Pandora 2: Death is not an Option

by McCrohan, Richard

  The protests dwindled down as the rest realized their situation. Max spoke up. “With everyone driving, there is safety in numbers. First, you wouldn’t have all the zombies focusing on just one car. Nine cars would confuse them. Scatter their ranks. Second, if one gets in trouble, he or she can run to another car with still plenty of room. Hell, if even three or four cars get stuck, that still leaves us at least five vehicles left. No one gets left behind.”

  “It works,” stated Steve.

  There was a little grumbling, but everyone realized the wisdom of the decision.

  “Okay,” said Mark. “I guess that makes sense. Why did you pick the directions and streets you did?” He put his hands up defensively. “I’m not arguing with you, Steve, but Ginger and I have only been here for six months, and I’m curious.”

  “Fair enough,” said Steve with a smile. “We picked the widest roads we could because hopefully there’d be less chance of bottlenecks on the wider streets.”

  “Hopefully,” Ana grumbled.

  Giving her a dirty look, Steve continued, “If there are any pileups, we have a wide road to move about in. We can dodge around the accidents and wrecks. That goes for clusters of zombies also. On the narrow two-lane side street, if we encounter even a two-car pileup, we’re likely to get stuck, hemmed in by the zombies.”

  Nodding his head, Mark said, “I like it. It sounds well thought out to me.” He turned and smiled at his wife, and she hugged his arm. Turning back, he said, “Great work, guys.”

  “I like it too,” said Dan. “The only problem I see is that nine cars mean more gas.”

  “Once we’re out of the city,” Luke said, “things will be easier. When we get to Route 95 there should be more cars and fewer zombies.”

  “What about you, Gail?” asked Max.

  All eyes turned to her. She sat there very still and then said, “I think it will work. My only question is what about our cars? I mean, I just have a small Honda. Shouldn’t we choose some larger, sturdier SUVs from the ones left in the garage?”

  Steve smiled. “Good question, Gail. We thought about that too. The problem is that we don’t really know what vehicles belong to what owners. We would basically have to break into each condo, find the keys, and then go out and try to match them up with the right cars. That in itself wouldn’t be a huge deal. The real problem stems from the fact that because we would need to break into every condo, many of which are still occupied by their now-dead owners, we would have to fight and kill every zombie trapped in this building. I can hear them moaning and stumbling around, and I know you can too. I, for one, don’t really want to spend days risking our lives by fighting zombies for a sweeter ride. It’s a nice idea but in this case unfeasible.”

  “I see,” said Gail. “Again you’re right. We could wind up getting killed here before we even make it out.”

  “You know, Gail,” said Ginger, “both Mark and I have Porsche Cayennes. They’re both SUVs, and you can drive mine while Mark and I go together in his.”

  “Great idea, Ginger,” beamed Steve. “Thank you.”

  Mark and Ginger smiled at each other and hugged. Gail reached over and, taking Ginger’s hand, smiled and thanked her.

  “Good,” Steve said, “Is anybody not on board with this?”

  Everyone gave Ana a sideways glance, but she said, “No, it’s good. You all thought this out. I see that. Good work.”

  Max shot up. “Great, let’s start gathering our essentials, food, and water, and then we will begin siphoning gas from the remaining cars and topping off our tanks. Maybe we can find some containers to carry a little extra with us?”

  At that, the meeting broke up, and everyone, talking excitedly, went off to start getting ready for the excursion. They knew it was bad out there, but they were about to find out just how bad.

  8

  Pierre Bouchard looked down at the person sitting in front of him. He smiled as the man tilted his face up to meet his gaze. His left eye was blackened and his lip cut. He was drenched with sweat, but although he looked defiant, Bouchard could see the fear in his eyes.

  “Are you sure?” Bouchard asked sympathetically.

  “Go fuck yourself, asshole,” the prisoner spat. “I ain’t telling you anything.”

  “Reeeally?” Bouchard chuckled. “You know, I thought you’d say that. But that’s okay. You don’t have to tell me what I want to know. Instead…” he said, nodding his head to the side. The gesture brought a small, mild-looking man up to stand beside him. “I’ll have you talk with my friend here. He’s really anxious to hear what you have to say.”

