by Ward, Steve
Billy walked calmly in his direction and stared into bloodshot eyes. Without hesitation he lifted the pistol up to the man’s head and pulled the trigger. Baroom! His head burst like a ripe watermelon. The body shot into the air and fell back down, jerking and twitching in a voodoo dance to the death. When the body was finally still, Billy realized that he had just killed a human being. Nothing more than a rabid dog, he thought.
“There were only the two of them,” Heather mumbled in a low voice as she walked up behind him. She seemed unfazed by the fact that she was naked.
Billy gasped at her wretched appearance. One eye was swollen almost shut and badly bruised. Bloody patches oozed all over her body. Her form was surreal. She looked at Billy with the blank stare of the walking dead. When she shivered, he picked up a jacket from their beach sign and wrapped it around her.
“They were going to rape us, then shoot us and take the plane. You saved our lives, William.”
Billy didn’t know how to tell her the bad news; he just turned toward Christina.
“Oh no!” Heather fell to her knees in tears.
Finally, he put his arm around her and said, “How did they get here? I don’t see a boat or anything.”
“Came outta nowhere, tackled us to the ground,” she sobbed. She buried her face in her hands and bawled.
Billy stroked her head and tried to provide some level of sanity. “I’m going to check around and make sure there aren’t any more of these guys.”
He picked up the dead man’s pistol and handed it to Christina. With the other gun tightly gripped in his right hand, he started walking the perimeter of their campsite. He quickly found tracks in the sandy terrain and followed them in reverse. Pistol at the ready, he was anxious and jumpy. Every large bush and rock formation was a potential ambush. Every little noise the threat of attack. When a gull swirled in the sea breeze along his path, for an instant, he was sure he saw a man. He picked his way across the island and found their boat pulled up in a cove. Seeing only two sets of prints in the wet sand, he began to relax.
The boat was a goldmine of useful things: binoculars, rifles, ammunition and an ice chest full of sandwiches, beer and bottled water. The keys were in the boat, and the fuel indicator showed half-full. Wondering where they had come from, he looked for maps or anything that might give away their origin. No luck.
Billy dragged the heavy ice chest all the way back to camp where nothing much had changed. Heather and Christina sat in silence on either side of Jessica’s lifeless form. He didn’t say a word but handed each girl an ice cold beer and opened one for himself. He was sure of only one thing: nothing was going to bring Jessica back to life, and there was still the business of survival.
“Thanks, William, you’re a brave man,” Heather said softly.
Taking the airplane tow bar over to where his granddad was buried, Billy worked feverishly to scratch out more shallow graves. He buried the bodies of the two drug runners and carved a third, deeper pit for Jessica. He laid her body on a large plank of driftwood. Christina silently combed Jessica’s hair and pulled a long white nightgown over blood-soaked clothes. Heather picked some wildflowers and put them across her chest. Billy stared at the starkly ashen face and thought, How can someone dead be so beautiful?
He knew it would be difficult for Christina to speak over Jessica’s burial. He couldn’t understand how she managed not to cry. The three survivors held hands around the grave and did their best to send her off properly. Every time Christina started to talk, she choked. Finally, she managed to get out a few words.
“Dear Lord, we send you Jessica Ward. . .my very best friend. . .a true sport, adventurer and treasure hunter. She was pure as the driven snow. A devout Baptist, she stands before you today saved by the grace of Jesus Christ. Just like Jesus. . .she died so that we may live. She made the ultimate sacrifice. Please prepare a place. . .for her near my mom, so one day we may all be united. May her beloved soul. . .rest in unending peace. Amen.”
“Amen.”
Christina doubled over with a stabbing pain and staggered away.
Before he buried Jessica, Billy took off her necklace with the Spanish gold coin and gave it to Christina. He then lowered her into the depression and covered her with sand. The sun was setting, showering their world with a soft golden radiance. Billy piled rocks over the sandy grave, and used dark colored pebbles to inscribe JW.
As Heather began singing Amazing Grace, an aura of angels engulfed the scene. Her sweet voice resonated as the sun slowly disappeared below the horizon. Finally, overwhelmed by the trauma of the day, Billy cried out loud as he listened to the beautiful words, which, for the first time in his life, seemed so meaningful:
Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound
That saved a wretch like me.
I once was lost, but now I’m found,
Was blind, but now I see.
Through many dangers, toils and snares
I have already come;
‘Tis grace hath brought me safe thus far,
And grace will lead me home.
Heather abruptly stopped singing and sobbed.
In the last golden rays of dusk, Christina stood tall, straddling the fresh grave. She held the necklace high, just as Jessica had done on that beautiful evening in Key West. She looked into the sky and spoke with fierce determination, “Jessica, you gave us these coins to symbolize our love and loyalty to each other. Here, over your grave, I swear with all my soul, your death will be. . .avenged! I’ll wear both your necklace and mine until such time as Weston rots in hell.”
