Tsunami Crimes

by Chrys Fey

  The man with the gun spun around. “What the fuck’s wrong now?”

  “She’s not walking.”

  Beth looked at the man as his black eyes pinned her in place. “My legs are asleep.”

  He pointed the silencer at her left knee. “A bullet will bring back the feeling.”

  “Stop,” she shouted. “I’ll walk.”

  “Good choice.”

  When the men started to move again, she took halting footsteps. Her eyes eagerly sought for signs of their location. She couldn’t tell where they were, but the ground was becoming less muddy, which meant they were going deeper into the city, away from the places devastated by the tsunami. There was a lesser chance of this area being searched for survivors. Not good for her.

  Her gaze jumped from left to right as she sought landmarks. Her eyes widened at the sight of a street sign—South King Street. She had no idea where that was, but it was nice to know a street name.

  When the mud disappeared, her heart dropped. If it didn’t rain, someone could track the footsteps they left behind, but without mud, there wouldn’t be any evidence. She looked down at her feet as she lifted her sneakers. Lines of mud clung to the asphalt in the shape of her shoe. But with each step she took, those lines became thinner until the mud was gone.

  Several minutes later, they came upon an intersection. She was forced to make a right turn that took her away from the path their footprints had made. Panic swam through her veins. She needed to do something, leave a mark in some way. She wouldn’t be able to tear off a piece of clothing without them hearing it. Not to mention her hands were cuffed behind her back. Her thoughts roamed from her sneakers to her hair tie. She couldn’t step out of a sneaker. That would be too obvious. She couldn’t reach her hair tie, but that wouldn’t be a good clue anyway. A black hair tie could belong to anyone. Her thoughts jumped to her charm bracelet. No one else wore a bracelet with a hurricane charm on it.

  She moved her arms. Not enough to tip off her captives, but enough to make it seem like she was readjusting their position. She let out a groan and rolled her shoulders. When her hands were at her wrists, she stretched her fingers and prayed she’d feel the thin chain.

  Had it fallen off?

  She couldn’t feel it against her skin. Her breathing stopped as she searched for the bracelet. Even her heart seemed to stop beating. She wiggled her fingers. Where was it? A sob was about to burst from her lips when something tapped her finger. Her eyes widened, and her mouth fell open. It was the hurricane charm.

  She caught it between her fingers and tugged. But the bracelet didn’t budge. Her fingers slithered up, following the bit of chain to the cuff around her wrist. The bracelet was stuck under the handcuffs. She carefully worked it free until she could grip the chain with her other hand. Mashing her teeth together, she pulled on it. The thin links cut into her skin.

  She yanked harder.

  Her wrist cried out in pain, but she didn’t stop. Even when it felt as though the chain were on fire, as though her skin would start to bleed. Before a whimper could break free from her lips, the chain snapped. She curled her fingers around it and closed her eyes in a silent prayer. After a quick thank you, she lifted her foot and purposefully tripped herself.

  The men holding her stumbled. She released the bracelet from her fingers; it fell as they righted themselves.

  “Sorry,” she muttered. “My legs are weak.”

  The men mumbled under their breath, and she smiled to herself.

  The charm bracelet was in the middle of the road waiting to be found.

  ****

  The longer they walked, the darker it became. The moon was a giant disk in the sky, glowing upon Beth like a reassuring figure, a higher power reminding her she wasn’t alone. She couldn’t see anything except the three men in front of her. One with a gun, one who kept putting his hand to his smashed nose, and the other with shoulders like a two-by-four. She had to give it to them. They didn’t let a tsunami stop them. Somehow, they had managed to stay together and beat the wave. Beth and Donovan couldn’t even do that. And the fact they went back on the hunt for her the moment the water went down showed their determination.

  When the sky was pitch black, they pulled her to a stop outside a one-story building. She looked up to see the business’s name but was yanked through the doors before she could read the sign.

