Three men entered his office. He saw them coming through the glass. He would've turned, but the lack of a particular female presence among them vexed him.
They weren't the men he'd sent to retrieve her either, which was even more disturbing. He'd received the call half an hour ago. The building was under their command and the package en route. She'd be there in twenty minutes, he'd been told. Thirty minutes later, these three chose to show up empty handed, huddled together like children awaiting punishment.
He looked out at the New York skyline, darker than usual for this time of night. One could almost see the stars if they looked hard enough. On Purge night, most families who couldn't afford the rising costs of purge insurance chose to barricade themselves in the basement, all their lights off in the hopes that an empty house would only be attractive to looters, and not those looking for a more blood-soaked cleanse.
This building had twelve floors, eleven of which hadn't been used since the Reagan era. The top floor was their home base, had been for the last week and would be until morning. Snipers hidden in the shadows of the roof ensured no one else would use this building tonight. A shot went off as another hapless would be purger got too close was taken out. He didn't bother to check. There were already a dozen bodies littering the streets.
"Where is she?"
The three men tensed. The one in the middle, Daryl something or other, swallowed as his companions inched behind him out of sight. No honor among thieves as they say. "Sir, Bobby and his partner had her-"
"And where are Bobby and his partner?"
"They uh…" Daryl swallowed again. "We lost touch with them, but Jim was able to breach the security feed from a store nearby. It looks like… well, it looks like someone might've taken them out."
He closed his eyes, breathed in deeply through his nose. He heard their breathing stop as he faced them. "The girl?"
Daryl shook his head. "We didn't find her. Their car has a huge dent in one side. We think whoever hit them either kidnapped her or maybe she went willingly."
"But you have no idea who did it."
"Not yet, sir. Jim is working on it. Since most people have to turn their cameras off tonight, it might take some time."
He hummed. Jim was one of the best hackers in the business (he said 'one of' because no matter how much Jim liked to honk his own horn he knew who the very best was), so it wouldn't be more than an hour before half the city was in their hands. A lot could happen in an hour, though. If she'd been taken by other purgers, she'd be dead by now. Dead thanks to the gross incompetence of his own men.
Well now, that wouldn't stand.
"What's your name?" he asked the man on the right.
"Er-Filkins," he said. He was a new recruit, unaccustomed to how the hierarchy of their group worked. That was fine. He'd learn fast.
"Filkins, I want you to understand how important this mission is." He went to his desk and pulled a photo out of the top drawer. He smiled at her beautiful face, which smiled right back. She'd been so happy the day he took this picture. It was their first date at the park. She loved the park. "This is who we're looking for. Memorize her face. You have to know exactly how to pick her out in a crowd if we're going to find her."
Filkins nodded, taking the picture and studying it intently. Daryl watched the exchange with confusion. "Sir, why are you telling Filkins?"
"Because he's the head of the recovery team," he said, as though Daryl should already know that.
"But sir, I'm the head of the recovery-"
The bullet punched through his forehead, fired with expert speed from the gun he kept under her photo. Daryl's body crashed to the floor, his two friends shaking from the aftershock. He thought about killing the third guy, just so Filkins understood what kind of punishment failure entailed.
But maybe not, he thought next. Filkins was quaking in his boots and he'd be no use to anyone a frightened, sniveling mess on the floor. He motioned for the third man to remove the body and be quick about it. The last thing he needed was that worthless husk stinking up the place with death.
"Get her here alive and unharmed before sunrise," he hissed in Filkins' sweat drenched face. "Unless you want to go the way Daryl did."
He returned to the window as Filkins scrambled to leave, a bug by any other name. Caring for nothing but his own survival. He'd give the idiot two hours out there if he was lucky. As long as he had Skye, every one of his men could rot for all he cared. They were replaceable. Everyone was replaceable.
'Well,' he clutched the photo, careful not to rip it. 'Almost everyone.'
"Sir, what should we do if she's with anyone?" Filkins asked at the door.
