Chapter 31 Voss
VOSS
My eyes open at the sound of metal on metal. I cringe. Ugh. That’s the worst sound to wake up to. Nearly anything is preferable.
I shift and pause. My body aches. As I’m lying in what is unmistakably a cage, the engine roars to life.
It takes me a second to remember where I am and why I’m here.
I blink through the brain fog and look around.
Miraculously, I still have my glasses on.
If I were feeling eighty, I’d have worn a strap to make sure they remained on my head. Honestly, I didn’t think about it.
It’s a struggle to get myself upright. I know my brain is still feeling the effects of being drugged when it takes me a minute to realize my wrists are zip-tied. Is that something we discussed?
I shift a little more to look for Azlan and Wade. They can’t have gone far.
Azlan is on the other side of the trailer. He’s sitting in his cage, zip-tied hands in front of him as he stares at Wade, who’s still unconscious.
After a minute, I pull myself up. Azlan’s eyes flicker to mine. “You good?” I ask.
He inclines his head, his gaze moving back to Wade. I shift a little so I can see him. He’s blinking now, but he hasn’t moved. I don’t think Azlan can see him blinking from the angle he’s sitting at.
“You still have everything?” I ask.
Azlan looks at me again and nods. A man of few words. Okay, then. I already knew this.
The truck shakes and rattles as it drives down the highway.
All the scraping and clanking are going to give me a headache.
It’s already there in the back of my head.
I should have hydrated or something before we left.
Maybe taken an ibuprofen in advance to fight the effects of the drug and the noise.
There’s nothing to do but sit here and wait.
I spend the time mentally taking inventory of the weapons I brought.
Perhaps more importantly, I make sure the phone strapped to the inside of my leg isn’t loose or in danger of falling out.
I’ll make do with losing a blade or two, but the phone is essential.
I become a little more alert to the movement of the truck as it slows down. In my mind, I’m tracking its location by the turns it takes. I know this route inside and out. I’ve watched it on my computer screen over and over again.
I’m not expecting the dirt road, though. I should have. It makes a lot of sense given that we’re driving into the wilderness. I can’t decide which I hate more: the excess noise or the way we’re rattled around on and against metal bars for fuck knows how long.
By the time the truck stops, I’m grumpy as fuck. When I meet Wade’s eye, I can tell he’s feeling the same. Yep, this is shit.
The engine cuts out. I listen as the driver’s side door opens and closes. Then everything is too faint to hear. Still, I try to hear anything. I’d like to tell everyone else to sit the fuck still so I can hear. The noises we’re surrounded by can be very telling.
Minutes pass. I wish I’d thought to wear a watch. I have no idea what time it is, nor how much time has passed, before someone finally begins opening the back of the trailer. My irritation is at its max. About fucking time.
I’m staring at the doors, listening to them unlock and shit, before they finally swing open. Three men look into the back of the trailer. Two are armed; one is not. I recognize the one not armed as the truck driver from the camera feeds we watched.
Interestingly, none of them are masked.
I glance at Wade and Azlan. Azlan continues to stare at them, but Wade meets my eye. As if I can speak telepathically, I think, remember faces.
Maybe it worked because he gives me a subtle nod and turns his attention back to the men at the front. The driver climbs into the back and unlocks the first cage from the top. He lifts it and reaches in to grip the guy’s arm, helping him to his feet.
Curiously, it’s not rough. It’s almost… helpful? Courteous.
He helps the man—hands still zip tied—down to the ground with the help of one of the armed men. I lose track of him when he’s on the ground.
I’m next. He doesn’t meet my eye, nor does he say anything.
He unlocks my cage and flips the top open.
His hand on my arm isn’t hard. It’s secure, but I get the feeling his grip is more to offer me support than it is to contain me.
My hands are tied, after all. There are two men with guns right there. What threat do I pose?
The man on the right with a rifle reaches up to help me to the ground.
I crouch, wait for his hand on my arm, and then drop from the back of the trailer.
My feet hit the ground. My glasses slide down my nose from the impact.
I push them up with my wrist and follow the path to a pickup truck where the guy before me is loaded into the bed.
There’s another guy there who helps me up. Yes, armed. No mask here either. Hmm. They have a lot of confidence in their operation not to hide their identities.
I settle into the back and look around. I try not to make a show of looking around, but I want to take in my surroundings.
Unfortunately, there’s nothing to look at.
There’s another pickup truck that appears to be identical to the one I’m in the back of, and the tractor-trailer truck.
Four armed men in total—two at the back of the trailer, one off to the side watching, and the one at the back of the pickup truck helping us in.
Four more people are loaded into the back of the truck I’m in. I’m glad two of them are Wade and Azlan. They’re sitting across from me. Wade meets my eye briefly, but we don’t speak. I’m not sure how it’d go down if we appeared to know each other.
I’m not sure what to expect. Are we simply let loose in the woods? I’ve never gone anywhere as blind as I am here. I’ve never sent one of my brothers in this blind before, either. I’m not a fan of this situation.
Eventually, two of the armed men climb into the pickup, and we begin driving through the woods.
For a really long fucking time. I make several observations.
One, the sun is well on its way down now, though it’s not easy to see because of the thick canopy of trees overhead.
Two, there’s no path that the pickup is following. It’s simply driving.
I lean forward a few times to see if they’re following GPS, and while I can’t see clearly through the darkly tinted back window, I think they’re using their phone. So… they’re heading to coordinates of some kind.
Third, I don’t see a living soul anywhere. No structures. No evidence of people at all. No structures.
Not until we get to what appears to be a barn with a bright fire burning. When the two pickup trucks pull up to stop here, I’m frowning. Once again, I meet Wade’s eye, but we don’t exchange any words.
