The monster was going to throw her daughter off next.
With all her strength, Sherri pulled herself up until she was at eye level with the walkway, praying she did not lose her grasp on the wet bars. She used one hand to grab higher up the iron bar to hold her position, gasping from the effort and the pain in her arms and shoulders. Tina was cowering against the wall. The large man snatched her up without a shred of remorse. He wheeled around and spotted Sherri watching him. Holding her under her armpits, Loustein turned Tina outward at chest level. The little girl’s cheeks were swollen. She fought his grip, kicking in mid air. Her futility only brought an arcing grin across the man’s face. Tears streamed down Tina’s face, and she screamed for her mommy. Sherri had never felt such helplessness and agony. Her eyes blurred from the tears, and she could barely hold on. Sherri saw the shotgun propped against the wall, too far away for her to have any chance of reaching through the railing.
A shrill yell split the night, audible even over the chaotic wind. Loustein visibly started. He reflexively dropped Tina to the deck, turned, and reached for the shotgun. Just as he grabbed it, a screaming figure burst from the lighthouse doorway. It caught him chest high with driving force. Tangled tresses of black hair blew in the breeze as the smaller body impacted the park ranger. Sherri could see the white eyes and the grimy face of Sabine LeFlore as she struck the man, sending him backward. Animalistic rage engulfed the Frenchwoman’s face. She scratched at Loustein wildly, then drew her other hand back. She was holding the long knife, intent on driving it into the man, but before she could bring the blade down, Loustein drew the shotgun up and blocked the stab. The knife careened over the deck, through the railing, and disappeared over the side. In the next instant, they were pressed against the guard rail where Sherri clung. Tina scrambled across the deck out of their way.
While Loustein had initially been caught off guard, it was apparent he had regained the upper hand. He awkwardly fired a shot within the tangle of body parts. The blast struck Sabine in the side, and she winced. As if drawing from some well of reserves, the woman became even more crazed. Before Loustein knew what was happening, Sabine clawed his eyes. In that moment when Loustein grabbed his own face blindly, Sabine wrapped her arms around his neck and flung herself over the guard rail, dragging Loustein with her. Sabine’s weight pulled them both over. Loustein desperately tried to clutch for the railing, but it was too late.
Sherri watched as the two bodies passed her in space. Loustein screamed like a man possessed, firing the shotgun once more as they plummeted to earth. In the moaning wind, Sherri never heard the impact below.
A solid gust sent Sherri nearly horizontal. With her strength evaporating, she knew this might be her last chance for survival. She lifted her left leg and wedged one foot between the iron bars of the guard rail. She lifted her other foot and did the same. The pull on her arms was excruciating. With relentless determination, Sherri walked her hands up the rail one at a time. Tina came to the rail sniffling. She tried to help, but there was nothing she could do.
It was a grueling effort. Her muscles were near exhaustion, as Sherri grabbed the top of the rail. She slowly pried her foot from between the bars and lifted her leg over the top rail. Once her weight shifted over the top, she was able to free her second foot and fall over onto the slick, rain-laden deck. Her left ankle was badly twisted from the effort, yet the pain was inconsequential. She hugged Tina, and they both sobbed tears of relief. Tina shivered in her soggy clothes.
Sherri was still concerned about Loustein. If the man was truly invincible, as his wound indicated, he might already be making his way up the lighthouse stairs to come for them. He still had the shotgun.
“Honey, c’mon,” Sherri said wiping her eyes clear. She led Tina back inside the lighthouse. Her left ankle had started to swell. Each downward step on the stairs sent pain shooting through her, but Sherri silently bit her lip and continued downward. She was determined to get her daughter to safety. So far, at least, the lighthouse was quiet. No one appeared to be coming up for them.
Sherri considered Sabine LeFlore. It must have been Tina’s cry for help which had triggered Sabine into action. As with Pinot LeFlore, Sabine had outlived her invincibility. The blind Frenchwoman had given her life to save them. Sherri felt irrepressible gratitude for what the woman had done for them.
