by Trish Loye
What if she wasn’t here?
He buried the thought. He’d deal with that possibility if it came up.
Inside was a large open office with four separate work areas, each with a metal desk, filing cabinet, bookshelf, and trashcan in the exact same arrangement. No papers littered the desks, and only a few books decorated the shelves.
On the opposite wall, another door waited. This one had a small window in it. He glanced through into a dark hallway with doors lining it and a cross hall with a door at the far end. He turned the knob. Unlocked.
Derrick signaled the others and entered the hall; with whispered steps and a tap on his shoulders, the others fell into line behind him. The smell hit him. Astringent urine, sour sweat, and the slightly sweet odor of rotting blood. His stomach turned.
He took the first door on the left. Sarah took the one on the right, while Marc and Dante moved forward to the next two.
His room had chains attached to the concrete wall and nothing else. He swung his rifle where his eyes scanned and checked behind the door. Clear. He left the room. Sarah joined him seconds later and signaled an all clear. They traveled as a team to the two rooms that Marc and Dante had entered.
The men exited at the same time. Marc’s face could have been stone. Derrick looked beyond him into the room. A figure lay in a heap on the ground. Marc drew a line across his throat. Derrick nodded and continued down the hall. It wasn’t the scientist or… His mind veered sharply from that thought. The body wasn’t anyone who concerned them, so Derrick led his team on. The smell of shit, piss, and unwashed bodies increased the farther they went. The door at the end of the hall with its darkened window beckoned, but they needed to clear the rooms in the two short hallways on either side first.
He and Sarah took the right hallway while Marc and Dante took the left. He cleared his two rooms quickly. One held a slanted bench with straps. A bucket stood under a tap. Water dripped into the half-full bucket. The drops plunked down with soft, despairing echoes.
He knew what happened in this room. Waterboarding was a particularly heinous torture, leaving a victim feeling drowned and desperate. His lip curled and anger threaded through his system. He shoved it down. Now was not the time.
In the hall, Sarah waited for him, signaling a cleared room. Marc popped out down the opposite hall and signaled the same. Dante came out from his door and waved them inside. “Found him, Hawk.”
His heart contracted too hard. Found him.
Not her.
Sarah waited at the door while Marc and he followed Dante inside. Dr. French had his hands tied behind his back and attached high on the wall so the man had to hunch over and stand on his tiptoes at the same time. A stress position. The man cried silently as Dante cut him down. “Thank you,” he whispered. “Thank God. She said you were coming, but… Thank God.” Dr. French straightened and stumbled. Dante caught him.
Derrick’s focus sharpened. “She said?”
Dr. French nodded. “What was her name? A Korean woman. But she said she was Canadian.”
Predatory focus tightened his muscles. “Cassandra Kwon?”
“I…I think that was it.”
“Where is she?” he snapped.
Dr. French shook his head. His greasy hair barely moved. “She was in the cages before they…”
Derrick wanted to shake the man. “Before?”
“Before they took her away.” He clung to Dante. “I’m sorry. Please get me out of here. Please.”
“It’s okay,” Dante said. “We’ve got you. Tell us where they took Kwon.”
“I don’t know. I don’t know. Please get me out of here.”
“Easy, man,” Dante whispered. “We’re going now. I need you to be quiet, though.”
The scientist just nodded and didn’t say a further word.
Derrick wanted to smash something. Cassie had been here. Here! The bleak room was the same as the others. A torturing room.
“Where are the cages?” he asked in a low voice.
“At the end of the hall,” Dr. French said.
“Guarded?”
“No. The cages are locked. There are lots of prisoners in there.”
Derrick pulled Marc aside. “Get him out.”
“I’m not leaving you.”
“That’s an or—”
“Don’t try that crap on me, Hawk,” Marc said. “You’re not staying here solo to find your woman. Ghost can cover Gears and the science guy. I’ll cover you.”
Your woman. Derrick stared at Marc. He wasn’t going anywhere until he found Cass, no matter how long it took. He wouldn’t drag Marc into that, but the man could help for now. Derrick nodded. “Fine. But when I say you leave, you leave.”
“We’ll see.”
“You’re a pain in my ass.”
“Love you too, buddy.”
Derrick snorted. “Ghost. Gears. Get Dr. French out. We’ll meet up when we have the second package.”
Sarah gave him a hard-eyed glare. “See that you do.”
Dante tucked his shoulder under Dr. French’s. “Stay safe. Lead on, Ghost.”
Derrick waited until the two reported over the comms that the yard was clear and they were heading back before he silently cracked open the door to the back room where the cages lay.
The smell smacked him in the face: an open latrine mixed with decay and death. Now they knew where the main smell had been coming from.
The sounds of breathing floated to them through the stench, but nothing else. Nothing moved in the dark. He looked closer and swore silently. Cages had been right.
Metal cages looking like dog kennels for rabid Rottweilers held curled-up prisoners. Dozens of them lined the walls except for the single door on the far side. He cut into the room, his boots making no sound on the concrete floor.
Where was she?
