by Connor Mccoy
Eric rocked back but stayed on his feet. “No blood,” he said and grinned. “You’re going to have to hit me harder than that.”
The instinct to protect his hands was so ingrained in the surgeon that he had to collect himself. He wasn’t a brain surgeon anymore, and a little damage to his hands wasn’t going to matter. This time he got Eric square on the nose with an uppercut.
Eric grinned as his nose began bleeding. “Better,” he said. “One more time for good measure. Give me a black eye.”
This time Glen used a one-two punch, giving Eric a shiner. He watched as Eric’s eye began swelling. “Shoot, I don’t want you to be blind in that eye,” he said. “I hit you too hard.”
“Nah, I’ll be fine,” Eric said, touching his swollen eyelid. “If it gets too bad, I’ll have Ellen over there slice it to reduce the swelling. No worries.” He knelt down and rubbed dirt all over his face and hands, then he straightened and dirtied Glen’s face as well, making it look as though they’d been rolling in the dirt. “That’s good,” he said. “Showtime.”
He led the way away from the cabin, Glen and the others falling into step behind him. They walked single file, silent and alert until they reached the road. Then they handcuffed Eric’s hands behind his back with the breakaway cuffs. Glen took the end of the leash and “led” Eric down the middle of the road, the others ranging around them.
When they came close to being visible by the townspeople, Glen began yanking on the leash as Eric resisted. The others jeered at Eric, pushing him forward roughly and occasionally administering a punch or a kick in the butt. They were careful not to inflict actual damage, but Glen thought it looked pretty convincing as they marched up to the gate.
“Who’s there?” called a voice from the other side of the wall.
“Glen Carter,” Glen called back, “I’ve got a gift for Terror.”
“What gift is that?” was the response.
“Take a look,” Glen said, stopping about ten feet from the wall, dragging Eric with him. “I’ve got the resistance leader.”
A man’s head came around the gap in the wall, and a flashlight beam racked the group. Murmured voices came from the other side of the fence, and then some arguing.
“I can take him away again if you don’t want him,” Glen called out, putting as much sarcasm into his voice as he dared.
“Stay there,” came the reply, “we’re going to get the boss.”
So they stayed, standing quietly, although Glen thought that to be convincing, Eric should be trying to get away. But as far as they could tell, there was no one on the other side of the wall watching. So, why should they waste their energy?
Glen had half a mind to take a look through the gap and see if anyone had been left behind. But the plan relied on this playing out a certain way, so he stayed put and tried to calm his impatience. He was here, and ready to make things happen, but the waiting irritated him. He was afraid they would get distracted from the task at hand.
It was twenty minutes before the sentries returned with Terror. Glen was pacing and just barely keeping his anger in check. When Terror stepped out through the gap in the wall, bringing Angelica with him, Glen let his anger show on his face. Once again the flashlight raked Glen’s group, showing Eric standing dejected, his head down.
“Well, well,” Terror said, “what did you bring me?” He circled Glen and Eric. “You know, of course, that you’ve got the heart of the resistance at the end of that rope?”
“I do,” Glen said. “I wanted to prove to you that I wasn’t one of them, didn’t infiltrate your group as a spy. I want to live under your protection, and I brought you Eric as a gesture of good faith.” He jerked Eric forward and handed the leash to Terror.
This was the cue and, of course, several things happened at once. Terror started to yanked on the leash, probably hoping Eric would faceplant at his feet, but Eric snapped out of the breakaway cuffs and lunged forward, grabbing the leash with one hand and snatching the knife from Terror’s belt with the other. The guards, realizing that something was amiss, ran ahead to protect their leader, but not before Eric had sliced Terror’s belly with the knife.
Gunfire flared from the top of the wall, but Tim must have succeeded in alerting the right people. Shots rang out from farther back in the town and the gunfire from the wall stopped abruptly. Glen knew that would be short-lived. Others would take a stand on the wall, but perhaps his allies inside would thin their numbers.
