On the Hunt

by Teyla Branton

  “There has to be something to get this rope off. You aren’t going anywhere with this cinder block.”

  “Try the desk.”

  Listening first to make sure no one had entered the room during our conversation, I left Dennis and went to search the desk, hoping to find something I could use: a box cutter, scissors, even a knife. I pulled out drawer after drawer with no luck, until finally I found a pack of box cutter blades. No box cutter, but the blades would have to do.

  Carefully, I began sawing on Dennis’s rope. It was tough trying to hurry and at the same time not to cut myself, knowing any minute I could be discovered. I tried not to think about Sawyer or Jake and where they might be at that moment.

  Dennis had managed to sit up, but by the labored way he breathed, I knew he wasn’t going to be able to move fast or far. He cradled his right hand against his chest. I suspected some of his fingers had been broken during his interrogation. His forehead glistened with fever.

  I planned our escape as I worked on the rope. Dennis’s condition limited our choices. I might have to hide him somewhere in the warehouse until Shannon and Paige arrived. That way even if the Saitos tried to kill Dennis the minute the police were on site, they would have to find him first.

  “Ow.” I’d cut my finger.

  Dennis’s head lolled back against the wall. “You should just go. They’ll catch you, too.”

  “I’m not leaving you. Sophie would kill me. Besides, I almost have it.”

  Then the gunfire began.

  Chapter 12

  Shouts and more gunfire, coming from the main part of the warehouse.

  Dennis moaned. “You’d better get out of here.”

  I dragged the blade through the last strands of the rope and grabbed his arm. “Come on, then.”

  This time we used the aisle on the inside wall. I half dragged, half carried Dennis. He was worse off than I’d thought, and our chances for escape were diminishing by the minute.

  Reaching the doorway, I pushed him behind a stack of crates. It wasn’t a good hiding place, but better than leaving him where he’d been.

  “Stay here,” I whispered.

  “As if I could do anything else.”

  I eased toward the door on hands and knees, peering through the opening. I couldn’t see anything, so I inched forward, keeping low to the cement floor. Figures came into view. Shannon and Paige, surrounded by four Asian men with guns. It looked like I’d finally discovered all the drivers and passengers to those cars. Paige was bleeding from a cut on her face, but Shannon, his face tight with barely contained fury, looked fine physically.

  As I watched, another Asian man, larger than the rest, his scarred face familiar to me from Dennis’s imprint, came inside dragging the too-still body of what I assumed was the third officer Shannon had brought along. From this distance, I couldn’t see if the man was breathing, but red clearly stained his clothes.

  It looked like a trap. Whatever measures Shannon had taken, they hadn’t worked. None of this was going to end well. The Saitos had killed or wounded an officer, and they would have to get rid of the other two and all the evidence, despite the police investigation that would ensue. I had no doubt they had methods to easily rid themselves of three bodies.

  Two more Asian men appeared from upstairs, both dressed in slacks and button-up shirts like their colleagues. One was slender and refined and walked with the air of being in charge. Even the big, scarred man inclined his head with deference as they conversed.

  Wait. I knew the thin guy. Not so much his narrow face but the outline of his body, the shape of his high cheeks, the way he held his head. I’d seen him in Dennis’s terror-filled phone imprint, bending over a still body, gun in hand. His face had been in shadow, but I recognized Joben Saito.

  Though I’d never met Saito, Dennis’s fear froze me in place.

  Think, I told myself. Saito is just another bad guy.

  I had a choice. I could try to get Dennis out one of the back windows while they were occupied and contact the police when we were free. I could call now and risk being overheard as I tried to get someone at the station to take me seriously. Or I could cause a diversion that might free Shannon and Paige but was more likely to get us all killed.

  It wasn’t that I liked the most chancy plan, but I didn’t have much hope of Shannon and Paige surviving until their backup arrived. The Saitos must have been ready for their arrival, and if someone had tipped them off, they would also know they had to get rid of Shannon and Paige quickly.

