by Jeff Schanz
Brandt had, and he knew exactly how many: Seventeen. He remembered each face. Some were hazier because they were a part of a group firefight and the targets’ faces were far away. Half a dozen were killed that way. But the other eleven? He remembered each of those faces clearly. Some of them he had looked into their eyes as he killed them. Two of them he had tortured. Gutted them. Slit their throats and stared into their uncomprehending eyes as their life left them. All of it had been for his country, and most of it had been “kill or be killed.” None of them were innocent souls. All had deserved to die, but it was more than that. He had enjoyed killing those two in particular, and had the closest thing to a non-sexual orgasm as he dissected and destroyed them. In his opinion, they had deserved it. But in their opinion, he had deserved to die, instead. Evil was all perception, wasn’t it? To those men, Brandt was most definitely a monster. And to Brandt, they were. Anyone could be a monster to anyone else.
Twenty. He had almost forgotten the men he had killed just recently. The three men in the boats. Brandt had shoved a screwdriver in one man's throat and had blown up the other two with C4.
And yet, here he was worried about mythical monsters when he had already encountered real ones far more terrifying than anything with long teeth, and yet he had survived every real monster he had faced. If God “the puppeteer” was up there deciding who deserved to be alive and who didn’t, he was still interested in keeping Brandt in the game. Brandt had tried to wrench control from God. He had even offered his life to Davy Jones’ Locker and was rejected. He was betting with house money. When he finally did die, it would not be something he would decide. He just needed to enjoy the ride as long as he was allowed to stay on it.
So perhaps he wasn’t the monster, after all. Someone upstairs obviously didn’t think so. He had worth to God, even if it was just as a pawn for God’s amusement. And perhaps Brandt had worth to someone on earth, too. Someone who others might see as a monster. Truth was perception. Or is it the other way around?
So it ultimately came down to this question: Can he call a vampire a friend, or can he not? To trust, or not trust?
The question seemed simpler than before. Maybe clearing the air with Lia was enough. Maybe he was ready to make this incredible reality his new reality. It’s not like reality was going to care whether he believed in it or not. Just like God probably didn’t care if you believed in him or not, it only mattered if he believed in you.
Did you just make that up? It’s stupid.
He smiled. Yes, he was an asshole. A snarky, annoying, silly, and not wholly sane asshole, with some monumental baggage that he didn’t wish on anyone. But he was still alive. He remained in God’s game, despite everything, including his own misguided death wish.
He yawned, though he wasn’t interested in sleeping anymore. After days of being stuck in bed, he figured he could go a solid twenty-four hours without more sleep. But his brain was in charge and was telling him all the crazy mental athletics had worn him down. It was likely early morning by now, and the sun would come up in another couple of hours. He didn’t make any move to stand, but lifted his head and looked outside at the pebbled shoreline. The outer, windward wall was blocking half the waves. He watched the shivering tops of the sea sparkle with moonlight, tossing up a spray or two from their tumultuous dance. Like a fog was lifting, he noticed those things now. Wonderful, beautiful things.
Sometimes all we expect to see is doom, which is all we interpret from our surroundings. But upon a second look, what else can we see? Brandt had no home to go back to, but he was a welcome guest on a beautiful island. On that island was a sweet and attractive girl who seemed to enjoy his company. Although she had a – unique condition, she seemed sincere, friendly, and treated him well. And in truth, he enjoyed her company, if he could get past his mental prejudices.
And what good reason have you given her for being your friend? Why would she after the way you acted?
He still wasn’t ready to jump face-first into full trust with Lia, or her dad, since Brandt still hadn’t met him. And something told Brandt that the father was not going to be as easy to deal with as Lia. Plus, Lia may not consider Brandt to be all that trustworthy now that she had bared her soul and he had recoiled. There were still a lot of question marks in this little freaky threesome.
Brandt took a deep breath of heady, salted breeze and continued to watch the surf. He considered getting up and going to the waves' edge and just gaze at the incoming water, but his body was sore and his brain was toasted. Sitting on this rock was as much effort as he felt up to. He had just finished deciding that laziness wins most of those arguments when he saw something odd.
