Page 43 of The Shape of my Scar
Thane jerked awake, heart already pounding. For a second, he couldn’t place where he was, but then the scent of gun oil and damp concrete grounded him. The flat. The cot. His sidearm tucked under the pillow. The air was thick, still humming with anxiety of the nightmare.
It was more of a power nap. Or a blink. A pause in hell. He never was able to sleep without one eye open, not ever since…
Maro barged in, already dressed in black, loading up his twin Glocks with quick, practiced hands. “It’s today,” he said. “Those fuckers were trying to throw us off with the manifest. Ship camein early. Transfer’s underway. No time to wait for Robin and Garrick; they’re en route, but we need to move now.”
Thane was already up, dragging on gear, checking clips. His FN 509 MRD-LE went into the thigh holster. Extra mags. Utility blade. Kevlar. His heartbeat synced to the rhythm of readiness.
In the next room, Lirian’s fingers danced over the keyboard. “I’ve got partial feeds; truck’s already at the farmhouse. Fuckers must have docked somewhere else. Cameras show at least two heat signatures inside, plus the truck. Could be more in the woods. No chatter on open channels.”
Maro zipped up his jacket. “We split. Lirian and I will hit the base for data: routes, names, payment trails. You and Zel go to the farmhouse. Get the kids. Get the girl.”
Thane nodded once. No arguments. No time.
They took the van and parked on the outskirts.
The forest loomed like a black wall. Wet leaves, the scent of pine and damp bark. Somewhere ahead, the house glowed faintly through the trees.
The electric fence hummed softly, silent but deadly.
Zel worked fast, fingers steady. In the section they’d chosen, they clipped jumper cables across two insulated points to isolate the current. Thane’s hands were wrapped in rubber tape as he snipped the wire with insulated cutters. A hiss, a spark, then silence.
They slipped through like ghosts.
Through the trees, the farmhouse emerged—tired wooden siding, single porch light flickering above a dirt-streaked door. The warehouse stood tall, casting a sinister shadow overeverything. The truck was parked out front, engine cooling in the night. Heat signatures bloomed through Thane’s infrared goggles. Two guards-one on the far side, one near the barn.
Trish was outside.
She stood in the pale wash of porch light, speaking to Jac. Even at a distance, Thane could see her posture was relaxed, bored even. But her fingers never left the line of her belt.
Then she turned and went inside, and Jac wandered around the back.
Thane moved fast.
He caught Jac from behind, one arm around his throat, the other locking across his shoulder. The man struggled—trained, sharp—but Thane was bigger and stronger. He tightened the choke until Jac sagged, unconscious. Then, with the experience of years, he zip-tied his hands and feet, gagged him with a sock, and moved on.
Zel was already in position, sniping silhouettes from the perimeter with quiet, suppressed shots. He signalled that he was doing a perimeter run and would circle back to cover him.
Thane crept inside.
The dormitory was dimly lit, bunk beds and thin mattresses crammed wall to wall. At least twenty kids, barely older than ten, looked to the door, startled, their eyes wide and glassy. Some clutched each other while some didn’t move at all.
Theodora stepped forward.
“What’s going on?” she whispered.
Thane’s voice came low, calm, clipped. “We’re getting you out.”
“But it’s too dangerous…”
“Put the gun down, you prick.” Trish’s voice cracked through the silence like a whip.
Thane froze.
Hands raised slowly, the gun still tucked in the back of his pants, he turned around, inch by inch. And as he did, he caught it, that flicker on Theodora’s face. Something almost…knowing.
He mouthed,Run.
Trish stood at the door, weapon raised, expression dead calm. Her eyes glittered with malice. “Mofos like you don’t listen,” she said coldly. “Now, hand over your weapons.”
