Luke’s light scans the barn and finally I see him, crouched behind a stack of hay.
“Oh my God,” Luke says, and as I run closer, I see why. Dad’s face is bruised and crusted with old and new blood. His left eye is purple and swollen shut. His lip has been split and his right cheek is slashed. I push my way through the barn, not even sure what I’m shoving out of the way. As I reach him, tears swim in the only eye he’s able to open.
“What on earth are you doing here?” he asks, pressing his swollen lips together. A tear falls from his right eye and is caught by the open wound on his cheek.
“I couldn’t stand by and watch another mission get blown,” I say and touch the only remaining unbruised spot of his cheek.
Dad moves his arm toward me but something holds him back. Metal scrapes against metal and I can see his right hand is handcuffed to a metal pipe against the wall. On the other side of the pipe is an empty set of handcuffs. My heart drops.
“Wait, where’s Mom?” I ask, staring at the empty space next to him.
“Torres took her inside a little bit ago,” Dad says, following my stare. His body begins to shake. He sucks in his swollen lip, trying to control his tears. “I’m afraid of what he’ll do to her before … before he…”
“I’m not going to let anything happen to her.” I shake my head, the lump thickening in my throat. I try to swallow it away but can’t. I can’t bury the emotions. Not now.
I pull my Glock 22 pistol out from the back of my pants. “Pull your chain as tight as you can.”
I can see the metal digging into his skin and the pain on his face. I point my pistol at the exposed links and pull the trigger. Without a silencer on my pistol, the pop of the gun fills the barn and rattles against my chest. The bullet rips through the link, slicing the handcuffs in half. Dad pulls his free hand away as the other cuff scrapes down the pipe and hits the dirty, hay-covered ground.
Dad cradles his sore hand to his stomach and reaches up to me with his left hand. I kneel on the ground and let him pull me into his body. I wrap my arms around him and bury my face in his chest. He’s lost his scent of aftershave and fresh linen and smells of sweat and blood and dirt. As much as I thought this moment would be filled with love and relief, I just can’t get there. I’m filled with rage. His swollen eye and bloodied face, my father, beaten and broken down.
Bang. A bullet rips through the barn wall, twenty feet behind us. I break free of Dad’s embrace and pull him off the ground.
“We have to get him out of here,” I say, draping Dad’s arm around my shoulder. “Where’s the truck?”
“I’m pulling into the field now,” Eduardo says in my ear. “I’m fifty yards away from the barn.”
“Can you walk that far?” I ask as Dad limps toward the barn door, half of his body weight on my shoulders and back.
“I can make it,” Dad says, clutching his left knee, his face wincing, his breaths short and shallow.
“Laz, Sam, we’ve got Dad, but Mom’s in the house. What’s going on out there?” I say, holding my hand up to my earpiece. Another shot rings out from somewhere outside and I can hear grunts and heavy breathing, the telltale signs of hand-to-hand combat. No one answers me.
“Thomas, what’s going on outside?” Luke says, taking Dad’s other arm and draping it around his shoulder.
“Stand by, we’re looking,” Thomas says. “The images are coming in on a delay.”
Come on, come on. I press my lips together and stare out the tiny window at the front of the barn. The field in front of me is clear and the house lights are all on. Mom, where are you?
“Looks like all the activity is in the back of the barn,” Thomas finally answers. “Our guys are still up but six guards are down. Two are still fighting off our guys, but everything is happening twenty yards behind you. You’re fine to exit the barn, but go now.”
I shift Dad’s weight onto Luke, pull open the barn door, and point my gun outside. I inch my way out, scanning the grounds for guards or any other shooters. Another bullet cracks through the air behind me and the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
“Another guard down,” I hear Laz yell in my ear.
I wave Luke back outside and into the moonlight. Eduardo flashes the headlights in the truck. “Take Dad to the truck,” I say to Luke and kiss my father on his swollen cheek. “I’m going to get Mom.”
“Reagan, don’t. Torres will kill you the second you step foot in that house,” Dad protests.
“Reagan, get in the truck with your father,” Thomas says in my ear. “That’s a direct order.”
“No, Thomas. I’m not taking orders from you right now,” I say and grab my father’s hand. “I’m going to find her. I promise.”
“Reagan, don’t,” Dad begs, tears welling up in his eyes. “I cannot lose you both.”
But there’s nothing he can do to stop me. There’s nothing he can say to get me on that truck.