Freedom Earned

by J D Stone

  I was halfway there when I realized that the hatchet was giving me too much trouble, and I had to drop it. Maybe ditching the murder weapon was for the best, anyway. Then there was the pistol, which I had tucked into my pants but wasn’t sure would work after it got wet. Marines were taught to carry their rifles above water, as seen in old Vietnam War movies, for this exact reason.

  Still, I held onto it. I understood from my training that a gun wouldn’t necessarily have issues from being in the water. In fact, some weapons could even fire under water. It might jam, but I might at least get one off, I hoped, because the jam would often result from spent shells not ejecting properly. Remembering a movie where Chuck Norris had emerged from the water with his rifle to blow away three Vietnamese soldiers, I imagined myself doing the same with my pursuers, and laughed. Maybe Chuck Norris wasn’t the best gauge for reality, but in my desperation, I clung to that image.

  Another worry hit me and I cursed myself for being in such a rush. What if there were sharks in the water? I had seen Leo in The Beach, and dammit if the images of that shark charging at him didn’t flood my mind.

  That didn’t happen to me though. I made it. No sign of any sharks. No shots coming after me. Those sons of bitches didn’t have the slightest clue that I was on their boat. I climbed onto the back of the yacht, wishing I knew a damn thing about boats. Or ships. Or whatever they were called.

  What I knew had to do with battleships and aircraft carriers. I knew the difference between port and starboard and all that, as all Marines did. But the only reason I called this a yacht was because it was quite large. Aside from that, it was all a mystery. The back had two sides to it, both low enough for me to climb onto, so I chose the one farther away from shore. I noted that there was a mast but no sail, so figured they had come via motor.

  Hands shaking, I advanced as I pulled the pistol and held it ready. Even if it did give me problems, at least having it there for show could save my life if trouble found me. I passed two tables, one with a couple of half-drunk glasses of juice and water, a dirty dish on the other with tableware. Stairs led upstairs, others to the lower deck. I checked above, first, but saw no one. Going below, I cleared one room, but in the second, heard a shower running.

  Careful to move slowly and not draw any attention, I nudged the door open with my shoulder. My pistol held with two hands, finger moving to the trigger.

  I froze at the sight that greeted me. Through the room I saw an open door, a frosted-glass shower, and the dark form of a nude woman. Was I willing to take this ship with a woman on board? For all I knew, she was innocent in all of this.

  Scouring the room for signs of danger, all I saw was a line of what looked like coke, a used condom hanging half in the trash can, and a bottle of Perrier sparkling water. Not my idea of a room I’d want to be in, but nothing showed signs of her being here to kill me or take me hostage.

  I needed to come up with a plan before she finished her shower, so I turned to explore the rest of the yacht.

  16

  I moved to the next room and cleared it, followed by two more. It wasn’t until the third that I spotted a line of blood on the far wall. Advancing, I saw more, leading to the collapsed form of a rich-looking man who I guessed to be Chinese. He had on a cheesy captain’s hat that matched a picture on the nearby dresser of him smiling. Only now, he wasn’t smiling.

  This hadn’t been their ship at all. They had killed this guy and taken it. For what? To get to me? Or maybe to conduct whatever they were up to without being traceable?

  In the connected room, I found more evidence of the type of people these guys were. Rifles, pistols, and some grenades. These people weren’t simply out for a pleasure cruise, that was for sure.

  I took a rifle and checked it, then found a box of ammo nearby. Loading the mag and chambering a round, I made my way out of there and to the stairs on the opposite side from where the woman was showering. On the way, I found the kitchen—and was damn glad for a bottle of water and some bread. I bit off some of the bread while tucking the water bottle under my arm. At the stairs, I swallowed, drank some water, then ascended to check the upper deck one last time.

