The Warning Read online

  Blake moved. She looked up at him. He had pulled his gun out again, but this time he held it backwards, the butt of the handle facing her.

  “Are we done here?” she asked.

  “I owe you for the pistol whipping at Jack’s place,” Blake said.

  He swung his arm back and stepped in, all in one fluid motion. His speed was incredible. Sarah tried to ward off the attack.

  The butt of the gun struck her on the side of the face so hard she rocked violently into the table beside her and then bounced off it to the floor.

  As she slithered like hot butter to the ground, her last thought was, could she die from such a blow?

  Chapter 22

  The pain screamed in her ear. It was like she could hear the ache. With her right hand she gingerly touched her face; swollen and tender.

  What is it about justice that made her do this shit again? she asked herself. It’s not like she got paid for it. All she ever got was trouble from the cops and the bad guys. At one point she thought having this ability to foresee events and then change them in order to help people would be a good thing. Sure it has saved lives and that’s the benefit but it has also put her life in peril all too often. Maybe, just maybe, if she got out of this alive she would consider giving it up. Let people kill themselves and maim each other with all their stupidity. Who was Sarah to stand in their way?

  She rolled to her side. The ache in her face made her wonder if her cheek was broken. Or maybe the orbital bone around her left eye. She felt the floor in the darkness and confirmed she was back in her little jail cell. In the blackness of the little portable she couldn’t tell if she could see or not - it was simply too dark.

  The rest of her body seemed to be feeling better. She did a quick inventory by feeling her legs and arms. In a moment of humor, she realized that it was just her face that was messed up. The grin caused her to moan.

  She couldn’t keep getting beaten up. This had to stop. If something wasn’t done soon Sarah knew she would die here in this compound or whatever it was. Along with everyone else they had here.

  Think, damn it, think.

  She moved to the wall, felt her way to the door and ran her hands across its surface looking for weaknesses. Nothing, rock solid. On bended knee she felt the edge of the linoleum and traced it for a few feet. It was bonded to the wall in what felt like an implacable grip. Her jail was solid with no way to leave it.

  Discouraged, she shuffled over to the hole with the raised seat. A faint urine smell wafted up. It mixed well with the subtle scent still coming from the pants she was wearing. Her fingers paused on the clasp as she went to undo her pants.

  The hole.

  Where did it lead? How far down was it? If she got down under the portable, could she find a section of the fortified wall where it would be weak enough to push through?

  This was her only chance.

  She measured the hole as best she could. It was a bit smaller than a basketball circumference. No way would her shoulders get through.

  She braced herself, grabbed the edge of the hole and pulled upward in an attempt to break a piece off. Nothing. She pulled again, as hard as she felt she could. Still nothing. No movement, no creaking as the wood strained.

  How the hell was she going to budge it?

  With no tools of any kind, it seemed fruitless to continue trying to pull pieces apart. She couldn’t jump on the edge. It was too dark and if anyone was outside they’d hear the banging.

  What now?

  The one thing she knew was to keep thinking. Do not give up hope. Something will come, because her sister wouldn’t let her get this far just to die.

  Then an idea formed.

  She shuffled close to the edge of the hole again. With her right hand, she reached down and touched the ground. Normally this complete act of grossness would make her pull her hand back and grimace, but right now grimacing only flared her headache and pulling her hand back wasn’t an option as she had to do whatever she could to get out of here.

  Within seconds she found what she was looking for. Rocks and small pebbles were mixed in with the random dirt under the portable. She located the biggest one she could find. It was the size of a baseball. She lifted it up and felt its edges for any that might be sharp.

  From the time she woke until now she had heard nothing from outside. No light emanated from under the portable’s door. For this to work it would be better if it was almost sunup.

  Next, Sarah lowered her pants and urinated on the edge of the hole making sure to soak the wood surrounding the area.

  When she was finished, she did her pants back up and waited for the urine to work its way in.

  She shuffled over and put her ear against the wall of the portable to listen for anyone who may be close. She heard absolutely nothing.

  She slid across the linoleum floor and felt around the edge of the hole. It was still wet. She hoped the wetness would help. There would be no way to mask the banging. This was her only chance. If it didn’t work she would be out of options.

  She held the rock aloft in her right hand and said a quick prayer. Then she brought it crashing down on the wooden edge of the hole. Again and again she smashed the rock into the wood. By the third hit, anger fueled by violence rose in her. She felt the madness of her situation overwhelm her. She started to grunt in frustration with each down stroke. She grunted at the unfairness of it all and at the sheer viciousness of these people.