"Kill whoever gets in your way," he said. "That shouldn't be hard even for you. There's no one alive who could take all of us."
I think I can access the security cameras," Skye said several miles later. Conversation had been thin, which is to say 'non-existent.' Other than snapping at her for touching the radio, his lips were sealed. He must've been more peeved about her intrusion into his revenge scheme than she thought.
"Is that so?" He sounded like he didn't believe a word of it.
"It would be a piece of cake." She crossed her arms. "Much easier than breaking into the tablet."
"Which cameras are you talking?"
"All of them."
Skye could admit, beneath the permeating unease of being out on a proverbial hunting ground, his moment of gobsmacked silence instilled in her a sense of pride. 'That's right,' she thought, 'watch and see how much you need me.'
"All of them," he repeated. "Like every camera around us right now."
"I'd need a laptop and something with an antenna, but as long as they don't have the same super encryptions as the tablet, I can get you a bird's eye view of the city in ten minutes or le-AH!"
Rumlow slammed on the brakes. He would've sent Skye flying were it not for her seat belt. She'd buckled it just a minute ago as an afterthought, and because the little 'seat belt' alert on his dashboard was bugging the hell out of her. Add one more tick to the 'Brush with Death' board. If only she'd been so quick thinking an hour ago when she obviously wouldn't need her cell phone.
"What the hell was that," she screamed.
"Let's go, we don't have much time," said Rumlow, getting out of the car.
"Time for what?"
He ignored her and walked around to the sidewalk, where Skye now saw the darkened sign over a Mom n Pop electronics store. This was yet another block where the streetlights had been vandalized, and the loopy font of the store name didn't help matters. Skye would never know the name, but a few other key details told her what she needed about the owners.
They loved their store. That was shown in the reinforced steel shutters covering the windows. It rendered the storefront dark and silent. Skye walked over and tapped it once. The echo was endless. This looked like the same metal Phil had used. He got it discounted from work. These people must've paid a pretty penny for it.
At the same time, they weren't the smartest. Their idea of a secure door was the same durable metal held down by a padlock, and a key padlock no less. Though Skye had yet to voice her incredulity, Rumlow expressed his agreement with a single shot to the door. The ruined padlock bounced off the shield and rolled away. He fired once more and Skye heard a scream from inside.
Rumlow pulled the shutter up, enough to open the front door where they were immediately charged by an overweight middle-aged man and his equally large son wielding a butcher knife. Rumlow fearlessly raised his gun, stopping them dead in their tracks.
"Sit down," he ordered. He carried a powerful air of authority, so much so that Skye almost dropped to the floor herself. "We're not here for you. My friend needs to pick up a few things and then we'll be on our way."
He motioned at Skye to go ahead of him. She unstuck her feet and ran down the aisle, grabbing a brand new notebook and a few other potentially useful odds and ends. The only rational thought her brain could process was to add up the price of everything in her head. Her arms were full when she was done, and on her way back she spied a sobbing woman curled up behind the register. Her heart broke.
"I'm sorry," she croaked, the weight of her 'purchases' keeping her from reaching a hand out. "I promise I'll come back and pay for all of this."
She headed back to Rumlow where he towered over the incensed store owner. "What the hell are you doing with a padlock on your door?"
The man lowered his head and grumbled: "We ran out of bolts…"
Rumlow rolled his eyes and walked back to the car. From the trunk he withdrew a pair of pistols and some boxes of ammo. Going back he dropped them at the owner's feet. "Know how to use one?"
The man, who seemed to be deciding if he shouldn't grab one of the guns and demand the return of his merchandise, held tight to his son's hand and wordlessly nodded. Rumlow nodded back.
"Stay safe tonight," he said before pulling the shutter back down.
The store once again had the illusion of safety. Skye checked up and down the streets for purgers. Their voices came from every direction, but no shadows lurked and no cars covered in bones drove around. This block was as empty as a ghost town.
"Will they be okay?" she asked, though they both knew what a stupid question it was.
"This area never gets much attention," said Rumlow. "Not rich enough. Long as they don't shoot their faces off, they've got a chance."
