Constant Fear (25 page)

CHAPTER 43

T
hree Javiers had connections to the school: one was a student and two were parents.

Ellie found the student huddled on the auditorium bleachers with a group of his friends. He was a tall and thin boy, with tousled dark hair and a handsome face. Ellie asked him some basic questions to determine whether he had any connection to Andy Dent or his missing friends.

Javier was pleasant enough, and not the least bit nervous to speak with her. He answered politely and confirmed what she initially suspected: Javier Ortega was just another displaced student from Pepperell Academy caught up in the chaos. Javier gave Kibo some much-appreciated affection, and Ellie returned to her cruiser. This time, Ellie opened the door for her dog, and Kibo climbed in the front passenger seat, where he sat patiently while Ellie got the second Javier on the phone.

Javier number two lived in Orange County, California, and was a father of a student named Willow. Naturally, he had heard all about the incident at the school where his daughter boarded and answered the phone almost as soon as it rang. Ellie introduced herself as a member of the Winston PD and asked the same questions of this Javier as she did the other. There was nothing here, either. Javier said he hadn’t heard of any of the kids she mentioned, and Ellie was inclined to believe him. His biggest concern was for Willow, to whom he had spoken just moments ago. Ellie assured him the local high school was a safe environment for his daughter and ended the call after offering a few more assurances.

The last Javier on Ellie’s list lived in Winston, so she decided to take a drive over there.

The neighborhood where Javier Martinez lived with his wife, Stacey, seemed a different world from Jake’s little trailer home. The Martinez family, Ellie learned, had one son, Gus, who boarded at the school. Judging by the size and condition of the Martinez homestead, Gus’s education was not a strain on the family finances.

Ellie pulled her cruiser to the curb and cut the engine. All the lights in the home were off, except for one in the hallway. At the high school, she had asked around for Gus Martinez, but a girl named Rebecca had told her that he and his family had gone on vacation. Ellie’s radar went up right away.

A vacation before a major incident at the school?
The timing was certainly a little peculiar.

She figured if this Javier had been somehow involved, he had pulled up stakes and gotten his family out of Dodge. Ellie wasn’t surprised to find the house dark and no cars in the driveway. The garage had no windows, but Ellie doubted she’d find any cars inside. The Martinez family was supposedly gone, after all. But to where?

Ellie cupped Kibo’s face in her hands. “Wait here, buddy. I’ll be right back.”

The evening air had a bite, so Ellie zipped up her jacket to stave off the cold. The neighborhood was quiet, as most neighborhoods were at this hour. The persistent chop of helicopters overhead was the only clue that something big was going down a few miles away.

Ellie walked up the front steps and peered into a side window, using her flashlight to enhance her vision. It was dark inside except for a single light in the kitchen, a typical precaution any family might take when leaving home for a week or so. Ellie knew this same as the burglars. From what she could see, the place looked in order. No overturned furniture. Nothing to suggest a struggle. Ellie noticed an ADT sticker on the window, but the panel was out of view, so she had no way to know if the alarm was on or not. She assumed it was on.

Ellie decided to check around back. She was going to report this to Haggar. It was worth doing even if the lead didn’t pan out. He was already working on other intel that Jake had supplied, including the name Fausto. According to Haggar, the FBI had agents investigating reports of major thefts. Two hundred million dollars bought a lot of chatter. They could investigate and make inquiries all they wanted. At some point, Haggar would realize Jake wasn’t unstable—that he was, in fact, their best hope for a positive outcome. She only hoped that realization did not come too late.

After Ellie scoped out the backyard, she’d see what she could do to get Jake some support. She hadn’t heard any reports on the radio, but the FBI was using secured channels to communicate and Ellie wasn’t privy to most of those conversations. Jake could be up to his eyeballs in bullets. She had no way of knowing.

That was what her father would have advised. Maybe this jaunt would help. Maybe she could find a clue that would help locate the Martinez clan, and, assuming they were involved somehow, make a difference.

Ellie kept her flashlight on, even though the moonlight sufficed. The side yard was nicely manicured, Ellie observed. The trees were pruned, the hedges trimmed, and Ellie saw nothing out of the ordinary. She shone her light into the small hopper windows and saw a finished basement with all the accoutrements of wealth: foosball table, pool table, comfy couch, and that was just what she could make out. A closed door probably opened into an unfinished side. Nothing unusual.

