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Red and Green – Part 6
After being injected with the mira-kuru serum, Roy had found himself blessed – or cursed, depending on how well he managed to control his temper – with heightened senses, enhanced strength and speed, and the remarkable ability to recover and quickly heal from just about anything. He'd been brought back from the brink of death, thanks to Oliver, when his body had attempted to reject the mira-kuru by stopping his heart. He had punched through brick, and then steel. A light platform had fallen on him and he'd barely felt a thing. And then he'd been shot through the hand… but the bullet hole had disappeared without a trace.
So, with all these amazing superhuman attributes, why was it that he couldn't handle a little rush hour traffic?
Roy had left in pursuit of Oliver around an hour and a half ago. It should have only taken him forty minutes to reach Oliver's current location. Maybe a little under given Roy's original break-neck speed of 160 kilometers an hour. However, he'd been forced to drop down to 40 kilometers an hour after some jackass a few exits up ahead had caused an accident, resulting in a multi-car pileup. Something about driving one-handed while texting and performing a social networking site status update. And the only reason he knew that much was because Felicity had told him so. It wasn't like the traffic newscaster would go into that much detail.
"Felicity, has Oliver contacted you yet?"
The earpiece crackled a bit before Felicity responded. "No. I have a bad feeling about this. It's been ninety minutes already."
To most people, ninety minutes meant a short movie, minus the commercials. Or an extra long wait at the dentist's office. But to someone like Oliver, in his line of work it translated into the difference between life and death.
"Were you able to hack into any of the security cameras in the area?"
"There are surprisingly few in that neighborhood, but I was able to pull up a few images. Oliver's motorcycle is parked three streets over. There is little pedestrian activity. Not that there would be much at this hour."
"Anything useful?" Roy couldn't stop the sarcasm from leaking into his voice.
"You know, sometimes you're not much different from Oliver. You're like two peas in a pod." Judging by the lack of infliction in her tone, Felicity was most likely used to the sarcasm by now. "Unfortunately, there isn't anything to hack into in that house's vicinity. Not even a cell phone signal."
"Is there a faster route by the city? I'm gonna be stuck in this mess for at least another twenty minutes."
"Not unless your corvette has wings. There isn't another exit between the one you last passed and the one you're aiming for."
"That's just fucking great." Roy really hoped that Oliver had just dropped his transceiver somewhere and was too busy rounding up criminals to be bothered with checking in. He stomped down the feeling of guilt that churned in his stomach like the beginnings of indigestion. He didn't want to think that his physical encounter with Oliver had tipped the archer off of his regular rhythm, making him careless. If anything had happened to Oliver, Roy would surely blame himself. No, he couldn't allow himself to even consider the possibility. Just the thought of losing Oliver before he'd ever really had him drove Roy to the edge of near madness.
For close to two hours, Oliver sat on the freezing cold concrete floor with his back flush against the door that separated him from the nutcase on the other side. He could hear her scurrying about, dragging things, dropping things, and then the buzz saw would start up again. Admitting he was terrified was no longer much of a problem after he'd begun to hear things.
During the first fifteen minutes, Oliver had done his best to block out the noises from beyond with his hands clamped over his ears. He'd tried to breathe as little as possible, too, so he wouldn't have to inhale the stale aroma of death that surrounded him. That hadn't done him much good when the lack of oxygen further impaired his vision, or lack thereof. Several times he'd glanced at the glow-in-the-dark face of his digital watch, estimating the number of minutes he would need to wait before Felicity grew worried and attempted to reach Sara. Or would she contact Roy instead?
The next twenty minutes, Oliver had summoned to mind the list of names that he'd crossed off in his father's book. But that had eventually led to him remembering his father's last moments, and nothing upset Oliver more than that brief memory. Of his father's final words, assuring him that he was going to continue to live – to survive. And then witnessing the man that had raised him ending his own life. The blast of a gun going off. What was left of his father tumbling back into the life raft, covered in blood and gore. After another two or three days adrift at sea, trapped in that cramped rubber vessel with his father's butchered remains, Oliver had begun to wish for death. But death had a wicked, overpowering stench, much like that of the room in which he now sat. He had no desire to die in a roomful of nameless, faceless corpses.
No. Someone would come for him. And if they didn't, he would come up with a plan. But, most plans involved a strategy… and weapons. The remaining arrows that lay quietly in the leather quiver slung over his shoulder were practically useless without his bow. He hadn't included any special arrows this time, figuring that he would only need extra sharp ones to take out a serial rapist.
Forty-five minutes after that, Oliver was rubbing the circulation back into his legs. They'd grown numb from the cold and lack of movement. Logically, he knew that he ought to be standing and stretching them, preparing himself for the inevitable attack from the outside. But standing meant raising himself to his full height, and the ceiling was not far off from that. Anything could be hanging from the ceiling. Anyone, actually. Then there were the sounds. They crept along the floor as if surveying the makeshift graveyard that Oliver had been placed in, only to draw back again when Oliver kicked at them – whatever they were. He began to imagine that he could hear the bodies breathing, the air whistling lightly through their deflated lungs and parched throats.
For the tenth time in twenty seconds, Oliver pressed the backlight button on his watch, illuminating his face in the darkness. But only his face. He resisted the temptation to point the light in front of him because he didn't want to see. He preferred not to know what manner of carnage he had for roommates.
The noises and sounds continued. The breathing deepened, and Oliver slipped deeper into a claustrophobic panic that he couldn't control.
This time, he fumbled with the transceiver in his ear. Pressed it. Adjusted it. Nothing. It couldn't have been broken in the short fight that he'd lost to that she-monster out there. The only other explanation was that the frequency was being jammed.
Time passed slowly. The room grew colder, and Oliver grew more desperate.
With no warning, the door was suddenly unlocked and yanked open behind Oliver. He tumbled out of the cold, damp room, taking costly seconds to regain his equilibrium. By that time it was too late. Two sets of hands grabbed him by either arm, hoisting him off of the ground and hurling him towards a faintly lit corner of the room. Oliver barely had time to register the gleam of the buzz saw before he was being thrust towards it. He tried to jerk away from the hands that grabbed at him, but they were too strong.
"Hold him," a deep masculine voice ordered from behind Oliver.
"Shouldn't we find out who he is before we do this?" The woman who had attacked Oliver earlier sounded a lot more subdued now that her master had returned.
Do what? Oliver really didn't want to wait around to find out. He struggled harder but to no avail.
"After we have separated his hands from his body, I'm sure that he will only be too willing to reveal his identity to us," the man answered with evident amusement.
"What?!" Oliver kicked at the woman's shins, trying to get her to release him. He found another woman at his other side, twisted his hip to the right and kneed her in the gut with his left knee for all he was worth. His father's last word kept repeating in his head, 'survive', as he wrenched his cold hands forward, trying to break their grip. But he couldn't. And when a heavy blow cuffed him on the back of the head, he slumped forward, barely conscious.
"I assume that you're right handed," the deep voice rumbled, laughing sadistically at Oliver's disoriented pleading moan. "We will cut that hand off first."
(Will Roy get to Oliver in time? There will be more background information on Oliver's new enemy, including his motive, in future chapters.)