Getting back in the car, Rumlow wasted no time speeding into the night. He drove back the way they came and turned left on the intersection, onto a street so dark it was as if there never were lights here, much less working ones. As they passed abandoned decaying building after abandoned decaying building, a spark of familiarity flare. Skye had seen this place before. In the back seat of a cab on the way to her new apartment. The driver had warned her never to come here alone. "'Specially not this time of day," he'd said, "now's when all the drug deals and robberies go down. Those New Founding Bastards sure didn't fix this."
That was at one in the afternoon on an average sunny day. Now it was after midnight on Purge night. Skye squeezed a loose piece of leather upholstery, only to realize too late that was Rumlow's sleeve. She snatched her hand back, praying he hadn't felt it.
"You got everything you need?" he asked, his eyes on the road. "Don't me to rush you, but I'd rather not make another stop."
Skye had known her reluctant savior for an hour, and in that time he'd proven himself to be a bundle of contradictions. He rescued her from certain death, but only because she'd been 'lucky' enough to get kidnapped by the right people. He gave a terrified family a way to defend themselves after breaking into their shop and robbing them. He had an armory fit for a small army, but on his person he carried only the smallest and least lethal weapons. So many questions and so few answers, but asking would be pointless. If there was one thing Skye was certain of, it was that Brock Rumlow was as open as a vault in Fort Knox.
He told her he would abandon her if she slowed him down. The optimist in her said he was bluffing, but the jaded cynic in her wasn't ready to test that theory.
"This should be fine," she said. She balanced the notebook in her lap and used her nail to cut through the tape. Frequent bumps in the road hindered her progress. She dug her finger into the slit and ripped the tape off from the inside. Fortunately it was the less sturdy kind. It came up easily and left behind no residual adhesive.
"There's a spot up ahead with unprotected wi-fi," he explained.
Skye eyed the shattered windows and untamed vegetation sprouting between bricks. "Here?"
He shrugged. "I didn't set it up."
They parked in front of the cleanest stoop for miles. Minimal cracks, no big chunks missing, and no graffiti. If someone climbed it, they'd most likely reach the top step without it caving in on them. Starting up the laptop, Skye was relieved to find full battery life and a single available network. The signal strength, while not the best, got her online and into all of her numerous email accounts. After securing the connection, she opened a file containing encrypted codes and got to work.
"Okay," she said, catching her tongue between her teeth. "Make sure no one shoots me for the next five minutes?"
He stuck his head out the window, checking the area for hidden Purgers. He had his gun ready, his finger on the trigger. "I'll do my best."
"That's all I ask," Skye muttered. Her fingers flew across the keyboard as her brain worked out all the shortcuts she'd need. Breaking into the mainframe was the hardest part. Six separate firewalls would've brought her efforts to shit had she been any less determined. Three went down in a minute's time. She was chipping away at the fourth when a gunshot cracked over their heads and she had to bite her thumb so not to scream.
"Relax," said Rumlow, who'd barely moved since she started. "They're not close yet."
'Yet?' Skye didn't want to know.
She punched through two more firewalls. The last lock would be the toughest. State law dictated all street cameras must be disabled during the Purge in accordance with the Purger Protection Act of 2015. The irony of a law relating to the lawless Purge night appeared to be lost on them. Skye did a sweep of the area, locating a single camera mounted on a lamppost and pointed due south.
"Come to momma." Skye input the commands and glowed with satisfaction as the wall came crumbling down. "We're in."
"Took you long enough." Rumlow grumbled, getting back in the car "How far of a range do we have?"
Skye frowned as she pulled up a map of the city. Yellow dots indicated every camera she'd reactivated, almost thirty in total. "Looks like we have a proximity of ten to twelve miles to work with."
"That'll do for now," Rumlow said. He pulled out his phone. "What's your email? I'm going to send you some pictures."
