Forty Acres: A Thriller

by Dwayne Alexander Smith

  “I said hurry up, not take inventory,” Jamel said to Martin.

  Martin stripped down to his shirt and briefs and began to slip into the rafting gear. Damon, meanwhile, with nothing to do but observe, took a seat on the Rover’s rear bumper. The tailgate door was still open. As Martin completed suiting up, he caught Damon doing something peculiar. When the guards weren’t watching, Damon glanced over at the second black duffel bag that was still in the Rover’s cargo area. This wasn’t merely a glance of passing curiosity; this was an intense laser beam of a stare. And Martin noticed something else about Damon’s gaze. His eyes held that fearful spark that Martin had seen earlier, when Damon had first climbed into the Land Rover.

  When Damon turned back to face Martin, he wasn’t really looking at Martin at all. He was staring uneasily at the rafting gear that Martin now wore, as if the garment possessed some sort of malevolent quality.

  Suddenly, Martin understood.

  Damon Darrell was worried that Martin Grey wouldn’t be the only victim of an unfortunate drowning that day. Damon was worried that the second black duffel bag in the Rover was for him. He was the one who vouched for Martin and brought him to Forty Acres. Even if Damon and Martin weren’t in collusion, Damon was still responsible for putting Dr. Kasim’s fiefdom in jeopardy. It made perfect sense that the punishment for such a transgression would be more severe than just a ride-along in the woods.

  Damon was scared.

  Martin realized that Damon’s drive for self-preservation could smother his anger and turn Damon into the ally he desperately needed. Working together, they’d have a far better chance of escaping. But could Martin really win Damon over to his side? If Martin played it wrong, and Damon betrayed him, any chance of escape would be blown. Still, Martin had to try. Damon was smart and had keen instincts. He had to see the writing on the wall. And there was also their friendship. Seeing tears in Damon’s eyes earlier on the porch had surprised Martin. Despite everything that had happened, Martin now knew that, before Forty Acres, he and Damon had formed a genuine bond. Maybe, just maybe, that would make all the difference.

  While he pretended to make final adjustments to his outfit, Martin caught Damon’s eye. He held Damon with a hard, steady stare, overtly shifted his gaze to the remaining duffel bag, then returned his stare to Damon again. This was a silent statement that he hoped could only be interpreted one way: You’re next.

  Martin held his breath.

  Damon displayed no reaction at first; he just stared back at Martin for a few tense seconds. Then he stood up, took a few slow steps forward, and squared off with Martin. He frowned in Martin’s face and shook his head with utter contempt. “Good try, asshole,” he said.

  “What was that?” Oscar asked, stepping suddenly from the woods into the clearing. The sharp words had also drawn the attention of the two guards. All eyes were on Damon, waiting for an answer.

  Oscar’s eyes shifted between the two lawyers before settling on Damon. “Well, apparently I missed something. What was it?”

  Martin tensed, expecting Damon to give him up, but Damon only shook his head. “It was nothing,” he said. Then, in an effort to change the subject, Damon asked Oscar about his brief disappearance.

  Oscar clearly wasn’t convinced by Damon’s sidestepping, but whatever had occurred between the two men didn’t seem important enough to waste time on. “I just went to pick the best spot,” he explained to Damon. “Better than all five of us wandering along the river.”

  Oscar gave Martin’s attire a quick perusal. He nodded with approval. “Good job, Mr. Grey.”

  “Please make sure Dr. Kasim knows that,” Martin replied. “He made me a promise.”

  Oscar did not acknowledge Martin’s plea. He grabbed the second duffel bag from the back of the Rover, shut the tailgate, and said to the guards, “Bring him and follow me.”

  As Oscar moved to the head of the group, Martin caught Damon staring at that duffel bag. Deciding to risk it again, Martin flashed Damon another alarmed look.

  Damon rejected Martin’s warning with a scowl, but as the group set off for the river, Damon hung back.

  “Hey, Oscar, hold on,” Damon said. “I think I’m going to stay here with the truck.”

  Oscar turned and leveled a disapproving stare.

  “I know what the doctor wants,” Damon said, “but I just don’t have the stomach for this. I’ll explain it to him when we get back.”