After all the bodies had been buried, Billy built a blazing campfire. No one was in a state of mind to talk, so he just passed out the rest of the beers.
“I’ve got a weapon now,” he stated. “I’ll guard the camp tonight.”
“You’re a brave man, William,” Heather mumbled right before she fell into a deep slumber, vulnerable to the terror of her own nightmares.
Christina grabbed her sleeping pad and wandered down the beach to be by herself.
Billy sat up on a tall rock, turned on his weather radio and scanned the frequencies. Once again he heard reports of Hurricane Amy. It had grown to a category 3 and slowly progressed half-way across the Atlantic.
* * *
Christina woke up in the middle of the night screaming, drenched in a cold sweat. She quickly remembered the horror of Jessica’s demise. She could still feel the blood running between her fingers. A familiar pain shot through the center of her being. Where’s the justice in all this? She didn’t deserve to die! The rage that had smoldered in her soul for years rekindled into an inferno. Once again, her entire being was ripped apart with a burning hatred. Only this was different. This time she could put a human face on the injustice. For the first time since she leveled her shotgun at Roy Pitts, she desperately wanted to kill someone. Staring out over the vast blackness of the ocean with a savage snarl, she made a chilling pledge, “If I ever get out of here alive, I’m going to kill that slimy bastard.”
Chapter Fifteen
Weston chewed his nails as he watched news accounts of the missing airplane. It was a bad habit, one he picked up in childhood. Speculation about the Bermuda Triangle made him chuckle, and yet he remained unsettled. Concern grew daily because he had received no confirmation from Gilmore. All kinds of scenarios ran through his mind. He hated nothing more than a messy operation, one with loose ends.
On the sixteenth day after Heather left with her friends, his phone rang late at night when he was sound asleep. It made him start, and he fumbled around in the dark trying to find the receiver.
“He. . .hello.”
“Weston?”
“Yeah, I’m Weston. Who the hell is this?”
“You don’t recognize my voice. I’m hurt.”
Glancing at the clock, he said, “I don’t recognize my own voice at 3:00 a.m. Now who is this?”
“Gilmore, stupid.”
“Where the hell are you? You were
supposed to call days ago. I’ve been a worried sick.”
“Sorry, I’m laying low. A lot of people are asking questions. I’m in the Keys, and I don’t want anyone to track me down. Have you seen the news?”
“Duh, have I seen the news? Damn right, I’ve seen it. It’s about all I’ve seen for the last two weeks. I can’t even work. Now tell me, exactly how did your little escapade turn out?”
“You sure your phone isn’t tapped?”
“Of course, I’m sure. Why would anyone tap the phone of a respectable Psychology professor? I’m a pillar in the community.”
“I’m just afraid somebody might start looking into your past and get suspicious. Right now they seem to be grasping for straws.”
“And to what past are you referring? I’m clean as a whistle.”
“Sure. How about that eleven-year-old girl you sodomized back in ‘85? I’m sure the police have some record of that.”
“Oh yeah, I remember,” Weston snickered. “I think her name was Barbara. That’s right, she was my little Barbie Doll.”
“It was a real tragedy. Only problem is, the girl liked it, and she keeps coming back for more. Fifteen years of perverted sex and drugs, who would’ve thought the edge would last?”
“That’s because you never fail to throw in a new wrinkle. As far as I can tell, you’re the only person sicker than I am. Okay, that’s enough bullshit. Cut the crap, I want to know what happened.”
“Well,” she said, “it worked like a dream.”
“So, fill me in.”
“I slipped Hank the drugs in a Coke can, and he slammed it down hard, like it was mother’s milk. He was in the air not ten minutes later. I took off behind them and, when I was sure he was out, I cancelled his flight plan, just like you said.”
“Oh, rich, that’s just too good. What then?”
“Controllers were quite busy; no one questioned it. The autopilot kept them going for a while, but eventually I knew they’d go in the drink. I tried to watch ‘em hit the water, but the visibility was poor. Finally lost ‘em in the haze. Didn’t want to drop my altitude. You got nothing to worry about, Stevie boy. Your little Heather is safely planted on the bottom of the Atlantic.”
“Well, I wish you had called days ago. One of the passengers was a pilot, and I was just terrified she’d figure out how to fly that plane. If customs had discovered poison, there would’ve been hell to pay.”
“What pilot? That tall bitch? She’s no pilot. Just a girl with big dreams.”
“Don’t be too sure. That girl came from a long line of aviators.”
“No matter, they’re all dead,” Gilmore said with confidence. “Mission accomplished. Now let’s talk about something more exciting. I think I’ve got something that might interest you.”
“Oh yeah, what?”
“I found a girl on the streets in Key West. A runaway. She was pretty drugged when I took her in.”
