Hunter's Games

by James P. Sumner

  “Oh, shit!” shouts Johnson.

  “Hang on!” I say.

  The collision sends us spinning left and into the barrier along the edge of the bridge. The van spins away from us and skids to a halt farther along the road ahead on the right. We manage to keep control of the car, but the front end’s been smashed beyond repair. The hood has crumpled up and pieces have flown off the car and into the road. Chambers grunts in pain from the back as she flies forward into the back of my seat, catapulting me forward against the dashboard and smashing my ribs against it just before the airbag inflates.

  The screeching of tires and the sound of crushing metal stops, leaving an eerie silence broken only by the occasional horn of a car and distant sirens.

  I sit back, wincing as pain shoots through my ribs with every breath I take. I look over at Johnson, whose head is resting on the wheel. I tap his arm.

  “Hey, you with us?” I ask.

  He groans and sits up slowly, revealing a nasty, deep gash across his right eyebrow. A thin line of blood is trickling down the side of his face.

  “My bad,” he says.

  I smile. “Hey, you did good, Johnson. But we gotta get out of here.”

  I look over at the van, which has spun around to a stop and is now facing us. The grill and the hood look damaged beyond repair. I can’t see any movement, but I’m not taking any chances.

  I hustle myself out of the car and make my way cautiously over to the van, my gun in my right hand, ready to shoot. The broken glass crunches underfoot with each step I take, sounding loud in the silence, and growing louder as Chambers and Johnson exit the car and follow me.

  I approach the passenger side door in a wide arc, gun raised and ready. I smell the burnt rubber from the tires, and a faint odor of gasoline. I can see inside the van—the driver is resting against the wheel, as Johnson had been. Except this guy’s not moving.

  There’s no sign of Pellaggio… He must’ve gone through and out the back, which means he might have that Carbine locked and loaded.

  Shit.

  I hold back, edging slowly further out to the left, trying to get the angle to see.

  “Erm... Adrian? I think we’ve got company,” says Chambers behind me.

  I look over my right shoulder, back at the others, and see them standing, guns drawn, looking down the bridge, back toward the toll booth we’d just come through. I follow their gaze and see two more vans, similar to Pellaggio’s, speeding toward us.

  I look back just in time to see Pellaggio walk around from behind his van, Carbine in both hands, aimed right at me.

  “Put your fucking gun down, Adrian,” he says with an evil smile.

  I quickly look back behind me and see the other two vans pulling up side on to us. Four men get out of each, all carrying similar-looking assault rifles.

  Shit...

  I turn and look at Pellaggio, sighing heavily.

  Double shit…

  I relax and let my Beretta hang loose from my index finger by the trigger guard. He walks over and takes it from me with his left hand, before snapping a short left elbow into my face. I stagger backward a few steps, but don’t go down.

  He throws it to the ground.

  “And the other one,” he says.

  I do the same with the one still at my back. He tosses it aside.

  “Now, tell your FBI friends to drop their guns too,” he says.

  My jaw muscles clench as a fresh wave anger hits me. Every cell in my body is urging me to rip this bastard’s throat out… but right now, I know he’s simply got us beat.

  “Guys, do as he says,” I shout over. “We’ve got no move here.”

  “Now get over there with them,” he orders.

  I turn and walk over, standing in between them with Chambers to my left and Johnson to my right, facing the eight guys who have just arrived.

  Pellaggio walks in front of us, eyeballing each one of us in turn.

  “Who was driving?” he asks.

  I say nothing, hoping the other two will do the same. Straight away, I know where this is going... I look around quickly for inspiration—any sliver of hope that will allow me to stop this from unfolding exactly how I know it will… but I’ve got nothing.

  Triple shit.

  “I was,” says Johnson, after a moment.

  I close my eyes and look away down at the ground.

  Why the hell did he have to open his mouth?

  That stupid…

  I sigh.

