Page 85 of Iron Crown

Blink was red-faced, furious, and I was worried that he would do something insane. He slowly strode forward, his eyes on the driver, who popped open his door and was about to march right at me. The unmistakable pistol on his hip flashed from beneath his flannel shirt.

“You little bitch!” he snarled.

He was about to reach for it when Blink snatched his hand out like a snake on the sting, punching him in the throat.

A strange, rhythmic metallic sound beat in my ears, like a warning of something terrible to come.

The man choked, stepped back, and reached for his gun. I fired again, this time it landed in his hand. But it didn’t stop there.

The bullet went through, a bloody circle appearing like stigmata, and struck him in the stomach. He looked down, confused, before his eyes went up to me. Blink grabbed him, and before he had a chance to fall where he stood, he dragged the still stumbling driver to the front of the truck, out of view of any oncoming traffic.

I must be going insane, as the small rhythmic tapping continued in my brain. Like the clinking of chains, following the sound of a metronome.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” I said, not sure if I had acted too rashly. I ran to Blink, who was staunching the bleeding, though it was clear the man would not live.

“You did fine,” he said, before he nodded to the road. “Keep an eye out.”

He turned his head and called out, “Amadol!”

The man, Jose Amadol, jogged over, looking at the scene with interest.

“Get the SUV so we can get the body out of here,” Blink said. “If anyone asks, the man abandoned his truck to go get help for the tire.”

Amadol looked puzzled. “What’s that noise?”

“What?” Blink asked, then shook his head, yelling in frustration, “Go get the truck!”

Amadol left, and came back a short while later with a few others to load the corpse into the truck while someone else poured dirt over the small bloody pool.

Still, that tapping continued.

Really, what the hell was that noise?

“I can hear it,” I said to Amadol. “Like a banging sound?”

“Right?” Amadol said, his brow knit in confusion. “I’m going to look in the back.”

“I’ll look in the cabin.”

Blink was giving orders, relaying information to Yuliya, probably already conspiring a cover-up, and post-mortem.

I jumped into the cabin, climbing over his seat into the back, where there were sleeping quarters. I dumped the pillows and blankets, then looked beneath the bed, where there was storage, but the sound of banging was more muted here.

It wasn’t until I stepped back out and saw Amadol hunched over, curled as though he was about to puke, that I realized it was from the inside.

I ran to him, yelling, “Are you okay?”

“Mmm-hmm,” he said, pointing to the open doors of the shipping container. “I found the sound.”

I looked up into the darkness of the opening, which was only cracked. I pulled at the door just a little further to let the sunlight in when I saw the unmistakable shapes of eyes peering from blackness. I took a deep breath, shocked, but regretted it immediately when the stale scent of urine, feces, and sweat assaulted my nose. I stepped back, my hands grasping at something to help me stay upright, but there was nothing.

“Blink,” I said in a long, whining voice.

“What?” he snapped, agitated.

“I… need you to come here.”

I didn’t know exactly how to tell him that the truck was full of nothing but emaciated, frightened souls, peering out from behind the bars of kennel cages.

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