Page 180 of Red Rooster

Rooster wasn’t proud of the way his stomach turned over when one of the guards cinched a blindfold tight around his eyes. Rob had warned him that something like this might happen, and he’d been mentally preparing himself, but he was already without weapons; take away his vision, and he felt breathlessly vulnerable in the worst way.

At least no one noticed the phone, though. He was patted down roughly, the guard’s hand clapping right over the bulge taped to his arm, but the glamour must have worked, because he was cuffed and marched forward, the phone still there.

He tried to keep his breathing slow and regular. Strained his other senses. He was marched up the big stone front steps – he tripped on the first one and was caught by rough hands, shoved forward so that he was forced to find his balance – and then across hard-surface floors that sent all their footfalls echoing through what sounded like a wide-open space.

And then a voice said, “Wait,” and he knew who it was.

That motherfucker Jake.

Rooster ground to a halt, and clenched his jaw to keep from saying what he wanted to, which was some variation onI’m gonna fucking kill you, asshole. He tested his cuffs, but they held.

“Where did he come from?” Jake demanded, and Rooster took a small bit of satisfaction in the fact that he sounded unmoored. “Nevermind, just…”

Low murmurs of conference, and then Rooster was pushed forward again. Hard. He tripped on the edge of a rug and was hauled upright. Shoved on.

They walked for a long way, a time during which Rooster heard distant voices, strange echoes, and the chirp and crackle of walkie-talkies. A sense of bustling activity, and of worry. And of soaring ceilings that trapped and projected sound in unexpected ways. He’d walked through countless bases and buildings, and this place sounded like none of them.

Finally, he was put in an elevator and rode a short distance down, his stomach dropping unpleasantly. A hand settled on the back of his neck, and squeezed, once, almost gently. He knew that was Jake, somehow, and he longed to be able to drive his elbow back through the guy’s nose.

When they stepped off the elevator, Rooster was hit with a strong smell of dust. Dampness and disuse. Their footfalls echoed differently here, and the air was cold, and stale.

Another walk. And then a staircase leading down, and around. And down, and around.

A low grating sound, and a hiss, like an airlock. Clang of metal.

A vault, maybe. At the very least a cell.

Rooster’s pulse pounded like parade drums in his ears; his heart felt like it might crack a rib.

Finally, he was pulled up short, and turned around.

The blindfold was removed.

Two guards flanked him, holding his arms though he was cuffed, and Jake stood in front of him. His expression, truly pained, slowed the burst of hate that rushed to fill Rooster’s chest. Slowed, but didn’t stop.

Rooster said, “Where is she?”

Jake sighed. “How did you find this place?”

“I wasn’t in the Army. I can actually get shit done.”

Jake’s lips pressed together a moment. “Whatever you’re trying to do here, Rooster, you didn’t succeed. Now’s not the time to be a smartass. The people here are gonna want answers, and it’ll go easier on you if you talk to me.”

“Okay, let’s talk. Where is she?”

Jake shook his head.I tried, his expression said. He stepped back out of the cell; the two guards at his arms removed his cuffs. Locked him in. The barred door slid shut with an ominous clang.

And then Rooster realized that he understood something. That he’d overlooked all the signs: the outward reluctance, the apology. The fact that he was still alive.

“The drug trial,” he said, and though the other two guards walked on, Jake lingered, half-turned away. “The one for wounded vets. You were one of the ones they let in, weren’t you?”

Jake stiffened, a quick, reflexive movement, and Rooster knew he was right.

“I tried to get into the trial,” Rooster said, and was surprised to find there was no bitterness in his tone. Look at what these people had done to Jake; he didn’t wish himself in that position, the gun hand of some shadow organization. “But they rejected me. Said I wasn’t ‘stable’ enough. What about you, huh? You plenty stable?”

Jake looked at him a long moment; a muscle in his cheek spasmed like he was about to say something. But in the end, he walked off, silent, and the two heavy doors shut with the finality of coffins closing.

Rooster let out a deep, unsteady breath and glanced at his surroundings. There was a stone wall at his back, and on his right; bars ahead, at the door, and to his left, between this and another cell. A metal cot frame with no mattress and a stainless-steel prison toilet were the only furnishings.