He scanned the darkness in every direction with his night-vision binoculars. But he could see nothing untoward despite the continued distress cries of the doomed man.
“For-For G-G-God’s-sake!” Schramick screamed out. “Paaa-lll-ease helllp!”
Kat returned with his two-way and his high-powered, scoped Remington Scorpion, just in case five rounds wasn’t enough. Marcus stubbornly declined for the Bushmaster Varmint Killer he’d brought with him earlier. She recalled how earlier Marcus had strapped the night-vision goggles and had stuffed his pockets with the flare gun and flares. He looked like a Martian now with the night-vision wear as he repeated his search of the darkness.
From Marcus’s point of view, the forests had become a fairyland in green light, looking like a surreal screen saver. As he scanned, he saw Cantu pouring gasoline on a small bonfire he meant to set below the dangling form of a thing with Carl’s face. It was the same as with Grimes’s body, but Carl remained alive. Just barely but alive. He’d been trussed up into a bundle, encased in a net, dangled from a tree limb. The now familiar package.
Marcus quickly pulled up the Bushmaster and fired through the window, his shot sure as Cantu leapt, screaming into the bush. “I got him.”
“Are you certain?”
“The shot made contact. That much is certain.”
Kat remained skeptical. “He could still be alive. Likely wearing Kevlar, too.”
“Or better than Kevlar. We’ll know soon enough. Now get the others out the back. Do it, Kat, now! It’s our best chance even if he’s only wounded.”
Carl continued begging and pleading for his life where he dangled. Kat raced to gather the others and to make the escape work. Marcus remained vigilant, his eyes through the night vision wear never leaving the spot where he’d last seen Cantu.
No movement. No return fire.
Maybe he’d gotten lucky; perhaps the single shot from the lightweight Bushmaster had done its job. A quick glance at his watch told him the children and the ladies must by now be below the deck and exiting at the lake and finding the boat. He’d placed the boat at such an angle that Katrina could steer them away from any stumbling upon Grimes’ remains in the shallows the other side of the dock.
Soon they’d be making the lake crossing. Soon he’d be alone with the devil save for what remained of Carl, out there hanging, twirling below that tree limb.
Marcus threw open the door, now with four steel-tipped arrows jutting from it, and he dove for the dirt at the base of the stairs, dog-peddled with his rifle in hand and located a dark corner below the porch from which to fire a second shot when and if need be. He worked the flare gun out of the pocket of his camouflage suit, cocked it, placed his hand out from below the porch and fired it straight into the heavens.
The flare rose burning rocket-like and reached a crescendo and began falling to earth, lighting up the entire scene around Carl, and the area where Marcus had last seen Cantu.
No sign of Cantu.
Not a sound.
No response.
Marcus taunted him. “I know you’re hit and bleeding, you bastard of hell!”
“No response until Paco began barking and frolicking around the killing flames now working their way up to Schramick whose chorus of pain returned with a heart-wrenching finale.”
Marcus hoped for the best but feared the worst. Feared that Cantu had somehow learned of their secret exit and was at this moment taking Nora, the children, and Kat into his possession when suddenly the fire below Carl ignited large, flames licking at the parcel he’d become.
Had Cantu thrown a lighter or a match on it, or had sparks from the falling flare set off the gas fumes? It killed him inside to think that he had added to the fire now consuming what was left of Schramick.
He kept a vigilant eye out for Cantu even as he wanted to make a dash for Carl, to salvage what he could of the man. As he weighed his options, the fire beneath Carl took on more life, building as if Carl’s screams had become the accelerant.
“Where are you, you psycho bastard,” muttered Marcus to himself, knowing he must do something and do it now if he meant to do anything whatsoever for Schramick. He made his move, lifting from his position and rushing for the cover of a nearby tree when an arrow thudded into Marcus’s left arm, the force knocking him to the ground as if hit by a car. He heard Cantu’s sick laughter the moment his arrow had hit its mark, and through the excruciating pain, he realized had Cantu wished, he could’ve ended it with one strike. Still playing games, still toying with Marcus.
