He tugged the hose inside the storage container. With a flick of his wrist, he whipped the kink restricting water flow out of the hose and washed out the now empty cage. Still muttering to himself, he carried the girl back to her cage, placed her inside, and re-locked the padlock on the door. He tugged on the lock to make sure it was secure.
****
Bree cowered in the corner of her cage. Her fingers traced the message she carved into the wooden floor. As the angry young man stomped closer, Bree froze, regulated her breathing, and squeezed her eyes shut. Damn it. Pretending to sleep won’t get me out of here.
Through eyes barely opened a slit, she watched the young man repeat the process cage by cage, moving steadily closer to her own. The closer he approached, the faster her heart beat. I must get out of here—whatever it takes.
Stomach churning, she bit her lip. Her throat convulsed. I’m going to be sick. Closing her eyes, she steadied herself. Whatever it takes. Concealing her movements, she slipped her pocketknife from her boot. The missing tip wouldn’t make much of a difference. The edge was razor sharp. She wiped her sweaty palms on her filthy jeans. Surreptitiously, she opened the blade and clutched the knife tightly in her right hand.
Still muttering to himself, the sullen boy worked his way through the shipping container, cleaning cages and children. He approached Bree’s cage. He reached through the bars of the cage and fingered a lock of her hair. “Aren’t you a pretty one?”
She didn’t react. Didn’t so much as twitch. Breathe. Stay still. She moaned, shook her head listlessly, pretending to be in the twilight stage of consciousness.
The fucktard yanked her hair sharply.
Her jaw ached from biting her tongue, but still she controlled her outward response. Bastard. She slowed her breathing even more.
He readied the syringe and unlocked the padlock.
Panic threatened to sweep over her. Muscles tensed, she prepared to lunge at the young man holding the needle. Before he could grab Bree, the girl in the cage he had just finished started gagging. Then she vomited. Still semi-unconscious and laying on her back, she began to choke.
“No. No, no, no, no.” Her captor abandoned Bree’s cage and rushed to the choking girl. “Da will kill me if I lose another one.” He fumbled with the lock before jerking the cage open and tugging the girl out. He turned her on her side. He swept two fingers through her mouth, clearing her airway. He held her on her side until she could breathe easily on her own. Carrying her outside, he laid her in the sparse grass. He grabbed the hose and started washing her down again.
Bree crawled to the door of her cage. Unlocked! She readied her weapon and shoved through the kennel door. Unused to standing, she fell to the floor. Scrambling to her feet as fast and as quietly as she could, she forced her way to the opening of the metal shipping container, blinking when the harsh daylight sun hit her eyes.
“Fuck!” The asshole grabbed at her. His fingertips brushed her filthy t-shirt as she twisted out of his grasp. Carrying the other girl back inside, he shoved her back into her cage and secured the padlock. Quickly, he spun around and chased after Bree. He launched himself at her from the doorway of the container.
Together, they tumbled to the ground. She jabbed her elbow into his stomach. Wriggling out from under him, she struggled to her feet. He grabbed her again. Slammed her to the ground, knocking the breath from her lungs. His hands wrapped around her neck. He squeezed. Tight. He pressed his thumbs against her carotid artery. A high-pitched ringing began in her ears. Everything blurred. Blackness swirled at the edges of her vision. Her feet drummed against the ground. Life was slipping from her grasp.
Bree slashed out at him. Again, and again. Slashing and stabbing. Her blade slid across his face, missing his eye by a fraction of an inch. He howled in pain. Releasing Bree, her captor clasped both hands to his face. Crimson blood pulsed through his fingers.
Life-giving oxygen rushed to her lungs. Bree raised her knees and kicked the wailing young man off her. She snagged the cell phone from his shirt pocket, clambered to her feet, and ran. Her chest tightened. Dark spots encircled her vision. Still she ran until the stitch in her side doubled her over. She dropped to her knees, gasping for air.
Trees rustled to the left of her. She rammed her fist into her mouth and bit down to block her cries. She held her breath. Rising to her feet, she backed farther from the patch of underbrush, hiding in the shadows.
