Page 121 of Touch of Hate
There are no windows in here, so I feel safe taking a few seconds to catch my breath and listen for any sounds of running or shouting.
If we had to, we could shoot our way out—a theory confirmed once I find the short chain hanging down from a single bulb in the middle of the ceiling and give it a tug, illuminating the space.
“Holy fuck.” Scarlet covers her mouth with one hand at the sight of three walls covered in mounted rifles. A shelf runs along the walls, too, stacked with handguns and grenades. This is definitely more than a few rifles.
After checking to be sure the Glock I took from the guard is loaded, I hand it to her before choosing a pair of Rugers for myself. I’m not taking any chances.
And considering they’re already loaded, Rebecca’s not taking chances, either. They want to be ready for whatever nameless, faceless threat they’re guarding against. Law enforcement, most likely.
All they did was make it easier for me to quickly arm myself.
“Okay.” I kill the light before joining her at the door. “Rebecca and William stay in the largest building at the far end of the compound.” Much larger, according to the satellite images. But then they would. I’m sure it was the first structure built once New Haven sprang to life. To think, they’ve been out here all these years, rebuilding everything they lost. How sickening.
“I’ll watch out behind you,” she promises.
Her voice is tight with excitement and anticipation.
If I didn’t know better, I’d think she’s enjoying this.
In my head, I go through the plan while opening the door a crack and peering out into the darkened compound.
A pillow to the side of the head to muffle the gunshots.
William will go first—there’s a smaller, attached structure that sprang up a couple of years ago, according to the series of images I studied. Christian mentioned something about him living off the main house. I suppose when he reached a certain age, he wanted to cut Mommy’s apron strings.
But he couldn’t be bothered to cut himself completely free.
We’ll take him out first before going deeper into the main building, where Rebecca currently sleeps in peaceful contentment. I can almost imagine her living in comfort, resting easy in her piety.
She took everything from me and so many others and continues to do so. My teeth grind, and my hand tightens around the gun. I almost have to hold myself back, so eager to sprint across the compound and blow her brains out.
I nod once I’m sure the coast is clear, slipping out, practically hugging the fence running behind one of four longhouses where individuals, couples, and entire families live with thin walls separating them, sharing communal kitchens in each building. Beyond them is an additional pair of structures housing male and female restrooms and showers.
Only the main house has its own private bathrooms.
It’s those communal lavatories that have me worried. People could wander out here at any time of night. I hold Scarlet back at the far corner of the longhouse, across from one of the bathrooms, watching and listening closely for any signs we’re not alone out here.
I’m about to signal for her to follow me before a sharp cracking noise makes my heart lurch and my muscles tense. I know that sound. I know it too well. I hear it in my nightmares all the time.
The noise carries me toward the men’s restroom, my feet moving all on their own. A second crack fills the air louder than the first.
Scarlet’s light footsteps tell me she’s close behind, but it’s the crack of the belt that concerns me more. That and the high-pitched whimpers following it.
A child’s whimpers.
“You were warned about this, weren’t you?” Another crack, so sharp and loud, it makes Scarlet suck in a gasp as we reach the open door. This isn’t a part of the plan, but I can’t walk away. I can’t ignore this. Every fiber inside me pulls me toward the sound. I couldn’t ignore it even if I wanted to.
“It’s not mine! I just found it out here!” The voice of a little boy, no older than eight or ten. Full of pain, tears, and humiliation. He’s so alone, the way I was. “I promise, it’s not my comic!”
“Your comic book or not, you knew it was here, and you snuck out to read it in the middle of the night while your parents slept. Do not waste your breath or your tears.”
The past weaves itself with the present, the voice of the man dishing out the punishment blending with Christian’s until I might as well be in that closet again. Or draped across the spanking chair, my bare ass earning red stripes no matter how I begged for mercy that never came.
“I’m sorry!” The boy weeps, and Scarlet clutches my arm.
We have to go. Keep moving.
There’s a plan at risk, not to mention our lives.