“Can we find the people who took Andy?” Susan asked. “Did Mikhail tell you who they were?”
“We just know their names, but I’m going to Grand Junction tonight to find them,” Ben declared. I’ll need gas, as much as you can give me,” he asked Brian.
Brian hesitated, but eventually nodded.
Morgan, meanwhile, began to shake her head. “I can’t stay here,” she announced plainly. “I can’t live down the street from people who traded Andy’s life for some bloody drugs!”
“None of us should stay here. We made serious enemies today,” said Ben. “If we don’t leave soon, someone’s going to get killed.”
Jim looked up at his cousin. “You want me go with you to Grand Junction?”
“No, I’ll go alone,” Ben replied firmly.
A mixture of relief and doubt appeared on Jim’s face, and before he could change his mind, Ben offered him and Morgan a suggestion. “You two should head back to New Mexico and meet up with Maria. She should still be there.”
“Yeah, okay,” she uttered faintly while straining to hold back tears.
Jim squeezed Morgan’s hand. “What about you two?”
Brian and his sister exchanged glances. It was a question that they never thought they would have to answer, but the consequences of the day’s events had changed everything. The fragile stability of their lives had been shattered.
“We’ll stay here through the winter,” Brian replied as he improvised a plan. “When spring arrives, we’ll meet you. We can give our livestock to Scott.”
“What about you?” Susan asked Charlie apprehensively.
Charlie eyed his sister’s belly. Had Morgan not been pregnant, he may have answered differently, but instead he said, “I’ll go with Morgan and Jim.”
She smiled weakly. She understood. The situation had placed obligation over desire.
***
Andy stared out through the window. Beyond the palm tree was the ocean. Which ocean, however, she couldn’t guess. The sound of the waves crashing below was faint but distinct. The salty air was a reminder of Bermuda.
The light from the window revealed that she was in a room with only the chair and a small table. Part of the room was a small bathroom, which she made use of. When she tried to flush the toilet, nothing happened so she put the lid down. She moved to the door and tried the handle, but it was locked from the outside. She then shook the handle in desperation and pounded on the door with her fist. She even tried kicking, but it refused to budge.
“Hey! Hey, open the door!” she cried out and pounded again.
A moment later, the door opened suddenly. With her arm in mid-swing, Andy stepped back, startled. A young man her own age stood before her. In his hands he carried a tray with food. She eyed the tray. She was starving.
“Where am I? Who are you?”
“Jeremy,” the young man answered as he walked past her and into the room. He placed the tray on the table, then looked back. “You need to eat.”
She hesitated. She wanted every bite of the food on the tray, but she wanted answers more. “Where am I?”
“Malibu,” Jeremy answered. “Now eat.”
“California?”
“Where else?”
She thought about bolting out the door but saw that Jeremy had a gun tucked into the waist of his jeans. So she obeyed his instructions and sat in the chair. As she began devouring a plate of fruit, Jeremy leaned against the wall and watched. When she finished, she gulped down an entire glass of water. After catching her breath, she asked, “Why am I here?”
He blinked, then said calmly, “You’ll see.”
She scoffed and glanced at the open door.
“Don’t even think about it,” he warned.
“Don’t even think about what?”
But he said nothing. He was watching her intently.
Andy started to speak but stopped. Her eyelids were becoming very heavy. She looked at the empty glass, then back at Jeremy. “What did you give—?”
Before she could finish, she blacked out, her head landing on the tray.
***
Driving west on Interstate 70, Ben hoped to reach Grand Junction before nightfall. As the miles passed and the windshield wipers shoved wind-driven snow away, he forced his eyes to blink and regain focus on the road. The conditions were unforgiving. Ice coated the Interstate like a skating rink, and with no one to salt or plow the roads, the only hope was that the weather would give him a break, but his speedometer never went above 40 mph. He banged his hand against the steering wheel in frustration, and then scolded himself for getting so upset. Andy could be anywhere by now. Or she could be dead. “No,” he said aloud. “She’s not dead. No way.” He turned up the volume on the CD player to drown out his thoughts and pressed down harder on the gas.
