Undone, page 9
Cora cursed. If she went out the window, they'd see her. If she stayed here, though, it was only a matter of time until they found her.
She listened to the voices out in the alley and then returned her attention once again, to the voices behind her, coming from the hallway.
"I must have left it in the break room," the voice was saying.
She tensed. She heard movement, rapid footsteps. And then, the door handle to the break room began to turn.
She glanced rapidly around, panicked. Window wasn't an option. They were going to find the glass. Going to find the broken bar.
The police here were crooked, though. They were clearly on the take.
And if they found her, and realized she'd been listening, there was no telling what they would do. Had they killed those three young women?
But Cora didn't have time to speculate. She hastened forward, low, and moved behind an alcove created by a sink, and a protruding vending machine.
Her shoulder pressed against the vending machine, and she felt the warmth of the metal. The thing was vibrating silently and then, the door to the break room opened.
She watched, scarcely daring to breathe as a figure with an impressive, neatly trimmed beard, and stoic posture emerged.
The tall man glanced side to side, frowning.
And then he went still. He was staring at the glass shattered beneath the broken window. He took a step into the room.
"Boys, come here!" he said, his voice urgent. "Come here, right now!”
She heard more footsteps, and couldn't risk trying to peak now, and so she pressed back, hidden against the large vending machine. She waited, quiet, heart pounding fast.
CHAPTER NINE
The vehicle jolted to a halt, and Caitlin seized her opportunity. She grabbed at the hand of the girl at her side, whispering fiercely, “Now!”
She'd risked a few more peeks from beneath her blindfold, but they'd been going too fast up until this point. The young woman at her side lay as if dead, though, refusing to rise.
Caitlin's heart jolted. “Come on!” she whispered. “Now or never!”
But the girl was crying again, shaking her head.
Caitlin faced a horrible decision. She'd already stayed behind once before for the girl. And now, in the distance, she spotted where they were being taken. The walls were topped with barbed wire. It looked like a maximum-security prison from where she stood. There was no hope of breeching it.
No, no she couldn't stay. If they took her within, there would be no coming back out.
And so, with a final, futile tug at the arm of the woman by her side, Caitlin abandoned this course and instead bolted over the side of the jeep, haring into the jungle.
No time for subtlety.
Only fleet-footed action.
Her hands were still free, her blindfold now discarded. And so, she sprinted, her legs wobbly, but her feet determined as she stumbled forward. She hit one knee after a few steps, but surged back up a moment later, careening onward.
Voices shouted behind her. She heard the sound of a gunshot. The tree off to her left exploded. Twigs and leaves tumbled from shuddering boughs.
The voices shouted. Footsteps came in hot pursuit.
Another gunshot, and this time she couldn't trace the bullet impact, but at the same time, she heard a voice yell in fury. The gunshots stopped.
They wanted her alive.
This frightened her even more than the thought of death.
And so, she tore relentlessly through the jungle.
But it wasn't like the movies. It wasn't as if she had open space between occasional trees over which to sprint through the dark. Rather, it was more like a maze. Ducking a tangle of branches draped with moss. Squeezing through a tight gap created by boulders jutting up like stone teeth. She scraped under another bow and cursed as something slithered beneath her outstretched hand. Insects were already nipping at her. Golden eyes watched her from where they were perched in a tree above.
But she kept going.
The sound of pursuit continued from behind.
She slipped into a boggy area, her foot drenched. They'd taken her shoes and socks, most likely to prevent this very thing. Her toes were cold now, slippery as she pushed out onto easier terrain.
The oppressive dark, the tweet, shiver, and whisper of the jungle all whispered threats in her ears.
She wasn't going to make it.
She couldn't do this.
But she pushed the accusing voices aside and continued her breakneck pace through the dark, hastening ever forward.
As she moved, her heart thundered. As her feet struck the muddy ground, she felt a rising sense of fear.
Shouts now. Branches breaking.
The pursuers behind her came en masse.
She couldn't count them. But bright lights shone from flashlights, spotlighting her trail. Seeking her in the dark.
For every attempt at finding a path she managed, they had multiple attempts, given their number.
Plus, they were likely more familiar with this foreign terrain.
She could hear the sound of them drawing nearer.
Ahead, to the right, she spotted a flash of light. Someone was already next to her, overpassed her. Ahead of her. Their light continued forward, as if they thought she were still out in front.
And so, she reached a horrible decision.
She dropped to the ground, wincing as she did. Breathing far, far too loudly for her comfort.
Her mind was racing, her body tense. Sweat slicked her and mingled with the dirt to create a sort of paste that latched onto her skin.
She bit her lip, tasting salt, and cowering beneath long leaves of ground cover that extended and twirled above her.
Exhausted, sleep and food deprived, thirsty, and with bleeding feet, she stayed put. Prone in some bush in some God-forsaken jungle, listening to these monsters creep after her.
Their heavy breathing and whispered comments reached her ears, sending probing shivers along her spine.
