Summer joined her.
“You get her feet. I’ll get her arms,” Liz said, motioning for Summer to get into position.
Summer and Liz grabbed the girl at each end and hoisted her up and onto the gurney.
“Use those straps,” Wicks said, pointing at the rolling stretcher. “This could be a trap.”
“May I go with her?” the Nomad asked from his one-kneed position.
“Not a chance,” Wicks said. “You’re going straight to the brig, along with the rest of your little girl scout troop.”
“Except this one,” Liz said, lashing the unconscious girl to the platform using the restraints hanging from its sides. She angled the gurney toward the vaults doors and pushed.
Summer remained behind, standing to the side with her arms folded as Wicks used a heavy-duty zip tie to confine Nomad’s hands.
Wicks turned to Watson. “Go help Doc with the threshold.”
“What about these?” Watson asked, holding the swords at eye level.
“Just leave them for now. Someone will fetch them later.”
Watson bent down and put them on the floor along the wall behind him, stacking one on top of the other with the blades facing away. He jogged ahead, catching up to Liz in a flash.
Wicks leaned into Nomad’s ear. “Don’t test me, asshole,” he said in a whisper, knowing Summer had her eyes on him. He pulled Nomad to his feet and shoved him forward. “Walk.”
As Nomad passed Summer, she uncoiled her arms and said, “I don’t know if you remember me, but I was the one who was buried under all that equipment in the cannery. Thank you for helping me.”
Wicks expected the man to say something in response or at least turn his head, but he didn’t, almost as if he hadn’t heard a single word she’d said. He looked at Summer. “And you think I’m an asshole.”
Summer twisted her mouth but didn’t respond, appearing to be more interested in Nomad than Wick’s passing remark.
When Nomad made it to the threshold of the first vault door, he stopped his feet and held for three-count before twisting and looking back at Summer.
Nomad’s tentative body position and shoulder lean gave Wicks the impression that an epiphany had just slammed into his brain.
“Got something to say?” Wicks asked him after grabbing the back of the man’s leather coat.
Nomad didn’t utter a word, only turning forward again and stepping over the bulkhead after Wicks let go of him.
Wicks looked back at Summer.
She shrugged, looking sheepish for the first time since she’d taken over.
Wicks wasn’t sure what any of it meant. Not that he cared.
There was only one thing that mattered—getting the prisoners to the brig. He moved his attention to his team holding onto the Scab women. “Bring them. If they so much as breathe wrong, you know what to do. Just try not to catch me downrange.”
CHAPTER 5
“Strip off those clothes,” Wicks told Nomad for the second time in as many minutes. “I’m not going to ask again.”
Nomad stood there, rubbing his hands across his wrists. The rest of the security team was present as well, manning their post in the men’s locker room, only two doors down from the brig.
Wicks shook his head. “Your ears work just fine, so don’t play deaf with me, boy. Take off that damn coat.”
Nomad ignored the request, standing firm with his back to Wicks, his mask still in place.
“I’ll take it off, boss,” Watson said, stepping forward.
“Hold your position, Watson. It’s time he learns who’s in charge here,” Wicks said, turning his attention back to Nomad. “So what’s it going to be? The easy way or the hard way?”
Nomad put his arms down at his side in silence as if he were steeling himself for something.
“Fine, but that leather is not going to protect you,” Wicks said, taking a step forward and landing a heavy punch to Nomad’s kidney.
Nomad gasped as he dropped to the floor, leaning over to compensate for the pain. It took a half-dozen breaths before Nomad righted himself, then pressed to his feet, keeping his back to Wicks.
Wicks figured Nomad was sending some sort of defiance message, perhaps trying to embarrass him in front of the men. He turned to his squad. “Well then, I guess he likes it, boys.” Wicks brought his fist back and readied another strike. “No reason to disappoint our new friend.”
With that, Wicks landed another strike, this time following the sharp kidney punch with a sweeping overhead blow to the side of Nomad’s head, knocking the mask from his face. The covering spun in the air and landed in the corner next to a wooden bench.
Nomad fell to the right and hit the deck on his hands and knees, his face covered in a blanket of curly black hair. The man spit out a patch of blood, never bothering to move the strands covering his face. Some of the blood shot through his mane and hit the cement, but a good portion of it clung to the hair and dripped in clumps.
“Looks like he wants more,” Wicks told his team, stepping forward and raising his fist for another thump.
Nomad pushed at the ground with his hands, then sat back on his knees in a slump, his side now facing Wicks.
Wicks took a step to the right, trying to see through the mop of hair.
When you can’t look into a prisoner’s eyes, you can’t judge their state of mind. The eyes tell the whole story, regardless of what the mouth is saying or the body is portraying. It’s the most important vantage point when interrogating. Or simply trying to get someone’s attention.
After Wicks moved another step to the right, Nomad brought his arms up, positioning his hands in front of his face. “For the record, I’m not resisting.”
“The hell you aren’t,” Wicks snapped, holding his pose with fist raised.
“What happened to my friends?” Nomad asked.
“They’re in the brig, with the other one.”
“Seven?”
Wicks laughed, then uncoiled his fist and let his arm drop, peering at his men. “You see that, boys? Brain damage is already settling in. The man thinks he came here with seven of those things.” Wicks turned back to Nomad. “No, you dumbass, just the five you brought. At least the ones that weren’t sick. The other one is down in the infirmary, though I don’t know why Doc even bothers. She looked near-dead to me.”
“So they’re unharmed?”
Wicks scoffed. “Roger that. Luckily for them, they didn’t resist when I told them to strip.”
“I made sure they’d comply before we arrived.”
“Then I guess you missed your own memo on that one.”
“We’re not the enemy,” Nomad said, his face still concealed in hair.
Wicks turned to Watson. “Why don’t you help our guest to his feet? He obviously wants more and I plan to oblige.”
“On it, boss.”
Wicks flashed a hand at his other men. “And somebody go find me a razor and some soap. Time to clean this asshole up before he starts to decompose. My nose can only take so much.”
* * *
Krista opened the right-most cell door in the brig and shoved Lipton inside. “Back home where you belong.”
Lipton flew past Horton and caught himself on the bed frame, then turned and pointed at the jail cell next door. “No. You are not leaving me here with them.”