Page 52 of Redemption
He shrugged, “Don’t know, but let’s leave this dump and get a hotel.”
“No.” I said.
“Didn’t you hear what I said? We’re in the clear.”
“I heard you, but I’m not putting our lives in the hands of our inside man. He’s giving us information, sure, but at the end of the day he’s a rat.”
“Our father confirmed it, we’re fine.” Damien insisted.
“I don’t care. Go to sleep.”
Damien grimaced, but within minutes his head was tilted back, mouth open, snoring loudly.
I curled up on the deflated air mattress, no longer feeling any sentiment for it. Compared to the hard ground outside, this was an upgrade. I wanted to stay awake, to think, to plan. But before I knew it my eyes were drooping and I felt myself drifting off to sleep.
Gabriel
Our hot breath was visible in the cool air, our backs pressed against the sheet metal wall of the warehouse as a patrol passed by. Concealed in shadow, we were invisible. Logan, my youngest brother. was breathing shallow, adrenaline-fueled breaths. I was keeping a mental checklist of his performance. He needs to learn to control his breathing. Breath is more than what it seems; short, quick breaths tell your mind and body to panic. But if you control your breathing, you maintain composure. A glance over at Damien revealed the same understanding, and he shook his head. I put my hand on Logans on the shoulder, and he darted his gaze toward me, his eyes wide. I pointed to my face and emphasized my slow, deep breaths. He nodded and mimicked me. The patrol passed, and I signaled our next move. Dipping in and out of shadow, we made our way across the open areas of the rundown facility. Reaching a rusted hole in the wall of the warehouse, we lay on our stomachs and crawled in.
Inside, the pungent smell of rust and dampness hit us. The interior was even darker than the outside. Logan moved his arms around in the darkness until he felt my arm, then steadied himself next to me. I could practically hear his heart thudding against his ribs. Moonlight filtered in through hundreds of holesin the corroding metal roof, giving us just enough light to see each other.
"Scared?" I couldn't resist needling him a little.
"No!" He snapped back too quickly in a whisper. He was definitely scared.
"Let's go." I said.
Our steps were quiet, occasionally gritting as we stepped on unseen shards of glass and other debris. Logan was only nineteen, but was a natural at stealth. He just didn't have the confidence to match yet. Across the warehouse, light from a flashlight peered through ceiling-high shelves filled with crates and other machinery. The patrol had made its way inside but was on the complete opposite side of the warehouse. We would be in and out without anyone knowing. We made our way to the empty crate covering the hidden manhole in the middle of the warehouse. Damien pushed it aside, and I lifted the hatch. I nodded to Logan, and he descended the ladder first. I followed my youngest brother down the ladder, Damien behind me, submerging us into total darkness as he closed the hatch. The narrow shaft opened up into a basement of various pipes and machinery, a labyrinth of iron and steel. The metallic scent of cold pipes and damp earth filled my nostrils as we ventured deeper.
"Remember the path, Logan," I instructed in a hushed tone. We moved through the maze with practiced ease. The darkness was complete, but we had studied the blueprints and maps of this place enough that the darkness didn't matter.
Finally, we reached our destination—a heavy metal vault door set into the concrete wall. I wiped the sweat off my brow. This was it; the last hurdle separating us from our goal.
"Ready?" Damien asked, already pulling out his lock-picking kit from his bag.
"Do it." I ordered. Damien crouched by the lock and reached forward.
"Wait," Logan said hopefully. "Let me do it.” Damien looked at me for permission, and I nodded.
"Remember, the lock is like a woman: be gentle and find the right spots. Don't just jam the pick in hoping something will happen." I said. Damien laughed a breath through his nose and Logan smiled.
"I know how to work a lock." I patted him on the back hard and crouched by the wall next to the door, Damien next to me, peering over our little brothers shoulder. Logan worked at the lock for thirty seconds, then a minute. His frustration becoming as thick as the darkness.
"Okay, time's up. Give me the picks," Damien said.
"No, let him finish. He's got this," I said, holding Damien back. Not much longer, the bolt clicked, and Logan cheerfully whispered, "Got it!" He slowly turned the handle and pushed in the door. There was some resistance, then another click. Logan looked to me for reassurance as it swung open. My ears exploded as a flash of light blinded me. There was blood. So much blood.
"No!" I cried out over the ringing in my ears. My voice echoed in the labyrinth of metal and followed me back into the hideout.
My heart pounded in my chest like a raging drum. I was drenched in cold sweat, the sheets around me twisted and soaked as if I'd just come out of a storm.
I sat up, taking deep, shaky breaths. I turned, seeing Damien sitting next to me. Sorrow and pain twisted his face. "I tried to wake you.”
I blinked at him, the terror of the dream still gripping me. My chest heaved as I gulped in air, trying to find my calm. "It's just a nightmare," I muttered to myself, almost as a mantra. But it wasn't just a nightmare. It was a memory—one that haunted me nearly every single time I closed my eyes. Unless I wasdrunk enough. The memory was vivid, too real. The blast of the shotgun trap, the light leaving Logan’s eyes—it all replayed in my mind. Over and over. It was my fault.
I shook my head, trying to shake off the remnants of the dream. "Did I say anything?" I asked Damien, turning my gaze back to him.
His eyes met mine with an inscrutable expression before he shook his head. “No.”
