The chatter between us slows as we head into the tunnels as planned. We’ve got a rough idea of when shit is going to start popping off, but we don’t know how long it’ll take to find them. And our “get out of Colombia” card is already stamped. Our timetable is limited.
We keep to a tight formation as we go in, noting any issues with infrared to make sure we don’t trip on anything. Switch has already hacked their system and found zero feeds of the tunnels. Either the reception sucks down here, they don’t know about the tunnels, or they’re blocked off and not a threat to them. Which is a problem for us.
“Hold position,” Switch says through the comms. “I see lights coming in from the courtyard.”
We hold. The courtyard is at the back of the facility, where we plan to enter.
After a few moments, I signal for us to continue. It’s dark as hell, but I see the light Switch mentioned. Which means we’re about to get to the courtyard and not continue to go underground. I guess “tunnel” doesn’t mean the same thing here as it does back home.
Rooster attaches a mirror to the end of his AR-15, then slowly puts it on the ground and moves it around the corner for him to see.
“Two smoking out back. About fifteen feet to the left,” he whispers.
Walker holsters his gun and unsheathes his knife. Hoss moves his shoulder holster so his gun is now on his back as he puts his fingers in brass knuckles.
Rooster pulls back from the opening as they take point.
I check my watch, hold my hand up to show five, and then count down. With one left, I signal for them to go. A second later, explosions start going off.
I pop out just in time to see Walker come up behind one of them who’s looking at the house. He slides his knife across the man’s jugular while holding his mouth to muffle his scream. Hoss crouches a bit, and as soon as the other guy turns back to his friend, he hits him. Hard.
I don’t question if the guy is alive or not. You don’t get that kind of head turn if you’re alive. One-punch kill? Guy really is a hoss.
We go in a two-by-two formation and enter the building. As soon as we see stairs heading down, we take them.
Switch had already scanned the entire building, at least what he could see. There isn’t any indication of anyone aboveground who seems to be of the hostage nature. Sure, he only had heat signatures, but his system is damn good. He and Flint worked together enough that we got to see full-body imagery, and there was no one in any position other than walking freely around in groups of three or four.
If they had Ruby up here, she wouldn’t be calm. She would be a terror. I know my girl. She might freak for a second, get in her head, but if she saw freedom, she’d fight for it.
We can hear our boys fighting off any who run out to see what the issue is, falling like ants in the trap we set. But the lower we go, the less noise we hear.
We hit the bottom of the stairs and scan the hallway. Footsteps have us doubling back to get cover as four men run by, their walkie-talkies screaming in Spanish.
I look at Walker, who knows the language better than me.
“Calling for help.”
I nod, and we keep going.
They’re going to need help. Lots of it. Because the second I find my Peaches, I’m burning this place to the ground.
Chapter 39—Ruby
Something’s happening.
I don’t know what, but I can feel it.
I can’t see anything. They put a blindfold on me, then tied me up and hung me from the ceiling like an animal. My toes just barely touch the ground. I’m still clothed, but for how long, I don’t know.
I don’t know if this is how it starts. If Ava got this instead of bathroom breaks.
But I’ve been here for a while. Long enough for some parts to go numb. But not my mind. Something changed in me. I’m not sure if it’s because of what happened to Ava or because now I don’t have Nat’s strength to lean on. But there’s a resolve in me. A steady beat telling me that I will survive. That Icansurvive. One breath at a time. Even when they beat me, I’m still taking a breath.
I’ve been hit more times than I can count since they took Nat from me. Each time I screamed, I took a hit. I must be getting used to the pain they put me through since I got here, because I had enough balls to fight back. Not a lot, since my hands were tied, and I was being held. But when I spat, I made sure it was in the direction I thought someone was. I hope they got blood all over their shoes or wherever offended them the most. It’s not much, but it’s what I have. And I must have hit the mark, because the next hit I got was in the stomach so hard that I think it broke a rib. It at least cracked one, based on the pain.
But I’m alone now. Or I think I am. I can hear still. I heard people running. People speaking in frantic tones. Still no clue what’s being said, but something must be happening.
I can only hope.
