by Jeff Carson
As the final leather jacket disappeared from sight, he lowered his head and upped his pace.
He reached the edge of the trees and knelt.
“Shit.”
Chapter 41
Wolf stood at the edge of the forest. A rectangular scar etched the mountainside all the way to the valley floor.
The road he’d jogged in on wove back and forth down the stump-covered slope. At the bottom, a cabin squatted at the edge of the trees. Three FBI sedans were parked in front. A yellow light glowed out of the windows, but otherwise he was too far away to make out any detail.
The pattering rain slowed and stopped, and a breeze licked his soaked clothing, making him shiver.
Behind the cabin, a line of thick forest stretched right and left. Wolf knelt near the top right corner of the clear-cut, while the Chung Do took position on the opposite side.
Their attitude puzzled him. To drive down the road would have given their presence away, but to hunker down and point rifles at ineffective distances made no sense. They were waiting for something.
He ran his eyes down the left side of the clear-cut and saw no movement within the trees. Maybe there was a second team moving below him, down the right side. No movement there, either.
He shook his head and clenched his teeth. He had to move.
He jogged through the trees toward the ninety-degree turn in the cut to his right.
The forest floor was covered with a deep layer of bark, shorn off by loggers God knew how many years ago. Thick, rotting logs crisscrossed his path, covered by debris and moss. Numerous times his feet punched through the brittle floor but he managed to stay upright until he reached the corner.
He’d been on the move for only a minute or two, but he’d been loud.
He leaned against a tree and scanned back. Fog had rolled in on the far side of the cut. The cloud sped closer and washed over him in a silent deluge.
The cabin disappeared behind a white swirling cloak, and so did the cut’s interior.
The forest below was littered with more downed logs and dense underbrush. His hands were blocks of ice, and he doubted the gun in his hand had been zeroed by a world-champion shooter after it had arrived in the Walmart stockroom. And as long as he was dumping caution out by the truckload, he might as well take advantage of the fog and move along the interior of the clear-cut to gain speed.
He stepped out of the trees and jogged straight down, keeping his eyes on the terrain in front, waiting for a bullet to rip into his side at any moment.
Step, jump, step, step.
He zoned out for a full minute, then looked over. He’d passed the cabin by a few yards. Light poured from the windows, making the fog glow.
He stepped toward the light and froze as the front door squealed open and slapped shut on spring hinges.
He crouched and raised the rifle to his shoulder. Earnshaw’s bulky figure walked through the mist toward a sedan.
A yell came from inside the cabin.
“I’m getting it!” Earnshaw yelled over his shoulder.
More yelling from inside.
“I know!”
Earnshaw grumbled under his breath.
Wolf tracked Earnshaw with the rifle but otherwise remained motionless, hidden in the mist.
Earnshaw bent inside the driver’s side and popped the trunk. He rooted around in back, then came out with a can of gasoline.
The cabin door squealed and slapped again, and Staten tripped out.
Earnshaw waited for him, then they both stepped sideways, out of sight of the front door.
Staten motioned back to the cabin and spoke too faint for Wolf to hear. Earnshaw nodded.
The conversation lasted mere seconds. Then they walked back inside.
You were too late.
Wolf stood and walked toward the cabin’s glow. His sodden clothing pulled on his skin. Long grass lashed his legs and water poured down the openings of his boots. Every step squished.
His breath shuddered, his limbs convulsed, and tiny grunts escaped his mouth as he neared the side window.
Movement caught his eye and he aimed at the rear of the cabin, lining up swirling fog and tree silhouettes in the rifle sight.
He sped to the side of the building and leaned up against the soaked logs.
The rain came again like a wave. The eaves shielded him from the downpour, giving him a minute sense of satisfaction. He turned around, pressed his chest into the cabin, and sidled to the edge of the window.
Through the condensation, he saw four men standing in front of a roiling fireplace. Kristen Luke lay on her side in front of it, arms lashed behind her back with rope.
He blinked, and leaned further sideways to see around the patch of fogged glass.
She moved, and his spine tingled.
She struggled against her restraints and said something, then rolled to her stomach.
He could hear her muffled voice through the glass. Given the anger and volume, she seemed unhurt.
He studied the men and recognized all but one, which he assumed was Swain. They stood looking down, as if admiring their trophy. Wolf had built up so much negativity in his mind over the past hour that he was almost shocked by the lack of action. Perhaps they were waiting for something or someone.
His heart skipped a beat. The Chung Do?
Wolf looked to his left and up the slope in front of the cabin. A grass hill, then white mist. No sound floated down from above. If they were expecting the Chung Do, why were the gangsters up there ready for Armageddon?
He searched the room. The gas can Earnshaw had fetched sat on the floor next to the wall.
The questions mounted, and the scene offered no obvious answers. But every second in contemplation brought him a second closer to failure, so he formed a rudimentary plan and steeled his mind for action.
Then Staten pulled his gun and shot Swain in the head.
The other three men turned and watched Swain drop to the ground.
Stunned, Wolf stood for a fraction too long in the window and the men saw him.
Staten’s gun flicked to him and fired, and the window exploded.
