That means one of us has to go in and see what happened.
I shift my rifle from the sling over my arm into a ready position. It’s like Afghanistan all over again.
My footsteps are light as I hurry along a line of brush to the back of the house. The rear door is open.
I lean against the frame and listen.
Nothing.
I pivot through the door. It’s a kitchen, all the windows boarded up. A makeshift table is assembled in the center, someplywood nailed together. Two metal barrels are on either end, with a pile of plastic bottles in the middle. Narrow tubes go from the barrels to other parts of the setup, but I don’t have time to examine it.
A moan comes from a back room.
Shit. Is Iron Jack injured?
I scoot to the wall and slide alongside, careful to avoid stepping on broken glass or other trash that will make noise and reveal my presence. I can’t assume whoever might have gotten Iron Jack is gone.
I pause at the kitchen door. To the left is a trashed-out living room filled with ratty couches.
To the right is a hall. An open door shows a bathroom. One door is cocked open but dark, probably a bedroom. A feeble light leaks out of the other open door.
My boots are whisper quiet on the stained, rumpled carpet. I listen carefully with each step. Another moan comes out of the open door.
I’m about to pivot into the room, gun raised, when I hear Iron Jack. “We’ll get you out of here.”
Now, I move quickly. I step into the room, not sure what to expect.
But two women are on a bed, skinny as all get out, looking terrified. They shield their eyes with their arms.
Iron Jack whips around at my entrance, then relaxes when he sees me. “They don’t want to be here. We’re getting them out.”
Fancy comes up behind. “That tag we stuck on their truck shows they have given up the chase and are coming back.”
“We can do some decent damage on our way out,” Iron Jack says. “We’re taking them. We’ll get them to the club and go from there.”
He helps one of the women stand, but her legs are weak. He picks her up. I flip the safety on my gun and shove it behind me on the strap. I turn to the other.
“You okay?” I ask. “Can you walk?”
“I think so,” she says. But when she stands, she’s wobbly and disoriented. She must be high. I pick her up.
“I’ll follow you out,” Fancy says. “See what I can fuck up in here.”
Iron Jack hurries through the house. I follow him, shifting the woman to avoid bumping her legs on the door frame.
We race into the yard.
Iron Jack has his bike, but that won’t work for the women, not in their state. The truck has a narrow back seat, so we open the door and help them inside.
Fancy races out of the house. “We gotta go!”
I jump in the driver’s seat, shifting my gun to the space between me and the door. Hell of a night we’re having.
Iron Jack leaps onto his bike.
Fancy swings inside the truck. “You got them?”
I aim my thumb toward the rear and start the truck. “We got ‘em. Sorry you didn’t get to go wild. I know you looked forward to some real carnage.”