She waited, poised.
They were bound to pass, weren't they?
They had to be passing by now.
She thought she heard movement behind her, but then sudden silence.
And for a moment, the jungle returned to its nocturnal stirrings.
She shifted restlessly, wincing against an itch in her spine. Against something brushing her toes. Every touch, every motion filling her mind with thoughts of poisonous spiders, venomous snakes, and long-toothed jaguars.
The fear alone was nearly crippling.
Cautiously, heart pounding, she began to move slowly, slipping from under the brush. Her hands pressed to soft ground, creasing mud, and she pushed slowly up, peering side to side.
No sign of anyone behind her.
She began to turn slowly.
Click.
A light beamed down on her.
She froze. Her tongue trapped against the roof of her mouth.
The man with the light said something harsh, raised his gun and pointed it at her. She stared down the barrel, frozen in place.
They wanted her alive.
There were worse things than death.
And so, she spun on her heel, sprinting the other way.
But she only made it two paces.
Two more men had emerged from the trees behind her. Their hands shot out, catching her, and holding her fast.
She yelled in horror, kicking and slapping, trying to break free.
But the men were hitting her now, yelling. The one behind her was chuckling as he approached, holstering his gun, keeping his light fixated on her struggling form.
CHAPTER TEN
Cora hid behind the vending machine, her one hand pressed against the warm plating on the back. Her shoulder vibrating softly with the motion of the appliance. She no longer peeked out into the office, preferring to stay back, hiding in the dark.
Voices filled the office now. Light bloomed.
“See that?” came the captain's voice. “Glass—someone broke in. Shit! Think it was...”
“Nah—no,” said the older brother's voice. He dropped his tone to a whisper. “Why do that and come here anyway? No—no, not him.”
Then, Hurley whispered, “What about that bitch from earlier?”
A moment of silence.
The older brother whispered back, “You might be right. Dad, we had this girl come in here. Tatted up, said she was military. Friend of Addie. She was looking around. Asking about Caitlin.”
Another pause. Longer this time than the first one.
And then a harsh breath of air. “Shit...What was her name?”
“Cora...something. Shins?”
“No, Hurley, it wasn't Shins.”
“Alright, genius, you tell me then. What was it?”
Another pause.
“Are you idiots telling me you didn't get her name?”
“It was late. She was feisty, Dad. Don't worry. I'm sure it's nothing. It's not like she could find anything.”
The shadows were moving again. Only three of them. The man with the golden chain and expensive suit had been left back in the lobby by the look and sounds of things.
Good thing too...She didn't see a way out of this without hurting folk.
And already, three against one, wasn't going to be pretty.
“Man...you don't think she was one of the girls, was she?” said the captain, his voice quiet.
A dark chuckle from Hurley. “Ghost of some hot slut come back to haunt us, huh?”
The others chuckled as well.
Cora's eyes narrowed. She reached out slowly, unplugging the vending machine. The vibrating suddenly ceased. The machine went quiet. She then used her knife to cut through the wire at the base of the machine. Then, she hefted the wire in one hand, the knife in the other.
“Hey...” Hurley said suddenly. “Look—did...did you see th—”
He didn't have time to finish. Cora had been waiting until one of the shadows came near, behind the desk, closest to the vending machine.
It just so happened to be the redhead. He stepped towards her, investigating the suddenly unilluminated machine. But as he drew close, Cora burst forward with a shout.
The thing about fighting in the military...
The point wasn't to make it last long.
It wasn't a sport.
It was a tool meant to contain a physical threat in as short amount a time as possible with as little damage taken as possible.
The damage dispensed to the threat?
Dealer's choice mostly.
And so, she darted forward, fast. She used the cable she'd taken from behind the vending machine to wrap the thick wire around Hurley's neck. He squawked like a chicken, his Adam's apple bobbing past her knuckles.
But he didn't have time to speak on account of the makeshift black noose tight around his throat.
As he tried to reach her, to stop her, she slashed his knuckles with her knife.
The yelp turned into a gargle. She twisted, squeezing hard, using the tension of both wrists to yank back on the wire.
The other men were shouting. The older brother was pulling his weapon, aiming at her, trying to sight past his gurgling brother.
Cora pivoted.
She shoved Hurley into his brother and the bullet went wide as the gunshot was redirected at the very last moment.
She was already moving, though, scrambling across the desk and lunging for the captain.
The man with the stately goatee and thick brow yelled. He stumbled back, pulling desperately at his own weapon which had caught in his holster.
“Small-town punks!” she yelled. And then she tackled the cop around the waist, brought him hard to the ground. She pulled his gun for him, unhooking it from where it had snared on a brass button of a leather-seemed holster. More about showcase than practicality.
She turned with her gun, laying flat on the captain's chest, and using him as a pivot point.
Again, Hurley was in the way.
But he wasn't her brother.
She fired twice.
Hit the older brother in the knee.
