The Acid Vanilla Series

by Matthew Hattersley

  “But what about—”

  “Forget Rob. Jesus, what do you want to do with him? He’s got no fucking head. Come on. It’s getting too dark to hunt anyway.”

  Welles held his breath as Pauly gave the area one last scope before slowly heading back the way they’d come. His friend, face still rigid with a mixture of rage and fear, raised his head, shouting into the trees.

  “You’re all dead! You hear me? Dead. So sleep well, you pathetic worms, because I’m coming for you. Tomorrow I’m going to destroy you. All of you. Just wait.”

  Welles let his eyelids fall heavy whilst tightening his grip on the rifle. The man was staring straight at him, hunting rifle aimed just below Welles’ chin. If he saw him, at this close range he’d blow a hole in his chest big enough to climb through.

  Another second passed.

  And another.

  But the man was looking through him. In the darkness, he couldn’t focus through the thick tree cover. Finally, he turned and ran back the way he’d come.

  Welles waited a beat. Time to get his heartrate under control. Then gently, quietly, he slipped out from under the trees and headed away to meet Sofia. Only one problem.

  She wasn’t there.

  “Sofia?” he whispered as he made his way into the clearing. “You can come out, they’ve gone.”

  With the clearing providing a leafy light tunnel up to the night sky, visibility here was better. But there was no sign of her.

  Scanning the trees, Welles noticed a camera up in a banana tree a few feet away. It was pointing away from him, the only one in the vicinity. Keeping one eye on its position, he headed for the raised upper level, moving in a wide arc to stay out of shot.

  “Sofia, it’s Welles,” he tried, in case of any doubt. “Those guys are gone. We’re okay for now. You here?”

  Then he heard it. A low groan. Full of pain and sorrow. It was muffled at first, but grew louder as the sound enveloped his awareness.

  “Down here. Far side of the clearing.”

  It was Sofia. But the far side of the clearing meant right in front of the camera. Resisting his first instinct, to run in the direction of her voice, he whispered over. “What happened?”

  “Some sort of trap. A big hole, in front of the rocks. Can you see?”

  Welles squinted into the gloom and there it was, directly in line with the security camera. A large pit, six foot by six foot. Man-made.

  “It was covered with leaves and hessian,” Sofia whimpered. “Bastards.”

  He edged nearer, still conscious of the camera. “Are you hurt?”

  “Just winded. Could be worse. I thought I was going to end up on some freaking spike. But it’s deep. Ten foot. Maybe more. I can’t get out.”

  Welles was already searching for something to throw down for her. Would a vine hold? He glanced back up the path, wondering if he could fashion something from the dead man’s clothes.

  “Hang fire,” he told her. “I’m getting you out.”

  But the words hadn’t left his mouth when a shrill siren broke the air. Welles raised the rifle. One bullet left. But he’d make it count. He held his position as the siren reverberated through the trees a while longer, before slowly fading away. Another sound was now clear, carried over the night sky, a sound much more worrying. That of a vehicle engine. It was heading their way.

  “There’s someone coming,” Welles yelled down.

  “I hear them,” Sofia replied. “You’ve got to get out of here. Save yourself.”

  “I’m not leaving you.”

  “Go, please,” she spat. “There’s nothing you can do for me.”

  Welles side-stepped around the side of the hole. He couldn’t see her from there, but any closer and the camera would pick him up. Not that it mattered anymore. He held the rifle high, calling into the hole.

  “I can maybe overpower them, get us more weapons.”

  “Don’t be a dick. It’s suicide. I’m serious. Get yourself gone.” Her voice was hard, a heavy resolve clipping her syllables. “You’re a good man, Welles. If anyone can survive this, you can. So go, before they see you.”

  Welles lifted his ear to the night sky. Sounded to him like a golf cart or a small jeep. Closer now. Thirty seconds away. “All right, listen to me,” he told her. “I’m going to hide in the trees over there and observe. I’ve got one round left, I won’t let them kill you. If they take you I’ll find you again. I promise. Whatever happens, don’t put yourself in any unnecessary danger.”

  “Unnecessary danger? Geez, thanks, pal. I’ll try not to.”