May you rest in peace, Sabine.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
Thursday, August 18, 5:57 a.m. – St. Augustine, Florida
“Stop here,” Curt shouted.
Scott slammed on the brakes, and the minivan came to a sliding stop between the lighthouse and the beach. It was no longer raining. He looked in the rearview mirror. As lightning ignited the landscape, he saw the horde of Blue Council members assembling in the distance.
“Scott, Sherri and Tina are hiding in the lighthouse. You’ve got to keep those guys away from them.”
“Where are you going?”
Curt pulled the Fish from his shirt. “I believe Lila gave us the answer. We had it all wrong. You can’t throw the Fish in the ocean, you’ve got to go in with it, holding it as you go under. I believe the saltwater will destroy it.”
“Curt, you can’t do that. It’ll kill—”
Curt was already out of the vehicle before Scott could finish. Scott opened the door, fighting the rigorous wind to follow him. Salt air filled his lungs.
Curt stopped and turned. “Scott, buy me time.” He pointed in the direction of the men and women at the far end of the road. “Hold them off until I can get to the shoreline. Then get Sherri and Tina out of here.” Curt turned, then stopped. He slowly spun back around toward Scott. “Sorry about getting you involved in all this.”
“Who knew one little trip to Bolivia would turn into such fun?” Scott had meant the words to be humorous, but his tone was melancholy. He knew if Curt made it to the ocean with the Fish, his friend would be sacrificing his life. He wondered how it had come to this. “Curt,” his words turned sincere, “don’t go in with it. Find another way.”
Curt turned and ran toward the ocean. Scott lost him in the darkness. He felt a deep sadness as he stepped back into the minivan. Out of the corner of his eye, in the distance, a mass fell beside the lighthouse. There was a pointed flash of light in midair, followed by a muffled boom. Something struck the side of his door with a resounding thud. Shattered glass sprayed inward.
“Jesus Christ!” Scott jumped, searching outside the minivan for sign of movement. He was alone. Breathing hard, he looked down at the glass shards in his lap. His left thigh felt warm, but he seemed unharmed otherwise. He brushed the shards away and looked out the driver’s side window and down at the exterior of the door. It was riddled with holes.
He assembled the sounds, the events, in his mind. Someone must have fallen from the top of the lighthouse and fired the shotgun on the way down.
Oh my God, Sherri! Tina!
Scott gunned the engine. He skipped off the road and barreled through the wooden fence that surrounded the base of the lighthouse. The planks burst with violent cracks as the minivan plowed through. He drove through a hedge, bounding over the uneven carpet of earth. The headlights fell upon a morose scene. There were two bodies. He could tell right away one was a female. Almost immediately, he realized the woman’s hair was too dark to be Sherri’s and that she was raggedly clothed.
The second corpse was an adult male, face down, skewered on a series of top-row spikes on a wrought iron fence. The headlights cast the scene in a ghastly shadow against the lighthouse tower.
The impaled figure moved. The red-splattered head lolled toward Scott with a truculent expression. The shotgun had come to rest on the ground nearby. The man was coated in blood. He stretched his arm out to reach for the weapon. Scott threw the minivan in park. He rushed to the shotgun, picked it up, then returned to the vehicle without ever looking at the man. His left leg burned with pain. H
e looked down and was shocked to see a gaping hole in his left thigh. Blood stained the material of his pants around the wound. The buckshot, which had hit the door, had also struck him.
Scott looked up. The bloodied man wiggled on the spikes but was unable to pull free.
“Dammit, I hate these guys,” Scott said. He placed the shotgun on the passenger seat, jammed the vehicle into gear, and turned around.
Scott returned to the road, whipping the steering wheel left. He sped toward the approaching pack. His shoulder throbbed, and his left leg ached. He was a mess.
Somewhere on the right, not far offshore now, loomed one of the fiercest hurricanes ever recorded. In the midst of its torment, his friend Curt was about to give up his life to prevent the Blue Council from ever getting their hands on the Fish again. Scott prayed Curt’s supposition that saltwater could destroy the creature was right.
For now, he would buy his friend time.
