Rein’s grip tightened on the steering wheel as jealousy reared its ugly head. He should’ve been there, not Woody, to hold her and make her feel safe during the emotional barrage. It was a part of her transformation that he’d never be a part of. A part of her she’d always share with Woody.
“Jordan was right. She’s special, Rein,” continued Woody, oblivious to Rein’s reaction.
“I know,” he replied in a low voice.
The dirt path roughened, and the two men bounced over the rain-washed potholes. The old truck rattled and creaked. Rein eased his foot off the gas and glided, trying to cut the jostling to a minimum. The last thing he needed right now was to leave a trail of parts.
From behind a thick fir tree, the rubble of the farmhouse glided into view. The mound of debris was silhouetted against the light of the night sky. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary. But with every meter the tires rolled, Rein’s apprehension radar pegged.
“Something’s definitely not right,” he said, bringing the truck to a stop.
Sweeping his gaze across the field, Woody said, “There’s nobody here.”
“There’s no one that you can see.”
“Do you honestly think we’d have gotten this far if they knew about this place? They would’ve stopped us on the road. Hell, probably back at the barn.”
“I don’t know, Woody.”
“You were all for this back home.”
“I know, but…” His words trailed off.
“Rein, you’re spooking yourself. Look, we at least have to get a few of the supplies, or we won’t make it. Let’s just grab a couple of boxes of food and get out of here.” He paused. “Okay?”
Inhaling deeply, the word no dangled on Rein’s lips. An urge to run twitched in his gut. Instead, he released the brake, and the truck jerked forward.
“Four boxes of food.”
Pulling the truck next to the sagging wall, Rein pushed the gear into neutral. He left the engine idling. “Four boxes.”
Woody glanced at him and wagged his brow. “This is it. Keep your eyes open.”
“Stop it.”
Woody scrambled out with his gun, and Rein reluctantly stepped from the driver’s side. A low wind rustled through the grass, carrying the scent of fall blooms and pine. He peered into the line of trees, seeing nothing more than a rugged black outline that circled the overgrown field. There were no sounds of insects or curious wildlife.
Everything was eerily quiet.
He grabbed his rifle off the seat and moved to the other side of the truck where Woody waited.
Everything appeared normal, but the tiny hairs on the back of his neck said otherwise. He moved the branches aside and grabbed the edge of the old tin door. The door swung open easily, without a squeak. He gazed into the gaping hole. Darkness swirled.
“I hate to say it, but I told you so,” Woody said with a smug grin.
Rein ignored him.
Switching on his flashlight, Woody said, “You ready?” He directed the beam into the mouth of the basement.
“Not really,” Rein replied. He descended the steps anyway.
A chill met Rein at the bottom of the stairs, sending a shiver down his spine. He didn’t remember the cold being so biting before. He swept his flashlight to the right. The beam revealed boxes and cartons of supplies piled along the walls. Everything as it should be. Relieved, he stepped toward the bounty, but as he moved, the light flashed deeper into the hand-dug basement. From his peripheral vision, a reflective glimmer caught his eye.
Rein stopped dead, as did Woody. His heart leapt into his throat and raced in his ears. His first impulse was to flee, to run up the steps, hop into the truck, and tear out of there. But voices, and the soft clicking of shoes on the scrap above them, told him escape wasn’t a possibility. For a split second, ice ran through Rein’s veins and his muscles seized. Then, everything fast-forwarded.
“Move,” he shouted, shoving Woody toward the stairwell. His friend’s flashlight clattered to the ground; the light winked out.
Woody stumbled under the steps and slipped behind a wooden beam as Rein rolled behind the stack of supplies. He flicked off his flashlight and gripped the gun, pulling it into his chest. The coolness from the metal penetrated the thin material of his T-shirt.
Swallowed in blackness, as if time itself had disappeared, everything else seemed magnified. The clicks and voices from above, his breathing, his heart rate. Rein stared over where Woody was, but he couldn’t make out anything other than a dark silhouette.
“Put your weapons out where we can see them,” said a feminine voice, filled with authority. Deep satisfaction saturated her tone.
A familiar hum Rein had lived with all his life resonated, and a blinding light flooded the enclosed space. Ducking behind the boxes, Rein glanced at Woody. Terror drained all color from his friend’s face as he pressed his back against the beam like he was trying to melt into the wood. His grey eyes were wide and scared, hair slicked to his head. Rein knew his expression mirrored Woody’s.
“Don’t move,” Rein mouthed.
Woody gave him a duh look.
Rein worked to loosen his death grip on the rifle. As the blood ran back into his fingers, he slid the bolt back and chambered a round. The click echoed in his ears, drowning out the thumping of his heart.
“If you value your friend’s life, drop your weapons and show yourselves. I want to see your hands first.” The same feminine voice, only this time, anger pulled at each word. “Now!”
Friend?
Taking his eyes off Woody, Rein peeked through a small gap between two of the boxes. Beaten and bleeding, Davis sat slumped in a chair, a strap around his chest and two leather bindings around his wrist holding him in place. His head cocked strangely to one side, one eye blackened and swollen like his lips. Blood ran from the edge of his hairline down the side of his face. The ranger opened his one good eye and desperately stared toward the stairs as if looking for rescue.
The torture their contact had suffered was incomprehensible, but gauging from the lean woman in off-duty, civilian clothing, flared jeans and a black blouse, Rein began to understand. The woman’s blond hair was cut short, cropped at her neck, and her face was pinched in hardness, sharpening the angle of her cheeks and thinning her lips into nonexistence. She aimed an electroshock weapon at Davis’ head.
Her mouth pulled into a smirk as she thumbed a button on the weapon. Davis’ muscles locked, his hands gripping the armrests and his head rocking from side to side. She released the button and Davis stilled, his head flopping back over to the side. Spittle streamed from the corner of his mouth to the collar of his shirt. His good eye rolled under his lid.
Horrified, Rein couldn’t look away.
“Do you understand me, now? First, your weapons.”
Hands shaking, Rein carefully placed his rifle on the ground where she could see it. Woody copied his actions.
“Put your hands where I can see them, and step out.”
A grin stretched across the woman’s face as Rein stepped out, palms up. Woody stopped next to him.
“That’s better,” she said. “Let me introduce myself. My name is Detective Petersen. And you are…?”
When neither Rein or Woody responded, the detective’s eyebrows pinched together. “I see. Introductions can wait. You gave us quite the run, didn’t you?” she said as she walked around Davis, her weapon still trained on him. “Captain Jones, would you remove their weapons?”
Two men stood next to the generator, both tall, muscular, and blond. The one dressed in a green police uniform was older with sea blue eyes and defined cheekbones. He shifted from one foot to the other, as if nervous, and kept glancing over at Davis with a mixture of regret and hate. The other was dressed in regular jeans and a T-shirt, young, with alabaster skin, his hair platinum, his features familiar. He looked bored, unaffected.