by Sam Sisavath
He nodded, not that she was convinced he was convinced at all. “All right. Let’s get this over with before they decide to kick down our door and ruin our surprise.”
This time it was her turn to glance over at the figures huddled across the room. They were sitting or kneeling on the floor, squeezed behind the last two bulky counters at the very back for protection. From her vantage point, she could only see two of the teenagers and both, like the rest of the hidden class, were blindfolded with strips of cloth. She heard some whimpering, possibly a sobbing student or two, but even though they couldn’t see the preparations Xiao and Trevor had made, they seemed to know something big was about to happen.
You guys have no idea.
Xiao turned back to Trevor and nodded. He returned it, then checked his M4 again before picking up one of the safety goggles sitting on a desk and slipping it on. Xiao did the same thing before unslinging her MP5 with one hand while running her forefinger along the (surprisingly cold) trigger of the detonator with the other.
She ducked behind one of the counters near the middle, the bottom of the duffel bag still slung over her back, touching the floor. It was a little lighter now that she had taken out some of its contents for use. Trevor mirrored her actions, crouching low behind another counter across from her. Xiao leaned slightly out to make sure the bricks of C4 were in position. They almost looked aesthetically pleasing the way Trevor had strategically placed them along the length of the blackboard for maximum effectiveness.
Xiao looked over at Trevor again. “You ready?”
“Depends,” the former SWAT commando said. “What else you got in that bag?”
“That’s for me to know and for you to find out.”
“Fine. Be that way.”
Xiao grinned, then shoved the wads of paper into both ears before snapping the breathing mask into place. The masks, like the goggles, were a mainstay of science labs across most high schools.
Then she held up five fingers before dropping one of them.
Four…
She glanced back at the hidden figures behind her. There was enough distance that they wouldn’t be in too much danger of flying debris. Hell, if there was going to be any blowback damage, she and Trevor would take the brunt of it.
WWPD? I wish I could ask him in person.
Three…
Trevor might have started talking to himself as he readied his rifle. Or saying a silent prayer. Xiao had never pried about his faith, and he had never offered. Too late now. It was too late for a lot of things now. At least, for her and Trevor.
Two…
Faith. That was a hell of a thing to be thinking about right now. She’d always had faith in Porter because he’d managed to keep her and Aaron alive all these years. But Porter wasn’t here right now, and wasn’t she going entirely on faith that he was even still alive somewhere out there? And if he were alive, was he even still remotely himself? She could only hope, even though she knew that the spew did things to you, and even someone as stubborn as Porter wouldn’t be able to fight it forever.
One!
She squeezed the detonator’s trigger.
The blast tore through the front wall of the classroom the way it was supposed to, firing a sea of concrete blocks and what remained of the blackboard into the adjoining classroom. The windows to Xiao’s left shattered from the concussive force, and the counter in front of her shook even as cement chunks pelted it, along with enough smoke that if she hadn’t been wearing the goggles and mask she would have been overwhelmed by a torrent of white powder.
She struggled to her feet even as her head rang and she struggled to regain her equilibrium. She glimpsed Trevor doing the same across the room. He wasn’t stumbling nearly as much as she was, and Xiao had to reach for the counter to keep upright and push forward, toward the gaping hole that had opened up like some magic act.
Trevor easily outpaced her, and she let him, thankful she could even still stand (and move) at all after being so close to detonation. What the hell was she thinking? Why hadn’t she moved farther back? Because there wasn’t room; she needed speed on her side, because as soon as the C4 did their work, however many HRT (or SWAT or cops, or maybe all of them) waiting outside in the hallway would quickly respond.
Trevor’s large shape disappeared through the hole in the wall—one second he was there, and the next it was as if the swirling smoke had swallowed him up. She staggered after him, her shoes slipping on jagged pieces of the wall that covered the floor like the world’s most unstable rug.
Despite the wads of paper clogging up both of her ears, her head was pounding and the ringing hadn’t subsided. Not even close. The world seemed to tick by in thick molasses, and she wondered what Porter would say if he knew what she had just tried to pull. Then again, he had done almost the same thing to escape from a situation very similar to this one.
It’s your fault, Porter. I got this idea from you!
She was making her way up the suddenly slanted floor toward the freshly made door in the wall when she stopped and looked back for a second. Thank God they had been smart enough to remove every beaker and dangerous, breakable item from the countertops and place them inside drawers. Even so, there were still plenty of broken shards of glass surrounding the huddled bodies in the back, but she couldn’t see any blood or signs that someone had been hurt by the blast.
Good enough. Good enough…
She turned and took one step forward (and up), when the first gunshot began. It was quickly followed by two, then three—the pop-pop-pop coming one after another.
Here we go!
She practically threw herself through the opening, smoke slamming against the lens of her goggles while she struggled to breathe through the mask. She willed herself to keep moving, to maintain her balance against the constantly shifting debris-strewn floor under her.