  “No one will be coming here for weeks. By then, you’ll be dead,” the man with the gun said.

  They tugged her inside, past cubicles and offices, to the back of the building. A flashlight shone their way. She wondered if it was the one Kevin gave her.

  “Let’s lock her in this closet.”

  She was forced to stand in the hallway, the gun at her head, while the other men cleared everything out of the janitor’s closet. Not a single bucket or mop was left inside.

  The man with the gun yanked her around so she was face to face with him. “Home-sweet-home,” he snarled and shoved her inside.

  She pitched backward but caught herself before she could fall to the ground. When the door slammed shut and locked, she didn’t throw her body against it and scream for them to let her out, because she knew they’d do no such thing. Instead, she waited until her eyes adjusted to the darkness. The space was bare. No window. No carpet. A tiny vent near the ceiling was the one source of decoration.

  Her only way out would be through that locked door.

  In the corner of the closet, she sank onto the floor. Her shoulders burned. Her muscles shook. She was exhausted and in pain from scalp to pinky toe. She wished for a bed, for a blanket and pillow…for Donovan.

  What she had was a cold, hard floor and a wall.

  The buzz of silence lulled her to sleep.

  ****

  She was awakened when the door swung open. She jerked awake, not knowing what to expect.

  The man with wide shoulders slammed a metal chair in the middle of the floor.

  Next to him stood the man with the gun. “Get up.”

  Using the wall for support, she pushed herself up.

  “Sit.” He pointed the gun at the chair.

  She lowered herself onto the edge of the chair and looked up at him. Her body was braced for a punch. When his hand vised around her upper arm and he whirled her around on the chair, a gasp flew from her mouth. Then the cuffs opened their jaws and released her wrists. She quickly pulled her hands into her lap and massaged the bruised skin around her wrists. They were tender, and her shoulders were stiff.

  When she looked up, the gun was in her face.

  “Call Donovan and tell him we have you.”

  She blinked. They wanted her to call Donovan? She shook her head. “Even if he has his cell phone, it’ll be useless because of the water.” She paused, not wanting to say the next sentence, but it came out anyway. “He might be dead.”

  The man laughed. “He’s not dead. Donovan is a hard man to kill. A bit of water can’t kill that motherfucker. Leave him a message. If he’s smart, he’ll check it.”

  “Why?”

  “Because we want him to come running. We want him to fall into our trap, so we can kill the two of you with one bullet.”

  “And how is he supposed to find me?”

  “He’s not going to find you. He’s going where we want him to go. And we’ll be there waiting.” He turned to the open door. “Bring it in here.”

  The man with a bloody T-shirt and crooked nose came in with a satellite phone.

  Mr. Gun took the phone in his other hand and held it out to Beth. “Call him.” He raised the gun. “Tell him you’re in a building across from the Hawaii Ocean Church.”

  Beth took the phone. Her hand shook. Her palm was cold and sweaty. She pushed the first three buttons for the area code with a numb finger. Heart racing, lungs paralyzed, she quickly dialed the one number that came to mind. Pressing the phone to her ear, she prayed for him to answer it.

  “This is Thorn.”

  Hearing Thorn’s voice was like
hearing a choir of angels.

  She took a slow breath before speaking. “Donovan, it’s Beth.”

  Thorn sighed. “Thank God you’re okay. Wait…” There was a pause. “Did you call me Donovan?”

  Beth continued. “I don’t know when you’ll get this message, but I’m okay. For now…Jackson’s men have me.”

  “Fuck.”

  Thorn’s hiss was a pang to her heart.

  “They want me to tell you I’m in a building across from the Hawaii Ocean Church.” She struggled to keep the emotion from her voice, because it was a weakness the men crowding around her would exploit for their sick humor, but her words wobbled. “They want you to come here.”

  “Are you really there?” Thorn whispered.

  “No.” Beth swallowed. She kept her eyes from the men towering over her. “That I love you. Know…that I am waiting for you.”

