Surge (108 page)

“I’d say in there.”

“Fine, let’s go check it out then,” Cory says and moves toward the club. Only to be stopped a second later by Webby laying a hand on his arm. Cory glares at him in response.

“I wouldn’t go running in there if I were you,” Webby warns.

“Why the fuck not?” Cory demands. “They’re all dead.”

“Not in there, they aren’t,” Webby replies.

“Jesus Christ, how many are there?” Carlos asks.

“It looks like she missed a dozen,” Webby says. “And there are still six out front that are still alive and kicking.”

“Alright, bring it in,” Wally orders. Everyone huddles around him, before he continues. “Ace, I want you to take Tommy, Carlos, John, and Webby into the woods. Patsy, I want you to be the runner with Oscar. I’ll take these two and we’ll do some recon through the window. Any trouble taking out the lifers, call it in and we’ll give you backup support.”

“Time?” Ace asks.

“Just get it done,” Wally says. They all nod and some head off toward the woods. Patsy hands over his Ak-47 to Ace, and Webby slings his sniper over his shoulder, before they jog to catch up with Tommy, John and Carlos. Wally turns back around to face Cory and I. “Let’s get this over with.”

<~~~<~~~
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Peering through the window, I see the dozen or so men that Webby was referring to. Since the clubhouse has so many windows to look in, I took the dining room, Cory took the gaming area, and Wally took the pub. From my window, I can see both the bar, and smaller dining tables that have been pushed together to create one elongated surface. On which, is an array of food.

Even from here, I can see baskets of burnt bread, some type of charred meat, and a soup pot filled with some unidentifiable substance. My guess is that Olivia either did not prepare their meal, since they’re still alive and she’s an excellent cook, or she purposely screwed up their dinner just to piss them off.

I haven’t seen a glimpse of her yet, but I know that I’ve got to have patience, especially when I take into account that I’ve only been sitting here for five minutes. There’s also the high probability that she’s chained up somewhere, as she spent her last turn in captivity. If that is indeed the case, I’m going to chain the son of a bitch up, and perform a few discipline techniques of my own. And  if I’m not mistaken. I believe that I’m looking at the fucker responsible right now. He’s at the head of the table, and it’s not for the same reason that I used to pick that spot.

While I chose the position so that I could converse with each person without other people having to move out of the way, or crane their necks in uncomfortable positions; this douche bag like’s the implicated power the chair represents. That he’s above everyone else at the table, so he deserves the head position, like a freaking mafia king or some shit. Well, his crown is about to be tipped off, burned, and pissed on; so I hope he enjoys it for the last few seconds that he can.

The man that can only be Cole, since I vaguely recognize him from the news reports, looks no different from the time he appeared on the front of the Herald. He’s in his early thirties now, but you wouldn’t guess it if you looked at him; which was another factor that contributed to him being on the run for so long. Witnesses guessed him to be in his late teens, to early twenties, so they couldn’t get a good description to give to the public. His hair is a mix of dark brown, with highlights of gold, and he has a handsome, if somewhat boyish face.

The one characteristic that pinpoints him as anything but the boy next door, would have to be the black eyes that Olivia told me about. And they are actually black. Even from here, they look like twin pools of darkness that god knows what is lurking behind. He’s the only one that looks clean, and his clothing even looks freshly pressed; so he still takes pride in his appearance, even if there’s no one left to impress. Or maybe there is? Maybe he likes dressing separately from his cronies, as a way to remind them of their place? Who knows what bizarre shit his deranged mind comes up with?

The room is buzzing with men and women conversing. Most of them are men, but there are three women in the mix of fourteen seated at the clustered tables. I wonder if any of them were the ones Olivia spoke of?
‘The laughers’
as she referred to them. I’d say that it’s probably a fifty-fifty chance that they could be some of the women that helped beat Travis to a bloody pulp, or they could just be new batch of sickos. And they must be demented if they’re part of this freak show, and aren’t tied up like helpless victims. Some of their depravity is even being revealed at this very moment.

One of them has a live rat pinned to the table by knives. Yes, you heard me right. The crazy brunette has the rat tacked down by four knife points dug through the rodent’s paws and into the table, as she pokes its stomach with a fork. That’s how I know that it’s alive, since its tail is flicking back in forth in a motion that reminds of Morris when he’s agitated. Finally having enough fun, the sick bitch spears the rodent with her butter knife, making the rat exit this world with a painful squeal. And that’s where the laughing starts. It sounds similar to a witch’s cackle, and can be heard loud and clear over the male voices talking, without a single pause in their conversation; I guess that the pointless torture of animals at the dinner table is commonplace with this pack of psychos.

It takes me a few seconds to tear my eyes away from the disgusting individuals, but when I do, I see one half of a double door swing open. When I see the small shape, and the dark hair reflect the candlelight; I know it’s her, and I have to dig my toes into the dirt to stop myself from diving through the plate glass window. I almost bite clean through my tongue, when my mouth opens to call out her name; but I snap it shut in time, and allow myself to just watch for now. Patience, I know that it’s never been a strong suit of mine, but when it comes to Olivia; I know any amount of time I have to wait, will be well worth it. That goes double when my impatience could incidentally harm her in some way.

