Gesturing to himself and Alex, It was all too clear who the intended “we” included. “You two back us up. No one gets out of here without us, you hear?”
Both men nodded and remained silent.
“Ready?” Danny asked, turning to Alex.
“As I’ll ever be.”
Pushing the door open slowly at first, then with one forceful shove, a sharp bang preceded the sudden unexpected recoil of the door. The door banged against something hard. A familiar yelp spurred Alex into action.
Brandy!
CHAPTER 26
Wrath of Mendez
The lone surviving Mendez, Brandy was not in good shape. She had been beaten and, it appeared to Alex anyway, stabbed. Her front legs both appeared to have been broken but Alex couldn’t be sure of course. Each breath sounded painful, watery. Alex worried that she might be drowning in her own blood. Whimpering, though never crying out, Brandy laid her head on Alex’s outstretched leg. Her fur was caked with sticky, patches of coagulating blood. Two dark red pools had already dried on Christina’s carpet. Nearby lay the phone, off the hook, spotted with dried blood.
Alex could tell that some of her teeth had been broken. Whether by the force of her biting something or by the blow of whatever had been swung at her, he could not surmise. But looking at the destroyed body of his beloved canine sent waves of shocked, angry tears flooding from Alex. Several times, he fought back spasmodic fits. The floodgates wouldn’t yet release their anguished gullies but Alex knew he would crack sooner or later.
For several tense moments, Alex sat, focused on the broken body of his beloved Brandy. The bedroom beckoned his attention. Despite horrific worries collapsing upon him, Alex was crumbling under the weight of horrors yet uncovered. Under the uncertainty connected to the fate of Mendez family members still unaccounted for. Despite his preoccupation with Brandy’s fragile existence, Alex knew he had a job to do. Sulking over her was no way to honor the battle she’d waged.
As Alex rose, he found himself awestruck by a scene he’d previously been too distracted to truly absorb. The room was living chaos. Calendars ripped from the wall, toy chests spilled. Even the bed frame broken, the mattress now tipped downward, the head of the bed resting on the floor. Christina’s blinds, as well as the thin curtains covering them, were stained with what looked like blood. Both were horrifically disturbed, hanging warily as if the slightest breath would send them crashing to the floor. Christina’s lamp was overturned.
Shattered into innumerable pieces. On her bed, or what remained of it, sat her favorite doll. Alex knew the drill. The cop in him said not to touch it. But Dad screamed louder than cop. Dad needed to know. Was there blood? Dad needed to know.
His hands shaking, Alex reached for the doll. Allowing Cop Ale just enough discretion, he tried to disturb the doll as little as possible. He turned the doll ever so slightly. Closer inspection revealed no sign of blood. A nervous relief washed over Alex as he stood and turned toward his beloved canine.
Brandy panted but it was intermittent. She’d pant for a few seconds only to have it interrupted by whimpers, acknowledging pain somewhere in her broken body.
“I’m sorry,” Alex kept whispering. Kneeling down, he patted her head softly. Over and over he offered the apology to the injured pooch. “I’m so sorry. You have to hang in there, girl. You hear me? Hang in there, sweet girl. Christina needs you.”
The mere mention of his daughter’s name was all it took. A pricked ear, a whimper of acknowledgement or was it perhaps a canine plea for forgiveness from Brandy and the dam broke at last.
His chest seized up as he fought the urge to pull his legs upwards to his chest. Convulsing, his eyes releasing rivers of tears, waves of uncontrollable anguish crashing over his very soul, he lost his balance and fell from a squatted position flat on his butt. He took a handful of
Brandy’s skin and fur in his hand, guardedly kneading the pooch’s blood-soaked neck. Outstretching his legs, he rested Brandy’s head gently on his thigh. When she whimpered, he thought momentarily of moving out from under her, but the instant she touched him she seemed to settle back down. As if a connection had been made by mere tactile contact, Brandy’s breathing slowed some. Relaxed, if ever so slightly.
