He skidded to a stop by the main gate, got out and found the. 38 snub nose in his trunk. Taking a running jump, he was able to get halfway up the metal fence and pull himself over. On the way down, he ripped his hand on the spike topping one of the posts but ignored it and raced to the side of the building where he knew the solarium was. A dozen or so women in white robes sat inside. A few of them noticed him and gawked. He shot one bullet through the glass pane to structurally weaken it. That got the dozen or so cult members inside screaming and scurrying from the area. Shannon shoved the revolver in his waistband, found a small boulder, maybe thirty pounds, and slammed it against the bullet hole. The pane shattered into a hard rain of jagged glass. Taking the gun in his hand, Shannon ran through the opening. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a blur of motion, and dropped quickly to his knees. The larger stooge, Curly, tumbled over him as he ran to throw a haymaker and lay sprawled on the floor. Shannon flipped him over and grabbed him by the throat. Pieces of broken glass had sliced the stooge’s face up and he was bleeding from dozens of wounds. He also looked like he was about to go into shock.
Shannon slapped him hard across the face. That brought his eyes back to life. His little mouth screwed up and he spat out that he would live his life in bliss.
Shannon slapped him again. “Where’d they take her?”
“Bliss!” the stooge yelled at him.
“Forget bliss, you’ll be lucky to get Centennial Prison. You tell me where they took her, or I’ll start knocking your teeth out. And Curly, that will make you a popular guy at Centennial.”
“Bliss!” the stooge yelled.
Shannon whacked his mouth with the butt end of the gun knocking out the stooge’s front teeth. He showed the stooge one of them, and the stooge’s mouth puckered up as if he were about to start bawling. “The dungeon,” he cried when he saw the gun lifted again. “They took her to the dungeon!”
“Where the fuck’s that?”
The stooge started bawling. Shannon slapped him again in the face, but saw it was useless. He wasn’t going to get anything more from him. As he stood up, he saw the smaller stooge watching from a distance, a tentative look on his face. Their eyes met and the stooge started running. Shannon chased after him. All around him women in white robes were wailing away. He pushed his way past them. The smaller stooge led him down a hallway he hadn’t seen before. Almost as if it were happening in slow motion, a panel in the wall slid open and Dmitry appeared. The Russian moved faster than he did, raising a. 45 caliber automatic and firing. Shannon threw himself to the floor. On his way down the bullet tore through his right shoulder. He landed with a thud, got his left arm stretched out in front of him and fired off two shots leaving red dots on Dmitry’s chest. The Russian looked curiously at the expanding dots, then his knees buckled and he fell dead.
Shannon’s shoulder felt like it was on fire. As if someone were jabbing inside of him with a red-hot poker. The room started to spin but he got to his feet and steadied himself, his right arm limp at his side, blood dripping down his fingers. He could feel a wet stickiness spreading down his body. He knew he was bleeding badly. Only half aware of it, he looked at his blood and gore splattered on the wall next to him, then pushed himself forward. He stepped over Dmitry’s body and went through the opening in the wall. This led him down a narrow corridor and into the dungeon.
He stood dazed for a second, not quite believing what he saw-it was like something out of medieval times. Manacles hung from the ceiling, swords, maces and other similar-type weapons were mounted on the back wall. Susan lay chained to a table in the middle of the room that was tilted at a forty-five degree angle. Her eyes were open and her head rolled slowly from side to side. She was out of it, obviously drugged. Standing next to her was a man wearing a black leather hood and nothing else. He was in the process of cutting off Susan’s clothing with a dagger. When he saw Shannon raise his gun, the man put the edge of the dagger to Susan’s throat.
“Put down gun,” he croaked out in a thick Russian accent, “or I cut her head off-”
Shannon shot him once in his left eye. The man fell backwards and the dagger clattered harmlessly to the floor.
“Susan, are you okay? Can you hear me?” Shannon yelled out. Her head rolled to face him, but there was no recognition in her eyes. He moved towards her, and only then noticed the tripod and video camera set up in the shadows of the room. Behind them Anil Paveeth sat in a chair, his face blank, his eyes darting from Shannon to the dead Russian on the floor.
Shannon pointed his gun at him and yelled for him to put his hands on his head. Paveeth complied. Keeping an eye on Paveeth, he made his way over to Susan. Both her ankles were manacled to the table, her wrists also manacled with her arms pulled over her head. Her shirt had been ripped open by the dagger. He pulled the fabric aside and saw that she hadn’t been cut. He put a hand to her cheek. Her skin felt cold.
“What did you drug her with?” The cult leader’s face looked small as it stared out from the shadows, his black eyes now darting from Shannon to the opening in the wall. “Rohypnol,” Paveeth said in a scared little boy’s voice.
Shannon examined one of the manacles. “Where are the keys?”
“I will give it to you.”
Paveeth started to stand. Shannon leveled the gun towards his chest. “Stay seated. I’ll get it from you.”
Paveeth lowered himself back down. Moving on pure adrenaline now and feeling his strength ebbing fast, Shannon made his way over to him. He transferred the gun to his dead right hand so he could take the key with his left. With his shoulder chewed up by a. 45 slug, he couldn’t raise his right arm but he still kept the gun level with Paveeth. He could see the thought cross the cult leader’s dark face. “You can try it,” Shannon said. “But I’ll get a shot off.” Paveeth sank lower in his chair and handed Shannon a key.
Shannon walked back to Susan, all the while keeping Paveeth in his field of vision. He tried calling the police on his cell phone, but was unable to get a signal to dial out on. Gritting his teeth and trying to ignore the red-hot pain pulsating through his injured shoulder and the coolness pushing through his skull, he worked on the manacles. It was awkward, though, using one hand, and he couldn’t get them unlocked.
“You look very pale,” Paveeth noted, his voice more of the lyrical sing-song that Shannon had heard earlier. “I think you have lost a great deal of blood. Why don’t you sit and I will unchain her for you.”
Shannon transferred the gun to his left hand and waved it at Paveeth. “Get over here and take these off her.”
Paveeth moved like a ghost in his yellow robe as he glided from his chair to the table. Shannon handed him the key, took several steps back to watch as Paveeth removed the manacles. Standing there, he fought to keep his mind clear and to keep the room from spinning any further. Pain from his shoulder radiated down his arm. It pulsated through his wrist, his hand, even in his missing fingers. With his gun hand he touched his side, feeling the stickiness and dampness of his shirt. He knew if he looked down he’d see that it was drenched in blood. He didn’t want to look down…
He stumbled.
Paveeth charged him then, striking him in his wounded shoulder. The pain exploded, blinding him, sucking the breath out of his lungs. He staggered while Paveeth clawed at his face with one hand and fought for the gun with his other. Shannon recovered enough to sweep his right leg around Paveeth and knock the cult leader off his feet. Paveeth fell to the floor, Shannon falling with him and landing hard on the cult leader’s chest. Paveeth was still grabbing for his gun hand. Shannon lifted his right arm as much as his injured shoulder allowed and punched Paveeth in the face. He did it again and again, each time only being able to lift his hand a few inches above the cult leader’s face before striking down.