The next day they started out again. They took another car from one of the bars inebriated patrons. Leaving the old one for him to use. When they had found a cowboy hat in the back Sands had asked what colour it was. She had said black so now he was wearing it.
The car ride was silent. As usual.
Sands cleared his throat. Then again. Then again. At least twice every thirty minutes.
Finally she spoke.
"Why is it so important to wear black to you?" she asked in annoyance and some curiosity.
Sands grunted.
"It's not like you can see, what do you care what others think?"
"Why do you listen to music when you can't sing?" he answered back curtly. He expected her to hit him, or yell. There was silence.
"Touch" she said in a dead flat voice. He hadn't expected that but she didn't seem to hold his comment against him. She was strange like that.
It went back to silence. At around midday they stopped in a big enough town for some food. Both got out, but Sands merely leant against the car while Rana went into the nearby shop for the greasy shit she seemed to live on.
...............Rana.................
She went into the respectable looking building with a sign picturing a burger. Inside were a few tables, three long shelves of preserves and the like and a counter in front of packets of crap and a store oven containing pies and sausage rolls. No burgers. She sighed softly and went up to the counter. The clerk was a lean, mean looking man with a toothpick hanging out of his mouth. "Two sausage rolls and a pie" she muttered sliding the money across the counter. The man scowled at her, then looked over at the three men sitting at one of the tables. She drummed her fingers on the table in boredom, missing the look of identification that ran between the four other inhabitants of the shop. The man took the money and turned to get the food. Then something slammed into the side of her head. She stumbled back before two men seized her and the third put a knife to her throat.
"Thought we'd seen you" knifeman breathed. She merely glared at him. "You gave me this" he said pulling down his dirty shirt enough for her to see a rather nasty looking knife wound scar right above his collar bone. She kept her face blank but her mind jumped back to her fevered rampage when she had permanently lost her ability to sing.
Yes, she had buried a knife into one of their necks, but she hardly remembered seeing as she was drugged out of her mind.
She looked into the face of her captor. This meant that he was a cartel. The clerk behind her got on the phone. She listened to the Spanish murmurings and heard as he informed his cartel associates of her capture.
"Your friend outside is he?" he asked with a vicious sneer on his ugly pockmarked face. Rana realized they were talking about Sands.
"The boss has been wanting to get his hands on that bastard for a long time" then he chuckled unpleasantly. "He's gonna wish he were dead, like you will" he said as he turned his back to look out the small window at Sands.
From her position Rana could see the black clad man leaning against the car in unsuspecting boredom. Cartel were on their way as she thought. He would be unprepared, they'd either shoot him or somehow get him alive and then he would be tortured in a lot more depth than what he had been. She felt panic flare in her chest, then she looked at her holders. Knifeman was screwing a silencer onto his gun. Her mind was in turmoil and then she made her decision, her resolve snapping into solidified determination. She pulled one arm free quickly. The man that had relaxed his grip made a lunge for the freed limb but found it in his face. He stumbled back and almost immediately she had kicked the second holder under the chin. She pounced on the man with the gun, getting him in the balls and kicking his gun to the other side of the shop before bursting out of the door. This was not an escape plan; she didn't have a hope in Hell of getting out of this one. But she could still do some good, and that was what she was going to do. May God have mercy on her soul...
...............Sands...............
He heard the door bang open and running stumbling feet were rushing towards him with great speed. His hand rested on his hip gun.
"Don't stand there you stupid bastard. Run for your fucking worthless life" she shouted hoarsely, her voice betraying her panic and pain. "Run. There is a street on the right. A used car dump, run for it. Faster damn it" she called even as a shot rang out and she fell silent. A thump as her body hit the sandy ground. Sands had sprinted the moment he heard the word run. And he didn't slow even when she fell.
He ran down the pavement, bullets whistling past him, embedding themselves into the walls near him and cutting into the pavement he ran on. Then a bullet hit the ground before him, however it hit dust; not cement and Sands knew he was at the corner. He turned sharply, skidding off the pavement. He nearly fell, but by using his hand he balanced himself as he skidded around the corner. Dust flying from his feet as he tried to grip the sand. But he did not stop running despite this.
When the bullets were left behind the corner; Sands knew they were running to catch up; he moved to his right and found a fence there. It was old wood, the kind that would encircle a used car dump.
He moved along it frantically. Knowing that any second he'd have another bullet in him. His fingers met air just as a bullet shot right between his fingers. He jerked his hand away and threw himself into the opening. Then he rushed forwards, acutely aware that the place was full of sharp metal objects and precariously placed one tonne machines.
