They used the stairs this time, Hutch taking on more of his own weight. The blond was groggy and in pain but a little more coherent.
"Come on, partner, left foot, right foot."
"Givin' me marchin' orders now?" Hutch muttered, then groaned as his right foot caught on the step, jarring his head.
"I'm the one with the experience." Starsky returned, keeping his voice low. Tom came up behind them, bracing Hutch's free arm. Once they were free of the stairs the man who had spoken ordered another of the dozen spread across the field to get "the girl". The second gunman, wearing an identical ski mask, headed down the stairs and into the darkened recesses of the stadium.
'Run, Barbara,' Starsky thought. 'And don't look back.' A second later he spotted her camera, ten feet from the dugout. Intact.
The first gunman caught his glance, noticed the camera and picked it up. "This yours?"
"Yeah it's mine." Starsky said, without hesitation, feeling Hutch settle a little more of his weight on his own feet.
To his shock the gunman handed Starsky the camera then motioned for them to move toward the center of the field where the survivors were being collected. The group consisted of the walking wounded, uninjured, and those that had friends to help them. Those that couldn't move, that had been moaning weakly before, had been executed. It felt...sickly familiar.
Hutch, eyes open to slits, caught sight of a few mangled bodies, the damage that execution style shots had done to faces, then looked away feeling his stomach roll. "We're in trouble." He muttered, and felt Starsky's hand tighten on his rib cage.
"We're reporters. You're the writer and I'm the photographer." Starsky said without preamble, and he felt Hutch's fingers tighten on his own. Then Hutch started patting his pockets. "What're you lookin' for?"
"I'm a writer?" Hutch sighed, his face tightening briefly against the pain that was visiting him in waves.
"You're good with words, Hutch."
"Apparently I never...actually write them down." Hutch said, giving up his search.
"We'll figure something out." Starsky said, then gritted his teeth pulling their lurching progress to a halt.
"How's your side?"
"Sore. You weigh a ton."
"Sure...kick a man while he's down." Hutch managed, then swallowed hard against a jump in his stomach and lifted his head.
"On the turf." The order came from behind them, directed vaguely at anyone still standing.
Starsky tried to start the sitting process but Hutch fought him.
"Hang on, Starsk. Hang on."
"They got guns on us. Seems we should do what they tell us."
"Sit down!" The voice said again, louder and closer. A second later a boot connected with Hutch's bruise-weakened knee and his grip on Starsky's shoulder became painful. This time there wasn't much choice. Hutch went down and Starsky with him, cradling the blond's head until it was laying against the turf. Then Starsky, under the aim of the gun, launched up and into the stomach of the guy that had kicked his partner.
It was stupid, but he had the feeling it was what Hutch had been hesitating for. Testing the solidarity of the group. Testing their training, testing their reactions to one of their own being under attack. Starsky got the gun clamped under his right arm pit and was laying into the man's torso with his left fist. He'd pushed the gunman back about twenty feet before one of the others stepped in. The butt of a gun hit his ribs, once, twice, then Starsky felt a bolt of pain that he couldn't ignore and he went down.
There was no follow up beating. Once the gunman could pull his weapon free he was left to his own devices. None of his buddies went to check on him. The gunman that had hit Starsky stood over him until the brunet could breathe again, and get himself to his hands and knees. Then he was ordered to;
"Get up. Get back to the group. Try it again and the city news is minus a photographer."
Getting up was harder this time. The gun had done more damage than the stadium seat had. The gunman grabbed his elbow and dragged him up, let go of Starsky once he was stable on his feet then gave him a little push. Starsky limped the rest of the way, bracing his rib cage, breathing shallow.
He sank to his knees once he reached his partner then carefully rolled onto his back, sweat bathing his face, working on controlling the muscle spasms of lungs desperately demanding air. The gunman stood over him long enough to reassure himself that Starsky was going to stay down, then walked away.
"That was really dumb." Tom said from where he sat eyeing the two injured men. "What the hell was attacking one guy gonna prove?"
Starsky rolled his head to the side, found his partner a few feet away sitting cross-legged with his head hanging in his hands. He caught a glint of blue between fingers and knew his partner had caught on to the same things he had.
"Proved he was dumb enough to do it." Hutch's voice was barely above a whisper. "Only a hot-headed reporter would do something so dumb."