Alex’s apologies, though muddled by tears and wailing, became incessant. Rapid and raging, full of pity, remorse and an undeniable sense of self-loathing. Suddenly he wasn’t just apologizing to Brandy but to the entire world. The world beyond the brick and mortar walls of his once cozy home. It was as if he had suddenly let the entire universe down. As if the world would go to hell because Alex Mendez had failed to stop this from happening. Because it had been allowed to reach into his home and rip his family apart. Because the evil had escaped his home and ventured out into the world, bent on doing it harm. Alex had failed to keep the evil contained and now the world would suffer, starting with his family.
As he continued to apologize, Alex Mendez took upon himself the weight of the world. Apologizing to six billion earth-bound people, most of which he had never met. Apologizing to the entire canine lineage of Brandy Mendez. Apologizing to man and beast alike.
Brandy Mendez had been a hero. She had been on the front lines of the battle and had done what Alex had failed to do. She had battled courageously. She had not given up in the face of insurmountable odds, Brandy Mendez had fought on while Alex Mendez had given in to the weakest of enemies, himself.
Alex didn’t acknowledge Danny when he’d knelt down to offer whatever small consolation he could—a hand on his shoulder, some words of encouragement. Danny was trying anything but both men knew Alex would be inconsolable. This was a Mendez battle. For the moment at least, Danny was an outsider.
***
Lisa heard what sounded like hundreds of voices, mostly children.
Still blindfolded and gagged, Lisa couldn’t find Christina and couldn’t call out. She focused, tried to weed out all the noise. Sifted through all the voices she knew could not be her daughter’s; she could not find
Christina’s voice amid the sea of frightened children.
She wrestled against her bonds for only a few seconds. Realizing the futility of prolonged struggle, she stopped. She had been forced to her knees where she’d stayed for what felt like an eternity. It had been several minutes maybe. With the soreness building in her stomach and side, what had been a matter of mere minutes seemed more like hours.
She could have been allowed sight. She could have been granted speech. The simple denial of these senses—the fact that she was forced to her knees, blinded with hindered speech—was a lesson in abject humiliation, in control.
She heard someone call for quiet, but their command went unheeded. When the gun went off, Lisa jolted off balance, as much from the resulting screams as the gunfire itself and fell face first to the floor. She landed on her injured side. White-hot pains gave her the sense that perhaps whatever stitch work was done on her had ripped apart. She flinched and felt as though she might lose consciousness.
The veterinarian entered the room escorted by a uniformed officer, Curtis Strong. A career uniform with no desire to rise through the ranks, 60-something year old Curtis would live and die in the uniform of Longview’s finest. But if ever there was a definition of “finest” you need look no further than Curtis—a man on a mission; that was his reputation. A man with a mission, which forbade him from ever leaving the uniform so many of his fellow officers longed to shed. For Curtis, it was more than a job. It was a responsibility.
Many cops were satisfied simply knowing they strapped on a gun belt and badge each day. With Curtis the uniform was his duty. He’d once likened the uniform to a child’s security blanket. As long as he had the uniform to don every day, Curtis Strong knew who he was.
Alex did not smile at Curtis Strong. Rather, he acknowledged him with a slight nod. Curtis simply gazed sympathetically and turned away. Duty called, after all.
The doctor was very young, looked to be younger than Lisa. N
ot a Doogie Howser type but young. His curly brown hair was nearly shoulder length and gelled to give a near rock star impression. His crystal blue eyes were filled with a kindness Alex found comforting and alarming all at once.
From the look of his face, Alex wondered if the man with whom he was entrusting his dog’s life was even old enough to shave. As the doctor approached and knelt down to check on Brandy, she whimpered loudly, or as loudly as she could have in her weakened condition. Alex thought she might have growled, but in her current situation, she wasn’t likely to have attacked anyone. She yelped timidly, as if the very earth under her rattled and shook pain into her core. The doctor’s whispered apology seemed to calm Brandy. Weakened, she hardly flinched.
“It’s okay,” Alex whispered, his chest still spasming, tears still streaming. “Daddy’s here. I’ve got ya. He’s here to help you. We’re gonna get you better now okay?” He stroked her fur gently. “Just let the doctor do his work. Daddy’s not gonna let anyone hurt you.” He was reminded of Nurse Perry and his own fears for Baby Joseph’s safety. Now another baby was in jeopardy and Alex was as watchful over this one as he had been over the last.
