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MOANS ECHOED FROM THE paneled ceiling. Brenda moved her arms where she sat, testing for soreness. She and Jenny had fallen down the stairs at the house, landing on the men swarming into the front door. Hard. She couldn’t have run, even if she hadn’t tumbled down twelve steps into captivity.
Stagnant air pressed heavily on her limbs. Or maybe that was the person leaning against her. Little light penetrated the deep viscosity of the room. A high school gym? Squeaks echoed as people shuffled around, reminding Brenda of a Girl Scout sleepover long ago in junior high.
She must have a small concussion. Focusing was next to impossible. Careful not to jar any potential injuries, Brenda turned her head and glanced down at the young girl leaning on her arm. She recognized her, but from where? Pushing through the haze thickening with each throb of her pulse, the name... Jamie? Jessie? Jenny? Jenny, that’s it. Jenny. But where... Ah, Rachel’s. Hopefully, Rachel was safe.
The smell of burnt flesh curdled in the back of her throat. Her stomach growled in spite of the nauseating odor. When she’d left orthopedic surgery, she’d sworn to never endure that scent again. But fate, it seemed, hated her. And her nursing side was unable to sit still while sounds of pain wracked the closed in building.
Easing from beneath Jenny’s head, she set the sleeping girl onto the ground where Brenda had sat. Brenda stood and stretched, noting any discomfort or twinges. Collections of people bundled together like bunches of grapes, ripe for the picking.
A partially hung banner declared the gym as the home of the “Fighting Trojans”. So they were in Post Falls, Idaho in the high school which meant they’d been captured and taken to a cattle roundup while Spokane continued to burn across the state line in Washington.
How long would people survive the horrors being committed?
Brenda’s dry lips itched. They’d crack soon and she didn’t have any Chapstick. But her lips weren’t giving off the burned flesh smell.
The clusters of people gave wide berth from a pile in the corner. Few flies hovered, but if whatever wound wasn’t treated soon, there would be plenty more. Glancing once more at Jenny who hadn’t stirred, Brenda picked her way over the sea of limbs and torsos to the corner. The smell increased, mixing with the smell of unwashed bodies.
Her eyes watered. Breathing through her mouth seemed the only logical way to keep from passing out. She slowed. Did she really want to help? She wasn’t getting paid. The person was most likely dead anyway. What did she care about helping anyone? No one was checking on her. But still she pressed forward, stretching her hand out as she leaned forward. As much as she faked heartlessness, she’d never pull it off.
Charred strips of clothing camouflaged a pink mass below. She stumbled, her foot pushing the person’s leg and causing a moan. Oh, no. “I’m sorry, are you okay?”
No answer. Of course, why would they answer such a ridiculous question. She knelt down beside the body and, with care, pulled the damp shirt, musty with sweat and stained red with blood, from the main part of the head, revealing a disfigured ear and the first half of a face. Brenda gasped, clenching her fingers.
“Andy?”
The man moaned. Brenda had never been so glad to see her brother-in-law in her life. “Andy, can you hear me?” Shaky, he nodded and struggled to sit up. Brenda slid her arm under his ribs and he squeaked. “Oh, I’m sorry. Are you that bad all over?”
Infection. Check for infection but there wasn’t enough light. If she could get the wounds exposed, the flies might be able to lay eggs in any raw or necrotic tissue. It might be the only chance he had at survival. The filth of the other prisoners, at least in the dark, belied any suggestion of being treated well.
She had to figure out how to fix him. Brenda needed Andy, but not as much as he needed her.
His lips moved and a small sigh escaped. Brenda leaned closer, careful not to touch any part of him. The burns had no known limit and Brenda would be damned if she’d peel off anymore of his delicate skin. Delicate? She’d never attributed fragility to Andy. Big bad Andy.
“What’d you say?”
A whisper pushed past his lips. “Rach...”
“Oh, Rachel. I don’t know where she is. I’m kind of glad she’s not with you.” She glanced over her shoulder, but turned back quickly. “How’d you end up in the fire? Why aren’t they with you? I went to your house, and met up with some kids who’d broken in.”
Andy smacked his lips like he searched for water, but came up dry. He had to be in serious pain. Rachel could barely make out his features, let alone the varying degrees of burn damage. She’d have to see clearly in order to pick at any crispy parts that had to come off. Maggots couldn’t eat burned tissue with their soft mandibles and the small creatures were Brenda’s only option for staving off infectious processes.
“I’m sorry, I don’t have any water. Is there a part that hurts more than any other?” She swallowed.
He shook his head. “Can. I. Sit.” He fought for control of muscles in his arms and legs that visibly spasmed and shook. Andy’s condition was harder for Brenda to see than the pain and despair spread over the room like tar on a road.
“I’ll put my hand under your arm, yeah, like that, and scoot you, yeah, like that. Okay. All set.” He still resembled a pile of burned rags, but at least his head was above his heart which lessened the shock to coherent thought processes.
What she desperately needed included clean, boiling water, linens, thread, and gauze. Even iodine would be fantastic. And what she wouldn’t trade for some Lidocaine and Marcaine.
Rachel moved her hand to Andy’s top shirt. He stopped her with fingers on her arm. The damage free flesh surprised her and she froze. Maybe all of him wasn’t hurt. That would make the debridement easier. She looked into his face.