  I’m getting angry, but not at him. Not really. I’m angry at myself because I’ve allowed myself to be put in this position—where I’m completely helpless and can’t do anything to stop what’s happening.

  I hate it.

  Without a word, Pellaggio raises his rifle and opens fire, riddling Johnson with bullets. He aims low and raises the gun as he fires; the sickening, dull squelch as the bullets pound into Johnson’s body is muted by the staccato roar of the Carbine. He’s hit in his thighs, his stomach, his chest, and eventually, his face. His whole body spasms and jerks around in a crazy dance. His arms flail up and down as his body flies backward from the impact and smashes into our car. He bounces off the side and lands on the road, rolling and finishing face down; his features contorted from the agony he endured in his final breath and his eyes wide in a vacant gaze.

  “No!” screams Chambers. I quickly put my arms around her to stop her doing anything stupid like running at Pellaggio. That was my instinct too, but I know better than to let any emotions cloud my judgment in a moment like this.

  “Now,” said Pellaggio, looking at Chambers and myself in turn, as he rests the Carbine over his shoulder and smiles. “To business.”

  16.

  15:16

  I LET GO of Chambers and we stand side by side facing Pellaggio and his eight hired guns.

  There’s a cool breeze coming off the Bay, whirling the lingering smell of gunpowder around us from the Carbine. The sun is high and there’s very little cloud in the sky. I glance over at Johnson’s body, slowing drowning in a pool of blood on the road.

  The area around us is strangely deserted. I assume authorities are on their way in force. I can hear the faint sound of sirens in the distance, but the traffic’s managed to stop all on its own; people and cars are giving the area a wide berth.

  Pellaggio is standing about fifteen feet away. He’s aiming his gun loosely from his hip in our general direction. He’s looking at me quietly, with a bemused expression on this face.

  My eyes narrow as my mind ticks over, visualizing all the ways I could end his twisted little life. And believe me—I am going to end his life. Maybe not right now, but I will. He’s earned the privilege of dying by my hand.

  I look past him at his back up. No chance of avoiding getting shot if I make a move. I’ll have to bide my time…

  I feel Chambers reach and grab my hand, squeezing tightly. She’s an exceptional FBI agent from what I’ve seen, and a very smart and capable woman. But right now, I can see she’s absolutely terrified—her hand is trembling in mine, and she’s staring vacantly at the ground. Which I can understand. Nothing can prepare you for things like this—seeing someone you know murdered in cold blood in front of you… knowing your life is in danger and being helpless to do anything about it…

  “You’re going to come with us,” says Pellaggio. “We’re going to go somewhere a little more private so you can have a front row seat for the grand finale.”

  I know that chopper’s on its way… I just have to buy a few more minutes.

  “Tell me, Danny Boy, after Heaven’s Valley, did you ever suffer from that—what’s it called?—survivor’s guilt thing?” I ask.

  His expression darkens and his jaw muscles clench, but he remains silent.

  “You know, because you lay there bleeding, looking on as your entire family was slaughtered right in front of you... You lay there and did nothing as I put a bullet between your old man’s eyes. Surely you feel bad about that?”

&nb
sp; In the blink of an eye, he rushes toward me, raising his gun behind him and thrusting it forward as he approaches, slamming the butt hard into my stomach and knocking the wind out of me. I have no choice but to drop to one knee and double over.

  I touched a nerve there, I think.

  I laugh out loud, which is harder than it should be.

  “My only regret is not going back to finish you off in the hospital when I heard you’d survived,” I continue, looking him right in the eye. He raises the gun once more, but refrains from smashing it into my face. Instead, he smiles and walks back to where he was originally standing.

  “I’m smarter than you are, Adrian,” he says, tapping his temple with his left index finger. “You and your famous mouth are trying to taunt me, and it won’t work. I’ve spent a year planning this, and I’m too close to the end to let you ruin things now.”

  In the sky, behind him and his crew, I see the small outline of a helicopter appear.

  Bingo.

