Max left the window and then checked around both sides of the shack. The three other shacks that sat behind the first one were just as featureless, the windows boarded over and looking as if the slightest wind might knock them over. He trailed around the left side of the first shack, looking for another window.
What he found was even better. At the far end of the main shack, there was thin wooden door. It hung loosely to the building on faulty hinges, its lower left side jutting out of the frame a bit. Max experimentally stuck the toes of his boot into this area and pulled the door towards him. The door gave a bit but, even in its dilapidated state, was still locked from the inside.
He looked to the weak doorknob and was sure that a single shot from his pistol would blow the lock apart. But there was no sense in bringing attention to himself. He holstered his gun for the moment and then kneeled down by the bottom of the door. He grabbed the crooked, swollen edge of the door with both hands and pulled forward as hard as he could. The door groaned and popped in protest. Over his head, one of the hinges popped out of the frame and clattered to the ground.
The door didn’t come out of its frame, but the lower half of the door was now completely free and loose. Max eyed the bottom of the door and the frame, pretty sure that he could squeeze through it. He peeked inside first, but only saw darkness.
Inside, he heard another scream of pain. It sounded like it belonged to the same voice that had issued the first scream.
Max paused for a moment, waiting for another scream or any indication that things were still progressing for the worse inside. After ten seconds of silence, Max started crawling through the bottom of the weakened door and into the darkness of the shack.
Inside, it was far too dark to make sense of anything. But now that the outside walls no longer separated him from the people inside, Max could hear things more clearly. He heard faint footfalls, walking away from him. He brought up a mental snapshot of the grounds and the shacks and thought that the footfalls were headed away from that first large room. Perhaps they were headed out to one of the shacks in the back.
Max took the binoculars from his shoulder and put them to his eyes, switching on the night vision feature. After adjusting the sights, he saw that he was in a hallway of some sort. Directly in front of him there was another door, closed and just as weak -ooking as the one that had allowed him entrance into the shack. To both sides, lined up against each wall, were several cardboard boxes and torn fragments of magazines.
Keeping the binoculars to his eyes, Max slowly crept forward. When his hand fell on the door in front of him, he prayed that it wasn’t locked. He took the binoculars away from his face and tried the knob.
It turned freely and with a slight rusty sound. When Max slowly opened the door, a faint murky light spilled into the hallway. Before opening the door any further, Max listened for any signs of a presence immediately beyond the door. The only thing he heard was the faint mumble of conversation coming from somewhere very far off to his left.
He took the chance and poked his head out of the door. He found himself peering into another thin hallway, lit by three kerosene lanterns that hung from crudely made hanging devices that were attached to the roof.
To his left there was an open doorway that looked out onto the three other shacks. A wooden walkway ran from the doorway in both directions, towards the adjoining buildings. He could still hear two faint voices from that direction, seeming to grow farther away, maybe into one of the other shacks.
Max looked to his right and saw two doors along the far wall. One was cracked open a bit, revealing a filthy restroom. The other was a fairly large door that seemed almost inappropriate in the fragile shacks. Five huge locks ran down the side of the door like large metal fingers digging into the wall.
Beyond this locked door there was the open walkway that led into the main room that Max had looked in on through the boarded up window. He listened intently and was certain that the room was empty.
Flexing his grip on his gun, he walked deeper into the darkness of the hall. He closed his eyes, said a silent prayer just in case God was listening, and walked towards the walkways and the voices.
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Friday, January 9, 2009
Chapter 11 (part 1)
Through his binoculars, Max saw the small building a few hundred yards ahead and allowed himself a fleeting moment of triumph. The two vans had come to a stop outside of this small shack but the bus had kept driving into the desert. Assuming that the men inside the vans were more important than the passengers aboard the bus, Max slowed the dirt bike to a crawl and then killed the engine altogether. He set the bike down on the desert floor and hunkered down beside it. Then, lying on his somtahc, he brought the binoculars to his face and watched as events unfolded.