  Welles grinned into the darkness. Sense of humour was a good sign. “Stay cool,” he whispered, before hurrying silently into the shadows. He found an old eucalyptus tree that had grown out of the ground at forty-five degrees and looked down on the pit from the higher ground. Positioning himself on the thick trunk, he had eyes on the clearing whilst keeping out of sight. He also had a clear shot if needed.

  He lay the rifle out in front of him and got comfy behind the sight as a vehicle pulled up on the far side of the pit. Welles’ estimation had been correct. It was a souped-up Willys-Overland Military Jeep, painted black with a silver and red logo on the door.

  Island Security.

  The engine was switched off and three men jumped out, all dressed the same. Black cargo pants, black boots, black undershirts, with the Island Security logo across the chest, same as on the jeep. With their blond hair and blue eyes, Welles would have guessed they were Eastern European, maybe even Russian. They looked almost cartoonlike in their size, with huge shoulders, and arms as big as his leg. Like three Ivan Dragos from Rocky IV. Welles held his nerve. Even if they hadn’t been armed with Beretta PMX sub-machine guns, there was no way he could take them hand-to-hand. And with just one round left in the mag, it was looking bad for Sofia.

  The men approached the pit, communicating to one another by looks and abrupt nods of the head. One of them, with spikey hair and a large snake tattoo on his shoulder, handed his weapon to his friend and sat on the edge of the pit before easing himself down into the depths.

  Welles heard Sofia’s screams. “What do you want? Leave me alone!”

  The two men up top exchanged glances but their steely expressions remained fixed. As Welles watched on, enraged but impotent, one of them reached over the side and pulled Sofia out of the hole. Once clear she stumbled over on her side, remaining in a foetal position. She looked so tiny and frail lying there at the men’s feet. Her hair was matted with sweat and grime and her already battered leather jacket caked in mud. She rolled onto her back and stared up at the men, big brown eyes wide in the moonlight.

  “Please don’t kill me,” she gasped, as she struggled to her feet. “I’m getting married in a few months. And I promise, I’ll never tell anyone what happened. I’ll delete the article, never breathe a word of this. I—”

  A swift backhander shut her up, almost knocking her back into the pit at the same time. Welles fingered the trigger of his rifle. The angle of the two men was such, he could almost do it. But even at this range he couldn’t trust a round to make it through thick cranium bone and take out someone on the other side. Plus, Spike was now clambering out of the pit and slinging his Beretta PMX over his shoulder.

  Not worth it. Bide your time, tío.

  “Shall we search for her accomplice?” one of the men asked. “The male?”

  Spike stood with his hands on his hips, regaining his breath. He wiped a hand over his forehead. “He’s just some old guy, right?”

  “Correct. A retired a cop, I think.”

  Spike’s face hardened, deep in thought. “Leave him,” he said. “He’s no threat. Probably won’t last the night. We’ll log him as fallen. Save us coming back out.”

  “Are you sure, sir?”

  “That’s what I said, didn’t I?”

  Spike gestured to his cronies and together they grabbed Sofia up, one of them throwing her over his shoulder like she was a rag doll. She didn’t str
uggle. She had no fight left in her. All Welles could do was watch as these giant blond thugs bundled her into the back of the jeep and set off back to the resort. He waited until he could no longer hear the low grumble of the engine, and then jumped down from his hiding spot.

  From somewhere deep inside the rainforest came the screeching wail of an animal. It sounded insane and angry and he knew how it felt. He sniffed back and spat a ball of phlegm into the pit. The fact they’d got Sofia out of there, rather than staging an execution, meant they had plans for her. What those plans entailed was anyone’s guess, but whilst she was still breathing, whilst he was too, Welles had a chance of saving her.

  Old guy, huh?

  No threat?

  He’d see about that.

  Twenty-Three

  Acid had spotted the cameras a while back, choosing to keep the discovery to herself rather than worry Spook, and she’d had one eye in the trees at all times. Now, moving along the shoreline close to the ocean, she was sure they’d be out of shot. With the ocean gently lapping against the shore on one side, and the soft chirp of insects rising from the sweet-smelling rainforest on the other, it was almost tranquil as they trudged onwards towards their destination. Towards their destiny. Every so often Acid would glance up at the resort complex that loomed ominously on the mountainside. A bright moon (almost full, but not there yet) hung benignly in the clear night sky above, casting the building with an eerie glow.

