Page 16 of Vapor

The men head into the brush toward the sound of breaking branches. A sound abruptly stops.

I call out the bird signal in an attempt to warn the others. Ice responds with his well-practiced croak. I feel like we’re playing a fucked up version of Marco-Polo with deadly consequences.

The cartel men must have reached the shack because they’re suddenly shouting. We don’t have much time before they go looking for us.

All of my men seem to materialize out of the night at once. They’ve each got a girl in hand. Five total.

“Get them in the van,” I whisper.

“Solves the transportation problem,” Ice says, yanking open the side door. He pushes the girl he’s holding toward the door,“Entra!”

Her huge eyes go even wider when she looks inside.“No!”

“Why the fuck not?” Ice demands before glancing inside.“Well, fuck.”

“What?” I circle around to take a look.

The walls are lined with soundproof padding, stained and tattered. Intended to block out the screams of anyone trapped inside. Sharp, gleaming tools hang from hooks on a metal rack, each one carefully selected and well-worn from use.

A faded, bloodstained tarp covers the floor, its edges curling up to form a grim basin. An array of duct tape, zip ties, and chains lay scattered on a makeshift workbench alongside a flickering flashlight.

Personal items from victims—a watch, a necklace, a torn piece of fabric—are pinned like trophies to a cork board, a chilling testament to the van’s dark purpose.

The air’s thick with the smell of fear, sweat, and something far more sinister, an almost tangible reminder of the horrors that had unfolded within this mobile chamber of death. I don’t blame the girl for refusing to get in. Still, we don’t have time to fuck around.

“Fucking tie them up if you have to,” I snap.

Ice grabs the girl and drags her kicking and screaming into the van. So much for staying quiet. The other guys do the same, hogtying the girls who struggle to escape. Everyone except for Fang and I climb into the back. I take the driver’s side while Fang rides bitch.

The dumbfucks left the keys in the ignition. I start the van and throw it into gear, peeling out as the two men rush out onto the road. They raise their guns and volley a hail of bullets at us. The van must be bulletproof because they ping off the metal effortlessly.

As I race around the corner, the men give chase. The road’s too narrow and potholed to go fast enough to outrun them. Fang rolls down his window and points his gun toward the back of the van. He fires off several shots, forcing the men to slow down.

I glance in the rearview mirror, taking my eyes off the road for a split second. In the same moment, one of the cartel men manages to shoot out a tire.

Suddenly, the van careens off the slippery road, its tires screeching as it plunges into swampy water with a resounding splash. The impact sends a cascade of murky water over the hood. The dark, fetid liquid quickly seeps in through the cracked windows.

Inside, everyone in the back is thrown against the walls. Their screams are muffled by the rising water. Panic sets in as the van sinks deeper, the swampy mire pulling it down like quicksand.

Frantically, I fumble for the door handle, but the pressure from the water makes escape impossible. The van’s about to become a cold, dark tomb as its headlights flicker before dimming completely. I’m about to die in the one way I never expected, trapped in a watery grave.

“No fucking way,” I snarl, raising my boot to kick at the front window.

The glass continues to crack until finally giving way. I swim out, completely unable to see. Feeling along the side of the van, I find the handle for the sliding door. At first, it doesn’t budge, but with one final yank, it springs open.

I pull myself into the van. Only a couple of inches of air is left, but it quickly disappears as water floods the van. I suck in a breath before blindly grabbing for anyone’s hands. I grab two small limbs and pull them out of the van. The girls kick toward the surface.

Bones and Diablo work to get everyone out. By the time everyone’s free, the van’s completely submerged.

Coughing and sputtering, we swim toward shore. Gunshots ring out from inside the tree line. Water splashes near us.

“Fuck.” Diablo pulls his gun up and points toward the flashes of gunfire coming from the cartel men. He shoots into the darkness. A cry of agony rings out followed by another.“Got ’em.”

“Make sure they’re dead,” I order.

“On it.” Diablo climbs out of the swamp like a creature from a terrifying Creole ghost story. The rest of us follow suit.

After I account for everyone and all five girls, I guide everyone toward the road. The girls have given up on fighting. They walk beside us as if they’ve each been assigned to one of us.

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