The backyard was broad and flat. Flower gardens looked lovingly maintained. Things didn’t have to be in shambles for something to be going on, but Ellie was scoping out the scene. Doing what she could do.

Ellie stuffed her hands in her jacket pocket and gazed up at the sky. The stars winked down on her and the vastness of it all was a reminder of her distance from Jake. What was happening with him? Ellie couldn’t waste another second chasing down this lead. She needed to be back in the action.

As she turned to go, something in a tall row of juniper trees at the far end of the backyard caught her eye. A glowing reddish ember hovered inexplicably in the dark. It took Ellie a moment to realize what it was: a cigarette. Somebody was in the yard, concealed in those trees, smoking a butt.

Ellie undid the snap on her gun holster. Her hand went to the handle of her Glock 19. She took a step toward the smoker.

“This is the police. Come out where I can see you.”

The ember glowed brighter. The smoker took a drag.

“Come out from the bushes now.”

Ellie’s heart began to race. Her nerves tingled. She pulled the gun from its holster, trained the weapon on the ember and shone her flashlight on the bushes as she took another step toward the smoker.

“Come out now.”

Ellie saw the bright flash, heard the pop, and an instant later felt pain in her leg. She went to the ground as her injured leg folded in on her. She felt an excruciating burning sensation, and hot blood pumped through a hole in her thigh. The ground seemed to sprout hands that held her down. She couldn’t move, couldn’t get up.

Another flash came from the dark. This bullet struck the ground near Ellie’s head. She found strength to lift her body maybe a few inches off the ground. It was enough to squeeze the trigger in the direction of the shooter.

Ellie got five shots off in rapid succession. She aimed just to the right of the glowing ember. She saw the cigarette fall from the shooter’s mouth and heard him cry out. Then she heard nothing.

Ellie put her finger on the bullet wound to her thigh. The blood flowed steadily, but she didn’t think the bullet had hit a major artery.

The basement door flew open, and Ellie cocked her head in the direction of the sound. Sensors on the door detected movement and turned on a powerful set of floodlights. Ellie saw a tall, shadowy figure come lumbering toward her. Fear was something foreign to Ellie, but now it wrapped around her like a straitjacket. The man came fast. She saw the flash when he was maybe fifteen feet away. The gunshot echoed into the night.

Ellie heard Kibo bark in distress. The bullet struck Ellie in the chest. The pain was instant and intense. She puffed out her cheeks and tried to make the burn go away. The shadowy figure approached and put three more bullets into her body—another one in the chest, one in the stomach, and a third in her other leg. With each bullet, Ellie’s body jolted in shock. She came up off the ground a few inches and fell back down with a thud.

The fourth shot, a head shot, landed in the dirt.

She heard the man say,
“Hijo de puta.”

Through slits in her eyes, Ellie watched the man continue his approach until he now loomed over her. Blood seeped out of the hole in her other leg in steady hot spurts. The chest and stomach wounds were nothing; those bullets had struck her body armor and would leave nasty bruises. But her legs burned. The hot lead was like a blowtorch to her muscles.

Ellie felt the ground for her Glock. She brushed against the metal with the tips of her fingers. If she stretched, she might be able to reach it. But the pain in her chest and stomach made the slightest movement impossible.

The man came over to her and laughed as he put a boot on her chest.
“Adios,”
he said. He took aim with his gun.

Her next move was pure reflex. Ellie latched onto the man’s ankle and gave it a hard yank. His surprised eyes widened until the whites became the size of cue balls. As he fell backward, Ellie reached for her gun. The man quickly rolled on top of her and moved his arm to get the gun in front of her face. Ellie seized his right wrist with her left hand and applied counterforce. She pushed across her body while her right hand continued to search for her weapon.

Her attacker was at least six feet tall and outweighed her by fifty pounds. His square face was frozen in an expression of rage. He pushed hard against Ellie’s arm and gained an inch. Another few inches would put the barrel of his gun in front of her face.

Ellie’s fingers brushed against something metal. She stretched them until it felt like her knuckles would separate from the joints. The man snarled and pushed even harder, his gun inching ever closer to her face. With one final stretch, Ellie’s fingers grazed her gun once more. At that very moment, her attacker put a hand around her throat and began to squeeze. Bile raced up Ellie’s esophagus, collecting there and choking her more. Ellie kicked frantically as her right hand finally got a good grip on her gun.

With one final effort, as her world turned dark, Ellie lifted the gun off the ground and moved it under the man’s body. She fired several shots in rapid succession into his gut and chest.

