Page 104 of Exit Strategy
“How many?” I reminded her.
“Thirty-nine,” she said.
“Are you fucking kidding?” I asked.
“No, please don’t hurt me.”
“Whatever happens to you, you deserve worse,” I said. I slipped the gag back in place.
The Halcyon was an older RV, a forty-footer, and when I opened the door, the man sitting in the driver seat seemed surprised to see me. He was even more surprised when I cracked him in the head with the gun. Two more strikes split his forehead and broke his nose. Before he could slump over the steering wheel and lay on the horn, I gave him a rib-cracking kick to the ribs. He slumped into the driver-side window, and I debated shooting him in the head. I turned to see several dozen glassy eyes staring at me, and I was glad that I hadn’t.
“Ladies, I’m going to need you to all do what I ask, as quietly and calmly as you can.”
Silence.
“If you’d like to go home, nod, and follow me,” I said. They moved forward, hesitantly. “I’m here to help you. I’m here to rescue you from all of this. I’m a Marine, and a friend. C’mon, freedom is close.” My foot ached. Pretty sure there were some broken toes from kicking the driver in the guts. When this was all over, I was going to need a nice long vacation, maybe in the three-to-six-month range.
They followed me, a trail of wet eyes and sniffles, a few quiet sobs.
“Are you really a Marine?” the lead girl asked.
“Aye, Royal Marine Corps, formerly of the 2ndCommando. I am alone, but it took an Army Ranger and a Marine Captain to get me on this plane. I promise you, all of you, that when this plane is on the ground again, you’ll all be safe, and will get to go home.”
I gestured for them to wait at the base of the ladder going up to the forward cabin. The door wasn’t locked, and when I opened it, there was no one hanging out. That was a complete tactical mistake. A single man here with a SMG could hold the entire front of the plane secure from what I was going to be doing.
Rookie mistakes.
The doors to the sides of the corridor were marked with masking tape and note stock signs – stateroom, VIP bunk 1, VIP bunk 2, head.
I opened the door to the head, and it was empty. No stall lurkers were going to blindside me. I had seen enough action and horror movies. There was always a lone zombie, or a goon with a gun who came out of the bog to get the drop on the hero and company. I listened at the doors, and I heard voices – three in the first bunk, none in the second, and most of the people were in the stateroom. I opened the door to the bunk and found something I hadn’t prepared myself for.
I recognized August Emerson from his smiling pictures, and Arik Rex was an international celebrity.
The naked woman tied down to the bunk had a mane of beautiful red hair.
Calanthe.
My blood was fire, and I almost pulled the trigger.
I didn’t care about puncturing the hull of the plane, I was more concerned with a ricochet or the round changing course going through Emerson’s body and hitting Callie. I cracked Emerson in the back of the head, and he dropped faster than his track pants. Arik turned to face the sudden intrusion.
“Worthy!” He looked surprised
He was even more surprised when I broke his nose with the slide of the pistol. Callie let out a scream as I gave him several more, harder strikes to the head and face, as he backed away. His last step faltered, and he hit the side of the bunk and slid to the floor, boneless and bloody.
“I’m here, Callie, it’s me,” I said.
“Kurt? Is that you, oh my God…” Her eyes suddenly brimmed with tears. I was going to turn and cut her loose, but the door opened, and Alexander Soren stepped into the room with a look of annoyed superiority. His eyes bulged when I put two rounds through his chest. Callie screamed. There was a commotion in the corridor and then people crowded around the door.
VIPs and dignitaries of New Eden, the majority men, a few women. I knew the look they had in their eyes. These were the members who knew full well about the sex trafficking, training underage girls for sex work, and handling all the money that went with it. I fired a few more times, delivering stomach and chest wounds to anyone who presented themselves as a target.
Toes definitely broke when I kicked Soren in the middle of the chest and knocked him back into the corridor. There was so much adrenaline in my body I didn’t feel it. I didn’t have words, only fury.
I sprang into the hallway, all elbows and waving pistol barrel. They fell back, their bravado and numbers giving them zero advantage against my complete lack of self-preservation, and the willingness I had to shoot them.
A brunette with a sculpted nose and bright pink fingernails pulled a compact pistol from a shoulder holster, a hot pink job matching those nails. I put a round through her right cheek, which exited through the back of her head. A thin man with a pedophile’s pet mustache flipped out a knife and I put a 9 mil through his chin and sternum.
There was so much blood.
