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Charlie huddled with Betty and four other hostages in a rear corner of the barracks. The group constituted an ad hoc leadership council, elected more through their willingness to lead than any democratic process. She and Betty sat side by side on the rear-most camp bed while the others either used the next bed over or squatted in the gap between the two. Many people rested on their cots, leaving Charlie and the others alone in the back.
Dave Draper, still shirtless, tended to be the most vocal and had been beating the same drum for the last ten minutes. “All I’m saying is, who’s next? I mean, that guy, he could... take anybody. Anybody.”
“We know that, but what are we going to do about it?” Dominick Migliozzi repeated for the third time in his thick Jersey accent. But whadda we gonna duabowddit? With olive skin, jet-black hair, and a tough-guy face, Migliozzi gave off the vibe of a full-on tommy-gun-toting, East Coast mobster. As it turned out, the guy owned a small chain of bakeries and designed wedding cakes for a living.
Charlie smiled, imagining Abel and Migliozzi attempting a conversation. It would be like a mule trying to understand a monkey. Abel. She turned her attention to the high, narrow window slit. He was out there somewhere. Charlie felt it in her bones. He might be unpolished—really, he was as rough as raw granite—but when it came to protecting his people, he wouldn’t bend, he wouldn’t break, and he wouldn’t back up. It warmed Charlie on the inside to know she topped the list of his people.
She studied the floor between her toes, having long since given up listening to the circular arguments among her fellow “leaders” of the captives. The floor consisted of two-by-six boards, she guessed, and based on the lack of give, they were nailed to joists. Below that? Dirt. Their group would have to somehow pull up a couple of boards then tunnel their way out. The Great Escape, Hawaiian Style.
The walls, now... The cot creaked when Charlie stood and stepped close to the wall. She felt Betty’s eyes on her as she examined the construction, which was like an unfinished house with exposed studs of two-by-four lumber framing the building. Horizontal cross pieces ran the length of the walls every two feet from top to bottom, creating a grid pattern of raw lumber. To that framework, twelve-foot-long one-by-six boards had been nailed vertically. Windows had probably been added afterward, cut out with a reciprocating saw and framed with more two-bys.
I’ve been watching Abel do home renovation more than is healthy. Two years ago, I wouldn’t have known a reciprocating saw from a banjo.
The builders had used nail guns to attach the one-by-six slats. She noted that at least two nails sticking through the boards had missed the frame, and they were tacky with the gluey substance she’d seen when Abel used a nail gun. He had also used colorful language to describe his thoughts about not hitting what he intended.
Hmm. A nail was not a box cutter, but it was better than harsh words and wishful thinking. Charlie pinched a nail between her fingers and gave it an experimental wiggle. Snug, but not immobile. Could she work it loose enough to pull through the board? It would require wallowing out the hole by working the shaft without bending it, widening it enough to pull the head through. She picked at the wood surrounding the protruding nail, earning a splinter in her finger for her trouble.
A presence appeared at her shoulder. Montelle.
“Would this help?” The soft-spoken singer held up a shiny object on a silver chain around his neck—a tiny spoon no more than three inches long.
A coke spoon? It has to be. Why else would you wear a spoon around your neck?
The singer offered a wicked grin. “They missed this when they searched me.”
#
YEAGER SNAPPED AWAKE in a full-body jerk. It was dark. The crushing sensation of having forgotten to do something very important squeezed his chest. His memory and situational awareness clicked into place like a mosaic of still images. Hawaii. Charlie held hostage. Pettigrew. Waterfall. Lying on a rock by a pond.
His jaw clenched. How could he fall asleep knowing Charlie was—once again—being held by people with bad intentions? She was undergoing a hellish experience, and here he was, having a nice nap by a tropical pool. Stupid, lazy...
The clock on his phone revealed he had slept about an hour. Dawn was not far off. Pettigrew snoozed cross-legged with his arms across his knees and his head down.
Yeager sat up, and every muscle from scalp to heel sang a ballad of pain—a whole choir of Oh, hell no—that hurts. Please don’t! He ignored the aches and shoved himself upright. His legs vibrated like tuning forks until he shook off the weakness and paced in a circle to get the blood moving again. Yeager stretched his calves by leaning against a tree. The aches receded as he warmed up the muscles. Quad stretches came next, followed by hamstrings and thighs.
Pettigrew looked up with bleary eyes. “We moving again, Staff Sergeant?”
“I am.” Yeager glared at the ridge top as though he could see the encampment with its guards and hostages. “Charlie’s waiting for me. First thing I’m gonna do is get me a firearm or two, then I’ll see what happens next.”
“Mm. Great plan, Sergeant. Why didn’t they make you an officer, tactical genius like that?”
