by Steve Richer
He was no angel himself, he knew that, he accepted it, but he had never thought of himself as evil. That’s what Raymond was, he realized. His own son—and his wife—they were evil. Sabatini went from thinking of his boy as a mild disappointment to an outright embarrassment.
“I never should’ve let you join my business, Raymond. It’s my fault you turned out this way.”
“No, dad. It’s not all bad. You made me stronger. In fact, I’m strong enough that I have no problem killing everyone here. I won’t lose sleep over it. Kinda makes me happy, actually. It’s gonna make me happy to personally kill you later.”
Sabatini didn’t reply. He didn’t even blink. Everything became so very clear in his mind. He was having his Frankenstein moment. Old Yeller. He was responsible for creating this monster.
It was his responsibility to put him down.
Chapter 35
With no hesitation, Sabatini sprung forward and closed his fingers around Raymond’s throat. It was his own son he wanted to kill, he was fully aware of that. It had to be done, for everyone’s sake. For his own inner peace.
Raymond’s eyes bulged, simultaneously surprised by the attack and by the fact that his father would do that to him. He struggled, but Sabatini had a firm grip.
The old man’s eyes watered. Why had the kid put him in this position? This wasn’t natural, it was immoral. It was a goddamn sin. It was, nevertheless, a necessity.
Raymond’s legs gave out. He was sitting in the thick mud now, his feet kicking haphazardly. He tried to shove his father away and when that proved to be useless he worked on prying the hands from around his throat.
Sabatini had killed more than one man this way. He knew how it was done. You had to crush the larynx. This way, the victim stopped breathing and drowned in his own blood. It was a horrible death, but his kid hadn’t given him a choice.
He had a steady grip on his throat and the fight left Raymond. It was a matter of seconds now. Sabatini’s cheeks were streaked with tears, their heat a troubling contrast to the cold rain falling down.
Raymond’s eyes were pleading with him to stop, but they were also filled with hatred. This was who the boy truly was, he had to remember that. Killing him was an act of mercy. Sabatini was doing something good for once in his life.
Christ, he almost believed it, too.
Life was abandoning Raymond’s body. He had him, he had done it, this heinous and objectionable act. Sabatini was openly sobbing now and still he didn’t ease up the pressure against his throat.
“No!” Renna screamed.
At the very same time, Sabatini felt a blade piercing his side. His strength evaporated and he let go of Raymond.
“I always hated you,” his wife spat before she stabbed him again in the stomach.
Sabatini collapsed, instinctively putting his hands on the gaping wounds. Scorching blood poured out. He discovered that he couldn’t breathe.
“I told you that we’re smarter and more powerful than you’ll ever be, Santo.”
Renna flipped the knife over and drove it like a stake into his heart. The last thing he saw before he blacked out was his son pulling himself up, rubbing his neck and smiling at the young woman for having saved his life.
Even in death he had failed to do the right thing.
~ ~ ~ ~
Why did palm trees have to be so small?
Rogan would’ve loved some hundred-year-old oaks at the moment, something for him to really hide behind. This was especially vital because the bearded guy with a weird-looking R on his shirt—Gamma?—was making a push toward them.
With him was Paul Bloom. He was shooting his pistol next to him. It wasn’t artful, but it was effective. It allowed him and Gamma to approach the tree line while Rogan and Gina were limited in their opportunities to fire back.
“We have to retreat,” he told Gina.
Rogan squeezed off a couple of three-round bursts as he ran backwards. Gina fell in next to him. The vegetation was cut down around them as bullets came closer and closer to finding their targets.
“Jump!”
Rogan pulled her with him as they leapt over a fallen tree. They landed in some sort of depression. It was filled with water and getting deeper by the second.
This situation had gone from bad to worse. Their raid had been poorly planned. On top of that, Rogan had glimpsed the way Renna and Raymond acted. They hadn’t been prisoners. They were part of Blake’s crew. The entire weekend had been a major setup.
“It’s my last clip,” he told Gina as he inserted a fresh magazine into the carbine.
She gave him a worried look, but he didn’t return it. He needed her to be confident. For once, they had suitable cover and Rogan popped up from behind the log.
He fired at Gamma and Paul. They had no choice but to take cover as well, dropping to their knees. What followed was a scary and useless gunfight. They only managed to keep one another at bay.
“I’m empty,” Gina said softly as she squatted in the gutter.
Rogan was determined to make every shot count, but with the adrenaline pumping through his veins he fired faster than he wanted, even by switching the selector to SEMI, the single shot setting. In no time he was out of ammunition.
All that remained was using the rifle as a club even though that would be as useless as it was comical. You didn’t bring a bat to a gun battle.
He found himself cowering deeper in the ditch, Gina by his side. Water levels were climbing. This was what defeat was like, he mused. Death was only moments away.
That fact was driven home when Gamma put a foot on the log and appeared above them. He didn’t say a word, he didn’t wait. He simply aimed his M4 down and got a bead on Rogan’s head.
Before Rogan could think to throw himself to the side or lunge at him, Gamma was shot three times—twice in the left shoulder and once in the upper chest. Less than a second later, the same thing happened to Paul. He was shot and dropped into the vegetation.
