The Acid Vanilla Series

by Matthew Hattersley

  “Where is she?” Acid repeated. “Where’s my jacket?”

  “I don’t know,” Spook whined. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what happened. I heard her moving around about an hour ago. I figured she might be going to take a leak or stretch her legs. But she’s gone.”

  Acid got to her feet. The sun was already making its presence known through the trees. “Did she say anything?”

  “I was only half-awake.”

  Acid held her finger up. “What did I say? I knew something like this would happen.”

  Spook’s head dropped. “I’m sorry. I know how much you loved that jacket.”

  Acid turned away, stopping herself from saying what she was about to. She closed her eyes. Counted back from ten. It didn’t help.

  She gave it a beat, then turned back to the kid.

  “Screw her,” she sneered. “She’ll get herself killed. Stupid bitch. At least we know why we’re here. And who’s out there.”

  “Does that help us?” Spook asked.

  “It tells me most of these people are amateurs,” Acid replied. “Yes, they’ve got weapons, but they aren’t real hunters. They don’t have a killer instinct.” She ground her teeth together as a million tiny bat wings fluttered in her chest. “I’d say with a little ingenuity and a lot of luck we might survive this grim little holiday.”

  Spook didn’t look convinced. “Survive? How?”

  “First thing, we get this working,” Acid told her, picking up the rifle. “Will be a start.”

  “Yeah, about that. I’ve been taking a look while you were asleep. It’s not good news.”

  Acid held the rifle straight and pulled the bolt handle towards her. There was a round in the breech. She removed it and held it up in the light. No misfire. She replaced it and closed up the breech. Next, she flipped the rifle upside down and checked the magazine. It was full. Made no sense. She aimed the rifle at a tree fifty yards away and pulled the trigger. Same problem as before. The firing mechanism was loose and unresponsive. Like it wasn’t there.

  “What the bloody hell is it with these things?”

  “Like I was saying,” Spook said softly, padding over to her and gently lifting the rifle away. “It’s not good news. See here?” She turned the rifle over and pointed to a small black square on the underneath of the grip, below the barrel.

  “What is that?” Acid asked.

  “Fingerprint technology. I had wondered, especially after what Riggs said. I’ve been reading about it for years. Smart guns, they call them. They use embedded technology to ensure only authorised users can fire them.”

  “The crafty buggers. But surely then all we need to do is find the guy’s body and unlock it with his finger.”

  Spook pulled a face. “Normally yes. In every article I’ve read, it’s like that. You lock and unlock the gun with your fingerprint, the way you’d open an iPhone. Other smart guns I’ve seen rely on radio waves from a wristband to unlock it. But these ones are different. There’s a spring mechanism underneath the sensor that only makes contact when the right fingerprint is engaged. So the registered user has to be the one firing it at all times.”

  Acid puffed her cheeks out. “Well, bollocks. That’s us screwed then. No workaround?”

  “None that I’ve come up with so far.”

  “Okay. So we’ve got no firepower. But we might have a start on them today. It sounds like me and you are pretty big targets in this game. But we can use that. I don’t know how it works amongst psychopathic billionaires, but I’m guessing there’re some rules here.”

  “Oh shit. We’re going to die.” Spook took off her glasses and wiped the sweat from her nose before replacing them.

  “Don’t worry,” Acid said, placing a hand on her shoulder. “We’ll get through this.”

  “You think?”

  “We’ve come this far. Let’s keep moving. I could do with finding water and something to eat.”

  As Acid was speaking, an indistinct sound rumbled through the jungle. Quiet at first, but as she listened it grew louder, morphing into the definite sound of a helicopter. Possibly two.

  “This way,” Acid yelled, already setting off at a run.

  The helicopters were moving fast but Acid was able to keep sight of them as she zig-zagged around thick roots and fibrous vines. On she ran, past densely hanging foliage and an impressive display of tall pitcher plants. The smell coming off those things. Even in her haste Acid couldn’t help but wince at the intensity of it. Like rotten meat mixed with unwashed genitals.