He heard them at the fence, and turned a sharp right to find that the ground was rising steeply.
Rushing up the mound. Stumbling on everything and nothing alike. Finally he found a semi- whole car and was able to collapse against it. With every intention of using it as a shield. If this was the end, he would take a whole heap of the bastards with him. Of that he was certain...
He had wasted a lot of his ammo, by just randomly shooting back at his pursuers, to dissuade them from actually catching up with him. Now he had to reload.
..............3rd party...............
Rana's body was taken by the cartel, the car she and Sands had arrived in was moved to the side of the street. Sands had the keys, having taken them so that no one could steal the car while he was outside of it. The cartel left it there happy with their prize. However a third party took this chance to scan through it and then after finding enough information made its way to the shoot out in the used car dump.
...............Sands...............
There was a crunch in front of him, Sands was still reloading his gun. His head snapped up at the sound. He heard a gun click and stilled his frantic movements. "Alright you got me you cartel fucker" he snapped thoroughly pissed.
Silence from his attacker. Then the man moved and Sands heard a faintly familiar jingle.
"What are you doing here?" it was the Mariachi. Sands clicked straight away.
"Why El, you're just in time. I was playing a little hide and seek with my friends. At the moment they're it, but soon it will be my turn." Sands said happily. Then he reached for his gun, but El shot right next to his hand.
"I don't think I want you doing that" the jingling man said. His accent making the word think sound like theenk.
"Fuck off El, my friends and I don't like you and you're not invited to play" he said seizing his gun and continuing to load it. "Why don't you get ready to play at some funerals, got practice somewhere or something" he grumbled. Cocking his gun and turning his back to the Mariachi. It was a risk he knew, but he would die bygone it, by killing a whole lot of cartels, not by a man that sounded like a Christmas tree.
"Who are your friends?" the mariachi didn't take the hint. "Fellow CIA agents or some innocent people you ripped off?"
"Well El, I did kinda piss them off, but they had to make a mountain out of a mole hill" Sands said in annoyance.
"Well then tell me why I shouldn't just yell now and give you away?" the Mariachi questioned.
"Don't you have more brothers to kill or something" Sands snapped angrily.
Just then a shot rang out and El dropped to the ground behind him. There were shouts; someone had spotted the Mariachi standing on the hill. And were currently on their way up.
"Serves you right you dumb fucker" Sands muttered. Then jumped as the Mariachi scooted next to him.
"There are cartels" he said solemnly and Sands had the impression he had tilted his head when he said that.
"No shit" Sands grinned, then fired a shot over the car bonnet. His savage grin broadened as he heard one fall and had to duck to avoid the return fire.
...............Rana...............
The light blinded her. Immediately she registered that a bullet had grazed her head, and that she had been unconscious. She also noticed that she was inside now. Damn this was going to be bad. She was tied to a metal chair, the ropes were strong and the knots impossible to undo without a free hand. Both of which were tied to the chairs' arms, a rope around her waist and two more, one around each leg.
She looked up as the door opened. She was in a metal paneled room. The walls had six panels on them. Two high three long. All silver-like; aluminum most likely, cold and merciless. At the opposite end of the room a metal plated door opened. It was very thick. These people were part of some organization. It wasn't any old cartel torture room. It was far too elaborate.
The man who entered was wearing a black suit. Her sense of foreboding increased ten fold, but she found she did not feel fear. This did not make her happy, she just noted it. It was strange, when she had lost her livelihood she had lost her emotions too. Usually it annoyed her, but now she was glad and used it to her advantage.
"Ah. Miss Gina. You're awake" he said. Smiling such a cold, smug smile that she vowed if she ever got out of this chair she would kill him. In response to his statement she glared at him. Not disguising her hatred for vermin such as he.
"We were wondering when we would get the chance to talk to you again" he said, sticking to his pathetic attempt of formality.
She grit her teeth then asked, "We?" His smile flickered for a brief second.
"My associates and I" he said breezily as he made his way over to her. He took a seat in the only other chair in the room; it had a matching table made of rough wood.
He smiled, waiting for her to ask what they wanted. But she refused to play his little game. Instead she leant back, and looked at the roof, as is being tied to a chair in a strange place that smelt like blood didn't bother her at all. The greasy haired man continued to stare at her.
"No doubt you're wondering why you were brought here" he said suddenly, realizing that she could outwait him.
"I got a rough idea" she said emanating the air of boredom she was so good at.
He ignored her. "Over the past couple of months it seems that you have been roaming the countryside attacking my associates' workers" he said in concern as illegitimate as his friendly manner. "Murdering and slaughtering innocent people who are just trying to do their jobs". He continued with scorn in his false voice. Her frown deepened for a second but she did not comment. "Now Gina. I know you were hurt by some reckless people, but it was an accident. They had nothing to do with my associates at all; it was just a little misunderstanding".