  It was still clear. I sat on a U-shaped cushioned seat, drank more water, and then eyed my surroundings. Sailing this boat would mean tying the woman up, since I wasn’t about to kill her. It was the smart move, even if I ended up being caught with a stolen yacht. It was better than being taken hostage by these clowns.

  Mission-focused, I looked around to see the island again and get a sense of what was happening on shore. The first thing I noticed was a ship near the house. It had a mast with no sails. Probably a motorized yacht, maybe also stolen like this one. Making an escape via that route could have been an option, but a riskier one. Staying so close to that woman with her gun, I’m sure she would have overtaken me or shot me down from the house. Eyes scouring the area, I found a shelf with kerosene, rope, and some canned food.

  I was drenched, starting to feel cold, and didn’t have time to waste. Pretty soon, I would be sailing this beast out of here, but first, I had to take care of the situation below deck. Waiting had hopefully given her time to dress, although if I were really lucky, she was the type to shower before going to sleep.

  My borrowed clothes were still soaking wet, and each step down sent chills up my spine. My feet sloshed around from so much water in my shoes, and now that I was a little less hyped up on adrenaline, I was aware of every sound. Rope in one hand, pistol in the other, I approached her room. The door was ajar. Good. Again, I nudged it open, pistol ready but finger alongside the trigger instead of on it to avoid accidents.

  Only, she wasn’t there! The shower was off, a towel hanging on the rail, but no lady. She was gone. Dammit, I had waited too long. The scream that sounded behind me was a clear message that I should have dealt with her immediately. I quickly spun and saw her standing there, wearing only a bathing suit and holding what looked like a glass of whiskey in her hand. I was relieved to see that I was still the only one on the ship with a gun. Her scream was loud and piercing, though. It definitely would have alerted the others on shore.

  They would come for her, and it was more than likely that they could board the yacht well before I figured out how to get the anchor up and get moving. And, I still had the pressing matter of this woman to deal with. She was slightly on the pudgy side in a beautiful way that most Asians probably thought of as overweight but which I preferred—a little meat on the bones never hurt anyone—and she had dyed her hair platinum blonde. She was dark-skinned, likely Southern Thai or maybe from Indonesia, perhaps. Her eyes darted between mine, the pistol, and the rope, and her mouth opened, about to scream again.

  I aimed the pistol, shaking my head, then handed her the rope. “Shut up, and—”

  She screamed, and turned to run. Her drink sloshed as she made for the stairs, and I followed. Dammit. I wasn’t about to shoot her. My legs moved faster and I had her a moment later, grabbing her by the wrist and yanking her around. That drink came flying, glass and all, to hit me on the side of my forehead. The golden liquid ran down and into my mouth. Sure enough, whiskey. The drink covered me, the glass shattering as it hit the deck. Boy, was I glad to have shoes.

  “Stop,” I hissed, pulling her into the closest room where I fully intended to tie her up. Only, that was the armory. Instead, I pulled her back out, but she stepped on broken glass and screamed bloody murder, then turned and caught me with a knee to the groin.

  Pain shot up into my lower abdomen, doubling me over, and she went for the gun. Only, another step on broken glass sent her falling onto her side in agony. I aimed the gun at her face, still grunting in pain, trying to move past it to tell her I didn’t want to hurt her. Already cut and scared out of her mind, still screaming, that wasn’t going to happen.

  “Forget it,” I muttered. Catching my breath long enough to get the rope around her, I pulled her away from the glass and threw her onto her side, knelt with a knee in her back, a
nd secured the rope so that at least her arms were bound. “Stay.”

  In two quick bounds, I was past the glass and moving up the stairs. At the top, I took one glance to see what I had suspected—the dinghy was on its way back, two figures visible on it. They had heard the scream and were coming for her. Or rather, for me.

  No wonder, too, since her screams were still piercing the otherwise quiet night. I should have taken off a sock and stuck it in her mouth, but I didn’t have any socks. It was too late, anyway.

