Gavin pointed to an open area on the map, shaped like a field of some sort. “From the old army port, it’s about a mile walk as the crow flies to here. This used to be an army golf course, and this is the north side of Neta territory. They have earth-sheltered bunkers that the army built before they left. That’s probably where they keep their vehicles. We have bolt cutters to cut through their fencing, barbed wire, and any padlocks we might encounter, but, as we’ve already discussed, we don’t know how we’ll get inside the bunkers. We’ll have to figure it out when we get there. I still think we should take minimal weapons. This has to be stealth. The Netas are armed to the teeth. We won’t win a shootout.”
“We agreed on knives and a .22 pistol that’s pretty quiet, especially with the rain,” Derek said.
“Fine with me,” Javier said.
“Me too. I’m not sure I could kill anyone anyway,” Summer said, glancing at Derek.
Derek looked away.
“I’ll take the pistol, and I have the compass,” Gavin said.
“I have the tools Fred gave me to remove the batteries,” Derek said.
“Don’t forget. You won’t be able to use the batteries from any of the BRVs,” Fred said.
Summer frowned. “What are BRVs?” she asked.
“Military trucks. Blast-resistant vehicles,” Fred explained.
Derek nodded to Fred. “We’re looking for a utility vehicle or maybe even a golf cart.”
“We also need to bring buckets for the canoes in case we get swamped by rain. Anything else?” Gavin asked.
“Bags to carry the batteries,” Javier said.
They donned their black ponchos. Group members approached Gavin, Javier, and Summer and patted them on the back or shook their hands or gave them hugs. Derek stood off to the side, adjusting his backpack. Roger was the only one who shook his hand and thanked him.
They took the stone steps to the lower level of the fort. Derek glanced at the flat-black submarine, ready and waiting for them. They grabbed their canoes and stepped to the rear entrance. The guards nodded at them as they stepped into the driving rain. The wind howled. Waves on the ocean side crashed into the rocks, the sprays shooting forty feet into the air, dousing them with seawater. The bay looked as black as the night sky. Between the rain, the night, and the dark clouds, they couldn’t see more than twenty feet in front of them. The bayside of the point was much calmer, but large white caps were visible there.
Derek pushed the canoe into the bay and hopped into the back. Despite his poncho, he was already soaked. Javier and Summer did the same, only two boat lengths behind Derek and Gavin. They paddled in the choppy bay, struggling against the current. Progress was slow. Every few minutes, Derek used the bucket to bail water from the canoe to prevent swamping. It’s gonna be a long night.
102
Jacob and Five-Star Accommodations
“I don’t know how anyone can eat this stuff,” Rebecca said, referring to her MRE of meatballs in marinara sauce.
They were in their room, sitting at a small table for two.
Jacob swallowed a bit of the beef stew from his MRE and scowled at his wife. “Were you expecting five-star accommodations? This isn’t a resort.”
“I know that. I’m not stupid.”
“Then don’t say stupid things.”
Rebecca pursed her lips, then said nothing.
The rain still pounded the frontside of the bunker, although the worst of the hurricane had passed. They’d spent the last seventy-two hours cooped up in the bunker with no internet and no footage from the drones. They didn’t even have a book to read. Cesar was optimistic that the rain would stop soon, and they could relaunch the drones. Jacob had already talked to Cesar about ending the charade as soon as the rain stopped. Jacob was more than ready to go home.
“What if Derek’s a psychopath?” Jacob said, itching for a fight.
Rebecca set down her plastic fork. “We’ve been through this.”
“You can’t prove he’s not a psychopath. The government has the test. What do you have?”
Rebecca shook her head, her jaw set tight.
“Is this because you still feel guilty about leaving him?”
“I don’t feel guilty about the divorce. The marriage wasn’t working. It’s the affair that was wrong. I was married. You were my boss. Derek was on the farm, killing himself to make ends meet. His mother was taking care of Lindsey while you and I carried on like teenagers.”
“Don’t put this on me. You were the one who was married.”
