Reaching the store where the motorcycle was left, we hurriedly left Purgatory, managing to avoid a confrontation with the army. Halfway, Emma tried to persuade me to get rid of the hard-won suitcase, arguing that a case marked "biological hazard" should never be handed over to the thugs. All her chatter was getting on my nerves, and I found myself thinking more than once that I wanted to stop the motorcycle and force my companion to shut up, using the most pleasurable method for me. However, Emma fell silent on her own, realizing that she couldn't persuade me anyway.
Returning to the lair, I realized that I had been too hasty in my conclusions when I thought that the worst was behind us. There was a dead body lying at the doorstep of the house, and I recognized it as Carl. Someone had filled him with lead and hadn't even bothered to dispose of the body. My intuition told me it was Cynthia's doing. A search of the lair only confirmed my suspicions. Everything in the house was turned upside down, and Cynthia had disappeared without a trace.
Judging by Emma's thoughtful expression, she had no idea what had happened here. I, on the other hand, had a couple of rather grim assumptions, and to check them, I had to visit the Cloaca as soon as possible. When I announced this to Emma, she expressed a desire to accompany me.
"You'll stay here and wait for my return!" I stated categorically.
"No! I'll go with you!" Emma persisted.
"There's no discussion about it. I can negotiate with Bob, but only if I arrive in the Cloaca alone and without the suitcase. And as for your mother, you don't need to worry. If her body isn't nearby, it means she's alive and well."
"Well? How can she be well if—"
"I gave her the ulcer ointment," I abruptly interrupted the redhead.
"What? When? Where did you get it?" Emma bombarded me with questions.
"I stole it from Jeff. Before leaving, I ordered Cynthia to tidy up the house and move some things to the hideout in the shed. I deliberately left the ointment in the hiding place in plain sight, so she would find it immediately."
"Why didn't you tell me right away, you jerk?!" demanded an infuriated Emma.
"Then you wouldn't have gone with me to Purgatory," I honestly admitted.
"You bastard!" exclaimed Emma angrily and lunged at me with her fists.
Allowing the enraged girl to hit me several times in the chest, I intercepted her fist when she tried to strike my face.
"What's done is done. There's no point in freaking out now," I said reconcilingly, pushing Emma away.
"Of course, there is! It's because of you that my mother was left here alone! It's all your fault!"
"Enough with the tantrums!" I raised my voice.
Emma didn't say anything but continued to glare at me with hatred in her eyes.
"I'll meet with Bob and sort everything out. Your presence will only complicate things. Wait for me here and don't stray far from home. If anyone shows up, hide in the shed," I said much calmer.
Emma's gaze didn't become any warmer, but at least she listened to my words and didn't insist on visiting the Cloaca. I didn't dare entrust her with the suitcase, fearing that the red-haired girl's cockroach-like thoughts would convince her to get rid of it.
Riding the motorcycle, I headed to the Cloaca. Making a stop near the lake, I hid the suitcase I obtained in Purgatory in the bushes and then continued on foot. Apparently, they were eagerly waiting for my arrival in the Cloaca, as evidenced by the wide-open gates. Not only Bob greeted me, but all of his men too. Looking at their unfriendly faces, I knew they thirsted for my blood. Only Jeff looked at me with regret. The guards on the wall immediately rushed to close the gates, as if fearing that I might escape.
"Hey, guys. Why so gloomy?" I asked in a calm voice.
The guy standing next to Bob, with a dirty, blood-stained bandage on his right hand, asked Bob for permission to gut me. Bob didn't reply to that and stepped forward.
"Did you get the suitcase?" he inquired.
"I did."
"And where is it?"
"In a safe place."
The guy with the bandage drew a knife and confidently walked toward me, but Bob ordered him not to interfere. After that, he explained to me the essence of the conflict. In my absence, Carl persuaded two of his friends to search my lair, suspecting that they would find all the things I allegedly stole.
However, on their way to the house, they encountered some crazed woman who immediately opened fire on them. Carl was killed, the guy with the bandage got a wound in his hand, and the third one barely managed to knock out the hysterical woman. Turning everything upside down, they found the stolen items in my room and took them back to the Cloaca, also taking Cynthia with them. Thus, I was accused not only of theft but also of Carl's death.
I had my own version of events. Bob ordered Carl and his friends to visit my lair, wait for me to return from Purgatory, and set up an ambush. After killing me, the gang would return to the Cloaca and set up the scene to make it look like I attacked them. For greater credibility, they could mention the stolen items, giving me a motive for aggression. But everything went completely differently than planned. Bob's fabricated story about Carl's self-initiative was full of holes, but many believed it immediately. I was still alive only because I came to the Cloaca empty-handed.
"What did you do with Cynthia?" I inquired when Bob finished his tale.