Blisters, some popped and oozing clear fluid reflected the minuscule light seeping from the Plexiglas along the side walls. Bumps and swollen areas disfigured his face, but the slant of his forehead and angle of his nose were distinctly Andy and the burns couldn’t hide that. Maybe the fire had burned away some of his ego, too.
Brenda sighed. Even during desperate times, she was still catty toward him and she had no right. Sensitivity. She needed to be more caring toward others. Taking care of the physical needs didn’t constitute bedside manner. She’d been called in to the supervisor’s office a few days before her trip south and reprimanded for her brisk manner.
She preferred to be called cynical. Brisk was rather mild. “Andy, I can’t do much for you until I figure out what’s going on. Can you wait here?” Brenda took his moan as agreement. There wasn’t much else it could be. What would he do, say no? Then what? Hold her down and make her cough up morphine for his pain? He could barely breathe, let alone lift a hand.
Patting the ground next to him instead of his arm or shoulder – she had no idea what was burned and what wasn’t – Brenda stood and turned to face the overwhelmingly large gymnasium. Packed. People were everywhere. Who held them? Maybe if she figured that out, she’d understand their circumstances a little more. Although attacking already devastated people gave quite a bit away on character and the possibilities were grim.
Brenda’s chest hurt. Her sister was gone. Her brother-in-law was injured to a level she’d never seen before. And her niece and nephews... Tears threatened but she shoved them away. Stalwart, she tugged her professionalism around her and became Nurse Brenda, boss of the floor and hell to pay should any doctor or patient get in her way.
Captives to the right didn’t move, Jenny somewhere in the tangled mass. To the left, moaning and squirming people appeared to be in more pain. Brenda squared her shoulders. She could do this. Triage would be the name of the game and she’d use what she had nearby.
Feet from the halo segregating Andy and the crowd, a trio clutched hands, eyes closed as if in prayer. Brenda’s muscles ached. The more she moved the worse she felt. But she’d get through the room or fall down, only to get back up. If she didn’t focus on something besides what was going on, she’d slip into insanity.
She approached the threesome and addressed the taller male. Soot and dirt disguised his skin color and red shot eyes peered from under a broken Mariner’s brim. “Is everyone okay here? I’m a nurse. Do you need me to look at any wounds?”
He shook his head, casting his eyes down. A small woman turned her tear-streaked face to Brenda, her words audible if Brenda strained hard and focused. “We have children... missing. How do we find them?”
Brenda swallowed. Missing persons wasn’t her job description. Truth be told, she had only come over to figure out what was going on herself. She wanted to lose it, too, cry over the ones she couldn’t find, even the one she didn’t want found. “I’m not sure. I don’t even know why we’re here.”
The woman looked away and the small cloister shut off further conversation. Their backs formed a tight barrier between them and a couple sitting on the bleachers inches away. Dismissed, Brenda moved on to the next group.
Snarls commanded the mass of long hair on the first woman. She had pushed it behind her neck and tucked the ends into her jacket. The heat of the day and cool nights confused the need for a jacket. Even tangled, her hair was cleaner than the previous group and dirt didn’t cover her or her partner’s faces.
A touch to the woman’s shoulder, Brenda smiled when both pairs of eyes turned to her. “I’m a nurse. Can I help you? Are you hurt?”
The woman nodded, her feverish eyes twinkling. “My ankle. We tried running, but I fell and he turned back to help me and...” Her words broke on a sob. She reached for her ankle and looked around the gym. “...they got us. I can’t...”
The man pulled her closer, hugging her into his arms. Crinkles on his weathered cheeks declared happiness past, but pulled down at the dismal circumstances they faced. Brenda nodded. The woman lifted her leg and Brenda pulled the shoe and sock from a very swollen foot.
Brenda bit her tongue. Green flesh pulled taut across blue, purple, and mauve flesh, the ankle bone indiscernible under the engorged balloon of infection. But where was the laceration for the infection to get in? Without gloves, Brenda’s caution raised to new levels of alert. The discarded sock would have to do as a simplified barrier between her flesh and the diseased.
She held the heel. A quarter-sized hole on the rear portion under the Achilles’ tendon seeped a pink-green pus, eliciting a sickly-sweet odor wafting through the stench of too many people in too tight a place. How did she hide this? Without immediate antibiotics, the woman’s lower leg would need to be amputated. Without antibiotics in the next day or so, the woman would be buried.
“How long have you been in here?” Brenda wiped at the wound with the wadded sock, increasing the flow of the fluid from the wound.
The couple looked at each other for the answer. The man spoke, his eyebrows pinched together as he considered his answer. “Three days now? Since the first day of the attacks. We’d run to the store to check on getting a generator. We need the fridge to run for our grandson’s milk. Men in black were everywhere. We got out of our car and tried to run, but...” He motioned toward the gym, encompassing the situation with his sigh.
He seemed beaten, like he didn’t think it could get any worse. Brenda hated to push him from the small amount of security he had left.
Smiling through terrible news had never been her forte. As a rule, she told all of her patients the truth, nothing hid in her blunt honesty, and most thanked her. But those situations had controlled care and medication on hand. Even flood-and-quake survivors had taken the truth easier. Even though they’d had a tragedy behind them, help had arrived. They could handle whatever came next with assistance.
But in her captive state? Brenda didn’t know how much help she would be for those who didn’t see an end in sight.