Marcus threw himself against the tree he’d earlier sought, his arm bleeding profusely, the arrow like a part of him now. At the same time, the fire beneath Carl had set Schramick into a screaming jag, the horror of it floating out over the lake, no doubt heard by Kat, Nora, and the kids. But at least, by now, they were halfway across the lake.
Marcus, sweat chilling his body, fearing he might pass out, took firm hold of the arrow tip that’d gone through his left arm. With firm determination and teeth clenched, he first inched it out until he had a fistful of shaft. Taking a deep breath, he quickly located his Bowie knife and not without pain notched the feather section and broke it off. His head reeling from the torment of it all, he now snatched the shaft and pulled the offensive thing all the way through and out of him. He knew he could not take another shot like that and remain conscious.
Meanwhile, Carl’s wrapped body, taped and folded in on itself, twirled furiously now with the wind of fire beneath it. Marcus couldn’t possibly get at him without being killed, and in fact, even if he completely ignored Cantu as an impediment, Marcus knew that he couldn’t get to Carl in time.
The screams sounded like those rising from hell.
Marcus dropped to one knee, aimed at Carl but the body kept twirling. He wanted a single shot to put him out of any further suffering, a shot through the heart or head. But now the package had Carl’s back to him and it quit twirling. Another arrow struck the tree at Marcus’s eye level, sending splinters into his face. He ignored Cantu’s toying with him, kept steady, decoded where on the back the man’s head and heart would be and with two rapid shots, he got at least one of these as Carl’s ungodly screams instantly stopped.
Marcus pulled back behind the tree to the thud of another arrow the other side of it. Again came Cantu’s laughter. Cantu then shouted across the chasm between them as Carl’s body caught entirely aflame, “Made you do it, Rydell! Made you kill an innocent man!”
Marcus wheeled and took aim, but the other man was a ghost, gone into the night, leaving the burning carcass dangling like so much garbage.
Marcus knew he must somehow keep Cantu engaged, his attention away from the lake. He knew he could not allow him the peace of thinking the others were no longer in the house; no longer in the wicked lunatic’s trap.
To this end, Marcus made his way out and down the driveway. He knew of a couple of turn-ins off the road in the direction that Cantu had come from. Perhaps Grimes’ cruiser—now Cantu’s escape vehicle—might be found there. One flare to the interior and it would erupt in a ball of flame.
As he made his way, he sadly watched the bonfire that Cantu had made of Schramick. The fire flared over with a burst of gasoline. Final ghost screams erupted from Carl Schramick inside Marcus’s skull, and slowly…ever so slowly, the fire burned itself out, leaving a smoldering square package of the dangling body. And slowly, ever so slowly, Carl’s screams inside Marcus ended as well, but he knew he’d never completely rid himself of Schramick’s and Tim’s cries.
Cantu had practiced this method of torture and murder so often now that he had it down to a black art. Marcus must end the life of this crazed zealot for death, this devotee of Satan, and he must do it now.
T W E N T Y S I X
Marcus looked like the invisible man in his old gear and camouflage clothing, but even a wounded Cantu, using night-vision, could pick up his movements if he were not careful. He wanted to draw Cantu’s attention away from th
e lake and the ladies, and that much he’d managed for certain, as he felt the fiend tracking him. Listening in on the device he’d created to track Paco’s movements, Marcus now heard the madman call Paco by the name Big. “Good work, Big…you did good,” the man said in a tone that sounded human, kind even.
Marcus knew he must do more, keep Cantu focused on him. He also knew he must stay alive and to entice the killer away from the lake if he were to save the women and children. To this end, he circuitously made his way toward the old paved road at the end of the driveway.
Whenever he might locate a safe place with cover, he’d take a shot at the tree where Carl’s body remained twirling, giving Cantu the idea that he, Marcus, remained pinned down, and that whoever was making noise from this angle was a second shooter. Would Cantu fall for it? He could not be sure.
