It didn't make any sense to Howell. With resources as tight as they had been after the EMP, most prisons had cut a lot of nonviolent offenders loose just so that they wouldn't be a burden to the system. For the most part, if you were still in prison after the EMP, there was a good chance that you were a hardened criminal, psychopath, or murderer. The judicial system just didn't have time to waste with recreational pot smokers and other small time offenders.
Was that why Metz had turned beet red when Howell asked him about Seth Ferguson not returning home after prison? Seth's disappearance had been meant as a pretext to dig up dirt on Tweed. Had he inadvertently stumbled upon something more? The new warden and the old were covering something up, of that much he was certain.
His thoughts went back to Bachman Detention Facility, the prison he couldn't recall ever hearing of before. What was that all about? Had Dodson had been paid to ship prisoners to Bachman? But that just didn't make any sense. There wasn't much money in running a prison these days. Almost all of the private facilities had gone out of business. The state could barely entice anyone to work as a prison guard, which is why they brought in companies like Martin Hale to fill in the personnel gaps. The paperwork answered very little. He now had more questions than he'd started with.
Chief Howell gathered up the notebook and paperwork from Mount Olive. With no other leads to follow, there was only one thing he could do: bring all of his questions to the address listed on the invoices for Bachman Detention Facility and find out what the hell was going on first hand.
Chapter 13
The sun hung low in the sky. Glowing orange and red light reflected off the mirror-smooth Ohio River as it flowed past the city of Huntington, West Virginia. After two days of hard riding, Kenny and Amy were finally at their destination. Kenny followed her through a narrow alley next to a warehouse in the city, skirting crates, barrels, and drums of dried carp stacked up two or three high. The fishy smell was overpowering in the confined space, but the alley provided them good cover. No one in their right mind would navigate the alley unless they absolutely had to. It was the perfect spot to sit and watch, though he had no idea what he was looking for. Sarah might be here somewhere, but she could also be long gone. All he could do was try to figure out where the kidnapped women were kept until they were put on a riverboat and sent away. If she had already been loaded on a boat, there was little chance of discovering where she was. It was his only hope.
At the mouth of the alleyway, Kenny cautiously peered out at the street, taking note of the foot traffic and horse-drawn wagons as they made their way past. Down the street another hundred yards he could see three riverboats moored at a pier next to the river. Wagonloads of goods were being loaded and unloaded from the ships by dozens of laborers, their shirts dripping with sweat from the stifling heat. After several minutes of watching, something across the street caught his eye, and he pointed it out to his mother.
"Look across the street at that warehouse. See those two Martin Hale men guarding the front? I counted four more Martin Hale men coming in and out of that building since we got here. If Sarah’s still here, that's got to be where she is. I just hope we aren't too late," Kenny said.
"We'll tackle that problem when we get to it. For now, all we can do is try to locate her. You're right about the warehouse. If the riverboats only take the kidnapped girls away once a week they would need somewhere to keep them under guard. That building is too heavily guarded to be a regular warehouse."
"Come on. Let's go around back and see if there's another way in," Kenny said. They didn't want to be too obvious about their intentions and walk directly across the street. Kenny led Amy through back alleys and walked several streets up from the warehouse before cutting across the main thoroughfare. Once across the street, they went behind the warehouses, keeping an eye out for the Martin Hale security guards.
Now that he was closer he could see a way inside. The warehouse was two stories tall and had windows that wrapped all the way around the side and back of the building. The windows on the upper level were propped open a few inches to allow air to circulate through the building. Discarded wooden crates and barrels were strewn about the alley. If they could stack a few of them up, he and his mother could climb inside.
"Mom, go take a look in the window and see if there are any guards inside. I'll stack up some of those crates so we can climb in through the open windows on the second floor."
"Got it. Be careful, Kenny. Try not to make too much noise," she said.
Kenny slid through the alley, alert and ready to move quickly if a Martin Hale guard happened to come through on a patrol. He pushed a large wooden crate across the alley underneath the open window and stacked a smaller crate on top of it, but it still wasn't tall enough for him to reach the upper window. Kenny hefted a sturdy wooden barrel on top of the two crates. He was about to climb up on top of the barrel when he felt a tug at his pant leg.
"Kenny! I don't see any guards. Let me get up there. You're better at hiding. You stay here and keep watch."
"All right," he said, stepping down from the shaky platform.
His mother climbed up, nimble as a cat, and pushed the window above her all the way open. She pulled herself up to the edge of the window frame, tipped the top half of her body inside, and then pulled her legs in afterward. A second later she popped her head out the window, calling down to him quietly. "Move these boxes back where you got them, or someone will notice," she said.
Before he could ask what he was supposed to do if someone came along, she had already left the window.