Brenda glanced into the eyes of the man. A conversation filled with regret on her side and sad resignation on his passed in their gazes. She opened her mouth to offer comfort but was seized from behind by rough hands. Spun around like a small doll, she gasped. The man holding her hid under a black hat. His eyes were blue as ice and hard, expectant. A small zing slid into her stomach.
He looked over his shoulder while his fingers bit into her upper arms. His grip edged on painful. “This isn’t her.” A melodic voice contrasted with the chiseled anger in his jaw. Who wasn’t she? She angled her head to see behind him but weak sounds of struggling distracted her from his hold.
A voice, small in the crowded room whimpered, “Let me go.”
Brenda whipped her upper body from one of his fists.
A man dressed in black inspected the lady’s foot. Her frightened whimper rose to a squeal when he dropped it to the ground. Waving over his shoulder, he issued clipped words in what sounded like German but could just as easily be Austrian. He spun toward Brenda.
Shorn hair under a tight black painter-style hat added to the angry slashes of his features. His gray gaze cut from his squinted eyes and a cruel smile twisted his face into a horror mask.
Two different men, similarly dressed, pushed past Brenda and the apparent man in charge. One pulled the woman from her husband’s grasp while the other pulled out a small pistol. Before Brenda could protest, the muzzle of the gun met the injured woman’s temple and a small pop permeated the despair in the room.
Air in Brenda’s chest escaped on a whoosh. The woman’s partner cried out, his face dissolving into a mass of anguish. He clawed at her body, pulling her limp form onto his lap as he slid to the floor. Sobbing, he rocked her, back and forth, ignoring the guttural commands to release her. His arms like iron, he refused to let her go. Refused. Refused. Shaking his head no.
A collective groan swept the room. Others clutched together tighter, as if safer in groups.
Brenda’s stomach twisted and she gasped against the feeling of a fist leaving her abdomen. Quit saying no, she wanted to scream at the new-widower. He shook his head against their demands.
Brenda glanced at the crowd of people. Why wasn’t anyone trying to help? How could they stand by doing nothing? There were more of them than the men in black. The tilt of heads and shoulders screamed they’d had enough. Too much had happened to the survivors in the room. Guns were enough to keep even the strong subdued, but a personality beaten down and traumatized didn’t stand a chance against the violence a gun promised. How long had they all been cooped up in their prison?
Swiveling her head toward strangled sobs, Brenda raised her hand. The same gun met the grieving man’s temple while he was pinned down by hands wrapped around his neck. Another pop and the bodies slumped against each other.
Without thinking, anger pure and hot filled her limbs with courage she didn’t understand, Brenda pulled from the man holding her. She rushed to the dead pair she’d offered to help. Kneeling beside them, death more painful to her than a wound or poor prognosis, Brenda’s voice was surprisingly strong. “How dare you?”
She raised her tear-filled eyes, but met the gaze of her captor instead of the man who’d ordered them shot. What kind of a man would allow that to happen? His lips were tight, his jaw clenching and unclenching. But he studied her with eyes that had lost their cemented edge. She answered the question in his gaze with contempt riddling through hers.
Brenda pressed a finger to the neck of the woman then the man in a vain attempt to find some sign of life. Hope, even when the worst seemed inevitable. Finding nothing but warm pliable flesh, she bit out her words. “Why are we here? If you’re going to kill us, then do it, get it over with.” She stood, back straight, and raised her chin to challenge the man to send the next bullet rummaging through her brain.
The leader looked up from inspecting his fingernail. A tightening of his cheeks before he stepped close to her, his face an inch from her own. Burnt tobacco on his breath, while horrid, had a distinct difference in horrendous from the smell of the injured and dying. Both made her want to throw up but she wouldn’t dare. She’d swallow whatever bile came up.
In a husky whisper, dark as the black irises pointed her way, he said, “I dare? I can do whatever I want. You’re my test subjects and that is all. Like slaves.” The accent added a silky slide to his words, like an educated Brit. But when he leaned back and eyed her head to foot and leaned in again, he was anything but civilized. “I can do whatever I want.” He licked at a white blob of spittle in the corner of his mouth. Eyelids lowered in suggestion.
“We’re not slaves. We’re Americans.” The sentences paired together bolstered her waning courage. Brenda wanted to run and hide under Andy’s tattered clothing, pretend she was home, in bed, with Lee, bastard that he was. She stopped herself from playing the game she and Rachel had perfected growing up. Fear was fear and you had to face it. Rachel had learned to run. Brenda had learned to fight. She stood to gain some more ground.
The blue-eyed man slapped the leader’s shoulder and tossed a comment in their shared language, dripping sarcasm. His words didn’t need interpretation as his eyes raked her frame. A genuine half-smile pushed a dimple into his cheek, disarming Brenda. She flushed. Damn his hide.
The gray-eyed leader nodded, a chilling smile curving his lips. “Yes, you are American.” He turned and spread his arms out as if to embrace the room, calling to the lost people in the gym. “Americans. You built your great country on the backs of others. The most powerful, yet you did so with slaves. You’re numbered like cattle and you have so much land.” He turned to Brenda and lowered his voice. “We shall whittle you down until your resources are all that’s left.” His eyebrow raised at the question she couldn’t bring herself to ask, but she knew her face nearly screamed with expression. He nodded. “Of course. We are all over your country. You have no one to turn to. You’ll be dead in days.”
