The Shack: An Unreasonable Man

If anyone walked out and saw me, I'd ask if I could bring a hay rake by for a weld. If that didn't work, I'd start shooting and hope I ran out of assholes before I ran out of bullets. That had worked for me a few times before. Though that plan did get me stabbed in the face once.

Fuck 'em if they can't take a joke.

The house had apparently been built with two bedrooms, but one had been taken out to expand the living room. It was a sea of armchairs, mismatched and wedged in arm-to-arm. Guys were passing food around while they watched the start of the second half, rather than get up and try to move around. They had to have jammed the chairs in there for the game, which was probably why the couches were on the porch.

At least I was in the right place. Every neck had an NCWB tattoo. I sat against the house next to the crawlspace door, listening.

Most of the talk was standard macho bullshit, but one conversation caught my attention. Two of them were talking about the "after-game entertainment." The words "fresh meat" caught my attention. A lot of the guys near them joined in, laughing about "Cody softening them up."

That couldn't be anything good.

A sound caught my attention; Delaney was skittering towards me. In a second she was clutching at my arm, yanking hard. I stared at her for a half second. "What the holy fuck? You need to get your butt back in the goddamn..."

I stopped as soon as I saw her face. She was shock-white pale with tear-filled eyes. Her lower lip was quivering spasmodically. "We have to... to... help."

I let her pull me away, glancing back towards the crowded house. The game had a long ways to go anyway. It'd fucking keep for a bit. She pulled me around back, to the welding shop. She pointed wordlessly towards a side window, but cringed away from it.

I pulled myself up, listening to the noise from the football fans in the house. As soon as I looked in, I knew why Delaney was struggling to keep herself together.

Three cramped wire dog kennels sat in the middle of the concrete floor, naked figures cowering in them. A pig of a man walked almost carelessly around the cages. The women recoiled, as much from him as from the cattle prod he using to tap the cages.

He was laughing as they scrambled to keep away from the jolt of the prod.

I looked over at Delaney, then slid along the wall to the door. Unlocked. Once he had his back to me, I rushed him and slammed the .45 against his temple as hard as I could. Something gave in his skull and he folded to the ground. From the blown pupils and spasmodic twitching, "Cody" wasn't going to be torturing anyone again.

I stood over him and glanced out towards the house. No movement at all. Delaney was struggling with a small padlock on the kennel. "We need the keys. Does he have the keys?"

I managed to find his cell phones and a set of car and house keys, but that was all. Delaney stared at me with tears running down her face. I shook my head then pointed to the work bench. "We don't need them anyway. Bring your wrench, and grab another open-end off that bench. Maybe 11/16ths or so."

She came back with them and I quietly showed her how to slip one jaw of each wrench through the shackle of the lock and use them against each other to leverage the lock open. The woman inside shrunk away from me when I opened the door. I backed off. "You open the others and get them out."

Delaney forced herself forward, face almost green. While they flinched from me, they had no problems with her and came out quickly and quietly as she popped the other two locks.

"Get them to the car. If I don't show up in thirty minutes, or if you hear a bunch of noise or shooting, you get back to Sheree's. If I don't call by morning, call the police."

Her eyes were hard-bright and the tears had stopped as she looked over the burn marks and whip scars on the women. She stared back at the house for a long second. "Fuck them." She wasn't green anymore; her face was a mask of ice-white rage.

I nodded slowly. "Yeah. Fuck them."

We both knew what that meant: what was going to happen now.

After they slipped out, I looked around. I couldn't stop myself from smiling when I saw the wheeled rack of green k-bottles, the tall gas cylinders used in welding. I'm sure it was more like bared teeth than a real smile, but it was close enough.

Quietly moving the k-bottles over to side of the house took several minutes, and through it all, I could hear the assholes joking and laughing about the game. With all the noise they didn't have a chance of hearing the hissing of the oxy bottles emptying, one after another into the enclosed crawlspace under the house. Bags of shop rags and old clothing from the welding shop back room went in as well, but I left the tiny access door open.

I slipped around the house, checking the bedroom, but it was empty. Only the NCWB assholes were in the house, and from what I could hear, I was sure all of them knew what had been happening in the welding shop.

