The small fires had burned out. An acrid smoky smell lingered in the air. As they approached the building, Jackie noticed a stirring on her right. She saw a man, black with burns, dragging himself toward the opening of the building. Jackie signaled to Michael, moved forward stealthily, and opened fire. Two shots and the movement stopped. Michael held up his hand. Everyone knelt down and paused. Nothing. The lack of response worried him.
They made their way up to the blast zone to find the guard Michael had shot plus two more bodies badly damaged from the explosions, no movement. Including the man Jackie had shot, that made four casualties in total. Michael signaled for Jackie and Clay to head over to the left wall where they could crouch out of view from the courtyard. Michael rested for a second, formulating their next move. He didn’t want to lead them into an ambush.
In the silence, they heard the approach of a vehicle from the south. Michael signaled for Jackie to watch the right and Clay to watch their six, then Michael crab-walked over to the corner and risked a glance. He saw headlights bouncing as an SUV struggled to find traction in the rough sandy terrain. There were two men in the vehicle, but he couldn’t make out their faces.
Unsure of who might be approaching from the south, Michael made his way back to Clay and Jackie. He spoke softly to Jackie, asking her to make her way over to the corner and take a quick look into the courtyard. “Tell me how many SUVs you see in there.” She crouch-walked over, glanced around the corner, and then signaled back with one finger.
Michael thought for a second. He knew ABCs had two SUVs. If there was only one in the courtyard, that would mean he had just seen the other. He waved Jackie back so she could resume watching their right, then made his way back to the corner of the building for another quick glance. Same headlights closer now. Must be him. He crouched down and prepared to fire on the oncoming vehicle.
𓂓
After talking to Michael, Slade had stared at the screen for several more minutes, rereading Luke’s file. It said that Jackie had killed him and the other man in self-defense. He huffed out a short breath in disbelief. Michael seemed to have some characteristic about him that either scared off dirtbags or drew in decent people. Moved by that thought, he got to work.
Knowing the DEA had a drone in the area, he wondered what they might do with the feed. In college, he had gravitated toward a lot of the more advanced, even shady tech guys, and his dark web skills had benefited from the associations. Slade imagined he could hack the drone’s video feed, maybe reroute it. It might be his only option because, so far as he knew, navigation of those things could not be hacked Whatever action he took would be traced—of that he was sure.
He leaned back and considered his options. Wait, what if I don’t care about being identified?
Slade went back to work. His hands danced over the keyboard, the mouse ticking, maneuvering him through the backdoors of the dark web. He sent a quick text to an old friend. If granted access, he could bounce from his location, through servers in Scandinavia, maybe Norden, then into the backdoor of a government server. He would be detected and blocked, but perhaps it would give him enough time to do what he needed to do, make sure the right people witnessed this as it unfolded.
Mark knew that nothing stirred people more than a live feed of someone’s struggle.
𓂓
Out of the silence, Dewey awoke to hear frantic commotion coming from the courtyard. Men shouting, doors slamming, footsteps across the basketball court. The clatter of automatic weapons being loaded and cocked as men scurried around outside. Then, as suddenly as it began, the commotion settled. Dewey relaxed and cautiously slid off the edge of his bed. As he walked slowly toward the door, hoping to peek out the window, several explosions rocked the building. The door to his cell rattled in its frame as the blasts seemed to rain down one after another. Bursts of angry orange-yellow light poured through the window of his cell door. Dewey pulled his arm up to shield his face and fell back in surprise, landing heavily on his rear end. When the explosions stopped, he rolled over onto his elbow and pushed himself up into a crouched stance. Fear and adrenaline surged through him as he stood poised like a scared cat in the middle of his cell.
Overcome with a combination of fear and self-preservation, Dewey headed to the door and pulled it slightly open, then paused. Thankfully, the hallway lights were off. Somehow, enough courage welled up inside of him and he pulled the door wide and moved out of his cell, keeping low along the windows as he headed to the door at the end of the hallway. He peered through the window and he didn’t see a guard. He tested the door—locked. If only he could shatter the little window. Then he remembered the ‘tools’ in ABCs’ torture room. He turned and raced back down the hallway, frantically trying to remember which of the plain repetitive doors was the one. After checking a couple locked doors, he realized it probably had been the room across from his cell. Cursing himself for not thinking straight, Dewey headed for the door. As he approached, he figured there would be no way ABCs would leave a room full of weapons unlocked with prisoners in unlocked rooms. Or was he that bold? Or careless? Maybe he wanted his captors to fight each other to the death. Sick bastard.
He finally reached the door of the room across from his. He noticed it was ajar. He reached out tentatively and placed a hand on the door to test it when a loud crack erupted from outside—a single report from a rifle some distance away. Dewey’s hand jerked back as if shocked. Tremoring slightly, he reached out again and pushed on the door. It budged. A firmer push and it unstuck, swinging wide open.
Dewey hurried through and over toward the closet. As he passed the torture chairs, he noticed a small table with a Ouija board on it. The ominous device emitted an invisible static hum that made him cringe as he walked past. The closet had been left open. Dewey surveyed the tool collection. His eyes rested on a shelf with various types of hammers. “Why do you need so many?” he whispered as he picked up a regular claw hammer. Making sure to give the Ouija board a wide berth, he hustled back out of the room.
