Edge of the Heat 5 (17 page)

She had three more walls to check, and then she could move the cot around and check the ceiling. She ran her hands over the wall separating her from Jerry. She found a hole, only about an inch wide but about 3 inches deep, about a foot above the floor. She scratched at it with her fingernail, trying to dislodge more clay, but nothing moved. She put her little piece of metal to work on it, and was able to scrape away some tiny pieces of clay. She looked closer and saw the circle of clay around the hole were stained a darker color than the rest of it. Blood? Sara grimaced and wondered how long it took someone to dig that hole with only their fingers. She didn’t want to know.

How many inches until it broke through to the room next door? And why wouldn’t the person try this on an outside wall? Maybe there was paneling on the outside wall and the person who did this knew that. Maybe they just wanted a diversion, a distraction, or to be able to talk to the person in the next room. Sara wouldn’t mind being able to talk to Jerry, but she didn’t have time for this now. She had to focus on getting out.

She heard movement behind the door. She ran over quietly and put her ear to it. “I’m just going to check on her,” a voice called, then metal scraped against the door. She jerked the handcuffs out of her pocket and flattened herself against the wall.

The scraping stopped and she heard a key slide home in the lock. The door opened slowly. Sara waited to see what would enter first. Gun? Head? Body? A brown-haired head poked in at chest height. This man was an amateur.

Sara flung the handcuffs around the man’s neck and pulled him into the room, squeezing his neck with all her strength. He never had a chance to make a sound. His hand came up blindly, a gun in it, trying to hit her. She leaned her head back and pulled more pressure on the cuffs. His movements slowed. She pulled harder. He began to slump forward. Now Sara had to decide - choke him out and leave him unconscious? Or keep choking till he was dead. Not knowing who he was, Sara wanted to just leave him unconscious, but it was oh so dangerous to do so. Killing him would probably more than double her chances of getting out of here alive with Jerry.

Pain exploded in Sara’s right temple. The struggle had made her sloppy, and the other man was pushing a gun in her face. She gritted her teeth against the pain and kept pulling. She’d made her decision.

“Let him go, bitch!” Chris screamed.

No way
, Sara thought, hot blood pounding in her ears.
Shoot me or don’t. Either way, you’re next.

Instead, Chris brought the gun butt down on her head. For the third time that day, explosions rocked her brain. All of the strength oozed out of Sara’s body, and she fell forward on top of the man she’d been trying to strangle. She didn’t lose consciousness. But it was a close thing.

J
erry paced his room, his shoulders crying out at more than 4 hours behind his back. He’d searched the entire room thoroughly, twice, and there was nothing loose in here.
OK, change tactics. Is there a way to get out of these cuffs without finding anything to stick in the lock
?

Jerry thought long and hard. Could he at least get his hands in front of his body? That would relieve the pressure from his shoulders and make a third search easier. He experimented a little, and found he could not move his hands up at all, but what about down? He crouched, and ran his hands down the back of his body. They caught on his butt and wouldn’t go farther.
Damn!
He pulled his hands apart as far as possible and crouched and pushed/pulled at the same time. Success! They slid past and he almost fell over. Now he bent at the knees and moved his hands all the way down to his feet. He stepped carefully backwards with first one foot, and then the other and stood up, marveling that his hands were now in front of his body.

His shoulders sang in relief. He let his arms recover and wished he would have done that as soon as he got into this room. It was simple enough.
Now, don’t start berating yourself,
he thought quickly
. You did it. You’re doing a great job. Focus on getting out of here.

Jerry started another search of the room, starting at the door, and fastidiously examining every inch of the rooms with his fingers. He refused to hurry.

While Jerry was turning over the cot and wondering if there was anyway to tear the fabric from it and get it stiff enough to jimmy his cuffs he heard a commotion outside the doorway. He ran to the door and pressed his ear against it. Grunts and clanging sounds. Was it a struggle? He dropped to the floor and pressed his ear to the crack at the floor trying to hear better.

He heard a shout. “Let him go, bitch!” Jerry’s heart took the express elevator to his throat. Sara was fighting. Somehow, Sara was fighting with the men that had brought them here!

Jerry got up and yanked on the door handle. He braced his foot against the doorway and pulled with all his might. He had to get out there and help! The door held fast. Jerry let go and turned around and around the room in an impotent rage. He couldn’t just stand here!

