I made it to an intersection and drifted left this time. Real time came flashing back, and the certainty of my fate knocked at my consciousness: nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. Enough! I stood flat, hard against a wall. Looking down I noticed blood splatter, droplets gathering around my feet. I had been hit, and suddenly I felt a searing pain on my right side just below the ribcage. I ripped open my shirt. The wound was a deep gash. The slug hadn’t hit anything important, just tissue. The seepage was already diminishing, but the pain wasn’t. I’d live-this time.
I clenched my fist into a tight steel hammer, my knuckles protruding like solid ball bearings. The first guy to show his head was going to get slammed in the face. I might connect and get one guy down before another one shot me. But then again, I might not be so lucky.
I waited, sweat gushing from every pore, gulping down oxygen as if I were a drowning man. The seconds ticked away, the clock in my brain running on frenzied, disjointed gears. I stood there with every muscle quivering. “C’mon, you rotten bastards, let’s get this over with.”
The footfalls retreated, and as time crept by it became apparent that someone had called off the storm troopers. They must have reverted to plan B-seal off the corridors and gradually close in on me from all directions.
What could I do? Nothing, just stand there and wait for the inevitable. It became very quiet.
I almost jumped out of my skin. A voice was calling me, a small lyrical voice, one that I recognized. I cranked my head to the left and saw her standing next to an open doorway a few yards down the hall. Jane was beckoning to me.
CHAPTER 30
“Jimmy, don’t be frightened. Come this way.”
I quickly scurried to her side. “Jane! I’ve been looking for you, but you found me.”
“Ariel told me you were here. Now look, there’s no time. Come this way, hurry. If they catch you, they will kill you.”
She turned and led me through the doorway, into another narrow passage, at the end of which was an opening that led to the yard outside of the building. Okay, I’d still be on the base, but at least they wouldn’t corner me in these hallways. I might have a chance in the yard. “This is where they let the dogs in at night,” she said.
“Dogs?”
“Guard dogs. They unleash them and the dogs roam the halls at night.”
“Why?”
“So the kids won’t leave their dorms after lockdown. Won’t wander in the halls and try to leave this place. That’s why they couldn’t turn the dogs loose on you. They’d go after the kids working in the building, too.” She pushed the door open. “The kennels are on the left, so you go right.”
I peered out into the yard. The sunlight was intense. Heat waves shimmered above the blacktop in the distance. I could see the kennel she was referring to, about a hundred feet to the left. A dozen or so Dobermans lolled in the heat, protected by an open front lean-to inside a wire mesh fence.
“Will you come with me?” I said to Jane. “If we can get to my truck…” I was about to tell her how I could ram the gate, and about the panic switch and how Sol would, somehow, help get us out of here, but she cut me off in mid sentence.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because they’ll catch you unless I draw them off. I’ll go and disturb the dogs. Their barking will bring the guards. Keep down and crawl to the right, around to the front of building. As soon as you hear the dogs, make a run for it. Maybe you’ll have a chance.”
“What about you? I can’t let you get caught helping me.”
“I’ll be gone by the time they get there. Don’t worry, they won’t see me.”
“Tell me about Robbie,” I said.
“He’s not here. They’ve taken him away. Now, hurry. Go!”
She took off running and glanced back once. Our eyes locked for a moment before she disappeared around the corner of the building.
I took a quick look in both directions and saw no guards, just a couple of teenage girls listlessly sweeping the yard. They seemed oblivious to what was going on.
I crept, crablike, along the length of the building, keeping below the line of barred windows lining the wall. When I reached the northwest corner, I stopped and peeked around the edge. The milk truck was still parked there, backed up to the loading dock, about fifty yards away, exactly where I had left it.
Half a dozen men milled around in front of it. They wore the same paramilitary uniforms as the gate guard, and each had an automatic rifle slung over his shoulder. While I waited for the dogs to bark, I glanced back and noticed that I’d left a trail of blood droplets behind me. The wound still bled, but I was more concerned about being spotted than I was about the pain. One nice thing about having a bleeding gash in my side was that I didn’t notice the pain from my cracked ribs. If caught, I wondered if they’d mind giving me a couple of aspirins before they shot me.
Suddenly the dogs let loose, barking, snarling and making a general nuisance of themselves. The guards perked up, looked around in all directions, then-just as if they were all wired together-charged off toward the kennel in the opposite direction from where I was hunkered down. I sprang from my crouch and made a wild dash for the truck.
I calculated that it would take me six seconds to reach the truck. Five seconds into my race for it I heard a man shout, “Halt! Stop right there.” Then the sound of rapid gunfire filled the air, bullets dancing at my feet.
Without looking, I lunged for the truck and grabbed at the driver’s side door handle as I fell to the ground. The door flew open. The gunshots continued, bullets slamming into the passenger side.
The truck would offer only a modicum of protection. But now I had to get this big milk wagon started. Then I could ram the gate and drive this thing the hell outta here. I clambered into the cab, keeping my head down.
My getaway plan showed promise but had one tiny flaw: no ignition keys! I hadn’t taken them with me. They snatched them. Mabel was right; I never lock anything. Damn!
An old wheezy voice I recognized shouted out. His words cut like a knife. “Give it up, O’Brien. You’re surrounded. Take a look-see.”
Peering over the dash, I looked out through the front windshield. Yeah, it was Ben Moran. He stood, hands on his hips, in front of about a dozen soldiers. They had formed up into a semicircle in front of the truck. Their automatic weapons were on a dead aim for my head.
“Hands in the air, and climb out slow-like. Don’t bother looking under the seat. Your gun ain’t there. Move it!”
I thought of a line from Carroll’s Through the Looking-Glass: “I’m very brave generally, only today I happen to have a headache.” I was scared shitless.
My left hand inched to the dashboard. I flipped Sol’s panic switch.
CHAPTER 31
“Time’s up! Get out of the truck, now!”
I opened the door slowly. Holding my arms high, I climbed down from the cab. As soon as my shoes hit the ground, the guards closed in. I stood in the middle of a tight ring of thugs, their AK-47s pointed at my gut.
Ben Moran, a malicious scowl on his face, cut his way through the guards. At his side dangled a.45 semi-auto, his finger hooked through the trigger guard. He carefully dropped it in the pocket of his bib coveralls. I figured it was the gun Sol wanted me to bring along for protection. The gun I shoved under the front seat of the truck.
The wind was right, and I could smell his stench. He smelled like evil, like the decay of a dead rat. “O’Brien, I want some information,” he said. “You play ball, and you won’t suffer.”