Kenny disassembled his staircase to the second window, putting the barrel and crates back where he found them. Looking around for a hiding spot, he squeezed behind a couple of barrels, moving as far into the shadow of the warehouse across the alley as he could. His clothes were dark and blended in with the dark alley. Kenny reached down and ran his fingers through the mud, smearing it across his face, knocking down the glare of his naturally reflective skin. After that, he sat motionless, using his peripheral vision to check both directions of the alley. Wyatt had taught him, and years of hunting experience carried out the truth that the most important thing to do when trying to hide was to remain motionless. The human eye, like many other animals, was hard wired to pick out motion. It worked both ways in nature; motion meant an opportunity or a threat, depending on where you were on the food chain. He slowed down his breathing, tuning his ears in to his surroundings.
Crouched on his haunches, he waited patiently for his mother to return. Hopefully she would find Sarah, or at least find some sign that she had been in the building. Otherwise, they were shooting in the dark. If she wasn't here, he didn't know where to start looking. There were three riverboats at the dock. The Martin Hale man that bought Sarah from Cheswold said the riverboat left with the girls once a week. What if she was on a riverboat that had already left and he was wasting time investigating the warehouse? That would put them even further apart and leave the trail cold.
A man whistling a tune brought him out of his thoughts. The tune was followed by the sound of gravel crunching underneath a pair of hard-soled boots, approaching from further down the alley. In the very corner of his peripheral vision, he saw the man walking towards him. He couldn't make out details; if he turned his head he might alert the man to his presence. He would sit still and wait.
The whistling man kept coming down the alley, scuffling rocks under his boots as he went. As he came into view, Kenny saw that he wore a Martin Hale uniform. The man looked down at the ground as he walked, appearing bored as he made his rounds.
Kenny's nose began to itch, and the itch turned into the tickling sensation. The kind that came just before a sneeze. He closed his eyes, shutting out all sensations, willing his body to shut the sneeze down and disobey the sensation in his nostrils. Just a few more feet and the man would pass him by. He could make it. He just had to resist the urge long enough and the feeling would pass.
The whistling m
an ceased his tune and stopped abruptly a few yards from Kenny.
"How in the hell did that happen?" he muttered to himself.
Kenny, terrified that the man had made out his hiding spot, opened his eyes a fraction of an inch, still fighting the urge to sneeze.
The man looked straight up at the wide open window on the second floor, clearly puzzled.
Kenny wondered how the man had noticed that the window was open, and then Kenny saw that the window was reflecting the dying sunlight, illuminating a patch of dirt in the middle of the alley.
"Huh. Some idiot left the window open. Probably Jake. Ah, forget it. I'll go close it myself," the whistling man said. He looked around for a moment and then left the alley by the same direction he arrived.
As the guard rounded the corner of the alley and disappeared from sight, Kenny scurried out of his hiding spot and ran across to the first story window across the alley. He scanned the interior of the building, squinting to see by the dim kerosene lantern light inside the building. In the middle of the room, a central stairway led up to the second floor. The stairwell and second floor were more brightly lit than the rest of the warehouse. He spotted his mother creeping down the stairs.
Panic set in. He had to alert her that the Martin Hale guard was coming into the warehouse to shut the window, but she was too far away to hear him unless he shouted or banged on the window, which would certainly attract the attention of more guards. Terrified that she was about to get caught, his mind raced as he tried to come up with a solution.
Inspiration hit, and Kenny dug in his pocket for his signaling mirror. The signal mirror was not much larger than a silver dollar, had a hole in the center, and was polished to perfection so that it reflected a blinding ray of light. You simply held the mirror up and used the hole to aim the beam of light at an aircraft, and wiggled it about as you faced the sun until the reflection hit the aircraft. Pilots could see the reflection from a long way away. While he knew there was a slim chance of ever using it to signal an airplane again, it had proved useful as a way to quietly signal another person. He'd used it one time while deer hunting with his father to catch his attention. His dad had been reading, his nose stuck in a book, oblivious to the six-point buck standing thirty yards behind his tree stand.
Kenny tilted the mirror towards the window, trying to catch the dying light of the sun and reflect it in his mother's direction. There just wasn't enough light. In the past few minutes, the sun had dipped down below the horizon. The red glow of the clouds was all that was left on the sun's light.
It was too late anyway. Amy was stalking down one of the aisles of cargo, facing the back of the warehouse. Kenny watched in horror as the Martin Hale guard entered the room, and swiveled his head in her direction. He backed out of the room and closed the door without saying a word.
Frantic, Kenny banged on the window as loudly as he could without breaking the glass, trying to get his mother's attention. Clearly the security guard had gone for help. At best she had seconds to get out of there.
Amy turned at the noise, and dropped down behind a crate just as the security guard returned through to the front of the warehouse. This time he had two other guards in tow, both carrying kerosene lanterns and pistols in their hands. The men fanned out, each taking a different path and heading in her direction.
Kenny watched helplessly as his mother looked around for some way out of the warehouse. From where he was, Kenny couldn't see any way out. She was trapped like a rat in the corner of the building. If she tried to run for it, she would be spotted and outflanked by the three guards. There were no other doors or exits on the first floor. She must have come to the same realization; she waved her arm at him, signaling for him to leave.
