The Tracker

by Leslie Georgeson

  But I didn’t want to die yet. I was only twenty-six years old. I had an entire future ahead of me.

  I hesitated before whispering, “You ever thought of trying to escape?”

  A moment of silence passed, then his quiet response, “Fuck yeah.”

  Relief swept through me, followed immediately by hope. If he wanted to escape as badly as I did, then maybe there was a way out of here.

  “What about the others?” I couldn’t resist asking. “You think they want out, too?”

  Gordon grunted. “Of course they do. But there’s no way out, man. We can’t fight them all off.”

  “Can’t is not a word in our vocabulary, remember?”

  He grew silent, then whispered, “What are you planning, Tracker?”

  “Escape. Right after the award ceremony tomorrow. We attack and kill whoever gets in our way, and then we run like hell. Noah can hack into their server and steal some money for us, transfer it to another account somewhere. You know we’re going to need some money to live after we get out of here.”

  Gordon let out another soft grunt. “I like that idea. But it will be twelve of us against twenty or thirty of them. And they’re all armed.”

  “So. They’re not as good as we are. We’re the best. Remember that. The best.”

  Gordon sighed. “We were, at one point. Now we are injured.” He tapped his prosthetic.

  Gordon was right, but if we were going to escape this place, we had to believe in ourselves. I had no doubt we could easily take out some of the other soldiers. Could we accomplish the near impossible?

  “They’ll never expect us to try to escape. You’ve seen past ceremonies. Ten or fifteen guards kill the discharges with gunfire, then the bodies are removed. We can take them by surprise. Grab their guns, knock them out, kill them, whatever we have to do to escape. The General will never see it coming. Then we can hold them off long enough for Noah to hack into their system and steal some money.”

  “It’s worth a try,” Gordon murmured after a moment. “We’ll have to tell the others of our plan, get them all on board...”

  “Tracker! You still alive in there?” The General’s voice called to me, trying to bring me back to the present. Trying to pull me back to my current nightmare and away from my best memory of this place: our escape.

  I didn’t want to go back to the present. I wanted to stay in the past, away from the pain. I wanted to relive that one and only time in this place that I had felt good. The time I had killed to get away and I’d won my freedom. We’d done the impossible. Noah had hacked into the server and transferred enough money for all of us to live for the rest of our lives. He’d stolen millions. And we’d escaped hell. We’d all withdrawn our portion of the money before it could be traced and purchased properties, vehicles…We’d all gone on spending sprees, blowing cash left and right. Then we’d hidden the rest of the cash in places where we could access it later when necessary. Burying it, locking it in safes, hiding it in places no one would think to look.

  “Tracker? You in there? Wake up, wake up.”

  Damn him.

  I groaned. Blinked.

  The General’s face loomed above me. How long had I been in dream land? I wanted to go back there. I wanted to be anywhere but here.

  “How ya’ doing Tracker? You’re looking a little pale. But I know you’re strong. I believe you might actually pull through if I up your dosage and force you to be even stronger. So brace yourself for more pain. It’s going to get worse before it gets better.”

  Son-of-a-bitch! He was going to make it worse than it already was?

  The General fiddled with the IV bag, then turned back to me. “I’ve just upped your dosage. You should be getting twice as much of the drug in your system now. I want to push you to the limit, see how much you can take. This will either kill you or make you stronger. I want you to heal, Tracker. I want you back.”

  I glared at him through the haze of pain. Never! I was never coming back. I had to get out of this place. If I could move, I would strangle the son-of-a-bitch. “Fuck you, you bastard! Fuck you!” I could feel the evil coursing through my veins through the IV like ice forming over a river. Son-of-a-bitch! It felt like ants crawling all over me, parasites burrowing through my skin. It burned. It stung.

  It fucking hurt.

  Pain, everywhere.

  I gasped. Groaned. This was worse than any torture he’d previously inflicted on me. This was my insides twisting and squirming, my organs going into shutdown as I felt myself dying from the inside out.

  My heartrate kicked into overdrive.

  Thump thump. Thump thump. Thump thump.

  The heart monitor went crazy.

  Beep. Beep. Beeeeeep.