Something moved near the pebbled shore that wasn’t a wave. It was several feet taller than a wave. And white. It was the gleaming fiberglass hull of some kind of boat.
* * * *
Tobias swept his night vision binoculars left to right, examining every aspect of the little cove. It took a half an hour just to find somewhere to land the craft without having to give up, toss anchor, swim to the base of a cliff, then climb up with ropes. He was within five minutes of deciding to do it anyway when they found the little cove. It had several low sitting rocks near the shoreline, so he was concentrating on guiding the boat in without cracking the hull.
He heard a grinding scrape from the hull and jerked the wheel. The scrape continued for another second, then ceased. Another scrape noise. This one sounded like it may have caused damage. It was hard to tell. He wasn’t a seaman, and he could care less about the kind of vehicle needed to get to his target. Necessity chose it.
The sloop slowed and waffled in the shallow surf. They were about fifteen yards from shore. If they couldn't get any closer, it would only be water up to their chest, he'd guess. He made a quick decision and tossed the anchor. The little sailboat jerked against its line and held fast, wriggling like a flag on a pole.
Tobias nodded at the men, who looked displeased but obeyed. No words were spoken. They slipped into the water with minimal splashing and Tobias followed. Once on shore, they took positions. When Tobias had scoped the beach with his binoculars, he had seen no movement other than seabirds. The targets had not been in view and still weren't. He didn't expect them to be, but he had been surprised before, recently. Dekker had put an end to Tobias underestimating his targets.
He snapped the button on his communicator and said to the boat waiting offshore. “We’re on the island. Stand by for next contact within three hours.”
The volume was on the lowest setting and the voice on the other end could barely be heard replying, “Copy.”
Ahead of the men was a steep incline that looked scalable, but had a lot of loose rock and sand. They might need the grappling hooks and rope after all. There was a cave on the left, the interior of which was too dark to see. The sea flowed into it but seemed to slow near a bend. Likely, the cave ended there, or had some kind of shallow area that dampened the tide. Either way, it was nothing Tobias was concerned with, and wasn’t on his list of things that required immediate investigation. The house on this island was his first destination, so he focused on the incline ahead.
He walked forward, intent on trying what seemed to be the easiest path before calling for the climbing gear to be brought out. Each of them had small backpacks of items like rations, C4, ammunition, etc, tightly packed so they wouldn’t rattle when moving. The heavy climbing gear was still in the black duffles in the boat. He was about to start up the slope when he heard something.
The din of the waves and seabird squawking was enough to drown out most other ambient noises, but this was different. It was a scraping of something solid and soft against rock, followed by a heavy plunk into water like someone's foot slipped. The elixir had made his hearing exceptional, as well as the rest of his body, and he enjoyed utilizing his new ability. He stopped and held up a hand to his men. His fingers flicked left and right as a signal to find cover in opposite directions, which they did w
ithout hesitation.
The sound had come from the cave. Tobias ducked low and brought out the binoculars again. They were aimed into the darkness as he slowly pivoted on the balls of his feet to scan the whole interior. He saw nothing except the ripples of a water disturbance that was moving against the direction of the sea tide. The disturbance originated from the boulders that lined the cave walls.
I was right. Something had slipped in the water there. It could have been a sea lion since they were very common in this area, and he had seen several on the other side of the island. It was far more likely to have been a sea lion than one of their targets, or anyone else hanging around at 4 am. No one knew they were coming. Even if there was a sentry, no one would be stupid enough to post them inside a cave. Any sentry would be much higher up on the top surface where you could see things coming for miles. The disturbance was probably a sea lion, but he’d check to be sure.
He gave hand signals to the two men to sit tight and wait for him to check out the cave. Shouldn’t take long. Especially if it was a sea lion, he’d see the animal’s head pushing through the surface on its way out.
He stayed low and waded into the cave inlet.
