by Billy Kring
John felt his stomach go cold. “Yellow cake is weapon’s grade uranium.”
Ariel’s eyes widened.
Marc and the others continued talking, and John said, “They don’t care that we hear.”
Ariel said, “They intend to sacrifice us in a vodou ceremony, so they aren’t worried about us talking.”
Ariel listened for several more minutes, then said, “Five of them will be at Dania to oversee the ships when they land.”
“Which five?”
“Dessaline, Bazin, Villard, and Anson, and a woman they call Rosalie. I believe she is the sòsyè I saw in the warehouse as Marienette Bois Sèch. The others will be in Homestead, waiting with trucks for the drugs.” She listened some more, “Dessaline says this is his biggest operation, and they can all retire after it is over.”
Marc Dessaline approached them and said, “It is time.”
John said, “Let Ariel go. You have me, you don’t need her.”
Dessaline leaned down in front of them, smiled, and blew powder into their faces. John jerked back, then convulsed and slipped to the floor. Ariel did the same a second later. Dessaline straightened and said, “Jean Claude, take them to the Everglades camp. Call Rosalie and tell her to prepare it for the ceremony.”
As they walked away, Ariel silently let out the air she held in her lungs and inhaled a sweet, shallow breath, making sure not to disturb the few grains of white powder around her nostrils and mouth. She opened her eyes a slit and saw the men paying her no attention. She slowly wiped her face on the back of John’s shirt, and breathed again.
She had mentally read what Dessaline was going to do before he did it, had seen it in a sudden vision right before he leaned down to them. She held her breath even before he lifted the hand with the powder, then thought fast and mimicked John’s reaction so she, too, would appear unconscious.
Ariel looked around for something to cut her cuffs, but saw nothing close at hand. The Haitian men walked off from the kitchen, and she eased to her knees, listening hard for any sound of them coming back. They were evidently in the garage, because she heard a door open and close with a click, then only silence in the house.
Working her way to her feet, Ariel eased to the kitchen. She was terrified of being seen and the fear almost petrified her, but she pushed ahead and with every step she felt sure they would catch her. Ariel’s heart was beating hummingbird fast and so hard that she heard blood pulsing in her ears like water squishing through a hose.
She felt exposed, and try as she might, couldn’t find knives anywhere. The kitchen counters were clean. Ariel eased open a drawer, praying it would not clatter or squeak, hoping to find something sharp.
The garage door clicked as someone twisted the knob.
Ariel made a blind grab in the drawer and raced out of the kitchen and across the opening, her heart in her throat with fear of being seen.
She slid down behind John’s body and rested her head on his back like she had been before, then heard the men coming into the room. Ariel had to fight her own breathing to keep from showing she had exerted herself.
Young Anson said, “When will the boats arrive?”
Dessaline said, “about twenty-four hours from now.”
“This hurricane is a category three. Twenty-four hours is cutting things very close, and then we have to unload and get to safety.”
Ringo said, “Cutting it close also provides excellent cover for us. No boats or witnesses out to see.”
“What of the Coast Guard?”
“They will be busy. They always are.”
Dessaline said, “Enough worrying, Anson. Take these two out to the camp. We will be along soon.”
Ariel feigned unconsciousness as they carried her into the closed garage to a black Escalade and put her in the back, under a blue plastic tarp. One of the men groped her breasts as he pushed her in far enough to make room for John, but did nothing else. She lay under the tarp and thought about trying to escape, but by then the men were back. They slid John in and dropped the tarp, then hopped in while someone worked the automatic garage opener.
The Escalade backed out, then drove forward. Ariel thought she might lift the tarp, but felt one of the men’s hands draped over the seat in front of her and touching her shoulder through the plastic. She would wait, then.
The travel was smooth, except for occasional sheets of wind driven rain bumping the vehicle. She felt John stir, and touched his arm, whispering, “act like you’re still out.” He stopped moving.