The snow eventually stopped, but nightfall had come. Grand Junction was dark and cold, and he had no idea where to begin. Mikhail had confessed a couple of names but nothing else. And without a soul in sight to ask, there was nothing to do but wait until morning. Even if he wanted to start knocking on people’s doors, his body was too exhausted to try. He parked in a vacant strip mall and leaned his seat all the way back. After zipping up his coat, he closed his eyes. Within minutes, he was asleep.
***
Waking up at dawn, Ben immediately began his search for Jake Andrews and Kyle Hartzell. At the cashier’s station of an abandoned Chinese restaurant in the strip mall, he found a phonebook for Grand Junction, as well as a detailed road map of the city and flipped through it, searching first under “Andrews.” He found almost one hundred people listed with that last name. There was no way to know which home was Jake’s since his name would not be in the phonebook–only his parents’ names would be listed. So he then tried “Hartzell” and saw only three names. With any luck, Kyle might still be living at home.
After eating some food he’d brought from Aspen, Ben used the map to maneuver his way to the neighborhood where the first “Hartzell” in the phone book lived. This first address was empty, as was the second. Discouraged, he went to the third address and knocked on the door. This time, someone answered.
“Who are you?”
Ben looked down at the young girl. “Uh, does someone named Kyle live here?” he asked.
“Kyle’s my brother.”
“Can I talk to him?”
The girl turned back and called out her brother’s name. Soon after, a young man appeared at the door. He looked to be a couple years younger than Ben and had a disheveled appearance. Under different circumstances, he was someone Ben probably would’ve avoided.
“What do you want?” he demanded in a hostile tone.
“Kyle? I need to talk to you,” Ben said equally as aggressive. “You have a friend named Mikhail in Aspen, I think.”
“So what do you want?”
“I want to know where you took a girl named Andy three days ago.”
Kyle glanced at the rifle Ben was carrying and then wearily eyed his size and stature. “Come in,” he said, backing away from the door. “You’re letting in all the cold air.”
Ben obeyed and entered the modest home. He followed Kyle into the kitchen. The sister remained in a small living room by the front door but was still in view of the kitchen. She picked up a doll and began playing with it but she kept her eyes on them.
“So how do you know Mikhail?” Ben began.
“Through my business,” Kyle responded curtly.
“And what business is that?”
“I buy and trade things. That’s how I keep my sister and I fed.”
“By things do you also mean people?”
“Maybe.”
“Well maybe you can tell me where you took Andy. Or where you sent her,” Ben retorted with growing impatience.
“If I start telling the friends of the people that I trade where they are, that wouldn’t be good for business, would it?” He spoke without remorse, leading Ben to believe that he’d done this befor
e.
“So you won’t tell me?”
Kyle stared at him with glassy eyes. “No,” he grunted and walked into the living room. He took a seat across from his sister and lit up a joint. After exhaling a lengthy drag, he said to Ben, “I’ll give you some pot if you get outta here.”
Ben didn’t respond. Instead he walked into the living room and briefly considered grabbing the sister and using her as leverage. But doing such a thing would make him no different than Kyle—or Mikhail. So he did the only thing left to do—he bargained.
“I’ll tell you where you can find a ton of gas if you tell me where Andy is.”
“How much gas?” Kyle replied, his interest piqued.
“More than you’ll need for years.”
There were boxes and brown paper bags everywhere in the living room, all taped and sealed to keep the contents inside well hidden. Things Kyle was probably trading, Ben assumed. He pointed to a particular stack of boxes. “There are some maps on top of that stack. Show me where this gas is, and I’ll tell you where the girl is.”
