Awake

by Edward J. McFadden III

  Saura was yanked to her feet and escorted out of the tent. Maureen and Raul were placed to the side, and their hands bound behind their backs. Drago took a pistol out from under his chair, and placed it on his lap, and covered it with the bottom of his Lakers jersey. The echo of voices floated into the tent, and two men entered, and Maureen gasped.

  Besides Jeremiah, AKA Mr. Sunglasses, was the man Dante had been talking to in the parking lot of Chubby Rain. He was short and balding, and even in the dim light, white scars were prominent on his face. The man gave Maureen an odd look, then turned his attention to Drago.

  “My friend, I hope you are well,” said the man. He looked nervous, and his eyes drifted to Maureen, Raul, and their guards every few moments.

  “Dempsey, you ass. Why did you come here?” Drago asked. Dempsey started to answer, but Drago cut him off. “I’ve told you never to come to me unless I call you. Why didn’t you go see Stilts?” Dempsey lowered his eyes, but to Maureen, it seemed like an act.

  “I have a huge ride order. Guy needs it fast, and I don’t trust Stilts to wipe Jeremiah’s ass,” said Dempsey

  Drago looked like he would fly into a rage, but instead, he laughed, and pulled out his pistol. “Do I look stupid to you?”

  Dempsey shifted on his feet, and looked over at Maureen and Raul. Finding no fellowship or help with them, he turned back to Drago. “Of course not, my friend. Why would you say such a thing?”

  Drago lifted the gun and pointed it at Dempsey. Raul squeaked, and Maureen felt her stomach turn. Drago pulled back the gun’s hammer, and said, “Because you are a liar. And a thief. Your face literally tells me the story. You are lost.”

  Drago fired, and Dempsey stood motionless for an instant, looking up at his killer as if he couldn’t believe what he’d just done. He fell, his face twisting and writhing as the disease took hold. When Dempsey had taken his last breath, his body lay on the ground in the center of the tent, a thick pool of red blood spreading all around him.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Don wasted no time. As soon as Dempsey was in the kayak, he skirted the edges of the lake, being careful to stay out of sight. When he reached the section of the lake where the gap between the shore and the island was smallest, he stripped down to his underwear, and crawled on his belly through the vegetation to the water’s edge.

  As an ex-SEAL, Don was an excellent swimmer, and he was in superb shape, but there was no way he’d be able to swim to the island underwater without coming up for air at least twice, and the element of surprise was crucial to their plan. He looked around, as if he hoped to find a scuba mask along with a full breathing tank. What he saw were water reeds and cattails, and his mind charged back to his childhood, and the first grown-up movie he’d watched with his father, Dr. No. In it, Bond is forced to hide underwater from Dr. No’s mechanical guard machine. He’d used a water reed as a snorkel.

  He snapped the thickest reed he could find, broke off the greenest part, and tested it out. It worked fine, but he had concerns about the reed coming apart or breaking when submerged underwater, but he had no other choice. Dempsey was paddling slower than Don thought possible and was halfway to the island where a man waited for him on the shore.

  Don crawled into the water reeds at the edge of the lake and waited. He wanted to time his arrival on the island with Dempsey’s to maximize the diversion. When he deemed he’d waited long enough, he slid into the clear water, its coolness refreshing and exhilarating. He dove down, and swam as hard as he could, thrusting with his arms, and slowly letting the air out so as not to create obvious bubbles on the surface.

  Pain filled his lungs and burned his chest. His vision grew blurry, but still he stroked on, pushing through water plants, and avoiding bugs, reptiles, and small fish as best he could. His heart pounded, and his lungs were on fire. When tiny fireworks of white light appeared across his vision, he pulled the water reed from his waistband and raised his snorkel. He gently blew out his last bit of air, emptying the reed of water. Then he took a deep breath and continued on.

  Don’s muscles ached. He hadn’t slept since the plane ride the evening prior. He and Lester had been loading up on caffeine, but his eyesight was growing blurry, and every kick of his wounded leg sent jolts of pain up his spine. Over the years, he’d conditioned himself to live with little sleep, and to take it when he could, but the last twenty-four hours had taken a toll.