“You knew I was married, yet you made your advances.”
Jacob pointed at his wife. “You wanted out. You wanted more for yourself and Lindsey.”
Rebecca nodded. “You’re right. I wanted you, so I threw him away like trash. You know what Derek did?”
Jacob shrugged.
“Nothing. A few years ago, after Lindsey came back from visiting Derek, she asked me why we got divorced. I felt defensive, like maybe Derek told her about our affair. I told Lindsey that Derek was stubborn and set in his ways. I told her that he refused to leave the farm, and I felt trapped. I told her that he never had time for us, that he worked seven days a week. I told her that we drifted apart. You know what she said?”
Jacob stared at Rebecca, nonplussed.
“She said Derek told her that it was his fault, and all Lindsey needed to know was that everyone loved her. He could’ve turned Lindsey against both of us, but he didn’t. If the situation were reversed, I doubt I would’ve had that much restraint. That’s how I know he’s not a psychopath.”
103
Summer and Another Night in Paradise
They were exhausted from the three-mile paddle in rough seas. It had taken them nearly three hours to make it to the abandoned army port. They hid their canoes in a rusted sea container. The wind howled, and the rain still peppered their ponchos, but the storm eased.
From the port, they walked through massive parking lots, with plants and trees squeezing into the cracking asphalt. The remnants of warehouses were reduced to rubble.
A dilapidated chain-link fence separated the commercial district from the military golf course. They found a place where the fence had collapsed. No need to use the bolt cutters. They knew from the map and the compass that they walked through what used to be a golf course, but no evidence of a golf course remained. The jungle had swallowed it whole.
It was pitch dark under the jungle canopy. They navigated by shadows and Gavin’s glow-in-the-dark compass. On the plus side, the trees shielded them from much of the rain. Gavin led them down a narrow game trail until they eventually reached a road. They looked both ways for traffic or guards, then ran across the road. They climbed a berm, moving through more jungle.
It was slow going as they moved around and though thick vines and vegetation. Once over the berm, they came to a solar farm, roughly the size of a football field. Derek cut through the rusted fence with the bolt cutters. They entered the solar farm. Some of the panels were in disrepair, but the berm had protected many of them from the hurricanes.
They moved along the rows of ground-mounted solar panels. Gavin held up a fist and stopped and crouched, everyone else following suit. A small concrete building was twenty yards to their left, next to a gate. A light was on.
“Might be batteries in there,” Javier said to Gavin.
“Probably not the kind we need,” Gavin replied. “The battery powering that light is probably lead acid. Too heavy. We need to find their vehicle garage. That’s where the lithiums are located.”
They moved away from the concrete building, careful not to alert the guards likely inside. They cut through the fence again, exited the solar farm, and climbed another berm. This berm was taller and steeper than the first one they’d climbed, but the vegetation was only waist high. Someone had been maintaining the massive berm.
Once they reached the top of the berm, about twenty feet up, they looked down the other side. Two roads appeared to lead
inside the berm. Each road was guarded by a gate and a concrete guard house. Lights were on, and silhouettes were visible. Men with rifles. Beyond the gates and the guard houses was an airplane runway.
They trekked down the berm, as far away from the guards as possible. At the bottom, they crept around the corner and saw the front of the earth-sheltered bunker. The concrete structure was windowless, with two massive garage doors for vehicles and four people-size doors. Lights illuminated the front of the bunker.
“The vehicles have to be in there,” Javier said.
“You think those doors are unlocked?” Summer asked.
“Probably not,” Gavin replied.
“I’ll check it out,” Derek said.
Gavin grabbed Derek’s shoulder. “Hold on. What about the lights?”
“Not much we can do about the lights. I’m assumin’ the guards are watchin’ in front of the gates, not behind ’em.”
Gavin nodded his approval.
Derek hurried along the front of the building. He checked all four doors and hustled back. “They’re locked.”
“Now what?” Javier asked.
“I don’t know,” Gavin replied.
