“No one is here. No one knows where we are and there are no fucking people!”
“Watch your mouth,” snapped the other man.
“Come on. We want women. We need something to entertain us,” he laughed. The man punched him, sending him reeling to the tarmac.
“Watch the fucking plane or I’ll put a bullet in your head right here,” he sneered.
Both men walked away, neither saying anything. For now, the plane was sealed but the damage was done by the Shadow Warriors.
“Fall back to the others,” said Ham.
In the thick forested area around the property, the men watched and waited. True to his promise, River didn’t notify the bureau but he was damn sure there and ready to help.
“How many men?” asked Joey.
“Heat sensors are picking up eleven. We outnumber them but we’re not sure of the fire power,” said Connor.
“Why don’t we give them a taste of their own medicine?” smirked Joey.
“What do you mean?” asked Gator.
“I mean, why don’t we send a little gift through the ventilation system.”
“It’s a great idea, but we don’t have anything,” said Connor.
“We’ve got a gallon jug of rubbing alcohol in the med kit and I see some paint cans over there by the garage. I’ve learned a few things from my future wife. We feed that into the house and they’re gonna feel pretty shitty within an hour or so.”
“Do it,” nodded Christopher.
Cloaking himself, Joey took the ingredients, which by themselves were fine but when mixed and forced through ventilation systems, could create headaches, nausea, vomiting, and possible toxicity.
As he approached the others again, they were all seated, eating something before the fun began.
“Now what?” asked Bo.
“Now, we wait. They’ll exit that house and we’ll be ready.”
Vasily rubbed his temples once again, the headache increasing in intensity, pressing into his skull. Suddenly nauseated and feeling dizzy, he stood, stumbling toward the front door.
“Peter! Peter, where are you?” he called.
“I-I’m here, sir,” he said shuffling toward him.
“You’re sick as well? Headache? Nausea?” he asked.
“Yes, sir. The other men are sick too.”
“Everyone! Out of the house, now!” he yelled. “Someone has done something to our food or the house. It’s making us sick. Get to the jet.”
The men stepped out of the house, stumbling and shuffling. Some bent at the waist, vomiting in the grass as others simply laid back, looking up at the sky, taking in deep breaths.
“What happened?” asked Peter.
“I don’t know but someone did something to make us sick.”
“I’ll get the bags,” said Peter.
“No. Leave them. Let’s leave now. Get to the plane,” he said lifting the younger man by his arm. The others slowly followed, the light of dusk blanketing the landscape in purple and blue.