He saw two men remove a single body from the back of one of the vans. Within a few seconds, Max saw that this was the body that had been clubbed with a tire iron. He also saw that this man was still alive. He was obviously groggy, but was able to walk with a little urging from the two men that hauled him out of the van.
Once these three men were inside the shack, Max continued to look in that same direction, making sure no one came outside to take guard duty. The fact that the bus had kept driving out into the desert was a bit puzzling, but Max was sure that this was where he needed to be if he wanted any suitable answers.
Taking another look around with the binoculars, he felt sure that there were no guards anywhere around the odd composition of shacks. He slowly got to his feet, holstering the binoculars around his shoulder. Now that he no longer had the steady drone of the dirt bike’s engine in his ears, every single movement he made seemed impossibly loud. He winced with every movement, afraid that he would somehow be found out.
With extreme caution, he quietly reached down to his gun holster and withdrew his Smith and Wesson .9mm. It was his own personal gun, not the service weapon he carried on his hip while on duty. This way, if things got out of hand, he could not be traced to his service gun. It seemed like an overly cautious approach to the night’s events, but Max didn’t want his fellow officers to find out about his ongoing investigation.
From time to time, Max was sickened at the knowledge of the Shinoe Police Department’s leniency and allowances granted to the men involved with the bus and their horrid practices. Of course, there were only certain members of the force who were aware of it; he had been on the force for five years now and he still hadn’t been filled on what they knew.
But that was okay. Max was certain that he knew much more than anyone on the Shinoe Police Department. Hell, maybe it was wrong to be angry at them for hiding this dark secret. He’d been keeping secrets of his own for quite a while now, so who was he to judge? He was just as guilty for hiding the acts and, as a result, the deaths of countless innocents.
Holding the .9mm in his right hand, Max hunched over and trotted closer towards the shack, bringing the binoculars to his eyes once more. He saw no guards posted anywhere along the perimeter of the building. The lack of security made him feel uncomfortable, as if there were hidden eyes spying on him from somewhere in the night.
He approached the two vans and took cover behind them. He looked into both of the vehicles and saw that their interiors were spotless. There was no trash, no papers, no signs of their foul play. Taking a moment longer to hide behind the vans, Max craned his neck out from behind the rear of the van closest to the shack.
Both windows along the front of the shack had been boarded up. Still, through a few miniscule cracks in the boarding, he could see faint traces of light from inside. They came dancing through the cracks in the boards like knives into the heart of the night. Once again checking the immediate area for anyone who might be outside, Max quickly left the cover of the vans and headed for the front door.
When he approached, he cocked his head forward, listening for anyone who might be inside. Standing by the building, the night seemed darker than ever now; he felt like he was walking on the moon, solitary and alone, rather than in the deserts of New Mexico. As he concentrated, he realized that he did hear someone speaking from behind the closed door and boarded windows, but the voice was too faint to be heard properly. A few seconds later, as Max remained perched at the door, he heard a slight scream from inside.
Shuddering from the sudden cry of pain, Max stepped back a bit, his gun aimed at the front door in case anyone came out. When it was clear that no one was coming out, he reclaimed his place by the front door, rigid in the shadows. Now as he listened, he heard a single chanted word.
“Amen.”
This was followed by the obvious sounds of a scuffling of some kind. Max thought of the man that had been taken out of the back of the van and imagined that he might be trying to escape now, hence the frantic sounds of movement from beyond the closed door.
Irritated at his lack of vision, Max went over to the window to his right. It had been boarded over from the inside, but there were a few minor cracks that he managed to peer between. He could just barely see two shapes, then three. They were moving around frantically for a moment and then a bit more relaxed. Narrowing his eyes to peer through the crack between the boards, Max finally managed to see the scene for a moment.
There were three men, one of which had a headful of disarrayed white hair, forcing a fourth man forward and away from the central large room of the shack. They were moving this fourth man into a hallway and as Max watched, the four men rounded the corner into the hallway and then disappeared from his sight.