****
Curt reached the high beach. Ahead, the ravenous waves of the Atlantic Ocean signaled Hurricane Fernando’s deadly approach. He was within a stone’s throw of the waterline.
On the horizon, the night was giving way to the dawn. Clouds heaped in the sky, and the wind blew viciously. Lightning crackled, releasing monstrous rolls of thunder.
Already, the storm surge caused the ocean to devour more and more of the beach with each passing minute. Soon it would breach the road, the lighthouse, A1A, and beyond. It was inevitable that Anastasia Island would be completely under water within hours.
He was almost to the tide mark when two men grabbed him from behind and spun him around. Five men formed a circle around him, including City Commissioner Harvey Shottier and Sherri’s boss, Lincoln Mosset.
Curt rushed at a gap between two of the men, but they threw him onto the hard sand.
Shottier leveled a pistol at Curt. “Give me the Fish.”
Curt slowly stood up in the stiff wind and eyed the small skeleton in his hand. Although not visible to the others, he could feel it vibrating.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
Thursday, August 18, 6:26 a.m. – St. Augustine, Florida
Sherri and Tina reached the ground floor of the lighthouse. Sherri’s ankle was badly swollen. Each step brought agonizing pain.
The door leading outside was closed. Faint candlelight still shown from the room where Tina had been held captive with Sabine. They reached the outer door, and Sherri opened it slowly.
Outside, the coast was clear. The helicopter sat unattended on the grass between the tower and the lightkeeper’s house. Sherri took Tina by the hand, and they circled the lightkeeper’s house toward the parking lot. The skies had lightened considerably. Wind blew in massive, powerful bursts. Sherri held onto Tina tightly, worried her daughter might fly away with the next gust. Daybreak was coming slowly behind the massive cloudbanks. Unfortunately, so was the hurricane.
Across the road, on the beach, Sherri spotted a group congregated on the sand. Curt stood in the middle, and Harvey Shottier was holding him at gunpoint. Her boss, Lincoln Mosset, was also there.
They were going to kill Curt.
She could not stop the rage that flared within her. Goddamn Lincoln Mosset! Then she considered the helicopter.
“Tina, c’mon.” Sherri and Tina returned to the lighthouse holding hands. Sherri moved gingerly. She had a plan. It was simple in design, yet hinged on the candle being lit, since Curt had taken the pack of matches with him. They entered the lighthouse and returned to the room. Sherri was crushed to see the candle flame had died.
“No, no, no,” Sherri moaned.
“Mommy, if you want to light the candle, I got this from that bad man. They fell out of his pocket when we were on top. The wind blew them into my lap.”
Sherri looked up to see Tina offering Loustein’s book of matches. She hugged her daughter. “We’re back in business. Let’s go.”
****
A quarter mile away, Scott barreled his way over and through the Blue Council members trying to return to the beach. Not for the first time, he fired the shotgun at a man who got too close to the minivan’s open window. The blast destroyed the side of the man’s face, but he never slowed, and Scott barely managed to evade him before he grabbed onto the steering wheel. It was unfathomable to think they were able to sustain such mortal wounds, yet each time keep coming back. Although some showed signs of favoring body parts as Scott struck them, it was clear he was more of an annoyance than a sincere threat. It was a surreal experience, as if he were playing some perverse video game he could not win.
Scott was deeply concerned about Curt. On one hand, he hoped Curt was right that submerging the Fish in saltwater would destroy it. Yet, like Marvin, he knew Curt would never survive the ordeal. Losing Marvin, a man who was like a father to Scott, was hard enough. The thought of Curt’s death was unbearable. It brought renewed anger toward the Blue Council. Scott cut the wheel and gunned the motor. The minivan peeled against the asphalt, spinning the vehicle and again plowing through the pack of men and women.
His energy was quickly faltering. Driving at such a frenetic pace, he had been unable to stop the flow of blood from the buckshot wound to his leg. The adrenaline rush which had carried him thus far was fading. On his next drive through the Blue Council members, he became light-headed, disoriented, and confused. Nevertheless, he gunned the engine. Strangely, there were no Blue Council members ahead this time. When he realized he had gotten turned around and was driving in the direction of the dead end, it was too late. Before he could correct his mistake, everything went dark.
