by Rowley, M C
I looked back at the scene. Eleanor´s door was clean, no bullet holes. The team were in full battle mode now. But Jason had his satellite phone out.
Bayer was now working on the opposite side, near Eleanor´s door, seeing to make an exit. He was cutting through the thin plaster and wooden frame.
Jason was talking to someone on the phone. I couldn´t hear what he was saying.
More bullets rained into us like hailstones. They produced shards of wood, and metal that bounced up from the floor. I abandoned Pep and went for Eleanor.
But I was blocked. The heavy carcass of Aronson fell into my way. The top half of his head was gone, leaving only half a mouth curled up in a grimace. Blood oozed out of his neck. I wretched, got to my knees and crawled around him toward Eleanor´s door.
The cabin now was in bits. Parts of wood panelling, plasterboard and shrapnel sprinkled over my head, and the floor around me. Total destruction. I crawled behind some of the tables on my way to Eleanor. I begged that she was down, on the floor. The wall separating us was completely peppered.
Then I heard a thud, and looked behind me. Hernandez had been shot and flew back to the floor like luggage being thrown on to the conveyor belt at an airport, his hand still holding his pistol flying wildly to the side as he dropped.
Jason was now at the edge of the hole in the wall, shouting at Kyle across the opening. I couldn´t hear what he said but I saw him raise his gun at Pep, pull the trigger and Pep´s head burst open at the back, spraying the wall behind him with crimson.
Then, from behind us, Bayer shouted that he´d got through, and next to him was a new hole, lower down, that he´d cut with a metal saw. Jason and Kyle went for it, following Bayer through.
I ran to Eleanor´s room and slammed into the door with everything I had, shoulder first. The lock splintered into dust and I entered. The room was covered in bullet holes, but there, under the bed was Eleanor´s foot. And it was moving.
I didn´t ask, I just grabbed her shoe at the ankle and pulled her out like she was a child hiding from an angry parent. As she appeared from under the bed, I held her upper back and tried to hug her, but she pushed me away, her face filled with a terror like I´d never seen before, not even since we were kids. She held my arm, not in any way to get comfort, but pure, cold necessity. Her body was stiff with fear and my arm seemed to anchor her. But there was no love in her grip.
The battle had changed to outside. We heard the gunshots blasting but filtered by two walls. So we headed out into the main cabin. The floor was a sea of broken shards of wood, parts of the metal cabin walls, and things from the tables, cables, laptops smashed into bits, and chairs thrown over. The large hole lay in the center and the smaller one Bayer had opened to its left.
Suddenly something smacked my lower back and I went down. Eleanor was on top of me. She´d pushed me. And just in time as a cacophony of machine gun rounds started to tear what was left of the cabin to shreds. We stayed down with our arms over our heads.
After what seemed like a quantum age, where time and bullets coiled around each other in some micro-dance, the shots petered out and stopped and we heard them outside. We crawled to the opening and peered out.
To the right, Jason and Kyle were propped behind one of Pozo´s low derelict walls, firing. Bayer´s body lay beside them in a pool of blood.
To the left, I could see two of Esteban´s men, and three corpses laid out.
Two against two.
“Let´s go,” I said, and I held Eleanor back and we side stepped to the edge of the cabin and sprinted to one of the trucks.
I held Eleanor´s shoulder down, so she crouched, and I grabbed the passenger door. I checked inside but no keys.
We turned back to the gunfight. Things were just reaching its peak of intensity with all four guns firing back and forth when a deep and powerful voice shouted over it all,
“¡Basta!”
Everyone stopped.
The noise vanished as quickly as it had started.
There, walking slowly around the cabin was Esteban, struggling, being held by our son, Jairo.
“Basta,” he said again.
He had a pistol pointing at the old man´s head.
I breathed out, suddenly aware that I´d been holding it for minutes and I didn´t notice Eleanor move at first, out from behind the car, until it was too late. She walked across the battlefield, straight for Esteban, and her son.
No-one moved. No-one spoke. Everyone´s eyes were on Eleanor as she strode. I walked out too.
She reached Jairo and grabbed the gun from him and held it tight against Esteban´s temple and looked back at me.
“Is this the man who took our son?”
Everyone looked back at me.
I kept my eyes on Eleanor. She was shaking, red in the face, teeth gritted.
“Is he responsible?” she shouted.
I knew she´d do it. I had no doubt at all.
So I nodded. “Yes,” I said.
Esteban went to turn to her, to reason with her but she pulled the trigger and the back of his cranium exploded and the old man slumped to his knees and hit the dirt.
I heard Jason shout. It sounded like a cheer.
He was aiming his gun. At Jairo and Eleanor.
“No!”
Jairo had seen it. He jumped at Eleanor and tackled her to the floor on top of Esteban´s corpse. Jason fired, and Jairo´s arm got hit.