  “Look there,” she gasped as they reached the edge of the jungle, pointing to the two choppers disappearing over the trees, heading for the complex. Yesterday, on her parachute down, she’d counted two helipads. But after what Sofia had told them, wouldn’t the guests (the players, the hunters, whatever the evil pricks called themselves) already be on the island?

  It wasn’t a question she could deal with presently as next thing she heard a shout, then noise of a claxon horn, then the crack of gunfire as a bullet whizzed past her head at four thousand feet per second.

  “Get down,” she yelled, grabbing Spook and diving for cover behind a large boulder as a second bullet ricocheted off the other side.

  “We’re screwed,” Spook whimpered, with tears in her eyes. “Acid, do something.”

  Acid bit her lip. She could really do without a meltdown right now. From what she’d seen in the split second before leaping behind the rock, there were two shooters, approaching from the north and a few hundred metres away. But their aim was off and, like before, they didn’t seem to be in any kind of hurry.

  She closed her eyes, tensing every muscle in her body before consciously relaxing each one in turn as she cleared her mind of thought. It was a practice she’d developed a long time ago. A way of calming her oft-chaotic mind and shifting into a persona that was composed, sharp and super-focused. Ready to do whatever she needed to survive. Brutal? Bloody? Risky as hell? Bring it on. She was ready. With this killer’s mindset, and the bats screaming across her nervous system, there was nothing Acid Vanilla couldn’t, or wouldn’t, do. She was Lady Macbeth, Genghis Khan and Bloody Queen Mary all rolled into one. Part of lineage going back through the ages. Spook had been correct before about Acid trying to go straight (straighter, at least), but the heart of a killer still beat behind her ribs. And right now, she was glad of that.

  “Did you say you’ve seen Butch Cassidy and The Sundance Kid?” she asked, cricking her neck to one side.

  “Not sure. Why?”

  “No reason. Only, this situation,” she gestured at the two of them crouching behind the boulder. “Kind of reminds me of the end. Butch and Sundance are holed up in the bank with the Bolivian police surrounding them.”

  “I don’t think I’ve seen it,” Spook replied. “So what happens?”

  Acid opened her mouth and then shut it again, avoiding Spook’s blank stare.

  “Never mind,” she muttered to herself. Then, straightening her back. “Okay, listen, we need to make a call on this. So when I give the word, we’re going to run as fast as we can into the cover of the trees. Back the way we came there’s a row of tall plants on your left as the trees open out. Sort of tubular things. Pitcher plants or something. I want you to head over there and hide behind them.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Leave that to me. Just keep your head down and stay quiet. No matter what happens. You hear me?”

  “But there’s two of them,” Spook squealed. “With weapons. They’ll kill you.”

  Acid tutted theatrically. “Hey now, Sundance. When has something so trivial as being outgunned and outnumbered ever held me back?”

  Ten

  Spook considered Acid’s plan, wishing, hoping, trying for a better idea. But she had nothing. Reluctantly she got in position, ready to run when Acid gave the word.

  Acid edged to the side of the rock and peered around. “Okay, they’re getting closer. Wait. What is that?”

&n
bsp; “What?”

  “One of them is carrying a crossbow,” she said. “The idiot’s wearing full hunting gear as well. In this heat. But this is good for us, Spook. Really good.”

  For once, Spook understood. Crossbows were more rudimentary than rifles. Meaning they wouldn’t have the same Smart-Lock technology as on the rifles. If they could get their hands on it, it would be a big help. Not that this knowledge made her feel any more confident. They still had to get hold of it somehow, and a crossbow bolt in the wrong place was as lethal as any bullet.

  Whilst she was considering this, Acid was reaching for a large piece of wood that lay a few feet away. She pulled it close and examined it. It was actually two pieces of wood joined together, about five-foot long, slightly curved, and with the flaky remnants of turquoise-blue paint along the length. Possibly it had been part of a boat. It was hard to tell.

  “A weapon?” Spook whispered.

  “No, a shield.” Acid sniffed, holding the wreckage at arm’s length.