I opened a couple more k-bottles of oxy and two of acetylene in the shop, stepping over the still twitching body of the fuckhead on the floor on my way out.

The hardest part was quietly sliding one of the couches to block the front storm door. It wasn't perfect, but I was pretty sure it wouldn't have to hold very long.

I tilted the barbeque grill on its side and watched for a second as the coals spilled out. The overgrown yard caught almost instantly from the smoldering charcoal, racing towards the house with insane speed. The orange flames flared nearly white as they found the oxygen streaming from the crawlspace, leaping after it hungrily along the dry grass. There was an audible "thump" as flames shot out from the foundation on every side of the house at once.

The oxygen had seeped up into the house through the floorboards, flooding the floor of the house. Oxygen by itself isn't terribly dangerous; it doesn't burn or explode on its own. If you enrich the atmosphere even a couple percentage points with it, though, things change. Fire, in that kind of atmosphere, moves like a living thing, something huge, ravenous and unstoppable. Old wooden flooring, foam in furniture, clothing, hair, all become nearly explosively flammable. Overstuffed easy chairs burn nightmarishly fast and hot, even without the added oxygen. With it, they became instant incinerators for anything near them.

Panicked shouts erupted from the house, rapidly turning to screams as I jogged up the hill. I paused to glance back, but nobody even reached the front door before the old wooden house was a towering pyre of living flame.

One window broke out, and a blackened hand reached out for a second, but that was all. I'd nearly reached the road when the flames reached the workshop.

Oxygen isn't explosive.

Acetylene mixed with oxygen in an enclosed space is.

The concussion of the explosion knocked me forward and I rolled, ears ringing, to my feet. Through the forty-foot flames, I could see that what had been a house was an enormous crumpled bonfire. It looked like all that was left of the workshop was a blasted cracked foundation.

A few seconds later, Sally pulled around the bend and slid to a smooth stop in front of me. Delaney hopped out of the driver's seat. "I figured that had to mean you were done. Jesus." She stared down into the inferno. "None of those fuckwads could live through that, could they?"

The three women, huddled under a blanket in the back seat kept looking between me and the fire, caught between fear and hope. "I don't think so. Let's un-ass this place before the cops show up."

Delaney watched for a second longer, then gave a tight, grim smile. "Fuck them."

We were nearly five miles down the road before the first police car blazed past us.

I let several miles pass in silence. "You have to start listening to me Delaney. You aren't trained for this shit."

She never took her eyes off the road. "I know. I just..." Her eyes squeezed shut for second. "Pretending it was some kind of game and sneaking around was easier than waiting." I could see her suppress tears. "I'm sorry."

"It's alright, just listen next time." I glanced in the mirror and looked at our charges huddled in the back. "You did good, anyway."

She turned in her seat and looked at them. "We did good, didn't we? Like real hero shit."

"I'm no hero, Delaney."

"Whatever you are, I want to be like you."

"A fucked-up drug-addicted junk-yard owner?"

"You forgot 'with serious anger issues.' Besides you don't use drugs anymore."

"Doesn't mean I'm not an addict; that just means I've got control for now."

"Whatever. You rescue people. I want to do that."

"Tara's a lawyer or..."

"No. I want to do it your way. You don't just talk about shit." I could hear it in her voice; she meant it. "I'd never get though all the schools, anyway."

That was true. Delaney had all the will and drive in the world, but there's no cure for dyslexia, and that would stop any traditional route to success. College and the military were out, but there were other ways.

"Maybe, if you prove you can listen, maybe you can go to Texas."

"Where we send all those beater cars?"

"Those cars are for a driving course for bodyguard training. It's called a 'crash-bang' course."

Delaney's eyes shot open and she stared at me. "Really?"

"A friend of mine, Kurt, and his wife own a security company down there and they owe me some favors. But I have to talk to them first. He may say you have to wait a while."

She sat back. "Like driving and shooting?"

"And first aid and a bunch of other stuff, but only when you're ready. You have to prove you're ready."

She grinned up at me. "That'd be so cool."

"It's more work than you think, but I think you can do it. As much of a pain in the ass as you are, I know you work hard."

She sat silently for almost a half-hour before I handed her my cell phone. "Call Sheree and apologize."