Angelica was kneeling next to Terror, who was swearing and telling her he’d be fine. “Go find that drunk of a doctor,” he said. “Tell him to bring dressings. It’s only a flesh wound, but it’s bleeding like a son of a bitch.”
“I’m not leaving you to be finished off by one of these jackals,” she hissed. She grabbed one of Terror’s men, “Bring the doctor!” she yelled. “And you’ll get him here in a hurry if you don’t want your balls cut off.”
Glen wouldn’t put it past her to do that. The second wave of settlers opened fire on the wall the minute more guns appeared, and Glen stayed low to avoid being caught in the crossfire. He needed to get inside, but he would have to join the fray to make it there. Eric was trying to avoid being pummeled by a couple of men Glen recognized. What was it that Mia had called them? Third Eye and Boss Man, one had an eye tattooed on his forehead, and the other gave the orders. Well, he wasn’t THE boss man, that would be Terror, but that’s what Mia had called him.
Glen moved as quietly as he could, given the circumstances. He sucker punched Third Eye in the kidney, then delivered a knockout punch to his temple. Third Eye rolled on the ground, groaning, leaving Eric and Glen free to take down Boss Man. Glen double-checked they were down for the count by raising an eyelid on each of them.
“They’ll be out for a while,” he told Eric, “and probably won’t be able to stand up straight for a day or two.”
“Good,” Eric said, taking off the collar and rubbing his neck. It was red and sore. “Those two jerk you around by the leash?” Glen asked.
Eric nodded, still rubbing his neck.
“Sorry,” Glen said. “I should have made the collar breakaway too. That looks painful.”
“I’ll be okay,” Eric said, “but look out behind you.”
Glen turned to see another of Terror’s henchmen bearing down on him. Glen kicked the man’s knee. He folded into a heap on the ground, and Glen pistol-whipped him. The man didn’t move, and Glen moved on.
Angelica was standing over Terror, teeth bared, looking like a cornered wolverine. She alternately was punching with her right hand and swiping a knife with her left. The attacking man was at least a foot taller and had the reach to match. But she was fierce and determined, and her adversary dropped back to keep from being gutted.
Glen thought her instinct would be to go after him, but she stayed put, straddling Terror, her knees bent, her eyes swiveling back and forth, searching for the next threat. Glen stayed well away. It might be Terror’s day to die, but it wasn’t Glen’s day to kill him. He’d didn’t like that he had a death on his conscience, and he didn’t intend to add another.
One of Eric’s men, an older man, might have been John, was struggling to pull a younger man from the wall. The younger man had his forearm around John’s neck, trying to maintain a choke hold. Meanwhile, John had the front of the younger man’s jacket, trying to dislodge him from his firing position, while the man held him tight against the wall.
Glen ran to him and grabbed the younger man’s neck and shoulders, adding his weight to John’s. Between the two of them, they dragged the younger man over the wall onto the ground. Glen grabbed the weapon that had fallen with him and checked to see if it was loaded.
“Don’t shoot him!” John threw his body across that of the man on the ground, protecting him.
“I wasn’t going to,” Glen said, startled. “I was unloading the gun.”
“He’s my grandson,” John said. “I had to get him off the wall before he got shot. We have to
get him out of here.”
“No, Grandad,” John’s grandson sputtered. “I have to fight, or he will kill Molly and the kids.”
“Then we’ll make it look good,” Glen said. “Pretend to lose consciousness.”
He turned the weapon and made a show of smacking the man on the head, but actually struck the dirt. The man went still. Glen went to drag him out of the range of fire, but John stopped him.
“We have to do this right,” he muttered, “so there is no question he was in the fight.” He took the gun from Glen and landed a blow on his grandson’s face. Glen was startled, appalled that John would injure his kin so severely.