  Despite its age, it seemed sturdy. The wood was an inch thick, with heavy metal rivets holding the two joists together.

  “Will it, though?” Spook asked. “Shield us from a bullet?”

  Acid shrugged. “We’ll see, I suppose.” She looked up, lips morphing into a wicked grin. “Don’t fret, little one. From this distance, I’m almost certain it’ll take a bullet.”

  “Almost?”

  Acid hit her with a now familiar look. The one that said, Trust me, whilst simultaneously giving the indication you really, really shouldn’t.

  “Look sharp,” she spat. “Here they come.”

  Spook got alongside Acid, tense behind the makeshift shield. A glance at the clearing told her it was a good few strides away across sand and loose gravel. Not conducive for running fast.

  “You can do this,” she whispered to herself. “Stay cool.”

  Next to her, Acid raised her head. “Come get us, you pathetic pricks!” she yelled. Then, elbowing Spook in the ribs, “Move.”

  They set off, scrambling clumsily in the uneven dirt but pushing off together. Spook kept her head down and her arms and body in-line with Acid and the wooden shield. She could hear the men hollering something as they found firmer footing on the long grass at the edge of the rainforest. A few seconds more and they’d have cover from the trees. But a few seconds was relative. An unwelcome image flashed across her mind’s eye. The men taking aim. Then an insidious bullet splintering the wooden board. Burrowing its way through Acid’s skull and then into her own. Or what if these hunters were cleverer than they’d realised, shooting at their exposed feet instead? A more difficult shot, for sure. But a well-placed bullet would take them both down. They’d be crippled. Unable to run. Ripe for execution.

  Spook screwed up her face. An attempt to squash the intrusive thoughts. Two more steps and they’d be in the comparative safety of the jungle. She saw the narrow clearing in front of her. Saw the grove of pitcher plants. They’d almost made it. A loud bang fractured the air. The jungle rustled with commotion as Spook’s heart dropped like lead into her stomach. Her first thought: Acid had been shot. Was injured. Was dead. But the bullet had only split the wood.

  Acid flung the broken shield to the ground and grabbed Spook by the arm. “Move it, kid.”

  A step and a leap and they were back in the stifling sauna of the rainforest. But with no time to waste. The hunters had upped their game and were giving chase, the gung-ho jubilance of their initial hollering turning to angry shouts, as their prey disappeared into the jungle.

  “Okay, Spook, you know what you have to do,” Acid told her as they reached the row of pitcher plants. “Not a peep.”

  “But—”

  “Trust me. I’ll be fine.” She cast her a flirtatious wink and began to side-step away.

  Spook watched until she was out of sight before hurrying behind the largest of the carnivorous trumpets. Up close, the stink coming from inside the pitcher tube was unbearable. She had eaten nothing since yesterday, but if she had, she’d surely be throwing it up. The plants did however provide ample cover, their pink mouths open and waiting, glistening with moisture from the early morning dew. Their appearance was strangely sexual, she realised, before shuddering visibly and shaking that thought from her mind.

  A freakin’ plant? Geez.

  Not the time.

  It was safe to say, however, that she had been a little jittery of late. Living in that cramped rental in such close proximity to Acid, it got to her. She knew nothing was going to happen between them, of course. She told herself that every day. But there was still a small part of her that wondered.

  What was it they said, it’s the hope what kills you?

  If Spook hadn’t already spent most of her adult life on the shitty end of unrequited love, it might have set her back. As it was, it was just another dull ache in the pit of her stomach. Something she could live with. Although, last night, the way Acid had been flirting with that journalist, Sofia. That stung.

  But it really wasn’t the time. A few feet away Spook heard the rustle of leaves and the deep murmurings of male voices. Keeping low, and moving slowly so as not to disturb anything, she peered around the side of the pitchers. The men were facing the other way, scoping the area with their weapons poised at waist height. One of them was indeed carrying a crossbow. He had grey, thinning hair, slicked back with pomade and was wearing a khaki shirt with a padded green hunting vest over the top. Must be hot as hell. As Spook watched, he turned around, his red, bloated face jerking nervously at every sound, his piggy eyes peering into the gloom of the rainforest.

