Storm Surge

by Rhoades, J. D.

  “Here you go, sweetie,” he said. “Tell Mr. Mercer you’re alright.”

  “KYLE!” Glory yelled. “It’s a trap! That other guy’s waiting for you!” She looked up at Blake and flinched, as if she knew she was going to be punished. But Blake only chuckled and put the headset back on. “What?” he said to her. “You think you’re telling him some big secret he doesn't know?” He keyed the mike again. “See?” he told Mercer. “She’s fine.”

  “And she’s right about your friend…Moon, is it?”

  “Yes. Moon’s out there. Looking for you. And if he finds you before we can make a deal, he’ll kill you both. At which point, I have no further use for the girl, and she dies.”

  There was another long pause. The only sound was the whistling of the wind and the pounding of the rain on the roof. Finally, Mercer spoke. “Okay,” he said. “Deal.”

  “Right, then,” Blake said. “Here’s how it goes. You and the woman meet me at the Buchan house. Unarmed.”

  “Actually,” Mercer said, “I’m already here.”

  Blake moved closer, putting the barrel of his pistol an inch from Glory’s ear. “Where?”

  “In the bedroom. Down the hall. I came in the same way I got out last time.”

  “That means…”

  Blake looked up. A woman was standing in the doorway, a pistol trained on Blake. She stepped into the room, the gun never wavering.

  “Yeah,” Mercer said as he came in behind her. “It’s time for us to talk.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE

  “So,” Blake said. “You killed Moon. I didn’t think anyone could kill Moon.”

  “Neither did he,” Mercer said. “That’s why he died. Anyone can be killed, Blake.”

  “You’ve certainly proved that.” Mercer said nothing. There was a loud bang from outside as something broke loose in the wind. Glory cried out, startled. Neither man moved. “It’s okay, baby,” Sharon said.

  “So what do we do now?” Blake said.

  “You let the girl go with her mother. You keep the notebook.”

  “And then?”

  “The girl and her mother head for the lighthouse. They hole up there until the storm’s over.” Downstairs, they heard the sound of shattering glass.

  “What about you?” Blake said. “More important, what about me?”

  “Oh, you and I stay here.”

  “What if I just kill her now?” Blake pushed the barrel of the pistol a little tighter against Glory’s temple. She whimpered in fear.

  “I kill you,” Sharon said.

  “You?” Blake scoffed. “You’re a waitress.”

  “Try me,” Sharon said. “The fact you’ve got your filthy hands on her means your life is hanging by a thread as it is.”

  “And if she kills you,” Mercer said, “I have the notebook. And whatever’s in it that you’re willing to kill for.”

  “Actually,” Blake said, “What I’m willing to kill for is money.”

  “Are you willing to die for it?”

  “I guess not. But how do I know you won’t just kill me if I let the girl go?”

  “I give you my word. I won’t kill you.”

  “That’s supposed to reassure me?”

  “It should. I never break my word. Never.”

  The house shuddered and groaned. Hours of pounding by wind and water had taken their toll. The place was beginning to come apart.

  “What about her?” Blake said. He jerked his head back towards where Sharon stood behind him.

  Mercer raised his voice. “Sharon,” he said. “Give him your word.”

  Her voice was tight with fury. “I’m not sure I can do that, Kyle. He’s the one behind all this.”

  “No, Mercer said. “He’s not. He’s working for someone else. He’s just a grunt. An errand boy.”

  “Thanks,” Blake said.

  Mercer ignored him. “And if you don’t,” Mercer said, “We’ve got nothing to bargain with. He dies, but so does Glory.”

  “What if I just shoot him now?”

  “You can’t guarantee he won’t get a shot off before he falls. Trust me, Sharon.” He smiled grimly. “You’re pretty good for a beginner. But this is the kind of thing I know a lot better than you.”

  Sharon didn’t answer. The house shuddered again as something heavy crashed against it, then there was a loud, high pitched whistling as the wind found its way in through a shattered door or window. Mercer felt his ears pop as the air pressure in the house changed.

  “Sharon,” he said again. “It’s the only way.”