Esteban´s men were down to one but he fired with gusto at Kyle and Jason.
Kyle kept firing at the last man standing. He was screwed. If he ran for it, they´d take him down, no doubt.
If he stayed, his ammo would run out before theirs.
But he did something very clever.
At first, I thought he´d been shot. He flew backwards letting his arms shoot upwards, gun in hand and he hit the ground like a stone.
And Kyle ceased fire.
Jason whooped again and with urgency, started looking to aim again, at me this time. He got up from behind the small wall, and walked out of it.
I didn´t see the other guy´s play. Nor did Jason. Nor did Kyle. I only saw Jason´s chest explode.
Jason´s body swayed in static, and then slumped to the floor, face first.
Esteban´s guy had feigned it. But now Kyle´s shots finished the job and he was dead before Jason´s body had settled in the dust.
The echo of the shots reverberated into nothingness, and a deathly silence fell over the hills, swooping in with the soft wind through and between the ghost town´s ruins.
Jairo had gotten up, and was holding Eleanor tightly. He was whispering something in her ear and she was emotionally destroyed, her face quaking with tears.
Then, he turned, looked at me with a glance and ran. Kyle didn´t shoot. She was sat on the floor, recuperating.
Jairo disappeared over the hill without looking back again. And just as fast as he´d come back into our lives, he´d gone again.
I ran to Eleanor and held her.
“You saved my life.”
She hugged me. And I held her. I held her like I had not done for many years. I held her like young lovers hold each other, like the world was done, and was burning up.
I heard Kyle coming and I put up my hands.
“Please,” I said. “ Just take her.”
Kyle said nothing but kept walking toward us.
“Please,” I said again, and Eleanor and I came out of our embrace.
“Leave me,” I said.
But Kyle seemed more interested in Eleanor. She was holding Jason´s satellite phone. She punched in a number while Eleanor and I stared at her, at a loss for words.
Kyle held the sat phone to her ear.
“It´s screwed,” she said, into the phone. “But Dyce and his wife are still alive. The son got away. Everyone else is dead.”
A long pause. We could hear the tin voice of Reynolds from the other end, giving instructions.
“Just Dyce and his wife,” said Kyle.
; We waited. For our execution. Or for our savior.
“Okay,” said Kyle and the phone dropped to her side. Then she addressed us, “I´ll take her. But not you.”
“Thank you,” I said.
“Clean the prints on the pistol she used and cover it with yours,” said Kyle.
From a distance, we heard the sirens coming.
“Quickly,” said Kyle, handing the phone to me, “Mr Reynolds wants to speak with you.”
I didn´t know what to say. I just stared at Kyle.
“Take the damn phone,” she said. “We don´t have long.”
I took it and held it to my ear. A strange tinny voice came on. An artificial voice.
“Mr Dyce. You´ve done me a favor,” said Mr Reynolds. “And I´ll pay it back to you. Hold tight, and I´ll get you out of jail. Give it four weeks.”
I didn´t say anything.
“Your wife is safe with Kyle,” said the voice of Reynolds. “But you´ll have to earn the right to see her again. You work for me now.”
I looked at Eleanor. I didn´t deserve her. And she was saved. And I had to trust Kyle.
“Okay,” I said. “ Thank you.”
And the line went dead.
Kyle grabbed the phone, and Eleanor by the arm and they got into the truck, started the engine and drove off.
I watched them leave Pozos, and I went for the pistol Eleanor had used to kill Esteban but realized Jairo must have taken it. I sat back from my kneeling position and waited.
I was exhausted. There was no use in running. I listened to the cops getting closer.
Jairo was free. Eleanor too.
I couldn´t move.
Epilogue
“El Chico” Prison, North Mexico
After 21 long days in jail, Reynold´s call came as he had promised.
The prison yard was the worst place. I dreaded it every day. Gang bangers, cartel leaders, druggies. It was hopeless. I knew I wouldn´t last much longer. It had already been three weeks. It was mentally torturing me. I guessed it was Reynolds keeping my hind safe. Had to be. But I was beginning to give up.
Until the call came.
“Llamada para Dyce,” shouted the guard´s voice. I´ll never forget it. The shout coming through the sticky heat, and hope with it. I walked around the weights, the tattooed gang, the one with the letter X painted on their arms. Passed the Honduras crew. All staring me down. All obeying orders from someone not to touch me.
I got into the shade of the prison building. It was quiet at break time.
The federal guard grabbed my arm and led me down the corridor, away from the light, to the old black phone hanging on the wall. The receiver was hanging on its chord, swaying in the breeze.
“Llamada,” he said again.
I thanked the guard with a nod and picked up the phone, and Reynold´s voice box generated voice came into my ear.
“It´s time Mr Dyce,” it said. “It´s time.”
END
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About the Author
M C Rowley is an emerging author of psychological thrillers set in Mexico. This is M C Rowley’s first book in the trilogy.
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