“Travis, what’s going on?”
I tuck the phone away and duck as several headlights sweep across the canopy of trees above me. The lights pause at the top of the hill. I drop and start crawling, keeping the box tucked under one arm as my other arm guides my way through the darkness.
I hear doors slam.
Then the sounds of heavy boots.
I move as fast as I can with my bum ankle yelling at me the entire way.
“Boys,” a man with a very deep voice says, “check out the tracks.”
As I crawl, the ditch water splashes softly around me. Some of it gets in my mouth. Tastes like death.
Along the ditch is a line of trees framed in by a wall of wild shrubs – the nearest hiding spot.
“Ok,” the voice draws closer to the edge of the hill, “looks like he went…”
I keep moving.
“Right…”
Keep moving.
“Over…”
Keep moving.
Jesus, my ankle hurts.
“There–”
I dive into the bushes just as the white beam of an LED flashlight swings across the base of the ditch and lands right on my car. I stay as low to the ground as possible, hoping they don’t do a thorough search of the area – though they’d be fools not to.
I would if I were them.
“He’s gone!” one of the other men shouts.
“Maybe,” the man with the deep voice says. “If he did leave, he won’t get far. There ain’t shit around here for miles.”
At the top of the hill, I make out three silhouettes. Two men, about the same height, and then a broad shouldered ogre. I’m sure it’s the same asshole who shot at me before – actually they all shot at me – though he did the majority of the shooting. I only got a quick look at him at the time. He’s got an unusually square head, sunken eyes, and a smirk.
Not just a smirk.
A shit-eating grin.
Back on the road, framed within my rearview mirror, I caught him smiling as he shot at me.
Smiling, shooting, and smoking.
There was a limp cigarette hanging from his lips when he fired that last round, the bullet that nearly took off my head.
“Want us to check the car?”
“What do you think?” the big man answers as he lights a cigarette.
The two men race down the hill, nearly stumbling as they do. They dig around, and navigate the wreck for any signs of the package.
It takes everything I can to calm my breathing.
Three against one.
These odds suck.
On second thought, I do still have my Beretta on me. I pat myself down, having forgotten which shoulder I had the holster on. Nerves will do that to you.
The big man takes a drag. Shouts down at his men, “See anything?”
“Nothing.”
“Check the trunk.”
One of the men shrugs and shouts back, “If I can get it open!”
“Well… find a way.”
The men do. It takes both of them to pry the trunk open. Then they turn back to the big guy.
“It’s empty.”
“Are you sure you looked everywhere?” he asks as he flicks his cigarette away.
“Yes.”
“If I have to come down there, I’m dusting one of you–”
“Look,” the man pleads, “the car’s fucking empty! The package is gone and he’s gone. We should move before he gets too far.”
“Relax, Buttercup.” He cups his hands in front of his face as if it’s thirty degrees out and lights up another cigarette. The guy gives new meaning to the phrase chain-smoker. “Unless our boy went for a jog, he’s still around. Now look harder.”
The men point their flashlights in all directions as they circle the car. One of them pulls out a gun. As he heads towards me, I feel my heart ram against my chest. Fortunately, the water washed away any hint of my trail into my current hiding spot.
Unfortunately, I forgot to put my cell phone on vibrate.
And I forgot that I left Duncan hanging.
And he’s calling me back…
Right…
Fucking…
Now.
The ringtone cuts through the chirping crickets in the surrounding bushes like an air horn.
Flashlights blind me.
And I hear one of the men yell, “WE FOUND HIM!”
Chapter 2
“Good,” the big man says, “now shoot him!”
I slip backwards as their bullets rip through the foliage. Wood splinters shower me. The explosion of greenery smells like a fresh cut lawn. As the cone of their flashlights trail me, I worm my way behind a tree.
“He’s over there!”
“I see him!”
I dig in behind the cover of the tree – which vibrates as the bullets penetrate the soft bark. What is only five seconds worth of gunfire feels more like five minutes.
Click-click-click. “I’m out!” the guy on the left shouts.
I roll on my side, aim, and land two slugs in his chest. He screams, drops to his knees, and explodes into a cloud of…
Black dust?
His friend pauses, sharing in my moment of shock and confusion, then returns fire, but I’m already back behind the tree.