Abruptly, he turned from her and said to the blue-eyed man, “Daniel, I’m bored. Bring her for interrogation. She knows something.”
Brenda didn’t have the knowledge to analyze the psychosis in his words. Her sister had learned the pseudo science while Brenda had decided on nursing. She understood the tissues, the flesh. Not the mind. But something had to be gained by saying it in English so she could understand. What? Fear?
Walking away, he flicked something onto the ground and kicked a leg out of his way. Other captives around the gym scuttled from his path. He ignored them.
Brenda watched, unable to face the man who’d held her and had been ordered to bring her from the group. He baffled her and she didn’t do well with puzzles. Part of her wanted to shoot him, while another reminded her of the heat of his hands on her, even through the material of her shirt.
Think. If Daniel could watch others die at the hands of his own team, would he allow the same to happen to Andy? Most likely. Andy was nothing special to them. She was nothing special regardless of the meaning in his gaze.
Before she could consider strategy, Brenda met his eyes again, fear and anxiety pushing the words from her mouth in a speedy dribble of fear, laced with composure. “I’m a nurse. I can take care of these people so they won’t be a bother.” She glanced down at the bodies. “You don’t need to dispatch anymore because they’re sick.”
He followed her gaze, considering her proposition. His hand stung her skin as his fingers slid down to her forearm.
Like a button had been pushed, tenderness filled his eyes, reaching for her across the inches separating them. The soft roll of his accent softened the quiet steely challenge in his words, low and meant for her ears only. “She would have been dead soon, anyway. She was green. And he wouldn’t be worth anything, grieving for her.” His explanation confused her. Did he mean to bend? Did he think she was going to capitulate? She wasn’t into Stockholm’s and understood the syndrome enough to watch for signs. And it didn’t matter what he said, he wasn’t the boss.
A different man, faceless in her efforts to not see him, coughed and shifted his feet. A line of sweat ran between her shoulder blades. What would happen if she left the room? What could she know? Why her?
“Come on.” Daniel pulled on her arm.
Tightening her legs, she pulled against his pressure and allowed fear to screw up her features. “I don’t want to. Please, sir, I can help these people.”
His eyes softened further, matching his tone. The grip on her morphed and his thumb caressed her elbow. “The name is Daniel. I won’t let you get hurt, but you need to come with me and watch yourself.” He glanced at the handful of men surrounding them and lowered his tone further. “Don’t provoke anyone and take whatever they give you.”
Confusion halted her struggles. Turning from him as if to look once more on the dead couple, Brenda cast her gaze toward Andy’s inert form. She’d go. But then what? She nodded. “Okay.” But her meek tone hid her determination to return. No man was going to cow her again. Lee failed and he’d been a poor excuse for a man. Any guy who still had to rape their wife couldn’t be considered a real man – in her opinion. Daniel... well, he seemed to be made of tougher stuff, but she wouldn’t beg again. No matter what.
Following behind Daniel, Brenda stared straight ahead. She couldn’t face the people she left in the gym. Not after the people she’d tried to help had died. The remaining captives probably wouldn’t let her help them now.
Another man, dressed much the same as the men corralling her, opened the gym doors from the well lit hallway. Brenda blinked. She’d acclimated to the low lighting, had grown comfortable in the relative cover of the darker confines of the gym.
She focused on as many details as she could. The hall was nothing extraordinary with boring, neutral colored linoleum surrounded by orange lockers, black and orange banners and streamers celebrating the pending graduation. Nothing special, yet each tile and corner seemed placed with care just for her.
In front of her, Daniel walked with military grace. The lines of his back and shoulders broad, trimming to a tight waist wrapped in utility belts. A gun grip winked in the lights at her from the small of his back. She averted her gaze, looking up. The black RΨP on his right lower neck screamed at her. She stumbled and shook, catching herself with an outstretched hand.
Rachel. How did Rachel play into the nightmare Brenda and the rest of the world was caught up in? Her sister had the same tattoo.
~
SHE COULDN’T SNAP OUT of the fog in her head. The Rhode Island Psychology Project had been few in number and traumatizing to every member. Brenda remembered when Rachel returned from the two-month-long trip. It was the longest Rachel had ever been away from her kids or her husband. She’d called Brenda for a ride home from the airport.
Brenda had stared out the windshield while her sister had curled into a ball and cried like a small child.
Brenda would never forget that night and how she’d felt like she’d picked up someone else’s sister.
The distinct guttural edges of the leader’s voice prodded at the vestiges of lingering daze in her head. She focused on his words. “Are you Dr. Rachel Parker? I’m not going to ask again.”
She shook her head. “No.” The man sat across from her. She’d at least been given a seat. Odd, she’d been left alone with him for the moment.
He’d commandeered the principal’s office and stripped the walls and desk of memorabilia. The pile of pictures and trophies and miscellaneous items spilled from the corner under the window. He spewed cigarette smoke into the air and tapped the burning end of the cig onto the desktop.
“Who are you?” He raised his eyebrow and raked her with his gaze.
Hell no. “Who are you?”
He laughed. “Me? I’m no one of consequence. But you’re looking for a name, aren’t you? Lieutenant-colonel Gustavson.” He leaned forward, his breath blowing the black and white ashes around the wooden desk. A knock on the door and he raised his head. “Lieutenant Bastian, enter.”