He held his breath and listened at the door again. All sounded quiet.
What had happened?!
Fear and anxiety beat at his chest with panicked fingers.
What was going on?

He heard voices.

“Get up, help me with her!”

Then a low moaning and rasping sound.

“Shake it off, help me get her into the chair before she wakes up. You fucked up going in there like that.”

It sounded like Chris, the stockier guy was talking. That meant Brian was the one doing the moaning. Jerry mentally high-fived Sara for messing him up, while at the same time he moaned internally at the words ‘before she wakes up.’ Had they knocked her out again? A person’s brain could only take so many blows to the head before it suffered permanent damage.

More talking. Jerry strained to hear. It was Brian, his voice torn and gravelly. “She got out of her cuffs. Bitch tried to kill me. We can’t put her back in there. She’ll just get out of her fucking cuffs again.”

“We’ll break her arms. Thorpe won’t care if we break her arms, as long as she can still talk when he gets here.”

“Yeah, let me do it. There’s a sledgehammer in the shed.”

Brian’s voice had taken on a note of excitement now. Jerry’s hands clenched into fists.
Break her arms? These men were monsters!

“
Yeah, OK, but first put her on the chair. We got to tie her to it before she wakes up.” Jerry heard grunts of exertion and knew they were moving Sara.

Jerry’s mind raced furiously, he had to get out of here. He had to help Sara. He couldn't just sit in here and listen while they broke her arms with a sledgehammer. His mind would break in two.

“What’s this?”

“It’s a gunshot wound. She was shot at the hotel.”

“Looks painful.” Brian’s voice had taken on a horrible mocking quality. Like a nasty bully who was about to get his way.

Sara screamed. Jerry didn’t want to imagine what was going on out there. Did he stick his thumb in her wound and grind it around? Sara screamed again and Jerry couldn’t stand it one more second. He backed up, ran, and jumped at the door, pounding it with his weight. There was no way he was going to bust it open or down, because the hinges were on the wrong side, but maybe he could splinter it, pulverize, and push his way out. Either that or he was going to beat his brains in trying. He saw no other way.

He bounced off the door and landed on his feet. He backed up and ran at it again, yelling out his pain and frustration. The impact jarred his bones. His teeth seemed to come loose in his head. No matter, he ran at it again with another ear-splitting bellow of fury. Again, again. He started to feel it give in the middle. He doubled his efforts and pushed harder with his feet. A loud crack down the center of it gave him strength to ignore the pain and hit it again.

A boom echoed through the room. Another. Movement caught his eye and a hole appeared at the very top of the door. They had shot it from outside.

“LAY OFF! JUST QUIT IT! OR SHE’LL SCREAM MORE.”

Jerry stopped, panting hard, listening intently.

A soft voice he could just barely hear. “Why can’t we just kill him?”

The reply, also soft. “Thorpe wants him. If she won’t talk Thorpe plans to torture him in front of her.”

Yelling, directed at him. “STAND BACK FROM THE DOOR. IF YOU RUSH ME I’LL SHOOT YOU.”

“OK, I won’t rush you.” Jerry said back, his voice shaking from the adrenaline squirting through his body.

The door opened inward. Chris stood there. “Step up to the doorway, and look.” He stood back and Jerry did. He saw Sara, her eyes closed, her head rolled forward, and her arm leaking blood from the hole in it, in what looked like a dentist’s chair. They had looped rope around her middle and her legs. Brian was standing next to the chair, holding a gun on her. Chris was holding a gun on Jerry.

“Look, we aren’t going to do anything to her. We just need to keep her here until our boss gets here. He’s the one who wants to talk to her. But if you hit that door again, I’ll start breaking her fingers. Every hit of the door equals one finger broken. And if you come through the door, I’ll shoot you. My boss wants to talk to you, and I don’t want to kill you. I don’t want to kill anybody, but I will if I have to.”

“You aren’t going to break her arms?” Jerry demanded powerfully, mostly to keep Chris talking. He couldn’t go back in that room. He and Sara were both dead if he did.

Chris and Brian exchanged a worried look.

“Yeah I heard you guys. What’s this Thorpe got on you two that you’re willing to torture innocent people for?”