“When I find you…”
Her captor crashed through the brush, cursing. He swung a large stick, poking into bushes and cactus, moving mesquite branches out of the way.
Stifling a whimper, Bree slunk away from him. She tripped and fell into a crevice in the ground, landing hard on her butt. The phone fell from her white-knuckled grasp. She rolled deeper into the shallow depression in the ground, scrambled farther under cover. She burrowed beneath the fallen branches and foliage, listening as the young man trampled on.
Gathering her wits, she belly-crawled toward the edge of her cover. Raising her head a few inches, she spotted the boy silhouetted against the horizon. She swallowed a sob and wiggled back into concealment. She waited. And waited.
After Bree was certain he had moved out of range, she searched for the cell phone. There. She grabbed for the phone. Hands shaking, she dropped it—twice. She slid her finger across the screen. Thank God, no password. She dialed her dad’s number. Voicemail. Damn it.
She dialed again. When a live voice responded, she croaked, “Uncle Noah?”
“Bree? Is that you? My God. Where are you? Are you safe?”
Tears flooded her voice. She was so tired of being brave. “I—I—”
“Calm down, sweetie. Take a deep breath and look around. Tell me what you see.”
“Pasture and brush. Cactus. We have to save them, Uncle Noah.” She wriggled from her hiding spot. “I think I see…” Beep. Beep. Beep. The call dropped. Frantically, she redialed. Nothing. She looked at the screen. No service. Damn it all to hell!
****
“Rhyden,” Noah yelled into the phone. “Where are you?”
“At the jail. Interrogating the driver of the tanker truck, again.”
“Meet me in your office. Now. I heard from Bree.”
****
“What do you mean you lost the girl? Which girl? You fookin’ idiot.” Seamus pounded a fist into Patrick’s jaw. “How in the hell did you let her get away? You outweigh her by at least a hundred pounds. One simple chore. That’s all I asked of you.”
Patrick spat fresh blood onto the ground. “I. Don’t. Know.” He slid a hand across his jaw to wipe away red-tinged spittle. “Maybe your sedative was faulty. I gave her the shot. She attacked me. With a knife!”
“Are you sure you gave her the drug? Where the hell did she get a knife? Didn’t you search her before you locked her in the cage?”
The boy shrugged. “I need a doctor.”
“I need to clean up your mess. Where did you last see her?”
Chapter Twenty
Bree shoved the useless cell phone into her jeans pocket. She knew she had to find an area with better service—after checking herself for injuries. Luckily, she only found a few minor scrapes and cuts, and hot, angry bruises circled her neck. Her throat began to swell from the need to cry.
Suck it up, buttercup. You’ve got to hold it together.
She'd never been a crybaby and wasn’t about to start now. She had made a promise to Sarah, and she planned to keep it. Working her way out of the brush, she searched for landmarks. Every miserable roughing-it camping trip taken with her family in the past now felt like a treasure as survival tips and methods of primitive navigation flooded her mind.
Thank you, Daddy.
Dotted across the pasture were piles of dead mesquite trees and cactus shoved there by bulldozers attempting to clear the pasture for cattle grazing, burn piles waiting for the latest drought to end—if it ever did. In the distance, she spotted a row of rusty tank batteries originally inte
nded for storing oil. These looked abandoned. She ran toward them, weaving from brush pile to brush pile. She stopped and took cover. Listened. Nothing. Peeking around the last burn pile, she scanned the open pastures for signs of pursuers.
The memory of Sarah’s big, sad eyes and the whispered promise of rescue haunted her. She needed a way to mark this location. A way to bring back help. To keep her promise. If only I had cell service, I could drop a GPS pin.
She peered around again. Maybe higher ground would help. Taking a deep breath, ramping up her courage, she jumped up and ran for the tank batteries. She scrambled up the ladder, the rungs wobbly beneath her feet. She made it to the top and crouched down on the inspection platform at the top of the tank. The rickety grate supporting her swayed in the breeze. She checked the cell phone. Still no service.