  “So, tell me, what is your endgame here?” I ask, desperate to delay him a few extra seconds. “If all this wasn’t for me, what was it for?”

  “Oh, you’ll see soon enough,” he says, smiling. I see him catch my gaze as I glance at the chopper again.

  Shit.

  He turns and looks up, seeing it for himself. He looks back at me and smiles.

  “Ah, you think your rescue is coming, don’t you?” he says.

  He laughs, turns, and walks over to one of the two vans that just arrived full of goons. He disappears into the back for a moment, and then re-appears holding an RPG-7 launcher.

  Something else off his shopping list…

  “Oh my God,” says Chambers, almost in a whisper of disbelief as she re-focuses on the situation.

  “Danny!” I shout, unable to stop myself from panicking. “Leave them alone, they’re innocent. Let us call them off at least, then we’ll come along with no more fuss, you have my word.”

  He laughs again, prompting his men to laugh with him.

  “Your word, eh?” he says. “Well, I appreciate that, and your sentiment is touching. However, you’ll be coming with us anyway, so your proposal is meaningless.”

  He walks into the middle of the bridge and lifts the launcher up onto his shoulder. The weapon is roughly three feet long and weighs around fifteen pounds. It fires a single high explosive, anti-tank warhead, known as a HEAT missile. It’s good for a thousand yards before it self-detonates. It’ll destroy that chopper easily.

  “Danny, don’t do it!” I yell.

  Next to me, Chambers is squeezing my hand so tightly I’m worried she’ll break it. Her fear is slowly giving way to anger. I know how she feels, but we can’t do anything. As things stand, I’m sure Pellaggio wants us alive, at least until he’s executed his plan, so I think it’s unlikely he’ll kill us just yet, but then, I don’t doubt that he would if I push him too far. Plus, he has eight of his men surrounding us…

  We’ve got no choice but to stand and watch.

  The chopper approaches and Pellaggio takes aim. It’s still about a mile out, but closing fast. It’ll be in range of that missile any moment.

  “Please, don’t!” pleads Chambers, but her words are wasted breath.

  She instinctively steps forward, but I hold her hand firmly, stopping her as all eight guns turn and take aim at us.

  “Grace, don’t,” I say quietly. “I hate this too, but there’s nothing we can do unless you wanna die here on this bridge.”

  She looks at me with tears in her eyes. “How can you be okay with this?” she says.

  “I’m not, goddammit!” I hiss through gritted teeth. “I don’t want to watch innocent people die any more than you do, but we die right here, right now if we try to stop him, and whatever’s happening is bigger than us, and that chopper.”

  “So this is what you do, is it? Your life, your job—it’s made you into a monster, Adrian, whether you admit it or not. You disgust me!”

  I take a deep breath. It actually hurts hearing her say that, but it’s not the time for sentiment. I look back at the chopper. It’s almost within range.

  “No more playing games!” shouts Pellaggio, his eyes glued to his target.

  A silent, tense moment passes… then he fires.

  The missile makes a deafening whooshing sound and Chambers jumps in fright.

  “Oh yeah!” he shouts with sickening joy.

  I watch in horror as the missile flies with deadly intent through the sky toward the chopper. The pilot tries to bank sharply left, away from the bridge, but isn’t quick enough. I see the impact a split second before I hear it. The chopper disappears in the explosion. It sounds like an eruption, and seconds later the flaming wreckage of the helicopter plummets toward the ground, leaving a black trail of smoke behind it.

  It hits the edge of the bridge, snapping the burning wreck in two—the tail sliding across the blacktop, hitting a couple of abandoned cars a way in front of us; the cabin section drops over the edge and into the Bay below.

  Pellaggio watches the scene unfold almost perversely for a moment. He turns to us and drops the launcher to the ground.

  “Now, get in the fucking van,” he says, sounding oddly satisfied. “There’s someone you need to meet.”

  “At least let her go,” I say, nodding to Chambers. “Your issues aren’t with her.”