Marcus’s night-vision goggles confirmed movement that said Cantu was moving away now, not following as he’d hoped, and in fact, moving toward the house, the dock, and the general direction of the lake instead. Obviously, the uncanny ex-marine psycho had spotted Marcus with his own night-vision. Obviously, he hadn’t fallen for the bait and wasn’t about to follow on Marcus’s heels.
The question now: find the vehicle and fire it, or follow in Cantu’s wake?
Once on a high point on the silent road, Marcus took position, aimed and fired at the moving target now charging the house, Paco at his heels, yelping. To silence the dog, Cantu turned on it and viciously kicked Paco so hard he flew from the porch and crawled up under the boards as Marcus squeezed off another shot. This one hit Cantu full in the chest and the man slammed into the big picture window that’d earlier been pierced by Marcus’s first shot. Cantu literally plunged through the window and into the house.
“That’s got him,” muttered Rydell, feeling good about himself now, having placed two large caliber bullets into the monster. Yet, he’d been moving up those stairs and kicking that dog as if not wounded at all, and another sighting on the window, and Marcus saw the monster’s paw grab hold of the sill to pull himself up, his head and eyes scanning the territory around the road now. How could he still be alive after that shot, wondered Marcus. He must be wearing the very latest in vests, way beyond what Marcus had wrapped about his mid-section and chest.
Marcus fired again, pinning Cantu down.
“What next?” Marcus wondered. “What’s Cantu’s next move when he finds the house empty?”
“Now we got ourselves a game, heh, Marcus?”shouted Cantu from inside the house. “Something to live and die for, heh!”
Cantu might discover the escape route the women and children had taken; might stand out on Marcus’s deck and locate the boat and fire into it. Marcus had wanted to locate Tim’s missing cruiser, perhaps radio for help from it before turning it into a fireball. All so that Cantu could go nowhere except on foot.
But for now, Marcus must stay on the attack, keep Cantu pinned down and away from any possibility of discovering the others on the lake. How long had it been? How far had they gotten over the lake? Were they at a safe distance? With Cantu’s marksmanship and equipment, what was a safe distance? There was none.
Marcus toyed with the idea of using the two-way radio to determine Kat’s distance, but if Cantu had their frequency, he could be setting her up for disaster. Instead, Marcus made a beeline for another location, hoping he could do so before Cantu dared peek out again. He ran for the tree line facing the deck. Should Cantu step out on the deck back of the house overlooking the lake, should he scan the lake with his night vision, Marcus would put a bullet through his head. No Kevlar there.
Marcus made his move now. He raced at full speed, disregarding his still bleeding arm where the arrow had pierced him. In a matter of minutes, he took up the position he needed in order to clearly see the deck. He expected Cantu to at any moment step out. “Come on, you creep,” he muttered to himself, “step out and be killed.”
He cursed himself for not having taken a head shot to begin with, but making a head shot on a moving target was the riskiest, unlikeliest shot of all. This time the head he located in his scope would be stationary, peeking up over the window sill. This time there’d be no body armor and no question of Cantu’s being permanently put down.
“One shot, Lord…give me one shot and together we’ll send this hellion back to where such are spawned.”
*
An hour passed and no Cantu. From time to time, Marcus saw a shadow moving about inside, which clearly indicated that the jackal had crawled on all fours to get away from the windows. Now Cantu set a candle burning inside just to cast huge dancing shadow from wall to wall—just to let Marcus know that he was eating his food and drinking what was left of his beer, and going nowhere. Apparently, he’d accepted the fact that Marcus had gotten the women and children out to safety.
Just to let the creep know that Marcus had gone nowhere, Rydell intermittently shattered a window here and there with a .223 bullet.
Marcus wanted to believe that at least one of his shots had hurt Cantu; that Cantu’s body armor had been pierced. He wanted to believe the other man was hurting more than he let on. It would explain why Cantu hadn’t ventured out again, not on the deck, the porch, or anywhere. Part of his shadow dance within might actually be a play about searching out Kat’s medical bag and wrapping himself in a bandage. Marcus could only hope that he’d indeed wounded the beast.
