by Matthew Rief
I slid my Sig from my leg holster and exchanged magazines, loading in the fifteen-round mag and placing the one with ten shots left into the holster strap. Moving into the kitchen, I licked my finger and put out the candle. Then, I moved the other candle onto the coffee table beside the front door. This made it so Chris could easily see who was coming in through the door but they would have a hard time seeing him.
I turned back to Chris and said, “Don’t hesitate,” then grabbed the doorknob, twisted it and pulled open the front door. The strong winds whistled into the room, causing the door to slam shut behind me. The rain beat down against my body as I sprinted off the front porch, then headed onto the sandy pathway which lead to the Western beach. When I was just a few hundred feet away from the massive crashing waves, I took cover behind a thick patch of railroad vines, interwoven around various green shrubs, and watched as the boat cruised full throttle over roaring white caps towards the beach.
I took a quick look around, knowing I had less than thirty seconds before they’d reach the shoreline. I crawled along the thick vines and hid alongside a small sandbank, behind a cluster of majesty palms that were about twenty feet away from the path. Close enough for me to pounce on them but far away enough for them not to see me. I watched as the boat rose up and down over the waves, listening as the sounds of the engine roared, propelling it forward. It was a rugged, patrol style boat just like the other one had been, though much larger. I’d always referred to that style of boat as a Storm Chaser since its aluminum hull rose all the way up and over the cockpit and was built strong, able to withstand even the worst storms.
I glanced at my dive watch and was surprised to see that it was just past zero seven-hundred as the sky was still dark, the black clouds of Tropical Storm Fay blocking out the sun. A moment later the boat sped up and then slammed its hull into the beach, the boat’s momentum forcing it forward. When it stopped, I counted six guys jump out and I saw at least two more still on the boat, their heads peeking over the windscreen.
They did a quick search of the yacht and what remained of my sorry excuse of a Zodiac then headed over to the path leading towards the house. They looked a lot like the other guys, typical thugs armed with Uzis and AK47’s. The six of them stuck together and moved quickly up the path. When they were about a hundred feet away from me, a loud crack of thunder rattled my eardrums and shook the ground. The six guys slowed and raised their hands to prevent a strong gust of wind from slamming sheets of rain and fine sand into their faces. That was my window.
I holstered my Sig and grabbed my AK. Rising up from my crouching position, I took aim at the group then held down the trigger. The rounds exploded out the end of the barrel, rattling the stock which was pressed hard against my right shoulder. The stream of bullets pierced through the bodies of the unsuspecting thugs as I shifted my aim from one guy to the next. One by one they flew backward, arms flailing and blood splattering in all directions.
In less than a second, I had four of them on the ground, their bodies riddled with bullets. The two guys farthest from me, however, had dropped to the beach and rolled for cover on the other side of the pathway. Before I could take them out they’d grabbed their weapons and fired off a few shots in my general direction, forcing me to drop back onto my chest as bullets whizzed around me, the occasional one soaring just a few feet over the top of my head. The two guys still alive stopped firing for a moment then yelled out to their buddies back on the boat.
Sliding the shoulder strap off my body and dropping the AK to the ground, I crawled as fast as I could along the pathway towards the house, putting as much distance between myself and where the two guys had last spotted me as I could. I found a good spot behind a thick patch of various shrubs and waited, watching closely as the two guys rose and walked slowly towards the place where I’d left my AK. Another guy suddenly appeared from the beach. He looked a lot bigger than the other guys and had two Uzis, one in each hand.
After searching the area where I’d fired at them from and after finding my AK on the ground, the three guys split up to look for me. Keeping their distance, they moved slowly through the thick underbrush, making their way towards the house. One of them, a tall, skinny guy with a faded ballcap over his head and a drenched windbreaker, shuffled his way my direction. He had a twelve gauge in his hands and what looked like a grenade clipped to his belt. Keeping a watchful eye, he crept right beside me. I knew that, given my position under the thick shrubs, along with the dark, gray skies and the heavy rains and strong winds, it would be almost impossible for him to see me. I trusted my camouflage, keeping my body perfectly still and allowing the guy to move within five feet of my position.
