On The Run: Part Two

Chapter Forty - "Vengeance"

Sarah

I sat in the bushes, completely covered by towering weeds and dying trees. I’d turned out my car lights, so I couldn’t see a thing for miles, but I knew when to expect them.

I slid lower into my seat, feeling the warmth seep down along my legs.

The clock on the dashboard read eleven twenty-seven p.m. If I’d calculated it right, Jake would just be realizing what I was up to. I wasn’t questioning any of it. My mind was filled with so much anger, there was no room to think, no less question my decisions.

I felt the cool body of my gun against my leg, through the fabric of my pants.

Robert raped me.

It wouldn’t leave my mind.

I guess it would have been easier to simply blow my brains out, but I was so filled with rage, the thought of alternatives was ludicrous. Or maybe I was simply psychopathic.

As the clock got to half past eleven, I slowly got out of the car, gun in one hand, and an M1 Frangible Chloroform grenade in the other. The road was clear and silent, except for the occasional cicada; it was utterly deserted.

My mind was racing as my heart beat heavily in my chest – not out of fear, but rather, from the fact that if what I was about to do went sideways, things could go bad really fast. So, I guess you’d say from waning assurance.

I stood in the middle of the road, searching for the lights through all the fog. If I’d worked it out right, it would all take about three minutes, by which time the cops would be on their way.

Robert raped me.

I clenched my jaw and held my gun tighter in my hand.

I spotted the prisoner transfer vehicle careening down the highway; it’s lights shining right in my face. The driver spotted me, and swerved abruptly, but I was way ahead of him. I raised my gun and pointed it at one of the tires, sending the bullet right through the thick rubbery body.

Another swerve, and they slammed right into the tree.

X marked the spot. The accuracy of my calculations surprised me a little.

I walked over to the truck, as the driver stirred against the airbags, his partner in the front seat lying lopsided.

I checked for a pulse, and when I found it, I set him back in his original position. The alcohol on his breath was revolting. The driver was starting to straighten up, but I couldn’t begin to dwell on that. I threw the grenade against the dashboard so that it cracked. My hood was up, and my turtleneck was high over my nose.

I backed away quickly, as his stirring slowed. Three minutes.

I grabbed the keys to the back and opened up the convoluted lock. There were eight prisoners seated. Some confused, some calmer than expected, and one or two bleeding.

I felt nothing. Not a thing.

He was seated at the far end, and as I walked in, they all watched me, probably wondering whether I was on their side, or on the other side.

I paid no attention to them.

I swiftly unlocked Robert’s cuffs as he stared at me alarmed. His confusion was evident in his growing frown, as he asked, “Who are you?”

I held back my repulsion, and simply threw the second grenade against the grooved metal ground.

One minute.

Then, as he became groggy, I couldn’t hold back my rage anymore. I lifted the barrel of my gun, and with as much force as I needed to send it flying a mile away, I slammed it into Robert’s head, feeling a thrill as the blood pooled in his hair.

*

I taped him up to the chair, using up an entire roll of duct tape. It didn’t seem like it was enough.

His arms.

His legs.

His body.

His mouth.

He had passed out from the hit, and had been that way all through the ride in the trunk. The blood trickling down the sides of his face was drying up, and I was getting agitated.

If it was possible – and I don’t really know how – I was even angrier. Simply put, I was murderous.

I stared at the table at my side laid out with nearly every form of evil there was in materials. From electrodes connected to a defibrillator to the drill lying on the plastic sheets to the assortment of torturous equipment that seemed like they would come in handy; my hands shook violently from my agitation.

My watch read eleven fifty-four. Gently, I eased it off and got off my chair.

With his ragged messy hair, overgrown beard and smelly exterior, the man was repulsive. The fact that he’d even touched Chloe at all . . .

A shiver ran down my spine, and I felt another surge of rage. Like I needed it.

Grabbing the electrodes, I clipped them onto his fingers and onto his hairy chest. I moved over to the machine, and turned it on. The result was remarkable – his eyes shot open and he shook violently in the chair.

As his body regained composure, his breathing heavy and speedy, his eyes searched the room until they landed on me. Then, he took in his position, and stared up frantic. I pulled the duct tape of his mouth, savoring his grimace.

“Please. Please. What do you want? Who are you?” he asked, the fear in his eyes making my shaking fingers still.

I turned off the safety on my gun and walked over.

Peering into his fearful, dark eyes, I muttered, “I’m Sarah, Chloe’s mom. It’s great to finally meet you, Robert,” I said, as I sent another charge running through the electrodes.