Dead & Damaged

Chapter 4

Drip... Drip... Drip.
I regain consciousness, but do not immediately open my eyes. Lying on my back, I remain still, sniffing the air and waiting for my memory to return. The pain is sharp and constant. It's all I can register at first, forcing me to wait for my brain to process through the blinding fog it's creating.
The cement slab I'm splayed out on is cold and damp under my skin. I feel it's rough edges. The air smells of blood. My blood.
Or another vampire's.
But I'm pretty sure it's mine. Especially given the searing pain in my abdomen.
And the dripping sound below me.
It's all I can hear.
Slowly, I peal open my eyes. The windowless room is lit by one dusty, low watt bulb hanging from the ceiling by a wire. An afterthought. Three walls of concrete cinder blocks offer a glimpse at my fate; foreboding and decrepit. A line of vertical bars extends the length of the forth side. Effectively conveying its status as a prison cell. I arch my head up cautiously, noting the surveillance camera pointing into the cell.
My side of the bars has an unfinished basement meets medieval dungeon vibe going for it. The other side is quite the opposite. A clean, brightly lit hallway with touchpads and cameras stares back at me through the bars. No light bulbs on strings that's for sure.
The compound. I am still inside the compound. In some sort of holding cell. I try to push through the throbbing in my skull to recall the blueprints and figure out just exactly where I am. And determine the nearest exit. That's when I remember.
The memories come rushing in. The excruciating imagery makes me want to scream. I feel myself wince at their return. I led them into an ambush. It was my fault. I am just as guilty as the men who pulled the trigger. And Tyler... I cared about him when I didn't think I could. More importantly perhaps, I respected and admired him. And now all I see when I close my eyes is a bullet ripping his face apart.
The helplessness I feel at that moment tears me to shreds. Figuratively and literally. I sit up on the blood–soaked cement block that serves as some sort of prison bed. The cement has turned a deep purple color and excess blood drips off its sides.
They were ready for us. Owen. The second name to come to mind was the last name I thought of before losing consciousness.
Where had he disappeared to during the fight? Did he get killed or was he a traitor? Did the cameras tip them off? Did they spot our approach? Or did someone tell them?
If it was the last option it had to be either Owen or Abrams. If I get out of here, they are going to be paid a visit.
If I get out of here ... they could have killed me. They should have killed me. But they didn't.
Why didn't they?
I look from my partially healed wound to the camera pointing in my general vicinity.
Footsteps. Stiletto heels. And boots. Two pairs of boots. I see them walking down the hall before they are in range of my cell block. Now I have a vision. Lot of good it will do me.
My cell is in a corner, directly facing one corridor. I can't see down the adjacent hallway, but it's really not a top priority at the moment. Aware of my weakened state, I am preserving every ounce of energy. The vision turns into reality as the woman and her two bodyguards approach the cell.
The woman sports a mischievous smile and short, spiky blonde hair. Her commandos are twice as wide and walk as though they forgot to remove the hangers from their shirts. Both brandish high powered rifles. I doubt they are ever without a weapon of some sort.
Of the three, she is clearly the most lethal.
"Well well, Lori, good to see you up. Nice of you to drop in on us. I hope you found the welcome party sufficient."
She stops three feet from the bars, out of reach.
"I think we share different definitions of the term welcome party, mine doesn't include a firing squad," my voice is so thick with sarcasm I can barely get out the words, "I don't believe I've had the pleasure."
"My name is Brixton. This is my base you've invaded."
I'm only pretending not to know who she is. I recognize her from the grainy black and white photographs the DIA in all its money and resources had managed to procure. Abrams beamed with pride when he produced them, like a fisherman boasting about his award–winning bass. 'We caught her in action!' his tone had implied. They did not do her justice. She is much more terrifying in person. And humans don't often send a chill up my spine.
"Your base huh? Well I got to hand it to you, your security is top notch."
She laughs, "My men really did a number on you and your little group of renegades."
"They were government agents. Your actions will have severe consequences. We intended to come in quietly, passively. We used nonlethal ammo on your lab techs. Your men responded aggressively, did not even give us a chance to surrender. That bloodbath is on your hands and there will be severe repercussions," I fight to spit out the words, to sound menacing. 
Brixton looks bored, shakes her head. She knows I'm bluffing.
"That may be partially true, though given your objectives and that you were trespassing on private property without the proper warrants, I highly doubt there will be any repercussions. In fact, I know there won't be any fallout from this. But I don't blame you for playing the only hand you've got," she sighs, looks like she's suppressing an eye roll. "However, if you think for a second there's a task force gathering outside to pull off a rescue mission the only person you're fooling is yourself. There is no contingency plan. This was a suicide mission."
"From the start apparently." I resign, "It's Owen isn't it? He is your inside man."
Brixton gives a coy little smile, "Thanks for returning our black box."
That's all the confirmation I need.
"Why didn't your men finish what they started then?"
She hesitates, chews on her lip. There's something she's not telling me and I have a feeling I'm not going to like whatever it is.
"We'll get to that. Tell me what you know about this place."
I sigh and lean back against the cement, staring at the ceiling.
"You can get everything you need from your double agent."
"I want to hear it from you. You have been privy to more intel."
"And if I don't, you'll what? Kill me? It's a little late for that."
"We can do this the hard way if you insist. But your cooperation will, well ... let's just say I'd rather the two of us have a civilized conversation than be forced to perform my questioning in a less preferable environment."
"Opposed to this?" It is my turn to laugh. I can't think of any information I know that she doesn't have access to through Owen. He was with us in Atlanta when we freed the scientists they were holding captive. I'm guessing Brixton gave us that one. It was too public, they were too exposed. No compound in the middle of nowhere to hide in ... maybe I hadn't botched that mission as poorly as I'd thought ... if Owen was feeding her our every move...