  Ahead the lake bottom rose to meet the shoreline, and he estimated he was almost there. The water reed bent and twisted as Don swam, but it held together. He took one last drag of air off the reed, discarded it, and swam hard for the shore. His lungs burned, and his arms were cramping, when the water plants on the bottom of the lake tickled his belly. He slowed, looking up through the clear water at the island as he tried to determine if anyone had seen him and was waiting for him, but saw no one. He slithered into a patch of sawgrass, and stifled a scream as he was slashed along his stomach by a particularly large leaf.

  Blood turned the water red as he crawled from the lake like a croc, scanning the island as best he could. His leg throbbed, and now he was bleeding from his midsection. He lifted his head so his ears were above the water, and all he heard was the singing of the birds and the buzz of insects. Nothing moved, and he swam toward shore. He stopped only once when he heard a splashing noise, and turned to see a croc moving toward him.

  All Don had been thinking about was human watchers, and he’d forgotten all the natural protections provided by the Glades. He doubled his pace, and made it to shore before the giant lizard, and disappeared into the trees. Mangrove, palmetto, and pond apple filled the island, and saw palmetto packed the forest floor. Don rested behind a thick tree, catching his breath. The croc that had been hunting him apparently knew better than to pursue him on land, and disappeared, leaving only swirling lake water.

  Moving with the instinctual patience of a cat, Don moved deeper into the woods, taking advantage of his years of experience. As he slid from tree to tree, he tuned his hearing, and listened for manmade sounds, but it wasn’t a sound that tipped him off. Smoke floated on the breeze, and Don froze.

  Panic paralyzed him as the faint smell of cigarettes brought back memories of when he’d been captured, tortured, and almost killed. He had small round scars all over his arms from his guards putting out their cigarettes on him. He was told after extraction and subsequent rehabilitation that he’d been held captive for almost seven months. One hundred and ninety-eight days without daylight, significant sleep, or human contact, other than his handlers who followed a strict series of protocols that treated him like a lab animal. He’d been exposed to multiple types of fear conditioning, drugs, physical torture, and a series of mind-altering situational conditioning tests that made Clockwork Orange look like a day at the park. They’d stripped away his identity, transforming him into a weapon.

  Cold cement walls surrounded him. Water dripped in his toilet, and thin beams of light snuck under the cell door. Far off, someone wailed in pain, and the squeaking of rats and the scuttling of cockroaches made him shiver.

  Don hadn’t known his own name, where he was from, or where he’d been. He no longer had a future or past. His conditioning was so complete, so violent and effective, that Don considered everyone a mortal enemy. It had taken years of medical treatments, counseling, and re-education before Don started to become something resembling himself again.

  A bird squawked, and Don shook his head. Sunlight streamed through the tree cover, and slowly his senses returned to full strength. Cigarette smoke tickled his nostrils, all his wounds pounded, and he remembered where he was. Though considered cured by the agency, Don still had panic attacks as a result of his PTSD, and it required constant vigilance to keep them secret.

  He’d stopped shaking. He rolled his shoulders and shifted his position, and headed away from the source of the smoke. Don knew that if he could get behind the guard, perhaps he’d be able to take him, and his weapon.

  Several
minutes passed as he worked his way through thick underbrush, being careful not to make any noise. The smell of smoke faded, and then became strong again. A sneeze echoed from above. The man sat in a pond apple tree, and he peered out through thick branches at the lake. From the guard’s position, he could see half the lake, and undoubtedly, there was another man watching the other side. Every few seconds, the man would take a drag on his cigarette, and he looked to be eating something. A rifle rested on a tree branch, and a pair of binoculars hung from a lanyard around the man’s neck.

  Something thrashed along the shoreline and the guard didn’t even look up. Had he been scanning the lake with the binoculars, Don would have never made it across. Don needed a gun, but he wouldn’t be able to surprise this man where he sat, so he moved on into the interior.

