I turned my back and jogged through the trees in the same direction Porter had driven just the day before, heading toward the small private airstrip. If I were lucky, I’d get off the island unscathed and bring light to the evil taking place. I ran until my lungs burned before I slowed. The hangar was just in view beyond the trees. Lights were shining on the road, headed to the airstrip. I ducked into the clump of trees, waiting until the lights flashed by before peeking at the headlights. Staying within the tree line, I jogged in the direction of the hangars.
The golf cart stopped. A man got out and held two girls at gunpoint. I recognized Robert, the guard assigned to make sure our bungalow stayed secure. The two girls being shoved I was starting to know well. Frankie and Debbie Drake, the one girl who was fighting the suggestions they were trying to implant in her head. Both girls had zip ties around their wrists. Frankie had a bloody lip. Debbie no longer had shadows beneath her eyes. One was swollen, black, and turning yellow as if she’d been hit.
I swallowed around the lump in my throat and pulled out the gun tucked in the waistband of my jeans.
Hadn’t they planned to hide Debbie away in a holding cell? Did that mean it was nearby?
“Crap,” I whispered, debating what to do. If I shot Robert, the sound might alert the others at the bonfire, and what if the holding cell was close by? That could mean other guards might be near. I might not even have a chance to get up in the air, but I had to do something to help these girls.
I eased up behind them as he was ushering them toward the empty hangar, the one we hadn’t checked. I waited until he opened the door and was pushing Frankie and Debbie through it. He guided them across the room and pulled at a chain that lifted a grate into the air. The sound of cries drifted up from the darkened hole.
“Get in,” he growled.