“You think Chappell knows what’s going on?” Candy raised her voice a little.
Hatcher shook his head. “No idea.”
He chanced a glance toward the office. It was unusually quiet back there. He contemplated making a run back there and checking on her, but he didn’t want to miss a chance at Vickers as soon as he came through the door. Hatch gritted his teeth as visions of Mitch again shot across his eyes. He could feel the warm blood oozing out over his hand and it made him want to wet himself. He could feel the crunch of bone in the joints of his hand all over again and it made his stomach turn. Hatcher didn’t know why his brain was doing this to him, but it was more than he could stand right now. He didn’t need this. It was too hard to deal with without replaying it over and over.
His ears picked up the sound of grit being ground between heel and concrete and he cast a glance through the window again. Vickers was walking up to the door, stepping up the concrete steps leading to the center. Hatcher spun around and flattened himself behind the door, ready to spring into action.
Vickers entered the center with a spring in his step, ready to begin packing out the office and preparing to depart. They had little time to call back the dogs and watch the show, then swoop in and act the part of the heroes. He never saw the figure that stepped from the shadows and brought the butt of the rifle down on the back of his neck, turning out the lights.
“Did you get him?” Candy asked as she stepped tentatively out from the rear of the center.
Hatcher stood over the man, debating on finishing him while he was down. Although he wanted to make him pay for what he had to do to Mitch, he knew deep in his gut he couldn’t tie Mitch’s death to Vickers. Not really. He blew out a hard breath and finally met Candy’s gaze. “I got him.”
Vickers groaned from the floor and tried to roll over. “We better tie him up,” she said as she marched across the center. She turned quickly back toward the children. “Stay put. I’ll be right back.”
Hatcher jogged to the office and grabbed the chair across from his desk. It was only then that he saw Maggie taped up in the corner. He could tell from the tears that she already knew Mitch’s fate. He paused only momentarily before he grabbed the other chair and dragged it out to the floor.
Candy was waiting with the roll of duct tape and the two made quick work of securing the colonel to the solid wooden chair. “If he can worm his way out of that, just shoot his ass,” Candy muttered.
Hatcher was reminded of an insect trapped in a cocoon when he looked at the colonel taped to the chair. Not much more than his eyes, nose, and salt and pepper hair was exposed. “That’s gonna hurt like a bitch when it’s ripped off.” He smiled.
“It’s supposed to,” she said, tossing the empty roll aside. “So now what do we do with him?”
Hatcher poked him with the barrel of his rifle. “We wake him up. Make him call off his soldiers.” He poked a little harder and Vickers barely grunted, his head lolling slightly to the side, propped by the taping that Candy had performed.
“What if he won’t?” She tried to keep the children from hearing.
“He will,” Hatcher said, his teeth grinding. “Or I’ll shoot his damned kneecaps out.” He turned the gun around and brought the butt down hard across the man’s knee.
Vickers eyes shot open and he tried to scream, the tape holding his mouth shut. He breathed hard through his nose as he took in his surroundings.
“Well, good morning, colonel,” Hatcher said, venom dripping from his voice. “Nice of you to join us.”
Vickers’ eyes settled on the man, and it was obvious he was having a bit of trouble focusing. He blinked a few times, then mumbled something. “What?” Hatcher asked, mocking him. “Oh, you have something right here…” Hatcher reached across and ripped the tape from his mouth.
Vickers fought not to yell as the tape removed the outer layer of skin. “What is the meaning of this?”
“Easy there, old dog,” Hatcher warned. “Or the tape goes back, and I let her rip it off again just for smiles.”
“Yeah, and I’ll keep ripping it off until your face comes off with it,” Candy threatened.
“First things first,” Hatcher began. “We need you to call off your dogs.”
“Yeah, and then you need to give me back my damned MU!” Candy barked.
“Your what?” Vickers was honestly puzzled.
“My Mobile Unit!” Candy yelled. “The damned trailer you stole. The one you’re planning to do all your experiments in.” She gave him a knowing look and dared him to deny it.
Vickers eyes widened. “How long was I out? Where is Major Chappell? Where are my men?”
“We’re the ones asking questions here, buster!” Candy stepped in front of him. “You’re the one answering them!”
“How long was I out?” Vickers nearly screamed.
“Just a few minutes,” Hatcher replied. “Just long enough for us to secure you to the chair.” He got close to Vickers’ face, “Why?” He tapped him with the barrel of his M4. “You got some place you need to be?”
Vickers began struggling against his bindings, “We have to get out of here,” he nearly shouted. “I need to see Major—”
“Why?” Hatcher yelled, forcefully pushing the barrel of the rifle under his chin. “What the hell is going on here, Vickers?”
Vickers continued to struggle, ignoring Hatcher and his threats. He knew that if anybody were within miles of the strike zones, the concussion alone would turn their insides to jelly. Trees, buildings, vehicles, basically anything above ground would be subject to terrible pressures and the resulting vacuum, followed
