Chapter 20

Another nearly sleepless night. He awoke early. He was running on fumes now, having barely slept ten hours since she’d gone missing. He finally felt like he was getting somewhere, though. He didn’t know what was going on in that barn ... he didn’t know if it had anything to do with her. But he was going to find out.

He realized by now that this was bigger than he was. He knew he would need help. Ableard rose to mind. Ableard was a friend of Mr. Simmons, that was obvious. But he felt like Ableard would do what was right, first and foremost. He had to have proof, though. He had to have proof something bad was going on in there, if it was. He had to first see if it was somehow. He racked his mind for a way in the barn. Sadly, he didn’t know how to pick locks. It was probably a little late to learn, at this stage. He didn’t even have one to practice on. Tin snips? The barn was made of sheet metal. If he could cut a hole big enough to crawl through ... he remembered running his hands over the rough steel sheeting of the barn. Every now and then, his hand had encountered ... a bolt. A bolt or a nut. Hmmmm, hmmmm.

He got up and searched the cabin, coming up with something he’d brought from the other cabin he’d looted. A large, rusted adjustable spud wrench. It would make a fine weapon, even, he thought, with the sharp point on the end. He cleaned it with a rag, and found his can of machine oil and lubed it up good, working the worm gear until it moved the sliding jaw smoothly. He slid it into a belt loop. He put the oil in his pocket, too, in case the bolts were rusted. Fine, fine. Shit. Night would not come quickly enough.

He puttered and messed around the cabin, impatient for nightfall. He fed the dogs, and gathered up his gear, including the AR. He thought about taking the pistol he’d taken from the slavers, but he only had two bullets for that one. Hardly worth carrying for just two rounds.

Dusk found him at the Simmons residence. He found his spot, and bedded down, waiting for the middle of the night. He hoped to see the feeding again, but he figured he was too late. That was probably earlier in the afternoon. The generator finally died, thankfully. He idly wondered where they got the fuel for the damn thing. Fuel was outrageously expensive now. Insane. He was sure it was a fairly small generator, it’s not like the whole house was lit up or anything. Still, it was a gratuitous display of wealth. The bastards.

He waited another two hours, counting time to himself. The house was dark. The dog was quiet. Well, he hadn’t heard the dog but a time or two, in the three days he’d snuck around here. He felt like he was ready. He crept from his spot, leaving his bow and the AR behind. He hated to leave the bow, he felt naked without it, but it was too dark. And he imagined he was in for a tight squeeze, getting into the barn.

He got to the back of the barn without incident, and went to the corner furthest from the house, where it seemed to be the darkest. He easily found the bolts in the darkness, and not so easily got the wrench fitted on one. He could feel the ridge just slightly over from the bolt where the sheet started, so he knew he was starting out right. Slowly, painstakingly, as quietly as he could, he removed bolt after bolt, until he’d gone up as far as he could reach. He figured that the panels were eight feet high, so he knew he couldn’t reach the top ones. But maybe he could get enough.

He tried to pry the sheet outwards, just to see where he was at. Shit. Bad discovery. It felt like it had been caulked together. Shit, shit. He slid a thin-bladed knife under it, and had some success. He pried with the sharp end of the spud wrench, and succeeded in pulling the sheet apart from the sheet it was overlapping. It was obviously not going to make a big enough space to crawl through, though. He located the next row of bolts, and began taking them out.

Half an hour later, he was on the third row. He felt like this would be enough, at last. He got the last one out, broke more of the caulking bead, and pulled the sheets apart. Down at ground level he could make a space of about two feet. He felt like that was enough to wiggle through. He slowly pushed his hand through the space, and boom. Disaster. Another sheet of steel. Shit. He felt all up and down it, and as far back as he could in the direction that the steel was still bolted in. Nothing. Just another wall of steel. This sheet was flat and smooth, though, and had no flex at all in it. He felt some space on the floor beneath. It was like it was something inside the building pushed up against the wall, rather than the construction of the building itself. He was about ready to give up, when he heard a thump and some scrabbling, right on the other side. The inside. Shit. What was that?

He took the wrench, and as loudly as he dared he tapped three times on the inner steel wall. After a few seconds of silence, something clearly and distinctly tapped back three times. It sounded like they used knuckles instead of something hard, though. Shit, he thought. What have we here? That people were inside was now undeniable. He poised himself to run if someone came around the side of the building. A few minutes passed, and no one did. Good. He tapped twice. Two taps returned. He tapped four times. Four returned. Shit, he thought, goddam. I wish I knew Morse code. He tapped three shorts, three longs and three shorts, the SOS signal. After a few seconds, the sequence was repeated exactly. Then again. And again. It did not stop. Over and over. Three short, three long, three short. He felt sure he got the message. Somebody in there was in trouble. He tapped a few times to try and get them to stop and at last they did. He pulled the metal out a little further and stuck his head inside and put his ear up against the inner wall.