  Glancing at the slight man with the small smile on his almost pleasant face, Vince Pasko turned to Bouchard. “If I won’t talk to you, what the fuck makes you think I’ll talk to this little scumbag?”

  “Him?” Bouchard left, pointing his thumb at his companion. “Why, he’s a real people person. Has a way with getting the conversation started. I’ll leave you two to chat.”

  Bouchard waved good-bye, turned, and walked with his two other thugs out the door behind him. This left just Vince and the other man looking at each other. Vince was duct-taped to a heavy wooden chair that was nailed to the floor. The only light in the room came from a small skylight set in the ceiling. Vince could only see clearly in the small circle of light around him. The rest of the room was dark.

  As they stared at each other, Vince said, “You’re wasting your time, little man. I ain’t gonna say another word to you.”

  Turning to the side, the man walked out of the light. As he came back into the ring of visibility, Vince could see that he was pushing a rattling cart in front of him. It was covered by a dirty and what looked like dark rust-stained cloth. The man deliberately pushed it in front of Vince. Pulling off the cloth and throwing it off to the side, he made the vast array of tools in front of him accessible. There were knives, saws, dental tools, hammers, and a number of other weirdly shaped or bladed instruments. Vince’s eyes opened with fear. He started to struggle with his bindings but couldn’t move an inch. He looked back up to that pleasant face and found only a blank, dead look. Though his eyes seemed almost to shine, they stared unblinkingly into Vince’s eyes.

  With the corners of his mouth curling slightly up, the man at last opened his mouth for the first time. “Hello. My name is Carlos.”

  He looked down and sorted through his tools. Finally, he picked up what looked like a chrome handle with a rather large fishhook attached. Looking back at Vince with the same unnerving expression, he took two steps up to him and, grabbing his hair with a surprisingly strong grip, tilted his head back.

  “I’m sorry Vince,” he said, “but this is really going to hurt.”

  The morning was becoming a little overcast when Manny came up to Tommy. “We’ve looked everywhere,” Manny complained. “Searched near the waterfront where he was supposed to be last night and then widened our search to all the surrounding blocks. Regina and her people, even Sean and his, searched all over. It’s as if the night just swallowed Vince up. There is no trace of him.”

  “Jesus Christ, he must be somewhere,” said the frustrated Tommy. “He wouldn’t have just run off. Not Vince. He really was looking forward to the voyage to Antigua.”

  “I know,” said Manny. “Vince is not the AWOL type.”

  They were standing in the street talking while all the activity went on around them. Suddenly, Mike came running up to them. “Hey, Tommy,” he called.

  Tommy and Manny ran to meet him. “What did you find out?” asked the concerned sergeant.

  “On a whim, Malik took a walk along that long, deserted dock at the end of the wharf area,” Mike said breathlessly.

  “And?” Tommy impatiently asked.

  “Malik said he found several spots of blood at the end of the peer,” Mike stated. “From their consistency, he suspects that they’re not very old.”

  Throwing his sweat-stained fatigue cap on the ground, Tommy yelled, “Fuck.” With his hands on h
is hips and his head down, Tommy said, “Shit,” and, reaching down to snatch his cover back up, continued. “I bet anything that our scary friend in the warehouse was part of this ‘snatch and grab mission’ last night. Fuck! Right under our noses. They were after info on Jake’s boat, and when we took him, they grabbed one of ours. Shit. This screws things up royally.”

  “Let’s go talk to our friend again,” suggested Manny.

  “Nah,” spat Tommy disgustedly, “he’s not gonna talk. You could probably cut his balls off and he’d just smile at you. Wasted effort.”

  “Yeah,” said Manny, “but knowing he took Vince, I’d sure like to try.”

  Shaking his head, Tommy said, “No, we will need him whole to use as a bargaining chip. I have a feeling that guy is more than just your bargain-basement hired help.”

  Two hours later, Tommy, Manuel, Sean, and Regina were huddled together talking over their options when Del walked up and said to them, “Hey, Mel Gorman sent me. He said for me to tell you that a speedboat is heading for the marina.”

