Saving Emmy by Rayne Lewis

Chapter 32

Slate and the guys crept silently under the light of the moon towards what looked like an abandoned shack. A box truck parked out front and light from the front window were the only signs it wasn’t abandoned. Other than that, the place was dilapidated and looked like something out of a ghost town.

King’s truck was about a half mile back and they hiked the rest of the way in to keep the element of surprise.

The land was barren and they were sitting ducks out in the open. An occasional isolated tree or scrub brush wouldn’t provide them any cover if needed. They moved swiftly across the plain and spotted a small thicket of trees about a hundred meters from the shack. They regrouped and went over the plan to rescue Ember.

“I want point,” Slate said, “but I can’t do it objectively. Someone else has to take it.” His voice was low and it pained him to say it. “I swear I’ll blow every motherfucker to hell if I breach and see they laid one finger on her, and considering the circumstances, we all know that’s likely the case.” This was his mission but the guys clearly understood. It wasn’t said but King’s vengeance during Mary’s rescue was running through everyone’s mind. Though King was Alpha-One, always the lead and owner of Hellforce, it was the one time the guys wished they would’ve defied orders and pushed back. Slate was right not to take point.

“King?” Slate posed the question without asking.

King nodded. “Order as usual.” They would take up the usual sequence, falling in behind King. The team quickly devised a plan. This was not a scheduled op, but because they worked seamlessly together, it was old hat to the seasoned team. They started to fan out in sequence and headed towards the shack.

As they set out, a young boy, maybe six or seven years old, came running across the open clearing right towards the team. Instantly, all rifles were up and aimed at the approaching threat, halting every man.

“Easy, boys.” King gave the low command over comms.

“Could be a trap.” T-BAR followed up.

King stepped forward and the boy stopped, throwing his hands in the air, and falling to his knees in the dirt. “Please, help me. Save me.” Though he was terrified, he kept his voice quiet, and tears washed over his face. “Please!” He whispered, followed by a sobbing hiccup.

“Cover,” was all Arctic said when he eased forward, rifle still aimed and at his ready. He approached the boy searching for any small movement that could spell disaster. The team knew damn well it could be a ploy.

“Please. Don’t hurt me. Don’t leave me. Please, help me.” It wasn’t the words anyone wanted to hear from the lips of a child. The boy was trembling, waiting to see if he’d be hurt, but he must’ve been more scared of whatever was going on in that house if his odds were better to trust six, bigger-than-life strangers, armed to the teeth in the middle of the Texas desert after midnight.

“Show me your hands.” Arctic’s order wasn’t his normal harsh command. The boy immediately raised his hands higher but still sobbed. The rest of the team approached slowly, ready to assist. Arctic lowered his rifle and stepped behind the boy, securing his hands in his own instead of using his flex cuffs.

The little boy's voice quivered, “I didn’t hurt them. I need to get help for them. Please, don’t hurt me. Don’t take me back.” His oversized, brown eyes, rimmed with unshed tears, were heart-wrenching. Usually, the guys were rescuing children, taking them away from danger, not subduing and cuffing them.

Arctic pulled the boy back into cover under the copse of trees.

“What’s your name?”

“Rafi.”

“Bazwar?” Arctic gentled his voice but still held an authoritative tone.

“You know me?” Rafi craned his little neck sending the question behind him while Arctic padded him down, though it was almost useless considering the boy’s clothes looked more third-worldly, rag tagged, tattered and dirty than what a typical young boy would wear.

“I have her phone.”

Slate stiffened.

Arctic pulled it from the boy’s waistband and finished the pat-down. “All clear.” The two words had the team easing their rifles. He swiped the lock screen and it lit with a picture of Ember and Maven, proving the phone was Ember’s. She was in the house.

“Where did you get that?” The question came from T.

“It’s the lady’s. Momma had it on the table. I took it when I hid. I wanted to call for help, but I don’t know how to use it.”

Slate took a step forward but King halted him with a hand to his plate carrier. Slate was pissed and wanted to storm the house.

King brought his hand to his beard, smoothing it down his face, “Well, this throws us into a clusterfuck.” He knelt eye level with the boy. King was huge next to his small frame, intimidating. The kid’s oversized eyes rounded larger. King pointed towards the house, “Who’s in there?” His low tone was hard and demanding and the kid cowered.

“King.” The word came from Arctic.

King tried to look gentle but it didn't work. Still crouched, King leaned forward. The boy looked scared to death and his lip quivered.

“Fuck, King!” Arctic crouched beside the boy placing a hand on his shoulder, “Is your family in there?”

He locked eyes with Arctic and nodded.

“Who? How many?”

“Mama,” without turning his head, he glanced back at King, then back to Arctic, “my brother and sister.”

“Who else? You said, them. Who’s them?”

“The lady and man. I hid. They need help. I ran to get help.” His body shook with panic.

Arctic glanced up at Slate and T-BAR. Cy held back with Creed in case this was still a ploy.

King stood to his full height. “We can’t breach with him alone out here.” He smoothed his beard again.

Creed stepped up, closing the distance between his post and the group. “I’ll stay with him.” It was what the team needed. They had to rescue their own. If Creed had been with his own team, he’d want to be the one storming the castle.