She honestly tried to keep her face blank, but she could not suppress the rage she felt. She had not felt this angry in a long, long time. More than anything in the world she wanted him to take back those last few words; she wanted to make him do so. She wanted to cause pain, in large amounts. How dare he belittle her in such a way. Just walk all over the single life breaking event that had landed her where she was. "Don't patronize me you despicable cretin" she snarled so hard it hurt her throat to say.
His fake smile evaporated like fine mist.
The door at the other end of the room opened to emit four toughs and a doctor. She grimaced in disgust. She knew what they were here for. The doctor had a case, and being only four toughs it seemed she would be tortured before the boss showed up to question her. She must really have annoyed some people higher up.
The man in his white lab coat put his case on the table. He opened it, revealing what she had expected. Sharp metal. But the first thing he did was prepare a needle. She felt herself tense at the sight of it. Drugs she could not fight or endure, because there were always new ones and there was no telling what was in the needle.
He approached, needle in hand. She would have fought, but she was secured to the chair too well. So she was injected with the stuff, whatever it was. It was unlikely to be pain killers or sedatives. After that she felt sick. Not from the drugs, but from the dread of knowing what was coming. There was fire, tweezers, pincers, saws, hot metal and drugs. The first thing to go were her fingernails. There wasn't much to begin with, since she bit hers, but by the end of it they were gone, and her fingers were bleeding. She bucked at the pain, straining against the chair in agony. She did not cry out, but she did make muffled yells that she could not suppress. The man in the suit sat and watched, continuing to talk throughout it. When it subsided, and she slumped back in the chair panting he asked a question, and she found she could answer.
"You're a smart girl, from western civilization, why didn't you just sue them? Why did you have to go and commit this horrible, horrible crime?" It seemed he had a superiority complex.
"Sue?! In this country!" she laughed a harsh laugh, not like she could laugh any other way.
"Well, you could have forgotten about this. Settled down, got a job, or gone back home, instead you turned to unnecessary violence by your own free will. So why did you?"
"Better to die on your feet than live on your knees" she muttered strongly, panting heavily. Not looking at him, as if saying it to herself. Actually she could have been. Right now the words played through her mind incessantly. Slurring together at the ends, to become a continuous stream of music.
Music always came to her when she needed it. It was there when she was bored, when she slept, when she awoke and when she was in pain. Like now.
In extreme pain it was always some form of rock and roll. And when she was trying to stop from screaming it was heavy metal, enough pounding to match the blood in her ears and her aching head. From then on, the man in the suit sat and watched from a safe distance to avoid the flecks of blood that occasionally happened to fly into the air.
After the fingernails and toenails came the burns. It was done by the toughs as the doctor took a break. Her shirt was undone. And her stomach burnt with cigarettes they smoked. Making her already raspy breathing worse. She struggled for air, her head light and sickeningly dizzy. The room was seen through a fogged glass, and she didn't register much. She felt her body buck under the burning cigarettes but she didn't really feel it. She knew there was pain, but it seemed to be happening to another person and not to herself. This state of detachment had happened after the seventh fingernail had been ripped out.
Once the toughs noticed her lack of response, one stepped cruelly on her toes. Grinding his boot into the soft and bloodied skin. That was the first scream.
She cried out in agony. Trying and failing to pull her foot away to safety. The chair restricted that.
The four men laughed at her cry of pain. It was harder to draw breath. She was hyperventilating, she knew, but she was unable to stop. For if she stopped surely she would faint; no one would help and she would die. And she didn't want to yet. She wasn't ready. She couldn't, could she?
No, staying alive was all that she had to do. She knew that, and did not question it. Later it would make sense. Later when she escaped.
The doctor returned; with him was a young man of around twenty. He had a malicious gleam in his eye and a savage grin on his face.
She knew this would be bad as he also had a stick, one edge bamboo, the other knifelike metal.
She drew a deep breath as he moved closer and blocked her view. This would get worse before it got better.
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I hereby apologise for the last chapter... I must've been overly tired or something. It wasn't edited to fit the net, I use Mozilla and it seems the end of speech marks are transformed into aC or something. So sorry, I would redo it but I don't wanna kill the review I got for that chapter... :-) Yes, shamelessly flattered by reviews. Thank you all! I actually read your guys stories and can't believe you're talking to me :-D
Anyways, I'm sure you got better things to do than listen to the author rant on... So, muchos gracias amigos!