A Cruel and Violent Storm Read online

  Richard motions silently and I nod my understanding. On his signal, I unleash a crossbow bolt into the heart of one guard, while his tomahawk claims the life of his companion. Quickly, we snuff out the light and strip them of weapons. Behind thick drapes we stash the bodies, hoping to buy us time if a patrol sweeps the area. Either way, killing these men has put a ticking clock over our heads.

  “Blades and silent weapons only,” Richard whispers as we prep our breach. I hold the crossbow at the ready, my recently suppressed Glock holstered on my hip. The Animals might have cleared my family’s store of guns and ammo, but they never found Richard’s suppressors. They don’t completely eliminate noise, but they mute it considerably. They’re invaluable on a night such as this.

  Vince and Jerry pull open either side of the double-door, and Richard and I advance. A wall of heat greets me, the air stagnate from poor ventilation and the amassed bodies throughout the room. A single lantern suspended from the ceiling lights the room. Mattresses line the floor in rows, nearly all occupied with sleeping captives. A guard stirs to my right, startled by our sudden entrance. A bolt claims his heart before he can raise his gun against me. Suppressed gunfire sounds beside me as I unholstered my Glock and continue my scan of the room. No shot presents itself. On the far side of the room, a guard lies dead, torso riddled with gunshot wounds. Two more lie dead to my left, one claimed by Richard’s tomahawk, and the other by a pair of throwing knives. In seconds, we have cleared the room. But in doing so, we have awakened the captives.

  It’s a chain reaction, cries of alarm and confusion spreading along the lines until suddenly we find ourselves in a room filled with dozens of scared and desperate people. I strip my victim of weapons as Richard tries to quell their panic. But they are not calmed by his words, their voices growing more frantic as they notice the dead guards. This is a complication. We weren’t anticipating half as many captives.

  “Uncle Richard?” My head whips around at the sound of her voice. She rises to her feet, disbelief evident on her face. Julia, and beside her rises Trent. They’re here. They’re alive. If we can just make it back, this will all have been worth it.

  Richard ignores her, continuing his effort to gain control of the room. “Quiet, everyone! You’re gonna wake up the whole damn—” he’s cut off by a crack of thunder.

  “Shit!” I turn and spot Jerry clutching at his shoulder in pain even as he lunges to slam the doors shut behind him. Bullets rap into the wood, several shooting straight through and into the room. A man not ten feet away goes down with a gunshot to his stomach. Feet from Julia, a woman gets clipped in the thigh. It’s chaos—screaming and crying and bodies flattening themselves against the floor. Jerry crawls my way, blood streaming down his shoulder.

  No. Not again.

  Flashes of last night return to me. Arm around her shoulder. Body hitting the dirt as she pushed me away. Running, praying, pleading with her cradled in my arms. Realization. Fearful eyes. Her hand in mine as her heart beat its last.

  No! Not again!

  “Richard, Plan B!” I yell as I help Jerry to his feet. “Vince, make a hole.” I turn to Jerry, his eyes panicked as blood leaks past his fingers clutching his wound. I grab a sheet from one of the cots and cinch it tightly over it.

  “Look at me,” I say. I have to repeat myself before he does. “You’re going to be alright, I promise. But we have to move. Now!”

  The shooting ceases. Eyes look to me—to the controlled voice amid the chaos. Several rise as we rush toward the far side of the room, yelling and pleading and demanding to know who we are. They seek answers. Direction. I push past the mass of bodies with Jerry by my side, feeling heartless as I do so. I have nothing to offer these people. No plan, no guidance. In this room, surrounded by wolves on all sides, every second, every movement counts. Life and death are measured in the span of a breath, of a heartbeat. My heart beats for my family. Until the day we live in peace, anything I do must be with them in mind.