Heart racing, she forced herself to stand. Fear of heights shoved her adrenaline levels sky high. Her legs shook. Her knees locked. Bile crept up the back of her throat. Clinging to the corroded railing, she caught her breath. Consciously, she focused on slowing her breathing and lowering her heart rate while she scanned the horizon. No sign of her captor.
From up here, things looked vaguely familiar. Maybe a quarter mile away she spotted a derelict airfield. Tall grass and tiny trees grew in the middle of the runway, but two helicopters with round glass cockpits sat on the helipad. That’s weird. I thought Dad said the oilfield company abandoned that airfield three years ago.
A grinding of truck gears reached her ears. She looked to the north. In the far distance, a cloud of red dust followed a dump truck racing down a dirt road. The road ended in a parking lot filled with heavy equipment and a couple of metal buildings. Civilization!
Bree inched back down the ladder, not breathing again until her feet hit solid ground. She sat down on the bottom rung. She rested her forehead on her knees. Inhaled deeply. Exhaled strongly. Raising her head, she scrubbed her face with her hands. Okay. One step at a time. I can do this. Easy.
She began walking.
****
Limping slightly from the blisters rubbed on her heels by her boots, Bree staggered into a dusty parking lot. She ignored the pain as she skirted around several large piles of gravel. She licked her dry, cracked lips. What she wouldn’t give for a tall glass of ice-cold water. There! She rushed past the dump truck she had spotted from atop the tank batteries, now parked next to a road grader, toward a metal office building sitting at the edge of the parking lot.
“Hello?” She tugged the smudged glass entry door open. A bell tinkled as the door shut behind her. “Is anyone here?”
No response.
She tugged the cell phone out of her pocket. Still no service. She stepped into the office and sneezed. Dust danced in the sunbeams flowing in through the small window in the back wall. A counter split the room in half. Behind the counter, a hallway led to offices hidden behind closed doors. Bree didn’t care if she was breaking and entering because sitting on the far end of the counter sat a telephone. An honest to goodness landline. Thank you, Jesus.
She rushed to the phone and picked up the handset. No dial tone. No! She sagged against the counter, still clutching the handset. Her eyes grew hot. Hands shaking, she replaced the handset in the cradle. A light went on in her brain. You dummy. Push the button.
She raised the handset back to her ear and selected a line on the telephone. Dial tone! With shaking fingers, she dialed her father’s number. A sob escaped her throat as the phone rang.
****
“Damn it!” Noah shoved away from his desk. “This isn’t working. We need the van.” He picked up the phone on his desk and dialed dispatch. “Morgan here. I need the mobile cell phone tracking van. Can you set it up?” He listened for a moment. “No, we haven’t found her yet. That’s why we need the van. Yeah, thanks. We’re on our way there. Tell them to be ready.”
****
After riding in circles for nearly an hour, Noah jerked the headphones from his ears in frustration. “Nothing. All we have is the last tower the cell phone pinged on.” He sighed. “I don’t know what to tell you. We lost the signal when the call dropped.”
He slammed his fist against the interior wall of the van. “Stop the van.” He looked at his partner. “Let’s get out of here. I need air.”
The driver pulled the van to the side of the road. The rangers scrambled out, gratefully escaping the claustrophobic interior smelling of stale coffee, old sweat, and fear. Rhyden met Noah’s eyes. “What do we do now?”
Heavy dread settled in the pit of Noah’s stomach. They were so close. He could feel it, but he couldn’t find that final clue that would give them Bree’s location. Not even his past insider recollections of Seamus’ operations could help with that. “At least we know she escaped. Trust her, okay? She’s a smart girl.”
“But…” Rhyden’s cell phone rang, an unfamiliar number flashing on the screen. “Trammell here.”
A sob echoed from the other end of the phone. “Daddy!”
His knees buckled. He caught himself before he fell and tapped the speaker button so his partner could hear the call as well. “Bree! Baby girl, are you okay? Where are you?”
“I don’t know. Please, find me, please. We must save them. I promised.”
“Save who, baby? Where are you? Are you safe?”
