Page 9 of A Gathering Storm

The men remained quiet while the car lurched along the road before it turned again and eventually came to a stop.

Silence followed and then the men seated near her exited the vehicle. One grabbed her arm and dragged her out beside him.

With her eyes still covered, she stumbled along the way. The man clutching her arm stopped. A door squeaked and she was moving again. Another door opened and she was shoved inside, then forced into a chair with her hands and feet secured behind her.

Breathing sounds informed her the men were still in the room. She held her breath, clinging to the hope they wouldn’t start the interrogation yet.

Footsteps shuffled toward the door. The room emptied, and she was left alone with nothing but her panicked thoughts to keep her company.

???

Rocking movement woke Brookes. He was being carried. Two people held his arms. As many his legs. The pain ripping through his upper torso made it impossible not to scream.

“He’s awake,” One man spoke in German.

“Get him inside.” Again, in German.

Who were these men? Where was Abby?

The men jostled him against something, and he fought to keep from passing out. He squeezed his eyes shut until the nausea dissipated and then Brookes tried to focus on the world around him.

He was inside a building. Overhead fluorescent lights passed above as the men continued moving down what appeared to be a narrow hallway.

The men stopped abruptly. A door opened. Brookes was carried inside and dropped onto the floor. Jolts of pain mushroomed from his injured side. His hands were forced in front of him and bound together by zip ties. The same for his feet.

One of the men kicked his side. His vision blurred, and he blacked out for a time. Someone slapped his face hard. Brookes opened his eyes. A man appeared in his line of sight, his lips curled in disdain. With a grunt, he and the rest of the men filed from the room.

The door closed and locked behind them. Brookes did his best to stay conscious. How long before they returned? When they did, it was going to get ugly real fast.

Drawing in a handful of breaths, Brookes waited for the fog to lift. He struggled to clear his vision. The room was mostly empty with the exception of a table and chairs. He did a double take when he spotted someone confined to a chair in one corner of the room. Abby? He recognized the clothes, but her face was covered with a pillowcase.

“Abby,” he croaked out her name, the effort leaving him winded.

Her head turned toward him. “Brookes?” The disbelief in her voice was clear.

Despite the blood loss and the ominous feeling that time was running out, he smiled. “Yes, it’s me. I’m going to see if I can make it over to you.”

Brookes struggled to his knees through the pain. With his injury, standing wasn’t going to be an option. He was too weak to lift his body up with the restraints. He had to find a way to free his hands and feet.

“Abby, I’m going to try and cut my zip ties off. Sit tight” He cast a glance at the room. It appeared to be a breakroom of some sort. Against one wall was a kitchen area with a refrigerator and sink. Nothing more. He’d need something sharp to cut through the ties. His vision fell on the corner of the kitchen cabinet. Part of the wood had come loose. If he could make his way over to the spot. . .

Brookes closed his eyes and rolled. Each turn tortured his upper torso. The blood was seeping from the wound leaving a bloody trail in his wake. He wouldn’t be able to hold out long without stopping the loss of blood. He was forced to stop midways to keep from being sick. When the moment passed, Brookes continued until he reached the cabinet.

Working from a sitting position, he sawed the ties of his bound hands back and forth across the sharp-edged corner of the cabinet, all the while keeping a careful watch on the door. If those men returned, he had a pretty good idea what they’d do to him.

The zip ties snapped free. He rubbed his wrists for a second and then went to work on his feet. Getting his bound feet into position meant having to use his arms for support. Every time he put pressure close to the injury his stomach heaved.

Brookes did his best to shove aside the nausea and focus on the task at hand. It seemed to take twice as long before the ties finally broke free and he rose and searched the drawers for something to cut Abby free.

The place had been emptied of anything useful except for an old butter knife. It would have to do.

He crossed the room and slipped the pillowcase from her face. “Are you okay?” After witnessing armed men forcing her into a car, Brookes had been certain they’d kill her.

“I’m fine, but you’re hurt.” She spotted the blood now seeping through his jacket.

“I’m shot. Once I have you free, I’ll need your help to stop the blood flow. We don’t have much time before they return.”

Brookes went to work loosening her restraints. The knife made the task slow and challenging, but eventually Abby’s hands and feet were free. She didn’t waste time coming to his aid.

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