Angela stopped moving immediately. Her eyes darted around the room as if waking from an awful dream.
Hatch's voice crackled, cutting in and out. Ayala spoke in the most soothing and reassuring tone of voice he could muster considering the stress he was under. "Please, you have to trust me. I'm not one of them. I'm here to help you. Daphne Nighthawk is in the parking lot outside this place right now. Isn't that right, Daphne?"
Silence followed. He pulled the phone and saw it had died. His crap charger in the Nissan had left him with a low battery. With Hatch no longer his eyes and ears, Ayala set out on his own.
Angela calmed some after hearing Hatch's voice. The knife in Ayala's hand had not been used against the girl and with each passing second, she seemed more receptive to the idea of accepting his assistance.
The girl turned and exposed the bindings on her wrists without the fidgeting and movement of before. Ayala used the blade that Hatch had given him to saw through the cords, releasing her damaged wrists. She gently waved them in front of her. The wounds left by the bindings were too sore to even rub. Ayala had no medical training but had spent enough time documenting tragedy to know the gash on Angela’s right wrist would definitely need medical treatment.
He outstretched an open hand to the girl and guided her up from the cold, damp concrete. "Please, we must hurry. We have to get going."
"You're not going anywhere."
The light from the hallway was blotted out by the shapes of two men of opposite proportions, but both equally terrifying.
Thirty
Ayala turned to face the two brutish men, putting his body between himself and Angela. Being a man who preferred doing battle with the pen rather than the sword meant the knife Hatch had given him quivered in his hand.
The two men laughed as they closed in on Ayala and the girl. The short, hairy one pulled a pistol from his waist and pointed it at Ayala, the blade now seeming a foolish choice, wishing he had opted for the gun but knowing that it was against his nature to use one.
The knife in his hand now was drawn instinctively, but he knew he didn't have the will to use it as he looked down the barrel of the gun pointed at his head. That's why when it left his hand and slammed into the side of the brutish, hairy man's neck, Ayala looked on in shock.
Blood spurted and death called him to the cold, stained concrete floor. A single round left his gun as he convulsed and hit the floor. The round slammed directly into the forehead of his lanky partner, sending blood and brain matter into the high corner of the ceiling.
Angela stood over the burly man, gurgling blood through both his nose and mouth, a result of the knife punched directly through his neck. His left hand fell away from his throat and into the blood pooling out from the hole created by the knife still embedded in his neck. Angela stood over him and didn't move again until the gurgling stopped altogether.
Ayala looked at the girl, who, only moments before, was tucked in the corner. In the wake of the violence, Angela’s face calmed and for the briefest of moments, she looked like the girl from the photo, at least in her eyes. The fire of life breathed back into them by the death of these two horrible men.
Rothman followed Ayala out into the hallway. The two crossed the main floor at a good pace, somewhere between a speed walk and a jog, trying to move quickly without drawing attention. With the two guards he'd seen at the front door dead, the main exit was clear.
Ayala and Angela exited the warehouse and broke into a brisk jog as an alarm sounded from inside the building they had just left.
Hatch was no longer in the Nissan. She'd left it soon after Ayala entered the building. In his absence, Hatch had been gifted a powder blue uniform in similar fashion as the first. Her hair tucked up under the plastic helmet as best she could manage, making her look more masculine, just as she had done when infiltrating Club de Fuego. Hatch now lingered at the top of the footpath leading to the factory gate and was nearing the pedestrian gate access when Ayala burst through the door. Angela was close behind. They broke into a sprint when the alarm sounded. The guard from the truck checkpoint ran in the direction of the warehouse and the escaping duo. Hatch slipped her gun out, the coveralls making the simple task harder. As she brought the weapon up on target, the guard ran by Ayala and the girl without a second look.
Hatch was already in the Nissan with the engine running. She’d left the passenger side doors open and a moment later the seats were occupied by Ayala's and Angela's bodies.
"I can't believe you came back for me," Angela squeaked the words out as tears ran down her face, marking a clean trail through the filth acquired by her experience in captivity.
Hatch pulled the yellow Nissan out of the lot and onto the dirt road leading back to the main highway.
The headlights in the rearview mirror grew brighter.
"Don't thank me yet."
Thirty-One
Miguel's beat-up yellow Nissan protested Hatch's efforts to push beyond its capacity. Her knuckles were white as she worked two-handed to maintain her grip. Getting it under control, she looked at Angela, who was terrified, curled in a fetal position and rocking, her eyes wide with terror, her moment of exhilaration at being released by the rescue were instantly dashed by the pursuers now chasing them, only a few miles behind.
"Miguel, I'm going to need you to take the wheel."
"What?" He put his hands up. "How?"
"It's going to have to be quick. Hold the wheel. We're going to slow down. You have to keep it steady. I'm going to come across behind you, and you're going to go in front of me. I'm going to see if we can put all those propel waters to work."