Chapter Twenty

Stryker

"They have a six-hour head start," Brick confirmed, his face grave at he stared at Stryker from above the laptop screen.

John had been kidnapped—again—and by the blood found at the scene, someone was hurt, likely John. The sheriff had found his deputy tied up in the shop when he didn't check in. It looked like someone had darted Charlie from outside with a dart gun, with some unpronounceable drug to make him feel extremely unwell, then when he was down, and they were in the building, injected him again with a sedative. Security cameras showed a lone individual wearing a mask lurking around the shop shortly before John was taken, but nothing more.

The question was, how had they gotten in? The locks weren't forced, keys were used, and by all accounts the place was spotless. He and the team had prepared for every eventuality, but still, they'd gotten to John.

Everything inside of Stryker compelled him to race back to Texas, but logically, that didn't make any sense, considering the Noah Group would have hightailed it out of the state as soon as possible. Spencer was trying to locate the tracker he'd placed on John, but so far, he'd come up empty. Either it had been damaged or was being jammed by something.

They weren't even sure which division of the Noah Group was responsible for taking John or how they'd managed to get into Marshall without being seen. Was somebody in Marshall involved somehow?

Everybody was on high alert. The state police were now involved along with the FBI, as every road, railway, and airport leaving Texas was being watched. However, no one could find a sign of John, and the longer it took, the more insane the ideas floating through Stryker's mind.

Gator had arrived hours earlier to the unexpected news while he was on a plane flying to North Carolina.

"They won't hurt him. They need him," Gator said as he came to sit in the living room where Stryker was pacing like a caged animal. He needed to do something, to be out there searching, not waiting here waiting for shit to happen.

"The blood they found in the shop contradicts the statement," Stryker said.

"I know, but it wasn't a lot of blood, just a few drops. I'm going with the belief he isn't severely injured."

"I know you're trying to make me feel better. It's admirable, but nothing in this world will make me feel better until I have him back."

"I understand. If you need anything, I'm here."

"Thanks. 'Preciate that."

"We have action down at the facility," Fletcher announced from the dining room table. He was watching the screens they'd set up with direct feeds to cameras surrounding the area of the facility. They also had cameras surrounding the shop and the warehouse, as well as John's apartment. But the opposition was clever—they must have had some software that rendered them useless. The feeds were empty, only static left to watch after the initial sighting.

"What have you got?" Brick asked, looking tired. He'd been on the phone for the last few hours, calling reinforcements and organizing searches.

"Wait, I also have action on John's tracker," Spencer announced out of nowhere, gaining everyone's attention.

"Where is he?" Stryker demanded.

"This can't be right," Spencer said. "It's showing he's only a couple of miles away from here. That means they must have flown him in. It's too far to drive."

"What?" Stryker asked.

"There's a delivery truck pulling up to the facility," Fletcher announced.

"I want eyes on what's in that truck," Brick ordered.

Fletcher hit a few buttons and zoomed in on the back of the vehicle. The sliding door opened, and three men with automatic rifles jumped out first, followed by people in handcuffs with black hoods over their heads.

"Shit, it looks like they've found some of the test subjects," Fletcher stated.

Spencer walked over and looked at the screen. "Not just some test subjects; one of those is John."

Stryker saw red and went for the door.

"Halt, Lieutenant." Brick's voice was like steel.

Everything inside Stryker's body wanted to rebel against his commanding officer, but years of training won out, and he froze to the spot.

"We will get John back, but if you go running in there now like this, you're only going to get people killed, and one of those people could be John. We need to plan an incursion to free the hostages and take down the facility."

"What if they hurt him while we wait to make plans?" Stryker asked.

Brick walked across the floor and stood directly in front of Stryker. "If we don't do this right, people will die. I need you to understand that this is the right move. I swear we will get John back and make them pay for ever thinking of taking him in the first place."

Stryker's mind and body slipped into combat mode. "Oh, they'll pay. I'll make sure of it."

***

John

John's entire body ached, and he was sure he bore bruises from bouncing around—first in the plane and then in the back of the delivery truck. He wasn't alone either and prayed no other project survivors from Fire Lake had been taken but he had the sinking feeling that was a hopeless thought. He hoped the deputy was okay. There was some measure of relief knowing the man had been tied up, indicating he was likely still alive.

John had no idea where they were, but it felt like they'd been on the move for hours. He'd been unconscious at the beginning of the trip and his head ached where they'd struck him. He didn't think he had any lasting damage—at least not yet.

"Get moving," a gruff voice commanded.

Someone grabbed his arm and pulled him from where he'd been kneeling in the truck. He had a hood over his head, and his wrists were handcuffed together, but they'd no idea John could see through the fabric. Hell, he could see through the truck. He didn't recognize their location or the building he was being herded into.

