Mega #02 Baja Blood

by Jake Bible

  “Shit, hold on,” Max shouted as he swerved around a car that had come to a screeching halt. “All good.”

  “I hate you boys,” Thorne said when he answered his phone. “Part of being retired is I get to nap in the middle of the day. It becomes hard to accomplish that napping when my nephews keep calling and waking me up!”

  Shane looked over at Max. “Did you already call him today?”

  “Yeah. Is he pissed you woke him up?”

  “Like really pissed.”

  “Say you’re sorry.”

  “Hey, Uncle Vinny,” Shane said. “Sorry to wake you up again, but we kinda need some help.”

  “With what?” Thorne asked.

  “Just need an address for-” Shane looked at Max and raised his eyebrows.

  “Helen Sherman,” Max said. “Ex-wife of the SEAL I called him about earlier.”

  “Helen Sherman,” Shane said into the phone. “The ex-wife of the SEAL Max-”

  “I know who she fucking is,” Thorne snapped. “I just talked to your brother like a half an hour ago. I’m trying to take a nap, not recover from amnesia.”

  “Sorry,” Shane said.

  “Do you need it right this second?” Thorne asked. “Or can I take a shit first?”

  “Uh, well, we’re sorta in a hurry,” Shane responded.

  “Of course you are,” Thorne sighed.

  A news helicopter flew over the freeway and Max nodded his chin towards it. “Tell him to turn on the TV. That should hurry his old man ass up.”

  “Uh, yeah, you may want to turn on the TV and put it to the local news,” Shane said. He pulled the mouthpiece away and looked at Max. “He’s turning on the TV.”

  “Thanks for the play by play.”

  There was a loud groan in Shane’s ear then, “Boys, what the fuck have you done?”

  ***

  The cockpit of the sub was completely filled with seawater and John had to fight the urge to take a breath. His lungs were desperate for oxygen, but his training overrode nature, keeping his lips firmly sealed until he was able to finally wrestle the rebreather free of the small compartment it was stuck in. He gratefully put the mouthpiece between his lips and exhaled his stale air then took an almost ecstatic breath. Stale air had never tasted so good in his life.

  After getting the rebreather secured over his shoulders and around his chest, John found an emergency pack and snapped a couple of glow sticks, then tried to see what systems still worked in the sub. It took all of three seconds to realize none of them did except for a few gauges that didn’t rely on power to work.

  One of those gauges was the depth meter. Steady at 675 feet.

  So why did the sub still feel like it was moving?

  John braced himself as the sub shuddered and shook as impact after impact began to cave in the hull. He watched in horror as the cockpit started to shrink around him and the right side buckled before his eyes. Scrambling to the main hatch, John was only able to get two bolts in position before the hull was breached and a nightmare of teeth tried to chew its way inside.

  The water in the cockpit clouded immediately and John looked about him as the seawater took on a milky green hue from the glow sticks. The teeth worked at the metal of the hull, gnawing continuously, determined to widen the hole. John shoved himself as far away as possible, but the cockpit was barely bigger than himself, so there was nowhere to go.

  He compartmentalized the terror that threatened to overtake him and looked up at the main hatch again. It was his only shot.

  He flattened himself against the side of the cockpit and reached up, turning the third bolt into place then the fourth while his eyes stayed glued on the beast. When the fourth bolt clicked home he looked up and found the handle, pulled it down, then shoved it back in place.

  The explosive bolts only sent the hatch about a foot and a half away from the sub before it crashed to a stop. John realized the sub must have gotten wedged under a large outcropping or some rock. The space wasn’t big enough for him to get through with the rebreather on. He took a deep breath then worked the apparatus up over his head and shoulders.

  John squeezed his body through the hatch, one hand still holding the rebreather. He was able to wiggle all the way out and found he was indeed crammed under a rocky outcropping, but he couldn’t get the rebreather out also. He didn’t have the leverage to twist it correctly and the back kept getting hung up on the hatch. He tried and tried, but he was quickly running out of air.