There was no way he was going to leave his mother here with three guards closing in on her. He ran through the alley towards the back of the building near where she was hidden. Kenny pried at the windows trying to force them open, but they were locked from the inside, and wouldn't budge. The windows were quite old and the sealant around the edges had dried out, creating a loose seal around the panes of glass. He took his knife out of its sheath and stuck the tip of the blade between the glass and the sealant, trying to pry the entire pane out.
One of the guards was a mere twenty feet from where Amy crouched. A row over, he panned his kerosene lantern as he searched the warehouse. Another few steps and she would be in plain sight.
Kenny dug into the sealant as quickly as he could, cutting around the edge of the pane of glass. The knife cut cleanly through the material and he made quick work of it. He pried at the bottom of the glass and pulled the pane out with his fingertips. Kenny tugged to free the glass, and the pane came out with less force than he thought it would. It fell from his fingers, dropping away from him and against the sill.
The glass shattered on the floor. The guard brought his lantern up and looked Kenny right in the eyes. He ran directly towards the window, passing less than a foot in front of Amy. The lantern clearly illuminated her, but the guard missed her in his haste to reach the window.
She got up and ran towards the front of the building. Filled with hope, he silently encouraged her to run faster and escape the building. She was almost to the front door when a large shape burst out from behind a stack of barrels, tackling her to the ground. A second guard with a lantern drew near, and Kenny saw that a guard had been waiting for just such an escape attempt. The man quickly subdued Amy, pinning her to the ground.
"Run, Kenny! Run!" Amy screamed. "Get help!"
Kenny watched helplessly as the stocky guard took a pair of handcuffs from his belt and forced her arms behind her back, cuffing her.
"Lee! Get over here! We got her," the stocky guard yelled.
The guard that had been running towards the broken window stopped and turned back, ignoring Kenny completely as he returned to where the guard had his mother detained.
"What should we do with her?" the guard with the lantern asked.
"Stick her in there with the others," the stocky guard yelled.
Outside the building in the alleyway, a Martin Hale guard shouted at Kenny. "Hey! What are you doing there?"
Kenny turned and ran. He had to get out of here, but he had to get help. Where could he go to find help? There had to be a police station or somebody who could help him. He sprinted, running faster than the security guard behind him. He turned a corner and darted behind a large metal dumpster. The security guard ran right past him, oblivious to his presence.
Kenny waited a few minutes until he caught his breath, and then ran back to the main street. A short distance away he located a police station. A gray-haired policeman sat on the steps, leaning his back against the building, fanning himself with a magazine.
"I need help! Somebody's got my mother. I need you to come quick, please," Kenny said, his words tripping over each other in his frantic state.
The policeman sat straight up and looked him over, a skeptical look on his face. "Say what?"
"At the warehouse down the street. My mother and I have been looking for my fiancée. She was kidnapped last week and we think she was taken to that warehouse. My mother went inside, and then three men grabbed her. Please, you have to help me," Kenny pleaded.
The officer got to his feet and tightened his cap on his head. "All right. Come on, follow me. We'll get this sorted out right now. What did you say your name was?"
"Kenny. Kenny Miller."
"Where are you from, Kenny? Do you know anybody in town? You have any other people with you here?" the cop asked.
"I'm from Wheeler, and no, there's nobody else here. It's just me and my mother. Everybody else is back home."
"All right, Kenny. About how many of these men were there?"
"I saw three or four of them. Please, you've got to hurry."
"Three or four men, huh? OK. Show me where this warehouse is," the officer said.
Kenny jogged down the street towards the warehouse, looking over his shoulder every few fe
et to see if the policeman was keeping up with him. A short distance down the road, Kenny slowed as they approached the front of the warehouse. There was no sign of the Martin Hale security guards who had been posted out front earlier.
"This is the one?"
"This is it. There were two men out front earlier, but they aren't here now."
The officer drew his pistol from his holster and moved towards the door. "Stay behind me, kid."
Kenny followed the policeman into the warehouse, staying several feet behind him as they moved through the building. The warehouse was as quiet as a graveyard and dimly lit now that the guards with the lanterns were gone.
"Where did you see them take your mother?" The officer asked.
"Right there," Kenny said, pointing to the spot where Amy had been tackled.
The gray haired policeman looked around, and then motioned up the steps with a flick of his head. "Up here. There are lights on upstairs. Let's see if anyone is home."
The stairway led to a landing, which doubled back into a long hallway with office doors lining the hall on both sides. At the end of the hallway light blazed from an open office door. Expensive looking furniture filled the room, and a man in a business suit sat with his back to the hallway, rummaging through a file cabinet behind his desk.
"Shhhh," the officer whispered. He held his finger up in a come here gesture, and snuck down the hallway. He leveled his pistol at the man behind the desk and stepped into the office, then stepped off to the side of the door. He motioned Kenny to follow him inside.
Kenny stepped inside the office, his heart pounding like a drum. He looked expectantly at the gray haired officer, uncertain of his plan.
"Freeze. Don't move, asshole," the officer said.
The man in the suit dropped his file folder and spun around, surprised.
"This boy came into the police station with a story about somebody kidnapping his mother and his fiancée. You know anything about that?"
EMP Aftermath Series (Book 3): Retribution Page 9