Ben retrieved a map of Colorado and spread it out on the cluttered coffee table in the center of the room. “If I show you,” he began, “how will I know that you’re telling me the truth about where she is?”
Kyle shrugged nonchalantly and exhaled more smoke. “You’ll just have to trust me.”
“I don’t trust most people, especially…human traffickers.”
“Take it or leave it, man.”
Again, they seemed to be at an impasse. Kyle leaned back into the sofa, took another drag from his joint, and blew the smoke upwards. Ben looked over at the young girl with sympathy.
“Salt Lake City,” he said, relenting.
“Where exactly?”
Kyle flipped over the map, which displayed neighboring Utah. Within the small inset at the bottom was a detailed map of Salt Lake City. He pointed to an intersection of two major roads south of the airport.
“I took her there, but she probably won’t be there now. Merchandise moves fast.”
Ben cringed at the word but said nothing. He turned the map back over to the Colorado side and kept his end of the bargain.
“Here, there’s a small airport just south of this town. Glenwood Springs Municipal Airport. You’ll find the gas there.” He quickly left the house, taking the map without bothering to ask. After starting the engine, he caught sight of Kyle’s sister running toward the truck. He rolled down the window. “What is it?”
“My brother lied,” she said, catching her breath. “He didn’t take her to Salt Lake City. He took her here.” She held out a piece of paper.
Ben took it and read an address scribbled in black ink. “Los Angeles?” he muttered aloud before trying to calculate whether he had enough gas to get there.
“I’m sorry my brother lied to you. He lies to everyone.”
He pulled his eyes off the paper and looked down at the girl. She was tiny for her age, though most children these days were malnourished. Her hair was parted into two long, stringy ponytails, and her round face was highlighted by bright green eyes. He looked at her with a mixture of gratitude and sadness. Gratitude for the enormous favor she’d just done him. Sadness that her brother was the kind of person he was.
“Thank you for telling me the truth…what’s your name?”
“Amy. Was she your girlfriend? The girl my brother took?”
The question caught Ben off-guard. He blinked at first, and then slowly shook his head. “No, she’s just a friend. A very good friend.”
“I hope you find her.”
“Me too.”
Just as he was about to pull away, he looked back at the girl, hesitated, then put the truck into park. “You know, Amy, you don’t have to stay here. I know a place where you can go and be with good people. Nice people who will help you.”
She gave him a doubtful look. “I can’t leave my brother, even if he is a liar and everything else. He’s still my brother and he takes care of me.”
“I understand,” said Ben. “Take care, Amy.”
As he drove off, he watched with sadness as the girl ran back to her house.
Chapter XIV
After being mostly unconscious for four days, Andy was fed a large meal. Jeremy again watched her eat. When she asked again what she was doing there, he kept silent. She picked up the glass of water, inspected it, and placed it back on the tray.
“It’s just water. I promise,” he said with a smirk. Then he retrieved a small handgun from inside the back pocket of his jeans and placed it on the small table next to the tray. It was the same type of pistol she’d left behind in Aspen. “It’s not loaded, but you’ll need it for tonight.”
“What for?”
“You’ll find out soon.” He turned and left the room without another word.
A few minutes later, the door opened. It was him again, but this time two other men were with him. “It’s time. Take your gun,” he said.
“Time for what?”
He didn’t answer and turned and walked away as the other two waited for her to exit the room. She eyed them as she passed but neither seemed to give her any notice. They walked behind her as she followed Jeremy through a short hallway and down a flight of stairs. They were in a vacant house. When Jeremy reached the front door, he opened it and said, “Get in the car.”
Andy peered outside and saw a black Mercedes sitting in the driveway. “Where am I going?”
His face remained stoic. His eyes looked over at the two men, who grabbed her from behind and pulled her outside toward the car. They forced her into the backseat and then drove off.
