Days Since...: Jenny: Day 986

Chapter Eight

His hands wouldn’t leave her. She had no choice but to fight. Not again. Never again. “Get off!” she screamed, clawing, striking him everywhere she could, but it wasn’t enough. Her coat lay in a heap. One of her shirtsleeves hung loose. Her collar stretched, ripped. Griffin grabbed hold of her shirt again and pulled, but Jenny slipped it and rushed for the door, stumbling through hurried steps. “Help!” But her pleas went unheeded. The exit seemed a mile away.

With little effort, Griffin took back control, jerking her upright by the hair, twisting it within his grip. “Now, Jenny,” he said through clenched teeth, “you aren’t playing very nice.”

“Let go!” She stomped the inside of his knee causing him to buckle only slightly.

“That’s all you got?” He swung her sideways by the hair—her body slamming into his desk with a bang. The edge caught her between the ribs, forcing a gasp for air.

“Stop! Enough!” She put her hands out in front of her. “Just stop! Please!”

He leered at Jenny, drifting toward her. “No…”—He smacked his lips—“I don’t think that would be very fun. I kinda like fighting for it. Makes it exciting.” A stiff slap sent her cowering to the floor. The harsh sting left her little choice but to raise her arm in defense, anticipating another. “Get mad!” He snatched her wrist and yanked her from the floor, screaming at her from merely an inch away, “Hate me! Come on, Jenny! Let that hate out!”

“Fuck you!” She kicked for his groin, but whiffed, instead striking his inner thigh. Futile.

“You’re pathetic…” Griffin shoved her to the ground and went to straddle her. Jenny countered with a flurry of kicks, keeping him at a distance. “That’s more like it!” Taking hold of her leg, he peeled off one boot then the other, pitching them into the corner. Her pants—the only thing preventing him now. His hands clawed at them. A sharp tug, but they wouldn’t budge. “Damn it!” He grabbed hold of her waist, slamming her body halfway onto the desk, face down and away.

Her eyes darted frantically across the desktop, searching from something, anything she could use to protect herself. Scissors! She stretched toward them, her fingertips pecking at the plastic handle. Almost! Raising onto her tiptoes… But not soon enough. Griffin lunged into the desk. A loud scrape across the floor and everything toppled from the desktop. Everything clattered to the floor. Shit…

“Let it go, Jenny.” He breathed into her ear. Her body shuddered, cringed, collapsed in on itself. “It’s okay to let some tears go. I didn’t mind it the first time.”

Don’t you cry, Jenny. If she couldn’t prevent Griffin from having his way, she’d at least steal some of his power. Take some of that satisfaction from him. His fingers crawled toward her waistline. The belt buckle loosened. She felt the tightness of her pants give way. The cold air began to envelop her entire body. Legs shaking, she squeezed her thighs together to thwart his effort. One of his hands pressed against the small of her back—his other struggled with his zipper. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying everything to leave this place, to find somewhere to hide in her mind.

Then, from behind them, a deep growl filled the room.

“Fass!” Danny shouted.

Sherman stormed into the room and latched onto Griffin’s thigh, violently jerking it back and forth, pulling him away from Jenny. Without hesitating, she stole the opportunity, scurrying off into the corner. Not the greatest position, but she couldn’t bring herself to slink past Sherman. Distracting him from Griffin was the last thing she wanted.

“Someone call him off!” he begged.

The thought never crossed her mind. Instead, a vengeful pleasure swelled inside her—to see him finally getting what he deserved—to see him struggling, pushing, prying at Sherman’s muzzle like she had done to him. Now, their fates had reversed. He was the prey, and she reveled in it—the horror descending upon him, his pain. All her time at the Depot she had been suffocating, but now, she could breathe.

Sherman’s teeth continued to gnash at the thigh, unrelenting, spurting blood through Griffin’s tattered pant leg. “Help!” Off-balance, he tried to escape, but crumpled to the floor. “Come on, Danny!” The pain in his voice rang out louder than his words. Terror in every outburst that followed.

Danny’s face showed no pity, no mercy. “Fass!”

With the command, Sherman released for only an instant then clamped down again, harder, into his calf. Never had Jenny seen something so violent. She expected Danny to call it off at some point, but he remained stoic, unflinching. Not moved by Griffin’s need for this to stop. Not moved by his pleas for help. It seemed Danny had made up his mind. Griffin was guilty, and this was the sentence.