Brenda refused to look around. She held her gaze on Gustavson’s face, but felt the new presence come to stand behind her. “Sir, I brought the insignia you requested.”
“Perfect.” Gustavson’s hard face broke on a smile devoid of delight but filled with anticipation. He returned his stare to Brenda. “Your name?” He cut her off before she could begin. “Does she really look like Dr. Parker, Daniel?”
Brenda sat up straighter and interrupted their side conversation. “My name is Brenda Krous. I look like her because I’m her sister. Why do you want her?”
The man beside her inhaled sharply. He moved around behind the leader and watched her face. Daniel. He’d known Rachel. Somehow. They had the same tattoo in the same spot.
Gustavson laughed, the sound oily and sharp. “I want you to be difficult, Brenda. Certainly, I want answers, but I want this to be worth my time as well.” He pulled a new cigarette from his inner breast pocket and twirled it between fingers with the grace of a pianist. “Dr. Parker is... shall we say, valuable for reasons I don’t think are pertinent to this visit. Call it personal business, if you will. Regardless, I want you to tell me everything you know about her work.”
Daniel’s eyes narrowed. His nostrils flared. Brenda had the distinct impression he was angry. But she hadn’t done anything. She needed to get back to Andy, to check on him. Check on the other people. Angering the captors wasn’t the brightest route to those goals. But what did they want? She held up her hands, palms open. “I’m not sure what you want me to say? I don’t know much about her work. I’m biological and she’s psych. We don’t understand the other.”
“You mean to tell me, she never spoke of any of the tests or any of the jobs she took over the years?” He leaned back, comfortable in his role. “You think I’m going to believe that?”
She shrugged. The stale air in the small office stifled her. What was she doing? Fatigue and hunger combined and she snapped, “Look, I don’t care what you believe. She hasn’t had another job since Rhode Island two years ago. She’s never been the same. She won’t talk about it, won’t even stay in the room, if you ask.”
Daniel stood behind the lieutenant-colonel. He closed his eyes and ducked his head for a moment.
Gustavson held out his hand to Daniel. “Give me the brand, Lieutenant.”
Daniel lifted his head and placed it in the outstretched hand. He glanced her way, for a moment, then trained his eyes on the wall opposite him. He clenched his teeth.
The hair on the back of Brenda’s neck tingled. What the hell did he need a brand for?
“What did she say about Rhode Island, Brenda? Did she tell you about the tests she designed and tried on herself and others? Did she share with you her work for other countries?” The seated man shook his head, rolling the end of a stick the size of a skewer in his hands. Fidgety people annoyed her.
Thinking of Rachel the way he painted her was next to impossible. Brenda scoffed at her fear and at him. “Look, you need to investigate a bit more. I haven’t been close to Rachel since that damn project – whatever it was. I never get to see her family and I have no idea what she’s been up to, just the briefest information gathered between holiday and birthday calls. We used to be close. I don’t think we have anything in common anymore.” She bit her lip. Truth hurt and damn if she wanted to be in pain around the enemy. Brenda didn’t care why they were doing what they were doing. The simple fact that she’d watched a man kill two innocent people and walked away ate at her.
“Do you know where your sister is?” He stood, slow, and rounded the desk to rest his hip on the corner. The stick in his hands didn’t stop moving.
Something was important about the – what had he called it? – brand, but Brenda couldn’t catch the meaning. She sighed. “No. I was at her house. You found me there, but not her. Obviously, we have the same information on her whereabouts.”
“Assuming what you say is true I’m going to help you find something... in common with your estranged sister.” He held the tip of the stick out to her. “Do you recognize that insignia, Brenda?”
Backwards, the RΨP didn’t seem as intimidating. Brenda’s gaze flitted from the silver quarter-sized end to Daniel’s flushed face. What the hell was going on? She nodded, tilting her head back to refocus on Gustavson’s hard features. He pulled a small stainless steel Zippo lighter from his pocket.
He fingered the rounded square and flipped the lid. A steady flame hypnotized Brenda. Was he seriously going to light up again? Didn’t they teach about the dangers of smoking in Europe? Whatever kept him calm, she’d keep quiet. Daniel hadn’t moved.
“Do you know what it stands for?” Gustavson rotated the stick through the orange heat. The oval moved and licked at the metal, looking for something to burn. Brenda couldn’t look away, like a bad accident on the freeway. In a trance, she almost missed him jerk his head to Daniel who moved behind her seat. Gustavson’s hands held her attention. His voice fell into a slippery moan, “It stands for Rhode Island Psychology Project. That’s the psi symbol you see there in the middle. Didn’t Rachel have one of these symbols tattooed on her neck?”
Brenda stiffened in her seat. What the hell was he getting at? Rachel never pulled her hair up unless her neck was covered. How did he know about the tattoo, unless he had one, too? She tilted her head and shifted her gaze upward. “Do you have one?”
“No, dear Brenda. I’m not smart enough to earn one. Daniel here, is, and your sister is or was, depending on her plight.” He moved the flame around, the metal red as it troved through the heat. “I don’t have any tattoo equipment on me and I’m not much of an artist, but I think you’re smart enough to have the same mark as your sister. You can consider it a step towards reinstating your flailing relationship.”
Brenda yanked her head back. What? She wasn’t some animal to be marked. How dare he? Daniel couldn’t stand for that. Could he? He’d been nice to her, like he would protect her, right? What Gustavson suggested was far worse than her getting shot in the head.