She felt the road surface change when they slowed and made a right turn. With no watch, it was hard to tell how much time they had been on the road, but her guess was less than an hour. The next turn was to the left, and about fifteen minutes later, onto another, rougher surfaced road. When it stopped several minutes later, Ariel knew they were at the camp.
The rear hatch of the Escalade opened and someone snatched the tarp off them and stepped back. Jean Claude told the others, “I have a Taser, in case they are pretending. Carry them inside.”
Ariel felt John pulled away from her, then seconds later half a dozen hands grabbed her and slid her out of the vehicle, carrying her by her hands and feet with her limp head hanging face down.
Opening her eyes to slits so they wouldn’t notice, Ariel watched as they climbed homemade steps up to the door and inside. The floor was wooden and water stained, but no rot showed. The men dropped her beside John, and the two prisoners lay on the cool wood as the others moved things around in what sounded like a very large room.
A woman’s voice said in Creole, “Bring the altar in from the back. Be careful of alligators and snakes. There’s a twelve-foot bull that’s around here all the time.”
With her eyes closed, Ariel noticed smells. Marijuana was pungent, and spilled chilli rum. Incense was in the air. Near the floor, it smelled of old blood and offal. Ariel imagined it was what an abattoir smelled like.
Those in the room stayed busy obeying the woman’s orders. Occasionally one would come by and kick them. The woman came by once, kneeling by John and pulling up his face to open an eyelid with her thumb. She touched his eyeball with her finger. John didn’t flinch. She dropped his head so it plonked on the wood and said, “They will be out for another hour. We have plenty of time to get things ready.”
The others arrived an hour later, including Dessaline, Bazin, and Villard. Marc, holding a human skull in one hand, leaned down by the two and said, “Open your eyes now. You’re not fooling us.”
John sat up, and Ariel followed. “Good,” Marc said, and he placed two plastic bottles of water in front of them. “I’m sure you are thirsty.”
He rose and walked to the woman arranging candles on the table shrouded in red satin. He put the skull he carried in the center of the table, saying to her, “Rosalie, make sure to dress the table the way my mother likes it.”
Rosalie said, “Always.”
John opened his water bottle as he said to Ariel, “Drink it, we might not get any more.” They drained their bottles, and sat close together, watching the people preparing for a ritual that would end in their deaths. Four of the men were dressed as Tonton Macoute, including the straw hats and sunglasses. They also wore machetes in scabbards on their belts.
When the back door opened, John checked to see what was visible outside: A small yard of crushed limestone and seashells, and a narrow, dark water canal bordering one edge. Sawgrass was all the way to the horizon. At the edge of what he could see in the yard was the side of a small shed. Twenty feet beyond the shed was an airboat where someone slid it up on the grass.
As they sat close, Ariel whispered, “I stole this from their kitchen. I don’t know if it will help.” She touched her hand to his, making sure no one was watching. John opened his hand, and Ariel slipped it in his palm.
John felt it with his fingers and realized it was a plastic spork.
Ariel said, “I told you I didn’t know if it would help.”
John said, “
It’s okay. I’ll work with it.” As the people bustled about, smoked dope and drank rum, John moved his hand between his legs down to the flagstone and used his legs to hide his actions. Working the plastic hilt of the spork on the rock, he gradually formed the handle into a knifelike point. Not much, but better than what they had. He said, “We have to wait for an opening. When I move, you come right behind me.”
“I will.”
The woman, Rosalie, worked on arranging things until the entire room, a large rectangle with an open kitchen near the back door, was filled with lit candles, religious icons, red and black figures on tables, and lastly, the white images and figures she painted on the floor. The door to another room was closed, but not blocked by tables. The Haitians came and went through it, but John could not see inside to know if it was only a bedroom, or some other way they might escape.
Rosalie chanted as she drew the center of the crossroads in the middle of the room, and the long white lines extending to each of the four walls seemed to glow in the dimming light. The lowering, overcast sky seen through the windows added to the pall.
