The Longest Road (Book 3): The Other Side

by A. S. Thompson

  "Very well. What shall I tell your mother? She will find out that you were here."

  Albert removed the remaining contents from the safe and tossed everything but the handgun into a bag. Before departing, he stared eagerly at the computer screen.

  Team Two had fallen into the trap. The unsuspecting Marine named Peterson placed one foot outside the power room before taking a bullet to the head, splattering his brains all over the Marine behind him.

  "So much for a surprise attack," Albert mumbled, eyes moving away from the screen and the ensuing skirmish.

  Albert finished his drink, then tossed the glass on the floor next to the bodies. He took one final glance at the monitors and watched as both teams were being torn apart by bullets and teeth alike.

  Albert stuffed the pistol into his waistband, then pressed the button to open the secret exit. “Auf Wiedersehen, LIFE.”

  "Doctor Stone, your mother?" repeated MIA.

  "Tell her that her test tube creation of a son is going on an indefinite vacation," he answered, backpedaling through the door.

  MIA nodded, then vanished as the door closed behind Albert.

  "I hate to break it to you, but I think your vacation plans just got shit on," came a voice from the darkest section of the low lighted tunnel.

  "You?" Albert muttered, utterly shocked.

  "Damn right it's me,” replied Alex.

  ***

  Alex pressed the barrel of his AR15 against Albert’s chest, forcing him back against the door. "From the apparent lack of supervision, I assume you fucked my friends over and are trying to escape? That about right?"

  "Very observant."

  "Very observant," Alex repeated in a mocking tone.

  "As a matter of fact, security are dealing with Staff Sergeant Fikejs’ team, and your friends on Team One are, well, let's just call them chum in the water."

  "First off, enough with the innuendos, because I don't know what the fuck that’s supposed to mean. Second, for your sake, you better hope my friends are still alive-"

  Albert used his bag to deflect Alex’s weapon to the side. Then he grabbed his pistol and pulled the trigger.

  Quickly, Alex counterattacked. He dropped the rifle and used both arms to brace against Albert’s forearm. Despite the painfully loud explosion next to his ear, Alex evaded a bullet, while simultaneously delivering a harsh elbow to Albert’s cheek.

  Alex then manipulated Albert’s wrist upward in a tight lock, and in a fast, fluid motion, he ducked in between Albert’s body and arm. Coming up behind Albert, Alex then abandoned the wrist lock in favor of a superior, and more excruciatingly painful, elbow and shoulder lock that dropped Albert to his knees.

  “Try anything like that again, and I rip your shoulder out of its socket.”

  Albert sneered as Alex twisted slightly more. “Ye-ah! Fine! Fine!” he begged, saliva spitting from his lips.

  “Now I’m gonna let go and you’re gonna to open this door. Kapeesh?”

  “Kapeesh.”

  Alex released the elbow and shoulder lock, and shoved Albert toward the biosecurity panel.

  “There,” Albert said, door opening.

  Alex nudged him inside. “Show me my friends.”

  Albert grumpily massaged his tender shoulder and nodded to the monitor. “See for yourself.”

  The multiple camera angles were focused on two rooms. Inside one were muzzle flashes and tiny explosions from an intense gun battle. In the other room were an unknown number of dead in a water-filled office.

  "Where are you, Steve?" Alex mumbled, unable to make out any of the faces in either room.

  "Your friends are getting slaughtered, and as far as I see it, you have two options. You can stay here and keep me prisoner, or I can tell you exactly where your cousin is and how you can save him."

  "Wrong again, you test tube bitch.”

  Without warning, Alex shot Albert in the foot.

  "AHH!"

  Albert dropped to the floor and grabbed at the gaping wound in the middle of his left foot. "You shot me!"

  "You're damn fucking right I did," Alex replied, raising his weapon a few inches. "Next one goes in your dick, then the last one in your head. This is your one chance. Help me save my friends or you die, painfully and without a dick."

  "Fine, fine, fine! Just don't shoot!" he yelled, face red with hate. "I have an idea! We need to go to the command room! Follow me!"