“What does she look like?” he asked.
“Skinny little thing, but real cute. The good news is, she’ll do anything for money or drugs. Already proved that. ”
“What about family?”
“She’s Cuban. Somehow managed to get here without her parents. I think some of ‘em drowned on the trip.”
“Interesting,” he said. “How old is she?”
“Not sure. Claims she’s sixteen, but can’t be more than twelve.”
“How quick can you get her here?”
“Depends. I’m in serious need of cold cash. If you can cough up ten grand, I’ll have her there by tomorrow afternoon.”
“I’ll give you a check for $5,000, once I’ve seen her, and a doctor verifies she’s clean. We can take her to a friend of mine here in town.”
“No, that’s not enough. I want $2,000 on delivery and $5,000 more once she gets her bill of health. Believe me, you don’t have to worry about diseases. I got to her first. She hasn’t had sex with anybody but me. Squeaky clean.”
“Okay,” he said. “But if I don’t like her looks, I’m not paying a dime.”
“Trust me.”
“You just get her up here by tomorrow afternoon. We’ll have ourselves a little party for three.”
Chapter Sixteen
Early morning sun illuminated the ocean haze with a warm glow. A gentle breeze caressed the shore with the rich smell of sea life. Christina awoke to a feeling of wellbeing. With ugly images partially erased, she began to recover her wits. She took charge once again, determined to transform her gut-wrenching pain into action. Even more committed to find a way out, she obsessed with stopping Weston before he could ever strike again.
Heather sat up when she heard Christina stir. Her eye was black, and she was covered in bruises and abrasions, but her brain seemed to be working fine.
“Why don’t we just get in that boat Billy found and get the hell out of here, Christina?”
“Yeah, those guys had to come from somewhere,” Billy joined in. “It has a half tank of gas. If we can figure out where they came from, maybe we can get there.”
Christina scratched her head and summarized the situation with a cool, calculated tone. “Okay, we have a fishing boat with fuel and a compass. We can assume they burned half their gas getting here. That means we should be within striking distance of civilization. Only problem is, we don’t know the direction. If we go the wrong way and run out of gas, we’ll be worse off trying to survive in a dead boat. Since we can’t see any other islands, and we don’t have a map, it would be foolish to just take off. On the other hand, we know the Bahamas chain runs from northwest to southeast. We could head in either of those directions and have a decent chance of finding something.”
“We’ve got to try,” Heather said. “It’s only a matter of time before some other bastards find us out here and try to kill us for that plane.”
“We could camouflage the plane with brush and quit burning fires,” reasoned Billy, “but then how would we ever get rescued? If the bad guys come again, we have weapons. We just have to keep up our guard.”
Christina continued, “It was pretty hazy when we came down, but I don’t remember seeing any other islands.”
Billy’s eyes lit up with a flash of insight.
“I got it. Why don’t we take the boat and head either southeast or northwest until we’ve used half the remaining fuel. If we don’t find anything, we reverse course and come back here, no worse off.”
“Brilliant, Billy!” Heather exclaimed. “You never cease to amaze me.”
“Well, that’s putting a lot of faith in a gas gauge that may not be accurate,” warned Christina. “But, quite frankly, I can’t think of anything better. Okay then, that’s our plan. Let’s gather whatever might be useful in the boat, and go for it.”
“Wait a minute, I’ve got an even better idea.” Heather’s eyes lit up. “Why don’t we siphon the remaining gas out of the plane and put it in the boat? That way we can search a much larger area.”
“Good thinking,” Christina praised her logic. “Why didn’t I think of that?”
“Nope, won’t work,” Billy said with a frown.
“Why not?”
“It said Diesel Only. I’m afraid it’s an inboard diesel.”
“Back to Plan A,” Christina sighed. “Well then, which direction?”
“How about some female intuition?” Billy suggested. “Why don’t you ladies just pick one or the other?”
Christina and Heather simultaneously pointed in opposite directions, and all three laughed. So much for female intuition.
“I’m not feeling very intuitive,” Christina confessed. “Let’s go with Heather.”
“Okay, northwest toward Florida,” Billy agreed.
“Well, Florida is at least 200 miles away,” Christina stated bluntly, “but good enough, northwest. Maybe we can make it to Andros.”
After a few hours of cleaning the camp and organizing supplies, they were ready to go. Christina stowed all their fresh water, fishing and diving equ
ipment, the flare gun and some of the survival gear. Billy brought both pistols, one rifle and the large hunting knife in case they came across the wrong kind of “civilization.” Before they left the island, Christina powered up the GPS and recorded their exact longitude and latitude. If they got lucky and found some help, the remains of Hank and Jessica could be recovered.
The three survivors pushed the boat off the sand and walked it out into deeper water. The perfect gentleman, Billy, gave the girls a boost over the side before climbing in.
