by BJ Bourg
“Where’s the nearest?”
Orville pointed in the direction of Wellman Boudreaux’s camp. “The Boudreaux family has some small kids. I’d guess they’re between the ages of four and eight.”
Taz stepped off the trail to make room for Orville to pass. “Go ahead, lead the way.”
Orville gulped. “Me? I…I’m no hero.”
“Neither are we.” Taz grabbed the bib of Orville’s overalls and jerked him forward. “Now take us to the camp with kids.”
Not knowing why Taz and his men wanted to go where there were kids, he stumbled forward and then trudged along the soft ground on unsteady legs, leading the four-man team toward the Boudreaux property. As he walked, an eerie feeling fell over him, much like the feeling Quentin felt right before Norris was killed. As he tried to put a finger on why he felt that way, he suddenly realized the swamps were too quiet. Not a single bird chirped, not a single leaf rustled, not a single twig snapped.
“Something’s wrong,” he said to Taz, who was directly behind him.
“Shut up and walk,” was all Taz said.
Orville pursed his lips, scanning the woods all around him. He appreciated the toughness of Taz and his men, but he doubted they were bulletproof. One shot from the killer sniper and it would be over for anyone, even them. Without saying another word, he took one step and then another, slowly approaching the boundary line that marked the beginning of Wellman’s property.
“If you walk any slower you’ll be walking backward,” Croc said, giving Orville a little shove.
The shove knocked him off balance and he fell hard to the ground, his left hand sinking into the soft earth. Before he could right himself, he heard a splat, followed by a distant shot, and gasped when Taz collapsed—falling straight down in a heap—his face pale and expressionless. Before Taz had time to get comfortable on the ground, Lizard let out a sickening sigh and dropped dead next to him, followed immediately by Croc. Grizzly, who had walked out in front of everyone, turned to see what was going on. When he saw his teammates on the ground, bloodied and lifeless, he lifted his rifle and started to spin around. A bullet to the brain cut him down in mid-twist and he fell awkwardly, the weight of his body pushing the barrel of his rifle deep into the soft mud.
Orville didn’t even bother trying to stand up. He stared wildly about and located a large crater in the earth that had been caused by a wind-thrown tree. Scrambling as though his life depended on it and propelled by fear, he made his way rapidly on his hands and knees, trying to reach the crater before the sniper could take him out. The ground was cool and slippery, but hard it places. He winced when he planted his left palm on a cypress knee and cried out in pain when he slammed his kneecap into a root that protruded up out of the ground.
He breathed a deep sigh of relief when he made it to the crater and threw himself into the murky water that filled the natural pond. The cool temperature of the water shocked him and took away his breath. He slid across the crater and turned onto his back, pressing the left side of his body against the wall of mud and roots that was suspended in the air. His oversized belly protruded above the surface of the water and he tried desperately to burrow into the soft earth beneath him. He reached behind his body and clawed at the mud, ripping handful after handful of slop out of the way. He didn’t like the feel of the thick mud beneath his fingernails, but he didn’t stop to complain.
After several minutes of digging, he was able to make a big enough dent in the crater to fit his large buttocks. It helped conceal his belly so that only his nose, mouth, and eyes were raised above the water. He shivered uncontrollably—unsure if it was from the cold or fear—and his movements caused the water around him to ripple.
“Calm down, damn it,” he said, his eyes wild and searching, trying to detect even the slightest hint of danger. What if the sniper moved in to check on the FBI agents? To make sure they were dead? What if the sniper found him hiding in the crater? Surely he wouldn’t let him live. “God, I’m so sorry for all the bad things I’ve done in my life,” Orville whispered, his voice on the brink of cracking. “I’ll go to church every Sunday if you help me make it out of this alive. I swear on my grandpa.”
Orville prayed some more and made promise after promise, watching and waiting for a sign from on high, but none came—nothing to assure him that his life was going to be spared.