  ***

  Staring into the rising water filled with bloodthirsty sharks, Travis shouted, “What are we gonna do?”

  Charlie and Steve held desperately on to the same shelf as Travis. The three men did all they could to avoid slipping into the bloody water.

  “I got nothing! Steve?”

  Below Charlie, Steve lifted his foot as the Bull shark tore a chunk of meat from Guzman’s upper half. “Um,” he began, but a scream from across the room caught his attention.

  It was Ventizo.

  The Italian had slipped off the rock wall and fell into the water. Head breaking through the surface, he splashed frantically for help.

  “Closer, Ventizo!” shouted Mason.

  Ventizo reached upward toward Mason’s outstretched hand.

  “Help!”

  Just before a connection could be secure, however, an unknown terror from below grabbed Ventizo and dragged his body away.

  Despite the panic surrounding around him, Steve’s situational awareness kicked into overdrive.

  Mason and Flenderson are in the corner on the sinking mattress. Travis and Charlie are above me, but water’s rising too fast and we can’t climb up any higher. Options? Two escape routes. One: we take our chances and swim to the reef inside the tank. Unlikely survival. With our equipment on and blood in the water, we’d either drown or get ripped apart before we made it...

  “Anyone got an idea!”

  “Why don’t we shoot the sharks?”

  “You still have your gun, cousin?”

  “Fuck no! I dropped it when the glass broke!”

  “Does anyone have a gun?”

  “Ya, I got mine, but I’m a little busy holding on to go for it!” shouted Travis.

  The others, the ones with weapons holstered or strapped to their bodies, shared the same answer.

  Option two: the front door! But it’s sealed and it’s got about two feet of water above it! What if you tried to…would it work? Do you even have an angle?

  Steve’s hand slipped from the combined sweat and wetness.

  “Steve!” Charlie and Travis shouted in unison.

  Had it not been for the grip strength of his left hand, Steve would have found himself falling onto the body of the male Great White.

  “I’m alright!” he said, regaining his grip.

  “The water’s rising!”

  “We’re gonna be swimming any minute!”

  “I got an idea!” shouted Steve.

  “What?”

  “Really?” replied the Scottish cousins.

  “Any time you wanna share, hermano.”

  “Alright, it’s gonna suck, and it’s more likely to get me killed-”

  “Really selling it, eh,” Charlie said, kicking away the nose of the Thresher shark.

  Move, Steve! Now, before the sharks make another pass!

  “Steve, don’t do anything stupid,” Travis started to say, but Steve had already made his decision.

  In that moment, Steve pushed off from the cabinet, leaping toward the center of the room. In midair, he initiated the second phase of his spur-of-the-moment plan.

  Steve un-holstered his pistol began firing. Five bullets left the chamber before his body splashed into the blood-and-guts filled saltwater.

  The first bullet struck just above the glass-plastic hybrid door. The second one entered the water and struck the top third of the glass, barely cracking the material. The third and fourth popped through the water and struck an inch away from the previous bullet, connecting the splinters.

  The fifth bullet w
as equally as unlucky as the previous four. It caused the cracks to splinter and web across the glass, but despite the water pressure, the door did not rupture.

  Underwater, Steve’s visibility dropped drastically, but the minimal overhead light showed enough to realize that his plan failed. Worse, the stitches on his leg had opened and he found himself in the middle of a frenzy of vicious sharks, without a useable weapon or an escape plan.

  Don’t panic, Steve-

  But the thought alone was not enough to stave away the impending fear. For when the back of his neck tingled, Steve spun one hundred eighty degrees, dreading the worst.

  Then his eyes corroborated the premonition.

  Dark fins thrust the beast toward him.

  The angry face, the sharp, jagged teeth that still held pieces of his friends.

  The female Great White went in for the kill.

  ***

  You’re out of options, Steve, he thought as he watched the shark lock on to him. Too heavy to make a decent swim. Bullets won’t do anything, unless you kick up to the surface and fire down? Would you even have enough time? Doesn’t matter, try it!

  Steve broke through the surface, ready to pull the trigger.