  What I did have, however, was a rifle. I went to the side and aimed. It wasn’t like the others had any doubts about my position at that point. Deep breath in, then out, and I squeezed the trigger. A three-round burst hit, and one of them fell as the dinghy went off course. The other returned fire, and a moment later the one I had hit was up and firing again. I pulled back as a bullet ricocheted off the bulwark beside me. More shots came, these from the shore to my right.

  Suddenly, something hit me! I slammed into the wall, another bullet narrowly missing my head, and I turned to see the woman, still bound, screaming as she rammed me again. A bullet from the shore exploded in her shoulder and she stared at me in shock for a moment before passing out. It hadn’t been my shot, but they wouldn’t see it that way.

  When I got up, the dinghy was over two-thirds of the way to me, and another shot came from the water’s edge where one of the guys had started running out into the shallows. Three on one wasn’t horrible odds, and I had the armory. But there were more on the island, and this woman needed medical attention.

  I ducked, tried shaking her, and then put a hand to my mouth. If I ever saw Jason again, he would have to find some way of making up for this. At the moment, a good punch to his gut sounded perfect. Followed by him buying me beers for life. And tacos.

  Eyeing her and the blood running down her shoulder, I realized that not only did I not know how to get this ship sailing, I didn’t want to make this my last stand. Ending up like her—or worse, like the corpses in the house—wasn’t about to happen today.

  I ran down the stairs, past the broken glass and bloody footprints, and to the armory. Except, the man who I had assumed to be dead before was sitting there, blood all over him, one foot out and pulling a pistol to himself. He spoke in rapid Chinese and finished getting the pistol, aiming it at me with hands zip-tied together, and fired. The shot went wide.

  “Surrender!” a voice shouted, heavy with an accent I couldn’t place. Maybe Thai, but it could have been any number of others. “You don’t have to die!”

  A thud on the ship. Someone had boarded, apparently climbing over the side. Then I heard the dinghy’s motor as it came around back. That meant one was above, one was back there, and there was an almost-dead Chinese guy—still wearing his cheesy hat although a little lopsided now—in the armory who was also armed.

  I drew a breath to calm my nerves, then went for the next room over, across and at an angle from the armory. On the bed was a suitcase with something metal and wires near a tube connected to it with fluid. My heart skipped a beat. I was most likely staring at a bomb. Nothing else made sense.

  Forget this. Let them figure it out, maybe shoot each other. I was out of there, going for the window. It wasn’t a big window, but I wasn’t a huge guy, so that worked. I went legs first, rifle sideways in case it was necessary to use against the sill and hold myself in place, but I found footing. I held onto the window frame, pulled the rifle out, and ducked as I slid the window most of the way shut. Then, eyeing my surroundings, saw only open water in this direction.

  Good. I moved along the ledge—small, but like rock climbing. Making my way to the rear of the boat, I heard shouting, a few more gunshots from nearby on the ship, and then the woman’s voice since she had apparently come to. Boy, did she know how to scream! She was frantic. A man shouted in response, and then the sound of feet running. I looked toward the stern to see that the dinghy was there, a man facing the stairs next to it. If I were an assassin, this was where I would leap out and slice his neck, then take off in the dinghy. I wasn’t, though. Even as a Marine, I felt quite helpless in this situation. Any shots would give away my position, and any attempts to slit his throat—even if I had a knife—could have ended in me being shot as likely as not.

  I saw another option. Not a great one, but an option in the form of life jackets. Gray and black, with the ability to inflate. I slowly reached out, took one, and then went back around to the side. More shouting as they searched for me.

  Quickly strapping it on, I held my rifle above the water and climbed in, using the rail that descended into it. Pushing off as quietly as I could, I was in and started backpedaling away from the ship.

  Maybe this wasn’t the smartest move, but at the moment I really didn’t know what would be. The clouds were back and covering the moon, to my relief, so unless they had a searchlight, finding me in the water wasn’t going to be easy. Part of me said to stay and fight, but another part of me said that maybe I’d played too many video games in my time.

