Fiona had finally overcome the mess of the manager’s desk by throwing the majority of it onto the floor. She let out a triumphant cry as she found the small phone jack that had been obscured by the clutter and plugged in the corded phone that had been gathering dust in the top drawer of the desk.
“Okay, it’s plugged in…and it has a dial tone,” Fiona informed Buggy as she cradled my cell phone between her cheek and shoulder, “Now what?”
“Well, usually they have a code or something to make announcements on the overhead.” Buggy told her, “I could tap into the phone lines but I think Zotkin’s main man has already cut them, so it’s all you.”
“W-What?” Fiona replied, fearing that she’d have to waste more time looking for the codes in this cluttered hellhole, “How am I suppose to do that? Just hit buttons until I get the right combination?”
“Um, no. It’s usually just a few buttons.” The hacker replied, “Press zero, that’s usually the operator number. Then try seven for an inside line. Then wait.”
“Just a second,” Fiona murmured, picking up the office phone and following his instructions, “Um…there was a loud beep and now nothing.”
“That’s probably because your voice is now being projected over the PA system.” Buggy replied, “Good. That’s what we want. Now I need you to turn the volume up on this cell full blast and then place it against the office phone’s receiver, understand? Tie it or tape it there if you can.”
“Um I think I can find something to make that work.” Fiona replied, fumbling with my cheap cell phone until its volume was maxed out.
Then Fiona opened the drawers of the desk and hunted past the old tissues, inventory forms and food wrappers until she came across some tape. Carefully, she bound the two phones together so each speaker was touching its opposite’s microphone.
It was seconds after Fiona finished securing the two phones when the strangest sounds began to spew forth from my cell phone, courtesy of Buggy. To the untrained ear the sound probably seemed nothing but a string of painfully wild gibberish as music, voice and song overlapped one another chaotically.
Her task done, my client waited about five seconds before heading out of the office. Considering she was a bubbling mess of nerves, fear and the need to find her sister, I was surprised Fiona waited that long. However she hardly made it ten feet from the office before her search was interrupted once more.
Down at the end of the hall was a loading dock. Not much more than a giant, rolling garage door where semi-trucks would back up trailers so the employees could bring in new (or at least unspoiled) merchandise. When we had passed the loading dock on the way to the office, the door had been closed. It was wide now open and pair of cultists were heading towards the door.
Carried between the two fanatics was a limp, motionless body.
I tend to forget that Fiona had the capacity to be more than the confused, scared victim of circumstance. After all she had shown that she had some bite to her, both when punching me at her place and then freeing me from my possession at the church. It was these reserves of hidden courage and determination that made Fiona creep towards the two cultists, heedless of the danger they represented.
Quietly as possible, Fiona made her way to the loading dock though I doubt anything could distract the cultists from their morbid mission. As it turned out, there was a semi parked outside and the two cultists threw the limp body unceremoniously into the empty trailer attached to the truck.
“…she said to get rid of the bodies.” One of the cultists was saying, a young and wild eyed blonde, “But…does that mean…?”
“You know what that means!” Snapped the other fanatic, a tall college-aged girl who looked out of her element, “Lorraine trusted us to do this, so we do it! They are just bodies anyway, right? Their souls have already been given to Lord Macula.”
“But to burn them?!” The blonde replied, her face paling at the thought, “I…I don’t think I can do this!”
Peeking around the corner of a large crate, Fiona caught a glimpse inside the trailer and even the gloom couldn’t hide the unmistakable shapes of the motionless bodies that had been dumped inside. Though it was impossible to tell at this distance, my client was positive that these were the very same bodies we had stumbled across at Hell Scratch.
“We do as Lorraine commands!” The college chick hissed as she went to shut the trailer door, “Besides they are empty vessels! It’ll be like burning a big bag of hamburger-!”
A tin can of what could have been beef stew or dog food (the label was in a foreign language) slammed into the back of college girl’s head. The force behind the projectile instantly knocked her unconscious so the cultist didn’t feel her lips split against the garage door or her nose breaking as she face-planted the floor.
Fiona stepped out from behind one of the crates, an armload of canned ammunition cradled in the crook of her arm.
“We need to have a little chat.” Fiona told the blonde girl with a stern glare.
“I-I can’t!” The remaining cultist stammered, “I am a Daughter of All! I’ve sworn to keep all secret-”
A can of ravioli whizzed past the blond girl’s ear, slamming into the steel door with enough force to dent it.
“Talk.” Fiona said, readying another throw, “Now.”