EXTRACTION
1038 Words
The moment Camila slammed her car door shut, her phone buzzed again.
She didn’t even glance at the screen. She already knew.
Agent Caleb.
She sighed, one hand still resting on the wheel.
The club was still ringing in her bones—gunfire, smoke, blood under her nails.
She picked up the call.
“Agent Caleb,” she said wearily, already picturing her bed.
His voice came through sharp, firm, and urgent.
> “Agent Camila, we need you at the state office. Now.”
No hello. No briefing. Just an order.
She scoffed softly, running a hand over her face.
“Sir, I just wrapped up a bust,” she muttered. “Iron Face is in custody. His entire operation’s gone. I’ve got blood on my gear, my ribs feel cracked, and I haven’t slept in two days. Can this wait?”
Nothing. Not even a breath.
Then the voice again, firmer this time—almost a growl.
> “Agent Camila, I said we need you at the state office. Now.”
Her jaw tightened. She didn’t reply right away.
Just sat there gripping the wheel until her knuckles whitened.
No one ever asks how you’re doing. They just pull the trigger and expect you to reload.
She didn’t say that aloud. She just looked at the phone, eyes cold.
I swear, just a few more months and I’m retiring. I’ll disappear.
Let them find someone else to run into fire while they sit in boardrooms sipping coffee.
She cleared her throat. “Fine,” she said flatly. “But how exactly am I supposed to get to the state office tonight? It’s a five-hour drive. I’m not hauling my ass halfway across the country at midnight.”
For a second, silence. Then Caleb’s voice returned, smooth and unbothered.
> “You’re not driving. Go home. A helicopter’s en route. ETA: 30 minutes.”
Click.
The call ended.
Camila stared at the screen. “You’ve gotta be kidding me,” she muttered.
She threw the car into drive and peeled out of the empty lot, tires screeching across the pavement.
---
By the time she reached her neighborhood, the sky was thick with low-hanging clouds. Her headlights cut through the misty darkness as she pulled up to her driveway — and her heart sank.
They were already there.
Two men in tactical suits stood near her front door. Behind them, parked in the open field adjacent to her house, a black military-grade helicopter purred softly — rotors already spinning in slow, heavy rotations.
Camila killed the engine and sat in silence for a moment.
She rubbed her eyes and exhaled. “Damn,” she whispered. “They’re already here.”
She opened the door, slammed it shut harder than necessary, and headed toward her house.
One of the agents turned to her as she passed.
“Camila? Yo—what’s up?” he said. A familiar voice — someone she knew from training.
She didn’t answer. She didn’t look at him.
She shoved her hand in her pocket, yanked out her keys, and stormed past without a word.
The lock clicked. She pushed the door open and barged into her home.
She barely made it to the hallway when a voice called after her from outside.
> “Ma’am! You’ll need to pack your bags too. It’s gonna be a long one!”
She stopped. Didn’t even turn around. Just closed her eyes, clenched her jaw, and turned toward her bedroom.
---
The bedroom was dark, lit only by the city’s glow leaking through the blinds.
She dropped to her knees beside the dresser and pulled open the hidden drawer beneath it.
Inside were rows of weapons and gear — sleek, black, polished. Not for show.
She grabbed a tactical duffel from under the bed and began packing like a machine.
> “Glock… check.”
“Mags… check.”
“Throw knife… check.”
“Kevlar… check.”
“USBs… check.”
“Passport… check.”
Each item slammed into the bag like a countdown.
By the time she reached for her second blade, her phone rang again.
She paused. The screen lit up: Edna.
Her stomach dropped.
She answered instantly.
“Edna? What’s wrong?”
Her cousin’s voice was panicked, shaky. She was crying.
> “Camila… it’s mom. Her condition… it’s getting worse. She can’t breathe properly. Her eyes—Camila, we need to do something. We need help now.”
Camila closed her eyes, forcing the burning behind them to stay back.
> “Give her the phone,” she said quickly. “Now.”
She could hear fumbling. Coughing. Then… her mother’s voice, faint, dry, but still warm.
“Camila… baby… are you okay?”
Her throat tightened. “I’m fine, Mom. I’m fine.”
“You sound tired.”
“I’m always tired,” Camila said with a soft breath. “But listen to me. I’m working on something. Something big. I’m going to get you the treatment. The best there is. I swear to you — just hold on for me. Please. Just a little longer.”
There was silence. Then a weak chuckle.
“You always were the fighter, mija.”
Camila’s lips trembled, but before she could respond—her door creaked open.
She turned sharply.
One of the agents stepped inside, silent, composed. He didn’t say a word.
Just tapped his wristwatch and nodded once.
Time’s up.
Camila looked back at her phone. “I love you, Mom. I need to go.”
“I love y—”
She hung up.
The silence in the room slammed against her like a wave.
She zipped the bag, slung it over her shoulder, and brushed past the agent.
---
The rotors were louder now. The wind from them kicked up dirt as she approached the chopper.
She climbed in, flanked by three silent men in black. One of them slid the door shut behind her.
The cabin was dim, humming with engine noise and barely-there red lights.
She strapped in. No one spoke.
Outside the window, her house got smaller.
Then the chopper lifted off — cutting through the foggy night — and disappeared into the dark.
- Writer
