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By the time it’s over, there are nineteen dead bad guys and five rescued children. Every single one of us is happy that five were freed, but we’ll go to sleep tonight, wondering what we could’ve done differently for that sixth child to be saved.
The teams spend the next several hours clearing the property and taking detailed accounts of things in the homes, but these guys are so nomadic, they don’t give many clues as to what the next step for the group is.
It would be foolish to think that we irradicated the entire group. Even if we did, another one will pop up within the next week or so. Where there’s a demand, there’s also someone willing to supply the product, be it guns, drugs, or innocent victims.
What they don’t find is the sixth child dead in any of the homes. As much as that should make us happy, we all know that sometimes there are worse things than death.
Chapter 34
Beth
I didn’t realize how luxurious the ride in the SUVs provided by Cerberus had been over the last several weeks until the bus pulled away from the little rundown store in Farmington.
We’ve been on the road for a couple of hours, having stopped once for fuel, and I feel like I’m about to bounce out of my skin. If this is how rock stars and famous people travel, then I no longer envy them. It’s awful.
Not only is the ride jarring but there are so many different smells on this bus that I’ve had to cover my mouth twice to keep from gagging.
I know I sound like a grouchy asshole, but it should be common courtesy to grab a shower before climbing into a vehicle, no matter how big it is.
Just thinking that makes me feel like an awful person. Working at the shelter should’ve made me a little more compassionate about the things I’ve been provided in life that many haven’t had the luxury of experiencing.
If sitting on a bus with a swirl of unpleasant scents around me is the worst thing to happen to me today, then I guess I have to count it as a win.
I scooch closer to the window despite there being no one directly beside me in the seat. The last guy who got on the bus in Farmington got a little too close to me when I was picking my seat, and even though there were a ton of places he could sit, he chose the seat right across the aisle from mine.
He tried starting a conversation with a little small talk but I shut that down pretty quickly. It hasn’t stopped him from looking in my direction for what feels like a million times.
I didn’t get off the bus when we stopped for fuel, and neither did he.
There are a million reasons why he stayed on the bus, but I just haven’t been able to shove down that feeling that he’s either going to hurt me or he’s been sent by Cerberus to keep an eye on me.
I chance a look in his direction. Maybe I’m judging a book by its cover, but the guy is wearing a button-collared shirt and slacks. He’s not in the common MC uniform of jeans, t-shirt, and leather vest. Honestly, looking at the guy, he would be someone I would normally consider trustworthy, but there’s just something about him that doesn’t sit right with me.
Finding him still looking at me, I quickly turn my eyes back out the window. Darkness is quickly creeping up, but I highly doubt I’ll be able to sleep. There’s too much in my head, too many unanswered questions, and a whole lot of regret.
The bus slows, making a right turn into a dimly lit gas station. From the looks of it, the bathroom in there probably won’t be any more accommodating than the tiny bathroom on the bus.
I breathe a sigh of relief when I look over to find the weird guy sleeping with his face against the glass and his mouth hanging slightly open. Hopefully, he’ll stay asleep and I can find a different seat on the bus.
I line up with the others to exit the bus, keeping my distance. I don’t have the energy for small talk with any of these people, and I know if they strike up a conversation, it’ll continue on the next leg of our journey.
Knowing there’s going to be a line at the bathroom, I take slower steps toward the building. I blame my mood for the less-than-complimentary thoughts I’m having about the store. I could really use some cookies, but I imagine anything inside is going to be expired and disgusting.
As I reach for the door handle, my phone rings.
My heart begins to race before I can pull it out of my back pocket.
