PROTECT ME Page 7
Mia bit her lip as her mother carried on. She was determined not to get into a fight, not now. But it hurt deeply that Eunice’s first concern seemed to be the vote. She hadn’t even asked if Mia was okay. Typical, Mia thought. She wasn’t sure why she had expected some kind of emotion from her mom that didn’t include issues to do with government. Her mom had never put her first before, why would she start now? Another little piece of Mia’s heart splintered apart.
Well, it wouldn’t help to feel sorry for herself, Mia thought logically for once. First they had to find a way to get out, and Mark wasn’t --.
“Oh God! Mark!” Mia sobbed. “I’m so sorry I got you involved in this mess…”
“Who’s Mark? Oh yes, he’s the bodyguard, right? Well he better hurry up and get us out of here. I may just be able to make the vote if we got out this minute.”
Mia hiccupped and sobbed quietly. “Mark is dead mom. He won’t be able to save us. And it’s my fault. I….I didn’t listen to him-- twice!”
“Oh, quit your dramatics, Mia. Your tears are not going to do either one of us any good right now,” Eunice scolded dispassionately.
Mia sniffed and closed her eyes gently, not even able to look at her mother. Breathing deeply, she gave one last silent apology to Mark.
He was the first man she had ever actually for. Probably the first man that she hadn’t been able to manipulate. The thought of his strength and control is what finally ripped her out of her melancholy.
She realized that Mark would want her to try to get to safety. Before she had met Mark, Mia would have railed at her situation, cursing anyone and blaming everyone. She would have sullenly waited for someone to come rescue her, and then promptly blamed them for taking so long.
Now, she knew that she had to try to save herself. And her mother too, of course. They would still probably die, she realized, chagrined, but they had to try at least. Mark never would have given up.
As Mia looked around the small confines, the first thing that she thought was, 'What would Mark do?'
"Don't worry, mom," Mia began, trying to sound braver than she felt. "I'm going to get us out of here."
"What?" her mother scoffed in derision. "Don't be silly. I spoke to the leader, a very reasonable man, and he assured me that once this is over, he'll let me go. And I suppose that will extend to you too."
"Mom," Mia began carefully. "And what are you going to do the moment he lets you go?"
"I'm going to hunt him down and make sure that he spends the rest of his life behind eight inches of concrete with a window so small that rats can't even crawl through it."
"Yeah, that was my take on it too... so you see why he won't release us then?" Mia knew her mother better than anyone, and she knew that under normal circumstances, Eunice would have logically figured out the endgame of this guy herself. It just went to show that maybe Eunice was more rattled by the situation than she wanted to let on. However, if Mia pushed too hard, or spoke in a way that made her mother feel stupid, she would dig in like a mule and refuse to budge. She had to be prompted slowly.
“Mom, we’ve both seen him,” Mia said with exasperation, her intention to be subtle flying out the window. “He is definitely not going to let us go free. Think about it.”
"Don't speak to me in that --"
Mia spoke firmly over her mother. "Mom, I am going to get us out of here, whether you like it or not."
To this declaration, Eunice Warren said nothing. She tilted her chin up and turned away from her daughter. Mia knew she would be fuming with rage over how she had been spoken to. But Mia didn't care. She loved her mother, but if her mother was going to behave like a child, then that was how Mia was going to treat her. She had raised a strong, independent daughter after all, Mia thought with a little pride.
With her mother shamed into silence, Mia began looking around their confines, trying to find a way out. Even though they were in the back of a moving truck, one which they would have no way of getting out of were they to even get free of their binds, Mia didn't let that bother her. There was always a way. The first step was to simply get free.
And, as Mia looked at the way her hands had been strung over the hook, and then at the boxes in front of her, she came up with an idea.
With as much grace as Mia could muster, she shoved her foot into the crevice of the box directly in front of her, and slowly, very slowly, began to walk up its side.
CHAPTER NINE
"So, there I was, watering my daisies, which are coming in nicely by the way, when I heard a loud crash, just outside my window. That sounds like a body, falling from the roof, I thought to myself. And sure enough, when I went outside to take a look on the fire escape, who do you think was there? Broken, bleeding and near dead? I'll give you two guesses."
Mark heard the voice speaking to him, but he barely registered it. As he slowly opened his eyes, everything around him was blurry to the point where his surroundings were one, bright, mesh blob. His head was killing him too, so much that even the slightest of sounds sent a ringing through his ears like a hammer whacking him inside of his head. It felt a little like he had been torn apart and then clumsily put back together.
And yet, despite this, he had no trouble figuring out who was talking.
"You have daisies?" Mark managed to croak as he slowly, and painfully pushed himself up to a sitting position. As he did, his sight came back into focus, allowing him to finally see where he was. There was no mistaking Curt's apartment, and no mistaking the hulking form of Curt standing over him.
"I do," Curt said. "My therapist suggested it. Something to do with caring for something other than myself? Who knows, right -- ah, you really shouldn't be moving."
