Tortured Spirits

by Gregory Lamberson

  Crouching low to the ground, Maria moved away from the men at a forty-five-degree angle. Her chest hurt. She had never been pursued by bad guys before. But were they bad? They were soldiers following orders, she reasoned. Soldiers who just happened to have mowed her stolen car with machine gun fire. Soldiers who had launched incendiary bombs at the highway ahead of her. Soldiers like those who had gunned down Humphrey and who had—

  Don’t think it!

  —murdered Jake.

  Fuck, yeah, they’re bad.

  The trees cleared and she stopped, her feet sinking in the soft embankment of a narrow river or deep creek. The current looked strong enough to carry her away if she gave it a chance, but she was a lousy swimmer. Still, if she could find something to hang on to …

  She searched for a fallen tree limb, something that would float and support her. Spotting what appeared to be driftwood, she lifted a small log into the light and inspected it. It would float all right, but she doubted it would enable her to do the same. The log broke in half in her hands even as she heard the machine gun fire, pulp assaulting her eyes. She dropped the log’s halves and flopped to the ground. Fifty yards ahead, a soldier sighted in on her with his laser scope, which she didn’t need her binoculars to see. With her elbows digging into vegetation, she gripped the Walther in both hands and took aim.

  Intense red light filled her vision.

  Fearing blindness, Maria shut her eyes and squeezed the trigger three times. The shots rang out one after another, and she smelled gunpowder. But she heard no scream. Opening her eyes, she saw a glowing red line arcing from the ground where the soldier had stood into the trees above. The beam did not move.

  Leaping to her feet, she ran as fast as she could along the river in the opposite direction of the current and away from the remaining two soldiers. She didn’t get very far before the sound of machine gun fire forced her to dive face-first into moist earth. Scores of rounds ripped into the trees around her. Wiggling like a snake toward a wide trunk for cover, she wished she had headed toward the man she had killed instead so she could have claimed his weapon.

  The man she had killed.

  Thinking about it, she felt no remorse. Maneuvering around the tree, she got to her feet and pressed her back against the trunk.

  Silence.

  A glowing red dot moved along the trees like a firefly. Then it appeared a hundred yards away: a footbridge spanning the river to the other side. If she could only reach it …

  They’ll cut me in half before I can cross it.

  A twig snapped and a footstep fell. One of the soldiers had closed in on her. The red dot on the tree ahead told her he was approaching on her right side.

  Holding her breath, Maria prepared to expose herself in order to shoot the predator. Then she saw another red dot on her left.

  Damn it!

  With no other choice, she broke into a run, zigzagging in a manner that allowed her to keep trees between her and the soldiers. Machine gun fire ripped the night, and she heard shots splintering bark. The footbridge drew closer: eighty yards … fifty … twenty … Maria ran out of trees for cover and hid behind the last one.

  The soldiers stopped firing. The helicopter’s spotlight barely reached where she stood, but moonlight gleamed on the river. She had gotten so close.

  Sweat trickled down her face and stung her eyes. Her lungs felt on fire. Two laser beams sliced the darkness on either side of her, but one of them moved farther upstream, which meant she had a chance to take out the closer soldier. If she could get his weapon, she’d stand a chance of taking out the third soldier as well.

  Maria waited, listening for the man’s footsteps, but heard none. And then he stood right beside her in profile, facing the footbridge, unable to see her because the night vision goggles limited his periphery vision. She could shoot him at point-blank range and steal his gun, but the shot would alert the remaining soldier, reducing the odds of her making it to the footbridge. Instead, she swung the butt of the Walther’s grip into the soldier’s nose, shattering it.

  He uttered a startled cry, which she doubted could be heard over the distant drone of the chopper, and he dropped his weapon to reach for his nose.

  Maria stepped before him and pistol-whipped his head. He sank to his knees, and she hit him again; this time he went down.

  She scooped up the machine gun and ducked behind a different part of the tree to hide from the other soldier, whose laser beam continued to move away from her. She pulled the goggles off the man at her feet and wore them around one wrist like a bracelet. Then she ran.