*****

Sheree was definitely not delighted that Delaney had stowed away, and her disappointment was far more devastating to Delaney than anything I could have done. Delaney was downcast for the rest of the drive despite the idea of Texas.

As we pulled up, Sheree walked out of the shadows to the side of the house, with her shotgun in her hand.

"Had to make sure it was you." She frowned a little. "Delaney, you're gonna have to fix that screen to your bedroom. And if you're anything like Shelley, we may have to put bars up there."

I pointed wordlessly to the back seat where the three women seemed reluctant to get out. "They need help."

Sheree shoved the shotgun into my hand and began helping Delaney with them. "Sweet Jesus. What in God's name happened?"

"Delaney found them."

I let Delaney tell her story, peppered with profuse apologies to Sheree for her stunt. By the time she was done, it was pretty clear that Sheree was giving her a one-time pass on her antics.

The women were still leery, but Sheree and Delaney managed to convince them of our good intentions, or at least theirs. They were still, obviously, terrified of me.

Sheree gave them some of her sleeping shirts while Delaney dealt with it in a remarkably thirteen-year-old, but remarkably effective way. She made mugs of hot chocolate and got out boxes of cookies.

Nothing I could do was going to be as effective in convincing them of good intentions as hot chocolate and cookies.

Sheree watched the three of them for a second. "They're in bad shape, they need a doctor to look them over."

I shook my head. "I don't think they'd do well if I tried to examine them right now."

Delaney stopped and picked up Sheree's cell phone. "Tiffany could help."

"You have her number?"

She nodded and dialed. "Tiffany? You said you wanted to make things right?"

After a couple minutes of discussion she offered the phone to Sheree. "Can you give her directions here?"

Sheree gave Delaney a smile then took the phone. She laid out the directions carefully. After she hung up she looked at us. "Tiffany will be here in about a half hour if she doesn't get lost on the way."

It was closer to 45 minutes before a small SUV picked its way down the lane and two not-quite identical figures got out.

I opened the door to Tiffany and Tara standing next to each other. Tiffany shifted her medical bag and took a deep breath. "Delaney said it was important, and since Tara is her sister, too, I thought, maybe I should bring her."

The awkwardness that seemed to be around whenever we talked was obviously still there. Even though they knew I hadn't done the shit Charlotte had accused me of, a decade and more of constant belief is damn hard to get past. I sure as fuck didn't like it, but they were trying hard and that was all anyone could ask. I waved them in. "We found three kidnap victims and they've been abused pretty badly. Nothing life threatening from what I can see, but they need checked."

Tiffany arrowed on them instantly; all at once she was the emergency room doctor my little toy-stethoscope-wearing moppet had turned into. The women shrank back towards Sheree.

Tiffany jolted to a stop in shock. I reached over and touched her shoulder. "Wait, Tiffany. Put your stethoscope on, that way they know what's going on. They'll know you're a doctor."

She paused and pulled her stethoscope out of her bag. The tension drained from them and they followed her into the bedroom. Tara looked over at me and I shrugged. "Do a few hundred MEDCAPS, you pick up a few tricks."

"MEDCAPS?" Delaney shook her head in confusion.

"Medical Civilian Action Programs. Kind of a free clinic in unstable areas to gain the trust of locals; standard Special Forces program."

Tara stared at the door to the bedroom where Tiffany was examining the women. "Where did they come from?"

"I'd guess South or maybe Central America. None of them speak English and we didn't exactly have a chance to have a discussion with the assholes that did this."

Tiffany stalked out of the bedroom, fury etched starkly on her face. "If we get a chance to talk them, I want in. I spent a lot of time and effort learning about the human nervous system and I'd like to see how much of it I can find on one of those... animals."

I shook my head. "That's not an option."

"They got away?"

"They're not going anywhere."

Tiffany looked at me with dawning suspicion. "What did you do?"

I shrugged. "I wasn't going to leave them to do this again."

Delaney stood up and locked eyes with her half-sister. "They were going to do that to me. When I ran away and Mom wouldn't call the police, those fuckers had me." Her eyes glassed over. "That would have been me. Except for him. They deserved everything they fucking got."

Tiffany looked at her in disbelief, but I could see Tara nod slowly and she turned toward me. "How?"

"There was a very large, uncontrolled house-fire sparked by poor equipment storage."