  “You see anything?” he asked.

  His companion – a man of similar age and build but dressed more appropriately (if not more stylishly) for the climate in camo shorts and a dirty undershirt – shook his head. “They’ve got to be around here somewhere. We were right behind them. If they were running we’d see them.”

  The way the hunters were moving around the clearing with their backs to each other, it wouldn’t leave Acid much scope for a surprise attack.

  “Come out, ladies,” the one holding the crossbow shouted. “You’re only delaying the inevitable. Show yourselves and we promise it’ll be quick.”

  “That’s right,” his pal continued. “Myself and Patrick here are married men. We’re only here for the rankings. The points. But some of the other guys, well, I’m not so sure. They find a couple of lookers like you girls, they might want to draw this whole thing out. If you know what I mean. Have some real fun.” The men snickered to themselves, the miserable laughter turning into a violent coughing fit for Patrick.

  “Why are you doing this?” Acid’s voice rang out. “Who are you?”

  Spook swallowed a gasp. Held her nerve. She couldn’t place the direction of the voice. The two questions seemingly came from different places. The men looked at each other, then back to scanning the surrounding greenery.

  “All you need to know is what the brochure says,” Patrick replied. “On this island, we’re gods. Willing and able to smite you for our own pleasure and enjoyment.”

  “But we know who you are,” his friend added. “The Cerberix girls, right? Two for one. Top scorers, as well. We bag you today, I’d say we’ve got this year’s trophy in the bag.”

  “Lay down your weapons.” The voice came from behind a rubber tree ten feet from where the men were standing. “This is your only chance. Then you die.”

  Not for the first time, Spook was intensely glad that she had Acid Vanilla on her side. This despite her sinister statement making the two men laugh heartily into the trees. But they underestimated Acid Vanilla at their peril. Through a gap in the plants Spook saw the men making elaborate hand gestures to each other, signalling a strategy. Hollywood’s influence, no doubt. Spook would bet her entire Manga collection neither one of these stout, pompous fools had a military background.

  The man who wasn’t Patrick was now walking backwards, moving slowly and methodically, aiming
behind each tree as he passed by. At the same time, Patrick had his crossbow on his shoulder and was moving in the opposite direction. They were closing in on Acid.

  Spook knew she had to do something. Casting aside the fearful thoughts already whizzing through her mind she grabbed hold of the nearest pitcher and shook it forcefully, leading the tall plants in a crazy, disjointed dance. She continued for a few seconds and then stopped, but the hunters had noticed the commotion. Patrick gestured to his friend, shoving two stubby fingers towards his eyes, then over at the plants, the universal sign he was going to investigate. He turned his back on his friend. And that was all Acid needed.

  As Spook watched, too scared to even blink, the furtive ex-assassin slipped out from behind a large rubber tree and grabbed a small paring knife from the belt of the over-dressed and under-prepared Patrick. With one hand clamped around his mouth, she drove the knife deep into his side, twisting as she did before yanking it free and shoving the blade into the side of his neck. All the way up to the hilt. Another twist and she’d ripped out his throat, the whole performance over in less than three seconds. She lowered Patrick silently to the ground as Spook scurried back into position.

  The second man was almost over the top of her. If he looked down and to his right, he’d have a clear shot. She held her breath. Waited. Down here behind the plants, she couldn’t see what Acid was doing, but hell, she hoped to heaven she had it handled.

  “What the—”

  She jumped clear as the plants parted and the man stumbled onto his knees with Acid riding him, an arm gripped tight around his neck. Purple-faced, he clawed desperately at her as the blood supply to his brain was shut off. But it was ineffectual. He was already fading, eyes bulging with rage and confusion.

  “Still feeling god-like?” Acid snarled, through the exertion of her grip. “I like a good smite myself, truth be told.”

  She released her arm from around his neck before grabbing him by the hair, forcing his head through the thick leaf folds of one of the larger pitcher plants and submerging his head into the well of tepid rainwater and whatever pheromone receptors produced that revolting smell.