Girl, 11 by Amy Clarke (grave mercy TXT) 📗

he tried to bring her to the house to store her someplace safe, he saw the cops and had to change his plans.” Her place wasn’t far from there. Maybe knowing the pain and dread he would cause her was a suitable substitute since he couldn’t follow his normal pattern.

Silence fell between them. Elle stared out the window, a constant prayer chanting in her brain. Please stay alive. Please stay alive, Natalie.

After a few turns, they were on a leafy country road just outside of town, driving past giant summer houses for people who could only stand Minnesota from June to September. Their windows were shuttered like eyes screwed up tight against the winter chill. When they came to the house in the picture, Elle struggled to breathe.

Natalie was in there. She could feel it.

“Sam should be right behind us,” Ayaan said. “I want you to wait in the car.”

“Ayaan, you said you want me to trust you, and I do. So, I’m going to trust you with this truth: if you leave me here, I will just jump out and follow you the second you’re out of sight.”

The commander was silent for a moment, jaw tight. Elle knew she was pushing it, but her hand shook on the door handle. They were wasting time.

Finally, Ayaan glanced at Elle’s handgun. “That stays in your holster unless I give the word or you have a gun pointed at your head, got it?”

Elle nodded her agreement but looked away from Ayaan’s gaze. If she had a clear shot at TCK, she was going to take it. Death was the only thing that would stop him.

They got out of the car at the same time, and Ayaan threw her a bulletproof vest from the backseat.

Sam drove up as they were jogging toward the house, and he ran over, strapping on his own vest. “What’s the plan?” he asked.

Ayaan pointed at them. “You two go around the back. I’ll take the front.”

They started toward the back door, the snow in the yard coming up almost to Elle’s hips. She trudged as quickly as she could, following Sam’s lead and ducking out of sight underneath the windows.

Sam looked over his shoulder, his eyes tinged red with fatigue. “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you, Elle.”

Unable to think about anything but where Natalie might be, she simply nodded, and they continued on.

The silence was immense. She heard no sounds from the inside of the house, no cars driving by, no birds singing or planes flying overhead. Nothing to suggest they were not out in the middle of nowhere, even though they were only about ten minutes from the main drag of Stillwater. Once Sam got to the end of the house, he peered around the corner. Elle stepped up behind him, following his gaze. There was a well-shoveled path leading from the back door to a shed about thirty yards away. A drooping, snow-dusted clothesline stretched between two metal poles. Other than that, the yard was mostly bare—or whatever was there was covered by several feet of white powder.

The coast looked clear; Sam nodded at her, and they rushed to the back door. He checked the handle. It was unlocked. No surprise, out in the country, but still stupid. As quietly as possible, he opened the door. She looked inside and saw straight down a narrow hallway to the front, where Ayaan was silently entering. Their eyes met, and she lifted her chin at Elle. Sam stepped in first, and Elle followed close behind, shielding herself behind his bulky frame.

The mudroom was dirty, everything coated in a layer of grime. There were a few old coats hanging on hooks, a pair of dusty rain boots slumped in the corner, and several stacks of old newspapers lined up against the opposite wall. It looked like nothing in this room had been touched in decades.

Exiting the mudroom door, Sam went right and Elle turned left into an old, seventies-style kitchen. The white tiles were decorated with orange and brown patterns. Wood paneling lined the walls. An old teakettle sat on top of the cold black stove rings. She tiptoed through, her legs trembling from the combination of tense muscles and melting snow soaking through to her skin.

Back out in the hallway, there was no Ayaan in sight. The glimpse through the doorway across from the kitchen revealed a sitting room. Elle walked in, gaze darting around for any sign of Natalie. There was barely any furniture here, as if part of the house had been cleared out before the new buyers gave up until next summer. A battered wheelchair sat in the corner, waiting for its owner to return. The grimy window let in a weak ray of light. When Elle looked out through the glass, a flash of movement caught her eye.

Out in the distance, just past the shed, there was a large figure looming dark against the snow. Her stomach plummeted when she saw him lift his arm.

“Natalie!” she screamed. Then she ran—out of the room, through the back door, and as fast as she could down the path. The only sound aside from the pounding in her ears was boots slapping the ground behind her. They were not being subtle in their approach, and it occurred to her when it was already too late that this was a problem. By the time she was close enough to see that Douglas was looming over Natalie’s little body, tied to an old tractor, she could see he had heard them coming. And he was not the least bit concerned. Rage seared her skin when she saw the red welts raised on the girl’s pale, shivering back.

“Stop right there,” he commanded.

“Gun!” Ayaan shouted.

Elle froze and heard no movements behind her, but she knew Ayaan and Sam were there, staring at the same thing she was.

Douglas wasn’t brandishing the belt anymore. He was holding the end of a pistol right underneath Natalie’s left ear. Elle lifted her own gun to