  Richard hands me a lit bottle as I reach him, a second in his opposite hand. Jerry rushes to the corner where Vince makes ready our escape, Julia and Trent behind him. Voices sound from beyond the door, a dozen at least. Captives back away from us, some dropping back to the ground in fear of another barrage of bullets. We stand our ground, waiting. The doors burst open and they stream in, weapons raised. Richard and I act as one, our Molotov cocktails flying through the air and shattering against their first responders. Bodies are consumed in flames, their screams silenced as we draw our weapons and unload on the entrance. Shotgun fire and breaking glass sound behind us. Our clips run dry, and no sooner are we jumping out the window and onto the low roof of the cafe below.

  Dozens of captives flow behind us, desperate to reclaim the freedom that has been taken from them. We hit the ground at a sprint as the night air is pierced by gunfire. Screams follow. I block it out, focusing instead on moving us forward. At 9th street, we leave the trail and cross the bridge spanning the river. We continue straight, up an embankment swathed in trees and bushes and emerge onto Cemetery Rd. We scramble up another embankment and push into the cemetery. Along the pathways we sprint, not daring to slow down until we reach the far edge of the graveyard. Here we pause, allowing ourselves a moment to catch our breaths and so Richard can assess Jerry’s wound. Julia collapses onto her hands and knees, chest heaving with panting breaths. Trent stumbles another few feet before emptying his stomach behind a thick shrub.

  “I can’t believe you guys came,” Julia says breathlessly, straightening herself out. Tears pool in her eyes as she finds Vince’s face. He pulls her into his arms a moment later.

  “Of course we came,” he says.

  I allow them some privacy and check on Trent who remains hunched over, clutching his stomach. “You alright?” I ask.

  “Yeah. I’m good.” He spits once and hastily wipes his mouth before straightening out. He looks at me now as if unsure of what he’s seeing. “How the hell are you here right now, man? Your mom said you were visiting Emily when everything went black.”

  “I was,” I say. “But we couldn’t stay there, the place was absolute chaos. We had to get home. Besides, I knew there was a good chance I’d have to bail your ass out of some shit sooner or later.”

  He laughs. “Dick. But fair enough. I’ll give you that one.” I clasp his hand and swing my arm around him in a tight hug, feeling the tension loosen throughout my body. Then I hear a grunt of pain from Jerry, and I know we are not out of the woods yet. We rejoin the group to find Richard midway through patching Jerry up.

  “Just a grazing shot,” Richard assures him. “Tore a chunk out ya’, but you should heal up just fine.” A wave of relief passes over Vince and Julia at these words.

  “Thank God,” Julia says, hugging him tenderly as Richard finishes. “Thank God,” she repeats.

  Jerry squeezes her with his good arm. “You took the words from my mouth,” he says. Watching Vince and Jerry embrace their sister takes me back to the trail. I know what it’s like to fear the worse for your sibling—the mental toll it takes on you. I also know the overwhelming relief in feeling them in your arms, safe and alive despite everything. It’s a heartwarming moment to witness from this side.

  Julia lets go and throws her arms around me next. “It’s so good to see you, Morgan,” she says. “And Emily? Is she—”

  “She’s fine,” I assure her. “She’s going to be so happy to see you.”

  “Me too,” she says. “But how did you guys get here? Have you been on your own all this time?”

  “It’s a long story,” I say. “We should probably wait till we get back before it’s told.”

  “Agreed,” Richard says as he rummages through our bag of looted weapons. “But first things first.” Trent is given a 12 gauge, and Julia the 30-30. They both appear comfortable with the weapons they’re given, handling them easily. I’m not surprised. They’ve been with Richard for over two months. I’m sure they weren’t the only ones who received a
crash course in firearm training.

  We pick our way slowly toward Rockridge, sticking to the forested hillsides blanketing the western edge of town. After what we pulled tonight, there are bound to be patrols in the area. I know men like them. They will not let tonight go unpunished, not when we’ve spilled the blood of their own. I can’t say I would either if the tables were reversed. But I didn’t start this. Tonight wasn’t a choice, it was the lack of one.

  We reach the crest of a slow rising hill, and below I spot a sight to make my blood run cold. Below travel a man and a woman, their furtive movements and constant glances behind them leaving me no doubt they are escapees from earlier. Down the block, an old Jeep slowly creeps along the adjoining street, on a clear path to intercept them. Before I can even consider what I’m doing I find myself yelling down to them.