The drivers come around and help us all out of the bed of the truck. We’re herded forward, let into the barn one at a time. Curiosity about my surroundings has me subtly jostling toward the front so I can see inside.
It doesn’t take me long to realize that the man inside, wearing a heavy apron and holding hot iron rods, is about to perform a branding on the man in the front with his hand placed on an anvil. He places the hot iron rods onto the back of the man’s hand, and he screams, trying to jerk himself away.
I glower. What the fuck is this bullshit?
The guys around me shuffle and take several steps backwards.
“You can go willingly, or we’ll do this the hard way,” one of the armed men says.
I don’t volunteer to go next as the newly branded man comes out clutching his hand to his chest. I catch a clear enough glimpse to see that he was branded with numbers. Great. I’m going to be sporting numbers on my hand for the rest of my life.
The branded man returns to the back of the pickup truck. The man inside the barn detaches one of the rods and locks another into place. The cluster sits in the fire for a minute as one of the zip-tied men is pushed forward for their turn.
After three, I take my turn. The quicker we do this, the quicker I can get to Brek. I step inside and place my hands on the anvil. My attention remains locked on the man branding people like they’re cattle. I memorize everything about his face, locking it into my memory.
He meets my eye. The corners of his lips rise slightly.
It’s not a smile so much as it is an acknowledgment that I want him to die.
I’m sure he’s been looked at like this before.
He presses the branding plates into my skin, and I work very fucking hard to keep any sound inside.
I won’t scream. I won’t jerk away. My entire body stiffens as I stand firm and let this man burn me.
It’s not long. A few seconds. He pulls the brand away, and I remove my hand, turn on my heel, and leave the barn. Azlan is on his way in behind me, and I hiss, “Remember his fucking face, Az.”
He doesn’t acknowledge me, but I know he will.
I’m not sure if we set a precedent or what, but everyone who follows Wade, Azlan, and me tries not to yell in pain. They don’t fight. They walk in calmly and out with a pissed off expression. Something inside me takes pride in this.
We’re in the same truck we’d been in, but the three others are different.
Once again, the truck begins driving deeper into the woods.
At some point, the second truck veers off the path and heads in a different direction.
The sun continues to set. We drive on for so long, I’m feeling even more frustrated that I didn’t bring a watch.
I can’t determine whether my impatience is making it feel like hours are passing or we’re really driving that deep into the trees.
Logically, I think we’re actually driving deeper into the game reserve.
The deeper we go, the less likely that someone is going to stumble upon this little operation.
By the time a light in the distance can be seen through the trees, I’m more than just frustrated and irritated. I’m fucking angry and anxious.
The truck stops in front of a wood-plank-covered cabin. There are bars over the windows and what looks suspiciously like a metal door. Curious. Outside the door stand more armed men.
The driver comes around and opens the tailgate. I don’t wait to see if they’re going to offer assistance. I twist, dropping my legs off the back, and slide down. It’s a short drop, so my feet hit the ground easily.
Without a word, I head for the armed men at the door. One has his rifle slung over his back and a knife in his hand as he waits for me to approach. The other has his rifle at the ready.
“Run and I shoot,” the man at the door states.
I roll my eyes. Obviously.
I stop in front of the man with the knife, and he cuts off my zip tie. He rolls my hand so he can take note of the numbers there and then gestures with his head for me to go to the door. I do, and the man there opens it, letting me inside.
If I weren’t so anxious to see Brek, I might have taken note of how there’s electricity here. The lights are bright.
Stepping inside, I’m met with more than a dozen faces. They’re lingering around a large room that’s set up like a barrack with rows of bunk beds on either side. I search the faces for Brek. With every second that passes and I don’t see him, dread settles in my chest. My heart races.
I’m pushed further into the building, and Wade comes in behind me. I take a few more steps inside and try to see if maybe he’s in a bed. Maybe he’s hiding. Maybe he’s… in the bathroom? Is there a bathroom?
By the time all six of us from the pickup truck are inside and the metal door closes with a loud clang and the scratch of the lock sliding into place, I’ve come to the conclusion that he’s not here. Brek isn’t here.
“We’re too late,” I murmur. I feel sick. Tears sting my eyes as I look among the faces staring at me.
“Too late for what?” someone asks.
I shake my head, unable to answer.
“We’re looking for someone,” Wade says. “Brek.”
“He’s not back yet,” the same man says. He points to the wall where there’s a board with five sets of numbers on it. “Seven eighteen. That’s Brek.”
The air rushes out of me, but I continue to stare. “What does this mean?” I ask, waving at it.
“When there’s a hunt, a dozen numbers are put on the board. When the individual returns to one of the barracks, their number comes down.”
I take a breath as I stare at his number. He’s still alive, then. Right?
“How long has he been out?” Wade asks.
The man shakes his head. “Too long,” he answers quietly.
The sick feeling is back. It drops like a lead balloon. I head for the door and try to yank on the handle. It doesn’t open.
“They’re not going to let you out,” the man says. “If they open the door, it’ll likely be to shoot you.”
Wade pulls me back, and I close my eyes, trying to catch my breath.
“He made it back from his first hunt,” the man says. “Admittedly, it’s been longer than usual, but… he made it back from the first. He was looking far more confident this time.”
“Take a breath,” Wade murmurs in my ear. He still has me against his chest, keeping me away from the door. “We’ll give it a little longer before we break ourselves out to find him. Have a little confidence in him, Voss.”
I shake my head. He doesn’t know Brek. Brek doesn’t have any survival skills. In my head, I see him dead on the forest floor. No matter how I struggle to push the image away, it’s stuck. I can’t see anything else.