“I don’t know what you’re doing, but I don’t know anything. Why would you do that? I’m not a psychologist. I wasn’t there.” Brenda bit back the whimper rising in her throat. He moved closer. Panic welled within her. She moved to stand, but arms, hard with betrayal pushed her down and pinned her to the chair.
“Don’t take this personally. I can’t find Dr. Parker, so I’m sending her a message. We’ll call it a thank you and warning wrapped in a beautiful package. If you hold still and don’t fight, it won’t hurt as bad. Or so I’ve been told.” He pushed on her head behind her ear and brushed the hair off her neck.
She’d never hated her size more. If she were Rachel’s size, she’d be able to fight more effectively. Daniel didn’t move a fraction when she struggled against his hold. She was strong, but the bastard was stronger. She froze. If she struggled, who knew where that thing would land, or even if he really meant to plant it. Daniel was just one more man trying to control – son of a BITCH! Pain shot up her neck and covered every nerve ending in her body.
A scream tore through her throat. Unable to disguise her agony, she bit her tongue, a coppery taste spilling into her mouth. Her eyes rolled back in her head. But she wasn’t given the relief of passing out. Nope, not Brenda.
The acrid scent reached her nose at the same time the sizzle of her skin reached her ears. He pressed harder. Into the meat. Her scream escaped and somehow, the pain ebbed.
Nope, that was her bladder relieving itself.
~
BURSTS OF WHITE FLASHED across Brenda’s vision. The pain had morphed into a creature all its own and sat on her shoulder in the crease of her neck picking and pulling and pinching with razor sharp nails. She moaned.
The men had left soon after she’d wet herself. A different man altogether had flung towels through the door before slamming it shut again. She’d allowed herself to pass out. Judging by the warm saturation of her clothing, she hadn’t been out for long. Minutes at the most.
She pushed herself up from the slouch she’d fallen into, her upper arms protesting where Daniel had held her down. Her chair creaked. She froze, looking down. She’d soaked the chair and down onto the floor. At least it had only been her bladder. Nursing had prepared her for worse, but thank heaven she didn’t have to clean up herself much.
Strands of hair grazed the new wound. Brenda flinched. Her hair had fallen out when she’d been captured, but she needed a rubber band to pull it back. But nothing. She glanced at the door. No one stood sentry inside. Maybe the principal’s desk had a couple in a drawer or something.
She wrapped her hair into a fisted mass with one hand while the other swabbed at the mess she’d made of her jeans with a towel. She left the floor alone. They wanted it cleaned, they could do it. She rounded the desk and fumbled with her free hand to pull the drawers open, every movement eliciting another round of hell to drive through her body. Who in the hell branded anymore? She wasn’t a damn cow. Leave it to her to make jokes when she was upset. Like people who laugh at funerals. Or brandings.
A message and warning to Rachel, her ass! They could have written her something. Brenda would have delivered it. The second drawer down had a variety of rubber bands, paperclips, sticky notes and pencils. A pencil or a paperclip might come in handy. She tucked her shirt into her jeans and grabbed handfuls of the office supplies. Another glance at the door and she shoved the small items down her shirt.
Was it stealing if it was from someone who held you captive and burned you? She hoped so.
She snapped the drawer shut and twisted her hair up with the rough rubber. Now what?
A shadow appeared at the door. Brenda tensed, leaning forward into a defensive stance. Her collar rubbed the burn and she jerked upright. Dammit.
Bastian the Bastard poked his head around the door. He offered a sheepish smile. Seriously? “How you doin? Ready to go back?”
Brenda stared at him. Comprehension evaded her. Had he just asked her if she was ready to go in a Mister Roger’s voice? She nodded dumbly and stepped forward to follow him. Her wet jeans chafed her skin.
Outside the door, the empty hall seemed different. Because Brenda was different. She didn’t know how, besides physically, but her perception had changed. Rachel would have to explain it to her.
Daniel moved to her side and raised his arm like he meant to place his hand on her back. She jerked to the side, aware of the ache where his hands had been the last time he’d touched her. A pencil rolled against her skin and shifted on the other supplies.
He dropped his hand. “Is there anything you need to treat...” He waved in the direction of her neck but looked at her face. “That?”
She couldn’t even see it, let alone know how to treat it. But Andy was burned and she had a feeling she needed more items for the other captives. “How much can I get of what I need?”
He arched his brow. “What exactly are you thinking?”
Brenda’s empty stomach tightened. “I still want to help those people in the gym. You don’t need to continue to kill them.”
His blue eyes dulled. He shook his head. “I don’t think I can help you. The lieutenant-colonel has plans for those people. I’m not in a position to interfere.”
Position... “Then why did you promise you wouldn’t let me get hurt?”
“I won’t let you get hurt.” He lowered his gaze to her lips. “I’ll do my best.”
Brenda’s eyes widened. Had she stepped into the Twilight Zone? “Are you kidding?” She pulled her collar further from her skin and angled her neck. “What the hell do you call this? A hickie?” She snapped her head forward and poked her finger toward his chest. “You held me down. Explain that.” Circumstantial attraction. That’s what she’d call it. Why did she even care what his explanation was? He’d held her down. He wore the same uniform as Gustavson. A gun rode his waist. He was a captor. She didn’t owe him anything and hell, he didn’t owe her anything.