The intense pressure on her throat released as the man tumbled back and off her body. His legs kicked spastically; then they went still.

Ellie rolled over onto her stomach, coughing, spitting, fighting the burn in her throat, her legs, her body. She started to crawl toward her car. She had bitten her tongue in the struggle and spat gobs of blood onto the grass. Her stomach and chest felt as if they had been torn apart by some animal, but she knew it was just bruising from the gunshots.

Ellie reached for her radio during her crawl. She had just pulled it off her belt, when the basement door flew open again. She cocked her head once more in that direction and saw a man charging at an angle that didn’t give her a clear shot. He came fast. No letup in his stride. He dove on top of her, tackling her while she was already on the ground. Ellie tried to fend him off, but he was wiry and far stronger. He had little trouble wrenching the radio and gun from her hands.

He stood and used his boot to flip Ellie onto her back. “You just killed my friends, bitch.” He pointed what appeared to be a miniature cannon at Ellie’s head.

Kibo’s barks echoed like gunshots.

CHAPTER 44

E
veryone was in the pit. It was crowded, and Jake almost landed on one of the kids. It was too dark to see which one. Whoever it was scurried off into a corner like a terrified animal.

The blackness had to go. Jake flicked on his headlamp and whirled in the direction of the mewling teens. All the color had drained from their faces. David and Rafa put fingers in their ears, as if that could fix their damaged hearing. Their uniforms were in shambles—dirty, torn, stained. They stared vacantly, each one looking utterly lost and wholly terrified. They huddled together in a corner of the pit as far from the three corpses as possible.

“Through the door,” Jake said. “It’s unlocked. Hurry!”

Nobody moved, paralyzed possibly by hearing loss, but more likely by fear.

Jake lunged at the door and pulled it open with force. He grabbed the closest person to him, David, and stuffed him through the compact opening.

“Go and run!”

One by one, the kids stooped to get low enough. Like Alice crawling through the small door to enter Wonderland, they vanished into the dark tunnel beyond. As they departed, Jake stood below the pit opening and fired round after round from his AK-47 into the air. Shell casings plunked down like metallic raindrops. Bullets fired from his gun hit the ceiling and probably nothing else. Jake’s only goal was to deter the others from trying to follow. Eventually somebody would, though. It was the only way out of the auditorium, unless they somehow managed to break down one of the exit doors.

Jake went through two more magazines while keeping anybody from attempting to enter the pit. He was down to just two magazines of ammo. Sixty more shots, plus his pistols.

Jake looked back in time to see the last kid enter the tunnel. It was Andy, and Jake wasn’t at all surprised that his son waited for the others.

Jake stopped shooting, secured his weapon, and dove through the door to the tunnel like a base runner sliding headfirst into second. From a pocket on his chest rig, Jake retrieved the key and spent precious seconds getting the tunnel entrance locked.

The kids had not ventured far. They huddled together for comfort, for contact. They were safe, but that could change in a heartbeat. Jake heard footsteps descend the metal stairs. Death was coming.

Jake said, “Go. Go. Hurry!”

Jake’s headlamp fell on Andy. He could see his son’s puzzled and awed expression.

“Dad?” Andy said.

“No time,” Jake answered.

More footsteps bounded down the stairs. How many sets Jake couldn’t say. He had made a body count in his head: one in the bathroom, three down in the pit, and five confirmed kills in the auditorium mêlée. How many did that leave? He would find out from Andy later, but not now. Now they had to run.

“Go! Go! Go!” Jake yelled to the pack of teens.

“It’s dark down there,” Hilary said.

“Start running!” Jake ordered.

A gunshot blast came from behind the closed metal door. They were going to shoot it open. Handguns would be underpowered. But these men had high-caliber weapons at their disposal that could blow the hinges off the door. Jake had killed a guy with a shotgun, and that was an ideal weapon for the task.

The gunshot sent Rafa running like a starter pistol had gone off.
Smart kid.
He squeezed past the others and, soon enough, Hilary fell into step behind him. The pack became a line. But it was dark, as Hilary noted, and there were pipes and wires and other things to trip over.

Jake heard a smack that sounded like bone on concrete. David cried out in the darkness. Jake heard another loud bang; this time, it was Pixie who yelled. These kids were literally running blind, Jake realized.

Rather than waste time fishing a flashlight from his backpack, Jake took out one of the flares he’d stored in a pocket on his chest rig. He undid the top and it became a torch. He passed it up to Andy, who passed it along to Hilary, who got it to Rafa. Then Jake sent another flare up the human chain. All this happened as they ran.