Click-click-click. He’s out too. Scrambling to reload, he pats his body down like he’s covered in invisible ants. Seems he suddenly forgot where he hung his spare magazine.
Right on your shoulder, dumbass.
He grabs it, right as I shoot him in the head, and he instantly bursts into that same black dust.
“What the–” before I can finish, a wave of bullets rains down. Little volcanoes of sand pop all around me. I scramble backwards, like a vampire that’s been exposed to sunlight, and find shelter behind a fallen tree trunk.
“I want that package, Travis!” the big man shouts.
In the aftermath of the strafing, the dust clears. I look up, only to have the unyielding intensity of his flashlight blinding me. Damn thing has the candle power of a prison spotlight.
“We both know I’ve got the advantage here.” He speaks in a singsong tone as he continues, “You’re down there. I’m up here. You’ve got a semi-automatic. Mine’s fully automatic. You don’t have grenades.” Then I hear what sounds like keys jangling. “I do.”
His flashlight might be as bright as a supernova, but it’s also giving away his position.
“Now stop being a pussy, crawl out from your hole, and give me the box!”
“And if I don’t?”
A pause. “Well then I hope you’re a runner.”
“So after all this? You’d risk destroying the box?”
He chuckles, then says, “Still haven’t figured it out yet, have you, Buttercup?”
“Figured out what?”
“The box is only half the mission.”
There’s a long pause. Beyond the light, as my eyes adjust, I make out his silhouette. His head leans to one side. I see the tiny red glow of another cigarette coming to life. This guy must have cojones of steel to smoke around explosives.
“Killing you for a second time,” he says, “is the other half.”
Well, in that case…
I aim for his flashlight.
Cock my gun.
And fire.
He recoils. A pained grunt escapes him. “YOU LITTLE SHIT!”
Not sure where I hit him, but I did. Too bad it didn’t take him down.
I squeeze the trigger again.
Click.
Now I’m the one who’s out.
Click-click-click.
Shhhiiiitt!
Panic sets in. I search my body for my spare clip. Suddenly feels like I have about eighty pockets. Can’t remember which one I shoved it into–
Unless it fell out during the crash.
The circle of light around me disappears, leaving me in total darkness. My eyes slowly adjust again and I look back to the edge of the hill. I see the big man s
wing his arm in the air.
A split-second later I hear a plop-plop sound nearby.
Something landed in the water.
Then another plop-plop.
That one landed closer… which can’t be good.
I push myself as far away from those sounds as possible, but it’s hard to crawl fast with a bad ankle–
The ground around me swells, lifts me up as if I were on some sort of magic carpet. My head rocks backwards. Arms and legs flailing uselessly as I sail through the air.
Everything moves in slow motion again.
And midflight, amidst the dizzying canopy of twinkling stars above me, something catches my eye.
Something moves.
A falling star.
No.
It’s not falling.
It’s… circling?
That’s impossible–
There’s an ugly cracking sound that reverberates throughout my body as I slam against something.
And things suddenly go–
FAITH AGAINST THE WOLVES
Full novel coming late Summer/Fall 2015
For more info: www.JChateau.com
A note from the Author
I truly hope you enjoyed reading The Saltwater Marathon.
Being an independent author is a very challenging and rewarding experience. It’s a constant learning process as well, especially in this age of digital publishing.
Yet for all of the hard work and struggle that comes with writing, the one true joy I get is knowing that my readers enjoyed what I wrote.
Self-published authors like myself survive off of your support and feedback. So if you did enjoy my work, please leave me a review on Amazon. Reviews are the best gift you can give an author. You could also spread the word & share your review on Facebook or Twitter.
I appreciate my readers taking the time to give me their feedback, as it only makes me a better writer.
If you are able to post a review for me, I thank you in advance. Again, you are the reason I do what I do.
Happy reading,
Jonathan
www.jchateau.com
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About the Author
Jonathan Chateau received his Masters in Business Administration from the University of Central Florida.
He has always had a lifelong passion for both writing and business. He loves writing stories that he would want to read, and hopes you sincerely enjoy them as well.
His inspirations come from music, movies, and books (both fiction & non-fiction.)
Currently he is finishing the final touches on his debut novel, Faith Against the Wolves, to be released later this year.
He resides in Tampa, Florida.
The Saltwater Marathon (A Novella) Page 8