Skye gave it, and a minute later her browser pinged with a new message received from an address made of random letters and numbers. Opening the files, Skye got to work running facial recognition. Two positive matches came up on a street corner five blocks away. One more she caught on a traffic cam near Times Square, prowling after a group of female purgers.
"How many are you looking for?"
"Ten," Rumlow answered, consulting a waterlogged notebook. "Those three are grunts, even lower than the fuckers who nabbed you. The rest will be hiding with their boss in whatever hole he's dug."
"Any ideas on how to find it?" she asked.
Rumlow shot her a withering look. "That was your job, last I checked." He put the book and the phone away and started the engine. "If we're lucky, they'll have someone outside guarding the entrance. Even if they don't, none of these guys are that loyal. They'll talk."
"Yeah, if you promise not to kill them."
"Promises are broken all the time," Rumlow said, a hint of darkness leaking into his tone. "Especially in my line of work."
"What's your line of-"
He made a hard and completely unnecessary right turn. No other cars were on the road, and the only purgers around kept to the sidewalk. They had a man hogtied and carried medieval flails Skye hoped against hope weren't real. At sixty miles an hour, they were long gone before she could see what they planned to do, but the matter slipped her mind as she caught the intensity in Rumlow's eyes. He stared straight ahead as if trying to forget she existed. And here she thought they were moving past the cold stage of their relationship.
"I hope I've done a good job speeding things up for you," she boldly said.
"You haven't slowed me down yet," he said.
"You don't have the words 'thank you' in your personal dictionary, do you?"
"Do something worth thanking and we'll talk." He swerved around a pothole lined with spikes, leaving many disappointed howls in their wake. "Everything you're doing, I could've gotten one of their guys to do."
"Yeah, I forgot. Because you're so persuasive," she badly mimicked his voice. "You bat your pretty eyes and smile all handsome like and everyone around you bends to your will, is that right?"
He actually did smile then. "You think I'm handsome?"
Skye sputtered, her cheeks on fire. "Wha- I didn't mean it like that!"
"But you do think I'm handsome."
"Does it matter in the slightest?"
"Not really." With that, the discussion was closed. Not because either of them was finished, the bullets popping their front tires were just a more pressing issue.
Rumlow hit the brakes. His timing was excellent and they missed ramming into a street sign by a fraction of an inch. Skye let the laptop drop and put her head down, bracing herself for an impact which didn't come. The car spun in a circle and dinged a mailbox, knocking it on its side and spilling envelopes everywhere.
Another bullet bounced off the door on Skye's side. Her life flashed before her eyes until her brain got the message she hadn't been hit. Curses spewed from Rumlow's mouth as he whipped out his sidearm, opened the window a crack, and fired two warning shots. Three more bullets were the response. One got the window and cracked it; another blew out their left back tire, taking any chance of escape with it. Rumlow continued to shoot at their as of yet unseen attackers. A face appeared in the darkness, latex perfection with a white goatee and painfully wide smile full of teeth. A red, white, and blue hat adorned the skulking figure's head. His assault rifle was similarly painted with a crude approximation of the American flag. The word 'obey' was sprayed over it, like any halfway decent Big Brother wannabe would.
"Evening, folks," Uncle Sam said. Two more masked figures appeared to flank him. A taller man with an iron cage over his bald head carried a hunting rifle. A girl in a blood soaked evening gown wore Raggedy Ann hair and a baby mask. She aimed a Gatling gun twice her size at Skye's head and giggled at nothing. "Having a nice Purge?"
"I've had better," Rumlow answered, stepping slowly out of the car without lowering his gun. "Would like to be on my way so I can finish it."
Uncle Sam clicked his tongue. "I'm sorry, but I can't let you do that."
Raggedy Ann shook with excitement. "I wanna shoot 'em, Frankie. Can I shoot 'em now?"
"Not yet, Liz," Uncle Sam said. He smiled apologetically at Rumlow and Skye. "Please excuse her, she's had a little too much to drink. She's usually not like this."