It was dark outside and from what he could see, there weren't many other nearby buildings or signs. He could make out each Noah Group member's face, because they made no attempt to hide them. The other prisoners had hoods on and John would focus later on seeing who they were. For now, he wanted to memorize each of his captor's faces so he didn't confuse them with the hooded prisoners when the team came to save them. He was positive the team was searching for him at that very moment. Stryker would move heaven and earth if necessary.

John kept track of the doors he was led through, and how many rooms they passed. He needed to know the layout. They stopped suddenly, and the Noah team spoke in hushed voices. John took the time to study the other prisoners. Four men, two women. He breathed a sigh of relief when he didn't recognize any familiar faces. He was startled when he heard a voice, one he was positive he'd heard before, coming from behind him. He didn't want to turn around and give the fact away, so he stayed where he was. Who the hell was it? It was so familiar.

"Keep moving."

It appeared as though everyone was being led down the same corridor until they reached one large room. Then they were all lined up facing the wall.

"Do as you're told, and you won't be hurt. Attempt to escape, and youwillbe shot. Attack one of the guards and you'll be shot. Use your abilities against one of the guards and you'll be shot."

Well, that was pretty straightforward. Fuckers.

"Load them into their cells."

John was led down another hallway and they stopped outside a steel door with a peephole that could be opened and closed from the outside.

The door was opened, and his wrists were uncuffed. The hood over his head was yanked off, and he was shoved into his cell. The door slammed shut behind him, and John got a look at his new home. It had every amenity a standard jail cell would. Single mattress with basic bedding, a sink, small metal mirror, toilet, table with one chair, and a bottle of water. Yeah, he wouldn't be drinking that any time soon. Who knew what the hell might be in it?

His head was still pounding, and he went to the mirror to see if he could make out any damage to the back of his head where he'd been hit. John gingerly touched the cut behind his right ear. At least he wasn't still bleeding. The cut didn't appear too deep, so he figured he'd be fine. Then he remembered something very important: his inhaler.

John patted his pockets and shirt but couldn't find his inhaler anywhere. Shit. He tried to calm down. The last thing he needed was to have an asthma attack. He banged on his cell door, and someone opened the peephole moments later. John identified him as one of the initial guards who'd unloaded them from the truck.

"What?"

"I don't have my inhaler."

"So what?"

"If I have an asthma attack, without it I could die."

"One less of you freaks ain't going to make a difference," the guard said, shutting the peephole.

Shit, he was on his own. John calmed his breathing and closed his eyes. He couldn't allow himself to get too worked up or overwhelmed. Stryker and the team needed to hurry because he wasn't sure what these people had planned for them, and he doubted he'd be able to keep his breathing under control indefinitely.

What the hell am I going to do?

Stryker had been teaching him to calm his breathing and meditate, but John hadn't mastered it yet. He guessed wryly this would be the right time for a crash course.

There was banging nearby, likely coming from another cell. Footsteps marched by his enclosure, stopping farther down the hallway.

"What?" the guard growled.

"You can't leave me locked in here," a male voice said. "Don't you know who I am?"

The guard laughed. "Yeah, a fucking freak of nature."

"I'm a United States senator, asshole. I demand to speak to your superior."

Was there a senator among them? When John thought about it, it made sense. No one would guess he'd been genetically modified by looking at him. So, why not a senator or a lawyer? Maybe even the damn president.

"Sorry, Mr. High and Mighty, but you're no one around here. Get used to it." The guard laughed harder and walked away.

Nobody was getting special treatment, that was clear, but more concerning was that even possible lifesaving treatments, such as his inhaler, were being denied. Maybe they weren't as important to the Noah Group as everyone thought because it appeared they were expendable now.

John concentrated on the walls and looked into the cells on either side of him. He wasn't strong enough to look farther than two walls or objects, at least not yet. On his right, a young boy sat curled up into a ball in the farthest corner from the door. On his other side, an older woman with white hair, glasses, and a cane sat in the chair, staring at the door, unmoving.

John walked over to the wall separating him from the young boy. He wasn't sure the kid could hear him, but he had to try.

John placed his hand on the wall and said, "It'll be all right. I'm here right beside you."

The boy"s head popped up, and he glanced directly at the wall as if he sensed him, though that was impossible because there was a wall between them.

"Can you hear me?"

The boy nodded his head.

"Good. My name's John, we're going to get out of this," he whispered. "I promise." He placed a hand against the wall as if he could send comfort through the concrete.

The boy looked at the door before unfolding himself and crawling over to the wall separating them. He placed his hand on the wall across from John's hand, and John immediately felt heat emanate from it.

"I can feel you," he said in wonder.

The boy smiled before curling back into a ball in the corner closest to John's cell. John slid down on the ground and closed his eyes, thinking of Stryker and praying they'd find them all soon. He wasn't sure what was planned for them, but whatever it was wouldn't be good, and the small boy already looked fragile. He might not last long.