Crisis Event: Black Feast Read Online Free PDF Page A

crisis you’d need a black site out in the middle of nowhere.
    Derek and Titman ignored him. Then they were walking along the hallway, and people locked behind the doors moaned and wept, or begged to be fed or set free or killed.
    When they reached the fourth pair of doors, a hand shot out between the bars of the left door, the fingers reaching to grab Blakely.
    “Shit!” Titman said, and spun around, inadvertently backing toward the door on the right.
    Blakely leaned away from the fingers and brought his left hand up in a quick blocking motion. He spread his thumb and index finger into a Tiger Mouth grip and slammed the attacker’s wrist upward, pushing it so that it was forced to bend at the elbow. He was able to pivot and bring his other hand up to grab the attacker’s arm at the triceps and gain control of the entire arm.
    Blakely couldn’t see the attacker’s face inside the dark cell, but he quickly realized the size of the hand and the softness of the skin meant it was a woman.
    He let go of the woman’s wrist and triceps and she jerked her arm inside her cell.
    “You goddamned monsters,” the woman screamed. “She was just a little girl.”
    “Come on, gentlemen,” Derek said. “Seems this one’s got a little fight left. We’ll take care of that.”
    “A little girl!” the woman screamed again.
    A steel exit door stood at the other end of the hallway. Blakely followed Ttman and Derek through it.
    The room they entered was a makeshift supply and janitorial room. Floor to ceiling shelving lined the walls. The shelves were filled with mostly unopened boxes of various cleansers, detergents, and disinfectants.
    On one shelf there was a single a black rubber tub filled with hundreds of long skinny strips of white plastic.
    “Zip ties,” Blakely thought, but then noted the yellow mop bucket and mop pushed into a corner. Even though the room smelled of disinfectant, he could detect the faint scent of blood and sweat and old bitter cigarette smoke.
    He kept his face impassive despite being in a mostly darkened room, and followed Derek and Titman out through another door and into a narrow hallway. Three doors were set into the right hand side of the hall.
    Derek walked straight to the first one. He turned the knob and when the steel door swung open he stepped inside. He beckoned Titman and Blakely.
    The stench inside the room was awful—sour and relentless, like a truck stop toilet that hadn’t been cleaned in weeks. LED lamps were hung around the room, and two men in unmarked tan camo stood close together with their backs to the door.
    They were both giggling.
    Derek cleared his throat and the men both turned quickly, separating to reveal what they’d been looking at.
    Blakely stopped in the doorway, unable to look away, speechless at what he was seeing.
    A little girl, sitting in an old metal folding chair, had her arms tied behind her. Her skinny pink legs were pulled apart and had been tied at the ankle to the chair legs. A huge puddle of blood covered the floor beneath the chair.
    The girl was naked except for a pair of baggy white panties that were urine-soaked and nearly transparent and bunched up at her hips. Next to her on the floor were her clothes—a pair of jeans, a blue blouse, and a bright pink ski jacket splattered with blood.
    “General,” the man on the right said.
    “Mallick,” Titman said in greeting.
    “Hello, sir,” the man on the left said.
    He held out his hand.
    Dried blood covered the back of his fingers, but Titman didn’t seem to care. He stepped forward and they shook. Then Titman pulled a cigar out of his breast pocket and bit off the end. He spat it directly at the girl.
    “I hear you got some intel out of this little gem.”
    “Oh yeah,” the man on the left said, and began to tell Titman about the girl’s father, whose name was Chad Forchet, and whose business was intercepting the man who’d been carrying the package Titman was supposed to receive in