“We’re here! We’re here!”
Gina and Rogan spun back and found Clifford and Bill running to them. They looked like Keystone Cops, two bumbling weekend warriors ill-equipped to face what they were up against. And yet they had saved their lives.
“You guys are getting amazing gifts next Christmas! Thank you.”
Gina was smiling before her expression changed. “Rogan…”
“What?”
“They still have those grenade launchers, right? What if they shoot at us with them?”
Rogan was alarmed for a second before he smiled. “What if we use it on them instead?”
He dropped his useless weapon and climbed out of the depression. Gamma was dead, just like Paul nearby. Rogan picked up Gamma’s rifle, but it was unfortunately not equipped with a grenade launcher.
“You guys stay here.”
Chapter 36
He took off toward the road and when he saw the Jeeps he began firing in short bursts. He heard the windshield shatter, but he didn’t think he hit Blake. Anyhow, all he needed was to buy a few seconds to make his way to the second vehicle.
On the ground were the two guys, Xi and Tau, with their rifles lying next to them. One of them had the thick barrel of a M203 grenade launcher mounted underneath.
He dove into the mud, sliding all the way to the two corpses as if he was a Yankees player stealing third. He ignored Blake shooting at him from behind the other car as he grabbed the M4 and shifted to the Asian man. He inspected his gear, searching for what he needed.
There it was, the olive drab cylinder stowed in the harness. He pulled the forty millimeters grenade out and inserted it in the M203.
“Grenade!” Blake screamed in warning.
He backed away, getting out of his prone position and jumping out of the vehicle.
At the same time, Renna was helping Raymond away. The latter was weak for some reason. Rogan didn’t linger on it. He was eager to put an end to this ordeal. He shouldered the rifle and pulled the trigger.
<
br /> There was a bland whomp sound as the grenade was propelled out of the tube. Just a second later, it landed directly between Raymond and Renna. The two bodies exploded at once and Blake was simultaneously hit by the concussion wave, vanishing into nothing.
Was it over? Was it genuinely over? Rogan could barely believe it.
There was this feeling of loss mixed with relief. It had happened every single time he had been in combat. He had always refused to meet military shrinks even though they would almost certainly have been able to explain the phenomenon.
“Come on out, guys!” he shouted to the others when he was convinced that everyone was dead.
He climbed to his feet but kept the rifle in his arms, just in case. Gina was the first to make her way out of the trees and she was swiftly followed by Clifford and Bill.
“Is it over?” Gina asked.
“Looks like it.”
“Really, really over?” Bill inquired to make sure. “Because I would hate for this to be another disappointment, okay? I’m done with disappointment this weekend. Disappointment sucks.”
Rogan didn’t say anything and went over to the second Jeep. It had been spared by the grenade. Aside from a few bullet holes and the destroyed windshield, it seemed to be in working order.
In worse shape were Renna and Raymond. Only pieces of them remained, their bodies torn and their flesh charred.
“Ugh…”
The sound was a gurgle coming from the rear of the car. It was Sabatini. He was on the ground, his eyes glassy and with blood pouring out his mouth, chest, and stomach. He was in critical condition, but he was still alive.
“Guys, come help me!” Rogan called.
The three others hurried over and Clifford retched when he spotted his boss.
“Oh shit.”
Ignoring Clifford as he vomited, Rogan told the others, “The storm is getting bad. This Jeep looks like it works. We’re gonna load Sabatini on and go to the big house, okay? We’ll be safe from the weather there.”
“Are you sure we should move him?” Bill inquired.
Gina was offended by that. “You want to leave him here? Let’s go, there’s no time to waste.”
As she bent down with Rogan to take the old man, there was movement up ahead. It was swift and violent.
It was Blake!
There were no warnings. He started shooting.
Rogan hurled himself on top of Gina. As they hit the ground, neither could escape the sight of two bullets ripping through Sabatini’s head. This time he was unequivocally dead.
While this was going on, Clifford impressively straightened up after having puked. This was a big enough target for Blake to turn his weapon to him. A three-round burst to the chest, center mass, killed him on impact.
His training kicking in, Rogan rolled on himself, leveling the carbine. He pulled the trigger and emptied the magazine at Blake.
The mercenary was thrown back, disappearing on the other side of the road.
“Did you get him?” Gina asked.
Rogan dreadfully wanted to say yes, but the truth was that he wasn’t sure. The fucker was like a cat; he had nine lives.
“Let’s get to the house.”
But just as they turned toward the vehicle, there was movement again. Blake was coming back for more, undoubtedly protected by body armor.
“Forget the Jeep. Run!”
Out of ammunition, Rogan took Gina’s hand to drag her with him, and Bill got the idea as well.
He decided that the best course of action was to run away from the house, heading back north. Rogan had read the tactical situation at one glance. The dead vehicle was blocking the way. By the time they got into the rear Jeep, backed up or went around the other one, Blake would have all the necessary time to aim and eliminate them.
The solution was to get as far away as possible.
“Come on!”
Shots rang out. Bill had trouble keeping up, but he made a valiant effort. After all, his life was at stake.