  Something cracked. She stopped and dropped the rock, panting. Her head was aching like crazy now.

  Her fingers found the split wood. She had made a small crack in the edge. Elated, she picked the rock up and dedicated her violence to that one area.

  Another crack resounded throughout her portable. She stopped and listened to see if she could hear anyone outside. It was hard to hear anything because of the pounding in her ears and her ragged breathing. She had chosen a path and there was nothing she could do about whether the noise had alerted someone or not.

  She stood over the hole, grabbed the split rim using both hands and yanked with everything she had. It cracked again and broke away. She lost her balance and stepped back a bit. When she felt the hole she could tell that it would be big enough for her shoulders now.

  Then she heard them coming. Someone shouted a command and a vehicle’s engine revved.

  They were alerted by her noise. She was sure of it.

  She dropped her head down into the hole. The stench filled her nostrils; rotting earth mixed with human excrement embedded there long ago. She lifted her head back out and took a deep breath of cleaner air.

  They were closer. She was running out of time. She had no idea what she was going to do. How would dropping into this hole help her now? This might have actually been really stupid but at the time it was all she could think of.

  She took another deep breath and dropped her head into the hole again. Her shoulders eased into the opening and filled it. With a slight nudge they popped through. She wedged her right hand in ahead and felt her way to the ground, supporting her weight on her forearm and elbow.

  Someone was at the portable’s door. She heard the locks clicking against the chains that secured her prison.

  She was running out of time.

  With her left arm pulled through now, she moved forward into the wet and cool earth under the portable. The portable’s floor seemed to be about three feet or so above the earthen floor. It was enough room for her to crawl along on her arms.

  The chains that secured her door were being ripped out of their loops. The door would open within seconds.

  She crawled away from the hole, pulling her legs in after her.

  Her feet fell. They touched the earth under the piss hole and dug in to help thrust her away from the opening.

  The door to her portable opened at the same second.

  Multiple pairs of boots rushed in. She heard someone barking out commands.

  Sarah kept moving toward the edge of the raised portable. A
light flared past her. Someone had stuck their head in the hole with a flashlight and then it was gone.

  “I can’t breathe in there. She pissed all over the fucking hole.” Sarah heard one of the men exclaim.

  “Take another look and confirm whether she is under this portable or not.”

  It was then that Sarah hit the secured wall. She could go no further. This was it. As soon as the flashlight came through the hole they’d find her trapped like a mouse in a corner.

  Think, dammit, think.

  She grabbed the cool wet dirt and smeared it on her face.

  “Okay, give me a sec. Let me catch a good breath first.”

  The man with the flashlight was breathing in and out. They were so close.

  She worked frantically to cover herself with dirt. As she massaged it on, she hit her wounded cheek and almost screamed out in pain.

  Light filled the area where she had entered into this even smaller prison.

  The flashlight holder dropped his head in and scoured around in a circle. The flashlight passed by her twice but didn’t stop. She had buried her face and hands into the ground directly in front of her.

  Sarah heard the flashlight holder shuffle back up into a standing position. She could hear him take huge gulps of air.

  “Well?”

  “She’s not…she’s not down there. She’s gone.”

  She lifted her head out of the dirt and breathed in a quiet and controlled manner. She heard footsteps above her and a few curse words muffled by the floor.

  “Find her! She couldn’t have gotten far. I want this whole area scoured. Shoot on sight. We cannot let this one get away. That’s an order. Do you all hear me, shoot on sight!”

  “Sir, yes sir!” was a resounding chorus.

  She lay there for a few minutes. The smell seemed to ease as she got used to it.

  In a spinning motion, Sarah rolled close to the broken hole in the floor of the portable. A soft light illuminated the room above her. They hadn’t closed the main door.

  That’s right, she thought. Earlier when they walked her to the interrogation she had passed locked up portables and ones with their doors wide open. That was how they could tell which ones were occupied and which ones weren’t. Since they thought she had escaped, her portable door was left open.

  She raised her head out of the hole and risked a peek into the room. It was empty.

  With nothing left but luck, she gripped the more solid edge of the hole’s rim and lifted herself out. Her running shoes made no sound as she stood on the linoleum. She crept up to the wall beside the open door.

  She was about to peek to scan the terrain, but stopped at the door frame. The sun had risen. It was bright outside. She’d be quite visible. What if one of them was close?