Marc went to the outside door and took watch. Derrick would be the one to identify Cassie and he had to do it quickly before any of the prisoners woke. He moved down one aisle staring hard into each cage.
Male. Male. Too old. Male. Too thin. Male. Wrong hair. Male.
He went by every single cage without finding her. He must have missed her. Where was she? He started again.
One old man sat cross-legged, his gaze calmly following Derrick’s movements back and forth. He might have seemed very Zen-like except for his hunched over posture due to the cage’s short height. He ignored the man and walked by all of the cages once more.
No. No. No.
She wasn’t here. Fuck.
Where is she?
“Cassandra Kwon?” The old man whispered the name into the stinking darkness and it electrified Derrick. He went to the cage and kneeled before the man. He nodded, not trusting himself to speak.
“You came for her.”
He nodded again.
“She didn’t think you would.”
“I will always come for her.”
He smiled, a weary but happy smile. “When you find her, tell her that until she really believes it.”
“Hawk.” Marc’s low voice intruded. Time was running out.
“Do you know where she is?” Derrick asked.
Now the man’s smile widened into a proud grin. “She escaped.”
Derrick tensed, not knowing whether this would end well or not. His impatience to know where she was strangled his words. “Tell me.”
“This night. But earlier…maybe two hours. She ran. I haven’t heard the dogs yet so I think she got out.”
“Which way would she go?”
He shook his head. “Your guess is better than mine, but I would run for the closest border.”
She was on foot. They could catch up to her. He frowned. Unless she tried to get a car—
“Hawk, we’ve got to go.”
Derrick turned to the old man who sat quietly in his cage, not asking to be released. Did he know it was beyond Derrick’s capability to save them all?
He frowned. Or was it?
Derrick
scanned the open area in front of Marc and himself. They stood in a shadow outside the modern-day concentration camp, and searched for enemies. Behind him, whispers of movement sounded, but he didn’t look. The escaping prisoners would give them warnings of guards.
“Who would have thought the old man was sitting there with a key to his own cage?” Marc whispered.
“And a broken foot from the looks of it.” Derrick squinted through his NVGs. Was that movement to the north?
“Still,” Marc said. “I don’t think he’d planned on releasing himself or the others.”
“At least it didn’t take much convincing,” Derrick said. And it hadn’t. He’d proposed the idea as a distraction to further help Cassie escape and the old man had readily agreed. It seemed she’d made a friend while interned. “The other prisoners’ escapes will help confuse both the guards and their dogs. And it’ll buy us time.”
Sarah’s voice came over the comms. “This is Bravo Three. You’re clear to move.”
“Copy that. Oscar Mike,” Derrick said, telling her they were on the move. He nodded at Marc. They loped to the cut in the fence line. He wondered for a moment whether any of the prisoners would follow them. But the way they’d scattered quickly and quietly after he’d released them told him that they had alternative routes.
Which way had Cassie gone?
His gut clenched at the thought of her hurt and running blind in this terrain.
He would find her. He pushed his feelings down. Cold logic was needed for this mission and it wasn’t over yet, not until his team and Cassie were safe. For now, he could focus on the fact that she’d managed to bust out of a prison most people who entered died in.
He slid through the fence opening, with Marc right behind him. They slowed to a jog and made their way to the RV where Sarah and Dante waited.
As they neared the RV, Derrick keyed his comms. “This is Bravo One. Approaching from the north.”
“I have visual on you, Bravo One,” Sarah’s voice said on the comms. “Charlie team has begun package extraction.”
The other team had already left with Dr. French. Good. “Roger. Bravo One out.”
Within moments, Sarah’s small form—even in combats and webbing—stepped out from behind a tree. “Where’s the woman?”
“She escaped already,” Marc said.
“Seriously?”
Dante turned from where he watched the south. “Where do we start to look?”
Something loosened in Derrick’s chest. His team would back him up. His lips quirked, whether he wanted them to or not. “We need to fan out and sweep from here to the road and then east until we find her.”
“We’ll find her,” Marc said.
He hoped so. Hang on, Little Wolf. I’m coming.
13
Cassie panted as she scrambled under the stone lip and into her cave. Relief drenched her when her fingers touched the pack she’d left behind. They hadn’t discovered the cave. She was safe. A sob broke free and echoed loudly.
She clamped a hand over her mouth. No! She wasn’t safe. She wouldn’t be safe until she was out of the country and home. She scrambled to open the top of her pack. She needed to call home. To let them know…
Fuck. The sat phone was in her daypack, the one she’d left by the road. Could she chance getting it? Her compass was in there. She’d never make it to the border without those.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
She just wanted to huddle here in the dark, where she was safe.
She breathed deep and her thoughts slowed. Panic hovered outside her body, waiting to get in. But right now, right now she sat in the eye of the storm, where she could think.
The guards had dogs. They’d be after her as soon as they knew she was missing. She figured she had until daylight before they started searching and she needed to be as far from here as she could. It had already taken her too long to make it out of the prison proper by finding the potato field without fencing and heading south.
Her hands and knees stung with scrapes from her repeated falls in the darkness. Her feet started to throb and she knew she’d done some damage running blindly without shoes, but she’d had to.