John looked at him and raised an eyebrow. “If this campaign doesn’t end the way we want it to, I want there to be no doubt that Johnny here did his part.” He shook his head. “I couldn’t live with myself if anything happened to Molly or the children because I saved my namesake.” He gestured to the man on the ground. “He’s going to hurt like hell when he wakes up, but at least he’ll be alive.”
Glen put his hand on John’s shoulder. “Are you okay now?” he asked.
John nodded. “I’m good to go, son. Go find those kids. Sounds like they need you.”
Glen nodded and offered his hand to John to shake. “It’s been my privilege, John,” he said. “I hope we meet again under better circumstances.”
John shook his hand and held it a moment. “Take care of yourself, Doc. We might need you again one day.”
“And you.” Glen released the man’s hand and turned, heading straight for the gap in the wall. He figured he had a three-minute window before someone else came to fill the gap left by John’s grandson, and he was going to take it.
He ran low, hunched over so that no one on the far side of the wall would be able to spot him. Hopefully, any of Eric’s people would recognize him and refrain from shooting. He was not ready to die. “Not my day to die,” he muttered under his breath. He ducked through the gateway and punched a startled youth in the nose. The boy went down. Glen stepped over him, and took a right, skirting back along the wall, staying low so as not to get shot by his own people.
Chapter Eighteen
By the time the door to the basement opened Sally had bounded to her cell in two strides and clambered over the top of the wall. She landed hard on the other side. Mia could see the tears in her friend’s eyes as she lay on the hard floor clutching her knee. By the time the boots were visible on the stairs, she was sitting up with her back against the bars, and Mia doubted anyone who didn’t know Sally would know anything was wrong.
By the time the black-haired woman in army fatigues had made it to the bottom of the stairs and was staring at the light switch, Sally’s color had returned to normal, and Mia thought they might actually get away with it. Meanwhile, Christian had moved to the back of his cell, where he could see in the shadows behind the stairs.
Mia appreciated that he was taking advantage of the few moments they would be able to see because she had no doubt this woman was going to turn off the light again. And if they switched them back on, she would have no doubt that one of the three could get out of their cell, and their next place of confinement would be even worse than this one. Probably tethered to a wall somewhere with chains around their necks.
“Why is this light on?” the woman asked.
“Because the guy who brought us down here left it on,” Christian said. “Possibly so we could see to aim in our toilet hole.”
She looked at him grimly, her mouth in a straight line and her eyes glinting. “I very much doubt that,” she said. “Anthony is not soft-hearted. He wouldn’t care if he was leaving little girls in the dark.” She spoke the last sentence in a high singsong, mocking them.
“Well then, maybe he just forgot to turn it off,” Mia said. “Maybe you should reprimand him.” But she hoped the woman wouldn’t. She had the distinct feeling that he, Anthony, was trying to help them. She made a mental note of his name, in case they ever saw him again.
“We don’t leave lights on by mistake,” the woman said. “Every person in this town knows how rare our electricity is. We don’t waste it, and people in cells with nothing to do but sit around don’t need lights.” She snapped the lights off and stomped back up the stairs, leaving Mia and the others back in the dark.
“Christian?” Mia called across the room.
“Shush,” he said. “Wait.”
They waited, listening until they heard the faint sound of footsteps retreating from the door. She was trying to be quiet, sneaking so they couldn’t tell she was gone, Mia thought.
“Wait,” Christian said again.
Mia settled down, with her back against the concrete wall, which she thought was more comfortable than the bars. She started to count in her head, wanting to know how long Christian was going to make them wait. One, two, three… Mia lost track around six hundred and twenty-five, the numbers jumbling around in her head. She began singing “ Frère Jacques” out loud, and then “Allouette,” remembering them from high school French. Those days seemed at once long ago and just yesterday. Here in the dark, she could see the classrooms and her fellow students, remembering the elation and despair. If she only had known what was coming, she wouldn’t have bothered with the darker emotions, or at least she wouldn’t have let what other students said affect her. Life was too short.
“Mia?” Christian spoke some time later, and she came out of the half-trance that she’d sunken into. “Sally?”