The tunnel glowed ruby red and sparkled like a mobile fireworks display. Smoke from the burning flares fanned back and filled Jake’s mouth with the metallic taste of potassium and magnesium. Smoke began to fill the tunnel as well, ironically making it more difficult to see. But no one wanted to abandon the light for the alternative.

There were grunts but no words spoken, and footfalls, and lots of heavy breathing, but nothing close to conversation. This was all about escape. They were a line of seven people hunched over, weaving down the Stygian tunnel.

Behind them, Jake heard another blast. If they got the door open now, they’d be dead. Just like that. This place offered no cover. They would fire high-capacity weapons blindly down the tunnel and hit something. Guaranteed. Jake could return fire, but he was last in line, so he’d be shot first. Then what? One by one, they would gun down these kids. Simple as that.

Another blast hit the door.

Up ahead, Rafa was first to reach the branch off the main tunnel. He stopped there and yelled back, “Which way?”

Jake paused to think. They could take that branch to the staircase, then spill out into the janitor’s closet. From there, it would be a trek up to the first floor; if they crossed The Quad without getting shot, maybe they could reach the forest. Jake processed that scenario in a flash. There would be congestion getting up the stairs and through the closet. Delays.

Farther ahead was a crawl space. It would act as a shield. If they could get through that crawl space, they could take the exit by the Terry Science Center. Up and out, and then into the woods from the basement exit. If Jake could send their pursuers off on the wrong course, it would buy even more time.

Jake yelled, “Go. Keep running straight!”

As he ran, Jake unsheathed the knife strapped to his ankle and used it to cut a long swath of fabric from his shirt. At the tunnel branch, he stopped and fixed the cloth to a jagged piece of stone that jutted out from the passageway. The cloth looked like an arrow pointing the direction to go. Jake lit another flare, carried it partway down the branch so the smell of smoke and burning magnesium would be there as well, and then he extinguished the flame with his boot. He left the flare on the ground like a discarded cigarette. His hope was that these killers would mistakenly go up the metal stairs and chase their prey into the janitor’s closet.

Jake returned to the main tunnel. “Keep as quiet as possible,” he called in a low voice.

A short time later, Jake could see the ragtag line of escapees up ahead. Sound carried here, and Jake heard another gunshot in the distance, followed by an excited yell and a loud bang. The pit door was open. They were coming.

Gunshots came rapid fire. Bullets sank into the darkness. Some careened off concrete pipes, while others ineffectively sprayed the tunnel floor and walls. Jake couldn’t see any flashes, which meant they couldn’t see any flares. The whole line found a sudden burst of speed.

Jake was running at a sprint and didn’t notice a figure down on the ground in front of him. It was pure agility that allowed him to hurdle Solomon without landing on the boy’s head, but Jake’s right boot kicked Solomon’s leg hard. Airborne, Jake outstretched like he was making a diving catch. When he hit the ground, the tactical helmet Jake wore bounced off the concrete. He heard a horrible crunching glass sound, and Jake knew his night vision optics were no more. At least Jake still had his headlamp.

Solomon lay on the ground close by and may have tripped over a pipe or his own feet. Jake stood and helped Solomon find his footing. Behind them, the gunfire continued unrelentingly. Only the angle of the tunnel was keeping them safe.

“Get up! Get up!” Jake yelled.

Solomon staggered to his feet and Jake held on to the boy’s hand, dragging him forward. Up ahead, Jake saw the kids gathered in front of what he knew was a tight crawl space into the next section of the tunnel system. They were unsure of what to do. Jake let go of Solomon’s hand, but glanced back to make sure the slower boy kept pace. The flares in Hilary and Rafa’s hands hissed like a snake pit, expelling pungent smoke. Jake took the flares and extinguished them with his boot. He kept his headlamp on, but the flares were more likely to give them away.

The sound of gunfire down the tunnel sputtered and then stopped altogether. The kids were covered in filth and grime, breathing hard, stooped over, hands on their knees. Jake shushed them to better hear. He was counting on his bit of misdirection to send their pursuers off course, and his plan appeared to have worked. It was impossible to hear footsteps from this far away, but the quiet was a telling indicator.

Jake removed his backpack. He took an extra flashlight from within and powered it on. He handed the flashlight to Andy, along with a couple of flares.