Brandy whimpered softly. Her eyes opened, but only just, and it appeared as if she was trying to find Alex. He leaned forward into her field of vision. “I’m right here, girl. It’s okay now.” He stroked her head gently. “She’s gonna be alright, isn’t she?” he asked the doctor.
“She’s pretty banged up,” the doctor began. Alex’s stomach churned. Meeting Alex’s eyes, noting his obvious distress, the young doctor continued, “But she looks like a tough girl, so I wouldn’t bet against her.”
“You’re gonna fix her right?” Alex asked, wiping tears from his eyes—tears that came seemingly faster than he could wipe away. He felt silly being so out of control with his emotions. He had always wondered at people who cried and sank into such depressive states after the loss of a pet. Now, as he sat stroking the blood-soaked fur of his four-legged family member, Alex understood. In truth he had always understood. Since the day Brandy first came into his life, there had been something about her, a connection, a bond, but something greater.
This was no mere pet laying in pools of her own blood, broken. This was a family member—one that had fought valiantly to save her fellow Mendez’s. This was Brandy Mendez clinging to life and Daddy wasn’t going to let her go without a fight.
Brandy had fought to save Alex’s mother, Christina and Alyson. Judging by the chaos and the fact that she had bloodstains on her teeth, it had been a bitter struggle that had not left Brandy’s heretofore unknown opponent unscathed.
She had fought for her family and had survived long enough to hear Alex say the words that filled his heart.
“I’m so proud of you,” he told the whimpering canine. “You did good. You’re a good girl. Now you gotta get better so you can see the baby when he comes home.”
Pulling out a hypodermic needle, the doctor looked at Alex. “She’s going to go to sleep soon, Mr. Mendez. This is a sedative. It isonlya sedative. You understand that, right? I’m giving her a chance to rest so that I can work on her. I don’t want you to be alarmed because it will kick in rather quickly. Once she’s asleep I’ll be able to work on her easier.”
“Hear that, girl?” Alex said, not truly acknowledging the doctor. Patting her head gently, rubbing her ears, Alex whispered. “You get some sleep. And when you wake up this will all be over. You’ll be all better.”
Gently, Alex lifted Brandy’s chin off of his leg. He scooted out from under her and lay her chin down on the carpet below. Brandy let go a soft, sharp whine. Alex looked on Christina’s bed and grabbed a small pillow. Tucking it under Brandy’s chin, he patted her ears, bent down and kissed her just above the eye.
“I love you. You’re gonna get better and all this pain isn’t gonna hurt anymore. You gotta be strong now. You gotta feel better so you can see Mommy and Christina and…”
Again the mention of his daughter’s name perked Brandy’s ears.
Wanting to erupt into another fit of rage and tears, Alex fought for composure. Still stroking the gentle canine’s matted fur, Alex choked on the only words he could say without breaking again.
“I know.”
***
Fighting pain and confusion, her mind flashed to thoughts of bullet-riddled bodies and she worried that Christina had been shot in some sicko’s power-mad, gun-toting attempt at silencing a crowd of frightened children.
She felt herself being pulled up by whatever was being used to cover her head. Another hand was grabbing hold of the jumpsuit, just below her shoulders. Whoever it was—a man, that was all she could tell—mumbled something in Arabic.
“Filthy pig!” she heard him say.
Takes one to know one,she thought, resisting the urge to engage in the playground banter should these idiots ever decide to remove the gag currently preventing her witty retort.
The material was rough against her face, much like a potato sack, a material not unlike her great-grandma Sarah’s itchy, old, orange couch. As her captor struggled to untie the sack, she felt it scrape her face several times, tearing against existing cuts and probably chafing new spots on her already battle-worn face.
She felt the sack-covering being removed from her head. Still blindfolded, still gagged, she made no motion and attempted no acknowledgement of anyone or any change in circumstances. As the blindfold fell from her eyes, Lisa blinked feverishly. She was met with cloudy vision. Eyes fogged by the pressure of being shut so tightly for so long, forcibly no less. If she could have rubbed her eyes, she would have.