  Something told her to get away from the door. These people wouldn’t just run away and start looking for her throughout the complex. If they heard her banging around in the portable and seconds later she disappeared, then they would assume she was close. Very close.

  They had confirmed she wasn’t inside, but they wouldn’t be stupid. Someone was watching this portable. She was sure of it.

  A feeling like she was running out of time overcame Sarah. She strode back across the floor and slipped effortlessly into the piss hole. Sprawled out on the dirt below the wooden floor, she could swear someone was at the door.

  She froze and listened. Was that the soft rustle of a jacket?

  Sarah rolled across the dirt aiming for the corner again. When she got there she dipped her face and hands toward the outer wall.

  Someone walked across the floor above her.

  Then the floor exploded as whoever was standing there fired multiple rounds into it. She turned around to look and saw bullet holes forming above her and off to the side.

  She fought with everything she had to not scream out.

  The gun changed direction. The holes started forming closer.

  Sarah knew if she made a noise she would certainly die down here. If she was recaptured, she would die. If she was hit by these bullets, she would die.

  All she had was the certainty that she’d made it this far and the hope that not a single bullet would hit her.

  She pushed herself into the wall as far as she could.

  When the first bullet hit her arm she didn’t cry out.

  She passed out.

  Chapter 23

  Sam Johnson pulled into the roadside truck stop on the edge of town. He spied Parkman’s sedan immediately and pulled in beside it.

  Sunday morning and the place looked packed. Rigs lined up along the sides and the back of the building indicated to Sam how full the restaurant would be.

  He got out of his car and walked to the front door. A couple leaving held the door for him as he entered.

  Parkman had found a table in the back corner. On the way there his fellow officer saw him, dropped the menu he was looking at and motioned for the waitress.

  “Why did you want to meet way out here?” Sam asked.

  “One sec,” Parkman motioned as the waitress walked up.

  After placing an order for a breakfast special and a coffee for Sam, the waitress left.

  “We need to talk,” Parkman said.

  “So talk.”

  “First, have you learned anything new?”

  Sam shook his head, “Nothing. I talked to other officers but everyone has been kept out of the loop.”

  Parkman nodded. “Even me.”

  “You? I thought the FBI took you on to help. Amongst any of the officers, you’d know more about Sarah Roberts than any of them.”

  “They got what I know already. Then they told me they didn’t need me anymore. I had to sign confidentiality waivers.”

  The waitress walked up. They stopped talking as she set Sam’s coffee down.

  When she walked away Sam said, “Tell me what happened.”

  “Nothing really. They asked for me to have a temporary transfer. I thought it would be until they solved this thing. After getting everything out of me, they let me go. I’m supposed to report back to my desk on Monday morning.”

  Sam clasped his hands together to avoid smacking the table. “You know, I’m getting pretty frustrated by this whole debacle.”

  “Me too.”

  “How can so many people get kidnapped in the last twenty-four hours and no one knows a thing? The only lead we can come up with are ripped shirts and license plates that are stolen from the same neighborhood.”

  Parkman’s head shot up. “I just remembered. A sixteen-year-old girl went missing in Utah.”

  “What’s that got to do with this? Utah is a thousand miles from here.”

  “I know, but she was seen here, downtown, two days ago, with three men, by a witness who knows the family in Utah. He’d called out or something and just figured he had a case of mistaken identity.”

  “People go missing all the time, Parkman. We both know that, just not so many in one area.”

  He leaned in closer. “Yeah, but they have ripped shirts.”

  Sam raised his eyebrows.

  “The witness told Special Agent Jill Hanover that the shirts were all ripped at the base. It was about an inch long and sitting on an angle. The witness said he called the family in Utah and found out the girl was missing. That’s when he called the police. I heard all this an hour before Jill told me I was going back to my desk on Monday.”

  “What the hell is going on? That sounds suspicious. How would a potential witness see that kind of detail without being right up in front of these guys?”

  “That’s why I feel this is something to do with human trafficking. A large organization identified by their ripped shirts–”

  Sam’s cell phone was ringing. He pulled it out and frowned. With a raised finger he gestured for Parkman to wait.

  “Hello?”

  “Sam Johnson?”

  The voice was deep, like the caller was trying to disguise it.

  “This is Sam. Who am
I talking to?”

  “My name is Blake. I’m calling to talk to you about an exchange.”

  Sam looked at Parkman. “What kind of exchange are we talking about?”