* * * *
Brandt stayed low, crouching behind one of the larger rocks. The rusty harpoon was held close to the water’s surface so it wouldn’t stick up and be a suspicious silhouette in the dim light. He didn’t want to engage anyone if he could help it. By the glance he got before he found the hiding spot, all three men had automatic rifles.
The unknown man was very dark-skinned, and with his matte black clothes, no light reflected off of him at all. He looked like a wraith. The man waded through the shallow edge of the water, which was hard going since there was no even ground underneath. That was to Brandt’s advantage. The man would be distracted and off-balance trying to find his footing as he approached. If Brandt needed to, he would definitely have the upper hand to draw first blood. But if he stayed quiet, he may not have to. The man was about five yards away and had slowed down. He was no doubt investigating the sound Brandt made when his foot slipped off a wet rock and plunged into the water. Brandt cursed himself for the misstep.
The wraith-like man stood for a moment. Sniffing? Listening? Brandt couldn’t be sure, but the man had gone still except for a subtle movement of his head. Brandt thought the guy would eventually turn back around, finding nothing. Brandt had been motionless. He knew how to be as inanimate as a corpse. He waited to see what the guy did.
The man took a step closer. Two steps. Three. Four. He was almost on top of Brandt before he froze again. Brandt gripped the harpoon, ready. If the man took one more step, he’d be close enough to spear. The man paused and did his listening/sniffing thing again. Brandt was ice sculpture still. He held his breath.
Brandt heard something he was hoping not to. He heard the clink and shoosh sounds that were telltale of a rifle being lifted to a shoulder. Brandt had heard it too many times up close not to recognize it. There was no doubt that the man was alerted now.
Brandt’s made his decision before the gun could reach the man’s shoulder. The harpoon came forward and led the leap toward the dark silhouetted man.
Despite the surprise, the man was extremely quick. He got enough of his shoulder and gun on the harpoon’s handle to deflect it wide. Brandt’s charge was all or nothing and it took him off balance with the deflected harpoon. The guy twisted and ducked, sloshing in the water to his right and then fully raised his rifle to his shoulder. If he had fired at that moment, he would’ve hit Brandt and the fight would have been over quickly. But the dark soldier did what most soldiers would do in that situation, and took the extra second to shout some kind of alarm to his team. One second to shift his head and bark out something, and then refocus down the barrel at Brandt’s head.
But one second was too long. Brandt’s head wasn’t in the gun’s sight anymore. Brandt had used his own momentum to twist and spin with the harpoon, swinging it around like a left-handed baseball bat. It caught the black soldier in the temple just as his finger pressed the trigger. The shot went wild. The man stumbled and clutched his head. Too late, he thought to dive down into the water and reduce his available target area. Brandt never hesitated and drew the harpoon back, thrusting it with all his strength into the man’s neck.
The harpoon penetrated all the way past its metal point to the wooden handle. Brandt yanked the harpoon back, expecting to pull the stricken man over, but the man struck out with his arm and snapped the harpoon’s handle off where it met the metal hook. Holy crap! Despite that amazing show of strength, the man was not steady on his feet. After all, there was a barbed harpoon sticking out of his neck. Brandt took the opportunity to swing the broken wooden handle at the man’s head again, hoping to crack the guy’s skull. Mr. Wraith fell forward like a toppled statue, splashing heavily into the water.
A bullet ricocheted off a rock near Brandt. Assumedly, Mr. Wraith’s team heard the shot and/or the spoken alarm. Brandt dove into the water and struck out for the boulder where he had hidden earlier. At first, that seemed like a good idea, but once he got there he cursed at himself for his poor decision. He had no weapon at all now. The harpoon was broken and was at best a heavy stick. There was a rifle underwater in the hands of the sunken dead man, so perhaps Brandt could dive down and feel around for it. It looked like a kind of standard AK-47, which would fire just fine even a little wet. The rounds were watertight, so the powder would be dry. A few more shots hit the rocks and walls, but nothing could get to Brandt until the two other guys found a better angle by wading into the cave, which they would do eventually. And Brandt had nothing to hold them back. He was cornered.