The sun began to slide lower to the west and the shadows in the forest grew longer. As the minutes passed, his prayers became more desperate and his voice a little louder, hoping God could hear him better.
Nothing. Not a flash of lightning in the cloudless sky or a talking bird or any other small miracle that might indicate some sort of divine intervention on his part. He stole a glance at Taz, whose face seemed obliquely shaped as the side of his head rested against the ground.
Orville’s wet clothes clung to his body and his cheeks itched where the water lapped across his face. He wanted to reach out and scratch his face, but was too afraid to move. Maybe he’d be able to get out of the water once night fell. The sniper wouldn’t be able to see him under the cover of darkness and he might be able to make it to the camp without being detected.
“That’s what I’ll do,” he whispered to himself. “I’ll crawl out of this hellhole as soon as it gets dark and the—”
A branched suddenly snapped to Orville’s left and he froze, his heart beating rapidly in his chest. Could this be the end of the line? Is the killer moving in to finish me off? He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, trying not to move a muscle or breathe, praying to himself that God would spare his life.
Nothing moved for a tense moment. Orville bit down hard in a feeble attempt to silence his chattering teeth. His ears were under water, but he could still hear leaves rustling nearby as heavy footsteps drew nearer. Another branch snapped a few feet from his position. It was opposite where the other branch had snapped and too far from the original footsteps to be the same person. There are more of them! He almost whelped in fear, but somehow managed to keep it together. The original footsteps drew closer and closer, crunching a dry leaf here and snapping a twig there.
Orville was trembling uncontrollably and nearly fainted when the footsteps stopped directly in front of his hiding spot. As quietly as he could, he sucked in a lungful of air and faded under the water, hoping the killer wouldn’t notice the slight movement. Seconds began to tick by, but Orville didn’t hear another sound. What if the killer’s gone?
He thought about lifting his head slightly out of the water to see if the killer was standing there, but he didn’t dare. Instead, he continued to lie motionless, holding his breath and trying to stop his heart from beating. A thought suddenly occurred to him and he almost sat up in a state of panic. What happens when I can’t hold my breath anymore?
The very idea made his lungs scream for air. He swallowed to buy more time, listening intently for any sound that might indicate the killer was walking away. There was none.
What the hell is he doing? Is he toying with me? Is he just standing there waiting for me to run out of breath?
Orville began to tremble from straining to hold his breath. He felt lightheaded. Knowing he would drown if he passed out, and unable to fight it any longer, he finally tilted his head forward and wheezed loudly, sucking in the much-needed air. It entered through his mouth and filled his lungs, but it wasn’t nearly enough. He exhaled and took in more air, allowing his eyes to fly open and take in his surroundings.
Because of the dark shadows and his jerky movement, it was difficult to discern one shape from another, but he noticed a pair of thick legs splashing through the water. They headed straight for him and he gasped when the muzzle of a rifle made rough contact with his forehead, nearly giving him whiplash. Although he hadn’t felt the need to urinate, his crotch area grew instantly warm as his bladder involuntarily emptied. He squeezed his eyes shut and prepared to meet his brother and grandfather in the afterlife.
CHAPTER 34
“W
hat the hell happened to my men?”
Orville peed in his pants again—this time in relief—when he heard Mule’s voice calling down from above. Still shaken, he allowed his eyes to open. Mule was clad in his ghillie suit and he wasn’t alone. Although the other two agents were also ghillied up, Orville recognized the shorter, squatter bush as Pit Bull and the taller one as Panther. Pit Bull was squatting over Taz.
“He’s gone, Mule,” Pit Bull said. “They’re all gone.”
Mule shoved Orville’s head back with the muzzle of his rifle again. “Answer me, damn it! What in God’s name happened to my men?”
Orville lifted his trembling hands over his head. “I swear to God, I don’t know what happened. They just started dropping all around me.”
Pit Bull tromped through the water and stood beside Mule. Although Orville couldn’t see his face, he knew the man was glaring down at him. “Why are you still alive? Is this the work of your family?”
