by Matt Hilton
The SUV at roadside also lurched forward, the driver intent on pursuit. But then those on foot waved and hollered, and it slowed until the three of them could dive inside. Meanwhile, the SUV reversing out of the hotel grounds missed clipping the Ford by inches. The driver made a hurried correction, getting the SUV lined up to give chase. By the time the car was under control, Rink was already fifty yards away and the distance lengthening every second.
Not all that’d entered the hotel to spring the trap had made it back to the vehicles — one man was dead from my bullet in his chest, and another’s head was crushed by Rink. If the two men that’d chased Rink with the woman were the same two he’d earlier shot at upstairs, there was still another missing. Stephen Vincent hadn’t shown his face yet. Possibly he had decided against following us into the parking lot, and had retreated to the other car, but I doubted he’d had time before it reversed wildly. He was probably still inside, but more likely creeping after us. Unlike the others, he might have realised the possibility that Rink was leading his team off on a wild goose chase.
As soon as we fled the stairwell, Rink had announced his intention to cause a distraction, and I hadn’t objected. The key target was Sue, so she was the one that needed protecting. We jogged to the Ford together, where Rink only paused long enough to shrug out of my backpack and throw it to me. I jammed one of the liberated pistols inside it — the one I’d originally pushed down the back of my pants — but it still left me with two guns to hand. Sue still had hers but I’d no way of knowing how much ammunition she’d spent in the gun battle upstairs. Rink had the pistol he’d liberated from the man whose skull he’d crushed. We were good to go. ‘Hey! Saint Joe. See ya down the road apiece,’ he announced and clambered in the car.
Sue spotted the woman I’d crowned with my pistol. Those weren’t the actions of any kind of saint she was aware of. I didn’t make her any wiser, for fear of being overheard.
‘C’mon,’ I told her, ‘before she fully comes round.’
Already the woman was surfacing from unconsciousness, twitching and groaning, but she was still out of it and hadn’t a clue we were nearby.
‘She’s going to live?’
‘For now.’
With her standing on my knee, I bunked Sue over the perimeter wall, and then scrambled up and over it onto the beaten path of sand. There we crouched, listening as Rink started the Ford and began a tire-squealing drive towards the exit ramp. The noise must have woken the woman, because next we heard her exclaim, and two men emerging from the fire exit replied. Their voices began to recede as they pursued the Ford. I raised my head over the parapet and watched the ensuing action, even spotting the reversing SUV through gaps in the farthest support stanchions. From our hunkered position on the path, we could see the ensuing action playing out at roadside. Rink’s distraction was working, so I urged Sue to move. We went through the gate I’d used earlier and scrambled through the vacant lot, keeping the waste containers between the hotel and us as best we could. Climbing over the buckled fence wasn’t as simple as it had been for me earlier, but we made it, although I left behind a patch of cloth when the wire snagged in my clothing and had to be ripped loose. I didn’t worry about it being a flag for our pursuers because our escape route would become apparent to them.
I directed Sue around the back of the tilting house, and paused there for a second to assess. By chance I caught a flicker of movement between two of the containers, and I raised my SIG.
A succession of bright flashes had me ducking for my life. Two bullets whined overhead, a third struck the wall of the nearby house, punching a dime-sized hole in the wood. I returned fire, but my bullets were more a threat than a danger to our hunter, as he’d already gone to ground behind one of the containers. I backed up after Sue, searching for any sign of movement. I made it around the side of the house, alive and well, and more determined than ever that Arrowsake’s minions weren’t going to get their claws on Sue. We raced together under the dangerously tilting walls of the house and into the front yard. From there I could see the diminishing taillights of the SUVs in pursuit of Rink, but made a silent bet that one or more of the cars would be summoned back by our pursuer. The house blocked our views, but we could easily judge our respective positions. I expected the gunman to race directly across the vacant lot to get back to the road and stall us until reinforcements could arrive. We’d no time to spare.
‘Get in.’ I juggled my SIG so I could dig my car keys from my pocket. I unlocked the doors, cringing slightly at the corresponding bleep and flashing lights.
She headed for the front passenger door.
‘In the back,’ I corrected her, ‘and keep your head down and your gun ready.’