Glass fragments sliced through Wolf’s hood and dug into the skin of his neck.
He stumbled to the side of the cabin, turned back, and raised the twenty-two, waiting to shoot anything and anyone that came out of the opening. But the thin muzzle bobbing under the sights filled him with doubt. He needed a different point of entry.
He turned to run for the rear and the interior erupted in gunfire. He ducked and put his hand down into the grass, expecting bullet holes to open up above him in the logs, but the wood was too thick. He stood and ran. Flashes lit the trees at the rear of the property. The shots were coming from the back door.
He skidded to a stop, turned, and aimed down the edge of the cabin, back toward the shot-out window.
The gunfire stopped.
Rapid-fire Chinese floated out the window, then the squawk of a radio conversation.
He crouched and walked toward the window, letting the muzzle tip of the twenty-two lead the way.
Jovial, triumphant voices came through the window. The sound of SUVs firing up and barreling down the road echoed through the mist.
Wolf reached the shattered glass littering the ground, ducked his head sideways, and dared a look inside. Four Chinese men stood over Earnshaw, Nackley, Staten, Swain and Luke. They held handguns, one an M4, and poked and prodded, rifling the pockets of the dead.
One of them had a handgun pointed down at Luke.
He pulled the trigger and a flash of light spat from the muzzle.
Wolf barely heard the sound of the bullet leaving the barrel over the scream coming out of his own mouth.
He fired through the window, hitting all four men in the head and dropping them in quick succession. Then he emptied the magazine into their bodies until he was out of ammunition.
His eyes stung as he stared through acrid smoke at Luke’s lifeless body.
&nb
sp; “Luke!”
She remained still.
The sound of the SUVs neared, and a radio crackled with a single command. The vehicles skidded to a stop somewhere in the clouds above.
Wolf rushed to the front door and hesitated on the threshold. He tossed the twenty-two onto the grass and put his back to the wall outside the door.
The M4 inside would be enough to take all these men down, he thought. Luke was clinging to life. The shooter had missed her heart, or her head, or wherever he’d been aiming at point-blank range. She’d be fine. He could load her into one of the SUVs and make it back to civilization in under a half an hour ...
Rage pushed him off the wall and set him in motion.
He opened the front door and stepped inside, moving fast.
Gunpowder smoke filled his nostrils and choked his lungs. He stepped over the first body and his feet slipped on bloody linoleum.
He grabbed the M4, shook the dead body out of the strap, and aimed it at a sliver of light escaping from the back door. He swept right and left, but saw no more men.
“Luke,” he said in a terse whisper.
No answer.
The room was clear so he stepped toward her and bent down.
He pulled her shoulder and she rolled onto her back.
“Hello, Mr. Wolf.” An Asian man rose from behind a couch and leveled a handgun at him.
Wolf raised the M4 but it was too late.
The gun flashed and Wolf was hit in the stomach. He felt the punch to his gut and, a heartbeat later, the pain.
“You can join them, too,” the man said.
Wolf collapsed. The M4 clattered off his thighs and he dove for it, landing on his face.
Darkness pooled at the edges of his vision, accompanied by a thousand tinkling bells and the sound of his heartbeat in his ears.
He groped on the floor and found the stock of the M4 with numb hands. A noise escaped his throat, like a dying animal’s.
His heartbeat slowed, and the darkness closed in. His last thought was of the sleeping face of Kristen Luke, and those eyelashes so long they’d once reminded him of a bird of paradise. He hoped she’d find her place in paradise, and make a good case for him when she got there.
Then all was black.
Chapter 42
“I love you.”
The voice came from everywhere. From nowhere.
“Sarah,” he said, and his voice was like a crack of thunder in his head.
Her smiling face filled his vision, searing his eyes. Warmth passed through him, over him, and profound relief filled his soul.
“Sarah,” he said again.
The light brightened behind her, washing out her face. But he felt her presence. She protected him with her warmth.
He tried to speak again but this time his words were smothered.
“Xing lái!”
Sarah’s light snuffed out and a nothingness took its place.
“Xing lái!”
Wolf opened his eyes and stared at a gray floor and a bright light reflecting off a pool of water.
The reflection grew larger, and the liquid hit his arms. It felt warm.
“Hey, wake up.”
He tried to figure out who spoke. The pool of water or the light?
There was a loud clank and nearby movement. Then something poked his side.
A grunt escaped his throat and he writhed sideways as electricity hummed in his body.
Sometime later the torture stopped and he panted on the wet concrete floor.
“Wake up.” An Asian man holding a stick with an orange-forked tip bent down close to Wolf’s face. “Wake up!”
He sucked in a breath and tried to sit. He got halfway and slammed back onto the ground.
The man grabbed him by the face, digging a finger in his eye, and pulled him upright.
“Get off me!” Wolf screamed.
A smiling face appeared inches from his.
Wolf sucked air through his nose, hocked, and spat on the man’s cheek.
The man stood and jabbed at Wolf with the stick.
“Ow!” The man jumped up and stepped out of Wolf’s puddle.
Another Asian man howled with laughter on the other side of the cage.