  “Okay,” Sharon said. “Okay. I give my word. Give me my daughter and I won’t kill you.”

  Blake laughed. “I’m supposed to believe you?”

  “What’s your alternative?” Mercer said. “You’re alone. You’ve got one card to play, and that’s killing the girl. But what happens if you play it? You take a chance if you let her go. But it’s the only chance you have.”

  There was a gargantuan ripping sound above them and a mighty crash in the yard outside. “You better decide now,” Mercer said, “or this storm’s going to decide for you.”

  Abruptly, Blake released his arm from around Glory’s neck. He grabbed her by one shoulder and pushed her forward. She stumbled towards Mercer, weeping.

  “Stop,” Mercer said. She drew up short, confused.

  “Get out of my line of fire, Glory,” Mercer said.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO

  The rain blowing in his face shocked Bohler back to semi-consciousness. He was outside. He couldn’t tell where or why. He felt something tug at the back of the flight suit it seemed like he’d been wearing for a thousand years, felt his feet slide along a slick surface. Though the fog in his head he realized he was being dragged. Dragged through the rain. Dragged through the…storm.

  He snapped fully awake. He reached up and grabbed at the hands that had him by the neck of the flight suit.

  “Ah good,” a tired voice said. “You’re awake.” The hands released their grip. Bohler sat up, struggling to stay upright in the wind.

  They were on the railed balcony that ran around the outside of the lantern room. The wind raged around them like a mad thing, wailing and whistling in the criss-cross bracing of the glass walls and around the chromed supports of the railing. He tried to focus on Phillips. The Englishman was standing over him, a pistol pointed at his forehead.

  “Stand up, please,” Phillips said.

  Bohler blinked. He was so weary, the very thought of trying to stand was like being asked to flap his arms and fly to the moon. “Why?” he asked eventually.

  “Because I’m going to throw you over the railing,” Phillips said. “I’m going to throw you off the lighthouse.”

  ***

  Blake raised his gun, pointed it at Mercer. “You said you never go back on your word.”

  “I’m not,” Mercer said. “I’m just making sure you don’t go back on yours.” He had his own weapon pointed at the center mass of Blake’s body. “Glory,” he said, “go to your mother.”

  The girl ducked under the line of fire of the raised weapons, then ran towards Sharon. Sharon lowered her pistol and took her daughter in her arms. They were both crying.

  “Very touching,” Blake said. “Now what?”

  Mercer raised his voice. “Go,” he said to Sharon and Glory. “Get to the lighthouse.”

  “What about you?” Sharon said.

  “I’ll be along in a minute,” Mercer said. “I just want to make sure Mr. Blake here doesn’t try to pull anything.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE

  Bohler looked over the edge. They were halfway around the lighthouse, and he could see both the island side and the seaward side, where the angry ocean crashed and boomed on the rocks below.

  “Fuck it,” Bohler said. “Just shoot me.”

  “Ah, but if I do that, and your body is discovered with bullets in it, then there’ll be all sorts of uncomfortable questions. Whereas, people die by accident a
ll the time in hurricanes.”

  “I know,” Bohler said. “I saw the PowerPoint. Tell me, though. Why the hell should I make life any easier for you?”

  “Because if you don’t,” Phillips said, “I won’t just shoot you in the head and be done. I’ll shoot you in the legs first. One, then the other. Then the elbows. Then…I trust you get the idea.”

  “Yeah,” Bohler said. “I get it.”

  “Really, Deputy,” Phillips said. “Did you think I was just going to sit back and let you send me to prison for killing those people in the helicopter? Let’s see, an FBI agent, an entire Coast Guard crew…I’m thinking that’s quite a few death sentences there.”

  “Probably.”

  “So you’ll forgive me if I don’t just accept that fate.”

  “What about Mercer?”

  “Mercer has no reason to turn me in. I imagine there are quite a few people who’d like to fit him for a noose. If we’re the only people left alive…and I strongly suspect that will be the case…I’m thinking we can come to some sort of understanding.”

  “Well,” Bohler said bitterly, “looks like you’ve got it all figured out.”