Sue threw her tote bag inside, then scrambled onto the bench seat. I tossed my backpack on top of her as the most meagre of barriers I could offer against flying bullets. In the driving seat, I shoved the silenced pistol into the door pocket, and my SIG within reach on the central consol. My Audi growled to life, and I began a speedy reverse along the main street even as a wiry figure in a baseball cap lunged out into view. Even without the benefit of the distinctive pompadour he’d worn under the guise of Vince Everett — a nod to a movie character played by Elvis Presley — I recognised him. Part of me wished I’d sought retribution from Vince before now, but there was no turning back the clock. We’d been enemies at first, and then reluctant allies by necessity, but right then I was under no illusion: he raised his pistol and fired. Bullets embedded in the Audi’s hood and ricocheted off the windshield.
I cursed him, but kept my foot on the throttle.
Vince pursued a few paces, shooting with each step, but knew as well as I did that he was only spending bullets. Frustrated, he threw his left hand in the air, kicking at the ground with a heel and completed a pirouette: typical of his Everett caricature. I popped a rapid turn, and sped off, racing towards the northwest end of town, aiming to get beyond 14th Street, before the beleaguered Mexico Beach Police Department responded to the reports of shots fired. This was trouble piled on top of a catastrophe I’d have preferred not to bring to the MBPD — I knew and was friendly with some of the officers — but it wasn’t my choice. I certainly didn’t plan on putting any cop acting in the line of duty in danger.
As it were, I sped past, leaving behind the PD office without seeing any sign of a police cruiser, but that wasn’t to say we were in the clear. Officers out patrolling the devastated city would be hotfooting it to the hotel any second, and we could meet them en route. I slowed down to a more reasonable speed, checking my mirrors for signs of pursuit by Vince’s team. Way behind on US Highway 98 I could see headlights, but there was a lack of gumball lights and sirens, and guessed the bad guys were coming.
Just after the canal, I found the entrance to City Docks. I knew from runs I’d taken around the back of the twisting waterway that there were several routes that would give me access back towards the coastal highway, though some of them were not entirely suitable for my car. Immediately having pulled off the highway I realised that the roads were in worse condition than usual, with storm wreckage spilling over them in places. However, the integrity of my car’s suspension wasn’t my concern at that time, so I pushed through or around the wreckage, only to find the little bridge to 44th Street gone completely. Even if the hurricane hadn’t torn it away, we couldn’t have reached the crossing as a mountain of debris confronted us; the remains of houses, boats flung from their moorings and uprooted trees were piled chaotically in our path. I’d boxed us into a dead end.
Sue sat up for a look.
‘Keep your head down, will you.’ I began reversing, hoping to find an escape route before the bad guys caught up. My hope was we were too far ahead for them to have seen my turn into the City Docks, but I couldn’t be certain. Already they could have been prowling up on us.
I found a place to turn, though there was some pushing and shoving of the woodpiles to make room. The Audi began a slow crawl back the way we�
��d come, the car’s lights doused so we weren’t easily visible. We past the entrance to a track that led out towards Water Tank Road, in truth a cut through the trees that surrounded the entire town. Downed branches and fallen tree trunks blocked the track less than twenty feet in. It was impossible driving in that direction, but I thought if I could make it to Water Tank Road, the way might be clearer.
We headed back the same way we’d recently come. My original idea to circumvent pursuit, rejoin the highway behind our enemies and follow Rink southeast had been thwarted, so I’d no option than return. The City Docks is a grand title for what amounted to a boat ramp and a couple of launches. There was a wide space in the road, a crescent of hardpack, bordered after the storm by a larger boggy expanse of salt water pushed by the surging waves up the canal. The forest beyond looked as if some surly giant had been playing pick-up sticks, and tossed around the tree trunks he’d used as playthings. Here and there — even through the darkness — the hulls of boats picked up and hurled hundreds of feet into the woods stood out, luminous spots among the carnage.
Near the entrance to the dock there was movement. I halted the Audi. The dim shadow I’d noticed moving among other shadows coalesced into the front of a SUV. It too came with its lights extinguished — which kind of gave the game away, because any innocent road user would’ve had their high beams on to negotiate the wreckage. I presumed, being the hindmost and the one carrying most firepower, this was the latter SUV to chase Rink. I also assumed the SUV had halted momentarily so that Vince could jump on board. We could be facing five guns or more, and they were blocking our only escape route.