  “Clear the street! There’s a—” Richard cuts me off, covering my mouth with his hand to silence me. I pry his hand away and shove him off me. “What the hell was that?” I seethe.

  “Keep your voice down,” he hisses. “It’s already too late.”

  I look back down the hill to discover he’s right. Headlights now flood the street, freezing the two with its harsh glare. It’s hard to tell from this distance, but they look young, my age or not much older. But even from here there is no mistaking their fear as the Animals exit their vehicle and draw closer.

  “Well, isn’t this some damned fine timing. We were just getting ready to turn back when you two came waltzing through.”

  The voice grates inside my skull like nails on a chalkboard. Suddenly I’m no longer concealed in the darkness atop the hillside: I’m surrounded by blinding light, fear coursing through my veins as my loved ones take cover behind me. I’d know that face, that voice anywhere. My vision tunnels. Rage consumes me. My breathing comes in violent bursts like that of a caged animal. I turn in search of the duffle, desperate for a rifle that can reach out and end this man’s life. Richard holds it, his stance telling me he knows exactly my intentions.

  “It won’t bring her back, Morgan,” Vince says quietly.

  “I don’t care,” I hiss. “That man deserves to die.”

  “Yes, he does,” Richard agrees. He points behind me. “But you take a shot at him, and you’ll be putting us knee deep in a pile of shit.”

  I follow his finger to see a blacked out van inbound from the south. It’s headlights join the scout’s and a half a dozen men pour out, creating a circle around the terrified escapees. They outnumber us over two to one. Even if I killed the sneering man, it would likely come at the cost of one of our lives, possibly all of them. I can’t take that risk. My vengeance will have to wait.

  I curse but nod my understanding. “You’re right.” I turn my attention back to the pitiful sight in the street, my anger still simmering under the surface. The captives have been brought to their knees, the sneering man pacing before them while twirling a knife in his hand. He’s good with the blade. He bends now, using the knife’s point to draw the woman’s chin up and meet his eyes.

  “I had high hopes for you, Sandra,” he says. There’s disappointment in his voice, genuine or not I cannot tell. She shakes with terror, a strangled sob stuck in her throat.

  “Don’t...” the man pleads beside her. Tears run rivers down his cheeks, his face tortured. The sneering man turns his way.

  “Don’t?” he asks, feigning confusion. “Don’t what?” he traces his knife down her throat, toward her heart.

  “Please,” he begs. “W-we d-didn’t know what to do. Guards d-dead. M-men with guns, y-yelling, shooting.” He’s barely coherent, too overcome with fear.

  “What men?” The sneering man asks. “Who were they?”

  “I d-don’t know,” he says. The sneering man adds pressure to his blade, drawing a droplet of blood just above the woman’s collarbone. She screams, as does her companion. “Please! I don’t know!” he yells, voice cracking. “They c-came for the two new r-recruits. The b-boy and g-girl.”

  The sneering man pauses, withdrawing his blade from the girl’s throat and focusing entirely on the man. “The new recruits?” he asks. “The two we hauled in the day before yesterday?”

  “Yes!” the escapee confirms. “H-heard her myself. C-called em’ uncle.”

  The sneering man continues to stare at the escapee, his face an emotionless mask. Slowly, a smile cracks the mask, an amused chuckle issuing from his mouth. “Now that’s some information I can use!” he says. “Please, stand,” he insists, raising his hands. The two escapees shakily rise to their feet, the woman trembling in the crook of the man’s arm. “I gotta say, you just saved the two of you a whole lot of suffering with that information. I mean, you’ve seen what we do with our enemies, right?” The escapee's nod in acknowledgment. “Childsplay compared to how we handle traitors...which is exactly what your actions tonight make you.”

  “Please,” the woman begs. “Give us a second chance. We’ll be loyal. I swear we will.”

  The sneering man lets loose a long breath. “Yes. I believe you would.” He shakes his head. “But I’m afraid that time has passed.”

  “You s-said we w-wouldn’t suffer,” the man says.