Lights approached. It was a military truck. When they were planning their mission, Fred had called them BRVs. It was eerie, the lights floating through the rain, the electric motor dead quiet. The truck stopped at the nearby guard house. The metal arm raised, and the BRV drove forward. The garage door opened.
“Let’s go,” Derek said. “We can slip in with the truck.”
“They’ll see you,” Gavin said.
“It’s our only chance,” Summer said, her conviction surprising herself.
Derek started for the garage door, and Summer followed.
“Hold on,” Gavin said.
But they didn’t listen. Summer and Derek crouched at the corner of the building. The BRV drove inside. As the garage door started to close, Derek and Summer hurried inside, ducking just beneath the closing door. The earth-sheltered bunker was dark, only a few emergency LEDs providing dim light. Nine BRVs, four golf carts, and a six-wheel UTV were parked inside. A few of the vehicles were plugged in with a heavy charging cord.
The tenth BRV drove toward the back, parked, and cut the headlights. The BRV was an armored vehicle with off-road tires and a gun turret on top. Derek and Summer hid behind another BRV, listening. Doors opened and shut. Male voices spoke Spanish. Female voices giggled and also spoke Spanish. They disappeared from the garage through internal double doors, deeper into the bunker complex.
“They’re gone,” Derek said, standing. “Let’s check the golf carts.”
Summer nodded, already eyeing them.
They didn’t bother checking the BRVs. Fred had told them that they wouldn’t be able to remove the batteries without a lift and impact guns. They crept to the four golf carts. They all looked old, their tires worn.
Derek lifted the seat, checking the batteries. “Shit. They’re lead acid.”
“What about that thing?” Summer whispered, pointing to the UTV.
Derek glanced at Summer for a moment, speechless.
It was the first time she’d spoken to Derek. It wasn’t forgiveness. It was purely desperation to leave the island. Desperation to see her son.
Derek finally replied, “Let’s check. It looks newer than these golf carts.”
The six-wheel utility vehicle was about the size of a small pickup truck and plugged into a charging outlet.
Derek found the batteries under the seat and said, “Bingo.”
Derek disconnected the UTV from the charger, removed the batteries, and Summer packed them in their bags. They stripped about one hundred pounds of solid state lithium ion batteries from the UTV. Summer packed their backpacks and duffel bags with about twenty-five pounds each.
Derek zipped up one of the bags, then stood, his head cocked. “Did you hear that?”
Summer shook her head.
Voices came from the hall, and Derek’s eyes went wide. They grabbed their bags and lugged them beside a BRV. They hid by one of the large wheels, crouched, their bodies tight together. Summer breathed shallow, trying to be quiet. The voices drew closer. More Spanish. One woman and one man. The man said something in Spanish, and a door opened, then shut. It had the familiar thud of the BRV that had parked just fifteen minutes earlier. They must’ve forgotten something.
The man said something else to the woman in Spanish. His tone was urgent. Footsteps approached the UTV. The man spoke again. Summer didn’t understand what he was saying, but one word made sense, las baterias. Summer knew they were talking about the batteries. She winced, remembering that they hadn’t yet replaced the seat on the UTV, so the mostly empty battery compartment was plain to see.
The woman replied, “No se.”
The man called out, “Quien esta aqui?” A few seconds later, he repeated himself.
Footsteps moved closer. From Summer’s vantage point, she saw black boots along the back of the BRV. Two more steps and he’d see Summer and Derek crouching by the wheel. The man took one step, stopped for a beat, then took one more, clearing the rear of the BRV. He turned and looked at Summer and Derek. In the dim light, the whites of his eyes were clearly visible. He reached for the handgun on his hip.
Derek rushed him. The man shot wildly, missing them both, the bullet whizzing over their heads. The woman screamed and ran from the scene, back into the complex. Derek grabbed the man’s arm, the man shooting again in response, this bullet going straight up into the roof. Derek wrenched his wrist, the handgun falling to the ground.