  He smiles and raises his arm, gesturing with his hand to the guys behind him. Four of them walk over purposefully. Two move behind us; one moves either side. They prod us with the muzzles of their rifles and usher us over to the two vans.

  Two guys climb in the back of the van on the left first, and then we’re ushered in behind them. There are two wooden benches running the length of each side of the interior behind the cab. I sit on the left and Chambers is sat down opposite me. Finally, two more guys get in and the slam the door shut behind them.

  She stares at me with a mixture of emotions on her face.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper to her.

  The engine starts up and we drive off.

  “So am I, Adrian,” she says. “So am I.”

  15:58

  I try keeping track in my head of how long we’ve been in the van, but I soon lose count. It can’t be more than twenty minutes or so. We’re traveling mostly in silence.

  Chambers looks distraught and very pissed off. I’m not sure whether her anger is directed at me personally, or just a general feeling after being forced into such an awful situation and being so helpless to do anything about it. I think she knows it was the right decision to stand down on the bridge, but I know from experience that knowing it doesn’t make it any easier to deal with. She’s staring at the floor, barely blinking.

  In theory, I could take out these four guys with minimal fuss. It’s not like I’m restrained in any way…

  But I better not. There’s nowhere really to run. Plus, a stray bullet in such a confined space could be disastrous.

  It’s not worth the risk.

  I nudge Chambers’ foot with mine and she looks up at me. Silently, I ask if she’s alright. She doesn’t acknowledge me; she just stares at me blankly for a moment before going to back to looking at the floor.

  I’ll leave her in peace for now. I think she’s strong enough to avoid going into shock, but no one can tell you how you should act in a time like this—you’ve got to get there on your own.

  We seem to have been keeping a steady speed for most of the journey since leaving the bridge, but I feel us slowing down now. I figure we’ve turned into a side street or something. A few moments later, the tires crunch on gravel as we gradually slow to a stop.

  I hear the cab doors open and close, followed by footsteps. Then, the back doors open to reveal Pellaggio, standing next to the guy I assume was driving. Neither of them have weapons. The two guys in the back with us, nearest to the doors, jump out then turn and aim their weapons at Chambers and me. The guys on the other side of us stand and usher us both out.

 
I jump down and make a point of stretching my arms and back. I casually glance around but don’t recognize where we are. It looks like an old industrial estate of some kind. I stand with my back to our van. The other four guys have parked up a few feet behind us and are milling around, weapons loose. To my left is a large warehouse, with four big loading bays in a line. The shutters are down on all of them. I scan the skyline to the right, trying to find something identifiable that gives me some idea of where we are, but see nothing of any use.

  I look at Chambers, who still has a glazed look on her face. She doesn’t look at me; she just keeps her eyes to the ground. I think she’s trying to numb herself to the situation, which isn’t a bad idea.

  Right now, my spider sense is tingling and I’ve got a feeling things are going to get worse before they get better.

  But it will get better. I just have to bide my time for the right opportunity.

  I turn to Pellaggio. “Nice place,” I say. “Could do with a little work.”

  He laughs. “Your mouth really doesn’t have an off switch, does it?” he asks.

  “If it does, I ain’t found it yet,” I reply, with a smile.

  “Allow me.”

  He walks over and launches his right fist into my face. He connects squarely on my left cheekbone. It’s a lovely shot, and I take a step back to re-balance myself. I instinctively turned away as he hit me, to take away some of the impact. I look back at him and laugh.

  “That all you got?” I ask. “You hit like a Girl Scout.”

  I have to keep pushing his buttons and wait for the mistake. If you make them angry enough, they always make a mistake. And that’s when you make your move.

  Antagonize and capitalize.

  He doesn’t bite. He simply stares at me through his evil eyes then walks away. His group of armed minions follows him, ushering Chambers and me along with them.

  We head toward the loading bay doors second from the left. I keep looking around, memorizing my surroundings, and planning my escape route for later. I just need to let all this play out long enough to learn what’s really going on.