"These guys might be mercenaries, paramilitary…" Starsky had to pant for a minute, catching his breath before he could whisper again. "They don't care enough about each other to help their pal without being ordered to...or take it out on me after."
Hutch parted his fingers and glanced up, then winced at the pain that just moving his eyes gave him. "They're wearing masks. Some of us are meant to survive this."
Tom's eyes were bouncing back and forth between the two men, his jaw hanging a little slack. He started to nod, knowingly, "Thought the two of you seemed familiar. You guys are-"
"Reporters." Starsky said, cutting him off. "You probably seen us on the news. We get a lot of screen time." The brunet rolled onto his good side, sending a warning look to Tom that slowly closed the guard's mouth.
"Reporters." Tom said, losing some of the drive he'd had in his eyes a moment before. "Yeah...that's gotta be it."
Starsky scanned the part of the field and stadium that he could see without twisting. The masked men had spanned out into the seats and along the perimeter. There hadn't been anymore shots, but they were plucking people up from behind rows of seats, dragging them down the steps, gathering them in the center of the field.
A second later he saw a face he was hoping not to see and quietly said, "Hey partner…"
Hutch glanced up, tried to focus his eyes on the face floating under a tangle of dark black hair, then groaned. They'd found Kiko.
"Maybe that's a good thing." Hutch said.
"Maybe…" Starsky agreed, his voice distracted. Maybe Pete and the other boys had made it out. Maybe the police were outside containing the situation even now. Maybe the marines were going to float in on helicopters. There were whole lot of hopeful maybes out there. Very few of them grounded in reality.
"Get a count yet?" Hutch asked.
Starsky glanced over, caught the pale skin against deep bruises as Hutch's hands fell from his face and winced in sympathy. "Twenty-seven so far. Probably some still in the pressbox, and down in the tunnels. This was planned...this was...very well planned."
"Yeah." Hutch said, his voice reflecting just how depressing that thought was. "Leveling the playing field. But why...what's coming down that's so big they needed to wipe out half the infrastructure of-"
A burst of gunfire cut Hutch off and the group of mostly black clad, masked men started to reform on the field, dragging the last of their charges with them. There were a few shrieks then dead silence, broken a second later by the squeal of the announcement system coming to life.
"One of you attacked one of my men." The voice cut off and the last of his words echoed through the silent stadium. "There will be no more attacks, and that man will be the example for the consequences." The voice spoke with a hint of a British accent, his tone clipped and unemotional. Seconds later Starsky was dragged to his feet by two men and the beating began.
There was no preparation or time taken to instill terror. Just fists against flesh until Starsky couldn't breathe beyond the pain. They'd concentrated at first on his right side, then gone after his face busting open a cut over his left eye.
Starsky vaguely remembered hearing Hutch protest before a punch landed under his ear and all he could hear was ringing. He'd bitten the inside of his cheek and was choking on his own blood by the time they dumped him next to his partner. He thought he felt Hutch's hands pulling him closer, felt the panic of blood pooling at the back of his throat and was turned toward the turf in time to retch.
"If one of you attacks one of my men, you'll receive the same. If any of my men should die, two of you will die. We have a goal. If you cooperate and we achieve that goal, you will live. You'll be given water once every hour, and food in four hours. Any fighting amongst yourselves will immediately result in death. I suggest you learn to play nicely." The voice said, then the speakers squealed and the announcement system went dead.
"Looks like we're in for the long haul." Tom said, his face involuntarily wincing in sympathy at the pained breaths the "reporter" was dragging into his lungs.
The mix of blood and saliva that Starsky had left on the turf wasn't much, and his stomach had calmed a little, but Hutch held him on his side, trying to think past the headache and the rage.
"Di-...didn't...see that coming." The brunet managed, taking each breath like it was a hard won prize.
"We really are in trouble.." Hutch pushed through gritted teeth, burying the fingers of one hand in the mat of curls and cradling his partner's head until he felt the muscles in the brunet's neck relax.
Molly had done her best to scare the pants off each of the boys as she stuffed them into lockers, telling them she'd kill them personally if they so much as made a squeak. Kiko had done something similar, using fewer threats and more big brother-like assurances. Molly had managed to close her locker door before the guy with the gun had come in. She'd been the most likely to give away their location when she watched the gunman put the gun to Kiko's head.
