82
ANSON
Twelve minutes.
That’s how much time passed between the semi leaving the highway and coming to a complete stop.
Not much time.
But enough.
For the most part, everyone had returned to the place in the truck where they had originally woken.
It was doubtful our captors would remember such a thing, but there was no point in tipping them off unnecessarily.
There were only a few exceptions. Vincent was crouched in the corner near the back door on the right, and I had taken up position on the left.
Pudge was beside me on the floor, his hands clasped and his ankles together like all the others.
We had carefully placed the zip ties back on our limbs.
Broken, but giving the illusion we were still bound.
To anyone taking a quick glance, they wouldn’t know otherwise.
The only thing that looked out of place was the mound under a borrowed jacket directly behind my right shoulder. There was little I could do about that.
The semi’s engine rattled, then went silent.
From deep in the trailer, someone coughed.
All heads turned.
It was too dark to know who it was, but they didn’t make further noise, and for that I was grateful.
I closed my eyes and concentrated.
Outside, I heard voices.
Footsteps grinding gravel against pavement.
First on the left side of the semi trailer, then rounding the corner toward the back.
Someone shouted something about getting a door open.
That was followed by a gruff woman’s voice yelling, “Got it!” and someone else saying something about stretchers.
It sounded like “how many,” but I couldn’t be sure.
When a harsh metal squeak came from the door, followed by a bang, I pictured someone unfastening the latch outside, twisting it, and jamming the bolt to the side to release the lock.
My eyes snapped open, and I silently mouthed the words “get ready” to Vincent across from me, who nodded. Then we both closed our eyes again.
Both doors of the trailer opened at the same time.
There was a cold rush of fresh air, quickly followed by a man saying, “They’re all still out.
Get ‘em in the cages before they wake up. Take two at a time with the smaller ones. Little fuckers are light.” He sniffed loudly. “What the hell is that smell?”
“Fucking toilet,” someone huffed. “I told Jerry to buy the CampCo, but he wanted to save fifty bucks.”
“Cheap bastard,” the first voice responded. “Didn’t even need it. They’re all still out. Give me a hand with the ramp.”
There were two metallic clicks, then a rolling sound from somewhere beneath us.
In my mind’s eye, I pictured two men tugging a ramp out from under the truck, the kind I’d seen on moving trucks. The rolling was followed by a soft scrape on the pavement as they set the end of the ramp down.
“Go,” the first man said. “Hurry up.”
Footsteps bounded up the ramp. Two people? No, four. There was a slight rustle in the air as the first pair walked by me. The second pair stopped right in front of me.
I opened my eyes, just a squint to see what was happening, and—
A burly man with a bushy beard was staring down at me, both his hands holding up one end of a stretcher, his brow stitched tight. “Hey, this one’s a—”
And that’s when Mona knocked twice on the trailer wall.
The signal.
Pudge crossed in front of me in a blur. He barreled through two of the men, grabbed their stretcher, and swung it like a baseball bat at the other two. It cracked against both of them with this sickening wet thunk! All four were down in under a second.
Aside from Pudge, I was up first. I had to be.
If I didn’t go first, the wrong people would get hurt.
Everyone else got to their feet and fell in behind me.
We made a rush for the open doors, everyone at once in absolute silence.
Not a single word, whisper, or cry. Exactly as instructed.
We all had our mouths pinched shut, holding our breath. Eyes closed as much as we dared.
I shrugged the two canisters out from under the jacket at my side, thrust them out ahead of me, and twisted open the valve.
A harsh stream of Bronopol caught a man standing next to the ramp on the forehead.
He squeezed his eyes shut and stumbled backward, tripped, and fell to the pavement as I ran out, twisting right and left.
I bolted down the ramp, spraying everyone I saw—the ones with guns, the ones with more stretchers, the ones who were just standing there trying to make sense of what they saw.
I sprayed everybody. And as I did, Vincent, Pudge, and all the others came out of the trailer behind me.
This massive wave of bodies, some down the ramp, others jumping.
Those who jumped came out with as much height as possible—they landed on the ones near the back of the trailer, rammed others, hit them with whatever force they could muster.
“Grab weapons,” we had instructed. “Take cover if you can’t, but come out hard.”
We’d removed the bungee cords from the toilet, and several kids were swinging them. The metal hooks on the end caught flesh, tore. Someone else threw the toilet, and a group of boys came barreling out behind it.
From the corner of my eye, I caught Vincent ripping an assault rifle from the shoulder of one man while Pudge gripped another man by both sides of his head and twisted.
The man’s neck snapped with the thick pop of a dry tree branch.
Pudge was on another man before the first body hit the ground.
In total, eleven people had been sent to unload us, and with our numbers, we made quick work of them.
By the time both my canisters were empty, all eleven were on the ground, either unconscious or dead.
Hillburn wasn’t among them. Neither was Carmichael.
“Anybody hurt?” I asked, tossing the empty canisters up into the trailer.
There were several grumbles, but aside from minor cuts and bruises, nobody had been seriously injured.
Vincent brushed at a scrape on his cheek and grabbed the legs of one of the men on the ground. “We need to get all these guys in the trailer.”
Pudge tossed another one over his shoulder, carried him to the back of the truck, and threw him inside like yesterday’s trash. With a soft grunt, he turned and went for another.
Paul appeared with the semi’s keys in his hand. He frowned when he saw what we were doing. “Screw that. Leave them. Let’s get everyone back inside and get the hell out of here!”
That wasn’t an option, at least for me. “Libby’s in there somewhere.”
“Kristina and Tegan, too.” Vincent checked to ensure a bullet was chambered in his rifle, then quickly ejected the magazine, confirmed it was full, and clicked it back in place. “We can’t leave Twill, either.”
“We don’t know they’re in there,” Paul shot back. “Not for sure.”
“Leave if you want to,” Vincent told him. “Nobody’s stopping you.”
“Who wants to—” Paul started the sentence as he turned toward the crowd behind him. Their faces answered his question before he got all of it out of his mouth. Nobody was going anywhere.
Pudge tossed another body into the truck, then helped two other boys with the unconscious man they were carrying.
Ruddy was holding an assault rifle. His lips tightened as he stepped up to Paul and jerked a thumb up at the building.
“There’s a good chance we have friends in there.
Every kid locked up inside is no different than us.
They could be us. We need to get everyone out.
If we don’t stop this tonight, we could end up in there next year or the year after that. This is our chance to end it.”
Soft murmurs of agreement rumbled through the crowd—boys and girls, all in.
Paul sighed. “I guess if I’m going to die, it might as well be with you guys.”
The last body went up into the truck. We closed the metal doors and twisted the bolt to lock it from the outside.
A kid we called Lisco appeared, holding two more assault rifles. He handed one to Paul and held the other out to me.
I shook my head. “I don’t really like guns.”
Slinging the strap of the second rifle back over his shoulder, he pulled a knife in a leather sheath from his back pocket and pressed it into my palm instead. “Word around the Quick is you’re a knife guy.”
I had no idea why word of such a thing would filter around the Quick, but now wasn’t the time to ask. I took the knife and slipped it into my back pocket. It wasn’t my knife, but it was better than nothing.
“Shit!”
The shout came from the hotel.
Vincent and I turned in time to see a guy with long blond hair pulled back in a ponytail disappear through a metal fire door and vanish inside the building.