She rolled her eyes. The pain was turning into righteous anger and when Brenda got going, she didn’t stop. “Forget it. I don’t really care. I’m going to hold you to me taking care of those people. To do it, I need bandages, pain meds, petroleum jelly or antibiotic ointment and water. If you can get some food together, I’d suggest you bring that, too.” Solid thuds from the soles of her borrowed hiking boots, echoed down the hall. She didn’t need his escort to the gym. She’d find it on her own, if they’d let her go alone.
Looking back wasn’t an option. What could he do? Shoot her? Yes. But would he? He’d proven he wasn’t as nice as he seemed to want her to believe. How far was he willing to go? Her stomach forgot to care with her heart taking over. It triple thumped as a trickle of sweat inched its way down her chest. Great, urine and sweat. She was going to smell the best.
A click sounded over her footsteps. There it was. She was going to die. Her life didn’t flash before her eyes. She didn’t notice the temperature. Nothing really changed except she closed her eyes and wished she’d done things differently – made friends, been kinder, had a husband who loved her and wanted to take care of her and give her children. Anything more than what she had – which wasn’t much.
“If you’ll wait, madam, we can find some items in the nursing office.” A scrape of a key sliding into a lock followed his words.
Brenda opened her scrunched eyelids and her eyebrows pinched together. She stopped and turned. Daniel watched her with exasperation and tolerance on his rugged face. Two men appeared behind him and stood guard outside the door he held open.
Brenda didn’t question the turn of events. She’d hug her time on earth as a bit brighter and hope she could show him the same consideration while he gave her what she needed and not a moment longer.
~
“THANK YOU.” BRENDA couldn’t look him in the face. He’d offered all types of kindness in the nursing station. The men who she’d assumed had been called to guard her had surprised her instead by carrying armfuls of first aid supplies to the gym.
The small pile of gauzes, oils, bandages, ace and Coban wraps, suture material, antiseptic and more at her feet felt like a victory against the invaders. Okay, so what if the enemy had supplied them? They were spoils of war. For a second, she’d worried he would ask for specific payment with the heat in his eyes matching the searing in her neck. Why not push him further? “How long until we get the food?”
He leaned in, an earthy scent heavy with oak and rain assailed her. She didn’t look at him, but focused on a small tube of airplane glue two inches from her toe. His lips brushed her hair and he whispered, “The food will be here any minute, but you only get this one warning. Four of the bags will be untouched and they will be marked with a red slash on the corner. The rest of the sack lunches will have some form of poison in them. A different food will be affected in each bag. You’re the only one who knows.”
Brenda stopped breathing. Like he’d literally punctured a hole in her lungs and they no longer worked. Tears filled her eyes, blurring her vision of the medical items on the ground. He was gone before she could retort or ask if he was serious. Damn it. He had lulled her and just when she started to second guess his motives, he slipped in a twist that showed his real side.
The men had dropped the first aid items on the uncluttered floor near Andy. He hadn’t moved since she left. Clusters of people had shifted and Jenny was nowhere in sight.
A quick scan of the gym failed to reveal Jenny’s location. An ache started in her lower back. Jenny, one more worry to add to Brenda’s list. Maybe the men had come and taken her. She was a pretty young thing and rape wasn’t unrealistic.
She unloaded the office supplies as well, tucking them under the white wrapped packages. Hoping against hope, Brenda kicked the supplies closer to Andy and walked to where she’d left the teenager.
The crowd hadn’t moved from that selective spot, but someone had tossed the initial fallen couple against the wall, their limbs mixed together. But where was Jenny? Had Brenda imagined her?
Look ahead, not back. She stepped over the leg of one of the fallen. She didn’t look too closely at their faces as she passed. One wrong glance could break her resolve. She had people to help.
A large pallet of sack lunches arrived. Gustavson accompanied the large offering to discuss the plight of the remaining captives and their medical stability. The men tucked the rolling platform beside the bleachers and followed behind the leader as he circled the room with Brenda.
Haggling over each person like livestock was exhausting.
Her burned skin throbbed in anger with her close proximity to the taunting weasel of a man.
Overall, she’d been able to save the majority of the people in the gym. She’d lost three before they’d reached Andy. Simple quiet pops through black silencers. People had glared at her amidst gasps and muffled screams. Brenda had ignored them. Do not get too attached. Save as many as possible.
The movement of Gustavson and Brenda brought them full circle before moving amongst the ten or so in the grouping where Jenny had been.
Gustavson glanced into the corner and stopped. His guttural words clipped but lazy, boredom had set in a while ago. “Who’s that?”
Fatigue vanished from Brenda’s mind. This one mattered. The other people had taken their toll, but she’d been able to remove herself from the emotional impact with each bullet. But Andy... he was family. And what if he was too far gone to save. Damn, but she wouldn’t give any less. In fact, their connection demanded she try harder.
She still didn’t understand what they were looking for. His questions to that point had been pointed regarding background, education, value to the community. Brenda didn’t know what he wanted, but she gave him everything she had. “He’s my brother-in-law. I’ve already triaged him. He has burns, but with a little bit of rest and basic burn care, he could be the best of the lot. He’s trained as a mechanical engineer and knows the hills and towns better than anyone.” She bit her lip from spilling more like he has three kids, he’s an ass but loyal at times. Nothing that wouldn’t make him more appealing. If he wasn’t attached, he’d be worth more. “Our families are dead. We’re all we have.” She might have just given a weapon to the bastard, but at the same time, it could be easily turned against him.