  He pulled the mouthpiece to his lips and sucked hard, filling his lungs with usable air once more. But that was the last breath he was able to take as the shark ripped into the cockpit and the teeth tore the rebreather from him.

  John kept the panic at bay and hurried out from under the outcropping and away from the sub. His eyes went wide as he saw the rest of the shark’s massive body sticking out from the sub, its head wedged firmly into the hole in the cockpit. White bubbles billowed out of the cargo hold and John realized the cocaine kilos had torn and were mixing their contents with the ocean.

  No hand fins, no flippers, just skin and muscle, John swam as far and fast as he could, angling his body upwards. It was dark at the depth he was at and the surface was only a faint glow above. His chest started to burn and he knew he didn’t stand a chance of making it to the surface alive.

  So he dove back to the sub.

  He reached the cargo hold, and shoved his arms through the breach, yanking out kilo after kilo of cocaine until he found a couple still intact. Spots formed in front of his eyes and he knew he only had seconds left as he swam the few feet to the thrashing shark. The monster’s jaws, and most of its head were still wedged into the cockpit, but it thrashed so hard that John knew it would be free soon.

  He couldn’t let that happen.

  Getting right next to it, John jammed the kilos of drugs into one of the shark’s gill slits. He reached to his belt and pulled the short dive knife he kept strapped there then jammed the blade into the plastic-bagged drugs. The skin on his bare arms was rubbed raw as he brushed against the shark’s hide, but he ignored the pain and kept stabbing the bags, allowing them to open directly into the shark’s gills. His hope was to OD the massive thing.

  Surely, a couple of kilos of pure Columbian cocaine could kill the beast?

  The monster bucked and heaved then tore free from the sub. It whipped its head at John and he suddenly found himself without his right arm. And most of his torso.

  No longer in control of himself, his mouth opened wide and his lungs filled with ocean water.

  The last sight he saw was the shark’s own mouth opening wide.

  The last thought he had was of his children and his ex-wife.

  The last prayer he had was that none of what he’d done would blow back on them.

  Then it was over in one final chomp.

  ***

  “Can you text the address to us?” Shane asked.

  “Yeah,” Thorne replied over the phone. “But with the way the police scanners are screaming, you won’t make it to the woman’s house before San Diego PD catches you.”

  “Uncle Vinny thinks SDPD will take us before we get to your girlfriend’s house,” Shane said to his brother,

  “Challenge accepted,” Max smiled as the Wrangler screamed down the I-5 off ramp and onto Clairemont Drive. Cars and trucks honked their horns as they threw on their brakes to avoid the Jeep. “Where are we going?”

  “Linda Vista,” Shane replied. “She has a townhouse there.”

  “Oh, I know right where that is,” Max said. “Remember Tatiana? That exotic dancer I was trying to get with?”

  “That was a man, dude,” Shane said.

  “It was not,” Max protested. “Did you see the tits on her?”

  “Did you see the bulge below?” Shane replied, shaking his head. “I can’t believe you never figured that out.”

  “My tongue was in her mouth,” Max replied. “I can’t undo that.”

  “Good kisser?”
Shane asked.

  “BOYS!” Thorne roared into the phone. “Shut the fuck up and pay attention!”

  “Sorry, Uncle Vinny,” Shane responded. “I’ll hang up now.”

  “No, wait!” Max shouted. “The other guys!”

  “Hold on,” Shane said. “Don’t hang up yet.”

  “What now?” Thorne asked. “I need to get off the phone and make some calls. I have a feeling I’m going to cash in every favor I’m owed to keep you two from going to prison.”

  “The two other guys that McCarthy recruited,” Max said. “If they have families then they’ll be in danger too, right?”

  “Good catch,” Shane said. “Hey, Uncle Vinny? You’ll need to use a couple of those favors to get some police to the other two recruits’ families. If this shit is all connected then the cartel will hit them as well.”

  “Fuck,” Thorne replied. “Fine. Can I go now?”

  “Sure thing,” Shane said. “Talk to you later if we aren’t dead.”

  “Jesus...,” Thorne swore. “Try not to get killed, please?”