Tiffany still had a hard time getting it. "Did you kill someone?"

I didn't answer. Delaney stepped over and grabbed my arm, looking silently at the two of them.

Tara spoke quietly. "How many?"

"Fourteen. This time."

"This time?"

Delaney stepped towards her, chin thrust out. "Did you think they just let him quietly pick me up when he got me away from them? Fuck them."

I sighed. "Another eight, that time." Sheree came up on my other side and slid her hand into mine, almost daring them to say something.

Tiffany stared at her toes. "Jesus."

"We sure as hell can't bring the police into this." Tara was switching into lawyer mode. "Any witnesses?"

"Just the girls back there."

Tara glanced at the door to the other room. "We need to know more about them." She got up and walked into the bedroom.

Tiffany studied me as if she'd suddenly found a rattlesnake in front of her. "Twenty-two people. Jesus." She suddenly fixated. "Why didn't you call the police instead of...doing that?"

"Your... mother wouldn't let me get the police involved the first time. If I called this time, they'd connect it to the first time, and this time is different. We didn't just stumble across this on a picnic. They came looking for Delaney."

She sat heavily on the couch. "Still... I became a doctor because of what you taught me. All the people you helped"

"I'm not like you, Tiffany. You believe in it, you believe in 'primum non nocere.' It's what you are, I can tell. But that's not me."

She looked to the bedroom, fighting to get her head around it. "First Do No Harm. But... somebody had to do something, right?"

I tried to think of something to say. She was trying, she really was.

Sheree walked over to her and sat next to her, taking her hand gently. "Sometimes people have to do hard things 'cause doing nothing is worse. That's for people like Les. All you have to do is help these girls. Nobody's askin' you to do nothing else."

Tiffany looked all of nine years old for moment, confused and a little scared. "I know, I mean I understand, but..." Her voice trailed off and she let her head hang in misery.

"You're trying figure your way through this. You been taught you can talk to people, solve problems that way." Sheree shook her head slowly. "But some people, you can't do that with them. Some people, you see them, you just need to pick up a big rock. That's for Les to do. You let him do that, you do what you can do."

Tiffany looked at her hands. "A woman I went to school with runs a group to help victims of sex trafficking. They won't ask any questions and they can help. Get them treatment, get them home or whatever."

Tara walked back out. "Two from El Salvador and one from Honduras. I don't think we have to worry about them telling the police anything. Emely, the oldest one, said as far as they're concerned they won't be able to remember anything about how they got away."

"You speak Spanish?"

"They kind of require a language in college, and I did a year with our office in Colombia."

It took Tiffany a half hour to get in touch with the right woman and make arrangements. Sadly, it was apparent that situations like this weren't uncommon. They pretty much had a "normal routine" for what they called "no questions asked" rescues. They also had safe houses all over the place and gave directions to Tiffany. Tara explained it to the women, promising that she and Tiffany were going to take them somewhere safe.

After they pulled away with their three charges, we sat back down. Sheree looked out the window. "You know this ain't finished."

"I know. There's more to this shit. We'll have to wait a bit, though."

Delaney stared into her hot chocolate. "How long?"

"About three more weeks, then the asshole who came looking for you gets out of jail."

"I'm helping this time." Delaney looked at Sheree. "I'm really sorry about slipping out, but I couldn't stay. This is about me, I have to do something."

Sheree nodded towards me. "That's up to Les."

"I'll have to think about it. This isn't a game."

Delaney looked between me and Sheree. "I'll listen. I promise. You let me help and I'll do exactly what you say."

Later that night, after when Sheree and I got in bed, she laid her head on my shoulder. "Les. I know you have to do this, or I feel like they'll jest keep comin' and comin' til you make a mistake, but..." She went silent. "She's thirteen, ya know? She's the toughest little thirteen-year-old I've ever met, but...she's thirteen."

"We could put her somewhere. Lock her up 'til it's over. Maybe the Sheriff."

"She'd hate us forever. You know she would. She's like you, Les. More'n your own girls, I think. She wants to be like you, but she already is. I know she's yours, not mine, but you just have to promise me you'll bring her back. Promise me she'll be okay."

I ran my fingers through her hair. "She needs you as much as I do. We're both coming back to you in one piece. I promise."