  If I made the wrong decision, I’d have to live with it the rest of my life.

  I had to try.

  The gunpowder had given me the idea, but I would need something the right size to pack it in. Not too small and not too big either. I didn’t want to kill the people I was trying to save.

  I hadn’t seen anything inside the warehouse that would work, but that pile of junk outside was an ELF bomber’s haven—provided I could get the window open.

  I moved fast, balancing the need for stealth with the ticking clock. As I made my way toward Dennis, I texted a short message and the general location of the warehouse to the police, wishing I had paid closer attention to the actual address. But if someone believed my text, they would contact the rest of Shannon’s team on the perimeter and they would know where to move in.

  When I returned to Dennis, he had his eyes closed. “Dennis,” I said. “Dennis!”

  “Huh?”

  “The police are here, but they’ve been captured. One officer is down. I’m going to make a diversion, see if I can help them—and us—get away. Do you know anything about explosives?”

  Dennis thought a moment. His breathing seemed more labored. “I made a few pipe bombs when I was younger, but my aunt stopped that. So, no, I don’t know much.”

  “I’ll figure something out.” Which mostly meant deciding how much gunpowder to use.

  I hurried to the far back window that should be buried under the pile of junk Ace and I had climbed earlier. The window opened without too much problem, though junk blocked the opening completely. Frantically, I began pulling handfuls of garbage into the room, pushing aside larger chunks that wouldn’t fit inside the window opening. My hands touched odd metal pieces, a pillow, an old flashlight, ancient clothes, a bag of something so smelly, I didn’t dare open it.

  Occasional imprints assailed me, but most were long faded. No one had treasured this junk so far down in the pile for a long time, or felt anything traumatic about it. As I brought garbage inside, other trash from above sank into its place. I was beginning to lose hope of finding anything useful when at last I discovered a small can, tin-plated steel by the look of it, and with a tiny opening on the top. It would do. I hoped.

  Opening a gunpowder keg with the claw side of the big hammer from the other windowsill, I filled the can with the dark powder. Next, in went the foil burger wrappers from the fast-food bags on the desk. Using a blunt piece of metal I’d found in the junk, I compacted the stuff as well as I could. Did I need more gunpowder? Less? How much was too much?

  I remembered something about fuses from my stint in college, but I didn’t have potassium or sugar. I did have gunpowder, and my ELF friend had talked about using that for a quick-burning fuse. Well, I needed quick. I straightened out a crumpled napkin, tore off an inch-wide piece on its longest side, and lined it with a bit of black powder. I was supposed to moisten it, I remembered, but I had no time to let it dry. Instead, I took threads from cloth I’d found in the garbage pile, dipped them in the remains of a soft drink, blotting them nearly dry, and rolled them in the gun powder until the string was thickly covered. I rolled this up tight in the piece of napkin, twisting it. Powder seeped out. I didn’t think that was supposed to happen.

  I felt nauseated as I finished off the can, shoving more foil inside the hole of the lid, followed by a piece of metal I duct-taped over the hole. For good measure I wrapped the whole thing in duct tape.

  Too late I realized I di
dn’t have any way to light it.

  Tears of frustration pricked my eyes. If Tawnia were here, she’d reach in her purse and pull out a lighter she would probably have there in case she had to make an emergency fire. She paid close attention at disaster preparedness fairs.

  There had to be something here. At least one of Saito’s men had been smoking, and they might have used a lighter. Could he have left it behind? I rummaged through the drawers but found nothing. All the while, minutes ticked by.

  What was I going to do?

  There was really only one thing I could do because rubbing two pieces of wooden crates together would take too long, and I’d already wasted too much time. Get Dennis out of here and call the police.

  Sticking the small can into my front pants pocket, I hurried back to him. It took a lot of pushing and pulling and prodding to get him to a window not covered by the garbage, but somehow I managed. “You okay?” I hissed after I’d shoved him outside and he’d crumpled onto the ground in a heap.

  He lifted his good hand. “Fine.”

