Page 102 of Five
“We’re not waiting.” I begin to run, vaguely aware of Jesse behind me. He reaches the door before me, his longer strides outstripping my shorter ones, and pushes me out of the way to heave his shoulder against the door. It gives after several concerted shoves, bouncing inward and off the wall with a crack of sound.
I push past him and rush forward, heedless of his yell for me to stop. I can’t help it. The girl is in here. I heard her.
We all heard her.
I run past a metal pole. At the same time, a gun fires, and something hits the pole, casting sparks by my face. A bullet! I stop and look frantically around.
It’s dark inside, illuminated only by the just-risen moon’s light shining through the rectangular windows in the garage doors. A few pieces of random furniture and boxes litter the bottom floor, which opens to a mezzanine-style second floor. The building is largely open, with wide bays for the ambulances that were once garaged here. The mezzanine level circles around three sides of the building, with the dark forms of what appear to be bunk beds, lockers, and even a kitchenette above. A utilitarian metal railing separates it from the lower space.
I catch a glimpse of a figure up above, half-hidden by a bunk. That has to be where the shooting is coming from.
Another shot rings out and the girl screams. I dart to the left, to where a staircase rises to the second floor. Vaguely, I feel Jesse and Oliver behind me, a kind of shuffling back and forth as gunfire is exchanged, and they move from spot to spot.
But I simply run. Flat out.
“Throw down your weapon!” Jesse yells. “We have you surrounded!”
The man answers with another shot fired.
Reaching the far wall, the one beneath the mezzanine level, I creep along its width, toward the staircase in the far corner of the building. When I reach it, I don’t hesitate but start to climb.
I reach the top at the same moment Oscar bursts into the building. Everything explodes—shouts, gunfire, screaming from the little girl. Peeking over the lip of the floor, I see her—huddled against the wall, the dark shape of a man not far away.
Flattening myself against the floor and keeping to the heavy shadows to try to stop the man from seeing me, I crawl forward on my belly until the girl is within reach. Reaching out, I touch her knee. “Hey, there.”
The girl looks at me, then fearfully back at the man.
“I need you to be really brave,” I whisper, taking the chance that the sounds of shooting and yelling will cover my voice. “We’re going to get you out of here.”
The child glances back again, and then, biting her lip, starts to move forward on her knees.
The movement catches her kidnapper’s attention, and he whips around, gun pointed in our direction. His expression is maniacal in the dim light, crazed with his inexplicable purpose.
I don’t think.
I just move, flinging myself over top of the girl and burying my head in my arms. If he shoots, it will hit me first. Maybe she’ll stand a chance of escaping this hell.
Someone steps over me, and I risk a glance up. It’s Oliver, raising his gun. The gun wavers in his hand as he takes in his adversary, a look of confusion crossing his face, then levels out. Oliver fires.
The kidnapper chortles. “Missed me?” Oliver flinches and shakes his head.
Wha—oh, my God. It’s him.My gaze flashes to the kidnapper, searching for something I might recognize from all those years ago, but too much time has passed. He could be any stranger if we passed on the street.
Something passes between him and Oliver, and Oliver cocks his gun once again. I start to lift myself up, to provide a distraction, maybe—when Jesse appears from behind the man, gun raised.
His finger moves on the trigger, but instead of the boom of the gun’s report, it clicks harmlessly. The kidnapper turns, laughs, and lifts his own gun. A look of desperate rage crosses Jesse’s face seconds before a shot rings out, and he launches himself at the man, lifts his gun, and brings it down solidly on his head before it gets lost in the struggle.
He lifts his fist, rage and desperation contorting his features.
Brings it down again.
And again.
Twenty-Eight
Jesse
Motherfucker!