Shaken, Andy stared numbly through her window as the Mercedes headed east from Malibu on the Santa Monica Freeway. The sun was descending over the horizon behind her in the rear window. At one point, she considered escaping by trying to convince herself that it wouldn’t hurt to jump out of a moving vehicle going 70 mph.
“Where are we going? Please tell me!” she begged the men in the front, but neither threw her even a glance.
The Mercedes exited the freeway and headed south on I-110 for a brief moment before approaching the University of Southern California. After passing the campus on the right, they took another turn south. People were crowded everywhere on both sides of the road, and they all appeared to be moving toward the stadium.
Andy looked down at the pistol resting on the seat beside her. She picked it up and discreetly checked the chamber to see if indeed it was empty. It was. She tossed it back and watched helplessly as they got closer to the stadium. The car maneuvered its way around the south side before pulling into a gate. Throngs of people from every direction were moving toward the front entrance as though they were being drawn inside by some unseen force. Then suddenly, the Mercedes disappeared into a dark tunnel under the stadium. Moments later, it stopped.
“Get out,” the driver ordered as the other man stepped outside and opened her door.
Her heart pounding, Andy sprang out of the car. Had the two men not been armed, she would’ve made a run for it, but as she stepped further into the underbelly of the stadium with a useless gun, she felt her chances of escape evaporating.
They reached the locker room formerly used by the opposing teams and went inside. With the exception of a single light bulb in the ceiling, the room was dark. There were seven other people; five were handcuffed and sitting on benches near the lockers and two standing over them with rifles keeping guard.
“Sit down,” one of the armed men ordered, and she grudgingly obeyed. She took a seat at the end of a bench beside a frail boy who could not have been more than eleven or twelve.
The guard approached her with a pair of handcuffs, and before she could resist, he slapped them around her wrists. She looked up at him with defiance, but like the others, his face was expressionless.
“What time is it?” the other guard asked the one who had brought Andy from the car.
“Almost seven-thirty.”
“Let
’s go grab a drink. We’ve got time.”
The three men left the locker room and locked the door behind them, leaving Andy alone with the five other captives. She turned to the frail boy sitting next to her. “What’s going on? What are we doing here?”
The boy’s eyes remained fixed on the floor. His face was deathly pale and his forehead was sweating. She turned to the other four and saw the same catatonic expressions on their faces.
“Why am I here?” she asked the boy again, this time more softly.
“Shut up!” he snapped back violently.
Startled, she slowly inched away from him. Confused and scared, she looked at the others, imploring them with her eyes to explain. When no one even looked her way, she got up and moved to stand firmly in front of them. “Somebody better tell me what’s going on, now!”
“Or what, you’ll kill us? We’re all dead already, you included. So please leave us alone.”
She stared dumbfounded at the boy who had just spoken. He was less frail than the first, but still young. She eyed him with disbelief and slowly crouched down until her gaze met his.
“Please,” she begged. “Until a few days ago, I’d never been to Los Angeles in my entire life. I don’t know this city or anyone here. I was kidnapped from my home in Colorado and then I woke up and I was here, and I have no idea why. Can you please, please tell me what’s going on?”
The boy stared back at her. Dark circles hung beneath his lifeless eyes. He blinked once, then twice before finally answering. “It’s a game, and we’re the losers.”
“I don’t understand…”
“It’s called One Shot because we each get a bullet. Just one.” Each of them would be taken up to the field where thousands of spectators would be waiting. One of several “referees” would load their pistol with a single bullet, and then they would be ordered to stand on the ten-yard line on the east end of the field while still handcuffed. Sixty yards down the field stood their opponent, but instead of a pistol with only one bullet, the opponent wore body armor and was given a fully-automatic rifle and multiple magazines of thirty rounds each. The goal of One Shot was brutally simple: who could kill the other first in two minutes. Both the competitor and the opponent were allowed to move around the field, but neither could cross the fifty-yard line at midfield. If the competitor survives these two minutes, they would play two more rounds, and if they survived the third round, they would be freed.
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