He stilled when he heard voices chanting. A chill swept over him. Something about the cadence of the chant sent a shiver of fear to his very core. Every cell in his brain screamed at him to turn and flee as fast as he could and he began to heed the order, but froze in his tracks when he heard a faint whimper of fear.
He couldn't leave-not without at least trying to help. His breathing quickened and his heart seemed to be beating loud that he was surprised the sound wasn't echoing off the walls. He advanced toward the chanting. He found a hallway leading out of the office and followed it around to the right. From the hollow resonance of his steps on the wooden floor, he figured he was in the warehouse now.
A mysterious glow emanated from the far corner. Mark couldn't figure out what caused it. He crept towards the light. It wasn't until he bumped into something that he realized that in front of him was a makeshift wall covered in a dark, rough cloth. Beneath the cloth, he felt a wooden framework. Pallets? Reaching up, he couldn't feel the top of the wall, but since the glow was visible above it, it couldn't have reached the ceiling. One hand skimming the cloth, Mark followed the wall until he came to an opening.
About a dozen people surrounded a naked woman who cowered on the floor-the photo come to life. They circled her, slowly, chanting words he couldn't decipher. Maybe it was a different language, but he wasn't sure. Every few seconds, a man holding a long pole, a staff of some sort, would poke her roughly. Mark noticed numerous bruises on her back and arms. The woman's eyes were huge and her bound hands lifted to try to fend off the staff, a gag choking off terrified sobs.
Bile rose in his throat.
The only illumination came from flashlights held by three people in the group. All wore the dark hooded clothing, masking their features. He thought he definitely heard at least a couple of feminine voices in the group. In the dim light, he could see a post rigged with ropes. He didn't want to think what they planned to do with that, but according in his dream, at some point the woman would be lashed to it.
His mouth felt dry as a desert and his mind raced trying to determine a plan of action. If he hurried, he could get help. That seemed like the wisest choice. He certainly couldn't take on a dozen people by himself. The thought of leaving the woman alone and helpless tore at his conscience, but what choice did he have? Mark backed away from the opening, but as he turned, he crashed into someone. A very large someone who shoved Mark away.
"Uh!' The push sent Mark staggering into the wall behind him. He reached out to catch himself, but his hand tangled in the fabric, and he bit back a cry of pain when something sliced his palm.
"Enjoying the show?" The man advanced and grabbed Mark by the shoulder of his jacket and yanked him towards the opening, sending him stumbling into the midst of the ceremony.
Mark regained his balance quickly and thinking fast, rushed to the woman before anyone could stop him. He had a certain element of surprise and hoped that by doing the unexpected, he might get them both out of this yet. He pulled her to her feet and tried to ignore the flare of hope in her eyes. Escape was far from a sure thing and already cries of protest arose from the gathering behind him.
A soft whoosh gave him a scant half-second warning, but probably saved his life as he ducked, huddling over the victim. The staff cracked across his head with a glancing blow.
Mark staggered. Shaking his head to clear it, he spun, catching the return swing of the pole and yanked it out of the wielder's hands. The suddenness of his movements caught the group by surprise. Mark chalked up his response to adrenaline and the instinct for survival. Sometimes, a bit of fear could work wonders.
One of the men charged him, but Mark held him at bay by a sharp jab to the chest. "Get back!" He crouched, brandishing the staff, swearing when his hand slipped as the blood from his palm turned the pole slick. He tightened his grip. "What the hell are you guys doing in here? Are you people insane?"
"It's none of your business." The answer came from the behemoth who had grabbed Mark a few moments ago.
The man stepped towards the pair and Mark saw his eyes clearly for the first time, and he had to hold back a shudder. No human warmth or compassion showed in their depths, only a flat, cold blackness. Snake eyes…it was the closest comparison that came to Mark's mind.
"It's my business when you try to kill someone!" Mark swung menacingly and the leader stopped. The woman's hands clung to the back of Mark's jacket and he could feel her shuddering. He had to make a move, the longer the standoff went on, the worse his chances. "I'm sorry to spoil your little party here, but we're gonna be going now."
Still swinging at anyone who moved, Mark edged around the group to the opening. He didn't know why they didn't jump him en masse, but he wasn't about to question their motives.
Once Mark and the girl were out of the makeshift room, it was harder going in the dark. Mark tried to watch for pursuers while also attempting to guide the woman back towards the front entrance. They shuffled and stumbled their way out of the building. Mark dropped the staff and pulled the woman over to a nearby Dumpster for cover.
He tried to control his trembling hands as he fumbled with the rope around her wrists and finally remembered the little pocketknife he always carried. Digging it out, he sliced through the binding and looked over his shoulder when he heard shouting coming from the building. When he turned back, the woman was in the process of removing the gag. "Okay, let's go!" He grabbed her hand and pulled her behind him as he raced for the street and relative safety. It wasn't until the woman stumbled and Mark turned to see if she was okay that he realized she was still naked and trying to run barefoot over the pavement.
Mark shrugged out of his jacket. "Here!" He helped her into it, and then scooped her up in a cradle hold. "Hang on tight."
Mark trudged what seemed like miles, but was probably less than a half-dozen blocks, looking over his shoulder every time he heard a noise. Nobody followed, which was a relief, but Mark realized he was still in a bad neighborhood and there was nowhere he could call for help. He sagged against an iron gate protecting the front of a pawnshop and hiked the girl up higher. His arms ached, and she was now dead weight, having passed out at some point. A shiver shook his body, the cold, damp air chilling him now that he was no longer moving. Looking around, he got his bearings and was pretty sure that County hospital was only a block or so away. With a grunt, he pushed away from the wall. The girl was slight, but by the time Mark reached the hospital, his arms were shaking with the effort of carrying her.
"I…I need some help…please?" Mark gasped out his plea as he staggered through the automatic doors. "She was attacked…they had a…a pole. Kept jabbing her."
"Grab a cart!" Two nurses rushed up and relieved Mark of his burden and eased her onto the gurney. He stumbled at the sudden removal of weight and caught himself on a wall, his breathing ragged.
Hands on his knees, he bent over in an attempt to catch his breath.
"Sir?"
A hand gripped Mark's bicep, and he looked up to find a woman in blue scrubs regarding him with concern.
"Why don't you come with me and we can get you taken care of too." She tugged gently on his arm.
Straightening, Mark shook his head, trying not to wince. "Oh no, I'm okay…just out of breath. I must have carried her a half-mile. I'll be fine once I rest a minute."
"But your head is bleeding and you're dripping blood on the floor." Her voice held a note of amusement.
Mark glanced down and saw several bright red drops dotting the white tile. "Sorry about that. I cut my hand, but I just need a Band-Aid."
"Yeah, well, let's take a look and let the doctor decide, okay?"