He yelled, dropping suddenly. His gun hit the ground.
Hurley was going for his own weapon now, having regained some of his breath. But she hit him in the hand, sending him spinning. He yelped as he stumbled into the wall.
“My hand!” he screamed, blood flowing freely.
“I was aiming for your head,” she muttered.
She'd gotten a bit rusty on aiming from a prone position.
It just so happened the position was also the chest of a wheezing police captain.
Cora heard the sound of shouting. Of slamming doors. The whir of wheels, suggesting the truck she'd seen earlier was beating a hasty, tactical retreat.
Cora disentangled herself from the police captain, rising to her feet slowly. When the man reached out, attempting to snare her foot, she kicked his wrist, receiving a grunt of pain in return.
She stepped on his arm, and snapped, “Stay down.”
Gun in hand, corralling the other two officers who were clutching their hand and leg respectively, she sidestepped towards the door, breathing in and out.
She watched the officers writhe, feeling sweat down her spine. She kept her voice tense as she murmured. “I know what's going on here. I heard everything.” She added a lie. “I've taken photos of your financial files, and audio recordings of your conversations. If anything happens to Jamie Johnson, or her family—if she gets so much as a parking ticket, I'll release it all to the FBI.” Then, she reached the door, shoulders pressed against the wood.
The scent of blood lingered in the air. The faint mewls of pain brought back other memories which she attempted to suppress. She cleared her throat, forcing her mind to refocus. “And,” she added, “if any of you come after me...” She pointed her gun at each of them individually, raising an eyebrow as she did. “Are we clear?”
The captain snarled at her, sitting up now, rubbing his chest, his face red.
She repeated. “Are we clear?”
He spat to the side.
She paused for a moment, then shrugged. “Fine then.”
She raised her gun, aiming at his head.
“Wait—wait! No!” The captain yelled, hands out suddenly. His perfect little goatee trembled on the edge of his chin. “W-we're clear!” he stammered. “Crystal clear. No one is going to come after you. Jamie is fine. We...we're not bad men. We just...” he swallowed. “Just looked the other way a couple of times. It wasn't like the girls were safe anyway. It wasn't like.”
Cora glared. “Where are they? Where is Caitlin? The others too? Erin, Cynthia?”
“Shut up, Dad,” snapped one of the brothers. Through the pain, lips clenched, she couldn't determine which one had spoken.
But their old man snarled. “You shut up. This was your damn idea, now sit there and bleed, you imbecile.”
Cora tapped her foot impatiently, regaining their attention. “Tell me,” she said firmly, “what did you do to the girls?” Her gun began to raise again.
“Nothing—nothing!” the captain shouted. “We just...we didn't...we let some things slide. We don't even know who they took. We just...we just were paid to be quiet. To look the other way. We don't know who they are. Don't know anything about it. P-please!” he sobbed. “Don't shoot me.”
Cora was seriously considering it. But then she sighed, lowered her gun again and began to move.
As she fled into the hall, she broke into a sprint, determined not to give the men a chance to come after her.
She checked her phone.
It had recorded everything.
First thing, she'd send it all to Saul at the FBI. Her partner would know what to do with it. For now, her threat would have to keep Jamie safe, but Cora was also going to let the Johnsons know it would be good to make themselves scarce for a couple of weeks.
She sprinted through the glass door, into the lobby. Pausing long enough only to make sure the coast was clear.
But there was no sign of the man with the golden chain and swanky suit.
She moved hastily out the front doors.
No sign of the truck either. Only a shade of rubber over the lip of the concrete curb.
She heard sirens now, in the distance.
Police? Ambulance?
She didn't want to stick around to find out.
She broke into a sprint, racing towards her van.
She believed the captain when he was begging with her. He didn't know who he'd been turning a blind eye for. And even if he did, she hadn't had the time to extract the information. But judging by his blubbering, his sudden desperation at the thought of being shot, she was confident he would have turned over anything to spare his skin if he could have.
But she didn't need him as her guiding light.
Rather, the compass she was relying on, her own eyes, suggested the man she was after had just fled in that truck. The golden chain, the suit, the velvety voice had been that of a man in charge.
She hastened towards the minivan she'd borrowed. The car wasn't going to break any speed records. But right now, all she needed was to catch up with the bossman.
She felt a pulse of exhilaration as she slipped into the van, gunned the engine, and peeled away from the curb. She raced down the street, in the direction the truck had been angled.
It wasn't like Westville had many roads leading in or out.
Only two, in fact.
Which meant she had a coin flip of a chance to find them. She would have to push the van to its limit.
But the benefit she had was she knew that most of the Westville police force was still bleeding out back in their office. The attention would, undoubtedly, divert to them.
Whereas the man with the chain would want to keep on the down low. He'd likely observe the speed-limits, unaware that most of the cops who'd normally monitor that sort of thing were currently en route back to their station.
Speeding.
Not exactly the best advantage to have in a rust bucket like this.
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