There, Trevor, about five feet in front of her as he fired toward an opened door, raking the wood from left to right and forcing whoever was attempting to enter the adjoining classroom to retreat.
He stopped shooting just long enough to glance over at her, brown eyes wide behind his own smoke-smeared goggles. “Well?” he shouted, either because he thought she couldn’t hear him over the sounds of chaos or his own ears were still ringing, too. “What are you waiting for? This is your big plan, isn’t it?”
She grinned back at him even though he couldn’t see it with the mask over the lower half of her face. Xiao hurried forward, slinging her MP5 as Trevor took aim with his rifle and waited. She reached into the bag for the first canister, pulled it, and tossed it through the bullet-riddled door. It landed in the hallway with a loud clank! that was quickly followed by a bang! that lit up the corridor outside for a brief second.
Someone screamed, then someone else shouted commands, but between the thrumming in her ears and the hollowed echoes in her head, she couldn’t have been sure who was doing what even if she were out there with them.
Not that the confusion kept her from taking out two more canisters. She pulled their pins and tossed them one at a time through the door. They bounced against the floor and ricocheted out of view before clouds of white smoke streamed across the opening.
Trevor had begun to move forward, but Xiao grabbed his arm. “Wait!”
Trevor nodded and held back, and Xiao counted silently to ten.
At ten, she shouted, “Go!”
The ex-commando rushed forward and through the door without hesitation, and gunfire erupted almost as soon as Trevor disappeared out of her line of sight.
That’s either the bravest man I know or the dumbest. You would have loved this guy, Porter!
Xiao hurried after him, but there was still enough debris on the floor to make every step more treacherous than it should have been. That slowed down her progress some, and by the time she reached the opening, she could already see blood on the floor.
A lot of blood.
And there was a body lying in the hallway, except it was wearing bl
ack and not the jeans and brown thermal sweater that Trevor had been.
The pop-pop-pop of gunfire as she stepped over the body and into the corridor, and looked right just in time to see two more bodies falling, near the spot where the door into the other classroom would have been. She couldn’t be a hundred percent certain because of all the smoke. It was impossible to miss Trevor, his bulky frame poised in front of her as he fired down the hallway.
Either Trevor ran out of bullets or he sensed her behind him, because he stopped shooting and looked back and shouted, “Get going!”
She turned to the other side of the hallway and focused on the door into the basement all the way back there. She had no doubts the tunnel was already compromised and she’d have to fight her way to reach it again, but at the moment that was the lesser of two evils. The only other option was to go outside and into the buzz saw waiting for her and Trevor—
A loud torrent of gunfire exploded from behind her, and bullets speared the air above her head and slammed into the lockers around her. Sparks flickered at her face, and Xiao ducked, then spun around just in time to see Trevor falling—
No!
His head slammed into the slick tiled floor about the same time as the rifle still clutched in his hands, and she wasn’t sure which sounded louder—
A bullet tore through her side even as she was still in the progress of twisting back around. There was pain, but it was more of a numbness, because Xiao couldn’t tear her eyes away from Trevor, his blood-smeared goggles staring up at the ceiling.
Get up. Get up, you idiot!
Rounds punched into the wall to her right and the floor around her as Xiao tried to push herself back to her feet, grabbing at anything for support. She was halfway up when figures emerged out of the smoke in front of her—demons in drab olive uniforms, dark eyes seeking her out from behind the lenses of thick gas masks that put the cheap safety lab goggles she was wearing to shame.
“Take her alive!” a voice shouted. It was male and booming with authority. “We need her alive!”
They swarmed her like locusts, and one of them struck her in the chest with the butt of his rifle. She almost choked on her own tongue and began falling again, but somehow remained on her feet by grabbing at a water fountain that had appeared seemingly out of nowhere. Someone grabbed her submachine gun and ripped it out of her hands, and she was helpless to stop them.
She could barely breathe, could barely fight back the pain throbbing across her entire body, even as the throng of commandos parted to make room for a figure in a suit and tie striding through the thinning smoke toward her.
The man stepped over Trevor’s lifeless body before stopping a few feet in front of her. Even though he had a gas mask clasped over his face, she thought she could see the smug smile playing across his lips, but that was impossible.
Wasn’t it?
“I don’t think we’ve properly been introduced, Xiao Chen,” the man said, his voice slightly muffled. “My name is Ringo, but all my friends call me Pete.”
Chapter 7
Quinn
She woke up on the cold floor of a bare, colorless ten-by-ten foot room, with a pounding headache. Scarred concrete walls surrounded her and there were no windows, so she had no clue what was outside—or when. She was still wearing the same clothes from the parking lot, but more importantly neither her hands nor legs were restrained, which was both a relief and a cause for alarm.
She immediately jumped to her feet and almost fell back down. Her head was spinning, but she pushed through it and turned, only to face a metal door.
Where the hell am I?
Her last memory was being tased, then dragged kicking and screaming (though maybe not so much kicking or screaming, but some resisting, maybe?) into a van. That was after they had chloroformed her. Before that, there had been a gunfight between—
The woman. Who was the woman?
