year-old bad self and start popping caps? Come on, man.”
Brad didn’t reply, he just looked down at the pistol in his hand. “I don’t know. But I wanted to at least get eyes on the place.”
“Well, congratulations, your eyes are on it. Can we go now?”
“Not yet,” Brad replied, turning back. “I’m trying to figure out what their guard rotation is. If they have shift changes or anything.”
Tamar had to hand it to him, that was a pretty smart idea, and he eased his way forward a bit more, still clinging tight to the wall.
“How did you find this place?” he asked in a low whisper.
“Phil was throwing around the address last night. And they still had a map in the duffel bag. I waited until they were asleep, then snagged ‘em both. Saw it was within walking distance.”
“You’d be pretty smart if you weren’t so danged dumb.”
“Nothing dumb about it,” replied Brad. “We sit here for like ten more minutes, get a bit more intel, then head back to the store before anyone is awake.” He glanced back at Tamar. “So why’d you follow me out here, anyway?”
“I woke up when you left,” Tamar replied. “Figured if I took the time to wake up anyone else, you’d be long gone and maybe in trouble. Just figured I should come after you, hopefully get you to change your mind.”
“Mission accomplished?”
“Not so much.”
A murmur of voices echoed from the loading dock and Brad pressed a finger to his lips, silencing Tamar. He rolled over as the other boy dropped to his stomach and squirmed up next to him, glancing out across the parking lot. The gunmen were congregating, coming together on the concrete dock near the two delivery vans, and Tamar swore he saw one of them reaching out and extending an index finger toward their place in the alley.
“Did you see that?” he asked in a hushed whisper. “Did they just point at us?”
“Probably coincidence,” Brad replied.
“What if it wasn’t? We’ve got enough intel, don’t you think? We should head back. It’ll be light soon.”
“Just a few more minutes,” Brad insisted.
Two men broke away from the group and swung toward them, the blinding light of twin flashlights belting them full in the face. Brad winced and drew away slightly, trying to stay pinned as close to the wall as possible. Tamar scooched backwards as if he could somehow escape the range of the cone of light. A mumbling cacophony of voices rattled over the parking lot.
“That doesn’t even sound like English!” Tamar hissed. “Honestly, it sounds like Korean!”
“How do you even know wha
t Korean sounds like?”
“I took Tae Kwon-Do for ten years, bro,” Tamar said. “Most of my Masters spoke it! We need to jet! If those dudes are Korean, this is even worse than we thought—”
“Hey, you there!” this voice was clearly in English and Tamar swung his head around just as two men breached the corners of the building, blocking their exit from the alley.
“Who are you?” the second man asked.
Tamar was already on his feet as Brad pushed himself up as well. “Sorry, guys,” Tamar said in his best “aw, shucks” voice he could manage. “We were just cruising. Spotted these guys here and were taking a peek. We didn’t see nothing.”
“Damn straight you didn’t,” the first man growled and took another step toward them, his hand wrapped around the butt of a rather large pistol. Tamar didn’t waste any more time; he shot right, lashing out with his foot, knocking the man’s hand aside. The pistol went off, a loud, sharp bark, the muzzle flash illuminating the entire alley. Tamar could feel shattered chunks of brickwork splash across his face as he moved forward, punching the gunman deep in the diaphragm, then kicking him high in the chest, knocking him backwards. The second man whirled toward him, but he moved inside the arc of his motion, locked his hips and threw him over his shoulder, slamming him spine-first against the other wall of the narrow alley.
“Brad we gotta jet!” Tamar shouted and broke away.
Brad started to scramble toward him, but a rapid thudding of footsteps was all around and Tamar glanced back just in time to see a handful of shadowed figures pour into the alley on the other side and swarm over the young boy. He was consumed by them, dragged into their roiling form as if they were a single organism and was pulled down from view.
Tamar halted for a moment, shifting his weight and considering, just for a second, charging back into the alley. Already three more men were running across the parking lot and more yet were emerging from various doors along the rear of the building. They were flooding the area and if he made any attempt at rescue, both he and Brad would be taken.
Could he do it? Could he just leave the boy there?
He had no choice, and he knew it.
“I’ll be back for you,” he whispered, then spun around and continued sprinting away.
***
“Mom! Dad! Wake up!” Winnie’s voice was an urgent and shrill whisper, her hands clutching at shoulders, squeezing and shoving.
“Whoa, whoa,” Phil mumbled, starting to roll over, his hands grasping at air as he dug toward the surface of waking. “What’s goin’ on?”
“Honey, what’s the matter?” Rhonda asked through the thick accent of post sleep. “What is it?”
The low light of morning was peering in through the outside windows, shining a faint orange glow on the inside of the emptied store. Rhonda pushed herself up into a seated position, pulling a fist across her eyes to clear her vision.
“Tamar! And Brad! They’re gone!”
“What?” Rhonda barked, her voice alert, sharpened by the wet stone of fear.
“They’re both gone! I don’t see them anywhere!” Winnie hissed, her voice near panic.
Phil scrambled to his feet and made his way toward the tile area of the floor, then reached down to the duffel bag to retrieve a pistol. He halted for a moment, going down to his knees and opening the bag wider.
“There are two guns missing,” he said quickly. “And the folder with the maps.”
“They wouldn’t dare,” Rhonda said, and the ruckus started to wake the others around them. Angel groaned as he pulled himself awake, favoring his shoulder and Rebecca was clamoring upright next to him. Off in the distance, Pietro and Julie had gotten to their feet as well. Max was the last one awake.