The secret back door? The sinkhole that led to the upper surface could be an escape route, true enough. But it was a long way to get there, either swimming or climbing and hopping over rocks along the wall. It would take several minutes to get there at top pace if there was light to see where he was going. As it was, double that time in the near dark. And if either of the gunmen waded in closer like he expected them to, they would be in range to put him dead in their sights far before he could reach that secret sinkhole.
Brandt had two choices: Book it for the back door and hope for the best, or dive forward where the harpooned guy fell and search for the rifle, and hope it wasn’t too deep to find.
Both choices were near suicidal, but his life and death weren't going to be decided by him. Whoever was pulling the marionette strings up there was either going to kill him or give him a stroke of luck regardless of the choice Brandt made. He turned to head to the back exit hole.
Brandt heard splashing feet and someone’s body pushing through water. Damn it! At least one of the guys was in pursuit. It was sound strategy. Their target was either escaping or trying to get to some unknown arsenal. Either way, immediate pursuit would take away Brandt’s chances of reaching it. There was no way Brandt could get to the exit hole before the guy had a clear shot.
Sometimes there is a devil or spirit that lives in men when they are faced with a life or death decision, and once that decision is made, a switch is thrown and you simply act as the spirit directs until the deed is done, or you get killed. It’s like watching yourself from inside your own body, but your body isn’t yours anymore. An exoskeleton in your control. Brandt acted, and the spirit inside him took over until it was done.
He dove back to where the black man had fallen. It was deeper than expected. His feet probably stuck above the surface, and certainly the approaching enemy would shoot at them, but moving feet are poor targets. Brandt could see nothing, so he closed his eyes from the salt sting. He waved his hands around and bumped up against the body, but found no rifle. The man must’ve had the strap off when he held it to fire. Brandt’s breath was halfway gone and he grasped a rock edge, trying to hold himself under. He rotated his arm in a circle and turned his body, hoping to nudge against something metal. No luck.
Brandt was out of air. Flipping
around, he planted his feet on the same rock he had used to hold himself under, still holding the harpoon handle tight in his grip. As he rocketed to the surface, bullets went whizzing past his head, splintering chips off of a rock behind him. He would’ve laughed at his next move if he had time to think about it, but he didn’t. Rearing back, he flung the harpoon handle like it was an ax. The tumbling missile actually hit the gunmen, although it had no real ability to damage him. But the heavy wood handle smacked the man on the side of the head and made him stagger and turn to figure out what the hell just happened. It was very dark in the cave and the guy probably never even saw the flying stick.
Brandt accepted the bit of luck and dove back down where the black soldier fell. A thought occurred to him while he was throwing the harpoon handle, and wasted no time confirming the idea. He found the harpooned guy again a little deeper than before and Brandt dug at his belt. What he was looking for was there, what most soldiers carried: A backup handgun. Brandt plucked at the flap and tugged the gun free of the holster.
When Brandt surfaced again, he was fumbling for a safety catch, found it, and was aiming the pistol where he expected the gunman to be. The gunman surprised Brandt a little by backing quickly out of the cave, and when Brandt fired, it was behind the guy. By the time Brandt could re-sight, the guy was around the outer edge of the cave and behind cover.
Shit! And they heard him fire, so they knew he had a gun now. Brandt took a step closer to the cave mouth and the other assailant that hadn’t come into the cave fired from somewhere. Brandt ducked back into the water and made it back to his safety rock.
The two soldiers were being smart. They knew Brandt was in there by himself, and they now knew his only weapon options were what he picked up from the dead guy. And if Brandt had an exit, he’d have already used it. Or so they would think. Brandt wasn’t sure if he should immediately try again for the back hole, or make the guys retreat further before he tried it. He didn’t want to waste any ammo on suppressing fire just to keep their heads down. And if he tried to swim back out and find the dead guy’s rifle, he’d be an open target again.