  “I guess you owe me something, all things considered,” Jake said.

  Russel’s face darkened a shade. “Don’t kid yourself. In the course of defending Seguera in Manila, I was forced to take certain measures that became more public than I wished. As a consequence, I am something of a man without a country, which makes this country look not so bad in comparison. I have reason to believe my former colleagues in the CIA have been sanctioned to kill me on sight should I show my face in countries where I previously conducted business. They really don’t care what I do in this shit hole. I’ve always been a free bird, a wandering spirit. Now I’m as much a prisoner here as you are.”

  “Let’s trade places.”

  “I don’t think so. You’ve cost me in other ways, too. I had stock in Tower International. It’s worthless now. And I held seats on the board of directors for White River Security and the Reichard Foundation, with which you became intimately acquainted. White River is in disarray; the FBI’s going after them with everything they’ve got. The Reichard Foundation simply ceased to exist. All because those caesars met with a suspicious case of asphyxiation.”

  The Order of Avademe. Old Nick had belonged to their organization at one time. “The world is better off without them. The economy certainly is.”

  “Don’t tell yourself that you’ve changed anything. Their lackeys have splintered off into smaller groups and are quietly plotting to pick up the slack. The free market was never designed to be truly free. Guys like you are meant to sweat income taxes, and guys like me are meant to retire in mansions.”

  Jake believed him. “Reichard and Taggert trusted you even though you worked for Old Nick?”

  “They hired me to spy on him, which is why he put Kira in charge of the company. They were smart old codgers, but for my money, Nick was always one step ahead of them.”

  “He made fucking monsters and you sold them.”

  Russel snorted. “Nick’s Biogens were no different than munitions or anything else I sold to countries like the Philippines and Pavot Island.”

  “Those things ate people!”

  Russel choked back laughter. “You should see the things Malvado has harvesting his drugs.”

  “And you work for him.”

  “He’s no worse than Nick was, and you worked for Nick. He’s no worse than Reichard and his boys were, and you wanted to join their club. Spare me your high-and-mighty-white-knight routine.”

  “Malvado uses black magic to rule this island. The population lives in fear. Aren’t you afraid?”

  “Uh-uh.” Russel reached in between the buttons of his shirt and took out a bronze medallion. “Recognize this?”

  Jake stared at the amulet, with its carved figure of a hero wielding a sword against a monstrous demon. “The Anting-Anting.” According to legend, the Anting-Anting protected its wearer from demons.

  “Seguera gave it to Nick. I took it off Nick’s corpse and wore it when I killed Seguera.”

  “How poetic of you.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I needed a cheap vacation.”

  “And somehow you wound up eating dinner with a man suspected of belonging to a terrorist organization?”

  “He was an artist. I paid him to draw a portrait.”

  “Of whom?”

  Jake held his tongue.

  Opening the folder on the table, Russel took out a piece of paper. He t
urned it over, revealing the portrait Humphrey had drawn of Maria. “I think this vacation has cost you a lot.”

  Maria stormed onto the wooden bridge, her footsteps echoing through the night. Almost immediately, she heard a man shouting at her. Turning, she saw a red laser beam moving along the wooden railing in her direction. She ran. Halfway across the bridge, gunshots rang out behind her. Spinning on one heel, she saw the silhouette of the man she had taken the gun from aiming a handgun at her.

  The red dot of the machine gun she now held found the man’s sternum, and she squeezed the trigger, igniting the darkness with muzzle flashes. The recoil knocked her off her feet, which saved her life: machine gun fire coming from the direction of the other soldier decimated the wooden railing where she had just stood. Over the gunfire, she heard the man she had shot scream, followed by a splash.

  Rolling over, Maria crawled across the rest of the bridge. Behind her, the man continued to scream and splash, thrashing around in the river. As soon as her raw palms slapped grass and dirt, Maria launched herself into the woods. Ducking behind the first tree wide enough to accommodate her, she peeked around it.