  They all scrambled and ran out of the former accountant’s office they were working in. They quickly followed Del down to the marina. As they arrived, they saw a sleek speedboat circling in and heading to the end of one of the piers. Sean, Tommy, Manny, and Regina walked warily down the pier toward the approaching boat. There were two people on board. When they got closer to it, Regina said, “Holy shit. That’s Bouchard. What is he doing here?”

  The boat turned in so that it was next to the dock but with a little space between and facing back out toward the gulf. The driver of the boat had shaggy blond hair and an unshaven face. He was dressed in old jeans and a ragged, plaid shirt with the sleeves ripped off. In contrast to him, the other man looked as if he’d stepped out of a magazine. He had long, dark hair flowing past his shoulders and blowing in the breeze. Sean, oddly, thought, Fabio. He had a neatly manicured and sculpted beard. With tight black jeans, knee boots, and a ridiculous puffy-sleeved gold shirt, he looked as if he had just finished posing for the Captain Morgan rum bottle. All that was missing was the eyepatch and a parrot. Why, the fucker was even carrying a sword.

  Tommy walked to the end of the dock. “Trick-or-treat, kid. Isn’t it a month early for Halloween?”

  Bouchard, with one booted foot on the side of the boat, smiled and called out, “Ahoy there, matey.”

  “Oh, for the love of—”Sean started.

  “I think you have something of mine,” Bouchard continued. “I want him back.”

  “Oh, yeah?” retorted Tommy. “And I think you have one of my men.”

  “And we want him back,” yelled Regina.

  “’Tis a possibility, mon cher,” replied Bouchard, still smiling. “Why don’t you send my friend out to me, and I’ll take him off your hands for you.”

  “You’ll get him when we get Vince back,” stated Tommy.

  “Ah yes…Vince,” Bouchard said, nodding his head as if reminiscing. “A good lad. Strong stock, as they say. No, I don’t think that arrangement works for me. Just bring my man out. Quit dicking around, and I’ll be on my merry way. I’ll have your man brought to the same spot.”

  “Fat chance of that happening,” an angry Tommy sneered. “If you don’t bring Vince here, right fucking now, you’ll never see your friend again.”

  Darkness passed over Bouchard’s face. That brief but telling look showed Tommy the real kind of man he was dealing with. The pirate pasted the smile back onto his face again. It was a smile in name only; it held as much warmth as a bucket of ice.

  “Oh well.” Bouchard shrugged. “I guess we have no deal then. A shame. I hope you will have no problem with my man, Corso. He’s a very mean, nasty fellow. Certainly not as warm and fuzzy as moi.”

  As he stepped back down off the speedboat’s starboard side, Sean called out to him, “What about Vince?”

  “Ah, Vincent. Yes. You know, he was very distraught about the unprofessional way he was taken so easily. Tsk, tsk. Sleeping on the job, messieurs, not a very good way for a professional to behave. You know, he was so upset that he had, uh, lost face with his teammates. It is not good for a soldier to do that.”

  The group on the dock, especially Tommy and Manny, were steaming. Both sergeants had grim, dark expressions on their faces and their lips compressed tightly.

  “So,” said Bouchard, bending down and picking up a wooden box tied with heavy string, “Vince asked me to give this to you as a small repayment for his unfortunate loss of face with his comrades.” The smiling Bouchard raised his eyebrows. “Will someone do me the honor?” He raised the box up toward the dock. Manny looked around and saw a boat hook, grabbed it, and reached out. Deftly hooking the cord that wrapped around the wood, he gently guided it back and placed it on the deck.

  “Enough of these bons mots, mons amis. Au revoir.” Bouchard nodded to his driver and sat down as the speedboat raced away, turning to return to the far side of the island.

  As he sped off, the group gathered around the wooden box. Almost reluctantly, Manny bent and started untying the string.

  “Maybe it’s a bomb,” said Sean. “Shouldn’t we wait?”

  Manny paused. Tommy said, “No. Open it. If this is from Vince, I want to see it.”

  Continuing to untie the cord, Manny finally freed the box and pried the lid off. Everyone curiously bent over to see the contents of the box. Manny took the lid and set it aside. As Tommy bent down also, Manny pushed aside the paper covering on top. Inside, stretched and tacked to a dismantled mannequin’s head, was the masklike face and scalp of Vince Pasko. It was attached as neatly and precisely as if someone was making a horror movie prop.