  Feeling for my cell phone, I began to climb out the window, glad I’d charged the battery last night. Or had it been the night before last?

  Battery.

  I took my foot from the windowsill. I didn’t have steel wool, which was the easiest way to start a flame with a battery, but there had been some really thin wire in the garbage that wasn’t too rusted. Practically everyone growing up the way I had could light a fuse with a battery and wire.

  I shut the window as it had been before, hoping if I was caught, they wouldn’t think to look for Dennis outside there until he could get to safety. Of course, he hadn’t looked like he was going anywhere, much less to somewhere safe.

  I sprinted to the other window that I’d left open and began searching through the garbage on the floor for the wire. I found it behind the odorous plastic bag. Wrinkling my nose, I bent the end back and forth until it broke off. Now for the phone battery.

  Voices were approaching, and I ducked behind the crates. I peeked out and saw two men rummaging in a crate near the door. When they left, they held a knife and a length of rope like the one that had held Dennis.

  Great. I might be too late to do any good.

  Holding the wire to the positive and negative ends of the battery, I edged my way to the door. I didn’t have to start a fire—just get the wire hot enough so the end of the fuse would catch. The wire was already warm in my hands. I held the end of the fuse up to it. The wire grew hot enough to burn my fingers, and mere seconds passed before the end of the fuse lit. At least that much was working.

  A bit too fast. Trying not to panic, I leaned out the door and heaved the can. It didn’t go as far as I’d hoped, but it would have to do.

  “What’s that?” the big Asian growled. His question was followed by a myriad of comments.

  “Who’s there?”

  “Looks like a bomb.”

  “Everyone get back.”

  “Let’s make the cop go get it.”

  Nothing happened. Had there been too much water left in the fuse? I supposed that not going off at all was better than blowing the whole place up with everyone in it, though with what I bet the Saitos had planned for us, that was debatable.

  “It’s nothing,” someone said with a laugh. “A dud.”

  “Get it. And go find who threw it.” This I was sure came from Saito himself. I turned to flee. The window was my only hope at this point. Maybe my phone still had enough battery to call for help if I could get clear.

  I had gone only a few feet when a tremendous boom shook the warehouse. I stumbled and fell. I wondered if any of them were laughing now.

  That’s when I noticed the inside wall was on fire, smoke rapidly spreading over the ceiling.

  “Stop right there!”

  I turned, my hands lifted, nearly sinking to my knees in relief when I saw Shannon.

  He lowered the gun he must have reclaimed from his captors. “Are you completely insane?” he yelled. “What do you think you’re doing here?”

  “Saving you, apparently.” But I couldn’t find the strength to smirk. “What about the Saitos?”

  “Unconscious or escaped outside. Come on. We still have to make it out of here. They’ll be back.”

  “There’s a window,” I said.

  “Jon’s hurt pretty bad. We have to drive him out.”

  “But Dennis is out back.” I jerked my head toward the window.

  “We’ll go around and get him. The fire will take time to spread there.”

  I ran with Shannon to the main room where Paige was standing over one of Saito’s men, lifting several sets of keys from man’s pocket. “I think one of these is to the van. Same brand name on the key chain.”

  Shannon and I carried the unconscious Jon to the van, whose backseats had all been removed.

  “How’d you get here, anyway?” Shannon asked me as we shut the doors. “And inside without being seen? They were waiting for us—like they knew we were coming.”

  “Ace brought me. We sneaked in through an upstairs window—oh, no! Ace.” That sick feeling was back. I’d started the fire, and it would kill Ace if we didn’t help him. “He’s still upstairs. They caught him.”

  We all looked to where the fire was greedily consuming the wall. The metal shell of the warehouse might survive, but the back room and the upstairs would be a complete loss. Ace wouldn’t stand a chance.

  With a frustrated grunt, Shannon growled at Paige. “Get them out of here.”

  “I’ll get Ace,” I said.

  Shannon waved his hand. “I have the gun. Believe me, I’d love to let him rot, but I can’t.”