  “Don’t worry,” the sneering man assures him. “You won’t feel a thing.” The revolver is unholstered and leveled at the escapee’s head a fraction of a second later. Two shots ring into the night, the man and woman falling in tandem to the sound, holes blasted through their foreheads. The sneering man holsters his gun and gestures triumphantly to his surrounding men. They look to him with ravenous eyes, the murder in the air making them hungry with bloodlust. “Looks like we got us a house call to make,” he yells. The men cheer, eager for more carnage.

  Into their vehicles they go, leaving us alone in the dark as they race north. Toward Rockridge.

  Chapter 2: (Lauren)

  A storm of emotions brews inside his eyes, so full of love and worry it almost hurts to witness. The room is flooded with nervous energy, his family barely holding it together. I know the feeling well—that chest tightening, stomach-churning kind of dread—the kind that only stems out of fear for those you love most. For as long as I can remember, that feeling was reserved for Grace alone. I remember nights cloaked in that fear, drowning in it. I remember carrying it inside me, an insatiable beast which fed off of every worry, every doubt, growing stronger as I grew weaker.

  I didn’t like the girl I was then: cold, unyielding, suspicious of everyone and everything. My world was small and closed off, room enough only for one. It had been like that for so long I didn’t know any other way. It wasn’t until he came into my life that I realized another path existed. These past months I have suffered hardships. Violence. I have taken the lives of men and witnessed the darkest side of humanity more times than I can count. But I also, for the first time in my entire life, feel as if I belong to something bigger than myself. Family, now, is more than just a word, an idea. More than the kind-hearted girl I have protected these past twelve years. He gave me that.

  Standing here, I feel that old fear trace a finger along my spine, hear its silky voice whispering into my ear. But I am not the same girl I once was. I have opened my heart, filled it with love, felt the strength that comes by letting other people in. Now I am no longer smothered by that fear, it’s weight no longer solely on my shoulders. To know I’m not alone in this, that there are people who care for me as I care for them, is comforting in a way I can’t even begin to describe. Morgan was raised surrounded by this comfort, this love. It is the driving force behind all that he does: the reason we made it here, and what leads him to once again risk his life for others.

  I wish he didn’t have to go. I wish that I could go with him. But I know neither option is a possibility. He can’t stay here, safe, away from the fight. It’s not his way. And as he convinced me earlier, this isn’t my fight to take.

  “We can’t risk it,” he said. “This plan...it’s delicate. So many things could go wrong.”

 
“Which is why I should be there,” I argued. “I’m tired of waiting where it’s safe while you risk your life.”

  “I know you are,” he sighed heavily. “But they’re my family, Lauren. I can’t stay behind...not when they’re at the mercy of those men.”

  “I’m not asking you to,” I said. “I just don’t see why we can’t face them together.”

  His hand reached out then, pushing back a stray lock of hair before lying against my cheek. “Because you’re my family too. There’s already so much at stake tonight, so many lives...I just don’t think we should risk any more than we have to.”

  I relented after that. Still, it’s hard knowing in moments he will walk out the door, carrying out their plan while I remain behind.

  “Stay alert and take care of each other,” Morgan says. “We’ll be back by sunrise.”

  His eyes land on mine in all their intensity, filled with a tenderness that fills my heart with warmth. Sometimes I can’t believe we’ve known each other so briefly—that only a few short months ago I was staring into those resolute, dark-brown eyes through the barrel of a gun, wondering if I could trust him. In the end, I gave him my trust, and with it, he gave me a home. Incredible to think the power a single choice can have. He grins slightly, and it’s only then that I realize the smile I wear. It isn’t until he nods and turns to join his cousins that it falls from my face. I watch them exchange a few words and then disappear into the dark, marking the beginning of what I know will be a restless night.

  The house grows quite in their absence. Everyone seems in a daze, as if unsure of what to do with themselves. One by one they drift away, sinking into the couches and chairs where they will wait out the night. I wrap an arm around Grace and squeeze her close. My sister has always been sensitive to the emotions of others. This has to be taking a toll on her.

  “You alright?” I ask.

  “I’m fine,” she says.