“I’m here,” Sally said.
“Are you hurt?” Mia asked. “Will you be able to walk?”
“I’m okay,” she said. “It just hurt when I landed.”
“Did you see anything, Christian?” Mia asked.
“Yeah. Back behind the stairs, I think there is a bulkhead. Do you want to try turning the light on again, Sally?” he asked.
Mia could hear that Sally already was swarming up the bars of her cell. Up and over she went.
“I’m not going to turn on the light yet,” her disembodied voice echoed in the dark. “I’m going to make my way over behind the stairs and see what I can find out with my fingers. Maybe I can open the bulkhead without the light. Why attract attention if we don’t need to do so?
She shuffled past the stairs quietly, Mia could only just hear the rustling of her clothing. There were some soft scraping noises, but no chinks appeared, no tiny triangles of light. “Sally?” Mia called out quietly. “Any luck?”
“I think there is a door here. I just can’t figure out how to open it,” Sally said. “I’m trying to use my fingers, but my mind isn’t cooperating.” She sounded frustrated.
“Then why not try the light again?” Christian asked. “What’s the worst that could happen?”
“That I’ll see the light and catch you,” Light flooded the basement, and the woman with the black hair was standing at the bottom of the stairs. Mia looked at the woman’s feet. She still was in her army boots, but she was able to make it down the stairs unheard. Now that was a feat, and Mia felt a grudging respect for the woman’s abilities.
“I did tell you what happens next, didn’t I?” It wasn’t so much a question as a statement. And it was true, she had told them that the next place they would be held would be worse.
“Sally,” Mia cried out, “run!”
The woman headed around the back of the stairs, and Sally popped out from the other direction. She ran up the stairs, and Mia heard an “Oof!” And then Sally came back down, propelled by the man who Mia thought of as “the thug,” but whose name was apparently Anthony.
He looked grim as he guided Sally back to her cell and handcuffed her to the bars. He relocked the door as the woman came back from the dark end of the basement.
“Any problems back there, Angelica?” he asked.
“No. There wasn’t much that girl was going to see in the dark,” Angelica said. “Are the other two secure?”
“Yes. There’s no space for either of those two to go over the top,”
Anthony said. “And this one,” he pointed at Sally, “is hobbled.”
“I still think we should put them in the hole,” Angelica said.
“That’s a little extreme, don’t you think? The three of them are just kids, really. And they haven’t hurt anyone.” Anthony smiled and put an arm on her shoulder.
“Tell that to Weston,” she said, and pointed at Mia. “That one dropped a set of tires on his head.”
“Weston is tough,” Anthony said. “He’ll live. The hole is a pit, and it’s hard to feed and water people there. I don’t think we need to starve them, do you? They only were trying to find their friend.” He led her upstairs, and Mia was surprised that Angelica let him influence her. The two of them turned out the light as they went by, which was unfortunate, but at least they weren’t in the hole, whatever that was.
Glen left the battle and slipped down a side street, away from the gunfire and shouting. He was headed for the area around the library, going the long way around the perimeter rather than through town. The road less traveled seemed like the best option.
He had to stop and hide more often than he would have liked. There were a lot of people out patrolling the wall. Finally, he moved a couple of blocks toward the center of town so he could avoid them. He planned to go straight to the library, since that was the center of Terror’s operation. They wouldn’t go to the trouble of holding hostages far from there.
At least he wouldn’t if he were in charge.
But as he moved quickly along he recognized the street where he’d been kept in the closet. He thought a second and decided that, while it wasn’t likely they all were stuffed into one closet, it wouldn’t hurt to check it out just in case. Rather than have to come back later. So, he took a detour and headed for what he thought of as Angelica’s house. He didn’t know for sure it was hers, but she acted like she owned it.
He wondered where she was. Most probably not at home. Still, he’d have to be careful not to scare the children he’d heard when he’d been there before. He only wanted to be sure his three charges weren’t there before he moved on.