  I wondered about the grudge Ace had mentioned. What had happened between them, and why would Shannon risk his life for a man he obviously didn’t like or respect?

  We stared at each other for several precious seconds. I realized I was more worried about him than I wanted to be. “The room at the end of the upstairs hall has a way out the window,” I said.

  Shannon nodded, his gaze shifting to Paige. “They’ll probably be outside waiting for you. If Autumn drives, you’ll be free to shoot. Go now. Hurry!” Shannon gave me a little shove toward her.

  I obeyed, more out of responsibility than of anything else. I didn’t want Paige and the other officer’s life on my hands as well. Sweat poured from my brow, the fire adding to the heat of the day. As I took the keys from Paige and climbed into the van, two of Saito’s men came back inside, guns drawn. The big Asian with a scar ran after Shannon up the stairs. The other came in our direction.

  I revved the engine, preparing to barrel through the closed garage door, but Paige had found an opener and the door was lifting. Her face had lost all color, except for the blood from her cut, but she held the gun steady and fired at the oncoming man as I squealed out of the warehouse.

  “Where are you going?” Paige yelled as I dragged the wheel heavily to the right, heading around to the back of the warehouse. “They took our phones, so we’ll be no good to Shannon if we don’t make it to our backup.”

  “I can’t leave Dennis. Here, see if my phone works.”

  With one hand, Paige tried my phone. “Nope. Dead.”

  Exactly what I’d feared. “Then we’d better be fast.”

  Dennis wasn’t where I’d left him. He’d crawled about twenty yards—unfortunately, in the wrong direction, past the hill of garbage next to the warehouse and toward a huge chain link fence at the back of the property that he’d never have been able to climb. I slammed on my brakes, jumped from the van, and rushed to his side.

  “Help me!” I yelled at Paige, scanning the window above the garbage heap. No Shannon.

  Paige was already on her way, tucking her gun into her holster. Together, we dragged Dennis to the van and loaded him inside, where he lay back with a sigh of relief.

  “Oh, no!” Paige jumped into the back of the van, past Dennis, where her fellow officer was convulsing, his face turning blue. Check
ing his pulse, she bent over him and began pumping his chest.

  I slammed the double doors shut, knowing I had to drive the man somewhere fast or watch him die. My chest ached with the knowledge that it might already be too late.

  I hadn’t taken two steps when the window above the junk pile behind me flew open and Shannon appeared carrying Ace. He set Ace on the garbage, climbed through himself, shouldered Ace again, and clambered down the other side like a crazed man. Smoke streamed from the window.

  Seconds later, the big Asian emerged from the smoke, moving through the window with more skill than such a large man deserved. His gun was drawn.

  Shannon wasn’t going to make it.

  I ran to the pile, swooping up a piece of old two-by-four. The Asian jumped the rest of the way to the ground and raised his gun, all his focus on Shannon. I slammed the two-by-four at his head. He staggered but didn’t go down. Shannon dumped Ace and reached for his gun. But the Asian was already firing. My two-by-four crashed against his head a second time, and the shot went wide. This time the man fell and didn’t move.

  “Thanks,” Shannon grunted.

  “You’re welcome.” I figured we were even. He’d saved my life at the commune, and now I’d saved his.

  “We still have to get out of here.”

  We hurried to the van. I threw open the back doors, and Shannon dropped Ace inside. Paige was no longer doing CPR on Jon, and he seemed to be breathing on his own. A little of the tightness in my chest lessened.

  “Watch him,” Paige said to Shannon, pulling herself into the driver’s seat.

  I jumped in, and she peeled out before I had the back doors all the way closed. We weren’t half a block away before a much larger explosion shook the van. Windows in the surrounding buildings shattered.

  Shannon looked at me as if expecting an explanation.

  “There was a lot of gunpowder in the warehouse,” I said. “Kegs of it. And a lot of crates, but I don’t know what was inside those.”

  “Could be guns or other weapons. Probably shipping them overseas to terrorists.”

  “Not anymore.”