Mark had gone to stand, prompting Curt to rest his hand on Mark's shoulder and push him back down.
With little to no strength, Mark was forced to obey. He sat back down and took a deep breath. Then he was able to take stock of his situation for the first time.
He was lying on Curt's couch. Shirtless, but with most of his pants still intact. His left pantleg was torn almost completely off. He looked at the bandages wrapped around his left thigh, and on his right shoulder. Then he raised his hand and felt the gauze that had been wrapped thickly around his head. He must look like some sort of reject mummy, he thought. On top of that, there were heavy bloodstains on all of the bandages – matching the pain he felt emanating from them – and doctor's tools lining the floor, also covered in blood.
"The bullets?" Mark asked as he eyed the tools.
"Got it," Curt said proudly. "There was only the one in your thigh. Cleaned the wounds. Stitched you up. Did a pretty damn good job, truth be told. I haven't had to do one of those since my military days.”
“Only one bullet? Then what’s with the heavy use of gauze on my shoulder and head?” Mark asked. “Were you just practicing? If so, you suck because my head and shoulder hurt worse than my fucking thigh.”
“Yeah well, the bullet that hit your head just grazed you over the left temple, right to the bone, mind you, and it bled like a fucker – you’re luckier than shit, you know. And the shoulder, well…. you busted my favorite weather vane when you crashed onto my balcony, you asshole. The iron went right through your frickin’ meaty shoulder, breaking it off at the base,” Curt complained with disgust. “I got that as a “remember me” present from a sexy little vixen in Taiwan when I – Hey, where the hell are you going?"
Halfway through Curt's diatribe, Mark pushed himself to his feet. The pain was real, as was the lightheadedness he felt. But he couldn't just lie there, he had to get going. "Mia," was all Mark could manage as he stumbled towards the door.
"Hold up," Curt jumped to his feet, quickly cutting Mark off. "I can't just let you run outta here in the state you're in. That wouldn't be very doctorly of me."
"Since when were you a doctor," Mark shot back, trying to step around his friend who again cut him off.
"How about your buddy, then?" Curt said pointedly.
"Yeah, well, do you really think that you can go and save your lady friend? You can barely walk."
"I'll manage." Again, Mark tried to step around Curt and again Curt cut him off.
"I don't doubt that. But this isn't as simple as you think," Curt said. "Here," he stepped away from Mark, leaving the path to the door wide open. But Mark didn't take it. Instead he watched as his friend made his way to a cabinet across the room. There he opened it, pulled out a small electronic device and tossed it to Mark. "Take a look."
The device was similar in size and shape to a common cell phone. On the screen however was a map of the city, with an orange dot moving along it.
"Why's it moving?" Mark asked confused. He knew exactly what he was looking at, he just didn't know why it was behaving in that fashion. "She should be in the one spot. Shouldn't she?"
"If I had to guess, I would say that Allister has her in the back of a truck? He is a people smuggler, after all. He also has his own line of delivery trucks... as a front. You know how it goes? Anyway, like I was saying before --"
"Can I still take your Hummer?" Mark cut in. He was still watching the orange dot as it moved on the map and as he did, he came up with a plan. Well not so much a plan, but the thin basis of an idea that he hoped might work.
"My Hummer?" Curt asked, as if hoping that the question was for someone else. "Oh, well, I loaned it out to my neighbor... It's -- it's in the shop. Yeah, it’s --"
"Curt, don't fuck with me." Mark knew how much Curt loved his vehicle, but this was even more serious than before.
"Fine," Curt relented. "But these guys really mean business, and they’re going to be watching for the police, you know. I didn’t think you’d actually find them before….”
"Spare set of keys? Obviously the ones you gave me are gone." Mark looked at his old friend, deadpan and serious.
"You can't be serious? You can barely walk."
"Keys," he said again in the same serious manner. Unblinking, unflinching.
"Not to mention that I don't like the idea of you driving my baby while you’re in this conditio --"
"Keys!" Mark growled. His teeth were gritted in anger. Every second they had this argument was another that Mia was in trouble.
"But..." Curt was about to push his argument, but the expression on Mark's face indicated that there was no point. Mark was getting those keys, one way or another. "And you won't get a scratch on it?"
"I can't promise that," Mark said. For what he was about to do, there was very little chance of the car coming back in one piece.
"Well then," Curt began as he frowned to himself. "There's really only one thing we can do." With that he powered across the room and into his bedroom. A second later he emerged, car keys in hand. "I'm driving."
"Seriously?" Mark asked, taken aback by the suggestion. The truth was, he could use Curt's skills here. Probably more than Curt knew.
"Obviously. If you think I'm going to let you get behind the wheel of my car after you’ve already been shot, then you clearly don’t know me very well. Now, come on. Guns are already in the car." He brushed past Mark and out the front door. “And don’t bleed on my leather seats.”
