Kate Donovan - Exit Strategy

Her chest was so tight, she imagined she was having a heart attack, then she realized that her heart wasn’t the problem at all. It was her lungs! There was no air in this room! Her captors had used it all up with their lustful panting. And they hadn’t even touched her yet!

“Miranda?” Ortega murmured. “Take a deep breath.”

“With what? There’s no air,” she told him unhappily. “I think that’s how we’re going to die. I just hope it happens soon.”

“Fascinating,” Carerra said. “Ortega, are you feeling the effects yet?”

“Do you mean, am I afraid? Of you? Don’t make me laugh. You’re pathetic,” he declared. “You and your friends claim to represent the future, but you only want to destroy everything you touch.”

“He’s right.” Chen’s voice from the background was soft but insistent. “This is getting out of hand. We need to prioritize. If you want to kill them, fine. Kill them. Then let’s move on. We need to finalize our plans. Then we can call the plane, blow this place, and move on. Am I the only one who’s still committed to our agenda?”

“I’m testing the drug,” Carerra muttered.

“What more proof do you need? Look at the girl. She’s disintegrating right before our eyes. Look at Kell, for God’s sake. I don’t even think he’s still alive. And Ortega…” Chen walked right up to the ex-agent and said coolly, “He’s starting to panic. I can see it in his eyes. The drug’s a success, Carerra. Shoot them and move on.”

Tears were streaming down Miranda’s cheeks as she tried to focus on Chen’s words. But all she could see was Carl, unbuckling his belt, licking his lips. She was disintegrating, but not quickly enough. She wanted to die, and couldn’t figure out why she hadn’t already. Her lungs were so thick from lack of air-and probably mold, too, just like Kell had warned-she couldn’t breathe enough to sob.

“If you want the girl, be quick about it,” Carerra said to Gresley.

“No…please…” Miranda despised herself for whimpering, but couldn’t stop. “Please don’t.”

“Leave her alone,” Ortega warned, but his voice sounded unfamiliar, and Miranda’s last hope was crushed. He was panicking, just like Chen had said. Even Ray Ortega, the superagent, knew this was hopeless. Knew Miranda was going to be defiled, and then they were all going to be shot in the kneecaps-

“Benito!” Angelina’s voice rang out from the stairwell like a ricochet. “I don’t want them to touch her.”

Carerra turned toward his wife, his expression more confused than angry. “What did you say?”

“Gresley’s a pig. I don’t want any part of his depravity. I agree with Chen. Kill them so we can leave this ugly place.”

Through her haze of misery, Miranda heard Carerra laugh. Then he said, “I was wondering where you were, my love. Now I understand. You’ve taken the power pill again.”

Angelina walked up to him and curled her arms around his neck. “Do you remember how much fun we had the last time?”

“I like you this way.” He kissed her roughly, then gave her a challenging grin. “Do you really want to save your new friend’s dignity? Then shoot her.”

Angelina shrugged. “Gladly. I don’t care about her, Benito. I just don’t want to be part of senseless cruelty. Ortega’s correct about that. We are the future. We should behave with dignity.”

Carerra hesitated, then nodded. “Go upstairs. All of you. I will take care of the prisoners myself.”

Chen and Angelina filed up the stairs, followed by Gresley, Tork and the guards.

Shocked by the reprieve, Miranda gulped for air. The men weren’t going to touch her. And Carerra wasn’t going to shoot them in the kneecaps. That was good. Very good. He was just going to kill them, which didn’t matter, since she couldn’t breathe anyway.

When the Brigadier was alone with his captives, he said quietly, “My wife wishes a quick death for you, but you will not be so fortunate. You should not have interfered with my plans this way. And Ortega? You should never have touched my bride.”

Miranda glanced at Ortega, and saw that he was looking directly into Carerra’s eyes, not with defiance, but with resignation as he said, “You’re right. I made love to her. Do what you want to me, but leave Miranda and Jonathan alone.”

“I intend to leave you all alone,” Carerra promised with a laugh. “Miss Cutler? Carl tells us you are claustrophobic. That is why your lungs are hurting. It will be worse when we cover the window from the outside. And then, when we are ready to leave for the plane, we will set off explosives at the top of the stairs, sealing the entrance to this place and burying it under tons of rubble. If your heart hasn’t given out from fear by then, your lungs truly will explode.”

“Just go then,” she whispered. “And thank Angelina for me.”

“You would be better to thank me than my wife. I made the decision, not her. I am the one showing you mercy.”

She nodded, too weak to argue, and too terrified to provoke him.

“You agree then? I am enlightened?”

“You’ve changed,” Ortega interrupted. “We all agree about that.”

“I want to hear it from her,” Carerra insisted.

Miranda could feel Ortega staring at her, willing her to placate Carerra. She knew he was right, so she forced herself to nod again, this time saying softly, “You’re not as much of an animal as Gresley.”

“I’m the Brigadier. The future.” He squared his shoulders proudly, then turned away from her and strode to the stairway. As he disappeared from view, he threw one last taunt at them, saying, “Once the explosives seal the doorway, this will become your tomb. I will enjoy imagining your slow, torturous death.”

When the door slammed, the amount of light in the dungeon was cut by more than half, the shadows now predominating. Miranda had a feeling the rats would be coming out now, emboldened by the dark, and enticed by the fresh meat hanging on the walls.

“Miranda? Are you okay?”

“For now. But we can’t survive without air.”

“We’ve got plenty of air.”

“But once they set off the explosives-”

“Fuck that. We’ll be out of here before then.” Ortega’s tone grew brisk. “Is Kell still alive?”

“I don’t know. He hasn’t moved-”

“I’m alive,” a groggy voice informed them. “I wish I wasn’t. My lungs are filled with mold and my skin’s crawling. When the rats come out-”

“There are no rats,” Ortega said with a growl. “Check your shackles. One of mine is loose. On my foot, unfortunately, not my hand. But I’m going to try to work it out of the wall. Miranda, do the same.”

“If you make holes in the wall, the rats will pour out,” Kell objected. “I can already hear them squeaking-”

“Shut up, Jonathan. Miranda? Any luck?”

She tested each of her manacles, but they were securely affixed in the stone. “Mine are solid. You keep trying. But don’t use too much oxygen. We’re already running low. Oh, no…” She stared up at the window, where booted feet had appeared, casting more shadows. Then a board was shoved over the opening, and the entire dungeon was plunged into inky, unrelenting darkness.

“Oh, no. The rats…” Miranda cringed as scratching sounds began to fill the air. “I hear them now, too.”

“Keep it together, dammit!” Ortega exploded. “You’re our only hope.”

“Me?”

“You think I can do it?” he asked, his tone mocking. “I fucked this up every step of the way. We should have left this morning, but thanks to me-thanks to my goddammed, fucked-up rivalry with Carerra-we’re all dead.”

Miranda started to respond, but a gnawing on her tennis shoe made her shriek instead. Swinging her foot as hard as she could, she told Ortega, “I’ve got bigger problems! I can barely move, and my lungs are killing me. If you can get one of your goddammed feet free, then do it! Be glad the rats aren’t feeding on your toes.”