“Where are we going?” Gina asked.
“The yacht,” Rogan said without thinking. “Only chance we have now.”
“But… That means swimming. I don’t swim!”
“You will tonight, Gina. You swim or you die.”
“I’m…” Bill rasped. “I’m tired… Can’t keep up…”
“We’re right there, buddy.” Indeed, just ahead the road curved. If they could make it another twenty feet, they would be out of sight from Blake. “Push! Push!”
Bill grunted and gave it everything he had. He was almost level with Rogan and Gina now.
And then came the last shot.
Bill let out a sharp gasp as the bullet entered his body. He pitched to the right, lost his footing, and fell off the road.
Rogan watched helplessly as he tumbled down the slope into the brush. The angle was so pronounced that he would end up in the sea before they ever managed to reach him. Besides, he had emitted no sound after being shot. Going to help him would be fruitless.
“No!” Gina screamed.
Rogan understood the sentiment. But when all was said and done, they had to keep going because their own lives were in the balance.
Chapter 37
Gina looked at Rogan, her face a mask of fear and pain. “We have to go back!”
“He’s dead.”
“But…”
“There’s nothing we can do for him, Gina. We have to keep running otherwise we’re dead too.”
He took her by the arm as they hooked right toward the marina. Coming back gave Rogan absolutely no pleasure. His last adventure here had nearly gotten him blown up and the place was still on fire, as if taunting him about what would happen to him if he let his guard down. It was a warning.
It was also a big goddamn obstacle.
“We can’t go through there,” Gina said as she slowed down. “It’s on fire!”
“It’s just a few flames. Haven’t you ever had a bonfire on the beach? Marshmallows, bad acoustic guitar, and drunken folk music?”
Rogan didn’t let her reply, grabbing her hand and pulling her with him toward the pier. Flames were licking the heavy wooden pillars. What was left of the boathouse was on fire. There were boats in the water everywhere, sinking and burning. The fuel dumps would be on fire for days.
“Come on…”
The options were limited. The yacht was anchored offshore, only three hundred feet away. They could swim the entire distance or dramatically cut down their time in the choppy waters by running the length of the pier. But parts of it were on fire.
“There has to be another way,” Gina pleaded.
“There isn’t. We have to leave this island if you want to stay alive. Blake is out there just waiting for a chance to kill us. Do you want to die, is that it?”
“No.”
He stared into her eyes. “Then follow me, Gina.”
The rain was cool, but the fire on each side of them as they ran down the dock was surprisingly comforting, offering a nice counterbalance to their discomfort. They ran hard and fast, their loud footsteps on the planks competing with the roar of the waves.
“What’s that?”
Rogan saw what she was referring to just as she pointed at it. Thirty feet ahead, the ground was different. It was black, punctuated by glimmering orange. It was a hole. There was a gap in the pier, with fire rising up through it.
“We’re gonna have to jump.”
“I can’t…”
“Jump or swim, your pick.”
She shot daggers at him and it was all he could do not to laugh. It felt startlingly good to be distracted from the murderous situation.
Getting closer, Rogan began to doubt himself. The hole was larger now. Could they really jump it? It spanned the entire width. There was no way to go around it. The pier had been severed in two. There was flaming debris right below.
“Rogan?”
“Piece of cake, Gina. Speed up, jump over.”
He preached by
example, accelerating to a sprint. He was relieved that she was keeping pace with him.
“Here it comes… Go!”
Jesus, could he really do this? Now that he was on the edge, the gap had to be six feet wide. In any case, it was too late to stop.
He pushed with his right leg, extended his left, and propelled himself into the air. Operating on adrenaline, Gina did the same.
They went over the gap, flames grazing their legs, and they both landed hard on the surface on the other side. Rogan stumbled and fell while she remained on her feet.
“You okay?” he asked as he stood up, grateful that he hadn’t hurt himself.
“Yes. Yes, I’m okay.”
She smiled broadly, relieved and proud of her accomplishment. He returned the smile and they ran all the way to the end of the pier.
The water below was positively roiling. There was no rhyme or reason to the waves. They ebbed forward, stopped, turned sideways. It was impossible to judge the current in this weather.
And then, because they didn’t have enough on their plates, the wind picked up.
There was a metal ladder at the end of the pier and Rogan went to it. “You climb down first.”
“No. No way.”
“Gina, you go down and hold on to the ladder. Easy peasy, fries are greasy.”
“I can’t.”
“Gina…”
She shook her head. “I’ll drown.”
“And you’ll be burned alive if you stay here. You’ll get shot to death when Blake gets here. It’s the trifecta of shit choices, Gina. There aren’t any options here.”
“It’s too far.”
“It’s about fifty meters. You watch the Olympics?”
“What?”
“The overpriced and overhyped games on TV? You watch them? You watch the swimming competitions?” She shrugged. “All we have to do is swim the length of one pool, that’s it. One pool, one length, from one end to the other. Michael Phelps can do it in less than thirty seconds.”
“You’re not Michael Phelps, Rogan. I’m not Michael Phelps! And Olympic pools don’t have waves.”
