That Time in Rio

a bad haircut, and he lowered the gun a little.
“Anything?” another man spoke from the house.
The first man straightened a little and kicked at the grass. He swept his gaze around the perimeter of the property, then spat. “Nah. Must’ve been an animal.” He turned back toward the house, and that was when Megan’s third rock clocked him in the back of the head like a baseball.
The man dropped to his knees, and the pistol slipped out of his hand as he reached for his head. Before he could touch it, a fourth rock struck him almost exactly where the third one had, and he collapsed without a sound.
The second man muttered a curse and barreled out of the house, holding a rifle into his shoulder. Wolfgang sprang into action, leaping off the deck and swinging from the outside with the golf club as if it were a baseball bat. He clobbered the man in the back of his head, the iron landing with a sickening thunk that reminded Wolfgang of watermelons dropping on concrete. The man went down without a sound, but then Wolfgang heard footsteps on the deck behind him.
He didn’t bother to turn, knowing he’d never have time to raise the club before he was gunned him down. Instead, he dropped straight to the ground, ducking and rolling onto his back as bullets passed overhead.
A third man appeared from the house, his handgun spitting fire like a miniature dragon. As Wolfgang hit the dirt, the man ground to a halt, then lowered his aim.
Wolfgang was quicker, swinging the club with all the force he could muster while lying on his back. The club struck the man in the left knee with a sound like cracking ice. The man screamed but stumbled backward instead of falling. He raised the gun again, and Wolfgang rolled to the side as the next shot blasted toward him. Megan rocketed out of the shadows, body-slamming the man with the full force of her petite frame.
Wolfgang scrambled to his feet, abandoning the golf club and slinging himself into the tangled mass of arms and legs that writhed in front of the house. Megan screamed, and Wolfgang saw red as he landed between them, striking out with both arms.
The pistol was lost somewhere in the melee. Wolfgang delivered two punches to the man’s nose and heard the satisfying sound of bone and cartilage crunching on the second blow. He rolled on top of his opponent and locked both knees around the man’s ribcage, then rained blows down on his skull, driving him into the mud as blood covered his knuckles. The man was beat after the fourth or fifth blow, lying limp in the mud.
Megan grabbed Wolfgang by the upper arm and hauled him backward. “That’s enough, Wolf. Let’s find the girl!”
Climbing to his feet, Wolfgang scooped up the pistol and then stared at the unconscious bodies splayed over the mud. After hesitating to make sure none of the men would rise, he followed Megan into the house.
The shack consisted of three small rooms. The first was a combination of a kitchen and a living room, with a dilapidated couch on one side and a battered card table on the other. Empty fast-food packages, beer boxes, and dirty cooking paraphernalia lay everywhere, along with a couple laptop computers and a TV. Beyond the main living area were doors that led to what Wolfgang assumed must be bedrooms. A door on the left was open, and a quick sweep by Megan confirmed that the room contained nothing except a couple cots and an assortment of dirty clothes. A second door was shut and padlocked from the outside, and though there was no light coming from the room, the dust on the floor outside was scuffed with obvious traces of in-and-out traffic.
Before Wolfgang could comment, Megan raced outside, returning a moment later with a padlock key.
She motioned to the pistol Wolfgang still held. “There could be another man inside.”
Wolfgang raised the weapon, wrapping his finger around the trigger. His heart pounded from the fight and the impending uncertainty of what lay inside the room. Megan slid next to the door and inserted the key into the lock, which opened without resistance. She lifted it out and then placed one hand on the doorknob.
Wolfgang nodded, and Megan threw open the door, flipping the switch next to it. Light flooded the room as Wolfgang barreled inside, leading with the gun. Megan followed just behind, brandishing the first man’s pistol and ducking low.
Nothing could have prepared Wolfgang for what he saw. The room was small, and smelled stale. A teenage girl huddled in the corner, wearing nothing but underwear while she curled into a ball with her hands shielding her head. Her exposed skin was lacerated and bruised, and a heavy, rusted chain encircled her stomach, binding her to a ring in the wall. She sat in a puddle of what Wolfgang could only conclude to be her own urine.
“My god!” Megan dropped the pistol and rushed over, heedless of the mess.
The girl recoiled, exposing more injuries on her stomach and thighs, and though tangled hair obscured her face, Wolfgang thought the bruises extended to her cheeks, also.
Inhuman rage seeped into his blood as he lowered the pistol, but he didn’t rush forward. The girl was terrified enough and didn’t need too many people crowding around her.
“Rose?” Megan said.
The girl recoiled into the corner.
“My name is Megan.” She kept her voice soft and put a gentle hand on Rose’s arm. The girl flinched, and Megan kept talking. “Your father sent us. We’re here to take you home.”
With strained and bloodshot brown eyes, the girl looked from Megan to Wolfgang.
Wolfgang shoved the gun into his pocket and walked out of the room. It took only a moment of digging through the laundry pile to find her clothes. They were soiled, but she had to wear something. When he returned with the clothes, Megan had already unlocked the chain and unwound