  Philips smiled. “I do, actually. Count your blessings, Deputy. It’s not many of us who get to choose whether they die easy or hard.”

  “Sorry if I don’t seem more appreciative.” Bohler started to struggle to his feet. He slipped in the water on the slick metal deck and fell back down. Then he noticed Phillips' face. He was looking over Bohler’s head, transfixed. He whispered something to himself that Bohler couldn’t hear over the wind. Bohler turned and looked back over the island.

  A massive white funnel cloud had formed over the sea. Gargantuan, impossibly huge, swollen with the seawater it had drawn greedily into itself, it advanced, slowly but inexorably, on the middle of the island. When it made landfall it would destroy everything in its path. And one of the things in its path, Bohler realized, was the Buchan mansion.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR

  “After all we’ve been through,” Blake said sardonically, “you still don’t trust me.”

  “Nope,” Mercer said. “Sure as shit don’t. Now go on.”

  “Kyle,” Glory called. “Please come with us.”

  “Do as I say, girl!” Mercer snapped. Incredibly, the wind was getting louder. There was another sound rising above it, a sound like a dozen freight trains bearing down.

  “Hear that?” Mercer said to Blake. A smile slowly spread over his face.

  “What?” Sharon yelled over the roar.

  Mercer began to chuckle. “God laughs,” he shouted at Blake. “Can you hear it?”

  “What the fuck are you talking about?” Blake said. He was yelling, too.

  “Sharon! Glory!” Mercer barked. “Run! Get out!”

  “What? Why?” Glory yelled, but Sharon was already pulling her toward the stairs. “Kyle!” she yelled. “Come on!”

  “GO, damn it!” They stumbled away, down the stairs. Mercer never took his eyes or his weapon off Blake. The roaring outside grew louder.

  ***

  Bohler looked back at Phillips. He was still staring, mesmerized. He seemed to have utterly forgotten Bohler. With the strength of utter desperation, Bohler lashed out with his booted foot, aiming for Phillips’ kneecap. It only took eight pounds of pressure to shatter a kneecap, Bohler remembered reading, and he tried to put everything he had into the kick. His foot connected solidly and Phillips’ left knee broke with a sickening crunch. Phillips screamed and collapsed, clutching at his knee with his free hand. He never lost his grip on the pistol. Bohler was on him, grappling at Phillips’ wrist with his right hand. He grabbed Phillips by the throat with his left and slammed his head against the metal decking. Phillips snarled and punched at Bohler’s midsection. Bohler gasped as one of the punches connected. He slammed Phillips’ head against the deck again. The wind raged around them as they fought. Another punch to the midsection, another slam of Phillips’ head against the deck. There was no finesse, no skill to the battle anymore, just a primal contest to see who could take the most punishment.

  ***

  “Tornado!” Blake yelled. “We need to get under…”

  “God laughs, Blake!” Mercer shouted. Blake stared at Mercer, uncomprehending. He started to move, but Mercer motioned with the gun for him to stay put. The floor beneath them was shuddering.

  “Mercer, for Christ’s sake!” Blake screamed.

  Mercer didn’t move. He had a smile plastered on his face. “The people who run this island fuck over the help. The people who live here fuck each other over. You fuck your own people over. The people above you are working some giant fuck-over none of us understand. And above it all, Blake, while you’re making all these plans and while everyone’s trying to get over on everyone else, God laughs. Can you hear Him? God! Fucking! Laughs!”

  The house seemed to lift a few feet then crashed back down. Wood and metal shrieked in agony. A giant crack appeared in the wall behind Blake, exposing the studs and insulation. Then that shredded and blew away, and Mercer was looking directly at the storm outside. The wind was inside now, but incredibly it seemed to be blowing out of the room, pulling them towards the hole. Another great rending noise, and the wall split open further. Blake turned away from Mercer’s gun for the first time, screaming as he saw a wall of blackness just outside blot out the fury of the storm.

