CHAPTER 41
Billy went first, with Rick and Aaron following close behind. They rounded the sawmill and headed toward the back of the building, trying to step as quietly as possible, but the snow still crunched softly beneath their boots.
The closer they got, the more intensely Rick felt the tension tightening somewhere beneath his ribs.
Soon, an old metal door appeared ahead. Rust covered almost the entire thing, breaking through the gray steel in dark patches here and there. Billy cautiously took hold of the handle and pushed.
The door unexpectedly gave way with ease, opening a crack with a quiet creak.
Rick held his breath. It was dark beyond the door.
Billy stepped inside first. Rick and Aaron followed.
The smell hit him immediately: damp mold, rusty moisture, old dust, stale air. Beneath the ceiling, drops of melting snow drummed dully at frequent, rhythmic intervals, mixed with another almost ubiquitous sound: a high-pitched, grating squeal. Tiny claws scratched somewhere along a wooden beam, then again.
Rats.
Rick grimaced. His throat tightened, followed instantly by a wave of disgust so strong it felt as though someone had squeezed his stomach with both hands. Familiar images flashed before his eyes one after another: small, wet bodies, slimy matted fur, dirty paws, hairless tails, sharp teeth, incurable diseases…
He had always hated rats, but now even the thought of one being somewhere nearby made his heart stab harder. Rick swallowed convulsively. The air caught somewhere in his throat, and he couldn’t draw a deeper breath. His fingers began to tremble slightly. He could no longer make out his own hands, only the darkness, the squeaking, and the smells.
Claws scratched somewhere again.
Rick froze. Suddenly, he couldn’t tell where the sound was coming from: left, right, above? It seemed as though the rats were everywhere.
He instinctively stepped back and bumped into something warm, broad, and solid. For a split second, relief washed over him: Aaron’s chest was behind him, his steady breathing tickling the top of Rick’s head. Instead of pulling away, Rick pressed closer, clinging to his warmth like a lifeline.
“Want to wait outside?” Aaron’s voice came right beside his temple, warming his skin.
Rick couldn’t see his face, but he could have sworn Aaron had raised his right eyebrow sarcastically. A faint sense of offense rose in his throat.
“Um, no,” Rick protested, though he clearly had no intention of moving away from his chest.
“Then you’re okay?” Lake asked more attentively.
“Yeah. I just…” Rick swallowed and reluctantly stepped away. “Just…”
“Are you afraid of rats?” Billy whispered, turning around. Naive astonishment flickered in his eyes.
“I’m not afraid of anything,” Rick muttered. “They’re just… disgusting.”
“Why? They’re small, cute, with those little noses, whiskers, eyes…” Hong began listing.
“Ugh. Stop,” Parker shuddered. “I’m going to throw up.”
Billy quietly snorted with laughter.
“Very funny,” Rick rolled his eyes. “I’d love to see you when they start crawling all over you and biting you.”
“Oh, come on! They’re more afraid of you than you are of them, honestly!” Hong whispered, choking back laughter.
Rick only snorted. He took off his gloves and shoved them into his pocket.
“Pull yourselves together,” Lake hissed at them, pulling out a small flashlight. “Follow me.”
He clicked the button.
A narrow beam cut through the darkness, revealing the room they had entered: scattered crates and warped pallets all around them.
Farther away, a small metal door appeared. Lake headed toward it first, while Rick and Billy followed, trying to make as little noise as possible.
Beyond the door stretched a long corridor. The concrete walls were stained with dark streaks in places, while small shards of glass and dried wood shavings crunched beneath their feet. The flashlight beam swept across the walls. On one of them, Rick noticed a peeling inscription: “BLOCK B.” An old room-number sign hung beside it.
The corridor ended at a wide opening, beyond which lay a large workshop.
They cautiously stepped inside.
It was noticeably more spacious here: metal beams loomed beneath the high ceiling, while rusty forklifts, old machinery, and several trucks with flat tires stood along the walls. Wide passages remained between them, cluttered with wooden pallets, warped barrels, and piles of old boards. Several more rows of machinery disappeared somewhere in the depths of the workshop, and the ceiling rose so high that the flashlight beam couldn’t reach the beams overhead.
“Holy shit…” Billy breathed quietly. “This place is huge…”
“It really is impressive,” Rick replied, passing one of the forklifts.
Billy glanced at him.
“I’ve only ever seen machines this huge on Discovery. When I was a kid. Never thought I’d actually see one in real life.”
Rick was about to say something, but Lake raised a hand, making them stop.
Somewhere ahead, metal gave a soft clink.
All three froze.
For several seconds they stood motionless, listening, but nothing else happened.
Aaron slowly swept the flashlight beam across the far wall. There, they discovered another passage, almost completely concealed behind an old forklift.
They silently moved toward it.
Beyond the passage was another, narrower corridor with several doors on either side. Most stood open, leading into empty utility rooms. One contained old folders scattered across the floor; another was filled with dismantled parts from some kind of machine.
Rick walked last, glancing back from time to time. Everything around them looked long abandoned, but the farther they went, the stronger the feeling became that they weren’t alone.