Suddenly, a powerful gust of wind kicked up a layer of fine sand right into his body. He raised an arm to shield his face and, as he did so, I made my move. With my Sig still strapped securely to my holster, I reached for my dive knife instead. Gripping it with my cold, wet hands, I slid it from my leg sheath and sprang to my feet. Before the guy could see me, I had my left arm wrapped around his face and, jerking his body back, I stabbed the sharp, stainless steel blade of my knife right through his neck. Blood flowed out as I pulled it free then forced his shaking body to the ground. He didn’t make a sound and, within seconds, his body became motionless in the shrubs.
Wiping my blade against his drenched cargo pants, I cleaned off the blood then slid it back into its sheath and took a quick look around, making sure that no one had seen me. The two other guys had yet to realize that their buddy was missing and continued through the storm towards the house. Grabbing the dead guy’s shotgun, I made sure it was locked and loaded then took aim at the nearest guy. He spotted me just as I pulled the trigger, sending a swarm of lead pellets into his chest. His body launched backward, blood spraying into the rain, then slammed onto the beach.
The big guy with the two Uzis in his hands saw what had happened and yelled out as he took aim at me. But before he could, I already had him in my sights, shifting over with my twelve-gauge in the blink of an eye. A few shots from his Uzi’s rattled off in my general direction as I pumped the shotgun, ejecting the spent shell and chambering a fresh one, then fired the barrage of pellets straight towards his head.
Blood and bone exploded out as the big guy fell to the ground, his Uzi’s firing a few rounds straight into the air before dropping from his hands onto the sand. I ran over to the dead thugs and saw that both of their corpses were sprawled out, covered in blood, and their limbs were positioned unnaturally around them. When it was clear that neither of them would ever be getting up again, I turned my sights to the boat.
Reaching down, I grabbed my AK47, replacing it with the twelve-gauge, and ran towards the beach. I kept the rifle aimed forward just in case another guy had decided to come and join in the fight. When I reached the area where the thick shrubbery transitioned into sandy beach, I looked towards the loud crashing waves and saw the large Storm Chaser. It was back in the water, it’s engines roaring wildly as it struggled to propel itself backwards into the powerful swells. The guy left on the boat must have heard all of the commotion, gotten spooked and decided to get the hell out of there as fast as he could.
Throwing the AK on the ground, I sprinted for the boat, my feet sinking into the wet sand then splashing through the foamy, shallow water. I timed my strides as best as I could as the bow of the boat rocked wildly up and down, giving myself the best chance to make a move. Just before I’d reached the boat, the pilot spotted me through the drenched windscreen. He tried to force the boat back, giving it even more gas to try and get away from me. I was waist deep when I saw a massive wave barreling towards the stern of the boat. With the bow in a dip, I took one more step then forced my body up out of the water, extending with my arms and wrapping my hands around the metal railing.
My hands became vice grips as the massive wave forced the stern to rocket upwards, followed swiftly after by the bow. My body jerked skyward as the salty water crashed over me, covering my body along
with the entire bow. As the wave passed, the pilot, seeing that I was still holding on, forced the throttles back even more. The boat picked up speed, bouncing over wave after wave and when we were about five hundred feet from shore, the guy piloting eased the reverse throttles and turned her around. Holding on tight, I used the momentum of the turn to swing my body up over the railing and landed on the metal bow. Glancing at the pilot house, I saw that the guy inside had picked up his gun and had it leveled my direction. I dove out of sight, barely avoiding the bullets that shattered through the windscreen and sparked off the deck beside me.