  Damon’s excuse had zero effect on Oscar’s cool stare. “Mr. Darrell,” he said, “you have no idea what Dr. Kasim wants. If you refuse to follow the doctor’s instructions, you will never be welcome at Forty Acres again.”

  “What?” Damon said. “I can’t believe the doctor would say that.”

  “Believe what you want, Mr. Darrell. Are you coming or not?”

  Damon floundered indecisively; then his eyes dropped to the duffel bag in Oscar’s grip. He pointed at it. “Tell me something—what’s in that bag?”

  Oscar shook his head wearily. Finally he sighed and said, “I see you’ve made your decision. How unfortunate. Very well, wait here until we return.”

  There was a fleeting instant of eye contact between Martin and Damon, then one of the guards nudged Martin forward. “Let’s go. Move.” Flanked by the two guards, Martin began to trail after Oscar toward the river.

  Damon, his face a mask of confusion, watched the departing group like a man balanced on a precipice. Should he take a chance and leap forward or make the safer choice and stay back?

  “Shit!” Damon cursed at the universe, then he hurried to catch up with Oscar and the group.

  CHAPTER 81

  Martin stood at the edge of a steep embankment staring thirty feet down at the rushing river below. The roar of the green water surging around jutting boulders and rock outcroppings was thunderous. The crashing rapids threw off a ceaseless spray that coated Martin’s face. Although he shed no tears, the moisture on his cheeks made him feel as if he were crying.

  Martin’s plan would not work.

  Oscar had picked the perfect spot to prevent escape. If Martin tried to leap into the river from where he stood, he’d fall to a crushing death on the rocks below.

  Out of options, Martin knew he was about to die.

  Oscar and Damon stood facing Martin, the duffel bag resting on the damp ground between them. The two guards, Jamel and Russell, stood directly behind him.

  Oscar brushed away beads of moisture from his face and raised his voice above the roaring river. “You need to say anything?”

  Martin didn’t reply. He just looked for Damon’s eyes. Damon dropped his gaze, whether from shame or from malice, Martin wasn’t sure.

  A stone slightly bigger than a softball lay in the mud nearby. There were no similar stones in the area, so Martin guessed that Oscar, during his disappearance earlier, had placed it there in preparation for this moment.

  Oscar pointed to the stone and said to Jamel, “If you don’t mind.”

  Jamel hoisted the stone. It was heavy, but just small enough for the muscular guard to palm with one hand.

  Martin tensed as Jamel raised the stone and took a step in his direction.

  “No,” Oscar said. “Give the stone to Mr. Darrell.”

  “What?” Damon stared at Oscar like he was out of his mind.

  Oscar deflected Damon’s outrage with an unflappable stare. “Please take the stone and use it to crush Mr. Grey’s skull. Dr. Kasim wants you to prove your loyalty.”

  “Prove my loyalty?”

  “You vouched for the traitor. Certainly, you can understand how that makes you suspect as well.”

  “No, I don’t understand,” Damon said, “and I’m not doing it. No fucking way! I’m going back to the truck.”

  Damon turned to walk away. Oscar shot Russell a look. The guard pulled his gun, cocked the slide, and raised the weapon to fire. The sound of the chambering weapon was enough to freeze Damon in his tracks.

  As Damon pivoted back toward Osc
ar, he glanced at Martin; the brief eye contact seemed to finally break through Damon’s wall of anger. Martin saw a glimpse of his old friend . . . and a flash of regret.

  Damon fixed a knowing glare on Oscar, pointed to the black duffel bag. “That’s for me, isn’t it?”

  Oscar sighed. He almost appeared bored by Damon’s resistance. “Just do what the doctor asks, Mr. Darrell. You’ll save everyone a lot of trouble, and most importantly, you’ll save yourself.” Oscar signaled Jamel, who stepped forward and held the murder weapon out to Damon.

  Watching as Damon stared at the stone, Martin saw something that drained away his last drop of hope. He saw Damon’s face hardening. He saw fear and reluctance and that flash of regret giving way to steely resolve.

  “Be smart,” Oscar urged Damon. “Take it.”