“Andy knows these tunnels,” Jake whispered. “He takes the lead. This is it for light, so going forward hold hands. Andy, call out any obstacles, but do it quietly. Get out the Terry Science Center exit. Hit the woods and start calling for help. Understood?”

Jake shone his headlamp on six terrified faces and got confirmation from each.

“We have time,” Jake said. “Don’t rush. A broken bone or even a twisted ankle here could be real trouble, so use your flares if you have to and go slow. Stick together and you’ll make it out alive. Now go.”

Andy reached out and took his father’s hand. “Dad—”

“Not now, son. You’re the leader here. Get everyone to safety. That’s all that matters. Here, take this.” Jake pressed the Ruger into Andy’s hand.

“How are you feeling?” Jake asked. “Your diabetes, I mean.”

Andy said, “Better now,” and he gave Hilary a look. “I’m so sorry, Dad. I’m so sorry.”

Jake put his hand on Andy’s shoulder “These guys, who are they?”

“Drug cartel from Mexico,” David answered.

Jake gave Andy a hard look that said the explanation could wait.

“How many total?” Jake asked.

Andy said, “Twelve,” without hesitating.

Jake did the math again. Nine confirmed dead left three still alive. “Don’t hesitate if you have to use this,” Jake said. He squeezed Andy’s hand around the butt of the pistol.

Andy examined the weapon in his hand before he stashed it in the waistband of his jeans. He gave his father a quick embrace. Then Andy got low to the ground. “Follow me,” he said to the others as he crawled through the opening on his stomach.

One by one, the kids wormed their way through the narrow crawl space that linked the tunnels between the Academy Building and the Terry Science Center. Jake would go last.

He removed his helmet. Sure enough, the optics were trashed; the glass was cracked and not functioning. Jake ditched the helmet and his hearing protection entirely. He stuffed his backpack through the opening, which was two feet high and not much wider. It was a tight fit for an average-sized person, but it also provided lots of thick concrete that would stop any bullets if they came this way. He hoped that wouldn’t happen. By the time the cartel men realized the mistake, everyone would be long gone.

Jake checked his ammo for the rifle. One mag was already loaded in his gun, and the other he had strapped to his battle belt. He still had the Glock. With any luck, none of it would be needed.

The last in line to go through was Solomon. The boy shot Jake a frantic look.

“You got this,” Jake said.

Solomon got low to examine the opening. He pulled back. Andy poked his head through.

“I’m coming,” Solomon said.

“Go!” Jake said to Andy. “I’ll stay with Solomon.”

Andy nodded and then he was gone.

Solomon put his head into the opening, but again the narrow fit unnerved him, so he slunk out and turned himself around. He took a long time to calm down. Too long.

By now, Andy and the others were already out of earshot. Probably out of the building.

“I’ll back in,” Solomon said.

Jake kept his headlamp on Solomon’s sweat-drenched face. He watched Solomon’s feet get through, next his legs, then his hips, and then Solomon stopped moving entirely. Jake heard the boy grunt and struggle, but he didn’t move another inch. Solomon began to hyperventilate and Jake’s headlamp illuminated every crevice on the boy’s panic-stricken face. The part of Solomon’s body Jake could actually see squirmed in a frantic wiggle.

“Help! Help! I’m stuck!” Solomon screamed.

Jake’s eyes went wide with horror. The boy’s screams would give them away, for sure. Jake crouched in front of Solomon and said in a calm voice, “Take it easy, buddy. Take it easy. You’ve got to keep quiet.”

“Help!” Solomon screamed again. “I’m stuck! I’m stuck!”

Panic. Pure, terrified panic.

Jake couldn’t see through the opening; Solomon blocked the way. But he could hear just fine. He put his hands on Solomon’s shoulders and gave a shove. The boy didn’t budge. Next, Jake took hold of Solomon’s wrists and gave a hard yank. No movement in either direction. Solomon was lodged in there good. Most of his body was through the opening. If Jake could get to the other side, he could probably pull him through. Of course he couldn’t reach his legs because Solomon’s body blocked the way.

Solomon kept screaming. “Please! Get me out! Get me out!”

Jake put his hand over Solomon’s mouth to quiet him. “Easy there, easy,” he said in the whisper he wanted Solomon to mimic. “You’ve got to be quiet. You don’t want them to hear you.”

Solomon was hearing none of it. If anything, his pleas and cries for help grew only louder. Amidst the racket, Jake heard another sound, one as terrifying as gunshots—footsteps.

They were coming.