Once the boat was turned around, with its bow facing the open ocean, the pilot forced the throttles forward. The sudden change in speed and direction whiplashed my body against the starboard railing, almost knocking me off the boat completely. Regaining my balance, I pulled my Sig from its holster and crouched down beside the pilot house. As the boat started to pick up speed I rose from my position, took aim, and fired a shot, the bullet shattering the side window and lodging into the guy’s chest. He yelled out in pain as his body fell sideways then collapsed to the ground.
I slammed open the solid, metal door and leveled my Sig onto his head, ready to blow his brains out at a moment’s notice. With my right hand gripping my Sig, I reached over to the throttles with my left and eased them back, slowing the boat to about fifteen knots.
“Start talking, asshole!” I said, pressing the barrel of my Sig into his forehead. “How many more of you are out here?”
The guy looked slightly older than the other guys that were on the island, maybe in his early forties judging by his balding head. He had dark tanned skin and deep, brown eyes that were shooting daggers at me as he struggled to catch his breath.
“You dumbass,” he said, keeping his hands pressed against his bleeding chest. “You think you can protect them?” He shook his head and his lips contorted to form an evil smile. “We’re just the tip of the damn spear. Salazar will get his way. If he has to blow up that entire island. He will kill that family.”
“Not while I’m still breathing he won’t,” I fired back. The boat continued to jerk up and down as we cruised into the storm.
The guy sighed deeply, looked up at me with his dark eyes and said, “Then I’ll see you in hell.” He shot me another evil smile that I couldn’t stand to look at.
With my Sig still pressed against his skull, I pulled the trigger, splattering his blood against the windscreen. As his body went limp his left hand, which I realized had been making a fist, opened up and I watched as a plastic switch with a red, flickering light fell to the deck.
Shit, I thought as I turned around and took a few quick strides through the door towards the aft end of the boat. Digging my right heel into the transom, I launched my body overboard and as I flew through the air a loud explosion rattled from behind me, propelling my body forward with a powerful shockwave. My eardrums screamed and pieces of plastic and metal slammed into me as I crashed through the surface of the white-capped water.
CHAPTER
ELEVEN
The warm, tropical water engulfed me and for a moment the world turned quiet as a surge of pain radiated through my body. The force of the explosion had almost knocked me unconscious and the heat from the bursting flames singed a few hairs on my head. My ears rang loudly as if I’d just been in a room after a concussion grenade had gone off, and for a moment I almost forgot where I was as I swirled underwater. Shaking it off and getting my bearings, I kicked for the surface, breaking through and returning to a violent world of heavy rains, massive waves, cracks of lightning and roaring thunder in an instant.
My head still delirious from the impact and my ears still ringing, I swam towards the burning rubble that was all that remained of the boat. Most of it was in pieces and either sank to the bottom or floated violently on the white-capped surface around me. When it was clear that I wasn’t gonna be able to salvage anything useful from the wreck, I turned towards the shore, feeling somewhat dejected. That boat had been our only ticket off the island, and since it had been destroyed we had no choice but to stay.
I utilized the combat side stroke as I kicked and pulled my way through the rough water, diving down every now and then to escape the torrential rain or to avoid a large wave from throwing my body around like a rag doll. After spending a few minutes swimming underwater I’d rise up on the crest of a wave and look forward, making sure that I was staying on course. It was about half of a mile to the island and unfortunately, I had to buck a current that was pulling me out to sea. With the current slowing my progress and the strong winds and waves to deal with, it took me over an hour of intense swimming to reach the shore. When my feet struck the sand and I trudged through the crashing waves up to the shrub line, my body was so fatigued that I felt like collapsing onto the beach. But there was no time for that.
Instead, I headed straight for the yacht and, climbing aboard, I entered through the main hatch into the salon. Seawater was pouring in through the sides and up through the cracked hull as I searched the forward cabin. Under a pile of broken paneling, I found a large blue roller bag, emptied its contents onto the bed and carried it outside. Hauling it in one hand over the side of the yacht, I did a quick scan up and down the beach then out over the horizon. From my vantage point on the beach, I couldn’t see very far. The waves were too choppy and the sky too dark. Gripping the bag tightly, I moved along the path towards the four corpses lying beside each other; then, I searched them one by one, looking for anything and everything useful.