"We slit her throat, but not before giving her a good fuck in every hole. You should have heard that bitch scream," Bob said with pride.
"The army is coming!" unexpectedly shouted a sentry on the wall with binoculars.
The thugs immediately scurried around.
"We'll talk later," Bob said, turning his gaze to someone standing behind me and nodding.
I spun around abruptly, and the last thing I saw before losing consciousness was the shotgun butt hitting my face.
I have no idea how much time had passed since I was knocked out, but when I came to, the battle for the Cloaca was coming to an end. The military had blown up the gates with grenade launchers and stormed the city. Dead bodies of Cloaca's defenders and a few soldiers lay around me. Far away, from the residential area, sporadic shots could still be heard, indicating that the locals were still putting up resistance.
Either Jack spilled the beans during interrogation, or the military had found the infamous bandit town on their own - it didn't matter anymore. I needed to get out of here, and fast. Trying to ignore the strong headache caused by the blow, I slowly got to my feet and looked toward the destroyed gates. There, I noticed a small column of Humvees and several machine gunners whose duty, as I assumed, was to shoot anyone attempting to leave the Cloaca. The throbbing in my head made it hard to concentrate, making finding a way out of this dire situation difficult.
Firstly, I dragged one of the dead soldiers aside and began to remove his clothes. Hearing a pitiful moan nearby, I noticed a wounded soldier leaning against the wall, and judging by his insignia, he was at least a sergeant. After changing into the uniform, I approached him and leaned down. The dying man barely asked for some water. Instead, I lifted him into my arms and carried him towards the gates. As soon as I stepped beyond the Cloaca's limits, a machine gunner fired a warning burst in front of me.
"Help! The sergeant is wounded!" I shouted randomly.
The shooting soldier scrutinized me carefully, then left his post and rushed towards me.
"Oh god! It's Sergeant Fargo!" he exclaimed, confirming that I guessed his rank correctly.
Without looking at my face, the soldier immediately took the wounded sergeant from me and ran to find medics. Taking advantage of the fact that the other fighters didn't pay attention to me, I quickly walked to the nearest Humvee. Luck was on my side - the door was unlocked, and the keys were in place.
When I started the engine and reversed, no one paid any attention to me. The Humvee only came under fire after I turned the car around 180 degrees and rushed away from the Cloaca. Glancing in the rearview mirror and not seeing any pursuit, I realized that the soldiers were forbidden from leaving their positions without proper orders. That gave me a good head start.
Once I reached my lair and got out of the car, Emma, who had come out of the shed, pointed her weapon at me.
"Calm down. It's just me," I said, quickly walking towards the house.
I didn't want to leave my lair forever, but there was no other way. After the destruction of the Cloaca and the news that someone took one of their jeeps, the army would comb the area, and they would inevitably come across my lair. It was strange that they hadn't noticed it much earlier. Any delay could cost me my life, and I had no plans to die anytime soon. But before running away, I had to take everything essential from the house. Emptying the cache in my room of all the supplies, I gathered them into a bundle and dragged it to the car, but Emma blocked my path on the stairs.
"What about my mother?" she asked.
"Get out of the way! Now is not the time..."
The red-haired girl pointed the revolver at me.
"Now is exactly the time," she said resolutely.
Emma was ready to pull the trigger if she didn't like my answer. I could clearly see it in her eyes. Perhaps, later on, she would regret it, but by that time, I wouldn't care anymore.
"I don't know. I didn't see her in the Cloaca," I said, telling her the plain truth.
"Then where is she?" Emma's determination turned into confusion.
"She probably fled after shooting Carl and was afraid to come back."
"Then we need to find her! Or at least wait!"
"We can't. The military razed the Cloaca, and they'll be here any minute. We need to get out of here before they finish us off."
"They won't attack us without reason!"
"Really? Did you forget about the Cleaners? Were they justified in shooting at us back then?"
My doubtful argument seemed to have an effect - Emma lowered her weapon. Together, we quickly loaded up the army jeep. But when it was time to leave the lair, the red-haired girl asked where we were going. That question didn't stump me, but it made me ponder.
"We'll figure it out on the way. Right now, it's much more important to get as far away from here as possible," I gave an evasive response.
"I've already decided. Do you have a knife?"
Emma's question surprised me a bit, but I still gave her the knife. Returning to the house, she started scratching something on the door. Stepping out of the car, I approached to read what she had written.
"'Queen of the Seas', what's that about?" I asked curiously.
"It's a place where we're going. If my mom returns and sees my message, she'll understand everything right away."
I didn't tell her that Cynthia probably would never return. On the other hand, Bob could have lied about her fate. You could expect something like that from such a scumbag. Either way, the message for Cynthia was left, and nothing was holding us here anymore.