For a terrified second she was back in that alley of her youth, staring at her dead father's face against the white of a pillow and sheets, watching her whole life change in a span of seconds. Every muscle in her body tried to shut down in one instant, refusing to watch someone she loved die again. But the gunman had simply pushed her brother out of the locker room. For a long time she waited for the guy with the mask to come back.
When he didn't, and they heard the burst of gunfire and the man over the announcement system, Molly pushed her hand against the door and winced as it squeaked open. Nothing happened. None of the boys moved. No masked men burst from the dark corners of the locker room. Molly wiped at the tears and sweat bathing her face and went to the door that lead into the hallway.
She could see daylight at one end coming from the stadium field where the voices and the gunfire originated. And darkness at the other. The wide tunnel would lead down, then up again toward the laundry room, the security office and the back entrance. There was a gated parking lot back there, housing about a hundred cars, including the old sedan that she was allowed to drive for her summer job, but only on Saturdays and Sundays.
It was Kiko's involvement in today's festivities that meant she drove it on a weekday. Festivities that had turned into a killing spree. Molly tightened her brother's jacket around her shoulders then checked both ends of the hallway again before she took off at a sprint toward the bend in the tunnel.
Her skinny legs flew, she hoped soundlessly, until she had passed the wide archway that smelled of laundry soap and mildew. She was nearly to the security door when she heard a sound behind her, and backtracked, throwing herself into the first pile of laundry she could find.
A second later she felt hands on her head and shoulders, fingers digging into her arms, trying to drag her out of the pile. Molly fought desperately, keeping her mouth shut, silent squeaks of terror escaping her as her throat threatened to close. Then she realized that the hands had painted fingernails. They weren't covered in black cloth, but bare to the biceps. It was a woman dragging her out of the pile, not a man with a gun.
Molly stilled and stared wide-eyed at the lady reporter she'd bumped into more than once that morning. The lady had tried several times to get an interview with the chicken. Molly had allowed her a picture but refused to let anything get into the paper that would get her in trouble with her adoptive mom and brother. Not with the first step to her dream job hanging on the line.
"Who are you?" The lady asked, in a whisper, looking Molly over like the scrawny weed that she was.
Molly ripped her arm out of the woman's grasp and closed her face. "Who are you?" She demanded rubbing at the nail marks before she pushed out of the laundry and scrambled to the door.
"My name's Barbara."
"Nice to know ya, Babs." Molly retorted then slipped out of the laundry room and headed back down to the locker room. Barbara followed walking too heavy and breathing too hard. Molly groaned softly, but focused on her goal, opening each of the lockers and letting out the ten wide-eyed boys hidden in the small room.
Barbara stood in the doorway, staring in surprise as the room filled with juveniles.
"Pretty smart." She said, in what she had probably thought was a whisper. Molly read her as a performer, someone used to drawing attention to herself and getting ahead that way. It was precisely the sort of person she didn't want around. Molly turned her back on the woman and gathered the boys around.
"Listen, you remember Kiko saying that he was in charge for a bit?"
Each of the boys nodded, some of them distracted by the woman in the doorway, but most of them desperately tuned in to what Molly was saying.
"Well, I'm Kiko's sister, and since he's gone...doing...doing other things. I'm in charge. Ok?"
Molly got a couple of squirrelly looks but most of the boys nodded willingly. "Ok. There's a laundry room up this way. We're gonna hide out there for a little bit. But we gotta run there, and we got be really quiet about it. Right?"
Some of the boys whispered agreement, others just nodded. When Molly turned to lead the way into the tunnel Barbara had disappeared. Good riddance, Molly thought, and checked the tunnel before she stepped out into the open and waved the boys around her.
Only a blind man with no sense of smell could miss the laundry room, so she hung back until the last boy was gone, then followed them up and into the bigger room. They all stood in the center of the place staring around them like pigeons.
"Find places to hide, dummies." She whispered harshly then went to the archway to listen. One thing she could count on was a pack of 10- and 11-year-olds knowing how to play hide-and-seek. The room cleared in minutes and Molly stood just inside the archway listening.
She heard Barbara's voice again and winced at how loud the woman was being. She was talking to someone a mile a minute and the sound was echoing louder than the gunshots had been. Seconds later Molly realized why and dove behind a giant washing machine in time to avoid being seen. She caught the flash of Barbara and one of the gunmen passing by the archway, then three more with guns who stepped a few feet into the laundry room, looking around.