‘Stay down, Sue,’ I warned, and gunned the engine. I took the silenced pistol out of the door pocket and powered down my window. It was time for some John Wayne heroics.
Before Sue could question my rashness, the Audi shot forward, racing to meet the SUV as it also leaped forward. I hoped Vince was inside it, and on the receiving end of the bullets I rained at the SUV.
15
Jason Mercer felt another wobble coming on.
He stood with his eyes squeezed shut, spine erect, hands fisted at his sides as he counted his breaths.
‘Sir,’ said the young woman behind the service counter, ‘is everything OK? You look…uh, should I fetch you a glass of water or something?’
Mercer exhaled, long and hard. He opened his eyes, and black spots danced in his vision. He steadied himself against the service counter with one hand. The other he held up to ward off the young clerk’s concern. ‘Sorry,’ he said, ‘I just felt a bit lightheaded for a moment.’ He grinned in embarrassment. ‘Too many late nights and early mornings for a fella my age.’
‘Are you sure I can’t fetch you something? A chair perhaps?’
He rubbed his face, feeling the rasp of whiskers under his palm. ‘I’m fine…least I will be in a second or two.’ He blew out again, with slight exaggeration, so it sounded as if he said, ‘Hooey!’
The clerk watched him a moment longer, her big brown eyes full of concern — not concern for him, he decided, but at the prospect of maybe having to administer care to a fainting customer. He nodded, tight-lipped, to show her everything was all right, and she returned her attention to the forms she’d been processing.
‘Sorry if I alarmed you just now,’ Mercer said. ‘It has been a long day, and I haven’t eaten since breakfast. I promise I’ll grab something before continuing my journey.’
‘That sounds like a great idea, sir,’ she said, and squeezed him a smile.
He relaxed by a tiny increment. For a second there he’d worried she’d withdraw his rental request if she thought him unfit to drive. He nodded again, grinning and he shuffled his feet. ‘Yeah, I’ll be good to go,’ he said after his self-diagnostics check.
She smiled, but bent to go over the small print on the forms. With her gaze diverted, Mercer took another surreptitious glance at the TV bracketed on the wall behind her. It was tuned to a local news channel, the sound muted, but with the subtitle function on. The story had already moved on from the one that had caught his attention, and almost brought on another of his neurological meltdowns. But he’d seen enough. Police had responded to sounds of a disturbance at a home in the suburbs of Panama City and discovered a gunshot victim, and were now “concerned for the whereabouts” of one Suzanne Carter. The news footage had showed the buzz of activity at the scene, as well as a grey van abandoned outside Carter’s home, and Sue’s Mercedes-Benz on the drive. The snapshot image displayed on screen of Suzanne Carter was the one of a red-haired, burn-scarred woman loaned to build Sue’s legend, which, as it happened was a small blessing: the cops would initially be seeking the wrong woman. Things might change once a nosy neighbour brought it to their attention that the Sue Carter they knew and the one reported as missing were different individuals. Sooner or later, the police would discover the truth in the anomaly, then the hunt really would be on.
The clerk was talking, going through the final instructions, but Mercer barely heard her. He simply nodded along with her, then scrawled his signature on the rental agreement with the proffered pen, and accepted his copies and his credit card from her, all robotically. His mind raced, and all he wanted was to leave. Done, and the keys in hand, he waved off another concerned question from her, and gave another promise he was fine, and he left the office, carrying his grab bag with him.
The clerk had already gone around the rental vehicle with him before completing the paperwork, ticking off a checklist and explaining the does and don’ts, so he knew which was his car. He bleeped the locks open and threw his bag into the passenger seat. Then he stepped back, turned and surveyed the approaches to the strip mall at the edge of University Town Plaza. He’d waited for the agreed two hours maximum in Pensacola, but it was time to move on. He should head for Mobile, Alabama, to their next agreed rendezvous point and a flight to freedom, but he paused. Maybe he should give Sue another fifteen minutes. No, he decided, Sue wasn’t coming. It was apparent that they were faced with one of three scenarios: Sue had given Hunter and Rink the slip and was on the run and unable to make it to Pensacola in the agreed time; their enemies had recaptured Sue; Sue was dead. None of the three favoured him hanging around any longer. He should move immediately.