Crack!

The gunshot startled the room, and Sherman released his bite.

“Hier!” Danny called to him.

Griffin raised the revolver from his coat pocket and toward the fleeing canine. Crack! Crack! Crack!

In a panic, Jenny dove behind the desk to avoid the sporadic gunfire, landing in the mess that had toppled over earlier. The scissors! She snatched them from the floor. I have to end this.

Crack! Crack! Click. Click.

The clicks echoed a million times louder than the shots in Jenny’s head. He’s dry!

“Shit…” Griffin cursed his misses and tried to stand, but his wounded leg was unable to bear his weight. Again, he fell to the floor, his back crashing against the desk. His head lolled from side to side, woozy from the loss of blood. “That mother…” he muttered, his voice weak, barely able to part his lips.

Jenny peered over the desk, rubbing her thumb along the scissor’s blade. Watching him, she knew he wouldn’t make it. Too much blood. Now, her decision was whether or not to walk away knowing he died or to play a part in it. It seemed simple enough with all he had done to her. All the nightmares he had given her. The constant angst that stalked her through the Depot. Can I really be the one who does it? Griffin’s head fell into the nook of his shoulder. No way. You’re not leaving until I get my last word. You’re not taking that away. Not after what you did to me!

Jenny came from behind the desk with only one thing on her mind. The rest of the room didn’t matter. Nothing did. Except this. She crouched down in front of him and lifted his head, staring into his eyes, watching him fade from this world. Click. Click. His finger still pulled at the revolver’s trigger. Jenny grabbed hold of the gun, ripped it from his failing grip then released the cylinder—all the spent brass pinging against the floor.

“What you did to me…” She clenched her jaw. “You…” An exhale, second guessing what she was about to do. “You know what… it doesn’t matter anymore. You’re already dead, not worth it. Fuck you.”

“I…” Griffin’s eyes fluttered, struggling to find hers despite them being right in front of his face “I… already did.” His lips bent into a crooked smile.

“You…” Jenny shook her head in disgust. Any chance of her walking away passed with his arrogant remark. It crossed the line, flooding her body with anger. Even on the verge of death, he offered no regret for what he had done to her. No repentance. His death was justified, and Jenny was now more than willing to assist.

Gazing into his dimming eyes, her breaths sped forth. Her hands shook, clutching the scissors. You deserve this. One last inhale—she held it in then plunged the tip of the scissors into Griffin’s throat, driving it as deeply as she could, twisting it the whole way through. A rasping groan. His body shuddered, but the wound barely bled—the crimson pool he sat within left little doubt why. She stood, considered pulling the scissors out, but decided against it. When the others found him, this is how he deserved to be. A coward who died screaming for help. Slumped against a desk. His clothing torn, blood soaked. Scissors jutting from his neck.

An unsettling silence shook her as she turned from Griffin. Apprehensive, her eyes gathered the room, trying to reassess the situation. Where’s— Her gut tightened. “Danny!” His boots lay just inside the door. His body out of view. Rushing over, she rounded the corner into the hallway. He lay there motionless, face down, pistol in hand while Sherman circled his body, whining, nudging him with his muzzle.

She knelt at his side. “Danny…” she whispered. He didn’t move. She took hold of his coat and tugged, then shook him, then more and more, harder and harder. “Come on…” Her voice broke into sobs and gasps. It couldn’t be helped. “No, no, no. Danny. No.” She tried to swallow her cries, to keep them down, but they continued to surface. “This isn’t right… It can’t be how—” Sherman pushed at his head again. “I’m sorry, boy. You might not want to see this.” Sobbing, she eased Danny’s head to the side, hoping it wasn’t true.

Only a vacant stare. Lines of blood from mouth and nose. From a wound just below his right eye. She ran her shaking hand over his eyelids. They accepted the darkness. Never to see the light again. “Why…?” Fucking Griffin. She shuddered from the cold, from her emotions. Everything in this moment. “Damn it, Danny…” Jenny stood for only a moment before panic struck her again.