Two of them had Uzis, one had a Beretta M9 and the fourth had a sawed-off shotgun along with an incendiary grenade. Gathering all of the weapons, I threw them into the roller bag then moved on to the bodies near the shrubs. I picked up the shotgun and the AK47, along with an extra magazine then searched the big guy who’s face I’d splattered into a mushy mess of blood and grated skin. Grabbing both of his Uzis, I flipped over his body and found two M26 frag grenades strapped to the back of his belt. Setting them inside the bag along with the Uzis, I also found a small black radio and stowed it inside with the weapons.
After searching all of the bodies, I carried the blue roller bag over my shoulder towards the house. The wind had picked up even more, shoving sheets of fine sand and raindrops against my body. I knew that it had to be at least sixty miles per hour with gusts in the seventies. I moved to the front of the house and stepped up onto the porch. Knocking on the front door, I cracked open the door a few inches and yelled at Chris, telling him not to shoot me before stepping inside. He was still sprawled out on the couch, the revolver lodged in his right hand, pointed at the ground. He looked relieved to see me as I shut and locked the door behind me, water dripping from my clothes and onto the hardwood floor.
“I heard the gunshots,” he said, worry plastered across his beat-up face. “How many were there?”
Walking into the kitchen I bent down, picked up the roller bag and set it on the kitchen table. “Eight,” I said, unzipping the bag and grabbing the radio from inside. Holding it up to my face, I twisted the ON switch and watched as a green light illuminated. Scanning through the channels, I quickly realized that it was a low-frequency radio, designed for short range communications. Clearly, the big guy had grabbed it so he could talk to the guy on the boat, not anyone off the island.
“Eight? You killed them all?” When I didn’t reply, he continued, “Does it work?”
I turned towards him and saw that his eyes were staring intently at the radio in my hands. “Yea, but I doubt we’ll be able to get ahold anyone this far away from Key West.” Walking over to the couch, I threw the radio into his lap. “Mess around with that for a while. I gotta take care of these weapons and then move all of the bodies.”
In the basement of the house, I found an old chest filled with various papers and nick-knacks. Emptying its contents, I brought it upstairs and filled it with the dead guy’s guns. Before heading back outside I grabbed one of the AK47’s, checked it’s magazine
to make sure it was full, then slung it over my shoulder. Chris was tinkering with the radio as I opened the front door and headed back out into the storm. Palm leaves and bushes tumbled in the wind and loose sand scattered in violent sheets, building up against the Southwest side of the house.
Grabbing the corpses by their ankles, I dragged each of them to a spot surrounded by thick cocoplum bushes and palm trees that were all taller than I was. A place where, given the darkness of the sky, it would be almost impossible for anyone to see that they were there. When I finished with the last guy I grunted, took a long, deep breath and shielded my face from the rain. Back inside the house, I grabbed one of my MRE’s and cut open the plastic pouch of food using my dive knife. Then, I added water into the pouch which created a chemical reaction when it interacted with a small pad of magnesium, salt, and iron dust. This reaction is what is used to create a flameless heater which, in turn, allows deployed soldiers to have the comfort of a warm meal in a matter of minutes.
A few moments later I started to smell the garlic chicken with potato cubes and corn, causing my mouth to water. Glancing at my watch I saw that it was past ten. I’d spent over an hour moving the corpses and an hour swimming in the raging ocean before that, making my body scream at me to take it easy and chill out for a moment. I filled a plastic gallon jug I’d found in the pantry with water from the faucet. Gripping my steaming MRE in one hand, I looked over at Chris and said, “You want one?”
Chris shook his head, “I don’t have much of an appetite.”
Shrugging, I headed towards him and said, “I saw some canned food in the pantry if you change your mind.” Then, drawing my gaze up to the ceiling, I added, “It would be good for them to eat something. Might take their mind off things.”