  Martin saw Damon’s chest inflate with forced courage. Then Damon reached out with both hands and took hold of the stone.

  Oscar nodded ever so slightly. “Good. Now, one hard strike across the skull, that’s all. Then you’ll be done.”

  Damon looked at Martin. His face was void of emotion.

  Martin realized that the individual facing him was no longer the Damon Darrell he knew; he was a desperate man forced into a corner. He was a killer.

  Raising the heavy stone, Damon began to step toward Martin. Martin backpedaled, his heart hammering. He froze when he felt the edge of the embankment underfoot.

  Within striking distance and holding the stone high overhead, Damon said, “Turn around.”

  Martin, stiff with fear, shook his head. “No,” he said. His defiant eyes burned into Damon. “You do this, you do it to my face.”

  What happened next had the brief effect of short-circuiting Martin’s mind. Damon smiled at him. His murderous stare was gone, and he was flashing that devilish smile of his. “I screwed up,” he whispered, and before Martin could get a word out, he shouted, “Run!”

  Damon whirled and slammed the stone into Russell’s temple. The guard’s skull bloomed blood and he went down in a heap, gun toppling from his limp hand. Damon whipped back around and charged Jamel. The rock smashed into his nose before the guard could free his weapon from its holster.

  “Go, go, go!” Damon screamed at Martin as he spun in Oscar’s direction.

  Oscar already had his gun out. Martin watched in horror as the overseer pumped round after round into the charging Damon. But momentum still carried Damon forward far enough to send him hurtling headlong into Oscar. Both men went crashing to the ground in a tangle. The sight of Oscar shoving aside Damon’s limp, bloody body while taking aim snapped Martin into action.

  Gunshots rang out as Martin bolted through the woods in the direction of the Land Rover. He crashed through bushes, dodged trees, and leapt fallen logs as bullets whizzed past his head. Directly ahead he could see the vehicle peeking through the thicket. Just a few more feet and he’d be there. Another volley of concussive gunfire cracked the air. Chunks of tree bark exploded around him. Martin pounded forward even faster, clawing desperately through the brush, a single terrifying question suddenly pushing aside all other fears.

  Will the keys be in the truck?

  Martin burst from the tree line into the small clearing. Three steps, and he was yanking open the Rover’s door. He flung himself into the driver’s seat and groped for the keys in the ignition. His heart thudded when his hand grabbed nothing but air.

  Outside Martin saw Oscar break into the clearing, raise his gun, and fire. There was an explosion of glass as bullets obliterated the windshield. Martin ducked and spotted the keys in the center armrest tray. Keeping low, he grabbed them, cranked the Rover to life, and stomped the gas. The Rover’s four-wheel drive power train found its footing instantly. The vehicle launched forward. Martin sprang up behind the steering wheel in time to see Oscar dodge clear of the barreling truck.

  Martin veered hard to avoid a massive tree and suddenly he was careening forward through the dense woods. He yanked the steering wheel left and right, slaloming through nature’s obstacle course. The rear window spiderwebbed and spit glass. A side window blew inward. To the vehicle’s rear, Martin heard the rapid report of pursuing gunfire. In the side mirror he caught a glimpse of Oscar giving chase. The overseer was running all out and firing at the same time. Martin kept his head low and his foot firmly on the accelerator. Another glance at the side mirror revealed that Oscar had finally given up. Martin saw Oscar’s diminishing figure just standing there, weapon useless at his side, watching the vehicle speed away.

  Martin had escaped.

  Seized by a light-headed rush of relief, Martin felt an urge to brake the vehicle and give his heart a moment to settle down, but there was no time for that. Martin also wished that he could go back and help Damon, but the famous lawyer had been shot multiple times in the midsection. Even if Damon were still alive, without immediate help, he wouldn’t last very long. Damon had given his life for him.

  Damon’s crime was unforgivable, but if Martin made it back, he’d make sure that Damon’s sacrifice was not forgotten.

  Charged with determination, Martin continued to drive fast and hard over the rough terrain, pushing the Land Rover to its mechanical limits. Martin’s entire focus was now on one thing and one thing only. Something even more important to him than getting back alive.