  The soldier she had shot staggered around in water up to his hips. Half a dozen shapes as silver as the moonlight clung to him, and blood flowed from open wounds. He sank below the surface, which turned turbulent, and did not rise.

  Maria’s eyes widened. Piranhas!

  The remaining soldier ran to the embankment and stared at the water where his comrade had fallen. Then he looked straight at Maria and aimed his machine gun at her. She aimed hers as well. The man lowered his weapon, and his body convulsed. At first Maria thought the sound she heard over the river’s rushing was sobbing. Then she raised the night vision goggles to her eyes and activated them. The world blossomed with bright green light, and she saw the man had doubled over with laughter. Lowering the goggles, she watched him shake his head and walk away.

  What the hell?

  Turning from the river, she entered the woods.

  Jake tried not to react to the sight of Maria’s portrait.

  “You entered the country with Maria Vasquez.” Russel took a printout from the folder and held the photocopy of Maria’s passport photo beside the drawing. “Quite a resemblance, don’t you think? That terrorist had talent.”

  Jake knew Russel was baiting him, trying to get him to comment on Humphrey.

  “Miss Vasquez is a homicide detective with NYPD. You were a homicide detective with NYPD. She used to be partners with a man named Edgar Hopkins. You used to be partners with Edgar Hopkins. Mr. Hopkins vanished nine months ago. It stands to reason the two of you came here in search of this common denominator.” He laid the printout and the drawing on the table. “What’s Hopkins got to do with Pavot Island?”

  Jake said nothing.

  “Where’s Vasquez?”

  His heart beat faster. Maria was alive!

  “Did the two of you come here to assassinate President Malvado?”

  Jake clenched his teeth.

  “So, we’re back where we started?”

  Jake blinked.

  “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Crossing the room, Russel opened the door and waved.

  Two soldiers with red berets entered. Jake noticed the soldiers wore machetes on their belts.

  “Take off his handcuffs,” Russel said, closing the door as the soldiers marched toward Jake.

  The soldiers jerked Jake to his feet, throwing him off balance. He heard a clicking sound, and the handcuffs came away, freeing his wrists.

  Russel folded the drawing of Maria and put it and the printout inside the folder, which he set on a chair. He looked at Jake, then at the soldiers, and nodded at the table. The soldiers wrapped Jake’s arms in theirs and dragged him toward the table.

  Jake planted his feet on the floor and struggled. “No …”

  Standing before him, Russel delivered a powerful blow to Jake’s solar plexus.

  Jake cried out and doubled over.

  Russel sank his hands in Jake’s hair and jerked his head back, then leaned close to his face. “Where’s the woman?”

  Jake spat in his face.

  Wiping his face on his jacket sleeve, Russel looked at the soldiers. “Left arm.”

  The soldier on Jake’s right pinned Jake’s arm behind his back, threatening to break it. The other soldier forced his left wrist down to the table and pulled his arm taut.

  Jake saw peeling paint on the tabletop. Dents. Scratches. Blood.

  Oh, God, no.

  Standing beside the soldier on Jake’s right, Russel drew the machete from his belt.

  “Don’t do it,” Jake said. “I’m an American.”

  Russel positioned the machete’s blade against Jake’s forearm, three inches above his wrist. “This isn’t America.” He raised the machete above his head with both hands.

  “No, don’t!”

  The machete left a trail of reflected light as Russel swung it into Jake’s arm. Jake screamed as the blade bit into his bone. Pressing his left hand against Jake’s arm, Russel pried the machete free. Jake continued to scream as blood gushed out of the gaping wound in his arm. Then Russel raised the machete and brought it down again, separating Jake’s left hand and wrist from his arm.

  Jake’s agonized screams made his throat raw, the room spun around him, and he spiraled into darkness.

  FIFTEEN

  Maria didn’t know if any other soldiers had gotten off the helicopter, so she moved deeper into the woods away from the river.