Wind rattled the panes, and sheets of hard rain hit the glass like pellets, only to die off as the rain bands passed. More ominous were the rising and lowering moans of the hurricane’s breath blowing across the everglades. Ariel’s voice carried her worry as she said, “The storm’s growing stronger.”
Rosalie said something to two of the men and they went to Ariel and John. One of them nudged John with his boot, “Move away, we are starting a fire.” The two prisoners attempted to stand, but were shoved down. “Scoot on your butts. Don’t stand.” They scooted to a place beside the small kitchen stove.
John watched the men bring in armloads of wood and several quart bottles of charcoal lighter fluid. One of the men piled the wood in the hearth and the other liberally squirted on the fluid. They used one match to produce a roaring, hot blaze that lit the room with yellow light. One of the men went out and brought back a second armload of wood, putting it down midway between John and the fire.
Club sized, John thought.
The preparations continued for another hour, then the ritual began with two of the Haitians beginning on the batterie drums and others chanting and shaking the gourd rattles. Smoke grew thicker in the room from candles and incense, and the fire, as the chimney seemed partially blocked. The men dressed as Macoutes carried bottles of chilli rum around the room, spraying mouthfuls on people and the skulls. John and Ariel were sprayed several times.
The temperature increased in the room as the fire expelled more heat. One of the men tossed additional logs on the flames, and John noticed there were only three pieces left in the pile.
Ariel saw the back door open. The view of the sky and land beyond the door made her scalp prickle. The gray clouds seemed to boil overhead, and were so low they seemed to rest on the roof of the cabin. Sawgrass and cattails whipped and bent in the gusting winds, their color seeming to change hue as it was stroked by the hurricane, and bands of heavy rain were like dull steel as they swept over the area.
Denson came through the door, wet and dripping water on the floor. He held a dog leash and tugged on it, forcing the reluctant creature to follow him inside.
Pansy Brown stepped through the threshold. The dog collar tight around her neck, and her hands flex-cuffed in front. She was bent slightly forward, and Ariel saw the bruises and cuts on her face and arms.
“Pansy!” Ariel shouted.
Pansy looked at her, surprised. Denson jerked on the leash and Pansy staggered. She looked at Ariel and said, “It’s too late.”
Two men emerged from the bedroom, both stripped to loincloths and their bodies and faces painted with white figures and designs. Both wore small leather caps with long, curved horns on them. The horns were black, with small red designs at the base.
Rosalie followed them into the room, but not as Rosalie. Red flowing robes and a painted face revealed her as Marinette Bois Sèch, the same one Ariel witnessed in the warehouse in Miami.
The drums increased in their frenzy, and people swayed and gyrated, moaning and yelling as the ritual proceeded. Ariel recognized many of the fevered faces.
The bedroom door opened again and a tall man whose entire face was painted white to look like a skull stepped into the center of the floor.
The second man emerged from the room wearing a tall purple top hat and the purple suit he wore at the warehouse. The upper half of his face was painted as before: like a white skull. The only difference this time was the crude cast on his forearm. It was Ringo Bazin.
The two men walked to where the red witch lingered near Pansy. The crowd grew louder, more frenzied.
Denson drew a knife and cut Pansy out of her collar, then pushed her back on a wooden table. She didn’t fight, and she looked at Denson as if her heart was broken in two.
He stepped away, and the red witch took the knife from him.
Ariel squirmed, trying to break the cuffs and, almost crying, said, “She’s going to kill Pansy!”
At that moment, a sound like an approaching freight train made everyone stop. It grew louder, then the wind shrieked and the walls shook. Ariel felt the entire building move. The roof creaked and groaned, then boards snapped like pistol shots as part of the roof peeled away. The house lifted off the pier and beam posts and made a half turn before dropping back to earth at a canted angle.
People screamed and fell to the floor, scurrying on hands and knees like rats escaping a fire. The train sound faded as the tornado continued across the everglades ahead of its mother, the hurricane.