"Gonna shoot 'em…" Raggedy Ann ran her hands up and down the shaft of the gun, her head thrown back in ecstasy. "Gonna shoot 'em to bits… gonna lick their blood off my hands… gonna be the best Purge ever…"
Rumlow eyed Skye as she reached for the door. His expression was clear: don't even think about leaving this car unless I say so. Skye shoved her hands in her pocket and shrunk out of sight.
"Look, I get that tonight is exciting for you guys, and maybe you haven't come across anyone before us, but I'd appreciate it if you could wait a little longer and let us pass."
To his credit, Uncle Sam hesitated, as if he actually was considering letting them go. A line of drool dripping from under Raggedy Ann's mask. She tugged Uncle Sam's arm. "Need blood… their blood… let's Purge now!"
Uncle Sam patted her hand and shrugged at Rumlow. "Looks like it's not up to me. Please lower your weapon."
Iron Cage shot the air over the car. Skye screamed and covered her ears, burying her face in the seat cushions. She inhaled through her nose until her lungs were full, exactly the way Phil had taught her. The trick to surviving a life or death situation was to stay calm, he would say. Never lose focus. Never let the enemy see you sweat. If only he could see her now, crying and cowering, waiting for some man she barely knew to rescue her. Assuming he wasn't riddled with bullets in the next few seconds. This seemed increasingly likely as the trio formed a circle around him. With a single, most likely empty pistol as his only means of defense, Rumlow approached the situation as any sane Purge victim would.
"I guess we'll have to fight it out." He sighed as though the imminent threat to their lives was a minor inconvenience.
"We have a right to purge!" Iron Box cocked his gun.
"So do we," said Rumlow, "you guys could very well be my purge."
"That's true," Uncle Sam conceded, "but with all due respect, sir, you're outnumbered and outgunned."
There was a gun sticking out of the drink holder. Skye didn't know how she'd missed it for so long, but as her eyes adjusted it was unmistakeable. A long, sleek barrel with a six round chamber. Phil's idea of 'father-daughter' bonding had been a crash course in firearm safety at the local shooting range. Under his guidance, she'd learned how to handle every make and model on the market, including a few less than legal. Audrey never approved, but Phil kept up her lessons until he was confident Skye could point at a target and shoot.
That's just it, though. She'd only ever shot steel. Not people. Phil had beat it into her brain: never turn your gun on another human unless you fully intend to kill them.
Here she was on her first Purge night with no Phil to guide her. No Audrey to protect her. No friends to care if she lived or died. She had nothing and no one but Rumlow, and if she didn't pick up that gun and do as she'd been trained to do, she was going to lose him too. He'd go the same way they did.
(There would be so much blood…)
"Please lower your weapon," Uncle Sam repeated, louder and more firmly this time. "I doubt you have any bullets left."
"You sure about that?" Rumlow was bluffing and they all knew it.
Skye wrapped her fingers around the stock. It was colder than she remembered, and heavier. She fumbled with it, careful to make as little noise as possible. Peeking out the window, her heart sank. Iron Cage and Raggedy Ann had closed in, their guns pressed to Rumlow's temples. Uncle Sam came in from the front. As the leader, he got first pickings it seemed. Raggedy Ann shivered in anticipation.
"Hurry up hurry up hurry up-" she chanted.
Skye had no idea who to shoot first. Rumlow's broad frame blocked her view of Uncle Sam, but she had a clear shot at Raggedy Ann. Being the loose cannon of the group, she was the logical choice, but she wouldn't be still. Her movements were so frenetic, Skye was more likely to hit Rumlow than her. Iron Cage comparatively was like a statue, but he was on the far side away from Skye. She might be able to hit him, but then again, she might not...
'Quit stalling you idiot. You can't be afraid right now. What would Phil say? What would any of them say?'
If Phil had kept a gun with him last year, she'd never have to ask that question.
The hair on the back of her neck stood up and the sweat coating her fingers turned cold. She knew both unconscious signals and what they meant. Hazel eyes like tiny pinpricks poked out from Uncle Sam's mask. They were locked on her as he peered over Rumlow's shoulder. His sidekicks followed suit, gazing at her with unconcealed bloodlust.