  He had to get to a phone so he could save Anna’s life.

  CHAPTER 82

  The sky was so blue, so perfectly blue.

  Damon, in all his years, had never seen a sky so perfect. It was like an ocean hovering in the air, only there were no waves, just perfect blue. He wondered if Juanita could see the same sky. He wondered if Juanita would hate him or forgive him, when she found out what he had done. He wondered why it was taking him so long to die.

  Damon had never felt pain like the pain he felt at that moment. He didn’t hurt in one spot; he hurt all over, as if every nerve in his body were a slowly smoldering ember. The pain was constant, but it wasn’t unbearable; in fact, he could feel the pain waning with each passing second. His strength was fading as well. He felt a slow yet steady withering of consciousness, as if his soul were circling a drain.

  The perfect blue was becoming darker also, heaven’s light dimming faster and faster.

  Damon blinked and suddenly the perfect blue sky was replaced by a face. There was a cold, unsympathetic face glaring down at him.

  It was Oscar’s face. Oscar was kneeling over him.

  “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” Oscar asked.

  Damon opened his mouth to reply and he gurgled up a bitter coppery fluid. Blood. He coughed and tried to speak again. “Let him go,” Damon rasped. “Let it end.”

  Damon saw Oscar’s eyes narrow to angry slits. He saw the gun rise into view, then he felt the cold muzzle pressed against his forehead.

  “Go to hell,” Oscar said.

  Damon saw Oscar’s finger squeeze the trigger. Then the universe exploded.

  * * *

  Oscar rose from Damon’s corpse, gun still smoking in his hand. He watched Jamel and Russell writhing in the dirt while clutching their wounds. “My face,” Jamel moaned over and over. “My face. My face . . .”

  Oscar walked over and put a bullet in Jamel’s head first. When he turned to approach Russell, the terrified guard was kicking and clawing in the dirt, attempting to drag himself away. “Please,” Russell pleaded. “I can make it back. I can.”

  Oscar stepped over Russell and took careful aim. “Sorry, but there’s nothing to make it back to.”

  The bullet struck Russell between the eyes.

  Oscar gave the three corpses a final look. Satisfied that they were all dead, he holstered his weapon and set off into the woods.

  Oscar walked briskly and with focus. He needed to get back to the compound as quickly as possible. Mr. Grey’s escape meant that life for everyone associated with Forty Acres was about to undergo a tectonic shift. There were emergency protocols, evacuation plans, and cover-up pro
cedures that needed to get under way. There were also a lot of people who needed to be silenced. Not only those at the compound but also the dozens of minor support personnel located all over the country.

  Oscar picked up the pace. There was so much to do.

  CHAPTER 83

  Coiled with tension, Martin wrung the steering wheel as he guided the Land Rover across the rapids. It was one thing to be a passenger during a river crossing, another to be in the driver’s seat wrestling the vehicle for control. The closest that Martin had ever come to similar driving conditions was creeping through a flooded Manhattan intersection in his Volvo. That was nerve-racking enough. Grinding across an angry river in the middle of nowhere with so much at stake felt literally heart-stopping.

  The Rover had reached the deepest part of the waterway. The charging water relentlessly slammed the right side of the truck, forcing Martin to make constant steering corrections while stomping rapidly back and forth on the brake and gas pedals. Martin’s determination and the 4x4’s stubborn torque combined to finally deliver him to the opposite shore. As Martin pushed the Land Rover forward into the wilderness before him, he glanced back at the churning water in his wake. The toughest part of the journey was over, he hoped. Now all he had to do was get to the highway.

  Martin estimated that it would take Oscar about two hours to hike back to Forty Acres. That’s how much time he had to reach that old forest highway indicated on Dr. Kasim’s map, flag down a passing vehicle, borrow a cell phone, and call Anna to warn her to seek police protection immediately.

  Martin recalled the spatial relationship on the map between the river, the ranger station, and the old highway. Starting from the river, if it took ten minutes to reach the station, it should take approximately twenty-five minutes to reach the highway. That should be plenty of time to save Anna’s life. But there was still one troubling unknown.