All well and good, but there was a moral dilemma attached to the first two scenarios, and one of vengeance to the latter.
He was still holding the car keys in his hand. He didn’t get in. He retrieved his grab bag, dropped the keys on the driver’s seat and closed the door. Using the rental vehicle was pointless now, when he no longer needed to add a false step in his trail. He walked back across the parking lot to where he’d initially abandoned his Toyota outside a JCPenney department store and aimed it for I-110, the fastest path to US-98 back to Panama City.
16
Unknown to us at the time, Jason Mercer set off from Pensacola with the intention of rescuing or avenging Sue at much the same time that I risked her safety in an insane game of chicken with her persecutors. We were outgunned, outnumbered, and the SUV outmuscled my Audi, so all of the odds were stacked against us. But I was of a similar mind-set as my pal Rink, in that if you took the fight to the enemy on your terms, you could win the battle. For us to survive I had to be audacious and fearless, and give them hell.
There was about one hundred yards between us when I hit the throttle, and the distance rapidly diminished. My left arm out the window, I fired repeatedly, more in the hope of causing a distraction than thinking I’d hit and kill Vince. My bullets struck the SUV’s windshield and hood, and there was a noticeable reaction from the driver who jerked with each impact. The SUV didn’t deviate from its equally mad plunge though. Also, somebody in the back of the SUV leaned out to return fire. Then I was the one flinching at the impacts as first my windshield cracked and then turned milky under the barrage. My instinct was to swerve, to try to get around the oncoming SUV, but I fought it: I sped the Audi like a dart at the bigger car.
As we
plunged towards each other, I held my nerve, taking my cue not from John Wayne now but from James Dean in Rebel Without a Cause, and for all intents and purposes my opponent must have thought I was going to ram him in a head-on collision. He yanked down on the steering, the SUV pulling to my left with barely a few feet to spare. Ideally I should’ve then had space to sweep by, but the terrain was against me. The hardpack had been churned and stirred by the hurricane, and my tires found a soft spot. My Audi didn’t respond the way I wanted, and continued arrow straight, and blasted the back end of the SUV. The sound was horrendous, and the impact not too pleasant either. The left wing of my car collapsed, and I felt the steering yanked out of my hands an instant before the airbag inflated and thrust me back in my seat, and filled my vision. Sue was instantly thrown forward against my seat and then back, and I heard her yell in consternation. The back end of the Audi spun out, and we were lucky it didn’t roll.
I was momentarily stunned, but couldn’t allow myself to be. I hit the airbag with my forearms, and it began to deflate, but now my vision was full of swirling powder. I craned around to see where Sue was. She was still on the back seat, but her bags had been thrown on the floor, and she was in the process of trying to regain her tote bag. She was alive and unhurt, and that was all that mattered to me. I searched for the SUV. It too had come to a halt, also spun out and its back corner had collapsed where we’d struck. The SUV had gone down into a wide ditch, and murky water was up to its door handles on the near side. I caught movement as those inside took stock. Any second now, they’d be clambering out and coming after us. I thought about shooting them as they piled out but I’d lost the silenced pistol. Where was my SIG?
It was in the footwell on the passenger side, thrown there during the initial crash. I popped out of my seatbelt and reached for it, scrabbling blindly as I tried to keep an eye on our enemies in my wing mirror – miraculously the mirror had survived the collision, whereas everything forward of it was a crumpled mess. The driver’s door was also twisted in its frame, and I doubted it would offer a fast escape. I clambered across to the passenger seat and popped open the door, grabbed my SIG and got out. I levelled my SIG over the roof of my car, ready to cap anyone that showed their face, covering while Sue also slid out on the same side. She went to her belly in the dirt, but came to her hands and knees, clawing her tote bag to her chest. There was no sign of her weapon. She rectified that by reaching back inside and clawing it off the floor. She looked up at me, the whites of her eyes bright in the gleam of the interior light, and then it went out. Steam belched from the Audi’s buckled hood. An explosion was not imminent, but we couldn’t hang around.