Orville just sat there in the cool water trembling, not knowing what to say. How could he explain why he was alive when he didn’t even know the reason?
“Answer him,” Mule ordered, his finger wrapping around the trigger, “or I’m going to dust your ass right here!”
“I…I don’t know why. I was just walking with them and they started dropping. That’s all I know.” Orville stared desperately from one masked face to the other. “Please, you’ve got to believe me. I don’t know why he spared my life.”
Panther, who had been scanning their surroundings, said, “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
“We’re not going anywhere.” Mule’s voice was dripping with anger. “We’ve got a piece of shit coward to kill.”
Orville sank to his back and shivered as the water wrapped its cool hands around his shoulders and chest. “Please, don’t.”
“Not you, asshole,” Mule said. They were the last words he ever spoke. As he turned toward Panther, a chunk of bone flew out the back of his skull and a mist of blood and brain matter showered over Orville.
“What the—?” Pit Bull’s voice was cut short by the sniper’s bullet and he collapsed on top of Orville in the water.
Orville stifled a scream and lay there trembling, feeling as though his heart would explode in his chest. He could see Panther running in the direction of the shots, firing his own rifle as he ran. He didn’t make it ten yards before his legs went limp and he dumped headfirst into a thick cypress tree. He sank to the ground in a lifeless heap, and Orville felt all hope drain from his body at the sight of the last agent dying.
Orville could hardly breathe with Pit Bull’s weight on him, but he dared not move because Pit Bull’s body was the only thing between him and the sniper. As he lay there waiting—listening for the slightest sound that would indicate the sniper was heading his way—he felt something warm and wet dripping on his cheek. It slid down his face and across his lips. He tried to blow it away while keeping his lips pursed, but some of the liquid seeped into his mouth. He gagged when he recognized the metallic taste of blood and he tried to move his face away from the source. He slipped his head under the water and rinsed his mouth out, praying darkness would fall soon so he could escape back to his house.
Other than the steady pat-pat of the dripping blood, the swamps were graveyard quiet—unusually so. Orville found himself worrying about his family. Why had Mule left his family unguarded? Their weapons were locked up and they were defenseless. Wait a minute!
A sense of panic suddenly filled his chest. What if Mule had made Quentin lead them to the scene of Norris’ murder? Orville hadn’t seen Quentin with them, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t been out of his field of vision. He needed to get home. He needed to find out if his family was okay.
The woods were dark enough now that it would be nearly impossible for the sniper to see him from more than a dozen yards. Hell, he could hardly see his own hand an inch from his face. Time to move.
The shots had come from the south and hit the men high, so all he had to do was stay low and get to the other side of the windblown tree, keeping it directly behind him. Straining with all of his might, he managed to push Pit Bull off of him and to the side. He started to glide out of the waterhole, but stopped, an idea suddenly occurring to him. He reached under Pit Bull’s body and felt around in the water, not stopping until he felt the stock of the rifle. Giving it a hard tug, he jerked it out from under the FBI agent and shook it to clear away the water. He remembered seeing it in Pit Bull’s possession earlier and knew it was a bolt-action rifle topped with an expensive scope.
Without wasting any more time, Orville crawled clumsily around the root ball of the windblown tree and headed north toward his family’s home. He began crawling slow and stealthily at first, but he started to feel the weight of the sniper’s crosshairs on the back of his head and fear pushed him forward, faster and faster, until he was up on his feet and running at full speed. It wasn’t fast by most standards, but it was record pace for his large frame.
Orville’s legs screamed in pain and his lungs begged him to stop, but his fear of dying was too strong and very real. He stumbled often and even fell a few times, but he refused to give up. He’d drag himself back to his feet and push forward, begging his tired legs not to give out on him.
After what seemed like hours, Orville caught a glimmer of light in the distance. It was coal dark in the swamps, but he recognized it as being their porch light. With a yelp of joy, he lumbered along, willing himself to sprint the last hundred yards, or so. When he reached the back steps, he collapsed onto them, gasping for breath. He tossed the rifle onto the landing and beat the wooden boards with his fists. As he did so, he hollered for his family.
