“And he’s spent the last twenty years putting together the perfect plan to exact it on those who took everything from him,” Mo says.
“Not perfect. He left enough breadcrumbs behind for us to find him,” I say.
“Unless that was his plan all along. Maybe he wants us there to see the grand finale he’s got planned. After all, what’s a show without an audience?” Astra offers.
It’s an unsettling idea, but given how meticulous his planning has been in every other way, it’s not one I can’t dismiss out of hand.
“You may be right. It might be part of his plan to have us there. Either way, though, it’s our job to be there,” I state firmly. “So, let’s go. We have kids to rescue.”
Chemier Furniture Warehouse, Fauquier County; Catlett, VA
About an hour and a half west of Senator Barlow’s place in Arlington is the small, rural town of Catlett. It’s a poor area that has wide open swaths of land. The old Chemier Furniture sits on the western edge of the town and is relatively isolated. It’s the perfect place to set up whatever chamber of horrors he’s set up and is holding the kids in.
“Gate’s open,” Astra says. “I’d say we’re in the right place.”
“Looks like,” I reply.
The narrow dirt road cuts through what’s become a wide field of untamed weeds and bushes. Once upon a time, it had been part of the campus of Chemier Furniture, a family-owned custom furniture-making company that had been operating since the early 1900s. A downturn in the economy about thirty years ago forced them to shutter the business, and the entire campus had been fenced off and sat empty until about ten years ago when Townsend, operating through Praxidice, Inc. purchased the land through Ultio, Ltd. and set this whole chain of events in motion: the ripple of his vengeance spreading outward like rings in a still pond that will change the lives of everybody it’s touched.
All for vengeance. All for love.
I pull to a stop in the cracked, pitted parking lot in front of one of the old buildings. Mo stops behind me, and we all climb out.
“Gear up,” I say. “Vests, sidearms, and long guns. And make sure you’re on comms—use channel two. We don’t know what we’re walking into, so be ready for anything.”
“Copy that,” they all reply.
We all take a few moments to get ready. My stomach is churning, and my heart is beating faster than hummingbird wings. The day is cool with a soft breeze, but underneath my vest, my body is already drenched with a nervous sweat. I don’t know how this is all going to play out just yet, but the one thing I’m already sure of is that it’s not going to have a happy ending. In one way or another, this scenario is going to finish with some sort of tragedy. I don’t pretend to be clairvoyant and don’t believe in all that mysticism garbage, but as I stare at the crumbling campus around us, I can feel it in my bones.
“Okay, we’ve got a lot of ground to cover,” I say. “Let’s spread out and look. Holler if you see anything and do not engage. Call for us, take cover, and wait for the cavalry. Clear?”
“Copy you,” they all reply.
“All right, let’s go.”
There are half a dozen buildings spread across the campus, all of them deteriorating and looking to be on the verge of collapsing after thirty years of disuse and neglect. The paint has long since faded, there are holes in the walls, the roofs are sagging, and jagged shards of glass remain sticking up in window frames like rows of broken teeth. The buildings are all in bad shape but would still be serviceable enough to hide four kids, and the parcel of land is isolated enough that nobody would even know they were there.
The barrel of my M4 leading the way, I stalk along the side of a large building, broken glass and gravel crunching beneath my boots. I frown when I notice dozens of bullet holes in the siding. It’s clearly a place the locals like to come when they want to blow off some steam. Why people think shooting up old buildings is relaxing or therapeutic is beyond me. Frankly, the bullet holes only add to the dystopian hellscape feel of the place, and my stomach tightens as I look around, waiting for the chainsaw-wielding cannibal mutant to pop out from behind a bush.
Just up ahead is the darkened hole where a door once stood. Now, there’s just a gaping hole, the door, like the windows around it, having been broken out long ago. The button clicks as I turn on the light attached to my weapon. Moving low and quickly, I swing in through the gaping maw and into the darkness beyond. The interior of the building is cavernous, and though the beam of light slices through the shadows, its reach isn’t that long, and most of the empty building remains inky black.
Well aware that my silhouette in the doorway makes me a perfect target, I quickly step to my right and into the shadows. Since it’s not doing anything more than giving away my position to somebody deeper in the building, I turn off my light, then give my eyes a few moments to adjust to the darkness. Once I’m able to see in the dim, ambient light, I can see that save for some stacks of crates, piles of what look like trash, and copious amounts of empty beer bottles and cans littering the floor, the cavernous warehouse is empty. The kids aren’t being held here.
Just as I turn to head back outside, the sharp chatter of gunfire shatters the silence, the sound so sudden and startling, it makes me jump.
“I’m taking fire,” Paige’s muffled voice comes through my earpiece. “Building four on the western side. I need help.”
I key my comm. “We’re on our way, Paige. Keep your head down.”
“Don’t have much of a choice.”
“Mo, Astra, get to Paige’s position,” I call out.
“Already moving,” Astra’s voice comes through the comm.
“Almost there,” Mo calls.
Racing out of the building I’m in, I head for Paige’s position, the knot in my belly so tight it’s painful. If anything happens to Paige—or any of my team—I don’t know that I’ll forgive myself. There are still times when I’m alone and the night is quiet that I remember what happened to Lucas and feel that familiar gut punch of rage and sorrow. The guilt I still feel over his close brush with death still haunts me. The people on my team are my responsibility. Making sure they get to go home to their loved ones is paramount to me. I would rather take a bullet than have any single one of them suffer even a scratch. So, hearing the rattle of gunfire and not knowing what the situation is has my heart in my throat.
A sharp squeal bursts from my throat when I round a corner. I immediately throw myself backward when I see the bright muzzle flash of the man on the roof of the building across the way. A chunk of the brick building explodes as the round tears into it and a line of fire burns my cheek. I grit my teeth and wipe it away. As fast as I am, I hadn’t been able to fully get out of the way of the debris thrown off by Townsend’s bullet.
Leaning back against the wall, I take a beat to catch my breath and slow my heart. That was uncomfortably close. My earpiece crackles, and Paige’s voice, strained and tense, rings in my ear.
“Chief, are you okay?” she asks.
“I’m good.”
“Townsend has the high ground,” she reports.
“You think?” I reply.
I lean out slowly to get a lay of the land. Townsend is up on the roof of the warehouse, but he’s looking the other way. Paige is pinned behind a concrete utility shed, and when I lean out a little farther, I see Mo and Astra sheltering behind the hollowed out, rusted remnants of a truck that looks like it’s been sitting there for decades.
“Mo, Astra, you two all right?” I ask.