Yeager twitched a smile at the old man. “I got a friend you need to meet. You and Por Que would be the best of buddies in no time. Yeah, the plan sucks. Sitting on my ass sucks worse. I want to start thinning out the herd up there. You need to slip around, get back to the trail so you can guide in the cavalry.”
“Jus’ in time to save the Lone Ranger from the injuns, huh?”
“Something like that.”
“You gonna get killed.”
“Look.” Yeager collected his thoughts. “Charlie’s been in a situation like this before. She still wakes up from nightmares after being kidnapped by a pair of lunatics.” Yeager’s hands closed to fists, and he spoke through gritted teeth. “She won’t tell me everything that happened that night, but I’m pretty sure one of them tried to... assault her. She’s tough,” he admitted with more than a little pride. “She killed both those fuckers. I hear the deputy that responded to the scene puked his guts out when he got a look at what she’d done. But... damn. I didn’t... couldn’t do anything to protect her that time.”
“Not again, huh?”
“Not again.”
“You sure this is your brain talking and not your balls?” Pettigrew asked.
“I’m a Marine, remember? Pretty sure they didn’t issue me a brain.”
#
KIMO EKEWAKA THREW his trash over the side of the ravine and listened to it bash and thump along the side of the cliff, ending with a muffled whump somewhere far below. He scratched his bare chest, yawned, and returned to what he called the commander’s cabin. The smaller hut was set back from the four longer barracks and contained amenities like a refrigerator, a microwave, a desktop fan, and a real bed with a mattress. The hut had its own personal generator-supplied power, so he had lights and a small television connected to an HD antenna.
He stripped the messy sheets off the bed and tossed them in a wadded ball into a corner. Some of the fluids had soaked through to stain the mattress. Kimo unrolled his sleeping bag over the gunk and lay down on top of it, wearing only his white boxers, letting the breeze from the small fan cool the sweat on his body.
It was too warm to get inside the bag—and too warm to sleep as well, but resting would be good. The next day would be quiet as the strike teams returned from their missions and everyone packed up their shit and left. In the evening, the Niho Niuhi would issue their manifesto via the internet, spiced up with videos of executing haole pigs, then they would burn the evidence, hop on a boat, and prepare for the coup de grace.
And after that?
“Fuck it,” Kimo growled to himself. He stretched out on the bed and covered his eyes with the crook of an elbow. He was too tired to worry about the future. The little Korean bitch had given him a good workout. He yawned. A real good workout. And maybe in the morning, he would be ready to get in some more exercise.
Heh-heh. College Boy would go all green when he pulled another woman out of the pack and dragged her off for some vigorous PT. He had his eye on the skinny blond woman, though the redhead who’d stood up to him looked like a great workout partner. That bitch had some fight to her. Be fun to find out if the carpet matches the drapes. Kimo relaxed, visions of red pubic hair bringing a sleepy smile to his face.
#
AS YEAGER NAVIGATED the base of the cliff toward the cut, something heavy bounced down the escarpment and nearly landed on his head. A flash of a light-toned object crossed in front of him and thudded to brush-choked rocks a few yards away. His brain tried to make sense of what he’d seen. A deer had fallen off the cliff? A sandbag had tumbled loose? Neither of those fit.
Behind him, Pettigrew hissed, “What was that?”
Yeager held up a hand and crept forward to get a better look. When he reached the bushes—
Aw, no. Hell, no.
The naked, torn body of the activity director from the Fair Breezes, Lu Kim, draped the rocks and brush like a discarded towel. Yeager forced himself to examine her body, and what he saw turned his stomach. The tiny woman had suffered before dying. She’d suffered more than any human ever should. Acid welled up from his stomach, and Yeager gritted his teeth, clenching his eyes tightly to keep the scream of anger buried inside.
Pettigrew appeared beside him. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.”
“They’re not here.”
Yeager welcomed the anger into his system. It was metered out in a steady drip, like an IV. Anger triggered his old friend, the warrior. The warrior killed without remorse. Hard. Fast. Merciless.
The beast inside had grown sleepy, complacent. Marriage, fatherhood, and the soft life of a modern man—fixing the plumbing, grocery shopping, beers, and barbecues—had dulled his edge. The warrior had gone to sleep, locked in its cage, buried deep in his psyche. He had thought, after Mexico, he’d put the warrior to rest forever.
When he spoke to Pettigrew, his voice came out frigid as icicles snapping. “We need to take care of her. Can’t leave her like this.”
“I’ll do it.” The old vet straightened and met Yeager’s eyes. “You need to go kill some people that need it bad.”
Yeager nodded once. Roger that.