  Then he felt it.

  He felt his body being pulled across the room, but not by any animal.

  Unbeknownst to Steve, MIA had initiated the draining protocol.

  The door slid open causing the buildup of water to channel out of the room, dragging Steve along with it.

  Drop the gun and brace for impact! Steve thought just moments before the current slammed him into the opposite wall.

  After the jarring contact, and without thinking, Steve rolled right, away from the slew of sea life that followed. The current carried him down the hallway, where eventually Steve’s wild ride ended as his body slid to a stop.

  On all fours, Steve ripped off the Velcro straps to his bullet resistant vest and began coughing up bits of water.

  The sharks, marine life, and body parts poured out of the room; some followed Steve while others diverted left. But as the water funneled into the emergency drainage, no longer were the sharks a threat as they flopped helplessly around the corridor.

  And by their own will or not, Travis, Charlie, Flenderson and Mason had safely flown past the beasts and washed up next to Steve.

  “How the hell did you know that would work?” Travis asked, helping Steve to his feet.

  “Honestly, I didn’t.”

  “Then how’d the door get open, eh?”

  “I have no idea Charlie, but something caused it to open and it wasn’t my bullets.”

  Flenderson nodded toward Ventizo’s severed leg. “We shouldn’t leave him like that.”

  “I agree cousin, but we don’t have the time. We should get going.”

  But not a moment after the words departed Mason’s lips, a group of Guardsmen appeared from both directions.

  “Put your hands up!”

  Settled on top of the grated drain rested Steve’s pistol, but it was too far, and he had counted his shots.

  Even if you got to it in time, you’d only have seven bullets left before you had to reload. And I count eight bad guys...

  “Any of you shitbricks make a move for your weapons, and we shoot. Comprende?” declared a Guard of Latin American origin.

  Steve looked at his compatriots. None had so much as a hand on their sidearms. “Can’t catch a break. Come on guys,” he mumbled, slowly lifting his hands.

  Steve was shoved against the wall first; Travis, Charlie, and the two Marines after him. All were stripped of their weapons, and, for fun, dealt hard elbows and knees to their kidneys, backs and thighs.

  The apparent leader of the squad removed a wad of chewing tobacco with two fingers and flung it to the side. “On your knees.”

  Flenderson shook his head from side to side. “Sorry, mate, if I’m gonna die, I prefer to do it on my feet.”

  “Have it your way,” the baldheaded leader replied casually, and without hesitation, he raised his sidearm and fired a round into Flenderson’s forehead.

  Mortified, Mason stared at his cousin’s falling body. “Eric!” he shouted, but Flenderson was dead before impact.

  Mason’s wide-eyes settled on the leader, then began to narrow in an uncontrollable rage. “You!” He tried to attack his cousin’s killer, but both Charlie and Travis restrained him. “You killed him! You sonovabitch! You killed him!”

  The leader pointed the barrel at Mason’s nose and asked, “Got something to say, Ginger?”

  Steve stepped in between Mason and the gun. “We’ll do what you want, just don’t shoot.”

  “But Steve,” Travis whispered, tone indicating a strong desire to fight.

  “We got no choice. Do it, guys.”

  Against his better judgment, Steve dropped to his right knee, then to his left; Charlie and Travis complied next, followed by Mason, who after wiping the snot from his nose, spat at the leader’s face.

  For that act, Mason’s stomach was struck with the butt of a rifle and his legs kicked, dropping him hard to the ground.

  The leader pinched the transmit button on his neck radio. “Ms. Baron, Ms. Baron this is Kurt, over.”

  No reply.

  “Ms. Baron. This is Kurt Brennamen, over,” he repeated, this time more urgently.

  “Boss, what are we waiting for?” the one pointing a rifle at Steve asked.

  “Let’s shoot ‘em already,” followed the Latin American.

  A third Guard, caucasian, with tattoos covering nearly every bit of exposed skin added, “Ya, I say we ice ‘em, then go help out the guys in the power room.”

