Capture (Siren Book 1) (10 page)

Twenty

Exhausted, we retreat to the least stinky corners to rest. The others scatter along the walkway toward their original home, and after a brief glance, Milla turns toward the room I was originally imprisoned in. Irrational panic grips me. Maybe she just wants peace and quiet to relax, but I can't put the bitterness of my own stay there out of my mind. I can't shake the idea that someone's going to lock her in there when she sleeps, and she'll be just as tortured as I was. The others are in my line of sight, but if she goes in there, she won't be.

She glares at me when I come a little too close. “Humor me, please?” I hope I don't have to explain. “You mind seeing my feet when you rest?” I demonstrate, sitting down outside the door and pushing my feet in, where someone would have to move them to lock her in.

She stares a moment longer, making me wonder what the hell she's so afraid of. Does she really see me as that threatening? But she decides not to make a fight of it. “Whatever you want, boss.”

There's a little snark in it that makes me want to press deeper, find out who she is, what she thinks about me. But from her yawns and her swaying, it's just misplaced aggression.

It doesn't take too long for me to doze off, and to my surprise, I sleep like the dead. I wouldn't have thought it, not for how loudly my heart raced listening to her in the pipe. But I'm out long enough that the others are already pacing when I open my eyes.

Milla's sitting quietly in her little den, knees pulled to chest. I'm not sure why she didn't step over me to join the group. Her eyes are wide and blank; she hasn't so much as looked up at me since I sat up.

The others are talking in low voices—they seem fine, for the moment. But there's something dangerous in Milla's silence.

“Are you okay?” I shift until I'm sitting with my back against the door.

Her eyes snap to me, wild and full of fight-or-flight. And just like that, there's my answer. “You thought you'd wake up in your own bed, didn't you? That it was just a nightmare, or a weird dream.”

She bites her lip, and ducks her chin. The steel I saw in her yesterday is gone. “Yeah, I guess.”

“I did, too. There wasn't even really any space to walk—” I reach out both arms to thump the wall on one side, and the tank on another. She chuckles wryly.

“You just get used to choking on the fear, and waiting it out. But each time, you're
sure
that last time will be the last time you woke up there.”

She shakes her head, unwilling to look at me again. “Is that what it's like?”

“It's not for you?”

She stiffens, as though realizing she's directed the conversation somewhere she doesn't want to go. “No, not really. It's like there's this weight on my chest, just,
gone
. Like I'm floating.”

I raise my eyebrows and wait for her to continue, but she doesn't. Whatever. It's not like she owes me that kind of exposure, just because we're stuck in each other's company. “You're handling it better than me, then.”

She looks away from me, trying to hide a grimace. “I wouldn't go that far.”

A second later, it makes sense, as she curls to the side to throw up over the edge of the catwalk.
Shit—
here, she was hiding panicked nausea, and I was trying to
talk
to her to draw the poison out.

I scramble closer to her to hold her long hair back as she heaves. “Sorry—I'm an ass. Maybe it
is
easier if you don't think about it.”

She draws in deep, wet breaths. There's tears on her cheeks, and I do my best to focus past the acrid tang of her bile. Maybe she's smarter than the rest of us, or less optimistic. Certainly the situation doesn't look
good
.

“Shh. It's okay. We'll take care of each other.”

Since my company plainly is counterproductive there, I rejoin the others while Milla composes herself. Alex looks up, his jawline tense. “We already did a walk-through. There's no more food in here. We
need
to find another exit or something, if we're gonna eat.”

“How hungry are you?”

The question really was only meant to see if anyone had health concerns, like diabetes, or if they were on the edge of passing out, but he takes it personally. “Hungrier than
you
.”

That's true. He probably lost half his bodyweight through his ass, the other day.

“
Easy,
” I placate him, but can't resist muttering “Asshole,” under my breath. “It makes sense to keep trying all the doors, anyways. Just because we
can
survive a little longer without food doesn't mean we should have to. And what're we gonna do? Sit around and braid each other's hair?”

Denise's face is frozen in a look of mute disapproval. I'm not sure if it's the strife she's reacting to, or if she's one of those women who takes any allusion to femininity as condescension. For her age, it could be either. And from Allen's smirk, he knows more than me.

I hate that these guys know more about each other than I do. We need to stay focused, and that can't happen if I'm inadvertently stepping on people's toes. Or if something they know might be a clue about what purpose there is in imprisoning us here.

Some part of me knows that's not always how it works. Some sociopaths target with
no
rhyme or reason. Sometimes it's just opportunity or impulse. But this seems too complex for that. And that means there
has
to be an endgame. Which means the game began
somewhere
.

While we walk around testing doors, I try to probe for information. I ask Denise if she's feeling okay when she seems to be losing steam, and she confesses she has an arthritic shoulder that's bothered by the action. Alex tells me about his kids, and Allen clams the
fuck
up when I inquire about his family.

Milla works quietly and unobtrusively, throwing a shoulder in where needed. I think the show of vulnerability's put her off, so I leave her some space.

The second to last door squeals as we push, the sound cutting into my eardrums like as though I were hungover, and from the others' faces, it affects them similarly. But Denise raps on it excitedly—“I heard something move. You two turn, we'll push.” She grabs Milla's arm, and leads her to squat under our arms. “One—two—
three
—”

With strength born of desperation, Allen and I yank as hard as we can on the wheel jamming the mechanism, and it begins to give. As soon as it does, the others' efforts force the door open, and we all stumble forward into a new space.