Matt and Grant…

It wasn’t over. Not even close. Her head was spinning—too much happening at once. I know it’s not right to leave you, but… She bit into her lip. You know if I didn’t leave now, you’d be yelling at me. You’d be telling me not to waste any time. Well, you’re right. I have to go. Jenny steeled herself against the loss of Danny. Mourning would have to come later. She wiped the tears along her bare arm. It’s time.

Jenny undid the holster from his leg and fitted it around her own. Next, she took the Smith & Wesson from his hand, mindful to peel his finger away from the trigger. Fully loaded and ready to go, she reholstered the weapon. Alright… A moment of hesitation. What she was about to do was distressing, uncomfortable. His body was limp. Moving him felt wrong, but necessary. I’m sorry, but I can’t do this without your help. She eased into his pockets, respectfully searching for anything else she might need. Only his keyring and Sherman’s lead seemed useful. This isn’t good-bye. I’ll be back. I promise.

A strange gurgling noise came from inside the office behind her.

What now? Taking a deep breath, she took the pistol from its holster and brought it eye level. She positioned herself near the door jamb. Ready but nervous, only now did she remember the revolver she left lying at his feet. Take it slow. The muzzle wavered slightly while she cleared the room in sections. His body came into view—still slouched against the desk in his own filth. She took cautious steps toward him to retrieve the gun, cursing herself for leaving the damn thing, but when she had seen Danny, her concern for him had gotten the better of her judgment.

Nearing him, her stomach writhed—the smell of gunpowder—the smell of iron from his blood. With her pistol aimed squarely at his chest, she fished for the revolver with her foot. There we go! She slid it away, stepping backwards with her muzzle steady on him. Quickly, she scooped it from the floor along with her shirt, coat, and boots. She dressed, eyeballing Griffin the entire time. Is he dead yet? She needed to be sure. Before leaving, Jenny dared a touch on the side of his neck—his skin cold with a sickly pallor. No pulse. Dead. Gone, but it didn’t make up for Danny. Closure would come later. Now, she had to focus on getting her friends back.

“Hier!” With haste, she and Sherman tore through the back corridor to the office where she’d seen Matt and Grant earlier. There’s probably not much time left. At some point, someone would be there to investigate the gunfire. The rooftop guards had to have heard it. Perhaps, the crowd outside by the burn barrel hadn’t. That must have been the holdup—not that she was complaining. Jenny needed the delay.

If found, the Depot guards might hold her, question her. It wasn’t like she could say she hadn’t seen anything. With blood on her pants. Danny’s gun. Sherman. She’d be interrogated for hours—their interest fixated on what happened—the loss of two leaders. Matt and Grant would shift to the back burner. It was best no one saw her. The Second Alliance would only get further and further away. Her friends disappearing with them.

Damn… The door to the room stood open. No one inside. The chairs overturned, but the ropes and gags gone, more than likely still binding them, keeping them from calling for help. They had to sneak out the back with them. There’s no way they’d just walk out the front with Grant and Matt tied up or whatever. People would wonder what the hell was going on. She eyed both ends of the corridor. But which way did they go? Probably not that way. Danny’s room was only a few feet away. That fact gave her pause. Wait, why…? She searched herself, trying to deny dangerous thoughts before they soiled Danny’s reputation. But she couldn’t think beyond them. Danny… Why didn’t you stop them? When Griffin sent you here with that letter, you could’ve freed them. Don’t you have a key to that room? What the hell…? “Now they’re gone,” she said under her breath.

No… There’s no way Danny would’ve just let them be taken without a fight. There has to be a reason why. But what? She began toward his room. He knew what was about to happen with the S.A. He told me to find them. It’s the last thing he asked me to do. He gave me a frickin’ knife because he knew the risk. Danny’s door sat open slightly. She creaked it further in, then shut it behind her, turning the lock. Okay… Beside her, two rifles, a pistol, and an array of knives lay out on his bed. A box of ammunition spilled across the floor. Must’ve been in a hurry to leave his—” She exhaled. Her shoulders sank. “That’s why… He heard me scream. All these weapons right here. He was planning on fighting back, but he heard me. And, he stopped. He let the S.A. get away, so he could help me, hoping he could save them later. But, obviously that can’t happen now. It’s on me. I’ve gotta do it.