Mark watched the space where his friend had disappeared for a moment, a small smile on his face. Yes, Mia was in danger, but with both him and Curt coming for her, he was certain she would be okay.
She had to be.
--
Mark watched the tracking device intently. The orange dot blipped on the map, moving slowly down the highway, and the Hummer gave chase.
When Mark had bandaged up Mia's arm earlier, he had placed a small tracker in the bandage folds – compliments of Curt’s nicely stocked shelves. And it was a good thing he had too. Without it they would have had literally no way of finding Mia.
"How much further?" Curt asked from the driver's seat. The traffic on the highway was sparse, thankfully, as it allowed Curt to hold his foot down flat as he pushed the Hummer to its limits.
"Less than a mile," Mark replied. As he did, he kept his eyes on the tracker. It was nothing but straight road for the next ten miles at least. That would make what he planned on doing, a little bit easier. Although to be fair, what he planned on doing wasn't going to be easy, even under the best of circumstances.
"And what do I do when we reach it?"
"Just get close to the passenger side car. I'll do the rest."
"Okay, but…. just when you're up there please, please try your hardest not to scratch her. She's brand new." There was a pretty good chance that Curt knew what Mark intended to do. The fact that he wasn't trying to stop him, showed that he understood just how serious Mark was about this. Mia's life was literally at stake. Mark would do whatever was necessary to keep her alive. For now, the adrenaline was keeping him going. He knew that when the rush was over, he’d crash like a freight train, but for now, all that mattered was finding her, and getting her to safety.
A few moments later Mark spotted the truck. It was a huge, unmarked semi-trailer, cruising along the road. Now all he had to do was stop the truck.
"Okay," Mark yelled. "Get up next to it."
Curt did just that. Pulling onto the shoulder next to the truck, the Hummer very quickly made its way up beside the passenger side door. Luckily, the truck driver was not very observant and didn’t glance in his passenger side mirror once. Because of that, he kept the semi-truck steady. Then, when the two vehicles were aligned, Mark acted.
He pulled himself through the open rear side window of the Hummer, scrambling onto the roof. The wind lashed at his body, threatening to throw him from the vehicle as it sped down the highway, but he gritted his teeth and held on firmly.
On the roof, he crawled across it the best he could, until he was directly above where Curt was seated. His eyes were focused on the passenger side door of the truck. It was empty, with only a driver occupying the vehicle. There was a foot rest at the base of the door, and a nice wide handle above the door for him to grab onto. All he had to do was jump. This better work, he thought, it’s the last chance I’m going to get.
He pounded on the roof of the car, indicating for Curt to pull the Hummer in closer. Curt did just that, getting as close as he dared. Then, when there was no more time to waste, Mark jumped.
His body propelled itself, twisting in midair, soaring over the asphalt that raced beneath him. The wind tried to push him back, away from his target. The vehicles moved from under him but somehow, he connected with the passenger side door.
His foot slammed into the rest, his hand gripped around the handle and even though his body flung itself back, Mark clung tightly onto the truck. Without wasting any time, he popped the door open and climbed in before the driver had a chance to react.
"What the fu --"
"Don't move," Mark said as he whipped his gun out, training it on the driver. "Just start pulling over, nice and slow."
The driver eyed the gun nervously before quickly glancing at the radio on the dashboard. Knowing what he intended, Mark cocked the gun and took aim. “I dare you,” he said firmly.
It was all the warning the driver needed. With no choice, he kept his hands on the wheel and his eyes on the road.
Without showing any outward signs of relief, Mark relaxed slightly. He could feel blood running down his torso because the stitches in his shoulder had opened. His thigh felt like it was on fire and his head pounded, but none of it mattered – he had Mia.
Thank. God.
--
Mark directed the driver to steer the truck into the next available pit-stop, less than five minutes down the road. There, Curt was already waiting. When he saw the truck pulling in with Mark in the front seat, he let out a bark of laughter.
"I should have known if someone could pull that shit off, it would be you," he chuckled as he opened the passenger door. "I have never seen anything like that. Wel
l... maybe this one time, when I --'
"Curt, do me a favor, will you?" Mark asked as he climbed from the truck. He made sure to keep his gun pointed on the driver the whole time. "Secure this guy."
"Oh, right. Sure." While Curt took care of the driver, Mark was finally able to go around the back of the truck. Please, just let her be okay, he thought to himself.
He limped as he ran quickly to the back of the truck, trying not to jar his shoulder. When he reached up to open the giant metal doors, he continued his silent praying. He flung the doors wide, his legs coiling to launch him up into the bed of the semi.
The moment the doors opened, something hard walloped him over the head. He stumbled backwards, barely maintaining his grip on the door lever. The world exploded behind his eyelids, and it was all he could to remain standing. He fumbled at his belt, trying to grab the gun he had tucked into his waistband when another object hit him on his injured shoulder with equal force. This one dropped him to the ground.