“Quinn! Forget the gun! Just run!”
The way she had said it, as if she were looking out for Quinn’s best interest. Which was bullshit, because Quinn had never seen her before.
She took a tentative step toward the door before stopping and looking at the ceiling. No cameras or anything that resembled surveillance equipment. That should have made her relax, except it didn’t. She couldn’t shake the feeling of déjà vu, remembering the last time she had woken up inside a cold, strange room.
Focus on the here and now.
She did just that, giving the lever on the door a long look. There was no security window, so nothing to tell her what was waiting outside—or who. What were the chances the door was unlocked? The last time…
Quinn reached for the lever and pushed it—but it wouldn’t budge.
Dammit.
She turned around and gave the room another long look. It was just as scarred and unremarkable and cold as the last time. The lack of windows was disconcerting, but there was enough natural light to see with.
Where was she? How long ago had they brought her here? But maybe more importantly, why?
She willed her breathing to slow down, to regain some semblance of control. (What control?) At least she wasn’t suffering from any after effects of the Taser, so that was a plus. Unless, of course, she was and just didn’t know it. But that didn’t appear to be the case—or as far as she knew.
Quinn shifted her focus to her ears, but it didn’t matter how hard she tried, because she couldn’t hear anything other than her own (still) slightly troubled breathing. Either the walls were soundproof or there was nothing out there to hear. She was leaning more toward the former.
A click! from behind her, making her spin around.
Quinn’s entire body tensed as the door opened. Her hands formed fists at her sides, and she mentally prepared herself to fight—
A large man, an Uzi submachine gun hanging off a sling over one very broad shoulder, looked in at her from the hallway outside. He had a long scar on one side of his face and was big enough that he almost filled out the entire doorframe.
Right. I’m going to get through that.
As if reading her mind, the big man said, “Be a good girl,” before tossing a folded metal chair inside.
Quinn looked down at it, then up at him. “What am I supposed to do with that?”
“It’s a chair.”
“I can see that.”
“You sit down on it.”
“Couldn’t you have unfolded it for me first?”
“You’ll manage,” the man said.
Quinn spent the next few seconds trying to get a better look at the hallway. Her guard really was a large beast of a man—at least six-five and a good two hundred and seventy pounds, most of that muscle, if the neck and thighs were any indication.
Jesus, he’s big.
The man seemed to know what she was doing—or trying to—and shifted his size slightly to block out a good portion of the hallway. When she narrowed her eyes at him, he grinned mischievously back at her.
“Where am I?” she asked.
“Sit down and wait.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“What was the question?”
“Where—”
He slammed the door in her face before she could finish.
“Jackass,” Quinn grunted.
“I heard that,” a voice shouted from the other side of the door.
“Can you hear this?” Quinn shouted back. “You prick!”
Her captor laughed.
Quinn looked down at the chair. She sighed before picking it up, unfolding it, sitting down, and waiting.
It took half an hour, during which time Quinn’s stomach growled, until the door opened again. Quinn shot up to her feet, escape scenarios racing through her head.
She was surprised to find the same woman from the strip mall parking lot stepping inside this time, carrying a second chair in one hand. The big man with the Uzi stood behind her, one hand on his weapon.
“You’re looking better,” the wom
an said. “We weren’t sure how much chloroform to use.”
“Looks can be deceiving,” Quinn said. “Where am I?”
The woman ignored her question, said, “Most people wouldn’t be up on their feet an hour after being tased twice.”
An hour? That’s it?
Quinn swore it had to have been hours, but maybe her perception of time was being skewed by the headache. It was fading, but she could still feel it.
“Unfortunately I’ve had experience with being kidnapped,” Quinn said.
“And you’re still here,” the woman said. “That says a lot.”
The woman sat down across from Quinn, while Big Man closed the door and locked it behind her.
Quinn’s first impressions of the woman had been correct: She was in her early thirties, with light blue eyes. There was a calmness about her, in the way she moved and sat and looked across the small space back at her. To look at her, Quinn wouldn’t have been able to tell this was someone who had just very recently exchanged gunfire with four Rhim operatives and lived to tell the tale.
Who the hell are you, lady?
“Where am I?” Quinn asked instead.
“You already asked that,” the woman said.
“You didn’t answer the first time. I thought you might be hard of hearing.”
“I’m not.”
“So where am I?”
“Does it matter?”
“Of course it matters.”
“No, it doesn’t,” the woman said. “You’re safe. We’re safe. That’s all that matters.”
“That’s a matter of opinion.”
“It’s reality.” She paused, then, “I’m sorry again about the abduction. It was the only way.”
“Easy for you to say. You weren’t the one who was abducted.”
“You should sit down.”
“And why would I want to do that?”
“You must be tired.”
Like my legs are about to fall off, Quinn thought but said, “I don’t feel tired.”
The woman shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
“Why did you kidnap me?”
“It was just easier that way. There was no time to sit down and explain things.”