Hunters by Matt Rogers (books for 5 year olds to read themselves .TXT) 📕

his brain switched off, transitioning to recovery. He barely had the energy to stand.

Violetta and Alexis heaved King into the only bedroom and dumped him on the single bed. They didn’t ask Antônia for permission. It was obvious there was nowhere else to put him. Antônia stayed in the kitchen to give them space as they made him comfortable on the mattress, lying him on his side and easing a pillow under his head. Watching through the doorway, Slater knew they needn’t have bothered. For the next couple of hours, King would be comfortable in damn near any position. He was so far from reality that not even an imminent threat to his life would bring him back.

Oxycodone was undefeated in its ability to render its subjects useless.

They pulled the blinds, enclosing the bedroom in humid darkness, then stepped out and shut the door behind them.

Slater, Antônia, Violetta, and Alexis all stared at each other.

Slater said, ‘Now what?’

68

Antônia said, ‘There’s only two hunters left that we know of. I imagine they’ll go back to America and regroup.’

Slater said, ‘Do you have any family the secret world know about?’

Despite the fatigue of never-ending stress, there were still endless matters to handle. There wasn’t a moment’s reprieve.

Antônia watched him without answering.

Then she said, ‘Do you?’

‘No.’

‘Exactly. You think we get into this life if we have families that love us, care for us, make us feel good? I have no one. I never have.’

He thought as much, but he had to make sure. ‘At least there’s no way for them to coax you back.’

She shrugged.

It was too quiet in the apartment.

He knew the signs.

Despair was sinking in now the consequences were dawning on her.

Slater said, ‘You should never have helped us.’

‘But I did,’ she said.

It wasn’t exactly despair.

She seemed impatient, frustrated, unwilling to have this conversation. Which he also understood. His pressing the issue would be akin to striking a raw nerve in her emotions.

She said, ‘I need to apologise to King.’

He paused. ‘You already did.’

More frustration flickered in her eyes. ‘My addiction nearly killed him. What if I’d allowed him three pills instead of two? Ever think of that? That’d be in the region of a fatal dose.’

‘But you didn’t.’

‘I owe it to him,’ she said, brushing past Violetta and Alexis to head to her bedroom. ‘I’ll be right back.’

She opened the door, stepped through, and closed it behind her.

Slater stared pointedly at Violetta and Alexis.

Alexis shrugged.

Violetta muttered, ‘We just ruined her life. She probably wants to be with someone who’s oblivious to her presence. Give her space.’

Slater nodded and settled into the chair. His head hammered. He was bone tired. He longed desperately for sleep, but the following hours were the most important in the fight to make sure they stayed undetected.

When they had a grip on their situation, they could start working to pick up the pieces. Salvage what they could. Protect those who had risked it all to keep them safe.

Hang in there, Alonzo, he thought as a migraine threatened to split his head apart. Hang in there.

69

There was nothing to do but wait, which only made it worse.

Alonzo Romero assessed his living conditions. A windowless cell, with the reinforced door in a concrete wall being the only way in or out. He had a steel bed frame but no mattress, a hole in the ground the size of a tennis ball for a toilet, and monastic silence as his only companion. They hadn’t interrogated him yet. They hadn’t bothered to ask a single question. Not only had they refrained from moving him out of Manhattan, but for now they were keeping him in the very building he worked in.

He’d always known there were reserved floors here, floors for detainees who couldn’t be logged in the official system. This was a level past military prison, more secretive than Leavenworth. It was for when the shadow world needed absolute discretion, a place they could store traitors without the irritation of a trial, because a trial would only bring information to light that could never reach the public eye.

And traitors usually came from within.

Hence its location.

He knew he would soon go mad from the isolation, but that was the least of his concerns. They were heating him up in a pressure cooker, making him volatile, so when they finally did come for him he’d tell them whatever they wanted to know.

The waiting game.

He had one hope. One shot. One Hail Mary attempt at freedom. It’d mean leaving behind his career, his country, his life. But that was what King and Slater had already done, and they seemed to be doing okay.

He’d pressed two keys when the iron-jawed man had led him out of his office what felt like years ago, but couldn’t have been more than twelve hours ago. Only one of the commands had actually powered down his monitor. The other had served another purpose.

He sat on his bed frame with his knees curled up to his chest, wondering if over in El Salvador, Violetta was oblivious to his cry for help.

Or if they were all already dead, in which case he might as well do everything in his power to kill himself.

That was preferable to a lifetime of solitary imprisonment.

70

King sensed a breeze of movement in the room.

He didn’t really care who it was. Even if it was the enemy, he wouldn’t mind. Nothing could faze him in this bliss…

It’s the drugs talking, he thought. Pull yourself together.

His internal dialogue was harsh enough to claw himself back to reality. It wasn’t true reality, more like a pleasant, dreamy replica of the world, but it was better than lolling his head back and accepting whatever came his way. That wasn’t his style.

The shape floated over him. It was a gorgeous woman. A mirage.

No, not a mirage.

Antônia said, ‘I’m sorry, Jason.’

‘You shouldn’t … have given me those,’ he mumbled.

It took indescribable effort to speak. Why was it so difficult?

She didn’t respond. He tried to focus on her and