He saw two men remove a single body from the back of one of the vans. Within a few seconds, Max saw that this was the body that had been clubbed with a tire iron. He also saw that this man was still alive. He was obviously groggy, but was able to walk with a little urging from the two men that hauled him out of the van.
Once these three men were inside the shack, Max continued to look in that same direction, making sure no one came outside to take guard duty. The fact that the bus had kept driving out into the desert was a bit puzzling, but Max was sure that this was where he needed to be if he wanted any suitable answers.
Taking another look around with the binoculars, he felt sure that there were no guards anywhere around the odd composition of shacks. He slowly got to his feet, holstering the binoculars around his shoulder. Now that he no longer had the steady drone of the dirt bike’s engine in his ears, every single movement he made seemed impossibly loud. He winced with every movement, afraid that he would somehow be found out.
With extreme caution, he quietly reached down to his gun holster and withdrew his Smith and Wesson .9mm. It was his own personal gun, not the service weapon he carried on his hip while on duty. This way, if things got out of hand, he could not be traced to his service gun. It seemed like an overly cautious approach to the night’s events, but Max didn’t want his fellow officers to find out about his ongoing investigation.
From time to time, Max was sickened at the knowledge of the Shinoe Police Department’s leniency and allowances granted to the men involved with the bus and their horrid practices. Of course, there were only certain members of the force who were aware of it; he had been on the force for five years now and he still hadn’t been filled on what they knew.
But that was okay. Max was certain that he knew much more than anyone on the Shinoe Police Department. Hell, maybe it was wrong to be angry at them for hiding this dark secret. He’d been keeping secrets of his own for quite a while now, so who was he to judge? He was just as guilty for hiding the acts and, as a result, the deaths of countless innocents.
Holding the .9mm in his right hand, Max hunched over and trotted closer towards the shack, bringing the binoculars to his eyes once more. He saw no guards posted anywhere along the perimeter of the building. The lack of security made him feel uncomfortable, as if there were hidden eyes spying on him from somewhere in the night.
He approached the two vans and took cover behind them. He looked into both of the vehicles and saw that their interiors were spotless. There was no trash, no papers, no signs of their foul play. Taking a moment longer to hide behind the vans, Max craned his neck out from behind the rear of the van closest to the shack.
Both windows along the front of the shack had been boarded up. Still, through a few miniscule cracks in the boarding, he could see faint traces of light from inside. They came dancing through the cracks in the boards like knives into the heart of the night. Once again checking the immediate area for anyone who might be outside, Max quickly left the cover of the vans and headed for the front door.
When he approached, he cocked his head forward, listening for anyone who might be inside. Standing by the building, the night seemed darker than ever now; he felt like he was walking on the moon, solitary and alone, rather than in the deserts of New Mexico. As he concentrated, he realized that he did hear someone speaking from behind the closed door and boarded windows, but the voice was too faint to be heard properly. A few seconds later, as Max remained perched at the door, he heard a slight scream from inside.
Shuddering from the sudden cry of pain, Max stepped back a bit, his gun aimed at the front door in case anyone came out. When it was clear that no one was coming out, he reclaimed his place by the front door, rigid in the shadows. Now as he listened, he heard a single chanted word.
“Amen.”
This was followed by the obvious sounds of a scuffling of some kind. Max thought of the man that had been taken out of the back of the van and imagined that he might be trying to escape now, hence the frantic sounds of movement from beyond the closed door.
Irritated at his lack of vision, Max went over to the window to his right. It had been boarded over from the inside, but there were a few minor cracks that he managed to peer between. He could just barely see two shapes, then three. They were moving around frantically for a moment and then a bit more relaxed. Narrowing his eyes to peer through the crack between the boards, Max finally managed to see the scene for a moment.
There were three men, one of which had a headful of disarrayed white hair, forcing a fourth man forward and away from the central large room of the shack. They were moving this fourth man into a hallway and as Max watched, the four men rounded the corner into the hallway and then disappeared from his sight.
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