Don't move, Molly thought. Don't talk. Don't even breathe! She waited, praying the boys would stay still like they had in the locker room.
A voice called the three from down the tunnel and they reluctantly left, one by one. She heard Barbara shriek before they left the tunnel and Molly covered her mouth with her hand, squeezing her eyes shut tight and praying that the next sound she heard wouldn't be the lady reporter screaming right before they shot her. There was a rushing river of crazy running under the scrap of sanity that Molly was clinging to. It wouldn't take much to let go.
There was no shot, though, and no scream. Molly wiped her tears again and stayed still long enough for her legs to start to cramp, then she moved out from behind the washer and peered into the tunnel, moving into the archway by inches.
The tunnel was clear, but the guys that had taken Babs had come from the parking lot. There could be more out there. Molly thought of the stadium like it was a prison. Her long dead father had told her a little about prison. Anyplace that looked like a good escape path had a guard in it. But having a guard in the way of a path of escape required that the guards knew where all the prisoners were.
Maybe the guards didn't know that 11 of their prisoners were missing. Molly stepped out into the tunnel, breathing so hard she thought for sure she sounded like a bellows. She moved at a snail's pace, keeping her back against the wall until she had covered enough ground that the safety of laundry room would require a lot of luck, and a quick dash, to reach. Then she was opposite the door of the security room. The light was on inside and she could see that it was empty. The radio set the guards used to communicate had been smashed, the phone ripped away from the wall.
There was a splatter of blood on the window and Molly decided quickly she wasn't going to go in there. Not for all the tea in China.
She kept going until she felt the hot breeze coming from the parking lot. The doors that stayed open when the stadium was occupied were resting flush with the walls, still secured the way the custodian had set them earlier that morning. The parking lot was full of cars and empty of people. Molly tried to remember what she had done with her keys, then remembered what a short lived boyfriend had taught her about hot wiring and decided it didn't matter. She didn't see any guys in black with guns. Maybe there were some, high up on the wall, but there were none watching the parking lot.
If she stayed low and quiet she could get out right now. Hotwire a car and bust through the gates. Maybe get help. Maybe just run and keep running.
She thought about Starsky and Hutch. They'd both been hurt, Hutch had looked like death warmed over. Yet they'd been focused on her, and Kiko, and the boys. It was a betrayal to the two men that had as much as saved her more than once to leave without trying to get the boys out. A betrayal that she slowly, stupidly, decided she couldn't live with.
It would take more doing. It would probably get them all caught and killed, but Molly felt two much-older voices in her head reminding her about the people that loved her. People that wanted to be proud of her. She turned back to the laundry room. She was a little braver this time covering the distance.
Her heart was racing but the tunnel had been quiet for so long she felt confident. She gathered the boys in the laundry room and told them the truth.
"We're probably gonna get shot." She said, watched half of them pale and rolled her eyes. Okay so maybe she should work on that "tacked" thing the ladies at the grammar school had given up trying to teach her. "It's really dangerous, ok? We gotta run up the tunnel, and stay real low out in the parking lot. Until I can jack a car."
"You're gonna steal a car?" One of the boys demanded, throwing his arms together across his chest.
"That's against the law, Molly!" Another one accused his voice squeaking instead of the whisper he was shooting for.
Molly rolled her eyes again. "And blowing up a baseball stadium, and shooting a buncha people isn't? Come on, guys. We're gonna save the day. Who cares if we break a little law while we're doing it. Your choices are come with me and keep your mouths shut, or stay here and hope the bad guys don't want to clean their undies while they're here."
The image of the scary men in masks spending their time doing something so mundane and ordinary as washing underwear got a few smiles and giggles out of the boys, and won at least half of them over instantly. The other half were completely unsure, and therefore willing to follow anyone doing anything that felt like not waiting in fear.
"Ok." Molly said, taking in a breath that felt like her last. This was stupid, she reminded herself, and she would not become the baseball player/manager/announcer she'd dreamed of being, while continuously pulling stupid stunts like this one. "Absolute silence. Follow me."
Then Molly repeated the egress from the locker room, pushing the boys ahead of her and bringing up the rear.