Once Dewey was in the hallway, he began to run-walk toward the door. As he did, he looked out the windows to his left and saw a guard pushing himself out through the doorway on the opposite side of the courtyard, a look of anguish on his face. Blood stained the front of his shirt. Once through the door, the guard proceeded along the far wall, dragging one of his feet as he made his way toward the opening of the U-shaped building. Dewey pulled his attention back to his side and slowed as he approached the door at the end of the hall—no one there. He swung the hammer and cracked the glass. The impact sounded too loud. He stopped to check across the courtyard. The man was still moving slowly along the opposite wall, seemingly oblivious to Dewey’s noisy attempt. He paused for a moment to assess what he could. No other movement. Dewey noticed the lights had been turned off in the main room as well as the other hallway. That might help. He went back over to the door and gave the glass panel another solid hit and it broke through. He used the handle of the hammer to clean the glass from around the frame and reached through, unlocking the door.
Setting the hammer down quietly, he pushed the door open. It stuck momentarily and then released. Dewey stumbled into the main room, doing his best to keep low. He didn’t see any action outside besides the injured man, who was distracted with keeping himself slowly moving away from the main room along the wall. He saw the man pass the windows along the hallway then pause. Through the opening at the opposite end of the courtyard, he could see small fires burning. What the hell happened? With a nervous jolt, he bent over, trying to scramble unnoticed through the main room heading to the other side.
Suddenly, he heard the sharp pop-pop of a gun, causing him to clamp up and fall flat on the floor, his skin screeched on the smooth vinyl tile as he slid to a stop. He looked around in panic to see who might be coming after him, but no one did. He clambered on his stomach the rest of the way, past the small kitchen to the other door. He risked a glance into the courtyard and saw the guard collapsed in a heap on the ground beside the wall, not moving. Dewey shook his head and leaned back, gathering himself. First, he stepped into the kitchen for a quick look inside, but didn’t see anything out of the ordinary or anything to indicate the presence of a hidden door.
He returned to the doorway leading down the hall and turned the bolt lock. Slowly pulling the door open, he squeezed through and kept his hand on the door until it closed with a soft click. The hall was the same as the other. Plain doors down the outer side, windows along the inner side with rooms on the inner end of the hall.
He checked doors on the right as he worked his way down the hall. All locked, until he got about halfway to the end of the hall and saw the two doors on the left. The nearest one was ajar. A narrow beam of light bent along the floor and opposite wall. He heard muffled crying as he got nearer. He risked a peek inside but couldn’t make out anything. He ducked back and thought for a moment. This must be where the women are kept. Wondering if they were alone, he took the risk and pushed the door in a little. The cries got a little louder, more urgent. No male voice. Maybe they can help find the hidden hatch to the tunnels. “Hello,” he said softly. “I’m a prisoner too, from the other side of the building.” Dewey paused. No response.
“I won’t hurt you,” he said as he pushed the door open. The scene inside made his heart drop. Three unusually beautiful women, barefoot, wearing some sort of simple dress, cowered on the back corner of a bed, huddled around a small child while an apparent small war raged outside. Dewey recognized the little girl from the scene of the accident. Stunned, he found himself appalled at the sight. He knew ABCs was a criminal, but this? He shuddered at the thought of the life that awaited the girl. Elena turned her head from the protection of Carmen’s dress to look up at him, a questioning expression in her big eyes. He could only manage to keep eye contact for a brief moment before looking away. He looked back down the hall, stepped in, and pushed the door almost closed.
Dewey put both hands up in a surrendering gesture and looked at the women. “Please,” he said and knelt down by the door. He risked a quick scan over the faces of the women and the little girl. He had heard the stories of the brutality that occurred in this place. Now those stories were a reality displayed before him. Looking into the frightened eyes of these battered women, one thought became an inescapable truth—he had been serving a terrible evil. The lives of these poor souls had been sacrificed on the altar of ABCs’ pleasure. The guilt hit him like a punch in the gut. The humanity in him had been stomped down long ago as the money flowed in. But now, a lost part of him reached up from the depths of his own soul and grabbed him around the throat, choking the words out. “How can we get out of here?”
“We?” Rosaria muttered.
“Yes, let me help you.” Acting out his own emotions, a look of surprise came over Dewey’s face, then he flinched in response to his own words, hardly believing he uttered them. He looked down and the pack of cigarettes had appeared, the crushed box inviting him to light up. He glanced up at the women and shoved it back into his pocket.
“There is no way. If we try to escape and he finds out, it will be worse for us. And you,” Carmen said.
“Something is happening outside. A raid or something. This might be our chance,” Dewey replied.
“You don’t understand. We are in the middle of nowhere. Even if we get out, we wouldn’t know where to go. We would be walking around in the open. If we don’t die of thirst or worse, he will find us.”
“We have to try.” Dewey proceeded with his newfound determination. “I’ve heard there are tunnels. We could use them.”
“The tunnels are long and confusing if you don’t know the way,” Frederica said.
“It’s how he brought us in. We were blindfolded. We don’t know the route,” Carmen said. “Besides, He would know. He would track us down.”
“We have to try. He just killed my...” Dewey almost said ‘friend’. John had been anything but. “A guy I worked with. I’m probably next. I’m not going to wait around.” The women all looked at each other, a silent communication occurred between them.
Carmen spoke first. “Back up the hall, last door on the left or the first door you come to as you enter the hallway.”
“I checked it. It’s locked. How do I get in?” Dewey asked.
“He has keys. We don’t know. It’s always locked,” Carmen replied.
“Maybe I can kick it in.”
“They will hear you,” Rosaria said.
“No. There’s no one in the building. It looks like everyone is outside fighting.”
The women sat silently, absorbing the information.
“Please,” Dewey implored the women. “Come with me.”