  My head felt like it was about to explode.

  Pure agony washed over me.

  I couldn’t take it. It was too much.

  “How am I going to produce perfect soldiers if I’m dead?” I hissed out.

  The General shrugged. “If you’re alive when I come back, then you will have survived the impossible. That will mean you’re incredibly strong and that you will produce strong sons. Don’t disappoint me, Tracker. Don’t die on me now. You. Can. Change. History.”

  Then he walked out, leaving me alone to face the horrible agony he’d forced on me.

  I squeezed my eyes shut against the pain.

  And screamed.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  Tracker

  The scientist/doctor or whatever the hell he was turned away from me after General Waters left, moving to sit behind a desk against the wall with a table full of vials and microscopes and other lab-looking things. The bastard didn’t care that I was dying, that the shit he was pumping into my veins was killing me. His assistant, a pretty blonde woman in her mid-twenties, glanced at me briefly, a hint of sympathy in her gaze. The doctor said something to her and she hurried to do his bidding.

  I had to stop this shit from entering my bloodstream before it killed me. Desperately fighting back the pain, I glared at the IV attached to the top of my hand. Though my arms and feet were bound with leather straps to the rails on the side of the bed, I could still move my torso a little. If I bent over, stretching my neck as far forward as I could, and twisted my arm sideways in the strap, turning it toward me, I might be able to remove the IV with my teeth.

  I glanced back at the doctor and his assistant, who were now looking at something through a microscope.

  I leaned forward, pulling my torso up off the bed until the straps on my feet halted me. I stretched and strained, willing my neck to be longer, my back to bend further, until finally my teeth snagged the IV.

  Yes!

  I paused in this awkward position, all slouched over with my limbs stretched and aching, and took a deep breath. I’d been trained to ignore pain. Pulling the IV free was going to hurt, but it was better than the alternative: extreme pain and possible death. Biting down hard, I pulled back, yanking the tape and the IV tube free. Blood spurted out, pooling around my hand. I let go of the IV, watching as the line fell to the floor, dripping fluid out of the small hole.

  I fell back onto the bed.

  Now to get out of this contraption they called a bed.

  Using all my strength, I tried to rock the bed sideways.

  It barely moved.

  Again, I jerked my body sideways, trying to tip the bed over, but the bed stayed firm. It wasn’t moving. Fuck. I needed help.

  My thrashing caught the attention of the doctor and his assistant, who turned toward me in surprise.

  “What the…?” The man eyed my bloody hand that was still oozing blood, the IV line on the floor, then jerked his gaze back to mine. He turned to his assistant. “Quickly! Alert The General!”

  He came toward the bed as the woman ran from the room.

  Yeah, come closer, you stupid bastard.

  He reached the bed and bent to retrieve the IV line.

  Then he leaned over me, reaching for my hand that was still bou
nd to the rail on the side of the bed.

  I jerked forward, slamming my skull into his face.

  He cried out and fell backward, dropping the IV line, blood oozing from his nose.

  Take that, you son-of-a-bitch.

  I pulled and fought at my restraints again. Then the buckle of the strap holding my bad leg snapped and I yanked my foot free. Yes! I now had a weapon. My leg. And I would use it in any way I could.

  “Why did you have to go and do that?” the man said from the floor where he sat, clutching his broken nose.

  Ignoring him, I focused on the doorway. Soon, The General would return. With reinforcements.

  It was highly unlikely I’d be able to fight them off with one leg while my arms and other leg were tightly bound to the bed rails. But I wasn’t giving up. If I could injure a few more people before they reattached the IV line, all the better. I had the advantage because Waters wanted me alive, so they wouldn’t kill me. But I would attempt to maim or kill anyone who got too close.

  I eyed the door.

  And waited.

  Where there’s a will, there’s a way.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  Jessica

  I stood in the shadows while the dregs dispatched the guards around the building. It was after midnight. Several people had come and gone from the front of the building, but there had been no activity for the past several minutes while we’d watched and waited.

  The dregs moved in after removing the last body and hiding it in the trees. Nate motioned me forward.

  “Let’s go. I don’t have to tell you to be careful. Watch your back. If you find Tracker before we do, then try to free him.”