  I needed to put as much distance between them and myself as possible, then figure out a plan. At least for now, the first half of that seemed to be working. One hand paddling, legs kicking, the journey wasn’t as hard as I’d expected. When I had put some good distance between myself and the yacht, I realized how badly I needed to piss. So I did.

  I was making my way around to another part of the island, kicking with my feet under the water. When I was far enough away from the ship, I slung the rifle over my back and the life jacket, so that I could use my hands to paddle, too. The shoes were cumbersome, but as cut up as my feet were and having already experienced the jungle without them, I wasn’t about to ditch the damn things.

  The saltwater was washing me clean. I honestly felt great, but then I realized something with horror. Some of that woman’s blood must have splattered on me when they had accidentally shot her. Her blood was in the water.

  Where there was blood…was there sharks? No, I told myself, shaking my head and swimming faster. No way. Then I saw the fin, cutting through the water, barely visible as a sliver of moonlight shone through the clouds.

  You can bet your ass I swam as fast as I could after that.

  17

  On the plane ride over, I had read one of those inflight magazines about Thailand, mostly skimming along about the temples, crazy amounts of traffic in Bangkok, and issues surrounding elephants. I hadn’t known how bad it really was for the elephants to be ridden. Sharks had been discussed briefly, but only to say that they weren’t much of a problem in Thailand. Only one confirmed death and a few people bitten in recent years.

  Even so, swimming in the darkness and having seen what I was certain was a fin, I was anxious to reach shore quickly. It was dark, so maybe I was confused? I kept swimming, although now I was beginning to feel a growing ache in my shoulders and my breaths were coming way too fast. I couldn’t keep this up but was making steady progress as I headed back for land. My plan wasn’t to aim for the cove nearest to my position, but to head for what looked like an overgrown part of the island, the sort of place where trees and vines hung out over the water. My logic was that I needed to get under cover as soon as possible and stay there. Pursuers would look in the obvious places, the nearest coves and beaches. There was also a higher probability of other boats passing by or random visitors coming ashore in such places, but I had no idea which islands I was near, or whether that was at all likely. It wasn’t a chance I could take. For all I knew, nobody came by this way. And of course, there was always the chance that it might be a haven for the criminals who were after me, so anyone who came by could be their ally.

  That meant I needed to get smarter about this situation. But first, I wanted to fully understand what the situation really was. You don’t go to a general with a half-cocked plan based on incomplete information. Likewise, my goal here was to gather intel, develop a plan, and then execute it. Do whatever it took. If that meant learning about another group I could
leverage against the first, great. If it meant doubling back and working to pick off the enemy one by one until I was able to sail out and find my way back to civilization, that might work, too.

  The downside of both plans was that they were risky on multiple levels. For now, I would stick to stage one, which was to gather intel. From there, I was hoping said intel would lead to a smarter strategy, one with a higher rate of survival.

  Holding that thought, I glanced back nervously, wondering what had become of that fin. Dark waters, a wave rolling my way, then moving past me and lapping against the hanging bushes. Then it was there, that fin again. Only, now there was more than one, and a sinister-looking form on the water’s surface, arching before diving back down. Moonlight glistened on another, then another.

  I’d learned a little about sharks. That they often would bite once and then swim away and that staying vertical provided a smaller target, versus surfers whose boards were often mistaken for a sea lion or seal. I tried to stay calm, recalling various ways to keep the sharks from attacking. Clanging metal or glass objects might drive them away, or something like that. All of it was a blur, my thoughts filtered by a layer of panic. It was like trying to strategize while hungover.

  An old joke a SEAL buddy had told me came to mind, something about stabbing your buddy and swimming away in the face of sharks. Like the joke about a bear attack and simply needing to be faster than the other guy. Neither case applied here, although my brain going into joke mode served to calm me down.