In the bottom of her pack, she had a pair of lightweight runners, in case something happened to her hiking shoes. Thank you, outdoor saleswoman, who’d convinced her not to backcountry camp without a second set of shoes.
She wiped off as much dirt from her feet as she could and then hauled on spare wool socks and the runners. The soles of her feet protested, but she could survive running on cuts and bruises. She wouldn’t survive if she was caught again.
Time to move.
She pulled the pack after her out of the cave and hissed her breath out in pain when she put it on and tightened the straps over injuries from her first day.
Just bruises. She could handle bruises.
The moon was three-quarters full. Under the trees, it was black as tar, but here everything was outlined in silver, an almost surreal effect. Something from a horror movie, her mind whispered, where a victim ran into the killer under the trees.
She could handle one killer.
She jogged toward the trees. If she followed this ridge, it would take her to the road. It was a risk being so close to being in the open, but she’d get to the road faster. She kept up the jog, adrenaline and fear pushing aside muscle fatigue. One foot after another. Her feet crunched on the fallen leaves and ground. She pushed to keep the rhythm from slowing. One, two. One, two. Her breathing scratched her throat and scraped the quiet of the night.
Her rhythm slowed, but she didn’t stop. She couldn’t stop. Wouldn’t stop.
Her foot caught and she slammed to the ground, landing on her forearms. Her backpack slid up and struck the back of her head. She lay there panting, her eyes pricking with tears.
Get up, Cassie. She trembled. “Get up, Cass,” she said aloud. “Now.”
She dragged herself to her feet, her battered body protesting. “Slow is smooth…” she panted. “Smooth is fast.” Please let that be true.
Derrick’s face swam in front of her. Too slow is dead.
“Well, that’s not helpful,” she muttered to him.
No. She would not lose her mind. She started forward, going a bit slower but keeping a steady pace, calming her breathing by thinking about her next steps.
First the road. Then find her daypack. Then follow the road east and eventually north.
She had a few energy bars left. She’d make them last. Water would be more important. Her heart rate slowed as she took mental inventory of what she had, what she needed, and where she had to go. Organizing always calmed her. And apparently it didn’t matter whether it was her closet or running for her life.
She smiled. They wouldn’t beat her.
It wasn’t long before the ridge line veered west. This was where she needed to cross through the woods to the road. Almost there. She kept her pace steady as she entered the blackness, her hands in front, moving from tree to tree, praying she stayed on a southerly course. Once she found her daypack, she would have her NVGs and she’d be able to move faster.
A moment of panic threatened to overwhelm her when she thought she’d gotten turned around in the dark. What if she missed the road? The guards would find her wandering, hopelessly lost, in the morning. They’d drag her back. Torture her again. Her lungs constricted and she couldn’t breathe. Water sloshed from a bucket, filling her mouth…
Sharp pain stabbed her knee, bringing her back. She’d fallen to her hands and knees and struck a rock. She grabbed the rough bark of a tree beside her, reassuring herself in the dark with its rough grooves.
She wasn’t back there. She’d escaped. Her thoughts calmed and the panic again waited outside for another chance to bring her down.
She kept moving. With a deep breath, she forced herself to go on, keeping her thoughts focused on the road, not letting them spiral back into that dark place.
First the road. Then her daypack. Then moving east.
She could do this. She could do this. She could do this.
The darkness between the trees eased, each tree a black silhouette against the shadowy road ahead. The road. Her pack felt lighter and her steps quickened as she neared it.
She paused and listened. No sound but the occasional skitter of a night creature or call of a bird. No cars. No humans. No dogs.
She sighed and moved onto the road. She turned left and started to jog. She’d hid her daypack ahead near the fallen log by the road into the prison. It wasn’t long before she saw the road. She moved slower and closer to the trees, hardly daring to breathe. But she saw no one and heard nothing. She crossed the prison road and continued on, slowing so she wouldn’t miss the fallen log.
There. She spotted the angled branch of the tree by the log and dashed to it. The daypack still sat on the branch. Her shoulders relaxed even as she dug into it. She pulled out her hydration bladder and stuck the tube in her mouth, her throat suddenly unbearably dry.
She sucked cool water into her mouth.
Her chest squeezed and her heart stuttered as adrenaline, memories, and fear flooded her. No! She spit out the tube and water, coughing.
“Dammit.” She sobbed. What had they done to her? She straightened. There was no time for this. She’d drink later—force herself if she had to—when she was farther from danger. She wouldn’t say safe, knowing that was a long way off. She put the water back in the pack and touched the sat phone. She wanted, needed to talk to Rose and her mother.
Derrick.
But the phone would light up when turned on, destroying her night vision and showing anyone in the area where she was. She reluctantly put it back, pulled out her NVGs and tied the daypack to her larger one. She’d call home after first light.
It was time to run now.
She dashed back to the road and jogged along it, listening with all her might to the noises around her. Her ragged breaths punctuated her soft footfalls and overrode anything useful her ears might warn her of, so she stopped every few minutes and listened, letting her body rest before loping off again.