  Moonlight slatted through the trees, causing rocks and moss to sparkle. Occasionally she raised the night vision goggles to her eyes, and the forest lit up around her. Stepping over another fallen tree, she swatted at mosquitoes swarming around her. She lowered the goggles, opened her bag, and found a packet of insect repellent towelettes and ran one over her arms. It burned her scratches and she hissed. Then she rubbed the towelette over her legs.

  When she stood erect, she no longer saw the moonlight cutting through the trees ahead. A tall figure stood silhouetted before her, blocking the silvery light.

  Maria recoiled. Taking a step back, she raised the goggles. The blossoming green light revealed African features, but the man’s white eyes appeared pure green, with no irises or pupils, and did not blink. She had seen that same flaccid expression scores of times on homicide victims in general and on the faces of sixty DOAs in particular: the faces of dead men and women. Jake’s zonbies.

  No, no, no.

  Maria felt her blood rushing from her head. She had seen many corpses before but none standing upright. The man slapped a cold, leathery hand around her wrist, and she knew there was no way this was some junkie who had overdosed on a Caribbean toxin.

  I will not scream.

  Sucking in her breath, she drew the Walther, pressed its barrel against the man’s forehead, and pulled the trigger. Despite the intensity of the muzzle flash, the goggles protected her eyes.

  Fluid spurted out of the bullet hole in the man’s head. He rolled his eyes and collapsed.

  Maria stared down at the corpse, which did not rise. Jesus Christ, she had seen a zombie with her own eyes, and she had put it down! Was this an act of murder or self-defense? Was it even killing?

  She couldn’t remember how many rounds a Walther’s clip held, but since it had been used in Hitler’s army, she guessed six, plus one in the chamber. She had fired four shots, which left maybe three.

  Branches snapped all around her. Shadows moved. Silhouettes revealed themselves.

  Tucking the Walther in the waistband of her shorts, Maria leveled the machine gun. Jake had warned her to shoot the zonbies in their foreheads, as she had. Firing at their torsos would do no good. She needed to see the whites of their eyes.

  Six men and women in tattered clothing emerged from the trees. Maria had to assume they saw her with their ghastly, unblinking orbs as they staggered moaning in her direction. They brandished machetes.

  The Machete Massac
res, she thought.

  This was no crazy theory. It was really happening. The damned things were coming after her.

  She raised her weapon to her shoulder and pressed one goggle against the sight. A glowing red sun flared over a man’s pallid green flesh. She located a crease above his eyebrows and squeezed the trigger. A third eye appeared in the man’s head, and he seemed to spit out of it. Then he collapsed and stopped moving.

  The other zonbies had drawn closer. She turned in a circle, facing others, her heart racing. A female with an afro lifted her machete. Maria fired and missed, striking a tree instead. The woman brought the machete down, but before she could complete her arc Maria had fired again, striking her forehead. The woman’s head snapped back, liquid spewing out of the crater in her forehead like tobacco juice.

  In the time it had taken Maria to exterminate the woman, the other creatures had moved even closer to her. She had no choice but to fire a short, concentrated burst at them, driving them back. As expected, the torso shots had little impact, and the dead things resumed walking in her direction. Bracing the machine gun against her shoulder, she let it rip. She struck two of the remaining zonbies in their heads, dropping them, but did far more damage to the surrounding trees.

  Turning sideways, she aimed the weapon at another approaching female. She waited until she could see the whites of her eyes—

  And then a machete struck the barrel, ruining her aim as she triggered a burst of gunfire. Instead of destroying the female zonbie’s head, she tore her torso open from between her breasts down to her crotch. Jerking her head to the left, Maria saw a Hispanic man pulling his machete back for another swing. She aimed her machine gun at his head at point-blank range and fired. The head exploded skull fragments and brain juice in all directions, and she glimpsed an airborne eyeball soaring past her.

  When she heard the zonbie strike the ground, she turned to the woman whose torso she had ruptured. Sawdust and unrecognizable organs poured out of the giant fissure in the woman’s chest, where fabric and flesh hung as indistinguishable rags. Maria aimed and fired. The woman’s head shook from the impact, and she dropped as Maria’s gun clicked.