  I nodded, swallowing hard. This was it. We were going in to save Tracker. Assuming it wasn’t already too late.

  Luke stepped forward and blew the lock off the door by firing several rounds into it with his semi-automatic rifle. Then the dregs rushed in the building, shooting everyone who crossed their path. I followed behind them, glancing around, taking everything in as we crept down one hallway and into another. Soldiers came at us from all sides, firing back. Gunshots rang out everywhere, the noise deafening. I crouched down and waited while bullets whizzed past. The dregs moved forward with determination, killing anyone who tried to stop them, intent on saving one of their own. Soldiers screamed and fell back, one by one.

  Another hallway. More soldiers. More gunfire.

  Screams.

  “Fuck, I’m hit.” Noah let out a hiss of pain, clutching his arm.

  Nate glanced at the others. “Anyone else hit?”

  “Yeah,” Ryan muttered, glancing down at his stomach where a pool of blood was forming.

  The other dregs shook their heads.

  “Shit.” Nate looked at me. “You okay, Jessica?”

  I nodded.

  “I’ll get Ryan out,” Luke said, looping an arm around Ryan’s waist. “You guys get to Tracker.”

  Noah glanced at his arm again, grimaced, then said, “I’m out, too. I’ll go with Ryan and Luke.”

  That left Nate, Tony, Logan and me. I watched as the injured dregs slipped back down the hallway toward the entrance.

  Nate, Tony and Logan moved forward. I quickly followed, determined to find Tracker. Determined to free him.

  “He’s probably in the lab,” Tony said, exchanging glances with Nate and Logan.

  Logan jerked his head in a nod. “Agreed. Let’s go.”

  We didn’t encounter any more soldiers as we rounded a corner and then came to the lab.

  Outside of the lab stood several armed guards, who immediately fired at us. The dregs fired back, then more soldiers appeared down the hallway, rushing toward us. While they fought their way past the remaining army, I crawled into the room.

  Tracker was tied to a bed in the middle of the room. He had his leg wrapped around the neck of a young soldier, who squirmed and choked, trying to break free, but it was obvious Tracker wasn’t about to release him. A man in a white robe—the doctor?—sat on the floor beside the bed, clutching a bloody nose. General Waters stood next to the bed with an IV line in his hands, scowling down at Tracker.

  Tracker glared at The General with a fierce expression on his face. There was blood all over Tracker’s arm, and blood splatters on the bed next to him.

  My heart lurched. What the hell were they doing to him?

  “Get away from him!” I lunged to my feet and raced toward The General, ready to tackle the bastard. “Leave him alone!”

  Tracker’s gaze jerked to me. His eyes were glazed. “Stay back, Jess,” he warned.

  I hesitated, halting a few feet from The General. The doctor moved suddenly, tackling me backward. Bastard. I hit the floor with a soft cry and tried to scramble free, but he grabbed my foot and held on. The other dregs were still fighting the soldiers out in the hallway. More gunfire exploded. Grunts, groans, thuds, bangs echoed all around. This was do or die. I had to focus on freeing Tracker. That was my only goal right now. Save him.

  Gunfire suddenly erupted around the room. The doctor twitched and jerked, releasing my foot. He fell back, his eyes glazed. I shoved him aside and sat up, my gaze jerking to Tracker.

  Nate and Tony had The General between them, their guns pointed in his face, while Logan was freeing Tracker from the bed. Scrambling to my feet, I assisted Logan, freeing Tracker’s other hand. The soldier Tracker had held down with his leg was now dead. Logan shoved him aside and he fell back, landing on the floor next to the doctor. It was then I noticed the young, blonde-haired woman cowering near the head of the bed. I sized her up, then decided she was harmless.

  Tracker slid his legs over the side of the bed and tried to stand. He collapsed, his legs giving out on him. Logan held him upright while I rushed to his other side and wrapped my arm around his waist. Together, we helped Tracker toward the door.

  “He has to die,” Tracker whispered, turning back toward The General. His face was pale, his eyes still glazed with whatever drug they’d given him.

  “Don’t worry, he will.” Logan turned Tracker back toward the door and freedom.