  “I’m coming, Beth.”

  His words made the tears she had been holding back slip down her cheeks. “Goodbye.” Her farewell was barely audible even to her own ears. She ended the connection and thrust the phone at Mr. Gun.

  “Convincing,” he said. “When Donovan hears that, he’ll surely come running.”

  One by one, the men left.

  While staring at the door, the wall of tears over her eyes thickened. Anger inside her metastasized until her body shook with rage. She imploded with a scream. Launching to her feet, she grabbed the metal chair and beat it against the door. Again and again. The metal chair collided with the solid door and sent vibrations up her arms. She threw the chair across the room with another yell and crumpled on the floor. She bent forward, her arms over her head, her forehead touching the floor. Screams and sobs blended into something inhuman. She let her anger and terror take full control until she was empty. With her emotions gutted from her body, she fell onto the floor with her cheek against the dusty tile.

  Sometime later, the door opened. She didn’t stir or lift her head. After a moment, the door closed, and she was alone again. This happened two more times. Each time, she drifted back to sleep. By the third time this happened, she was curious. She pushed herself into a sitting position and pressed her back against the wall. While eyeing the door, she thought about what she could do to get free.

  The door opened. One of the men poked his head in through the gap. She glared at him. He was startled to see her sitting there, staring at him with malice. He took a step back and shut the door with a snap.

  Her gaze strayed from the door to the vent at the top of the wall. She rose to her feet, picked up the chair, and positioned it below the vent. Standing on the chair, her face was right in front of the vent. Cold air didn’t blast her cheeks. The air conditioning was off with the rest of the power. That was evident by the amount of sweat slithering down her spine.

  The vent was too small for her climb through, but the metal covering could aid her in retaliation. She worked off her belt and pinched the metal prong with her fingers. Aiming for the screw’s head, she stuck the tip of the prong into the X. Grasping it tightly, she turned the prong. The screw twisted. A glorious burst of optimism filled her. Readjusting the prong with every turn, she managed to get the screw to lift high enough to grasp it. Pricks of pain stabbed the tips of her fingers, but she didn’t give up until the screw slipped out of the hole.

  One side of the cover slipped down the wall.

  She stuck the screw into her pocket and began working on the next screw. When it was loose enough to pull out, she grabbed the vent to keep it from clattering to the floor. With the second screw in her pocket, she climbed down with the cover in one hand and her belt in the other. Both would help her escape.

  She moved the chair to the wall directly in front of the door. Then she hunkered in the corner. As she waited, she wondered why they checked on her. Did they think she would make a miraculous escape? Or kill herself? She had no plan to do the latter. But the former was definitely part of her plan.

  Smirking, she wound the belt around her hand so the buckle was over her knuckles. In her other hand, she grasped the metal grate.

  She waited.

  Her eyes didn’t grow tired. Her energy didn’t wane. Her mind didn’t change.

  When the key entered the doorknob, she tightened her fist.

  “What the hell?” The man stepped into the room with his gaze on the empty chair.

  Beth rose and shouldered the door shut. When he faced her, she cracked the metal grate into the side of his face. His body slammed onto the ground, and she pounced on him. She pounded his face with the belt buckle, punched him until her arm weakened. He wasn’t moving when she got to her feet. If he was breathing, she couldn’t tell and didn’t give a damn.

  She picked up the grate and fastened it to her back with her belt. The buckle was bloody. With a glance at the man, she saw his face was drenched with blood. Not a drop of remorse touched her.

  She made sure the belt was tight around her ribs before she made a run for it. As she ran down the hall, she thought of Donovan. Although she didn’t have to fear him getting caught in their trap, if he was out there, alive and looking for her, they could hunt him down as they had hunted her. They could kill him.

  She flew around a corner. Laid out before her were the cubicles. Beyond them was her way out. She launched forward, pushing her leg muscles to take her farther and her feet to be quicker. This was her chance.

  “She’s getting away!”

