At last Alex caved. “Fine,” he said, but it was to no one because Jessup and Tate had already gone their separate ways, wandering off into the bowels of the mill.
“Twenty-one … twenty-two … twenty-three…” I made sure I had what I needed. A new knife in my boot. A Taser stashed in the front pocket of my hoodie. A hammer clutched in my sweaty palm. I fitted a pair of night vision goggles over my eyes. My walkie-talkie. I wouldn’t bring the spare lantern with me. It would be too much to carry. I took a second look at the monitor, then stuffed it into a thin backpack along with the two reams of rope and a roll of duct tape and slung it over both shoulders. “Twenty-four…” I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Twenty-five. Ready or not, here I come.”
Game on.
The sound of the churning machinery masked the sound of my footsteps as I spirited across a grain bridge and then down the rungs of a ladder fixed to the side of a silo. Last I’d seen, Alex had still been pacing indecisively near the entrance, unsure of which way to go. That was perfect. I’d make the decision for him.
“Do you see her?” came Jessup’s voice over the walkie-talkie frequency.
Now on the same level, I could hear Alex click the button on his transmitter. “No. Do you? Over.”
It was staticky when Tate’s voice sounded. “She can hear you, you idiots.”
“Right. Sorry. Roger that,” said Jessup. “I’ve just always liked playing with these things.”
Oh, don’t you worry, California, you’ll get to play soon enough.
Through the lenses of the goggles, the surrounding world was a wash of video-game green hues. I pressed my back to the curved surface of the grain silo. As I shimmied around the edge of it, using it to protect my backside, I scanned the area, landing at last on the form of Alex McClung. His cragged face showed up looking blotchy and pockmarked even in night vision. He hid behind the pile of burlap bags containing stores of grain like a coward.
I walked gently heel-to-toe so as not to be heard. Closer and closer I drew until I could see Alex’s fingers turning an unlit cigarette over and over between them. My heart pounded in my ears. I stopped breathing. I was four feet, three feet, two feet. I thought he heard me. Or maybe he smelled me.
Whichever it was, there was a hammer to his temple before he could react. The sound it made was silenced by the grind of the machines. His head snapped back. Then, his knees buckled and he turned in at the waist and he was on the ground. I fought the urge to make a sound. Even a battle cry.
Instead, I stowed the handle of the hammer in the waistband of my jeans and hooked my hands underneath his damp armpits. I dragged him in short halting motions, checking behind my back every other step, until painstakingly, methodically, I pulled him over to the conveyor belt and up onto it.
He started coming to just as I was wrapping the duct tape all the way around his chest, pinning his arms tight to his sides. I twisted another quarter roll around his shins.
“Hey.” His eyes fluttered open. “Hey, what do you think you’re doing?” He scrunched his chin to his chest and tried to stare down in the direction of his feet. “Hey, watch it!”
I took a small strip and pressed it over his mouth.
At the end of the conveyor belt was one of the large, spiral augers, a perfect bit of machinery made from curved, metal blades that rotated in a lethal corkscrew motion. It was already twisting, making long scraping noises across the cement floor. I doubted that Alex could make out what lay ahead at the end of the runway, but I knew he could hear it.
A few feet above his head was a lever the size of my forearm. I wrapped my hand over the bulb at the top. I used the full force of my weight and I pulled it down toward me. The conveyor belt lurched, sputtered, and then began to move.
Alex tossed his head. Muffled screams came from behind the duct tape. I strode to his side, following him as his body traveled down the length of the conveyor belt. I stooped down close to his ear. “How does it feel not to be able to run?” I whispered, and his eyes widened.
He fought with his chest and waist against the tape. It didn’t loosen. The belt chugged along. Closer. Closer. Closer.
His head was again lifted off the belt. I wondered if he could see what was ahead now. That was when the muffled screams reached a new pitch and I was sure that he could.
I counted down in my head. Three. Two. One.
His feet hit the auger and the sound was of shredded leather first. It was like a bird caught in a plane propeller. I could hear when the sharp, twisted metal found the bone, chewing it methodically.
At the same time, his limbs must have jammed the machine because it stopped working. I didn’t have time to fix it because Alex had managed to yell so hard that the duct tape broke free of his mouth and he was now shouting and cursing and crying.