She was caught.
Rumlow didn't react, not even when Uncle Sam sidestepped him and stepped toward the car. "Miss, would you please-"
Skye didn't hear the rest. She'd never know if pulling the trigger was a conscious act or a reflex. The world was on fast forward. Nothing was clear to her except the ringing in her ears, Uncle Sam on the ground clutching his side, and Rumlow whipping a second gun out of his pants and shooting Iron Cage dead at point blank range.
Raggedy Ann let out a rageful shriek and fired randomly, her mask falling from her face to reveal a wild eyed woman foaming at the mouth. The other three hundred and sixty four days of the year, she might've been pretty. Tonight, she was an animal, and Rumlow had no problem putting her down. He avoided the onslaught and knocked her to the ground with a powerful punch. Picking up her gun, he discharged what remained of the magazine into her chest. She breathed her last and fell limp. Uncle Sam was on his feet and moving, undeterred by the blood gushing from his wound.
"Rumlow, behind you!" Skye shouted.
He already knew. He dodged a blow to the head and elbowed Uncle Sam in the face, disorienting him. A second bullet put him out of commission and ended the fight before it began. Breathing hard, Rumlow rolled off Uncle Sam's broken body. His mask was in place and as Skye stumbled out of the car on weak legs, his eyes were on the stars. His gun was an inch from his hand, but he didn't try to reach for it.
"Wow," he wheezed. "Never thought it'd end like this… good luck with the rest of your purge, sir."
Rumlow nodded and turned away, Skye close behind him. She'd watched four people die tonight, and bad as they might've been, it was four too many. She found Rumlow crouched at the side of the car, examining what was left of his tires. He muttered curses to himself and moved from one side of the car to the other.
"How bad is it?" Skye asked.
"We have one tire left out of four. You tell me," he growled. "Wasn't I a fucking genius leaving the spare at home."
He slammed his fists on the trunk and it popped open. Going through his cache of weapons, he armed himself with two handguns and a shotgun, the names of which she probably knew but was too emotionally drained to remember. Next he grabbed some knives and strapped them to his belt. Two more went around his ankles for good measure. After securing the last one, he reached inside one more time and withdrew another pistol.
He'd attached so much weaponry to himself, Skye had no idea how he thought he could carry more. That was before he held the gun out to her. "Here. We're going on foot."
Skye blinked. "What? I- I don't think I should-"
He shoved it into her hands. "Don't give me any bullshit about not knowing how. I saw you shoot that guy."
"Yeah but… I didn't like it."
"Do you like being alive?" He took a set of knives out of the trunk and stuck them in her pocket. Thankfully, they were sheathed and not too heavy. "I told you I'd leave you behind if you slow me down. I have no choice but to go ahead on foot, but if you'd rather stay here just say the word."
'He's bluffing again,' she told herself. 'There are still parts of the city he doesn't have access to. He needs you.'
It was a convincing argument, hampered by his impeccable poker face. If he walked away right now and never looked back, it would horrify and devastate her, but it wouldn't surprise her. He'd given her a choice which was no choice at all. She gathered the tablet and the laptop from the front seat, arranging them under her arm for ease of transport. She'd neglected to filch a case off that store and now she was paying the price.
"Let's move," he said, blending into the shadows.
Skye was not ready and nearly dropped the laptop trying to organize everything she only had her two hands to carry. Rumlow moved stealthily as though he wasn't weighed down by several pounds of deadly instruments. She didn't expect much from him by way of sympathy.
"I said let's move," he snapped when she took half a second too long catching up to him. "Clean your ears out."
"You must be a lot of fun at parties," Skye grumbled, readjusting her hold on the gun for the fourth time.
"I don't go to parties," Rumlow said. "No friends."
"Well, that makes two of us."
His quick pace slowed, enough for Skye to overtake him. She felt his eyes on her, saw a flash of contemplation in them. He still had nothing to say, and for the next three blocks, not a word was spoken.