  “We can try,” Shane said, bracing himself as Max whipped around a corner onto a one way street. “But Max is driving so no promises.”

  ***

  Mike kept the sub at 500 feet and pushed it as hard as the thing would move. Adolescent blue whales top out at twenty miles per hour, but the sub could only manage fifteen. Mike didn’t care, as long as he was moving away from the hell behind him.

  He couldn’t get the image of what he saw in the monitors out of his mind. Sharks. Really fucking big sharks.

  He’d lost com with Bart and John a while back, but at that point he was more concerned with himself than the other two sub pilots. Either they made it or they didn’t. SEAL brotherhood was strong, but so was the instinct to stay alive. Which brought a very critical thought to mind.

  Did he still try to rendezvous with the cartel’s fishing vessel or not?

  All of his systems still worked and he watched his navigation system specifically as he piloted the sub into US waters, passing the international boundary without a problem. Certainly a lot faster and easier than the land crossing in Tijuana. After a mile, a beep sounded and his GPS showed a small dot about thirty miles out to sea.

  The fishing boat.

  But he also realized he was only fifteen miles from a place he knew well. A hidden place. A place he could call for help.

  A debate raged in his head as he looked at the GPS map and the small dot then at the San Diego coastline and the other possible destination.

  If he took the sub to San Diego, would he be able to get it where he needed? And could he get help before the cartel found him?

  He stared at the screen for a few seconds more then made his decision.

  ***

  “Are you seeing this?” Kinsey asked, sitting cross legged in front of Gunnar’s huge flat screen TV. “Some psychos started shooting up I-5.”

  “They what?” Gunnar asked, looking up from the sandwiches he was throwing together for them both since the pancakes didn’t work out so well. He sliced the two sandwiches, placed them on plates and hurried into the living room. “Where?”

  “Here,” Kinsey replied, seeing the sandwiches. “Hand me mine, will ya?”

  “No,” Gunnar said, setting the plates on the coffee table as he sat down on the couch. “You’ll come eat over here so you don’t get crumbs all over the carpet.” He took a big bite of his sandwich and kept talking around the food. “And you’re sitting too close. You’ll ruin your eyes.”

  “I used to blow random guys for smack cash,” Kinsey said, as she stood up, unwinding gracefully from the floor. “Ruining my eyesight doesn’t even register as one of my worries.”

  “Well, it should,” Gunnar said. “You need strong eyes if you want to stay on Team Grendel.”

  She sat down next to Gunnar, bumping him over with her hip, and picked up half a sandwich. She took a bite bigger than Gunnar’s and focused back on the TV.

  “They think it’s drug related,” Gunnar said.

  “Yeah, I can read the ticker on the bottom,” Kinsey said. “Turn it up.”

  Gunnar looked for the remote, but when he couldn’t find it he stood up and searched the couch.

  “You’re sitting on the remote,” he snapped, yanking it out from under Kinsey’s ass. He was about to turn up the volume when the doorbell rang. “That must be the boys.”

  “Come in!” Kinsey yelled.

  “It’s my condo,” Gunnar said as he turned up the volume too much. “COME IN!”

  The news reporter’s voice blared from the TV and Gunnar turned it down as the two of them watched a helicopter view of the carnage on I-5.

  “Ooooh, looks like they found one of the cars,” Gunnar said, pointing to the TV as the view changed from the freeway to residential neighborhoods close by. “Don’t the boys have a Jeep like that?”

  The doorbell rang again.

  “COME IN!” Kinsey yelled. She nodded at Gunnar and watched the footage. “Yeah, they have a Wrangler. Silver, I think.”

  “That’s funny because that one is silver,” Gunnar said. “Probably a popular color.”

  The doorbell rang a third time.

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Kinsey snapped and stood up quickly. “I left the door unlocked so they could just come in. I’m not going to be their butler while they are here.”

  “No, I’d hate for you to suffer that indignity,” Gunnar smirked, waggling his sandwich at her.

