Taken! 19-24 (Donald Wells' Taken! Series)

by Donald Wells

  “I’m not in an ambulance, am I?”

  The man shook his head no, and he knew that he had been understood, but before he could ask another question, the fatigue overwhelmed him and he returned to that state of rest that was near-coma in its intensity.

  He would not awaken again for many hours.

  ***

  Joe watched the stranger’s eyes close again and knew that he had once more entered a deep sleep.

  When the man had turned his head and looked at Joe, the gaze had startled him. The man had intense eyes, such intense eyes.

  From the front of the van came the sound of laughter as Fred and Barney, along with the redheaded woman, laughed at something. At times, he would catch a snatch of conversation and could tell that his captors all had southern accents.

  They had taken his wallet and the eighty-odd dollars in it, but if robbery was their game, then why abduct them. Why the hell had they taken him, him and the stranger?

  He, of course, had heard the stories of men traveling the roads and abducting young women, but him? What the hell could they want with him, and the stranger?

  The answers Joe came up with to that question frightened him so much that he soon put the thought from his mind.

  Escape, he must think of a way to escape, for him, and the somnolent man lying by his side.

  Easier said than done, thought Joe, as he felt his fingertips go numb from the tightness of his bonds.

  ***

  They stopped three hours later, although to Joe, it seemed much longer.

  He heard the van doors open and close, and a moment later, a panel slid aside and Joe could see out the windshield, where he beheld the sign of a famous chain of fast-food restaurants.

  The woman came through the opening with her head hunched down so that it didn’t hit the roof. She checked the stranger’s pulse and then ripped the tape from Joe’s mouth.

  “This dude ever wake up?” the redhead asked, and Joe decided right then that he would dub her Wilma.

  “He woke for a few seconds and then went right back to sleep.”

  “And you say you pulled him from the river?”

  “He got himself out; I just redressed him in warm clothes.”

  “Ain’t you the Good Samaritan, now listen, don’t try hollering for help or anything and we’ll give you some food.”

  “Food sounds good, but I really got to... you know, go, and I mean badly.”

  Wilma nodded.

  “As soon as the boys get back we’ll hit the road again, a few miles down, I’ll have one of them take you to a bush where you can drain the lizard, last thing I want to do is smell piss while I’m trying to eat.”

  “Thank you.”

  Wilma narrowed her eyes at him.

  “Don’t thank me, just sit there and be quiet.”

  Wilma went back up front and soon Fred and Barney returned with food. Despite the circumstances, the aroma of the burgers and fries was making Joe’s mouth water.

  Barney came into the back of the van and Joe flinched when he saw the knife he was holding. Barney sent him a smirk and then cut his hands free of the tape that bound them.

  Pain!

  His hands throbbed with the ache of revival as fresh blood reanimated his fingers, which had gone numb from the lack of circulation.

  Barney tossed a burger in his lap.

  “Eat, and if you try any shit, I’ll stick you, got it?”

  Joe nodded as he reached down and fumbled the burger from its bright paper wrapping, even as Fred started the van moving again.

  Just a few minutes passed before Fred pulled off onto a dirt road.

  Wilma called back to him.

  “Now’s your chance to take that leak, dude.”

  With Barney following, Joe walked to the nearest tree and let loose, the relief felt as satisfying as the food had.

  “Why did you guys take us?” he asked Barney.

  “Shut up and take your leak.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “I said to shut the fuck up.”

  Joe decided to heed the advice this time, because Barney had moved closer with the knife held up and ready.

  Minutes later, his hands were once again bound and his mouth gagged.

  Wherever they were going, Joe knew that he was never coming back.

  ***

  The next time the stranger awakened, he seemed more aware and lowered his chin, to look down along his body and see his own bound wrists and ankles.

  He turned his head and stared at Joe, and again, the intensity of his gaze unnerved Joe, even more so, as their only light came from the flickering beams of the headlights of passing cars. Joe became even more unnerved when the stranger sat up, bared his teeth, and lunged at Joe’s face.

  Joe pulled his head back, and the stranger whispered to him.

  “Hold still; I’m trying to help you.”

  Joe looked into the man’s eyes again and this time saw sincerity. He kept his head still as the man grabbed at a loose corner on the tape that was covering his mouth. Using only his teeth, the man managed to peel back the gag until it hung loosely from the side of Joe’s mouth.

  Joe wet his dry lips with his tongue and took a deep breath.

  “Thanks,” Joe whispered.

  “What’s going on?” the man whispered back.

  “Hell if I know, but there are three of them, two men and a woman, and they’re taking us somewhere; we’ve been driving for hours.”

  The man looked down at himself again.

  “Who dressed me?”

  “I did. I saw you struggling in the water and later found you on the riverbank. Your hands and feet were turning blue; those are chemical heat packs you feel inside the gloves and socks. By the way, how do you feel?”

  “I’m good, but still a little weak. Thank you for saving me...?”

  “The name’s Joe, what’s yours?”

  The van began slowing down and soon came to a stop. Judging by the sound of the bells chiming, they had pulled into a gas station. The sound followed of the van doors opening and closing and then the door that partitioned off the cab slid open and Wilma stared in at them.