Marc said in a loud voice, “It is past. We will continue the ritual.”
But the people were having none of it. Rain pelted them through the open roof, and the water-slick floor made standing difficult.
John noticed that half the fire in the fireplace lay scattered on the wooden floor a good six feet from the hearth. The floor smoldered in a dozen places.
The participants and crowd there for the ritual looked to Marc, Ringo, and Rosalie for guidance. John noticed the two Macoute guards beside him had their total attention on Dessaline and the others.
John turned to Ariel touched her shoulder and whispered, “Follow me.” He stood and lifted his bound hands high over his head, then brought up his knee in a fierce kick as he powered his arms down on each side of his leg.
The flex-cuffs snapped and bounced across the floor.
The Macoutes saw the broken cuffs and turned toward John. He had an inch of the spork’s sharpened handle protruding beyond his grip with his thumb braced below the point. He stabbed as fast as he could at their necks and eyes, then dropped and stabbed again machine gun fast at the junctures of legs and groin, aiming for the arteries so close to the surface.
Both men staggered back, with one spouting a thin, red geyser from his neck. He collapsed as shock and blood loss slammed his vital organs.
John went to the floor with him, snatching the machete from the sheath as the other Macoute screamed and held the wounds in his groin, despite the flood of scarlet from his neck and one eye, then he saw John and reached for his machete.
Swinging the machete overhead like a claymore, John buried the blade deep in the bleeding man’s head, dropping him to the floor.
Ariel looked at Pansy, who saw her. Ariel gave her the hurry to us hand sign. Pansy rolled off the table and ran as soon as her feet touched the floor.
Marc and the others saw them and Ringo shouted to the crowd, “Catch them! Kill them!”
John searched for a pistol or other weapon as Marc, Ringo, and Young came toward them, followed by a dozen men from the crowd.
Ariel was positioned behind John and saw them coming. She glanced around and saw what to do. She grabbed the lighter fluid bottle, saw another near the kitchen and pointed Pansy at it, saying “John, Pansy, come this way!”
She sprayed a liquid path of fire from the fireplace to between Marc’s group and the three of them, then she and Pansy squir
ted the fluid further toward the group, creating a ten-foot wide wall of fire that was not high, but too wide to leap across.
Ariel led as they ran toward the back door, now torn from its hinges because of the tornado.
Marc ripped covers from two tables and threw on the fire, smothering it enough for them to cross and give chase. Denson was first across and coming fast.
Ariel sensed the unseen danger in front of them and said to John and Pansy, “Jump high!” She went out first, sailing high and far, followed by Pansy, who stumbled when she hit the ground. The naked woman looked back at John coming through the door. Her eyes widened in terror.
John leaped high, and when he looked down, he saw a huge alligator below the back door, mouth open and ready to bite.
Denson didn’t hear Ariel’s words and raced out the back door. The alligator caught him before he touched ground, clamping the huge jaws on Denson’s upper thigh and spinning over and over in a death roll.
Marc and the others still inside skidded to a stop, then backed away as the alligator put its head, then its enormous body into the opening and bellowed as it crawled into the safety of the building and away from the storm. The bull was frightened and angry and ready to attack anything that moved.
John reached Pansy and passed her when he yelled so his voice would carry over the wind, “The airboat!” Ariel glanced back when she heard him. She stopped. John looked behind and witnessed Pansy running to the writhing, bloody man near the cabin’s back door. Running to Denson, John thought.
“Get on the airboat!” John yelled and started forward again as sheets of hard rain hit his face and made it almost impossible to see.
Inside the cabin, Marc yelled, “Go out the front door and circle the building! Don’t let them get away!”
Everyone but Marc left the building. He stepped in front of the alligator and kneeled as the big reptile hissed and opened its mouth. Marc said soft incantations in creole and inched closer. He put his left hand low to the floor, palm up, and moved it slowly, and by inches as he kept the alligator’s eyes on the right hand, held high above the animal.