  The sad, young Pvt. Pasko was never going to Antigua and never connecting with his wife’s memory again.

  Mike and Malik came running up to Regina as she stood in front of a boarded-up surf shop giving orders to a group of police officers.

  “We heard what happened,” Mike interrupted. “Where are Tommy and Sean?”

  Regina finished assigning tasks, and the officers scattered to their posts. Turning to Mike with a pained and deeply troubled look on her face, she said, “Tommy went to tell the rest of his squad what happened, and Sean is still puking in the bushes.”

  “What are we going to do?” asked Malik.

  “I think Bouchard answered that question for us,” she said cryptically. “Get everyone together and bring them to the hotel lobby. We need to end this problem now.”

  Across the city on its northern side, the speedboat pulled up to the dock, and Bouchard stepped off the idling boat.

  “Stay with the boat,” he commanded and then walked off toward the large house he was using as his Key West headquarters.

  Tank was standing in front, talking with a bunch of men. As Bouchard strolled up, smiling, Tank turned to him and asked, “Where’s Corso?”

  “He ain’t coming,” Bouchard said gruffly. “Looks like you may have gotten a promotion. Come in with me.”

  Bouchard entered the house with Tank following behind. He went to the bar in the corner of the great room and poured the two of them a drink.

  Taking the offered whiskey with an uncomfortable smile, Tank asked, “They wouldn’t give up Corso?”

  Tilting his head to gulp down the fiery liquor, the self-proclaimed pirate king smacked his lips and smiled at Tank. “Nah. But I didn’t think they would anyway. Lousy luck he was caught. Maybe when we go back there, we could get him back again. Assuming they don’t put a bullet in his brain before then. For now, you’re assuming his command. I want you to get Paulo, Jerry, and Gooch and bring them to me. It’s time we got this party rolling. Go.”

  Tank lumbered out the door. A few minutes later, there was a knock, and Carlos Guzman entered. “How’d it go, jefe?”

  “Like I expected, Carlos. I just wish I could have stayed to see their reaction.” Bouchard started to chuckle, then cackle, and finally broke into loud bellows of laughter. After the laughing fit subsided, he wiped h
is eyes, still chuckling and said, “Lost face…oh, that’s priceless. Ha, ha! Boy, I am one funny dude.”

  Tommy looked at everyone seated around the large conference table in one of the side business-meeting rooms the hotel offered. Everyone there looked grim and determined.

  “We’ve worried about this fucker Bouchard long enough,” Tommy stated. “It’s time we ended this problem and ended him. He thinks he just intimidated us into cowering in our holes, but he has a rude awakening in store. It’s starting to pour outside, and it looks like it will be a real tropical storm tonight. They won’t be expecting anything. So tonight we’re going on a search-and-destroy mission and kill every one of those scumbag pirate fucks. They all just signed their own death warrants.”

  Tommy looked around the table, reassured by the grim nods his speech was receiving. Continuing he said, “We’ll take three teams in. I’ll have the first team. We are entering from the water.” He looked up and pointed. “I’ll have Mario, Sean, Jack, and Carol. Sgt. Ortega, you’ll take Jamal, Luis, Travis, and Mike. You land beforehand and come in on land along the waterfront. Cpl. Foley, you will have Regina, Paul, Malik, Frank, and Del. You will land with Ortega and his group, but you’ll circle around and come in from the west.” He stopped and looked from person to person. “You know what these animals are capable of. Vince was too good a man to go out like that. Orders are kill on sight. No prisoners, no survivors. Let’s send these assholes back to hell!”

  Everyone was getting ready for the assault. The remaining squad of army soldiers were already squared away and helping the civilians make sure that they were all “locked and loaded.” It was a solemn ritual. The cruel fate of their comrade in arms and the knowledge of their soon-to-be-unleashed unconditional retribution put them in an angry, vengeful mood. Darkness had just fallen minutes ago, and that and the relentless pouring rain gave the proceedings a somber pall.

  Jake stood under the large, open, pool patio roof with the Jacobis and the Mills. They were watching the ad hoc assault group heading for the two boats that would quietly take them around the city and let them off on the eastern side to unleash their fury.