Keeping my eyes trained on the dark outline coming around the counter to the bar, I see that her shape is off. The reason becomes apparent a few seconds later, when she rounds the counter and has a tray like Cinderella in her hands. It’s overflowing with shit, but that isn’t what captures my attention. It’s the fucking collar on her throat that does. No, it’s not a fashion necklace, it’s a dog collar. A choker collar, to be exact. And who happens to be holding the chain to that collar, head dick himself. Deep breaths are my best friend right now, because if I don’t use some kind of technique to release the fury boiling inside; then I’m going to go rabid squirrel monkey on these fucks, and eat my way through this wall, before ripping their hearts out with my fist.

I peel my eyes off of the collar and check out the rest of her. I can only see from her shoulder up since the tables are tall, so I can see that her hair is unbound, her face looks unmarred, as do her arms. Wait a minute, arms? I’ve never seen her freaking arms before. When Olivia rounds the table to serve mugs to the right half of the table, I see why they are plain to view. Actually, why pretty much
all
of her is plain to view. She’s wearing a silk nighty that barely covers her ass, its spaghetti strapped, and she doesn’t have a bra on. It’s sixty freaking degrees out, and they have her dressed like this? What the fuck?

I’ve had enough of this shit, and reach for my gun, only to have my hand grabbed. I turn with my fist raised to knock the fucker out who dared to touch me, only to have that too grabbed. It’s near pitch black in the bushes that I’ve been spying from, so it takes me a minute to quit fighting the hands, and hear John’s voice tell me to calm the fuck down. I flip my flashlight on and shine it at his face.

“When the fuck did you get here?” I hiss at him.

“About twenty seconds ago,” John answers and gives a pointed look at the window. “And I’d say that I’m just in time to stop you from doing something stupid.” I look away, since I know he’s right. But if he cared about her the same way that I do, then he would understand. “Why don’t you go to the car? We can handle this.” My eyes snap to his, and I shake my head rapidly in the negative.

“No fucking way,” I retort. “I can be patient, I promise.” John stares me down, when he sees that I’m serious, he nods. “How’d it go with the ones out front?”

“Piece of cake,” he says. “Six of them, against seven of us, plus our grenades? It was no competition.”

“Noise?” I ask with raised eyebrows, because I didn’t hear so much as a tree branch snap.

“Silenced weapons,” John says. “The flash bangs and concussions are quiet, we decided to stay away from the C4 because it would have drawn attention to us. We used some old fashioned stealth maneuvers.”

“Good job,” I say. And they did do a good job. Had they made noise and tipped off the assholes inside, we could have bitten off more than we could chew, but as it is, we still have the element of surprise on our side. Hopefully it can stay that way.

“So, what’re we watching?” John asks as he slides toward the window. I hear him suck a breath through his teeth. “Never mind, let’s find a new channel.”

“Why?” I ask and make a move to go closer to the window, only to have the giant bean pole step in my way.

“It’d be best if you don’t watch,” he says.

“I can handle it,” I remind him.

“Fine, first sign of a move without explicit permission, and I’m knocking your ass out,” John warns.

“Whatever,” I say and shove him aside.

John takes up a position next to me, while my eyes scan the room to find Olivia. It doesn’t take long, when I see a black haired bitch grab Olivia’s hair and pull her face down to her level. She points at the food, and Olivia nods, before the black haired woman releases her. Olivia continues down the line, placing mugs as she goes. After she sets her fourth mug down, some ape looking mother fucker smacks a hand across her ass.

Olivia pauses, and I see her knuckles turn white, as she grips the tray. With her chest unrestrained, I can see it expand with a deep breath, before she exhales. Her deep breathing technique obviously didn’t work, because she drops one half of the tray; spilling the contents on the floor, then turns her body at the same time she swings the tray, nailing the asshole on the back of his head.

The raider’s head dips down with the movement, smacking his face into his plate of food, before it comes back up. I hear several of the men chuckle, but Olivia isn’t laughing. I see her mouth pinched tight and her eyes glaring at the back of the man’s head. The greasy haired raider, lifts his head from his plate, and spits as he wipes his bleeding lip with the back of his hand. Lunging quickly, the raider manages to grab a few inches of Olivia’s hair when she dodges, and curls his hand in it, drawing her forward. As soon as she’s within striking distance, the raider lifts his fist, and doesn’t hesitate to punch her. When I decide to break my promise, and kill the mother fucker, John grabs my arm.

“Wait,” he orders. “You can kill him later, if you go in now, she could get hurt.”

“She’s already getting hurt.”

“And she’ll get hurt worse if we run in there with our guns halfcocked,” John says. “Wait for the fucking signal.”

“Fine,” I spit out. “But that fucker’s mine.”

John nods, and turns his attention back to the window. I follow his lead, and look inside. How Olivia disengaged the fucker’s fist from her hair, I’ll never know, but when I look back in the window; I see her cheekbone is already swollen, and her grey eyes are blazing fires down at the bloody guy on the floor. Her victory is short lived, when Olivia’s head snaps back. Even she’s taken aback by it, but her body moves with the motion. It’s awkward, and when I see her grip at her throat, I know the reason for it. She’s being called by her puppet master.

With the rapid pace that he’s pulling, Olivia’s stumbling over her feet to keep up, until she falls onto her knees, and is dragged several feet before she manages to get on her knees and crawl. I keep it in check this time, even before I feel John put a restraining arm on me in warning. I’ve already got two strikes, if I get a third, I know that John will call Patsy over to knock me out with one of his near lethal blows. And there’s no way in hell that I’m missing out on killing these fucks, all because I couldn’t wait.