  Soon the forms of tents became visible. At the center of the island, there was a clearing where a camp had been erected. He got close, and waited. He didn’t have to wait long, however, because within minutes, two men walked by with Dempsey before them. When they arrived at the biggest tent, they paused, and Dempsey entered with one of the men, while the other stood guard outside. The man wore an old school revolver on his hip, along with a long knife.

  Don inched forward until he was as close to the clearing’s edge as possible, while still remaining hidden. Then he picked up a rock, and weighed it in his hand, considering. He took a few deep breaths, calming himself and focusing. He threw the rock across the clearing and darted forward.

  Two things happened at once. The guard, hearing the rock cut through the bushes surrounding the camp, turned his head toward the noise and pulled his revolver from its holster. Don closed the space between them with several long strides. He grabbed the man around the head, covering his mouth, and kidney punched him twice. The man dropped his gun and wrestled to free himself. Don gripped the man’s face and twisted. There was a loud crack, and the man went limp.

  Don carried the body into the underbrush, and stripped off his boots, socks, and fatigues. The man was bigger than Don, but he put on the clothes, and the footwear. He tucked the long knife into his boot. There was nothing he could do about his chest wound, but the gash had stopped bleeding, so it would have to wait. Clothed once again, Don returned to the clearing and picked up the gun.

  He stood there a heartbeat, and a gunshot popped from within the tent. Don jumped, and almost rushed in. Instead, he pulled back, peering through a gap in the tent’s door flap. Dempsey lay on the ground in a puddle of his own blood, and a man wearing sunglasses stood over him. At the far end, he saw a large Cuban man, who he assumed was Drago. A man and a woman he didn’t recognize sat off to the side, looking on in horror. The ruffian who had ushered in Dempsey stood behind them.

  Don broke open the revolver to make sure it was loaded, and found only four bullets where they should have been six. He snapped the gun closed, inched it through the tent flap, and shot the man standing over Dempsey in the head. Then he dove to his right, and bullets pierced the tent door where he’d stood. Don counted four shots, and as he moved around to the back of the tent, he noticed two men running through the woods from opposite directions toward camp, one from each side of the island.

  He dropped into a crouch, and as they got closer, he fired twice. Both men went down with fatal head wounds. A woman screamed, and Don started pulling up stakes and taking apart support poles. The tent collapsed like a deflating balloon, and when half of it was down, he pulled the knife from his boot, slashed it open, and dove into the writhing mound of canvas.

  Bullets whizzed in every direction as Drago emptied his gun at an unseen foe. Don swam through the canvas and the fat Cuban man struggled to hold onto the woman he’d seen. Don brought up the revolver, sighted it, fired, and missed.

  Drago tossed the women aside and started fighting through the fallen tent toward Don. They clashed, and Drago put Don in a headlock as he struggled to gain purchase, and soon Don couldn’t breathe, as the man’s python-like arm crushed his windpipe.

  Drago grunted, and Don felt the man’s hold slacken. Don doubled his efforts, and struggled to break the man’s grip. A loud crack, like something hard hitting bone, resounded over the chaos. Drago fell, and Don freed himself from the canvas.

  Don crawled out into the sunlight, followed by the two people he’d seen. When the three of them stood face-to-face, Don said, “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome,” the woman said. “I hit him over the head. I think a stray bullet got the other guy.”

  “Name’s Don Oberbier. I’m a federal agent and I’m here to get—”

  “A sample of the money,” she said.

  “Indeed,” Don said. “And you are?”

  “Maureen Hughs, and this is Raul.”

  “Are you alone?” asked Don.

  “No. Our friend Saura is being held in one of these tents,” Maureen said.

  “Go find her while Raul and I take care of this mess,” Don said, pointing toward the fallen tent. The canvas was moving, as Drago woke from his unintended sleep.

  Maureen moved away, and they pulled back the fallen tent and found Dempsey’s body along with Mr. Sunglasses and his friend. They tied Drago up with a cord from the fallen tent, and stood staring at the pile of money. Drago laughed when Don started toward it.

  “You can’t stop it. It’s already out there,” Drago said.

  Don turned to Raul. “Do you know what’s happening in the world?”

  “No,” Raul said.