Jenny pitched Danny’s rucksack onto the bed and began stuffing it. Ammunition. A few knives. One of the pistols. His flashlight and fire kit. Bottles of water. Cans of food. (Some for Sherman.) This might only be a day or two. Taking too much would only slow her down, and the houses along the way could still provide her with the basics if she found herself in need. She threw on Danny’s harness strap with binocular case and popped it open—binocs inside—now extremely accessible from around her torso. Almost ready. Her choice of rifles from the bed didn’t include her familiar M1A Scout. Instead, she took Danny’s favorite, his M4 carbine.

Finally it came, what she had been expecting since the gunshots rang out—the heavy clopping of boots down the hall. Here we go… She dropped to the ground, her back against the door, curling up as closely to it as she could to prevent anyone’s quick peek through the window from seeing her.

The footfalls slowed to a stop just outside the door.

“It’s got to be back here.” A man said, speaking as if he were in charge of the patrol.

“Who was shooting?”

“Not sure, but I know it has something to do with that group in black,” a woman spoke up. “Who else? Shit like this doesn’t happen, but then all of a sudden they show up. Come on, man, put it together.”

“Alright, quiet down you two. Keep your damn eyes peeled. Let’s go.”

Jenny listened for the sound of the patrol’s footsteps to disappear. Once they did, she inched the door open. Just a peek. No one to either side. Time to move. She hoisted the rucksack onto her back and brought the rifle’s sling over her head. A quick once over. Everything in place. Everything loaded. She crept a foot forward into the hallway. A scream. Jenny grimaced. They found them…

“High alert!” the man’s voice thundered down the hall. “Get the message to the roof!” Boots pounded back her way, and his orders echoed along with them. “If they see any of the men in black, shoot first! No questions!”

They think the S.A. did this. That couldn’t be any better. “We gotta go, boy.” She attached Sherman’s lead, and without a second to spare, they curled right, beelining straight for the exit to the loading docks. Not certain she’d be alone out there, she drew the pistol from the holster. A deep breath, then she elbowed the push bar to the door and slipped through, gun up and ready, Sherman at her side.

Outside, Jenny winced in the direct sunlight. Damn! Struggling to see across her pistol sights, she shifted her angle, but Sherman took advantage of her adjustment and broke left from the door. “Platz.” His tugging at the lead ceased. She took her pistol across the loading dock, keeping the large, metal door against her back to guard her six. From where she stood, a distinct line of footprints made across the landing, down the stairs, and then up the ramp toward the woods. I wonder how far the S.A. has gotten.

She flashed her pistol behind the door—only a few feet of landing before a dead end into the wall—then eased the heavy door back into place. Listening, she took a moment to ensure there’d be no surprises coming at her through the door. The patrol that had discovered the bodies were still tearing down the long hallway, yelling. Jenny and Sherman withdrew into the dead end of the landing, hoping that if the patrol opened the door to warn the guards on the roof, it would be a simple shout and nothing more. Luckily for her, the patrol continued down the corridor past her position.

The landing’s metal grating clanked beneath her feet as she walked. Nervous she’d alert one of the guards on the roof, she slowed her steps, heel to toe, lightly crunching through what snow hadn’t fallen to the ground. About halfway across the landing, they came to a flight of stairs. Two lines of footprints split from the bottom—one out into the open toward the woods—the other hidden between a couple of semi-trailers.

At the bottom of the stairs, Sherman buried his nose into the snow, his interest leading them along the tracks sneaking in between the trailers. Jenny studied the footprints, only three sets counted in this line—all the same tread design, just different sizes. Matt and Grant aren’t here. Have to be in that other group. If not… then I don’t know what the hell is going on. She knelt, glancing underneath the trailer. Sherman whined, and Jenny whipped the pistol toward the semi’s cab, but nothing there. The sudden shift caused her heart to beat even faster. “Damn it, Sherman. What do you know?” He sat near the wall of the trailer and looked back toward her, his eyes knew something. “Seek!”

The canine scrambled underneath the trailer, the lead flapping in the snow behind him, let loose from Jenny’s grip. She dropped the pistol into its holster and took to the rifle. Backtracking toward the stairs and round the semi’s back end, she posted at the corner of the trailer. One peek, then a second. She broke out into the open, rifle fixed toward the top of the ramp. Sherman found something—small and black in the snow. “Matt’s glove. Good, boy!” She tousled his fur and scooped the glove into her cargo pocket. “So, this is definitely the way they went.”