  “Hey, guys,” Spook called out after they’d been travelling a while. “Any chance we can rest?”

  Acid spun around, ready to give the kid grief, before noticing how far she’d fallen behind. They’d been walking at a steady pace for the last hour, but the effort had clearly aggravated Spook’s injured ankle. The limp she’d grimaced through earlier had developed into a painful hobble.

  “Your foot is hurt?” Magda asked, going to her and roughly lifting the bottom of her leggings. “It is very swollen.”

  “It’s really painful,” Spook replied, glancing over Magda’s shoulder, her eyes full of emotion and pleading. “Can we stop?”

  Acid sucked in a sharp breath. They didn’t have time for this, but she knew pushing Spook too hard would only have a detrimental effect. “Fine.” She sighed. “Twenty minutes.”

  “Thanks,” Spook gasped, sinking onto the soft sand and exhaling deeply.

  Acid walked over to join the two women but remained standing, facing the jungle with her back to the ocean. One of them should stay alert.

  A silent discord splintered her thoughts and her nerve endings burned with an intense prickly heat. But on the surface she was still. She sucked back a deep, conscious breath, slowing her heartrate and settling into a more productive mindset. One thing she’d learnt early in her career. It was vital she kept her focus in check. Her condition meant she often had ridiculous and dangerous ideas, insane flights of fancy that in the moment seemed a totally viable option. Whilst it could be said these notions worked out okay (the time she killed two colossal mercenaries armed only with a neck scarf and a high-heeled shoe, for instance) there were other times when this manic energy spilled over into recklessness. Like now. A big part of her wanted to leave Spook and Magda and storm the complex alone. Take her chances. The bats said she could do it. What’s more, it’d be fun, they said. A real blast.

  She looked down at the young American, who had taken off her trainer and was soaking her foot in the cool salty ocean.

  Yeah, great. Let’s see how far you get with one shoe if we need a quick getaway.

  She kept quiet. But maybe this was the best idea she’d had. She’d slip away, get the job done before Spook realised what had happened. They didn’t need to worry so much about escaping the island if every single one of the hunters and their security team were dead. Hell, they could even stay here a few weeks. A real tropical paradise away from the world. She glanced back at the complex. Another hour or two to get to the summit. Once up there it’d take her maybe ten minutes to get inside. At this time of night she’d catch them unawares, either asleep or having a nightcap. She assumed there’d be plenty of weapons up there. Lovely, shiny weapons. Knives. Pistols. Machine guns. Weapons she could use. The evil pricks would be like lambs to the slaughter.

  “Acid? Why don’t you sit awhile?”

  The question snapped her back to the present. “Huh?” She turned to Spook.

  “Sit,” she repeated, tapping the sand beside her. “You need to rest.”

  “No,” Acid said. “I don’t.”

  “You are thinking of something?” Magda asked.

  “I’m always thinking of something,” Acid replied, still gazing into the darkness of the rainforest. “Aren’t you?”

  “Your face, I mean. It is very serious. Angry.”

  “It’s a serious situation we’re in. Don’t you think?”

  Magda let out a sigh. “Of course. But I am glad I found you when I did. I feel safer now. You are a brave woman, yes? Strong.”

  “Acid is a badass,” Spook said. “A trained killer. If anyone can get us out of this, it’s her.”

  “Oh my.” Magda looked at Acid in that over-the-top way an aunt might do on hearing her favourite niece has just got into Cambridge. “You mean like a hit man?”

  Acid side-eyed the woman. At the same time fighting the instinct to smack Spook around the back of the head. “Not anymore,” she told her. “Nowadays I’m just… well… I’m just a normal person.”

  The words felt rotten in her mouth. Normal person? When had she ever wanted to be a normal person?

  No. Not a chance.

  Never, never, never.

