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."
Ayala's face suddenly brightened with the challenge. A few minutes of wild jostling, and the Chinese fire drill was complete without either of them leaving the car.
Hatch spun in her new seat, turning to face the rear windshield of the sedan, using the head rest as a supported firing position while she brought the Glock up and took aim at the headlights behind them.
"It may not even be them," Miguel whispered in a worried hiss.
"We'll know the second they start shooting."
Miguel seemed be able to whisper to his Nissan because with him at the helm, it quieted enough that Hatch could hear the murmured whispers repetitively spoken by Angela in her curled position. She understood the two words she was saying repeatedly. Kill me.
Hatch released her grip on the back seat and reached her hand out. The old scars of Hatch's battle torn arm rested atop the girl's trembling arm, being careful to avoid the area of Angela's wrist damaged by her restraints. The physical contact seemed to be working because Angela stopped the rocking, and she grew quiet.
"I know you're scared."
Tears streamed down Angela's face, cleaning paths through the grime still clinging to her skin. "I'll never go back there. Do you understand me? You have to promise, don't let them take me again, even if that means killing me first."
"I'll promise you this, the only way they're ever going to get to you, is if they've gotten to me first. And I don't plan on dying today."
Miguel jerked the wheel hard to the right, taking the poorly constructed road that led down into a shanty town. Hatch was thrown to the right, catching herself by the headrest before falling between the seats.
"Sorry for not giving the warning. I saw it last minute."
"Where are we?" They sped by stacked rows of broken-down homes.
"These are the towns they give the workers who work their fields. They pay them next to nothing if anything at all. Most are working off a debt they'll never pay off. Look at the houses around you. They're built from junkyard scraps."
Few people were out to see the Nissan race down their quiet village streets. He'd taken several rights and lefts, and then slowed at Hatch's request, and cut the lights. The Nissan's motor made a loud clicking sounds as the engine began to cool.
Less than two minutes passed before the darkness was shattered by the reaching glow of the approaching headlights silhouetting the uneven lines of the village. Menacing shadows outran the light, as if to warn of the intentions of the men behind them.
Hatch directed Ayala into a driveway off to the right, leaving their headlights off and only braking hard at the last second before cutting the engine. Once stopped, Hatch jumped from the vehicle and ran through the garbage-littered yard to Ayala's trunk where she'd seen a tattered green sleeping bag when she'd deposited the supplies, including a cache of guns collected from the dirty police lieutenant and his cronies, and a medical kit donated by Ernesto.
She pulled out a five-inch folding knife and cut at the seam of the sleeping bag. Hatch spent several precious seconds tearing at the sleeping bag to widen its reach before throwing it over the back end of the Nissan. The poor condition of the sleeping bag exposed part of the yellow through its thin membrane and worn holes visible from the street. As best she could, Hatch battled to subdue the hideous yellow metal from view, but the Nissan fought back, just as its owner's Hawaiian shirt did, poking its way out from the collar of the blue coveralls he was still wearing.
Hatch looked for something else to cover the back of the car when an old woman appeared out of nowhere. It was a rare occasion when somebody snuck up on Hatch, and the eighty-something year old in slippers and a long pink tank top as a nightgown had somehow managed to make a very short list. The discolored blotches made the tattered clothing look more like a tie dye, rather than the faded and tattered covering that it was.
The old woman's thin arms rested atop a wooden cane, holding up her bony figure on unsteady wobbly legs. Her hair was the color of smoke, blowing in every direction. She winked at Hatch and said something rapidly in Spanish that Hatch could not understand. Watching the exchange between the two, she thought of the story Ayala had told her about the medicine woman that had given the boy the seed.