  “CAN YOU HEAR HIM, BLAKE!?” Mercer screamed. Blake was still screaming as well, a sound of stark terror and despair. He stumbled toward the hole, lost his footing, then he was flying, tumbling head over heels, and was gone, out of the hole. Mercer grabbed onto the edge of the heavy desk, but it too was being drawn towards the hole. Papers and books filled the air. Something heavy stuck Mercer in the back of the head and he went to his knees, still clutching the edge of the sliding desk. He saw Montrose’s body like a rag doll flying past him and into the blackness beyond.

  “Laugh, you motherfucker,” he muttered, and the world exploded.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE

  They ran heedlessly, stumbling, sometimes falling into the knee deep water, then scrambling to their feet and running blindly away from the horror behind them. The sound of the tornado filled the world, driving all thought or reason out of their minds. The roaring was apocalyptic, as if sound itself would never exist after this. The wind clawed at them, trying to drag them back, as if the monster cloud had extended invisible fingers to gather them into its maw along with everything around them. Water and mud flew into their faces, propelled by the wind. Glory coughed, choked, then went down. The water here was only ankle deep, but so thick with silt it was almost solid. Sharon grabbed at Glory, trying to haul her up. Glory rolled over onto her back, looked behind Sharon, and screamed. Instinctively, Sharon looked back, knowing as she did it that it was a mistake.

  The black tower of the tornado loomed over them, rising into the sky, darker than night, but speckled here and there with lighter bits of debris. Sharon looked up at it, saw the top disappearing into the lowering gray of the cloud cover. She looked back down to the Buchan house and moaned in fear.

  The house was disintegrating. The roof came off first, bursting into a million pieces before being drawn up into the blackness. Bits and pieces of the walls were coming loose like scraps of paper.

  “Kyle!” Glory screamed. The sound drew Sharon’s attention back to earth, to her daughter. She grabbed Glory’s hand and pulled the girl to her feet. “Kyle,” Glory sobbed.

  “He’s gone, baby.” Sharon was crying, too. Nothing could survive that. “We’ve got to go,” she said. They turned and ran, dodging fallen branches and pieces of houses.

  ***

  Bohler stood up, rocking unsteadily on his feet as he looked down at his enemy. Phillips lay on his back, only half conscious, moaning in pain. Bohler raised the gun he had taken and pointed it at the center of Phillips’ forehead.

  “No,” he muttered. He reached down and grabbed Phillips by the shoulder. Befor
e, his strength had come from desperation; now it was pure rage. He yanked Phillips to his feet. The man screamed again as he tried to take weight on his destroyed knee. He slumped in Bohler’s grasp. Bohler felt his anger redouble. He slammed Phillips against the railing of the catwalk, pushing him up and nearly over. “So you’re going to throw me over the fucking railing, you fucking Limey bastard!?” he screamed over the wind.

  Philips shook his head to clear it. He looked down at the ground below. Then he looked at Bohler and smiled. The son of a bitch, Bohler seethed, was actually grinning at him.

  Phillips’ voice, when he spoke, was a slurred travesty of his former calm drawl. But his words stopped Bohler cold.

  “You’re not going to throw me over,” he said. “Law man.”

  He pronounced the words with amusement, as if it were something ridiculous. But Bohler thought back to the helicopter, when the crew hadn’t known what call sign to give him on the intercom. He remembered Alvarez’ grin when he’d come back with “Lawman, swimmer.” There hadn’t been any mockery then, just an acknowledgment and recognition. That, Bohler realized, is what he was. The law went out to sea when that storm hit, Mercer had said. But Bohler wouldn’t believe it. He wouldn’t live like that. He had lived his life as an officer of the law and that, for better or worse, what he was.

  He yanked Phillips back from the brink. And, he figured, himself as well. “You have the right to remain silent…” he began.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX

  By the time they reached the door of the lighthouse, they were staggering with fatigue, emotionally as well as physically drained. Sharon stopped in front of the wooden door so quickly that Glory almost ran into her from behind.

  “What?” she said. “What is it?”

  “Listen,” Sharon replied. She put her ear to the door. Glory did the same.

  Behind the door, they could hear a rustling sound, every now and then mixed with a scratching noise against of the wood. Sharon drew the pistol from her waistband, a grim look on her face. She yanked the door open.