  “Son of a bitch,” she said, before entering and securing Joe’s gag back in place. Afterwards, she gazed down at him. “Hmm, ain’t you a looker. How you feeling, dude?”

  “What’s going on?”

  “Nevermind that, now are you gonna be good or do I have to gag you too?”

  “I won’t call for help if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “You won’t? Why not?”

  “Because I don’t need it,”

  The woman laughed.

  “Looks like we got us a live one, that’s good, keep that attitude; it’ll help where you’re going.”

  “And where is that?”

  “You’ll find out soon enough, both of you will.”

  “I have to use the bathroom.”

  “Yeah, I figured, we’ll pull off the road soon so the both of you can go.”

  The van doors opened and closed and Fred and Barney stared back at them.

  Fred looked at Wilma.

  “What’s he like?”

  “Feisty!” Wilma said.

  “That’s good, but if he gives us any shit I’ll leave him dead along the highway. You hear me, mister?”

  “I hear you,” he said.

  ***

  Twenty minutes later, Fred and Barney were walking him and Joe down an embankment that led to a drainage ditch. When they reached the bottom, they were out of sight of the highway. Both he and Joe had been cut free so that they could walk, but Fred and Barney held a pair of .45’s loosely at their sides, along with flashlights.

  He unzipped his pants as Joe did the same, and soon the sound came of water hitting water, however the single stream of urine came from Joe.

  Fred gave him a nudge in the back.

  “Piss dude! I’m sick of the road and we’re almost there.”

  He turned and nodded a
t his captors.

  “I’m trying, must be nerves,”

  He stood there a little longer, and when nothing happened, Fred gave him another shove.

  “Piss already,”

  “If you insist,” he said, as he turned and sent a blast of urine into Fred’s face.

  As Fred sputtered and spit, he lunged at Barney, grabbed his gun hand at the wrist and with his other arm, rammed an elbow into his neck.

  Barney dropped his gun as both hands flew to his damaged throat.

  Meanwhile, Fred had recovered and was bringing his gun arm up. He ducked behind Barney, and with one hand on the man’s belt and another locked in his hair, used him as a shield, while at the same time he rushed towards Fred.

  Fred attempted to sidestep out of the way and tripped over Joe, who had been standing slack-jawed as he watched the fighting take place.

  Fred hit the ground hard on his side as Joe fell on top of him, and inadvertently landed a knee into Fred’s gut. Fred grunted in pain, and the gun dribbled from his hand.

  “Get the gun, Joe.” the stranger said, while zipping up.

  Joe gawked down at the gun, but then plucked it from the grass.

  “Lie flat on the ground,” the stranger told Fred and Barney. Fred cursed at him as he began to stand, and the stranger kicked him so hard that Joe actually heard the sound of the rib cracking.

  With a grunt of pain, Fred eased himself to the grass, and was followed by Barney.

  “Have you ever used a gun?”

  Joe nodded. “In Iraq,”

  “You two, toss us your phones.”

  Fred and Barney glared at him, but took out their phones; both were the old flip type. After sharing a look, they opened the phones and broke them in half with their hands.

  “Screw you!” Fred said.

  The stranger began walking up the hill with Barney’s gun in his hand.

  “If they move, shoot them.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “To handle the woman,”

  ***

  He crested the hill by coming up at an angle behind the van.

  They had left it running with the lights on, and between the sound of its engine and the buzz of the passing traffic, he had no concern for Wilma hearing his approach, his only concern was in being spotted before he got close enough. If she spotted him too early, she could simply slide over into the driver’s seat and take off.

  Wilma was in the passenger seat and she was looking through a magazine while using the dome light, sitting atop the dash was her cell phone. She never even noticed him until he pressed the gun at her temple.

  “Hand me your weapon.”

  “I don’t have one.”

  “Fine,” he said. “We’ll do it the hard way.”

  He removed the gun from her temple, only to bring the butt of it crashing down on the back of her head.

  Wilma made a sound like,”Ugghh,” and then he opened the door of the van and watched her tumble out onto the shoulder, as a gun landed on the ground beside her.

  He tossed her gun into the back of the van, before nudging her in the side with his foot.

  “Walk down the hill.”

  “Oooohh, I think you cracked my head open.”

  “I said start walking.”

  Wilma stared up at him with a look that was pure venom, but she got up and trudged down the hill. When they were halfway down, he called to Joe.

  “It’s time to go.”

  As Joe passed Wilma, she gave him his own venomous gaze and then rushed to Fred’s side.

  When Joe reached him, he gave one final look at the trio on the ground in the beam of his flashlight, before turning and sprinting for the van.

  As they pulled onto the highway, Joe let out a whoop.

  “Man, that was close; I wonder what their game was?”

  “I don’t know and I don’t care, all I want to do is to get somewhere safe and call my wife.”

  “Hey, what happened to you anyway? How’d you wind up in that river?”

  “I survived a helicopter crash.”

  “No shit? Jesus, you’ve had some day, huh?”

  “Mine was better than Juliet’s,”

  “Huh?”

  “Nothing, now hand me that phone.”