Finally, a door with frosted glass appeared ahead.
Lake stopped beside it and carefully listened.
There was silence behind the glass.
He looked at Rick, then at Billy, switched off the flashlight, and only then reached for the cold handle.
Beyond the door was another workshop with smaller forklifts. The floor was covered in sawdust and tiny wood chips.
Off to one side stood a small two-story structure, as though it had been assembled right inside the workshop. An exterior metal staircase led to its upper floor. Some of the windows faced outside, while others looked directly into the workshop. It was probably the old office.
Suddenly, the silence was torn apart by a scream.
Loud, piercing, desperate, more like the cry of a wounded animal than a human voice. It was so sharp it seemed capable of making their ears ring.
“What’s happening?!” Hong whispered, looking at Lake. “Is someone hurt? We need to help!”
Aaron raised an index finger to his lips, signaling for silence. His expression became focused. He tightened his grip on his gun.
Hong was already about to rush forward when Lake abruptly caught him by the elbow.
A broad-shouldered male figure appeared from around the corner and headed straight toward them.
His long strides echoed dully through the empty workshop. The man had almost reached the passage where they were hiding when he suddenly slowed.
Rick stopped breathing.
The man turned his head slightly and swept his gaze across the dark space between the machines. A faint beam of light caught his face, and Rick clearly recognized the second garbage man, Fox, Riley Hamilton.
He looked toward the office again and headed for it. He stopped at the door and took hold of the handle, but paused for a moment as though listening for something. Then he opened it and disappeared inside.
Only after the door quietly closed behind him did Rick allow himself to exhale.
Lake released Billy’s elbow and made a brief motion toward his holster. Hong nodded and checked his weapon. The distinctive click of the safety sounded in the silence that followed.
Aaron shifted his gaze to the second floor.
Parker understood the plan without a word. They went upstairs, trying not to make a sound. The metal steps gave quiet responses beneath their feet, and Rick shifted his weight especially carefully each time, holding onto his camera so it wouldn’t strike the railing.
Upstairs, they stopped beside one of the doors. An old metal barrel stood nearby. Rick carefully went around it, making sure not to touch it, and approached the window.
He held his breath and looked inside.
His heart skipped a beat.
The room was small, almost cramped. Nothing unnecessary: a desk, a chair, a couple of metal cabinets, a dirty floor… and blood. It was everywhere, thin streaks across the concrete, droplets on the walls, dark stains across the desktop.
In the center stood a metal chair, with a man sitting in it. He was tied so tightly that the ropes had cut into his skin until it turned blue. His head hung limply, his chin was covered in blood, his lips swollen and cracked from the beating, and his arms…
Just looking at them made Rick want to close his eyes.
His forearms were covered in dozens of fresh cuts, even and precise, almost identical in depth. They hadn’t been inflicted in anger or a fit of rage. Everything looked too neat. Almost meticulous. As though someone had been methodically working, only instead of paper or canvas, there had been a human body in front of him.
Rick felt cold creeping beneath his skin. The black tattoo on his neck, the earring in his ear, the closely cropped hair — without those distinctive features, it would have been difficult to recognize Stanley in the mutilated man.
Another man stood beside him, tall and wiry, dressed in plain dark clothes. His face might have seemed ordinary, even pleasant, but his eyes were empty. A faint, almost casual smirk lingered on his thin lips, as though what was happening meant absolutely nothing to him. Fresh blood glistened on his palm and along the blade of his knife.
Parker stared at Billy in shock. He was pale, but he didn’t look away, only tightened his grip on his gun.
Then he looked at Aaron. Not a single muscle in his face moved. His expression remained calm and focused. Lake silently nodded first toward the camera, then toward the man with the knife.
Rick swallowed, forcing down the lump rising in his throat. The sight still made him nauseous, but he forced himself to raise the camera again. He had to work.
It took several seconds to adjust the aperture and exposure. His fingers moved instinctively over the buttons and control wheel.
Click.
“Detective…” Billy called almost soundlessly. “He’s… he’s going to kill him.”
Aaron didn’t take his eyes off what was happening.
“I know.”
Hong fell silent, not expecting that answer.
“Then why are we just standing here?! We need to help him!”
“We don’t know how many of them are here or where the other doors lead,” Lake replied curtly. “For
now, we watch.”
“But…”
Aaron clenched his jaw and glanced at him.
“I said wait.”
Billy gripped his gun even tighter, but said nothing else.
Rick wanted to object too. He wanted to spring into action, kick down the door, and get Stanley out of there. But somewhere inside, he understood: Lake was right.
Right now, they had drugs, torture, and several armed men. It was enough for an arrest, but not enough to get to Gecko. If they intervened now, the others would simply scatter. Others would take their place, and everything would start all over again.
The thought made Rick feel sick. He clenched his jaw tighter, but he didn’t argue with Aaron.
Lake’s hand slowly rose toward the window. His fingers checked the frame, pressing lightly, and the window sash opened soundlessly.
Voices drifted out from inside. Now they could hear them clearly. They were very close.