“Jenny!”

Jolted from the outburst, she spun the rifle, searching for where the voice had come from. The rooftop—Derrick, one of their own.

“Where’d all those shots come from?” he asked.

She put a finger over her lips—“Keep it down”—and hurried over to where he stood above her. “Just…” What the hell do I say? “It’s—it’s a long story. Don’t have time to explain. I need to—”

“Are you okay?” From his tone, she knew he had seen the blood.

She stared blankly, saying nothing, still unsure on what to share, if anything.

“Seriously, what the hell’s goin’ on?” Derrick’s voice more urgent now. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine. Did you see who made these tracks back here?”

He shook his head. “No, they weren’t there before. Only two of us up here right now. Let me ask the other—”

“No, it’s fine.” She glanced back toward the ramp. “You see anyone in the woods? Can you see that far?”

“No one’s there. Just those prints leadin’ up through that way.” He flipped his binoculars to double-check. “Yeah, nothing.”

“Thanks!” She jogged back to Sherman and took hold of his lead.

“Jenny,” he called to her again, “really, what’s going on?”

“Stay up there, you see any one of those guys dressed in black come through here, don’t ask any questions, just shoot them dead.”

“I can’t do that without orders from Griffin.”

“Griffin’s…” Jenny started. “The order’s coming.” She tugged at Sherman’s lead, and they rushed for the woods.

“Jenny!” he shouted. “What’s that mean? What happened?”

The Second Alliance’s tracks led back through the training grounds—the same direction they’d come through earlier with Griffin. No effort was taken on their part to hide it. Every bootprint accounted for. No trickery. A straight-forward march to wherever it was they were going. “Aren’t being very careful are they, boy?” She patted Sherman’s side. “They were probably long gone by the time shit went bad and have no idea their plan’s essentially dead.”

Jenny took her binoculars from inside the pouch and glassed across the ridge looming before them—nothing in the distance except the gray sky bleeding through bare branches. “We’ll pick their track up in a bit.” She leaned the rifle against a downed tree protruding from the snow and slipped the rucksack from her shoulders. With her boot, she cleared some snow from the ground to sit next to her long gun, remembering to always have it ready at hand.

“What do you think, boy?” She scratched along his back, up to his head, which now lay in her lap. He looked up at her, eyes heavy. “I know…” Her voice wavered. “You’d think it’d get easier.” The tears swelled inside, wanting nothing more than to break loose, to glide down the features of her face to show the world her loss. That she was hurting again. Another friend gone. Another death that didn’t have to be. She choked it back down and forced a smile. “Here,”—she leaned over and unclipped the flap to the ruck—“let’s take your mind off this. You hungry?” Sherman perked up at the can of dog food dangling in front of him. “At least you still have your appetite.”

He nudged against the can, his tongue hanging with anticipation. Jenny opened the can and flipped it, letting the meat slurry plop into the snow. She wretched at its smell. “Not the greatest is it?” She couldn’t bear to watch him tear into it. Instead, she raised the binoculars toward the ridge once more. “They can’t be too far yet, right?” Her eyes pursued the trail of footprints running up the face of the ridge until they disappeared. “This is going to be a piece of cake for you.” He looked to her, satisfied—the food gone from the snow. “What do you think?”

He cocked his head sideways.

“I know you know more than just German,” she forced a chuckle that went nowhere with her canine companion. “You’re gonna need to start talking back at some point.”

Sherman brought his head back into her lap, and Jenny traced her fingers through his fur. Calming. She took the moment to decompress, leaning her head back against the tree behind them. Through the branches, she lost herself in the sky. A good long gaze.

The S.A. owes me for everything. For Danny. For Xavier. Sam. Anyone else they’ve taken from the world that didn’t deserve it. I know finding them isn’t going to be the problem. Sherman’s too good. But it’s what to do once we get there. I have to be smarter than them, patient. Wait for a mistake. It isn’t impossible. Only four of them. One’s a Soldier, though. Shit… Maybe I should’ve gotten some others to help. But who the hell knows who was in on it? Maybe all the higher ups knew about the plan for Matt and Grant. Better to work alone. At least I know where my loyalties lie.

Jenny tousled Sherman’s head. “It’s me and you, boy. That’s it.”