The cage.
Wolf leaned back against a chain-link fence. Overhead, a string of small light bulbs extended into the distance, illuminating a dozen or more cages in a line filled with humans huddled on the floor. Many of them looked back at him. They were young. Their eyes showed no mercy, no pity. Only something resembling animal curiosity.
The man jabbed him again.
His neck arched back and his teeth cracked against one another as the pain danced within him. Then it stopped and he sagged forward into his own crossed legs, feeling neither the will nor the strength to hold himself upright.
Something squeaked and clanked, then two sets of footsteps marched into the distance. A metal door opened and closed.
Wolf sagged for a few minutes, or hours—it was impossible to tell—then rose to seated position again.
He pulled on his arms and felt the duct tape on his wrists against the small of his back.
Then he noticed two people in the cage with him.
A young man stared with lazy eyes. He wore a dark hooded sweatshirt, sweatpants, and white socks. He huddled in the corner, eyeing the puddle of water and then Wolf’s face.
“Wha …” Wolf blinked, trying to slough off the haze that gripped his mind.
“You pissed yourself.”
Wolf looked down, remembering the warm dream with his deceased ex-wife. The puddle had seeped into cracks in the concrete, leaving only a discoloration, but his clothing was still damp.
He remembered slowly—the shivering, the running through the forest.
The point-blank shot into Luke.
He closed his eyes and the rage coursing through his veins pushed against the drugs that must have been clouding his mind.
Drugs.
The thought popped his eyes open.
“Where are we?” His voice slurred like he was six-beers drunk.
The kid blinked once and smiled. “We’re in hell.”
At the other side of the cage a man lay on his side.
Wolf recognized him, then forgot him just as quickly.
“’Bout time you woke up.” The man’s gaze looked lifeless but his lips moved.
“Who are you?”
“You serious?”
Wolf eyed the man’s hair, his musculature, the square face. His arms were taped behind him too. Blood dripped from his fingertips onto the concrete.
“Nackley.” The name flashed into Wolf’s mind.
Nackley closed his eyes and sucked in a shaky breath.
“How the hell?” Wolf looked down and saw he wore black sweat pants and a T-shirt with Chinese characters written on it. Minus the cooling pee puddling under his butt and pasting the fabric to his leg, he was dry and warm.
He rolled his stomach up and down. He felt intense pain but there was no gunshot wound.
“What happened? They shot us with tranquilizers?”
“Rubber tranq-bullets,” Nackley said, keeping his eyes closed. A thin sheen of sweat reflected the strand of lights on the agent’s pale skin.
“Where’s Luke?” His voice raised with hope.
Nackley stared at him, then flicked his eyes a few degrees to the side.
Wolf twisted and saw a huddled ball of fabric in a cage behind him.
“We’ve been up for hours,” Nackley said. “Luke and I have already been visited by the master of the house.”
Luke sat feet away in the next pen, propped in the corner of the chain-link box with a blanket wrapped around her. Her hair shone and smelled like it had been freshly shampooed. Through the strands covering the side of her face, Wolf saw eyes like glass marbles, staring into another universe.
“Luke.”
She flinched and turned her head a few degrees, but her hair caught on the burlap-like blanket and cov
ered her face.
The kid in the cell with him and Nackley started laughing. “She just started training. She’ll be like that for a while.”
“What did they do to you?” he asked.
Luke leaned her head back into the corner of the cage. Her arms were wrapped around her knees and one bare shin poked out from the blanket.
“What do you mean, she’s started training?”
The kid said nothing.
“I asked you a question.”
“I don’t know what they’re doing with her. But with me, they shot me up with the good stuff. Then shot me up again. I assume they’re making sure I’m nice and hooked. Then they brought me to the stables.”
What he’d learned from Patterson about the Chung Do told him what the stables were, and why these young people were being kept in cages.
“Who are you?” Wolf asked.
The kid shrugged and leaned back. “I’m the reason we’re all in here.”
Nackley opened his eyes.
“You’re the witness,” Wolf said.
The kid eyed Nackley, then Luke. “I should never have come to these assholes. Try and do the right thing and …” He looked around and shrugged. “This.”
“Tell me about what you saw.”
The kid stared at Wolf. “Does it matter?”
Wolf shook his head. The cloud was lifting from his mind. “Yes, it matters. It could.”
“You guys are dead.”
Wolf stared at him.
The kid smiled and nodded toward Nackley. “I saw this guy and her partner out on the beach that night. Them and the other two in here. Those four dudes brought this Asian guy out over the logs, shot him, and dropped the other agent right next to him.”
“They shot the Asian man and the special agent?” Wolf asked.
Nackley scoffed. “No. They only shot the Asian guy. I told her that in the coffee shop that day.”
Wolf eyed the back of Luke’s head. Her head lolled to the side and her arm fell off her knee, exposing one naked leg.
“I didn’t have time to talk to her, cos her partner was coming inside. I recognized him, with that lip scar of his.”
“You didn’t kill Special Agent Hooper?” Wolf asked Nackley.
Nackley looked at him through slivers of eyes. “Hell no.”