Carbon Run by J.G. Follansbee

Author:J.G. Follansbee [Follansbee, J.G.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Joseph G. Follansbee / Fyddeye Media
Published: 2017-10-20T06:00:00+00:00

♦ ♦ ♦

Martin awoke to darkness and jostling. He was no longer in the house on the Churchill waterfront. The room was small and close, and he smelled bodies and heard moaning. Feeling water sloshing against his leg, he sat up. He found his wrists bound and he lost his balance, falling against another body. “Watch yourself, asshole.” The voice was unfamiliar and despairing. Martin shook his head to push out the last cobwebs of sleep, but his mouth was dry, and his stomach heaved. Nausea threatened to explode. He was in a vehicle, but it moved with an odd pattern. The movement slowed, and it swayed from side, yawing and pitching as if it were at sea. The slap of water against the walls of the room confirmed it. The boat slowed to a stop and Martin felt a nudge, as if the boat had bumped against something.

A rusted metal on metal grind pierced the silence. The noise came from overhead. Martin saw pinpoints of light within a square of blackness. A shape blocked the stars, and the muffled click of rubber on metal told Martin someone was descending a ladder or stairway. “Everyone! If you speak a single word or make any noise, you’re dead.” It never crossed Martin’s mind to say anything; he had no idea what was happening, and darkness obscured everything. “Someone will place night-vision glasses in your hand. Put them on.”

Martin heard the rustling of clothing and muffled jangles he couldn’t identify. Someone took his wrist and placed an object in his hands. With his wrists bound, he had trouble orienting the glasses, but he managed to put them on. His eyes adjusted to the soft green glow. He counted six bodies on the floor with two men standing over them; Martin was the seventh captive. The two men were the silent guests at Reason’s home. One of them carried an automatic rifle, and the other was handing out the glasses. Another man supervised, holding a handgun. Martin recognized him.

“Reason, what’s happening?”

“Shut up or I’ll put a hole in your neck.” His voice was restrained but threatening.

What now, dear Lord? What have I done?

Reason pointed his gun at a woman, who flinched. “You. Get up the ladder. Quick!” The woman wobbled toward Reason, unsure of her footing in the unfamiliar room and artificially enhanced light. Reason grabbed her by her torn jacket and pushed her at the ladder. “Get up on deck, or I’ll shoot you where you stand.”

The woman climbed, and as she reached the opening, ghost-like hands pulled her out of the hold. The other captives followed the first one up the ladder, until one man, tall and heavy, halted next to Reason, his head down. He raised his head, peering at the sky in his goggles, and then spat in Reason’s face.

The captor exploded with rage, and he pistol-whipped the captive, who sprawled on the deck, goggles flying. Reason grabbed the guard’s automatic rifle and beat the defiant captive until blood poured from his nose and mouth in a black stream.

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