At first her captors seemed to be regarding her strangely. One put a hand on her shoulder and pulled her backwards, nearly causing her to lose her balance yet again. He screamed at her to stop while another venomously told her she was okay and to comply with his companion.
As she continued to blink, she finally managed to get a decent, if blurry, look at her captors. One she recognized from the classroom.
The other she did not think she had seen before. Each man had a thick beard and a mop of wavy black hair. Through her fogged vision, very little set these men apart except that one was wearing a green and brown—possibly camouflage—t-shirt while the other was wearing a black shirt.
Still blinking, Lisa began to scan the room. She saw neither her daughter nor the apparent ringleader of this militant group of mindless zombies. Wherever he was, Lisa was certain it would not be long until he showed his face.
Another shot and Lisa realized the man behind her was firing at the ceiling.
“Idiot!” his compatriot smacked him even as he spoke. “Do you want to draw attention?”
“Bring on the infidels!” said the shooter, with a thick voice that sounded as if he were chewing on cotton. “Allah Akbar!”
“Allah is great,” came a voice from the crowd, which Lisa instantly recognized as Dr. Death. “And Allah will set the time of our martyrdom, not you.”
“As you wish.”
The humbled sycophant pointed his gun to the floor and hung his
head reminiscent of a scolded dog.
“Allah be praised, my friend,” continued Dr. Death. “Today is the day of your martyrdom. I promise you will be in paradise with The Prophet very soon. But in the meantime you must be patient. We must first demonstrate the power of Allah and His great prophet. You will be remembered today, my friend. Your Muslim brothers will sing your name.”
Placing a small package in his compatriot’s hand, Dr. Death leaned forward, placed a hand on his shoulder and whispered something in the man’s ear.
Meeting each other’s stare, both men smiled. But this was not a pleasant smile. This smile was a smile with a purpose. This smile told Lisa volumes, while leaving her with a number of questions she was certain she would not want answered. She knew for sure something was up. And whatever it was, she was certain she would not like it.
“Now, Mrs. Mendez,” Dr. Death said, directing his atte
ntion to Lisa. “I believe I am to bring you to your daughter.” He removed her gag. Lisa spat and worked her jaws trying to find the ability to speak.
She met his eyes with as much fire as she could muster.
“If you’ve hurt my daughter, so help me God, I’ll…”
“How dare you evoke the name of your infidel God in my presence!” He struck her hard across the face, knocking her flat to the ground. With great force, he swung his foot hard into her unprotected stomach. “Do not dare speak to a man with such disrespect ever again! Allah is God. There is no God but Allah!”
She coughed and wheezed, cried out in pain, but which pain caused her cry she could not say. Was it the rush of air suddenly leaving her body, crushing her lungs? Was it a delayed reaction to the back of his hand meeting her already sore jaw? Was it her weakened, battered body falling with great force to the hard floor? Or was it the ripping of flesh against stitch that she knew had occurred the moment his foot met her stomach?
He kicked her again, this time in the legs. Her thighs burned and then pulsed with pain. They were not broken but they might as well have been. Lightning bolts shot through them from the hip all the way to the tips of her toes. She felt a kick in her back and another sudden rush of air left her body. She choked and gagged. Felt like she would vomit, but fought against the impulse. Her lungs burned hot and the lightning bolts were no longer restricted to her legs, having taken flight across her lower back.
“No!” Dr. Death shouted. He was motioning to someone standing behind Lisa. Whoever had kicked her, the guy had big feet, either that or enough power in his boot to send shockwaves of pulsating pain throughout her neck and spine. Her legs lost feeling and, for a few scary seconds, would not move. Were her hands not tied behind her back she would have reached down and rubbed them. Right after she strangled the life out of Dr. Death.
Dr. Death grabbed Lisa by the hair and turned her face uncomfortably toward his. She could smell the foul odor of his breath. Lying on her stomach, her head turned nearly backwards, she swore she heard the vertebrae in her neck grind against one another. She grunted, but fought the urge to truly cry out in pain.
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