Then there was peace.
****
“You’re in no position to bargain, Lohan. You’re outnumbered five to one. Oh, and did I mention we can’t be killed?” Shottier laughed cynically. His face turned inquisitive. “I’ve been meaning to ask you, Lohan. Are you related to that—?”
“Really?! Do I look like I’m related?!”
Shottier’s eyes hardened, and his voice was malicious, “Enough of the small talk. Your options are quite simple. Give the Fish to me, and I’ll make your death quick, or else I start putting bullets in you until you drop it.”
“How did you know about the discovery on Isla de la Palma? Why did you send men to beat up Father En in Bolivia?” Curt was simply stalling. The answers were obvious. Shottier had planted listening devices in his house and his car, just as they had guessed. Once Shottier found out about Curt’s and Scott’s trip to see Father En and the monk’s assertion that Subject X was 500 years old, Shottier sent men to force information from Father En. He also sent an assassin to kill Lila and her assistants to cover up any information about the Fish. The fewer people who knew, the better.
Shottier did not respond. Curiously, the man seemed antsy.
“Let’s get this over with…my skin is tingling,” Mosset said, rubbing his arm and looking about. In fact, all five men seemed nervous; one even twitched. Suddenly, Curt understood. Not only does the Fish react negatively to saltwater, but those who have been altered by its powers suffer the same effects. Their proximity to the ocean had them unnerved.
Curt knew he was running out of time. Even at the risk of angering the man, he asked the question as much for the reaction as the need to buy time. “Why did you kill your wife, Shottier?” Curt had no proof, of course, but he suspected it.
Shottier’s eyes turned steely, then his demeanor slacked, and he smiled as if to say, it doesn’t matter what I confess to you, since there’s not a damn thing you can do about it. “We had some irreconcilable differences.”
“Yeah, like she found out you’re an asshole?”
“I’m done with you,” Shottier said, aiming the gun at Curt’s head.
An explosion rocked the air. Everyone staggered. Shottier’s arm jerked, and he inadvertently pulled the trigger, sending a bullet whizzing above Curt. Simultaneously,
a fireball erupted beside the lighthouse. A gigantic cloud of smoke was picked up by the wind and quickly dispersed, like a candle being blown out.
“Someone blew up the helicopter!” Lincoln Mosset shouted. “Goddammit!”
With Shottier and the others momentarily distracted, Curt charged. He crashed into Shottier with wild abandonment, knocking the gun from his hand. Curt sideswiped another man, and then ran as fast as he could. Shouts arose behind him. He reached the water, fighting through the treacherous breakers to move outward. He lifted the Fish high into the air. There was no denying its power as the creature pulsed in his grasp.
He had expected gunfire, and thought he might be shot at any minute. Behind, the voices became less discernable. In knee-deep water, Curt ventured a look behind. As he had hoped, the Blue Council members must have shared similar traits with the Fish. They stood at the water’s edge, dodging the incoming surf. They would not follow him, and for whatever reason, Shottier had not fired, possibly fearful of Curt losing the Fish in the ocean.
Unencumbered, Curt now had an opportunity to submerge the creature. He continued out to deeper water. He would not take any chances this time. Slowly, he withdrew the Fish from the plastic bag, hoping the rain would hold off for a few more minutes.
His mind filled with regrets. How he had dragged Scott into this. He prayed his friend would survive. Scott had a wife, a son. He had to make it. Had to. He pictured Sherri. Under different circumstances, he could have made a life with her. She was smart, beautiful, witty, not to mention brave. Even though her Uncle Sydney was ultimately responsible for Sherri’s involvement, Curt felt a degree of blame. He hoped she would forgive him. Finally, there was Professor Marvin Sellon’s senseless death. Just maybe, as Scott had said, it was not in vain. He fervently hoped they had learned from it.
Death in the Beginning (The God Tools Book 1) Page 30