  As Don filled him in, Maureen returned with Saura, and the two women listened to most of what Don said. Drago sat back and listened also, smiling at the chaos he’d caused.

  “So you came for a sample of the money? You didn’t even know about us?” Saura said.

  “Had no idea. You’re just lucky, I guess,” Don said, and they all chuckled. It was a welcome sound after so much misery and pain, but the moment of peace didn’t last long.

  “You. Where did you get the stuff? Who created it?” Drago only stared at Don with a blank face, a slight smirk at the edges of his lips.

  When Don stepped forward to hit Drago, the man laughed at him. “I’m not telling you anything. You will all burn.” Don hit him, and the man’s head snapped back, and blood dribbled through his lips. Drago smiled, his teeth dark with blood.

  “So that’s it? You want to destroy the US? Bullshit. You’re a thug and a thief. What’s really in it for you? I know you aren’t a genius, but you’re not stupid enough to kill all your customers.”

  He laughed. “You still don’t get it. It’s already over. Everything you care about has already been taken from you and you don’t even know it.”

  Don said nothing. Drago was a psychopath, and it wasn’t his job to figure out why.

  Maureen and Raul had collected two additional knives, a basic first aid kit, some other supplies and food, and three usable guns. One gun was a sawed-off double-barrel shotgun, with sixteen shells. The other was Drago’s Sig Saur 1911, which he’d emptied, and they’d only found two useable bullets in the fallen tent. The two men who’d run in from the lookout posts had empty rifles, but Maureen had a 7mm shell that fit one of the guns. Don kept the shotgun and a knife, and gave Maureen the one-shot rifle and a knife, Raul the Sig Saur, and Saura a knife. He got himself better boots, a jacket, and pulled Drago’s camouflage hat off his head and put it on his own. “So, you have anything else to say?”

  Drago smiled, but said nothing.

  “Okay.” Don went to the pile of money, and using a piece of canvas he’d cut from the tent, he enfolded two plastic-wrapped packets of money, tied it off with twine, and put it in his jacket pocket.

  They’d found cigars while searching camp, and food and drink. With the immediate threat handled, they drank some water, and prepared for their journey back to what was left of civilization. As they rested, Don learned more of his companions as they told him their story.

  Don offered cigars to everyone, and Saura was the only one to decline. To Don’s
surprise, the other woman, Maureen, accepted one. He flicked the lighter, and ignited all their stogies, and went over to the pile of money. He flicked the lighter again, and lit some of the plastic wrapped currency on fire. Black smoke poured off the pile, and Don threw the lighter at Drago, and it bounced off his forehead.

  “And this for Dempsey. Good luck in the next world, asshole,” Don said, as he cracked Drago across the back of the head, and the man fell unconscious.

  The pile of money blazed, and had caught the tent canvas, which was smoking. It had also spread to a nearby tree and was inching into the forest. “Let’s go,” Don said, and nobody gave Drago a second glance.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Maureen felt nothing for Drago, but as she and her friends followed James-Bond-Don through the saw palmetto, she couldn’t help but feel remorseful. She figured federal agents were used to hurting and killing people, but she wasn’t. She tried to save people. They’d just left Dempsey’s body to burn, and that didn’t sit right with her. Then she scolded herself as she watched the back of Don’s head. Drago had planned to rape Saura, and Jeremiah wanted to rape her. Then they would’ve killed Raul for sport, maybe set him free in the woods and played The Most Dangerous Game. So her pity for the dead men, and for Drago, didn’t last long. She had questions and concerns, but Maureen knew it wasn’t the right time to ask Don about them.

  Two kayaks sat beached on the shoreline: the two-person Jeb had used to transport them, and Dempsey’s camo model. Two more single kayaks sat stacked within the cover of a mangrove tree, and they were the large touring kind. There was also a small barge like Hawk’s. Don dug one of the singles out, and punched a large hole in the other with his knife, then did the same to the barge. Saura and Raul loaded into the double, and Don and Maureen took the singles. They only had two paddles, so Don towed Maureen, and Raul paddled the double. When they’d gone about halfway across, Don made a sharp turn, and headed for a section of lakeshore tangled with trees.