Infection Runs Deep

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: SEARCH AND RESCUE

My mind went blank. That sense of absolute, brutal calm. The moment where I knew exactly what I was going to do, even if I couldn't articulate it.

I may have met this little girl very recently, but she was one of us. A war hardened soldier that had a place in our ranks. She took a liking to us, gave us her trust and loyalty. There was nothing more that I could ask of her.

She was a soldier. And I left no comrade behind.

I exchanged a look with Ian, the look in his eyes all that I needed to see in order to know he felt the same.

"Where?" My voice was icy calm.

Lindsay looked at me cautiously, confused by the lack of my outrage. "The fourth house on the right. 67098. The one with the blue mailbox."

"Is he armed?"

Lindsay shrugged slightly, her hands turned out. "I'm not sure. He says so, but I don't know where he would have gotten a weapon."

"It could be something as simple as a kitchen knife." My voice was hard. "Where is the weapons stash?" Lindsay started to protest, but I cut her off. "Come on, Lindsay. I've seen you all with guns. Where are they? Sarah had to have stashed them somewhere."

Her eyes darted towards the office. "Guns aren't going to make the problem better." She didn't tell me, but her body language gave away the truth.

"They're in the office," I said to Ian, bursting through the doors and searching the small room.

Bingo. A locked case sat in the closet, hastily covered by an old tarp.

"What's the combination?" I ripped off the tarp, examining the lock. A typical combination. If she didn't tell me, it would be easy enough to crack.

Lindsay sighed, her voice shaky. "39-21-3."

I twisted the combination into the lock, a satisfying click as the latch released. After the lock popped open, I tossed it haphazardly onto the floor. The metal made a hard clack on the wooden floor, the only sound in the stiff tension of the room.

The case contained two handguns and a long gun, all sleek, black and military grade. Where did Sarah get these? This didn't bode well for us.

If Sarah, a random civilian in suburban North Carolina, could get access to these top grade weapons, who else could? Did the psycho holding the food center and children hostage have those too?

I sure as hell hoped not.

I checked the magazines, ensuring that all were full. Wordlessly, I extended the long gun to Ian, my shoulder still too wounded to be able to use it properly. I slid one handgun into my side holster and tucked the other into the back of my waistband, the hard metal pressing into the small of my back.

"What's the game plan?" Ian asked nervously, checking his weapon to make sure that everything appeared to be working properly. The last thing that we needed was a missing firing pin.

"Assess the situation, feel the guy out." I was no HRT, hostage rescue team, member, but I knew that going in guns blazing right off the bat would be a bad idea. We only had a vague idea of the layout of the house and had no idea where the hostages were being held. Hell, we didn't even know what kind of weapon this guy had. We were blind. "We only breach if we have to."

"And let's hope we don't," Lindsay said. "We do not need another crisis or more dead bodies on our hands."

"Damn straight," I muttered, stepping out of the house and heading towards the hot zone. "What's the status in terms of other civilians?"