  “You’re making a huge mistake,” General Waters snarled. “I was injecting him with a new drug that can heal bone, you fools!”

  “You’re done using people as lab rats,” Tony sneered. “Now it’s your turn to be a lab rat.”

  Logan and I paused at the doorway with Tracker, turning to see what Nate and Tony had in mind for The General.

  “I want that money back that you guys stole from me!” The General raged. “Twenty million, you assholes!”

  Tony shoved The General down onto the bed and Nate secured his hands with the straps while Tony secured his feet.

  “Money well earned, if you ask me,” Nate said.

  “Yeah, asshole.” Tony gave a fierce yank on The General’s foot, causing the old man to grunt. “We earned it. Every fucking penny.”

  Tracker pulled away from us and stalked toward the bed, limping on his injured leg. He stumbled and fell, landing hard on his outspread palms. I rushed to his side to help him, but he shoved me away and crawled the rest of the way to the bed, reaching out to retrieve the IV line that hung from the bag on the pole. With a feral look in his eyes, he thrust the IV line at Tony.

  “No!” The General shouted. “You can’t do this! I don’t have Tracker’s hardened immunity. I’ll die!”

  Tony grinned evilly. “That’s the point.” With a quick thrust, he stuck the IV line into The General’s arm.

  The General gasped and pulled at his bound hands. “You fools! You’re going to kill me! All my research will have been for nothing!”

  “Again, that’s the point.” Nate did something to the IV bag, opening the valve all the way, then nodded at Tony. They both reached down and helped Tracker to his feet. Logan stepped forward and the four of them stared down at The General as the man began to squirm and moan.

  “It hurts,” he screamed. “It feels like ants are crawling all over me! Get it out! Get it out!
”

  Tracker glanced at me, but his eyes were still glazed, and I wasn’t sure if he recognized me anymore.

  The dregs turned away from the bed, ignoring The General who kept screaming at them to let him go.

  “Come on, Jessica,” Nate urged, waving me forward. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Tracker’s head lolled forward as they helped him from the room. I followed after them, The General’s cries grating on my nerves as he screamed for someone to release him. I hoped he died. I was surprised the dregs hadn’t killed him outright. I was sure it was because they wanted him to suffer first. But what if someone freed him before the drugs did too much damage to him?

  I spun around in time to see the woman rise from the floor and dart to The General’s side. Crap. She was going to free him.

  “Oh, no you don’t!” I ran back into the room and tackled her just as she reached out to pull the IV free. We hit the floor together, a tangle of limbs. She screamed and clawed at my face, pulled at my hair.

  “That’s my father, you bitch! Let him go!”

  I pushed her away and sat up, glaring down at her. “That man killed my father! And he tortured Tracker and all my friends! He deserves to die!”

  Nate appeared beside us. He pulled me to my feet and glared down at the woman. “If you want to live, sister, leave right now.” He pointed at the doorway.

  Her eyes widened. She swallowed hard. Then she bolted to her feet and scrambled from the room, casting one last glance at The General, who’d gone still. Was he dead? I hoped so. God, I hoped so.

  Nate paused to check The General’s pulse. “He’s dead. Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

  The General was dead. Thank God. The man who’d tortured Tracker and the others had finally gotten what he deserved. Though it would have been nice to see him suffer more.

  We made our way to the exit, the dregs killing anyone who tried to stop us. Minutes later, we were in the trees and heading for their vehicles parked at the other end of the park near the zoo. We finally reached the parking lot, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Nate pulled his medical bag from the Escalade and Tony assisted him as he tended to Ryan and Noah’s injuries while the others stood guard. The bullet had gone straight through Noah’s arm, so Nate only had to disinfect and sew him back up. Then he sealed the wound with his hand and eased Noah’s pain with his special healing touch. Ryan’s abdominal injury was more serious, and it took a bit longer for Nate to make Ryan stable enough to be able to travel. Nate planned to remove the bullet once we got back to the mansion. For the time being, he cleaned the area, then pressed his palm against the wound and tried to help ease Ryan’s pain. Ryan’s eyes closed and he murmured a quiet, “thanks”.