There's an acrid odor to the air, one that I don't like. “Wait—don't—”

Too late.

Allen, the last one in, didn't manage to get his foot between door and frame before it shut. He immediately tries to yank it open, but the mechanism seems to have given up completely. It won't open.

And I'm realizing what was off in that smell. “Something's burning.”

We all look around the room—there's no doors, no way but the way we came, and quarters are somewhat cramped. It's even a little smaller than the area I first entered this nightmare in. I can't see anything on fire, but there's a flickering tone to the light that can't be natural—it's almost bluish.

“Well
shit
. Now what?” Alex slams his fist into the wall, and then shakes it out.
“Fuck
.”

It takes me a moment to realize he's not just cursing the pain.

Under the floor is the source of the light. Some manner of blow-torch, burning blue-hot, handles positioned inward where we can't get at it without sticking our limbs in the flames.

“What the—” Denise asks, her breath catching in her throat.

“There's gotta be some other way out,” Milla says, earning my admiration with her control over her fear. For someone who was throwing up and crying with terror a half hour prior, she's the only one whose brain is halfway functional, now.

The smoky smell is thick enough to tear at our throats, and Allen leans over the rail built along the catwalk, as his coughs turn from hacking wheezes, to retches.

The floor's already heating up, the grating nearest the flames glowing dully.

Milla gauges her distance carefully, and leaps across the hottest sheets, stumbling on the other side. “It's cooler here—It'll buy a few more minutes.”

I don't have to be told twice. These shoes weren't made for this; the soles are already turning tacky as the rubber melts. I take the deepest breath I can, tense my legs for the push-off, and jump, landing easily on the other side. Denise looks across the gap, shaking her head. “I—I can't.” And it hits me—she only mentioned her shoulder, but it could well be her knees or ankles, too.

“The rails,” I instruct her. “Put your feet on the rails, and inch.”

She nods, frantically, and starts to obey. Her shoes' smooth soles skid on the rail, and she swears, and kicks off the low heels. Her face reddening in humiliation, her pantyhose follows a minute later. The other men tactfully look to the side, and Milla's preoccupied leaning over the edge of the rail, to the tanks on the other side, no doubt looking for a more permanent solution.

“Oh, for—” Allen braces himself, and throws himself across, while Denise's second leg is caught around her calf. Alex nods to let her go first, and she again starts her shuffling passage.

One of her legs slips, and her heel collides with the cherry-red base of the rail. She wails, the flesh already blackening.
“Shit
,” Alex yells, panic overwhelming his voice.

Denise sobs, testing her weight on the injured foot, and though tears pour down her face at the effort, she continues moving. “C'mon, you're almost here—” I hold out my hands to help her along, as soon as I can. I edge closer to the ruined grates, even though my feet protest against the heat, already searing me through my shoes. Finally, she's close enough to reach out to me, and I grab her under the shoulders, backing away with her in my arms, and her feet dangling above the worst of the danger.

Milla's eyes meet mine, hungry and almost—annoyed?—as she continues her search. Denise staggers as far against the back wall as she can get. It's doubly close quarters now, with only Alex on the other side, and the gap widening rapidly. “I—I think—” she says, but I can't make myself follow her words.

“Come
on
.” I beckon Alex, who's all over sweating, and only getting more and more crippled by fear as the seconds stretch by.

“There's no room—”

Milla swears vehemently, and then steps onto the furthest edge of the rail, balancing precariously on top with one hand on a tank, or engine, or
some
hunk of metal. “I'll fucking
make
room.”

She bends her knees, thighs clenching from the strain, and kicks up, catching her calf on the top of the tank. I shove Allen aside to make it by her side, and shove her hip up. “I've
got it
, asshole,” she says, clearly not appreciating my lack of confidence in her.

“I'm sure. What's up there?”

“Nothing. Just enough room for me to lay. Might be room for two of us to kneel?
Might
?”

It doesn't take a vote to know what's next. “Then brace yourself to help Denise up. She's injured.”

Denise's eyes widen. “I—I don't think I can get up there.”

“I'll help.”

She eyes my arms, and glances away, obviously satisfied that my strength means something.

Alex remains petrified, watching us work, as I help her onto the rail, and brace my hands under her hips to buoy her higher.

Milla catches her hand, and then her leg, and pulls her up. Denise cries in pain, but kneels next to her. I want to scream at Milla to comfort her, but that would be
far
from comforting for her. Still, she doesn't seem to have especially empathetic instincts.

Denise gasps. “Milla—that pipe above you. That's
open
.”

Milla looks up, and then elation lights up her face. “Yes, yes it is.”

Denise's face falls. “You'll need someone stronger up here to help you reach it.”

“Really?” Allen quips. “You're gonna do that whole song and dance, in reverse?”

“What choice do we have?”

Some bastard courtesy makes me wonder if he's reacting to my authority, or if he's just scared shitless, and in danger of trampling anyone between him and the exit. Maybe I should let him through first. “You wanna go up to help her?”

He snorts. “
Hell
no.” He gestures at the blackness below the catwalk, barely illuminated by the flames. “
That
looks way too dangerous for me to fuck with, and my balance isn't so good, nowadays.”

“Okay. Get him across.” I jerk my chin at Alex.

“Done.”

I reach for Denise, and Milla holds her hands while she drops her hips and legs over the side. Once I have her legs, and can guide them to the rail, Milla releases her.