Page 48 of Redemption
But, then again...undercoverimmersive recon.
Now, that’s an idea.
From what I’ve observed, many of these houses on the outskirts are no longer occupied, and they may hold the items I need for a decent disguise. Or at least one passable enough to get me through what I need to do without being easily recognizable.
With a plan brewing in my head, I turn away from the town, flatten myself onto the rooftop, and crawl my way over to the other side, taking the ladder down before heading back the way I came, deeper into the suburban wilderness. While there are a lot of people taking part in the Phoenix Rising community, there isn’t an entire town’s worth. Which means the farther out of the town’s center I am, the less likely I am to come across someone actually occupying one of the houses I intend to use.
When I’m a sufficient enough distance away from what I assume to be the town’s epicenter, I choose one. It doesn’t matter which. Even though I have no idea if they have what I need for a future disguise, they have what I need right now: shelter, protection, clothing, and a hiding place right under their noses.
I set my sights on a yellow single-story home. It’s small, which means fewer rooms I need to clear before I feel safe beneath its roof. Without a weapon, I stay on guard, slinking through the weeds in the side yard as I make my way to the back. I take the steps up to the deck and press against the wall next to the sliding back doors. It’s quiet, no sounds coming from insidethe dwelling as I wait. And wait. After a moment, I look through the glass, the inside dark and unmoving.
Not wanting to be too obvious and leave broken shards of glass everywhere for a passing onlooker to spot, I look past the large glass doors and walk to a regular-looking door farther on. It’s locked, but I lift my boot and kick just below the handle. It takes a few tries, but eventually, the door caves in, along with the frame, granting me access. I quickly enter, prop the door back up to make it look as if nothing happened, and get to work.
Unfortunately, without a gun or knife to my name, if there’s anyone currently in the house, I'll have to take them down using nothing but my hands. Frankly, I don’t like that option.
The kitchen is my first stop as I ease around the corner and spy on the room. When I'm fairly convinced it’s empty, I charge ahead and aim right for the drawers, hoping there’s at least one knife left for me. I dig through each and every one of them, trying to find what I need as quickly as possible, but I slam the fourth and last drawer shut when each ends up being absolutely empty. Unable to admit defeat just yet, I take a chance and open the oven, only to find that even the metal racks are gone.
Son of a bitch.
I start to turn away when a thought strikes me, my gaze catching on the drawer below the oven: the broiler/storage compartment.
Maybe...
I yank at the metal and smile at the cast iron pan looking back at me. It’s not ideal, but a weapon’s a weapon. Which makes it good enough for me. Successfully armed with the heavy skillet, I turn to search the rest of the property.
It only takes a few minutes before I’m able to clear all the rooms, and, just as I hoped, there’s no sign of anyone living here.
Satisfied and relieved I don’t have to hide anymore, I head back into the bedroom and rummage through the closets, needing to find clothing that hopefully both fits me and is tactically sound. If I have the choice, I don’t want anything that makes too much noise or is too bulky, but anything will be better than just the sopping wet pair of boxers I’m currently wearing. I’m about halfway through my search when I find exactly what I need: a black pair of loose, broken-in Dockers and a dry-fit t-shirt. I throw them on, along with a new pair of boxers, a pair of socks, and the boots I found in the trunk, and continue with my mental checklist.
Although my newly acquired cast iron bludgeon is deadly enough, I need something else. Something lighter and easier to handle. While this place might not have any guns or knives, there are less obvious things I can use to protect myself.
I grab a duffel bag from the closet and head back to the kitchen. Deadly concoctions fill my brain as I make my way over to the sink before crouching down and flinging the cupboard doors open with determined purpose.
My lips lift in a sinister grin as I look down upon the large canister of hornet spray sitting front and center and eagerly place it up onto the counter along with the bleach, vinegar, and other various chemical spray bottles. Next, I turn to the pantry, hoping the residents of the encampment overlooked this as well. Immediately, my eyes catch on the chili powder and black pepper. The seemingly innocuous spices are added to the pile, right along with a long-tipped grill lighter and all the metal shish-kabob skewers that were hiding in the back.
Satisfied with my findings, I exit the kitchen, making my way down the hall to continue with the next item on my list.
I enter the bathroom and pull open the cupboard underneath the sink. A few canisters of hairspray and a bottle of nail polish remover are placed to the side so I can add them to my bag of tricks later, but it’s not until I reach the very back of the cabinet that I miraculously find exactly what I’m looking for. Holding up the box, I read the instructions. The entire process should only take about an hour, but I’ll do it later. I don’t want to take a chance on any chemical reactions between what’s going on with my impromptu makeover and the DIY arsenal I’m about to build.
Reentering the kitchen, I step up to the counter and meticulously place all the ingredients I found in front of a large glass bowl. After reviewing my inventory and making sure I won’t accidentally kill myself in the process, I lift my mask over my face, place a pair of oven mitts on my hands, and begin mixing. While these concoctions might not be as potent as the real stuff, they’ll still pack a punch and will get me out of trouble if need be.
Once I’m done MacGyvering my own personal chemical warfare stash, I’ll get started on myself.
And then, it’s game time.
Hold on, guys, I’m coming.
Chapter Seventeen
Aly
My dreams were plagued with visions of Dare all night. Dare, Hawk, Cole, and Jax. All...together.
All withme.
I woke up covered in sweat, not because of the temperature in the room—although it was pretty warm this morning—but because of the dream’s... activities.
Activities that will have to remain within the confines of my mind and my deepest, darkest thoughts if I know what’s best for me.