King and Slate gave Creed a chin lift, Slate grateful for the man’s offer.

Arctic took Rafi’s hand in his. “You were brave to come to us. Really brave. We’re here to help them but we can’t all stay here with you and help them.” The boy's face tightened. “I know you’re brave; we all know you’re brave. Can you be brave a little longer and wait here with our friend while we go help? It’s the only way we can help them.”

“Will you come back?” Although it wavered, it was his bravest voice.

“Yes.”

That was all the promise he needed. Rafi nodded and looked at the towering men around him, “Okay.” Rafi raised his skinny arm and ran it across his face, smearing his tears onto his dirty cheeks. He sniffled. “Promise you’ll be back?”

“Promise we’ll be back.” Arctic made the promise for the second time.

“You may hear things, scary things, but we need you to stay here, no matter what.” King was gentler but still stern.

Rafi nodded, “I will. I’m not going back.”

Arctic squeezed his little fingers and stood.

“Don’t send me back there.” It was barely a whisper.

No one acknowledged the little boy, but Creed swore under his breath, then crouched to be at Rafi’s level. He put his hand on his scrawny shoulder, reassuring him he wasn’t alone.

“Well, boys.” King clicked his coms open, “It’s zero-hour.”

* * *

Ember watched in horror as her father was bludgeoned once again. She cried out in terror behind the duct tape when his head fell back, losing consciousness. She’d lost all composure and resolve to remain stoic seeing him tortured. Mother and son took turns torturing both of them. Ember had multiple cuts to her biceps, running from shoulder to elbow, and she could barely see through her swollen eye from their punches. Omar’s mother took glee as she sliced down the length of Ember’s flesh.

Omar sneered down at her. “Death’s too good for you, bitch. When daddy wakes up, the real fun will begin.” He unfastened the belt from his pants, handing it to his mom, then straddled Ember’s knees and unbuttoned her jeans.

Ember trembled in fear. No training could have prepared her for this degree of terror. She prayed the guys would find her, but without her phone, she was on her own. She strained against her bindings when he yanked apart the denim of her jeans, tearing the zipper.

Her dad’s awakening moans had Omar standing and walking over beside the chair. He slapped Mitch’s face to wake him. “Daddy is in for a treat.”

The chaos that erupted happened in less than a heartbeat.

The door was obliterated, falling from the hinges, and all hell broke loose.

Five massive men stormed the house.

Omar spun towards the commotion and pulled Ember’s gun from his waistband. He fell to the floor before he got off a round. A perfectly placed hole in the center of his forehead trickled blood. His haunting eyes glazed over.

His mother screamed and lunged for the gun.

“Pick it up, bitch...give me a reason to match you to your son.” T-BAR’s voice was deadly, begging her to flinch so he could make good on his promise.

She put her hands up in surrender and Arctic moved forward to restrain her. Before he made it two steps, she reached for the gun and T cashed in on his promise.

One and done.

She crumpled beside her son’s body, a matching hole trickled blood down her forehead.

King was at Mitch’s side as soon as she was down. He pulled out his knife and cut the ties. “Call Tex, we need his medical evac.” He examined Mitch’s hand before removing the restraint, swearing when he saw the extent of the damage.

Ember stared into Slate’s blue eyes. “Muuhmmhuum!” Her frantic cries were muffled behind the tape.

“T!” Slate’s yell brought T-BAR to his side.

“Fuck.”

“Need you to get pressure on her arm. Hang on, baby, I’ll get those ties off.” Slate rolled her enough to cut the ties from her hands. T pulled his blade and cut the ties from her ankles in one swift motion. He unfastened his plate carrier then ripped his shirt down the middle, pulling it off his chest. Ember cried out when he lifted her arm to tie the cloth around the multiple slices down her biceps and applied pressure to staunch the flowing blood.

“Sorry, doll.” T winced in sympathy, then shot her a wink.

Only T would flirt while in the middle of a rescue.The thought broke her terror and brought her back to herself.

“Hang on, babe, this is going to hurt. I’m sorry.” Slate started peeling the tape but Ember tore it from her face She let out a sob. Slate leaned over and cradled her, but she pushed at his torso, fighting against his hold, scrambling to get to her father. “Dad!” she wailed and twisted in Slate’s grasp. He held her in place preventing her from further hurting herself. “Let me up! Dad!”

“Sssshh, baby. Red...he’s good, he’s good...King’s got him.”

Relief flooded her when Slate turned her to see he father. Seeing his battered state, she let out a shrill cry and Slate cradled her to his chest.

Arctic entered from around the corner. “Stiff’s in the other room.” King and T-BAR threw him a questioning look. “Throat’s bruised. Crushed larynx.” He motioned to Slate and Ember. “She got her good. Looks like she crushed it with one blow.” Ember noticed none of the guys looked surprised. “Gonna go back to get the kid.” Arctic stepped over the door lying in the entrance and joined the night.

Cy and Trip stood sentry waiting for medical to arrive, and King and T aided Mitch as he groaned, until they could get him to medical evacuation.