He breathed silently, straining to hear. Suddenly, from just what sounded like a foot away he heard a woman’s voice. He couldn’t understand what she said but he heard her voice. Another voice sounded, further away, a male voice, rising in inflection, like a question was being asked. Then the first voice again.

He sighed, knowing what he had to do. He found the wrench on the ground and carefully moved to the other end of the barn. He started to go around the corner and then thought, if it’s blocking the back, it’ll block the side. He started on a new row of bolts. Shit.

He figured two hours had passed, maybe three since he’d started. He feared the sun coming up, but figured he had a few more hours at least. He pulled out the first row of bolts and slid the knife down where the sheets overlapped, meeting a lot of resistance. This one was a bitch. The caulk guy had spent way too much time on this one. He got it, with the help of the wrench, and pried the sheets apart. He held his breath and stuck his hand into the darkness.

Thankfully, there was nothing as far as he could feel. He hurried as best he could and got the next two rows of bolts out. He lay down in the grass and tried to wiggled his way inside, finding it impossible since the sheet metal wanted to lay back down against his direction of travel. He pulled back out and took the spud wrench and pulled the sheet back as far as he could. It made a horrible loud squeaking noise and he imagined all the lights in the house coming on. He backed up a few dozen feet, preparing to run, and waited five minutes by count. Nothing.

He returned to the building and much more slowly pulled the sheet back and drove the sharp end of the wrench in the ground as far as he could. It held the sheet back, and he lay back down on the ground and wiggled his way into the building. He moved as slowly as he could in case he bumped into something, and was careful that none of his gear caught in the opening. When he got inside the space seemed to be empty. There was a small amount of light in the building, from the skylights in the ceiling, but he could see absolutely nothing. He stopped and waited, listening, straining every nerve in his body to hear something. Nothing. He fumbled carefully in his pocket and pulled out the box of matches. He selected one and struck it on the box. Immediately he heard a moan and a woman’s voice.

Plainly, he heard a woman say, “Over here. Over here.” He held the match up and carefully walked forward. The small circle of light moved with him. To his amazement, just to his right was a cage. An honest-to-god, serious-as-fucking-hell cage, welded together from steel beams and separated metal, with large, diamond-shaped holes. He raised the match, feeling it starting to burn his fingers. A woman was in the cage. Jeezus, a woman! She stared back at him, horror in her eyes. Sheer, abject terror. Jagged, diamond shaped shadows from the match light and separated metal played over her face as the match shook in his hand. She opened her mouth and took a deep breath as if she was going to scream, and he brought his finger up before his mouth, saying, “Shhhhh!” as loud as he could whisper. Amazingly, she shut up instead of screaming.

“I’m going to get you out!” He said carefully and slowly. He had to drop the match, and he fumbled for a new one. He struck it and raised it again. The woman was now plastered up against the separated metal, staring at him. She was shaking violently. Her hands reached through a food slot, and sought him out. He touched her fingers, careful not to let her grab him.

“Guh,” she said. “Guh ... get me out of here!” her voice rose almost to a scream. He shushed her again, and strangely, the second time, she shut up again. God, he wished he had his automatic or the AR now, after that much noise. He wondered if the people in the house could hear the woman or if they cared. He figured it wasn’t the first time screams had been heard from the barn. Not if it had people in cages in it.

“Who are you?” the woman suddenly said, conversationally. He was taken aback by her sudden change of mood.

“Clipper,” he replied, before he thought about it, just to shut her up.

“Oh. Clipper,” the woman said. “The new girl said you’d come. Hmmmf. What took you so long?”

Oh shit, he almost cried. He almost screamed. His heart, already beating madly, kicked into overdrive.

“Where is she?” the woman looked startled at the vehemence in his voice. She motioned down the row of cages. Another woman spoke about that time asking what was going on down there. From the cage right next door, another woman said, “It’s a man!”

He lit a third match, and headed down the row of cages. In each one, a woman stared from within, most of them trying to talk or whisper to him. All of them reached out to him through the slots in the front of the cages. He got to the end, and there she was. He grabbed her hands, sticking through the food slot, holding onto her feverishly. She opened her mouth and he shushed her. He let the match fall, and kissed her through the large diamond-shaped separations of the metal screen.

“Darling! Listen! I have to go for help. But I will be back, in an hour. Just hold on! Keep these girls quiet about me, that I’ve been here. Don’t let anyone know I’ve been here. Just hold on, okay? Where is Dylan?”

From behind her, he heard the boy say, “right here.” He was in the same cage, even. Goddam.

“Look, you two, I gotta go get help. Just hang on. Dylan, take care of her. I’m gonna go get the AR, and hand it through the slot to you. Through the food slot.”

She said in a tiny voice, “don’t leave me.”