CHAPTER 35
Dawn and Wellman had joined Patrick and me in the interview room and we were surveying a map of the island.
“Are you sure he’ll stick to the island?” I asked.
Patrick nodded. “He’s like a bear when it comes to his territory. He picks his range and he sticks to it. He’ll kill a man, woman, and child within that zone and then he’ll disappear for a year, or so.”
“There aren’t many children on the island,” I said. “That should narrow his options and increase our chance of catching him.”
“You’re not about to use my grandkids as bait,” Wellman said. “I’m going to get them the hell out of there as soon as we get back.”
“He’ll be waiting for you,” Patrick said. “The best thing we can do is keep your kids locked indoors and set up counter surveillance. He has to move in and out of position to see the camp, so we can get him then.”
I tapped my finger on the map, thinking. Finally, I shook my head. “If you’re right and he’s looking for a kid to kill, we’ve got to alert the public and shut down Devil’s Lake. That place is flooded with people—men, women, and tons of children—every evening and all day on weekends.”
“If you do that,” Patrick argued, “he’ll just up and leave, and we’ll never catch him. He’ll wait a year and pop up hundreds of miles from here and more people will have to die. This is our one and only chance. We have the manpower to lock this island down. We can do this!”
I fixed Patrick with cold eyes. “Was that your plan all alone? Keep your client’s kids safe while letting unsuspecting parents bring their kids into Devil’s Lake to be slaughtered?”
“My plan was to take him out before he killed again.”
“How’s that working out for you?” I asked pointedly.
“You broke all of my SEAC records,” Patrick said slowly, “so I know how good you are. Between you and me and our men, we can get this bastard.”
I turned to look at Dawn, who frowned. “It’s your call, London. I’ll back whatever you decide to do.”
“I don’t want to risk a child’s life,” I said. “I’d rather him get away.”
“If he does get away, he’ll kill again. That’s a fact,” Patrick said. “Hell, he might even come back here and kill one of your family member
s next time. You know, out of revenge for depriving him of a child victim. Or he’ll just move to town and take out a child there. What are you going to do—tell every child in the parish to stay inside?” Patrick took a step forward, almost pleading. “Look, all we have to do is set up on the lake and make sure we get that bastard before he levels his crosshairs on a child. It’s that simple.”
“And what if we don’t?” I asked.
Patrick’s eyes turned stone cold. “The shot will give him away and his ass will be mine.”
I didn’t like it one bit and walked out of the room. I called the sheriff and gave him a quick update on what was going on. He didn’t say a word until I was done.
“Are you sure we can trust this Patrick Stanger?” he asked.
“I’m positive.”
“Okay, then. What do you propose?”
“I say we shut down the lake. If he moves on to some other location and takes out a child, that’s on him.” I sighed. “If he kills a kid on the lake and we don’t sound the alarm, that’ll be on us.”
“Consider it done.”
I hung up and walked in the office. “We’re shutting down the lake.”
“God damn it, London!” Patrick turned and punched a hole in the sheetrock. Eyes bloodshot, he faced me and shoved a finger in my chest as blood dripped from his knuckles. “If he gets away I’m coming for you! Let’s go, Mr. Boudreaux.”
The two men stormed out of the room and left Dawn and me standing there staring at each other.
“What now?” Dawn asked.
Before I could answer, my phone rang. I didn’t recognize the number, but the man sounded familiar.
“Is this Mr. Carter? London Carter?” The voice was laced with panic.
“Yeah, this is London.”
“They’re dead—all of them. That killer took every one of them out, shot them all through the head.”
“Slow down, Orville,” I said. “Who’s dead?”
“The FBI ninja guys. They came here to catch that killer, but they’re all dead. The same person who killed my brother killed all of them—blew their heads off.”