  “Shut up,” Kinsey said as she wiped her hands on her jeans and walked towards the small entryway and front door.

  Gunnar kept watching the footage as he took another bite. The helicopter camera zoomed in on the speeding Jeep, showing the distinctive paint job, and the bite lodged in Gunnar’s throat. He turned towards the front door and started to yell, but only a choking sound came out.

  Kinsey stopped and looked back at him. “You okay, Gun?” she asked then saw him choking and pointing at the TV. “Jesus, chew before you swallow.”

  Gunnar coughed out the piece of sandwich and Kinsey actually jumped as it flew from his mouth and splattered against the TV screen. Her eyes saw the smear of grease and mustard then focused past as the camera zoomed in closer and closer on the Jeep that was dodging between cars and running streetlights.

  “Is that…?” she asked. “No…”

  “That’s what I was trying to tell you!” Gunnar said. “That’s the-”

  The rest of his words were drowned out as automatic gunfire turned the front door into splinters.

  ***

  “Dude! Only a few blocks away!” Shane yelled. “Take a right here!”

  Max yanked the wheel to the right then immediately to the left, taking the Wrangler up onto someone’s front lawn as he avoided the two police cars that sped towards them.

  “Fence!” Shane yelled as the Jeep ripped through the wooden slats like they were paper.

  “Got it,” Max grinned.

  “Pool!” Shane shouted.

  “I see it!” Max shouted back. “I have both ofmy eyes!”

  “Uncool,” Shane snapped.

  Sirens filled the air as Max swerved to avoid the backyard pool and continued through the back fence, into an alleyway behind. He turned right and floored it, taking out several plastic trashcans and recycling bins, sending empty milk cartons and fat free Greek yogurt containers flying into the air.

  They nearly made it to the end of the alley when the exit was blocked by four San Diego PD cruisers screeching to a halt. Max growled as he hit the brakes then slammed the Wrangler into reverse. Shane stood and started firing at the cruisers. He made sure the rounds only hit the dirt in front of the cars, not wanting to injure the officers, just keep them inside their cruisers.

  “Fuck!” Max snapped as cruisers came at them from behind.

  “Fence,” Shane pointed.

  “Fence,” Max replied.

  He put the Jeep back into drive and turned the wheel to t
he left, sending the Wrangler through yet another residential fence. No pool in the backyard that time meant he didn’t have to slow down as he took out the front gate and thumped across the lawn onto the next street. He didn’t bother turning straight onto the road, but instead just kept going forward.

  “How close?” Max asked as one more fence met a splintery end.

  “Just another block over,” Shane said, pointing ahead. “Actually keep going and we’ll just run right into the place.”

  Max bumped up over the curb and sent the Jeep across another yard, thankfully a fenceless one. But the yard behind was fenced and it wasn’t made of wood.

  “Shit,” Max said as he stopped the Wrangler in front of the wrought iron bars. “Is this it?”

  “Right there,” Shane said as he jumped from the Jeep, pointing at the back of the row of townhouses in front of them. “She’s number seven.”

  Max reached under his seat and pulled out a .45 pistol, racked the slide and hopped from the Jeep also. The sirens grew louder and he knew they had maybe two minutes before the police were there. If they were wrong, and there weren’t any cartel soldiers ready to ambush Helen and her kids, then the brothers were going to have a very hard time explaining their actions.

  Not that it would be easy in any way, shape or form.

  But that worry was quickly put to rest as bullets peppered the ground close to the Jeep.

  ***

  The first man through the door met Kinsey’s fist to his face as he raced into the condo. She spun him about, turning him back towards the other men that charged inside, and yanked the AK-47 from him with one hand while snapping his neck with her other.

  The second man through the door ended up with his intestines spilling everywhere as Kinsey opened fire.

  “Get back to my room!” Kinsey screamed at Gunnar as she held the trigger down, sending lead flying into the bodies of the cartel soldiers as they tried to get to her. “Lock the fucking door and get a gun!”

  “I don’t have a gun!” Gunnar shouted as he sprinted into the kitchen. “And I’m not leaving you!”