Shit. He broke that poor fuck’s leg without blinking. I’m starting to understand why my mother told me to run. If I have any hope of escaping this bargain, I’ll need to make the first move and kill my twin before he kills me.
In the stillness, the crying sound resumes. We’re getting closer to its source. Walking onwards, the thin metal door at the end of the corridor leads to a larger space, almost resembling a mess hall. Empty tables and chairs are spread throughout, all strewn about like their occupants fled fast.
“Fan out,” Warner commands, his head flicking on a swivel.
The first door tucked into the corner of the room leads to a bare-bones kitchen. Rusted metal appliances boast no signs of use. Even the fridge is empty, save for a few stale sandwiches. Madden must run this place on a minimal crew.
Emerging from the kitchen, we congregate in the centre of the big room. Warner holds a finger to his lips, causing a hush to fall. The crying continues, closer but still muffled. Ember surveys the space then nods towards an ajar door in the farthest corner.
“That way.”
“Behind me.” Warner gestures ahead, taking the lead with his finger on the trigger.
We’re all marble-carved columns of tension. Not even the deserted corridors loosen the anxiety strangling my windpipe. The only person who looks remotely relaxed is Gunnar.
“We’re in and ascending,” Hyland reports through the comms. “Four perps subjugated.”
“Copy,” I murmur back.
With each step deeper into the facility, pained weeping escalates to a keening, ever-worsening sob. It sets my teeth on edge. Only wounded animals caught in a hunter’s trap make that kind of desperate noise.
The next room beyond another empty corridor is much smaller. A disgusting stench marks its main difference from the previous rooms. The scent smacks us all in the face and coats our skin in the scent of rancid human waste, causing me to gag.
It’s gloomy as hell without any windows to illuminate the obvious filth. Ember and Warner pull their flashlights, the bright beams cutting through thick plumes of dust.
“Christ,” Warner exclaims in horror.
A handful of tiny metal cells seem to be built into each of the four walls, the bars clumsily cemented in place to form makeshift holding pens. My stomach fights against the noxious smell of rotting bodies, filth and decay, causing vomit to rise.
“Bodies?” I choke out.
“It’s a morgue,” Warner agrees.
The revolting smell is almost to the point of overwhelming. I can feel it crawling all over me. Multiple people were imprisoned in here and left to rot. It’s the only explanation for such a hideous stench.
A rustling movement on our left causes us all to tense up. When a single, dirt-caked hand slams against one of the barred doors, Ember shudders all over.
“No.” She’s turned white as a sheet. “They’re alive.”
The sobbing comes from the nearest cell where two bloodshot eyes and a swollen, badly beaten face joins the small hand. Young. Male. Lips trembling, he strains to reach us, barely visible in his cell.
“H-H-Help me.”
Ember drops her flashlight to the floor in front of the cell, collapsing onto her knees to peer inside. She stares at thecreature for a long second then starts to survey the crudely built prison cell.
“You’re okay.” She attempts to sound reassuring, but her voice is edged with very real panic. “We’re going to get you out of here.”
“H-Help,” he weeps.
“I know. You’re safe now.”
“C-C-Cold. Please.”
“Shh, it’s okay. We’ve got you.”
We huddle around her, casting more light on the cage door’s shitty mechanism. Warner curses, eyeing the thick bars and messy welding with a frown. Hardly a high-tech prison cell.
“Whoever built these don’t give two shits about the people they’re stuffing inside. It’s barely big enough to fit a child.”