The leader stared at Andy. As if he hadn’t heard a word she’d said. The moment dragged out. And out. Until finally, he nodded and turned toward the still inert forms, which was odd, because the rest of the crowd had awakened or stood with the sound of the gunshots and waited as they’d made their rounds.
He walked a few feet to the small group and pointed his finger like she was a dog ordered to sit. “Examine.”
Brenda knelt to check the condition of the young body at her feet.
Nothing. No pulse, no breathing. No life. But how? She checked for wounds, but nothing screamed how the young boy had died. He couldn’t have been older than twelve. Brenda shook her head and, still on her knees, moved to the next body, which was just... a body, empty of life. Through bangs covering her forehead, Brenda stole a glance at where she’d left Jenny slumped over another lifeless form facing the wall.
Brenda’s breath hitched. Jenny hadn’t returned. She checked the third, fourth, fifth, sixth bodies. All dead. All younger than twenty. Seven. Eight. She rounded the spot where Jenny should have been, the body could be her, but the hair was shorter than Brenda thought. She checked nine. Unable to avoid it any longer, Brenda rolled the shoulder toward her and bit her lip to keep from gasping.
A youthful face, but a boy’s, stared at her. Jenny hadn’t been among the people she’d checked. And Brenda had checked every body in the gym. Everyone.
The mystery of why the group was dead had to come before where Jenny had gone. Brenda’s escort would demand an answer why and if she seemed worried, he’d suspect. Maybe. If she gave herself a moment to consider the truth, she’d realize she didn’t know the bastard who wanted to kill everyone. She didn’t know why the teenagers were dead. She didn’t really have confidence that she could save Andy. Jenny was missing. And how the hell was Brenda supposed to be the only one to help all one-hundred-and-twelve people?
Nope. Brenda didn’t believe in can’t and if she didn’t know, she’d learn. Survival demanded it and she’d be damned to give in so early. She was a friggin’ American and these idiots were going to know it.
“Well? Any of them alive?” He pulled a box of cigarettes from his pocket and tapped it against the silver Zippo. Bastard. He lit a chimney and the gray smoke rose, round and thick against the angry backdrop of victims.
Brenda shook her head. Why speak when she had nothing to gain. Her pulse increased with anger which focused the sting in her neck. Damn him. And damn Daniel, too. She hadn’t had to focus on the food debacle yet. How much could they lay at her door?
Gustavson shrugged. “Assign someone to discard the bodies.” The man leaned to her and very slowly whispered, “You will be in charge. If anyone steps out of line, it will be your back. I do not tolerate failure.” A smirk shadowed his face and he spun on his heel. Double-doors against the far wall closed behind him.
On her tour around the room, Brenda had noted each door chained shut with locks the size of softballs hanging from thumb-thick links of steel. There was no way out or in besides the doors the cattle herder had prodded her through earlier.
Where had Jenny gone? What did Brenda do with Andy? He was in the worst shape. The other three had already been shot. She had to choose someone to evacuate the bodies. It would have to be soon or the stench would be unbearable as the muscles relaxed and released the contents from their bowels. Maybe a few of the men could work the top windows open with cranks.
But what did she do about the food...
Brenda sank to the nearest available bleacher. The sheer amount of responsibility pushed and pulled. She hung her head.
“Pst.” Brenda looked around. No one looked her way or even faced her. Great, she’d be the piranha, considered the traitor for working with the captors. They wouldn’t see her efforts to keep any of them alive. Just the three shot where they lie. No, they’d see her talking to the man, poking and prodding them like animals and hear her describe their injuries and health like she discussed the humidity level of an April morning. She’d left with the bastards after all. Never mind she came back reeking like... well, like one of them.
She was imagining things.
“Pst.” There it was again. For crying out loud.
“Brenda... Over here.” Jenny’s unmistakable whisper directed Brenda’s attention under the bleachers.
Brenda stood and walked around the corner of the lowest step. Closed partway, the risers created a dark cave of narrow impassibility. Brenda looked beyond the chipped wood and steel framework. Into the black hole, she whispered, “Jenny? Where are you?”
Jenny poked her head out next to Brenda’s shoulder. “Hey.”
Brenda jumped. She pressed her hand to her lower throat, her thumb brushing the skin around her “mark”. “What are you playing at? This is dangerous.”
“I know. But I had to do something. The dead kids passed around some kind of pill and they all took them at the same time. They offered me one, but I slipped away before they could make sure I ate it.” She held out her hand, displaying a brown pill the size of a candy-coated chocolate. “I don’t want it, but I don’t want to leave it where someone else might find it. You know?”
Brenda held out her hand. Holding the pill might prove to be the stupidest thing she could do, but to expect the young girl to carry that burden was more than Brenda was willing to do. A scuffle sounded behind Jenny. Brenda tried to see into the dark, tucking the pill into her back pocket. “Are there more back here?”
Jenny offered a small nod. “A couple, but there are more in the locker room.”
The unbearable smell of chocolate chip cookies reached Brenda. She turned, feet from the food. Like zombies, the other people grumbled and moved toward the pallet, the Pied Piper scent pulling them forward.
She had a decision to make. Did she tell or not tell about the poison?