Brian laughed, a sad, broken sound. “Innocent? She ain’t innocent for a second. Do you have any idea how many people she’s killed?”

Jerry shook his head. “No, how many?” Something about Sara looked different. She had shifted in her seat maybe.

“Hundreds. Maybe close to a thousand. They don’t call her the
Carnicero of Zapopan
for nothing,” Brian spat out, his gun hand losing focus, pointing at the floor while he talked.

Jerry blinked. Carnicero? Butcher? Jerry tried to focus on his goal here: keep them talking, but his mind kept wanting to go to what they had said. She had killed hundreds of people? Could it be true? And if it was true, what did that mean about her? Was she a monster too? Was he caught sideways in this den of monsters who deserved each other? Should he just let them close the door, then try to figure a way to get himself out, and leave Sara to whatever mess she had created.

Sara herself decided for him. As Jerry looked at Brian, trying to digest what he had just heard, he saw movement in the chair. Sara stretched, elongated, and her hands moved almost quicker than his eye could track. They snatched a screwdriver from Brian’s pocket and buried it in his throat. She pulled forward viciously, and Jerry saw her perforate his trachea. Brian convulsed madly, blood from his throat spattering Sara in thick, red threads. His hands scrabbled to his throat, his eyes unbelieving. He fell over with a thud.

Chris turned his head. When he saw the bloody hump that had been his partner, his gun swung towards Sara. Jerry’s thought ceased and a veil of action fell over his eyes. He leapt forward, his handcuffed hands above his head. He brought his hands down as hard as he could on Chris’ wrists, feeling a satisfying crunch, but Chris still managed to pull the trigger. His bullet reverberated loudly in the room. Jerry didn’t have time to see where it went, he brought his hands up in a quick, hard jab, hitting Chris as hard as he could in the face. Chris’ neck snapped back and his body followed. Jerry would have huge, purple bruises from his wrists to his elbows for weeks, but he didn’t feel a thing in the moment. As Chris’ body flew backwards and slammed into the wall, his hands opened and the gun flew out. Jerry went after it and scooped it off the floor, immediately turning it on Chris.

Chris lay immobile and seemingly unconscious. Jerry snatched a glimpse at Sara. She was working on her ropes. She didn’t look shot.

Jerry’s mind tried to register what had just happened here. Part of him, the Paramedic part of him that had vowed to do no harm and always help if he could, fought to go to Brian and see if there were anything he could do for the wounds. Another small part of him replayed the eagerness in Brian’s voice as he discussed breaking Sara’s arms. Jerry stood firm and held the gun on Chris.

“We have to get out of here,” Sara stumbled to him, taking the gun from his hand. To Jerry, it looked like an extension of her arm.

“OK,” Jerry said. Wishing he were already gone. Wishing he hadn’t ever been here in the first place. Only the growing ache in his arms and shoulders convinced him it hadn’t all been a horrible dream.

“Go look for supplies. See if there’s a kitchen. We need backpacks, coats, food, water, rope, plastic bags, aluminum foil, plastic wrap, medicine and first aid packs if they have them, any tarps you can find, lighters or matches, a pot, and both of those cots. I’ll take care of him,” Sara said, motioning to Chris.

A question had been forming in Jerry’s mind - an important question, but it fled. He looked at her, suspicion written on his face. “Do you mean kill?”

Sara looked at him and said nothing, her arms rigid, holding the gun on Chris’ inert body.

“You can’t just kill him. He’s unconscious!”

“Jerry,” Sara said softly. “What do you think they were going to do to you?”

“I know, but that’s what makes them the bad guys,” Jerry whispered. His worst thoughts were coming true. Sara was a bad guy too.

“There’s a very slim line between the good guys and the bad guys, Jerry. Most good guys never have to learn that. But the ones that do keep the world from utter chaos,” Sara said softly, kindly.

“You owe me some answers,” Jerry said, looking pleadingly into her eyes.

“I know,” she nodded. “And you’re going to get them, all of them. We just have to get out of here now, before anyone else comes. Quickly.”

“OK.” Jerry turned uneasily and sprinted through the doorway on the far side of the room, looking for the things she had asked for. The next room was a kitchen. He pulled open a top drawer, looking for aluminum foil. A gunshot crashed behind him.