  Teeth clenched, hands curled into fists, she rushed through the aisle between cubicles. With each stride, she was closer to freedom.

  “Shoot her!”

  That order made Beth’s heart come to a screeching halt, but her feet didn’t get the same memo. The final stretch of ground was before her. If she could get outside, she could find somewhere to hide until the coast was clear.

  Her hand reached for the door handle. Her fingers curled around it. She yanked it open and leapt over the threshold. Then something tore through her shoulder with flaming teeth. Pain snaked through her body from shoulder blade to shoulder blade, fingertip to fingertip. It was a pain she had never felt before, so powerful her legs went slack and her body punched the ground. Her breath expelled from her lungs.

  She couldn’t move or breathe. Her eyes stung, but she couldn’t blink.

  Shouts came from behind her. The angry voices were like a shock to her heart. She gasped for breath. A burning, throbbing pain enveloped her shoulder.

  She lifted her head to see she had made it outside, but the bullet had tackled her to the ground before she could disappear into the shadows.

  Stomping shoes came toward her.

  She tugged her right arm out from under her and grabbed her left arm. A moan escaped her lips. Shoving the pain aside, she wiggled off the infinity knot ring from her finger and tossed it into the road. It rolled to a stop a few feet away.

  Hugging her shoulder, she squeezed her eyes shut and let out a wail.

  Hands grasped her ankles like shackles and dragged her all the way to the back of the building. She tried to sit up, to keep her upper body off the ground, but a tearing sensation caused her to drop back each time. Every bump, every turn caused her to cry out. Blood slicked her fingers and drenched her tank top.

  She couldn’t fight back. She was at their mercy as they towed her back into the closet. Eyesight blurring, she could barely make out the outline of the man unhooking the belt from her middle. He whipped it away then slapped it across her cheek.

  A scream ripped from her lungs. Her skin seared.

  Hands rolled her over and removed the metal grate.

  She shut her eyes, expecting it to smash into the back of her skull. It didn’t.

  They left her on the floor, bleeding and in agony.

  The door shut, locking her into the darkness of captivity.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Donovan and Tray searched all night as helicopters flew overhead. Their lights were giant beams that shone down from the sky. The darkness was brillian
t. Without a single light from a building or car, the night sky and its flickering stars bore down on them. Trucks carrying loads of injured people and volunteers passed them. They flagged down those trucks to see if their loved ones were onboard. The survivors vowed to keep an eye out for Beth and Tray’s family, as did the volunteers, but Donovan didn’t have any faith in them remembering. They even checked the dead bodies piled three or four deep in the backs of trucks. The smell was sickening. Donovan pulled his shirt over his nose, but a tear near the collar admitted the rotting smell.

  They shifted bodies aside, rolled them around to see the faces of the people on the bottom. None of them were Beth, Meg, or Katie. So they went on. They didn’t stop searching even when they yawned.

  One of the volunteers had given them a pair of flashlights. Donovan’s flashlight illuminated a small path. It couldn’t show him what lurked in the standing water, behind piles of debris or behind him. It showed him the tips of his ripped shoes and the gleam of an animal’s eyes when he roved the light left and right. Whenever he’d seek the critter with the neon eyes, it would vanish into the night. Chills rolled up and down his body. Minutes extended into hours.

  Helicopters blazed through the night, shaking the air with their blades and offering a splash of light. Every time one flew by, Donovan took the opportunity to scour the ground for any sign of people—limbs, clothing, hair. But the light always came and went too quickly.

  His stomach growled with hunger. He didn’t dare think about food. Not while Beth could be out there starving. They traveled up and down the blocks, picking up debris, and calling out names. Every once in a while they came across a body. Donovan removed his shirt and ripped off strips of fabric to tie to sticks that they stuck in the ground next to the bodies. Posting flags was the least they could do to let Search and Rescue know a body was there. By dusk, Donovan had a patch of cotton left; it limply hung in his hand.