Blood Brothers by Dusty Sharp

Author:Dusty Sharp
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2018-06-15T22:14:41+00:00

Thirteen

I walked directly to the doors on the container that Joy and the other girls had been pulled from. These were standard shipping containers with double doors and heavy vertical locking bars with heavy, cast steel levers. The levers locked flat against the door, secured with a massive padlock.

If these locks used one of the Club’s standard keys, it would have been a joke. But I pulled out my key ring and tried the easy method first, for shits and grins. None of my keys fit. No matter.

I’d learned how to pick locks in the Special Forces. Despite what you see in action movies, our first choice for opening a door wasn’t always blasting the son of a bitch to smithereens with a shape charge. If there was any chance of a few haji’s hunkering on the other side with AK’s pointed at the door, of course we’d give ‘em the Shock and Awe, as ol’ Dubya might have said. But most of the time a more subtle entry was warranted. No sense waking up the whole damned village.

Besides, I had left my shape charges at home.

So I unfolded my pick set and went to work. I was a little bit rusty at first—applying too much pressure on the tension wrench, a bit too aggressive raking the pins. But I soon got the hang of it, the tumbler spun and the thing popped open. Like riding a bike.

The hinges moaned as I swung the doors open. My vision hadn’t yet adjusted to the darkness inside when the smell of shit hit me like a wall. My eyes started to water as I pulled out a snot rag and covered my nose. I stepped inside.

Once inside and out of the morning sun, my eyes adjusted to the dimness of the container’s interior. The first thing I noticed—besides the smell of shit—was how tidy and orderly the space was. A row of old mattresses lined one side of the container. They were the small ones, probably twin bed size. But just the mattresses, no frames. The beds themselves looked old, piss-sstained here and there, but not really in that bad of shape.

The heart breaker was the blankets. They were neatly folded and sitting at the foot of each mattress. Apparently made so by each bed’s occupant after waking up; the only power they still had to exercise free will, to keep a small sliver of order in their lives.

Along the opposite wall was a stack of bottled water, maybe four cases, still bound in their clear plastic stretch-wrap. Except for the top one, whose plastic wrapping hung open, most of the bottles missing. Next to the water was a stack of canned food. Ravioli, Spaghetti-o’s, beef stew.

Near the top of the walls on either side, a series of small holes admitted fresh air and small slivers of daylight. Though they were doing a poor job of dissipating the odor.

The stench intensified as I moved further into the container. At the far back

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