Summer rushed for the gun. At the same time, the man went for the gun, but Summer grabbed it first. Derek reached under his poncho, grabbed his knife from the scabbard attached to his hip, and plunged it into the man’s neck. When Derek retracted the blade, arterial spray spurted from the man’s neck, spraying Derek in the face. The man collapsed to his knees, holding his neck, trying to stem the tide of blood.
Summer froze in place, déjà vu passing over her, a vision of Derek killing Connor with one swipe of his sword.
The alarm sounded, and the overhead lights turned on, waking Summer from her stupor, nearly blinding her after spending so much time in the darkness. They heard shouting and heavy footfalls.
“We’ll never make it on foot,” Derek said. He opened the driver’s side of the nearest BRV. Derek pressed the Start button, and the dashboard came to life.
Summer slipped the handgun in the front pocket of her cutoff fatigues.
Derek and Summer shoved their bags of batteries in the back of the truck. Men entered the garage. Derek and Summer hopped into the front seat of the BRV. A handful of men ran toward them. Derek reversed the big truck, running over two men with rifles. They fired on the armored truck, but the bullets didn’t penetrate. Derek reversed wildly again, causing the men to scatter; then he floored it going forward, only to slam on the breaks in front of the garage door.
“How do we open this thing?” Derek asked, frantically looking for something on the dashboard that resembled a garage door opener.
Summer looked too, feeling helpless. A half-dozen men approached from the rear cautiously. Summer looked at the garage door and saw a big red button that read OPEN. “There,” she said, pointing.
Derek looked in back. He glanced up at the turret, spotting the large machine gun mounted on top. “I’m gonna get into the turret. As soon as I start shooting, go hit that button.”
Summer nodded, fear coursing through her veins.
Derek went into the back and climbed up the turret.
Summer glanced in the sideview mirror. The men crept closer. Objects are closer than they appear. Summer heard a chick chuck, then the whirring of the turret motor as Derek turned to face the men behind them. Derek opened fire. The men scattered, taking cover. The gunfire was thunderous, louder and deeper than the handgun.
Summer opened the vehicle door and ran to the wall, smacking the red button as gunfire echoed around
her. She ran back to the BRV, shutting the door behind her. Derek returned to the driver’s seat and drove outside, the turret nearly clipping the rising garage door. He turned to the right, driving in the mud and grass, and stopping at the edge of the berm. Rain pelted the truck.
Summer opened the door and yelled, “Get in!”
Rifle fire came from the guards at the gate. Behind them, the Neta guards also shot at the truck. Bullets pinged against the armor. Javier and Gavin jumped into the back seat, and Derek rammed on the accelerator, the BRV spitting mud as they drove from the old army base.
Summer glanced in the sideview mirror, wondering if the Netas were chasing them, but the rain obscured her view.
Gavin was hunched over, wheezing.
“He’s shot,” Javier said.
Summer grabbed her first aid kit and moved from the front to the back. He was shot in the chest, right through his lung. The entry wound wasn’t too bad, but when she felt for the exit wound, she shuddered. The exit hole was as big as her fist. Summer held Gavin as the life drained from his body.
Javier freaked out. “Is he dead? Is he dead?”
Summer turned to Javier and nodded, tears in her eyes.
They knew they couldn’t drive back to El Morro. The old Spanish fort resided on the islet of Old San Juan. The bridges that had connected Old San Juan to San Juan had been destroyed by the hurricanes. They made the short drive back to their canoes, through knee-high flooded roads, pushing debris from the roadway with the heavy-duty vehicle.
Derek cut the lights when the port was in view. Summer didn’t see lights behind them, but that didn’t mean the Netas weren’t chasing them. Derek parked tight to the jungle, partially concealing the vehicle.
“Let’s hurry,” Derek said.
“Don’t you give a shit that Gavin’s dead?” Summer asked, her voice quivering, and her face streaked with tears.
“Get the batteries and the guns.” Derek exited the BRV.
2050: Psycho Island Page 35