“The other kids. We were all caged, locked up. Daddy, please, come get me.”
Noah took over. “Bree, take a deep breath. Look around. What do you see? Is there anyone you can ask for help?”
“I’m in a building, a metal building. It’s deserted. No people here.” A high-pitched beeping issued from the phone, a familiar, repetitive beep.
“Go to the window. What’s that noise?”
He heard footsteps clatter across a floor. “A dump truck,” she said. “It’s a dump truck backing up.”
“Bree, careful now. Describe the building. Tell me everything you see. Every detail.”
“Um, there’s a gravel parking lot, dumpsters everywhere, piles of gravel, and a lot of trucks. Some heavy equipment.”
“Did you see a company name? A telephone number?”
“N-nooo, no name or number.”
“This is important, Bree. Was there a sign on the building? A blue banner? Did you see an old green pickup in the parking lot?” Noah’s heart raced. God, you couldn’t be that cruel.
“Yeah, a blue sign with white letters. I don’t remember what it said. No green truck, though. Wait, someone’s coming.” The phone clattered against the countertop. “Sir?”
Noah screamed into the phone. “No, Bree, no. Run! Hide!”
Sounds of a struggle came across the speaker followed by a heavy click as someone dropped the handset back into the cradle. Silence.
****
Lost in angry thought, Seamus stalked toward the office. How did that fookin’ idjit let a wee bit of fluff escape him?
The door flew open. “Sir?” a young redhead called out to him.
You have to be kidding me? Really? A smile split Seamus’ face. “Well, well, well, what have we here?”
He grabbed the girl, jerking her close, twisting her arm behind her back. “And I thought I would be scouring the countryside to find you. Welcome to my office, Miss Aubree Trammell.”
“How do you know my name?”
“I know many things about you.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out the driver’s license his son had given him. “Aubree Nicole Trammell, driver’s license number 08746…well, I’m sure you know the number.” He tossed the driver’s license on the counter.
She struggled, kicked, and scratched, but he was too strong. She couldn’t escape his grasp.
Seamus hit her with a brachial strike designed to knock her out. The flat edge of his hand caught her neck just below and to the front of her ear. She dropped like a stone. He scooped her unconscious body from the floor and tossed her over his shoulder.
Whistling a jaunty tune, he strode to his chrome laden dually pick
up truck. He tossed her in the backseat, securing her hands and feet with green plastic cable ties. Grabbing a dirty rag off the floorboards, he fashioned a gag and shoved it into her mouth, securing it with duct tape. “That should hold you.”
Bree glared daggers at him as she struggled against her bindings.
“Now you’re going to be hurting my feelings, wee one. I’ll be thinking you don’t want to spend time with me.” He chuckled. “Good thing looks can’t kill, isn’t it, a leanbh?” Seamus slammed the rear door of the truck closed, walked around, and climbed into the front seat. He started the engine. “Let’s go visit some new friends, shall we? It’s almost time to make you famous.”
****
“We know where she is.” Noah climbed back into the van. “Come on, let’s go.”
“What do you mean we know where she is?” Rhyden asked.
“Metal building, heavy equipment, a blue banner?”
“The fucking Traveler paving company?”
Noah typed furiously on the laptop keyboard, summoning up an aerial map. He pinpointed the paving company. “Okay, we need to block off everything within a five-mile radius. No, better make it a ten-mile radius.”
Rhyden grabbed the radio. “819, Bennett County, my daughter has been located but is being transported by suspect. I need roadblocks now.”
“Bennett County, 819. Where do you need them? Do you have a vehicle description?”
“No vehicle description. Let’s block off FM 140 at Mill Lane, 97 at Kyote Road, Dawson and Edwards, and Hindes Boulevard at Bigfoot Road.”
“Don’t forget Trimble Lane at Highway 173,” said Noah.
Rhyden relayed the additional location to dispatch. For the first time in days, Rhyden smiled. “We’ve got the son of a bitch.”
****
The mechanical female voice from the navigational unit said, “In three-quarters of a mile, turn left on Kyote Road.”
Broken Toys Page 19