  As he drove, he tried to use Wilma’s phone but found it locked.

  “Damn it.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Her phone is locked with a security app.”

  “Let me have it, maybe I can get it to work.”

  “You’ll never get it to work without her password.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I invented the app.”

  “Oh, wow,”

  “Keep an eye out for a gas station or a convenience store.”

  “Okay, but where the hell are we anyway?”

  “I don’t know, but we probably left the state.”

  They drove on and saw nothing but trees and mile markers on either side of the highway, as the traffic thinned to near nothing.

  Then, a green and white road sign appeared in their lights.

  Maynardville - Exit 63 - 1 Mile

  He took the exit and sped down the two-lane road, as up ahead the silhouette of a town appeared in the moonlight.

  The clock on the dashboard read, 2:26 a.m. when he first spotted the blue and red lights closing in fast,

  He pulled over to the side of the road and put on the flashers.

  “Help is on the way,” he told Joe.

  The police car caught up to them in less than a minute and skidded to a stop behind them.

  “Driver, turn off your vehicle,” came a voice over a loudspeaker, the voice was female and belonged to the cop.

  He did as instructed and then stuck his hands out the window, so that they could be seen to be empty. Joe followed his example, and the loudspeaker barked again.

  “Driver, I want you and your passenger to get out of the vehicle on the driver’s side and lie flat on the ground with your arms and legs spread out!”

  Joe sighed.

  “Oh crap, maybe she thinks we’re the ones who took us. Those guys could be wanted for God knows what.”

  “Just do as she says, and we’ll straighten it out after.”

  They did as instructed and soon heard the cop approaching on foot; they gazed up and saw that she wore an all-black uniform that was military style. She was armed with a Glock 18, and a Taser also hung on her belt. Her badge shined brightly from the glare of her headlights and she boasted several colorful ribbons of commendation.

  He was about to speak to her when he heard the others approach, and as they stepped out of the glare, he saw Fred, Barney, and Wilma, smiling down at him.

  Barney leaned over and kissed the cop.

  “You got ‘em, good work, baby,”

  Joe stared up at the raven-haired cop and groaned.

  Betty, I should have known.

  TAKEN! 21 — ARRESTED!

  Chief of Police, Jack Dent, sat at his kitchen table with a cup of coffee in his hand. It was a Sunday morning, a little after six a.m., and he’d been awake most of the night.

  One of his own men, Dave Callaway, was now the FBI’s and the NTSB’s, The National Safety Board’s, only suspect in the downing of a private helicopter, an act that cost three people their lives.

  Callaway was also wanted for assault on a federal agent and for several acts of stalking against Dr. Jessica White.

  Chief Dent believed that Callaway would never answer for any of those crimes, because Chief Dent now believed unequivocally that Dave Callaway was dead, and not only dead, but a victim of murder.

  Traci Vargas walked into the room while yawning, she was wearing one of Dent’s T-shirts, which fell six inches above her knees, beneath it, she was naked.

  “You’re up early,” she said, after giving Dent a kiss.

  “I couldn’t sleep; I kept thinking about the Callaway case.”

  Traci walked over to the counter and poured
a cup of coffee, afterwards, she reached into the refrigerator and took out a carton of half & half, and then carried the cup and the carton over to the table.

  “Dave didn’t do what the feds are accusing him of; I agree with Sarah, someone is framing her brother and that someone also killed him.”

  “Let’s assume that’s all true,” Dent said. “Who did it, and why?”

  Traci took a sip of coffee, before leaning back with a thoughtful look on her face.

  “Whoever did it had something to gain by it.”

  “Such as the death of a spouse?”

  Traci shook her head.

  “I can’t believe that Jessica wanted her husband dead.”

  “Neither can I; so that leaves the death of a fiancée,”

  “Agent Stevens? But why would he do it?”

  “You said it before; it would be for gain, only I can’t figure out what he’s gained. There was no life insurance on Juliet Hamden, her retirement account doesn’t list him as a beneficiary and there’s a mortgage on the house they bought when they moved here, and if he did kill Callaway and bring down that chopper, he’s risking life in prison at the very least, but for what? I can buy him as a suspect, but I can’t figure out his motive.”

  They grew quiet, as each pondered over the case, but moments later, Traci sat up straight.

  “Jessica!”

  “What? You’re saying that you suspect her now?”

  “No, I mean that Jessica is what Rob Stevens had to gain. With her husband and his fiancée dead and out of the way, he has a clear path to her, especially given their shared tragedy. I mean, think about it, Jack. He’s been staying at her house for weeks now. She’s hurting, lonely, it’s just a matter of time until she turns to him for more than comfort.”

  “Huh? Son of a bitch, it fits, doesn’t it? The notes and the roses didn’t start until after he moved here, and why here anyway, of all the places that he and Juliet could have moved to, why this town? Of course, if you’re right, that means that Rob Stevens is one devious bastard, and a murderer four times over if you add Callaway to the total.”

  “What do you know about, Stevens?”

  Dent smiled at her.

  “Not nearly as much as I’ll know by this time tomorrow,”

  ***

  Later that morning, Jessica came downstairs with the dog, Stitches, preceding her.