Chapter Forty

Natasha

The building was too quiet for too long. We had begun to worry about the authenticity of the information. Was it time sensitive? Did we miss our window? After twenty-four hours with no movement we make the executive decision to breech the warehouse and see what we can find. It just seems like too good an opportunity to find evidence against this lieutenant.

Sam is on the ground floor, Steve on the roof and I am on the third of five floors. We spread out over the building, recognizing the signs of recent occupancy. Sam reports that there was food in the downstairs kitchen. I find a number of gun assembly stations as well a drug packing room on the second floor.

This was a bad guy's dream house.

I come to a pair of double doors at the end of the floor. Gun drawn and ready I push through them, and just like the rest of the warehouse, the room is abandoned. I am surprised to find another kitchen. It is industrial, like it supplied a cafeteria or something.

My com comes on in my ear and I hear Sam's voice, "Guys, there is a tunnel down here. Off the main office. Can't see the end but it's looks like it goes under the road outside,"

"Nat, report." Steve's voice answers.

"Finishing the sweep of the third floor." I say, "So far nothing."

"Converge on fourth floor and we will continue together. Stay on point, if they had an entry/exit we aren't aware of there is no telling what or who could be in this building." Steve says.

"Copy," Sam says.

I am about to respond when I notice something odd. The industrial refrigerator door's handle was wrapped in heavy chain. Locked from the outside.

"Nat?" Steve prompts.

"There is something here, might be what we are looking for," I move into the kitchen, gun raised, aware of my surroundings like a wolf moving into a valley.

"I'll come down to you," He says and I can hear his breath change as he starts to jog back into the building, having not let his com go back into sleep mode. I know it's so he can still hear me.

But I focus on the task at hand. I don't hear anything through the refrigerator door but I also know the thickness of the door. I look at the lock. It's big but it also looks ancient, which tells me that it isn't so much about keeping people out, more about keeping something in. I feel a sinking feeling in my chest. I raise my gun and point it at the lock, "Firing," I say as I squeeze the trigger and shoot the ancient lock off the handle and it drops, pulling some of the chain with it. I step forward and unwrap the rest of the chain from the door handle.

I take a deep breath as I stand beside the door. My pistol in my right hand is poised to cover whatever may or may not be in the fridge, while my left hand takes hold of the handle.

I pop the door and turn, gun raised inwards. My heart stops in my chest though when I step into the doorway.

About fifteen or so faces all turn and look at me. They are huddled together in groups of three and four, wide eyed and sickly looking. The faces of girls... young girls, all looking terrified.

"Nat, report," Steve sounded tense.

"Well, it looks like we can add human trafficking to the Lieutenant's resume. Just found about fifteen or so girls on the third floor." As I meet the eyes of a girl in the corner of the fridge, one of the ones closest to me, I lower my gun slightly. Her big blue eyes are still full of terror and I feel for a second as if I am being sucked into them. I see her eyes on faces in my mind, faces from my past. Girls ripped from innocence, from safety, with no choice of their own.

"Nat," Steve had started talking. It was one of the last things I am aware of...

The movement is fast, the movement of someone used to combat. Not a normal person. I wasn't at all prepared for what happened. Lost in my own good damn thoughts. She sprang up so fast I barely saw her. She had been covered with an old blanket and as she stood she allowed it to drop off her rather than casting it off of herself. Smart move, not drawing unnecessary attention to herself. By the time I had looked over at her and turned my gun in her direction, she had already gotten off the first two shots. She must have had her small hand-held pistol aimed at me from the minute I opened the door.

Silly me.

I feel the impact on my right arm and in my stomach, lower abdomen on my right side. I stumble back a step or two and don't hesitate to shoot at the same time she gets her last shot off. Her third shot hits me in my left side as my shot hits her in the throat. It wasn't my best shot, if she hadn't shot me in the arm I would have gotten her in the head. I kick the door shut as I watch her drop to the ground, unsure if there are any other rogue shooters in there.

The girls in the fridge are all screaming, I can hear it like I am under water. In the same way, I can hear Steve and Sam both in my com, demanding to know what's going on. I want to respond but I can't seem to.

I stumble back further and hit the big steel table in the middle of the floor. I reach out with my left arm to stop from falling down. I feel myself start to go into shock, as I try to assess the damage. My arm is not bad, through and through, bleeding a lot though. The abdomen is bad... I swallow as the pain starts to wash over me.

I hear a noise coming towards the door. Quickly I switch my gun into my left hand, as my right arm had started to go numb, but as I look up I see it's Steve who bursts in to the kitchen. I lower my gun and find myself letting out a ragged sounding sigh. A sigh of relief, he's here and for a moment all my brain seems to register is that his presence makes everything ok... He's here. What else matters? "I got the shooter," I say before my legs seem to give out underneath me and I slide down from the table.

Steve runs over to me, "Sam get up here now!" He yells. I feel myself slipping down further to the ground like it's slow motion but I feel strong arms wrap around me and brace my fall.

His eye trace over me, hesitating for a second on each gun shot. Gently he brings me to the ground so I am sitting up, leaning back against one of the table legs, "I don't think there are any other hostiles," My voice sounds muffled to me, like my mouth has cotton balls in it or something, "But we need someone to vet those girls soon, make sure they are ok." He pulls a bandage out of one of the pockets of his pants and wraps it tightly around my arm and I find myself flinching as he ties it tight.

Steve looks up at me, "First, let's make sure you're ok."

I try and smirk at him, but the pain in beginning to radiate from the shots, "I've been better." I say smiling but unable to stop my brow from furrowing. He shifts around my side to apply pressure on my lower abdomen and I can't help but let out a gasp.

"I know," She whispers his face close to mine, and I find myself turning into his voice, my forehead feeling the brush of his beard. I close my eyes for a second but find it terrifyingly temping to just drift off to sleep. But I have a feeling sleep would be a childish idea of what I would be drifting off into.

Sam runs into the room behind Steve and sees me, "Oh shit," He crouches beside us, "We need to get her to the jet, where the med supplies are."

Steve doesn't have to be told twice, He kneels forward and scoops me up, one arm around my shoulder and the other under my knees. "Let's go," He says as he lifts me up from the ground.

He starts running but I struggle in his arms, "The girls..." I start but my mind is starting to get foggy with the pain that seems to force any connected thoughts from my mind.

"We will call it in when we get to the jet, authorities can be here soon." Steve snaps, not slowing down, running through the building. I feel his arms around me tighten, like he is trying to keep me with him through any means possible.

My body shudders, "This isn't good Steve." I say quietly leaning into his chest as I feel the cold night air on my face as we go outside, except it isn't cold, it feels hot on my face.

"We've had worse odds," He says as he kicks open the door of the building we had just been hiding out in. He charges the lobby and starts climbing the staircase that leads to the roof where the jet is hidden. And instead of focusing on his words I just let his voice roll over me, as consciousness begins to be harder to hold on to.