“I have to darling, I have to have help, with all these girls. I can’t do this alone. There are too many bad guys here.” He only knew of three, actually, and one of them was the woman who looked to be his age. Well, Simmons had said he had a little girl, also. He figured there was a wife, if there was a child. He was mostly afraid of the muscle-bound bad-ass. And, even though Simmons was an old fart, old farts could shoot guns as well as young.

“Girl. I have to go now. But I’ll be back, I promise, I swear.” He lit a final match, and picked the one on the floor up. No sense in advertising his presence here. He gripped her hand and kissed her, one last time. He then ran back down the row of cages to the end picking up the third burned out match on the way out. The women were all talking fiercely to him but he didn’t bother to stop and listen. He already knew they all wanted out of the cages. He scrambled through the opening. He still tried to be quiet, but he was in a hurry.

Just as he stood, a powerful, resonant voice said, “well, well, what do we have here?”

He froze. It was the muscle freak. Goddam, goddam. He was aware of the throwing knives in his belt. That was all he had. The bow and gun were back under the tree. Shit.

In the dim light of early morning, he could see the man holding a weapon on him, from maybe twenty feet away. A real gun. It looked like a HK91 to Clipper. Damn. Big bullet. Shit. He knew he was just moments from being a dead man. This time, he thought, I’ll feel it. There’s no one to save me, this time. He remembered Girl, that time in the woods. The easy, long swing of her arm, and a knife was in a man’s eye. Shit, he wished he had time do that. He wished he had that much confidence in his throwing ability. I have to do something, he told himself, or I’m dead. I’m probably just seconds away from being dead.

Shit. Sometimes stupid tricks work, too. He didn’t have anything else. A stupid trick would have to do. He looked at a point in space behind the man, and said plainly, “Shoot him.”

The man spun, his rifle at the ready. Clipper yanked his shirt up, and pulled a knife out. He grabbed it with his left hand, and transferred it to his right, holding it by the blade. He was thinking, oh shit! oh shit! the whole time. He yanked his hand back and threw, trying to aim for the thick part of the man’s body. The man was turning back by now, realizing he’d been fooled. Clipper watched, in slow motion, as the barrel of the gun swung closer and closer. About that time, the knife hit, sticking lightly in the man’s thick muscular neck.

Clipper was running by then, right past the fucker, headed for his nest in the trees. He zigzagged, but only slightly, not wanting to waste time. He fully expected any second to hear and feel the shot that would end his life. He slowed, and crouched for a second to grab his bow. Later he would wonder why he hadn’t grabbed the AR15. But the bow was habit, pure habit. He felt more comfortable with the bow. He knew he could hit a target, with the bow. He’d never even fired the AR, and he wasn’t familiar with it. Plus, the bow was silent.

He ran again, he ran like his life depended on it. It did. He could hear the man crashing through the underbrush behind him, cussing loudly. The stupid fuck, Clipper thought, he should have a least fired off a few shots to let the people in the house know something was going on. Idiot. But no, he wants to be a hero and kill me all by himself.

He felt like enough trees were in between the man and himself to stop and spin. He already had an arrow out of the holder, and he nocked it and yanked the bow back, judging where the man was by the sounds. He tried to keep a large tree between them, until the guy was close. At the last second, he took a step to the side, and there the fucker was.

The guy looked surprised and was bringing his weapon up when Clipper’s arrow slammed into his chest, going in a good six inches at the base of his throat. Now he really looked surprised. Blood was already soaking into his shirt, from the knife wound on the side of his neck. He just stood there, refusing to die. Just that he could stay on his feet and absorb the impact of the arrow told Clipper a lot about him. Shit. He was a monster. Clipper put another arrow into his gut. He still just stood there. That’s enough of this shit, thought Clipper and put a third into the man’s right eye. The man dropped like his legs had been removed at that, the pained and puzzled look no longer on his face. Clipper approached, straining to listen for any sign of additional pursuit. Nothing.

The man was definitely dead. Jeezus, Clipper thought, get your sorry ass on to hell. He kicked the man’s foot, just to be sure, ready to dance backwards. Nothing. He put his bow on his back, leaned down, and liberated the assault rifle. He checked the clip. Full. One in the chamber. He went through the man’s pockets, finding a handfull of .308 ammo. The bullets felt huge to him after the 7.62x39 and .223 of his other weapons.

He ran the hundred yards back to the barn, dropped the HK, and grabbed the AR from his hiding spot. He slid the weapon through the gap he’d made in the building. At least it was a little lighter inside the barn now. He scrambled to his feet, and ran down the row of cages to Girl and Dylan’s cage. Girl made a funny little squeak when she saw him, and he stopped for a moment and kissed where he thought her lips were through the separated metal. He pulled the clip off the rifle, and passed it through the feed slot to Dylan, then passed him the clip. Dylan slammed the clip home, checked for a round in the chamber, took the safety off, and placed the rifle on the floor, laying a blanket over it. Good, thought Clipper.