John Gilstrap - Hostage Zero

Oh, Christ, he had to find a way out of here.

Evan was keenly aware that he was being watched and talked about. Boys at the other tables craned their necks to see him and point. Farther away, some boys stood for a better view.

“A little like being in a zoo, isn’t it?” Charlie observed.

“On the wrong side of the bars,” Evan said. “Everybody’s so quiet. This many kids in one place, you’d expect there to be a lot of noise.”

“That’s the weed,” Charlie said. “That’s why they want everybody to chew it. Shit does weird stuff to you. Makes you work harder and care less. Can’t sleep worth anything, though.”

Evan’s ears perked. “Sleep? We get to do that?”

“That’s all there is after the sun goes down. That’s what those huts are for.” He pointed to a row of four thatch-roof huts just like all the others, but with walls. They stood taller than the others to accommodate a line of wire-mesh windows that started at maybe five feet off the platform and rose for about three feet over that. “They lock us in just before the light goes away, and they open it up when the sun comes up.”

Evan’s heart rate picked up. He wasn’t exactly claustrophobic, but the thought of being locked into a room with strangers who didn’t like him-in the dark, no less-was his vision of a living nightmare. “What happens if you have to piss in the middle of the night?”

Around a mouthful of food, Charlie said, “I try not to. But if you have to, there’s a cut-off drum in the corner with a seat on it. One of the punishment jobs around here is to clean it out. Never once saw anybody do it without puking.”

Okay, living nightmare didn’t touch this. Evan was getting out of here. Maybe he’d die trying, but there was no way this was going to be his life.

A pall fell over the compound, almost as if someone had sucked away the atmosphere. Charlie said, “Uh-oh. Speeches are never good.”

Evan pivoted on his bench to see Victor standing up near the grills, his fists on his hips, somehow looking even more menacing from a distance than he did up close. His skin glistened in the fading light. He said nothing until silence had fallen over the compound.

When he spoke, his voice boomed. Even without understanding the words, Evan understood that they were important. Just a few seconds into the speech, he pointed right at Evan and said his name.

Evan looked to Charlie for a translation.

“He says you are a special guest. But he doesn’t mean it. He’s making fun of you.”

As one, the entire crowd pivoted to look at him.

“He says that you can’t be trusted.” Charlie struggled with the translation, as if trying to interpret the words instead of merely reporting them. After just a few seconds of that, he abandoned the effort and started translating directly.

“Mr. Evan Guinn is not to be harmed. No marks may be put on his face. He does not speak our language, so it would be foolish to try to talk with him. Because he is special, he will not be required to work as hard as the rest of you, but he will still live among you.”

“What the hell is he doing?” Evan hissed.

Charlie shushed him. Apparently, it was hard enough to translate one person without having to answer questions from another.

He continued to channel Victor. “Be sure to watch him closely. He is more valuable to me than any of you are. If he is hurt, I will punish you all severely.”

Victor emphasized that last point by brandishing the Louisville Slugger.

“If he runs away, or if someone comes to take him away, I will hurt all of you very bad. If he does not return, some of you will die just because I will be angry.”

Evan felt his ears turning red as his stomach cramped. Victor was fixing it so that everyone would hate him.

“Our newest resident has friends who will try to take everything away from us. One day soon they may try to kill me and all of you. They may make some kind of excuse, but whatever they say to you will be a lie. These strangers when they come will try to take Evan away, and if they succeed, you might as well die. It will be like the old days all over again when the Americans killed so many of your fathers and mothers.”

Victor paused for effect, pacing dramatically down the ranks of tables. He stopped next to Evan, and he glowered. Moving with speed that made Evan jump, Victor clamped his hand on the boy’s ear and lifted him from his seat. Evan yelped and grabbed Victor’s wrist to keep him from peeling the ear clean off his head.

“And if these people arrive for our friend Evan, what are you going to do?”

For a few seconds, no one said anything. Then one boy stood up. He couldn’t have been more than ten. “ Mataremos,” he said.

The other boys cheered.

Victor cupped his ear with his free hand and leaned in toward the crowd. He said something, and then everyone said in unison, “ Mataremos! ”

“Kay?” Victor said, leaning in even more.

“ MATAREMOS! ” The boys all cheered at that. Victor let go of Evan’s ear and shoved him down into his seat. Around him, the word he didn’t understand became a chant: “Ma-ta-re-mos, ma-ta-re-mos…”

For his part, Charlie looked very uncomfortable. To Evan’s silent inquiry, he replied, “It means, ‘We will kill them.’”

“Scorpion, this is Mother Hen.”

Jonathan pressed the mike button on his vest. “Hi, Mom,” he said. The three of them walked in single file up a hill that seemed to have no end, Jonathan in the lead and Boxers taking up the rear. In near total darkness, the night glowed green and bright thanks to the enhancement of their night-vision goggles. Their GPS showed that they’d hiked about two miles since leaving the village, and for every step, Jonathan had kept his fist lightly wrapped around the grip of his battle-slung M4, his finger outside the trigger guard, but poised for action with an instant’s notice.

“I’ve got good news from Alaska,” Venice said. “Wolverine came through. Our friends are airborne with special transportation arranged through channels. Word is that everyone is safe and they hit a home run.”

Jonathan smiled. “I’m sure that will be a story worth hearing.”

“I’ve heard some of it,” Venice said, “and you have no idea how right you are.”

“Looking forward to it. Got any good news for us jungle jockeys?”

“I do,” she said. “I think I have a final location for the precious cargo,” Venice said. “He’s in Building Golf. It looks like it might be some sort of a dormitory, judging from the number of people who filed in.”

Without referencing his map or his computer, Jonathan knew that she was referring to the third hut down the eastern edge of the compound. He stopped and let the others catch up. Boxers and Harvey were both equipped with the same communications gear, but as commander, Jonathan was the lone voice back to Fisherman’s Cove. “How sure are you?” he asked.

“I’m one hundred percent certain I saw him enter Building Golf. After that, reliability drops,” Venice said. “I’ll monitor for people exiting the building, but if that happens, we’ll have no way of knowing who it is.”

“Roger that,” Jonathan said. “I show us two miles out. Do you concur?”

“I do,” she said. “But I’ve got some troubling news. They’ve got the compound lit up like daytime. I compared that to images from SkysEye last night, and the floodlights appear to be new.”

“That means they’re expecting us,” Boxers whispered. “Fuckin’ Josie.”

“It means they’re expecting something,” Jonathan corrected. He keyed his mike. “Have you found the generator?”

“I believe so,” Venice said. “I’ve got a heat signature in the five hundred-degree range, consistent with the burning temperature of gasoline, along the western margin of the main building. Problem is, it appears to be in the wash of the light that it’s creating. You’re not going to be able to get to it.”