“Wha’s goin’ on?” he asked dreamily.
“Brad and Tamar are missing,” Rhonda replied. “It looks like they may have headed to the warehouse.”
“Why?” Julie demanded, coming closer. Pietro broke away and headed toward the horses, who were starting to stir with all the commotion.
“He was upset yesterday,” Max replied. “He thought you guys weren’t taking things seriously enough.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” asked Rhonda.
“He was worried that the adults were sitting around talking about things and not actually doing anything,” Winnie interjected.
“That’s ridiculous,” Phil said. “We can’t just run in there guns blazing!”
“It’s seemed to work out okay for us so far,” Max replied.
“How did it work out for Jerry?” Winnie said, louder than she anticipated. “The Shimizu’s? How did it work for Clancy?”
“Whoa, take it easy, Winnie, okay? Everyone, take it easy, I know we’re all stressed.” Rhonda moved toward her daughter, but Winnie shrugged her off and turned away, shaking her head.
“Of course we’re stressed,” said Max. “People keep dying and for all we know they’re going to be setting off another nuclear bomb right under our noses!”
“And what good will it do to run off and get ourselves killed? We’re the only ones who know about it!” Winnie retorted, her face flush.
“Hey, look,” Max replied, “just because your boyfriend is missing doesn’t mean you have to get all irritable—”
“You are such a little punk,” Winnie replied through gritted teeth.
“Both of you calm down!” shouted Rhonda. “This is not the time to get at each other’s throats. We’ve been through a lot over the past few months, a lot more than any of us should be expected to handle. We need to keep it together.”
Max glared at Winnie, who returned the heated look.
Rhonda and Phil both stepped forward, Phil taking Winnie’s shoulders and Rhonda placing an arm around Max.
“We are close to the finish line here,” Rhonda said quietly, exuding calm and confidence. “Lydia is close by. This conspiracy, if that’s what it is, is close by as well. And they don’t know we’re coming.”
“They might now,” Rebecca said, trying, but failing, to keep the anger out of her voice.
Rhonda snapped a look at her and she clamped her lips shut.
“We can solve this,” Rhonda said. “Us. Our little family. Our group. We have a chance to not just save Lydia, but to save the country. If that’s not something to come together for, I don’t know what is.”
“You’re being over-dramatic,” Winnie replied, though her voice had lost some of its razor edge.
“Like usual,” Max continued, and he and Winnie flashed sly, crooked smirks to each other.
“Ganging up on me as always,” Rhonda replied. “Glad to see you two are your old selves again.”
“We need to find them,” Max said. “Brad… he was in a bad place yesterday. Very angry. He wasn’t thinking straight.”
“Why?” Phil asked.
“Why do you think?” Max replied. “First his parents, then Clancy. He’s feeling alone, and I don’t really blame him. We’re all so wrapped up in the big stuff I think we might have been missing the small stuff.”
Rhonda lowered her eyes to the floor, her arm slinking away from her son’s shoulders. Phil nodded softly.
“He doesn’t feel like part of the family,” Winnie said. “He’s got some resentment. For Max. For me. Even for Tamar.”
“So bad enough we’re dealing with yet another potential nuclear holocaust, but now we need to deal with a hormonal little boy, too?” Rebecca said.
“He’s eleven years old, Rebecca,” Rhonda replied. “Eleven. What were you dealing with when you were eleven? Missing shoes for your Barbie doll?”
“Oh, is that how this is going to go, miss suburban princess? That’s the game we’re going to play?”
“You don’t know one thing about my childhood. Don’t pretend you do.”
“For the love of God, everyone get your crap together!”
All heads spun toward the voice and Angel stood on the perimeter of what used to be the employee break room. His eyes wer
e narrowed and his lips peeled back into an angry sneer. Eyes widened around the room at his outburst. The quiet, calm, mostly soft-spoken man’s face burned red with the flush of near rage.
“What are you all doing?” he asked. “The way you two are bickering, you’re worse than eleven-year-olds. Madre de Dios.”
Rebecca looked at him, hurt and angry, as if she had just been betrayed by her closest confidant.
“Look,” he continued. “We’ve been through a lot. All of us have. Every person in here has lost people and gone through things they should have never had to. There are no exceptions. Just because what you’re dealin’ with is different than what everyone else is dealin’ with doesn’t make it better or worse. There is no competition here, right?”
Nobody replied, they just continued looking at him.
“I think we can all agree that we’re in a crappy situation and we want to get out of it. In order to do that, we gotta work together. Every one of us. Suburb princess, rodeo queen, city girl, it don’t matter. We’re all people, and if we can’t even come together to save a girl, then what hope is there, huh?”
All around the room, eyes drifted toward each other, glancing back and forth in uncertainty.
“Now, it’s not just a girl we gotta save, it might be two boys, too. All they got is us, right? Just us. If Ironclad’s got ‘em, then we gotta get ‘em out.”
“He’s right,” Fields said, nodding. “Rhonda, I was a snot, I’m sorry.”
“Forgiven,” Rhonda replied.
“In that bag right there,” Rebecca said, extending a finger toward the duffel laying on the tile floor, “are weapons. Quite a few of them. Some ammo, too. Enough to go around.”
“Enough to go toe-to-toe with Ironclad?” Swift asked.
“I don’t have an answer for that,” Rebecca replied. “But you know what? We’ve gone up against Ironclad before. It wasn’t pretty, but we all survived. We all survived, and we’re right here almost a month later ready for round two.”