  “Liz prefers prisoners,” Kurt began to say as though he was undecided, “But then again, I’m tired of hearing what the old bitch wants. Fuck, it, let’s kill ‘em, then get back to the action. But if she or anyone else asks, we had to shoot, got it, boys?”

  “Ya, we’ll deal with the video footage later,” another Guard said, motioning to the nearest overhead camera.

  The Guardsmen spread out and each picked a target. Relishing in the moment, they talked among themselves, saying,

  “Where should we go for?”

  “Heart or head?”

  “How about the shoulders or knees?”

  “Why not give ‘em the crucifix?”

  “What’s that?”

  “Shoot ‘em in the left shoulder, then the right, then in the nuts and end with the head!”

  “Brutal but I love it!”

  This is it, Steve-O. No running, no escaping, no stopping it. Alex was right, you are gonna die here...

  He looked down the line at Travis, Charlie and Mason. None had accepted their fate, but there was nothing any could do to alter destiny.

  “It’s been an honor, guys,” Charlie said proudly.

  Travis nodded then spit on the ground in front of his executioners. “Chinga te.”

  “Go on, get it over with already!” Mason shouted through clenched teeth. He held onto Flenderson’s limp hand, ready to join his kin.

  And as Steve knelt there, wondering where he would go after death, he unconsciously pinched Sarah’s wedding ring. Then he looked up at Kurt Brennamen, his Angel of Death.

  He stared into the mercenary’s eyes and watched the South African’s lips curl with an arrogant flair.

  ***

  Dragging his bleeding foot, Albert’s trek to the command room felt like the longest, most painful journey of his life. At the outside of fogged double glass doors marked with LIFE logo, Albert's hand shook from adrenaline as he placed his bloody palm over the bio security scanner.

  The red light on the pad turned green, then a click followed as the lock disengaged.

  On the other side, Jenna Morgan jumped backward. “Dr. Stone! You’re alive? What’s going on?”

  Using Albert as a shield, Alex pointed his gun at Jenna and said, “Unless you want to die, go to that corner and curl up in a ball. If you move, I shoot.”

 
“I imagine you can deduce the gravity of the situation, my dear. I would do what he says.”

  Jenna’s body trembled with fear. It took a second “move!” order from Alex for her to scurry toward the corner. After two steps, she tripped on her heels and fell to her knees. From there, she opted to crawl the remaining distance.

  Alex forcibly nudged Albert further into the room. "You said you had an idea! What is it?"

  “Doctor Stone,” MIA said, appearing out of nowhere.

  The artificial intelligence’s unsuspecting presence startled Alex so much that it caused him to pull the trigger. The bullet passed through MIA’s projected self and blasted a small chunk of stone from the wall.

  “What the fuck’s that?” Alex said, gun oscillating between Albert and MIA.

  “MIA, not now!”

  “But Doctor Stone, I must insist. You appear wounded; blood loss marginal. Shall I call for emergency medical personnel?”

  “No.”

  “Furthermore, I deduce that you are involved in a hostage scenario. I have identified the man holding you at gunpoint as Alex Forest, age twenty-two...”

  “What the hell? How does this thing know who I am?”

  “Arrested by the Orange County Sheriff's department for misdemeanor assault on October 14, 2005...”

  “Jenna!” Albert shouted, snapping his fingers. “Where is it? The briefcase, woman! Where is it?”

  Jenna’s face was tucked into her chest as she curled into a ball as ordered. She lifted up one hand and frantically pointed to the table.

  Limping hastily down the stairs, Albert called out, "MIA, turn on the security cameras and focus on unauthorized personnel."

  “As you wish.”

  MIA split the large screen into dozens of smaller boxes; each one displaying a live feed from different camera angles inside the compound.

  It didn’t take long for Alex to realize the full extent of the carnage. It was ongoing and filling every screen. “Oh this is bad,” he mumbled.

  The first person Alex was able to clearly identify was Staff Sergeant Fikejs. Alex watched as more than thirty Guardsmen systematically advanced against Fikejs and Team Two with precision techniques. More than half the Marines were dead, while the others were injured in some capacity.