The TV flickered on inside the house. Lights came up. The creep had restored power to the house, which meant he’d at some point reconnected the wires he’d cut. To do this, he must surely have crawled out a back window and remained out of sight and in the shadows. Paco had begun barking at one point from a position he’d taken up below the porch, no doubt barking at Cantu’s movements, but the dog had gone silent now for some time.
Iden Cantu had taken up house.
*
Cantu continued going about drinking Marcus’s booze, smoking his father’s cigars, relaxing, basking in the creature comforts not offered by the forests and whatever cave or car he’d slept in for the past forty-eight hours. Hopefully the fiendish devil was still wondering where the women and children were, and how Marcus had gotten them to safety.
This had to be a blow to his enormous ego.
Then noise erupted from inside. Banging, tearing, stomping.
From the dancing shadows in the interior, Cantu appeared bent on destroying the place in an effort to find a false wall, any hiding place. His shadow self moved to the second floor. As he moved by one window, Marcus saw that he held up Kat’s PowerBook, the Mac laptop. Held it up and danced it before the window just to taunt him with the fact he had hold of it.
Marcus didn’t have time to do anything but react. He sighted his weapon on the lit up apple logo with the single bite taken out. The .223 bullet from his weapon ripped an enormous hole through the titanium plated Mac, resulting in a clean by jagged-edged wound radiating out from the now obliterated bitten apple image.
Cantu was an able hacker. Still he could get past any firewall; he’d break in and cancel the one SOS they’d managed to get out to Atlanta. He knew that destroying the Macintosh, while his only option, wasn’t going to set well with Kat.
It still beat the alternative.
The sudden explosion of the Mac sent it flying against a wall, and it sent Cantu and his shadows scuttling for cover. It made Marcus laugh aloud to see the creature he hunted hurtling to the floor and crawling on his belly where he belonged.
Soon there was no sign of Cantu upstairs or in the main rooms.
Marcus remained vigilant but there was no sign of the infinitely patient psychopath. Then a faint flicker of shadow came at one of the ground floor basement windows. Cantu had managed to get to the basement rooms. A large utility and Marcus’s special childhood place, defiled by Cantu’s presence. Again the sound of rampage filled the air.
No doubt the monster would soon discover the crawl space beneath the bed.
Marcus corrected his p
osition to fire on the bastard should he carelessly step from beneath the deck where the escape route would take him.
Marcus scoped out the precise spot where the man, necessarily on his knees, would show himself in an opening in the deck grate. Marcus had weight on the trigger, awaiting the exact moment when the head of Iden Cantu would come through that dark portal. He recalled a childhood joke, one which combined five words that began with D and E–Deface of deduct went over defense before detail.
“Show your ugly face, duck,” Marcus said to the night. “God, let him come this way.”
Then he saw the white forehead appear. He put pressure on the trigger, readying to fire in the next millisecond, hoping to find a slightly larger target when suddenly the white forehead turned to black. Paco had come around and was licking the monster’s face, his tail wagging.
Marcus believed he ought to shoot straight through the back of the dog’s head, knowing the high-powered caliber bullet would easily move through Paco’s brain and into Cantu’s face. He hesitated only a moment and made up his mind when he saw through the scope that Cantu’s hands were polished with red nail coloring and his face wasn’t his but a mask—Katrina Mallory’s features.
“Holy shit, it’s Kat!” Marcus’s gasp might well have caused the shot to be fired, but he eased off the trigger, taking in great breaths of air. Cantu would’ve loved nothing more than to know he’d blown Kat’s face off along with the dog in a single blast.
And what the hell was she doing still here below the damn deck? When she emerged, she did so with his father’s bow and arrows. She looked for all the world like a lovely, dangerous Amazon wood nymph save for the fact she was dressed in camouflage gear.
He watched her push her way out past the dog, and she raced for cover, and behind her came Cantu in pursuit, working his way on all fours beneath the deck.
Dead On Page 24