  So that settled it. Acid was going up there. Alone. She’d take these bastards down or die trying. Death or glory. The only way she knew.

  “I’ll be back in a minute,” she told Spook, already heading for the cover of the rainforest.

  “You okay?” came the concerned call from behind her.

  She halted abruptly, hands slapping against her jeans as she turned to glare over her shoulder. “I need to take a piss. You want to come watch me?”

  Spook’s eye twitched and she looked away. “Keep a look out for the cameras, okay?”

  “Yes, thank you,” Acid murmured to herself as she set off again, trudging through the soft sand. “I am aware.”

  She got up to the edge of the rainforest and paused, noticing a camera up in a palm oil tree a few feet in front. It was best to assume they’d have night-vision capabilities, but after watching it for a while it didn’t seem to be moving position. The current angle of the lens meant she could pass by undetected. Her plan now was to stick to the trees, get to the foot of the cliff face before Spook even knew she was gone. Only problem was she really did need to take a piss. She hadn’t been since this morning, and the bottle of water drank at the cabin was making its presence known.

  Damn it.

  Moving further into the darkness, Acid positioned herself next to a large boulder and yanked down her jeans and pants. In a half-squat she relieved herself, leaning against the boulder to stop her tired legs from giving way, and keeping one eye on Magda. What was it about her that just didn’t sit right? She’d done nothing wrong. In fact, being an ex-employee of Engel’s, she was more than likely an asset. Yet something felt off. It was like she was trying too hard.

  Of course, ask Spook and she’d say this was Acid’s reaction to most people. To all people. She sneered at the thought, Spook’s voice in her head telling her how she should let people in, accept help once in a while. But why should she? Give people enough time, they always let you down.

  She finished off and was pulling up her pants, when a strange voice startled her. Quickly she fastened the buttons on her jeans and moved over to the edge of the rainforest, staying undercover of the trees. It was too dark to see that far, but the vocal tonality told her it was a man, approaching along the shoreline a few hundred feet from where Spook was sitting with her foot in the surf.

  Acid held her ground. Was th
is a trap? Had Magda done this? Now you see, little Spook, this is why I don’t trust people. Too much can go wrong. Assume everyone’s the enemy and you don’t get caught out. Assume they want you dead and you can strike first.

  The bats were screaming now. Deafening, static voices, piercing Acid’s consciousness. Leathery wings tearing at her psychology.

  Should have trusted us sooner, they told her.

  Should have trusted yourself.

  Acid Vanilla raised her head. It was true. No one was capable of what she could do. No one else thought like her, acted like her. No one else could balance that knife-edge dichotomy of unfiltered energy and calculated focus.

  And she was here.

  And she was ready.

  But the stranger was getting closer. Spook and Magda still looking the other way, seemingly oblivious to his presence. Another second ticked by and he came into view, silhouetted against the inky blue of the night sky. He was tall and broad and carried the unmistakeable outline of a hunting rifle. He called out again, his deep voice now distinguishable over the crashing waves and the gnashing bat-chorus in Acid’s brain.

  “Stay where you are,” he called. “Or I’ll shoot you dead.”

  Twenty-Four

  Spook noticed the man approaching as he raised the hunting rifle to his shoulder. She yelped, managing to swallow down her first instinct, to call out for Acid. Instead she dug her fingernails into her palm. Told herself, stay cool.

  “Would you believe it?” the man growled as he stepped nearer. “There I was about to drive back to the resort with the rest of them when I thought to myself, ‘No, Jason, it’s a beautiful night, why not walk back along the ocean.’ And I’ve got to say, ladies, I’m glad I did.”

  The man, now recognisable as Jason Moss, AKA The Success Guru, stopped a few feet from Spook and flicked the end of his rifle, indicating for her and Magda to stand.

  “Can I put my shoe on first?” she asked.

  Moss frowned. “Quickly.”

  Spook didn’t need telling twice, keeping one eye on the rifle, she heaved on her trainer. Not so easy with a swollen foot wet with sea water. Magda was already on her feet, brushing the sand from her legs. She helped Spook up and patted her gently on the shoulder. She seemed remarkably calm considering the bolt-action rifle pointed at her head.