“You weave my sistuh awone!” Mikey screamed, kicking him in the foot.
“Stayawayfromhim!” jetted from my throat in a hysterical mangle, like he was one step away from the devil. I grab-carried my brother to the window with the intent of dropping him outside.
Debating was going on outside of that door. Someone had ungagged Andrew because he was shrieking my name. Felt like my ears would bleed from the sheer terror in it. I clutched Mikey to me like a teddybear, unsure what to do next. Pete stepped up to the mound, hurling the last picture frame at Ranger. This time it hit the mark—the middle of his back—cutting off more orders.
“You open your mouth again, and the next time you walk, it’ll be with a peg leg,” Pete said. Statement, no threat.
I was thinking we were at a stalemate, so wrenched open the window feeling like we did need an exit strategy. A couple of quiet minutes later, and they made the next move. It was a good one. Bastards! My blood froze at the sight before my eyes: Andrew’s head, stuffed through the manhole, with a noose fasted around his neck.
“Katie!” he screamed, his face almost unrecognizable in his terror.
Pete and I exchanged dark looks. God help us! I was shaking like our washer in the spin cylce. “Mikey!” I shrilled. “Tell them to let Andrew go!”
“You let my bruthuh go!”
Nothing happened . . . except someone on the other side pulled the rope tighter. Andrew’s face turned the color of Red Death.
“Again, Mikey!” I panted, panic constricting my lungs.
“Let my bwuthuh goooooooo!” he bellowed with all his might, tender vocal cords cracking under pressure.
This only succeeded in Andrew’s tethers tightening further. Veins popped out on his forehead like uprooted trees, his eyes bulged from their sockets, noiseless gasping jerked his head. It was the most gruesome and sickening sight of my life . . . and I’d watched my mama die.
I looked over at Pete, horrified to find a matching expression on his face.
“We’re going to give you one last chance to save your brother’s life,” the voice on the other side said, loosening the noose so that Andrew could suck a lungful of air.
I was a pillar of fear and indecision. “Why isn’t it workin’?” I screeched at Pete as if he had all the answers.
“I-think-he-has-to-have-eye-contact,” Pete replied, rapid fire. “I’m shooting Ranger’s leg in two seconds if you don’t remove the noose,” he informed calmly. “One . . .”
Ranger made a move (another good one)—dive-snatching Mikey right out from under me. What the?! I retaliated with a punch to his face when I shoulda moved out of the way so that Pete could follow up on his threat. I came to my senses quick. Dodging left, I shrieked, “Shoot him!” Ranger plunked Mikey down as a human shield.
“In the chest!” I directed because his torso was still exposed.
Pete shook his head. “Too risky. . . . And he’s wearing a vest.”
“The head then!” I pointed like a madwoman, not caring I was ordering someone to commit murder.
Ranger quickly crouched behind Mikey, holding him firmly. “Proceed with the plan, Slater!” he ordered. “Quick!”
The noose tightened again. Andrew’s face transformed into a bloated tomato. A solitary spit bubble fluttered from his guppied mouth. Wretched, writhing movements twitched his head. I screamed in horror, careening over to physically wrench off the noose—gnaw it off with my teeth if I had to.
Pete quickly yelled, “We surrender! Let the boy go!”
Immediately the pressure was off. Andrew gasped for breath.
“Toss the gun to Ranger, or I yank and it’s all over,” the hateful voice behind the door informed us.
Ranger advanced forward with his Mikey shield to snatch it from Pete’s hand, then unlocked the door. The owner of the boots stepped in. Predictable Academy material: he was tall, he was dark, he was handsome. Another brute. Well muscled with a no-nonsense look about him. Some kind of race mix that created skin the color of coffee with a hint of cream. His eyes were the same khaki-green of his fatigues, and he came in packing two extra guns.
How many guns and cadets could fit in here?
“Good God Slater, took you long enough!” Ranger looked whatever was two days beyond pissed.
“I thought you said you had this one, man. ‘Piece of cake’ I think were your exact words,” he reminded him.
“It would’ve been a piece of cake if this kid hadn’t interfered.” Ranger indicated Mikey, who had sadly peed his pants. “You got the tag?”
“Yup.”
“Do it.”
“Whataretheydoin’?” I screeched to anyone and no one as the one called Slater pulled out another frightening pistol. “Stoooooooooop!” I screeched my throat bloody, diving for him right as he pressed it into Mikey’s neck. And pulled the trigger.
He yelped, “Kadee!” before slumping over.
“Mikey!” I screamed, but only ragged hoarse sounds came out. My voice didn’t work, but my arms did. I immediately used them to batter at the arms, chest, impassive face of the latest cadet. He flung me backwards as if I were a flimsy thing, not worthy of his time.
“Was that really necessary?” Pete demanded, stepping forward to catch me before I could fall ass-over-elbow again. “He’s four-years-old for God’s sake!”
Ranger turned to address his foe. “Uh . . . did you just witness the same thing I did?” Then to Slater: “Could you hear what was going on?”
“Nothing came through. But when I came in, I quickly ascertained that you were having your ass handed to you by Davenport and some kids,” replied Slater with an attitude I was beginning to associate with The Academy.
Ranger pulled a face. “Davenport must’ve squashed the bug.” He pointed the butt of his gun at Mikey.
I broke free from Pete to go cradle him in my arms. He was dead-feeling when I picked him up, his head lolling back like it was broken. I buried my face in his chest, sobbing.
“That kid’s the one we’re after. Screw the other one,” Ranger said, referring to Andrew. “He’s nothing but a pretty face . . . we don’t need him anymore. We’ll leave him with his Daddy—a consolation prize for taking the other two,” he added heartlessly. He pointed at an unconscious Mikey, lying lifeless in my arms. I glared at him like the force of my hate could knock him out.
“This little guy single-handedly took me down. Whatever he told me to do, I just did it, like I was his slave and he was my master. It was some freaky shit, man!—I couldn’t not do what he told me to do! No matter how hard I tried. Weston’s gonna cream his pants over this one! We’ll take him and the girl.” Ranger acted like I was a done deal; he underestimated me.
“What about Davenport?” Slater nodded to Pete, and all eyes followed to his ashen, beaten face.
“I’m going to take care of him personally,” Ranger said, using a tone meant to induce fear.
Pete had no comeback. He was injured, weary, bleeding. Most of all, he just looked resigned. Had I mistaken his calm for resignation? God I hoped not.
“Dude, we’ve got to get him back. He’s still an elite cadet, and his parents will want him to have a fair trial,” argued Slater