Hunted in the Keys

by Matthew Rief

  I waited for a moment, wondering what both the helicopter and the thugs in the boat were going to do next. To my surprise, the gangsters hadn’t opened fire on the helicopter. In fact, as I focused my gaze on their boat I realized that none of the guys were even holding guns. I shook my head, unable to comprehend what they were up to. As I waited for the helicopter pilots to make up their mind, I grabbed my monocular to get a better look at the thugs on the skiff. They were still watching the helicopter intently as their boat motored closer and closer to the shore. I wondered for a brief moment if they’d planned to jump onto the beach and do a surprise attack just as the helicopter was landing and the five of us were out in the open. Then, I saw the tip of a distinct object in one of the thug’s hands. He tried to keep it hidden beneath the side of the hull but had let it rise up just long enough for me to realize exactly what it was; a Rocket Propelled Grenade Launcher.

  “Holy shit,” I said to myself as the helicopter started to drop in altitude, clearly deciding to land on the patch of grass right behind where I was standing. I tried to wave them off, to somehow communicate that it wasn’t safe to land, but it was no use. From their angle, right on top of me, it was impossible for them to even see me, let alone comprehend what I was trying to tell them. Looking back towards the thugs, I grabbed my M4 and took aim, knowing that I had no other choice but to take them out.

  With the helicopter roaring down behind me, blowing a strong breeze against my back, I placed my finger on the trigger and then held it down sternly, exploding a barrage of automatic gunfire straight at the boat. I hit a few of them, sending a bullet through a guy’s face and two more through another guy’s chest before they realized what was happening and took cover, dropping to the deck and out of my view. I continued to fire, rattling round after round into the fiberglass hull while moving closer to their position. In the back of my mind, I thought about the sniper who’d shot at me from the ship the previous night. This forced me to stick to the shrubs a few hundred feet from the beach, keeping myself out of the ship’s line of sight.

  As the boat started to turn and cruise parallel with the shore, I drew my fire towards the engine, causing it to spit out clouds of black smoke. A few thugs held their weapons over the side of the hull, trying their best to at least shoot in my general direction, but it was no use. I had them pinned down and they knew it. Dropping the empty magazine to the dirt, I reached for my spare and had it jammed up into the bottom of the rifle in less than half of a second.

  The helicopter pilot, after seeing the events taking place on the beach, quickly changed course and tried to regain their lost elevation as fast as he could. I took aim once more, firing more rounds into the helpless boat as its momentum stopped and it’s pontoons deflated offshore, dead in the water. As I heard the helicopter start to veer away from me overhead, a bright ball of fire flashed from inside the boat followed instantly by the sound of a powerful explosion. My eyes grew big and my heart stopped as I watched a rocket launch from the boat and hiss loudly through the air towards the helicopter. As the chopper started to turn, the rocket screamed, exploding into its tail in a bright, yellow fireball.

  CHAPTER

  SEVENTEEN

  The explosion shook the ground and echoed like thunder through the air. The tail end of the helicopter had been almost completely blown to pieces. All that remained were deformed shards of burning metal as the rear rotor fell from the sky, crashing into the sand in a scorched mess less than a hundred feet away from me. The helicopter lost all control as it jerked wildly across the sky, picking up speed as it spiraled helplessly down towards the ground below.

  I watched as the pilot tried to stabilize the helicopter, but after losing the tail rotor and most of the tail along with it, it was clear that he was in a losing battle. The engines roared angrily as the flames continued to burn, spreading dangerously close to the fuel tank. Plumes of black smoke radiated from the dying craft in all directions as it fell below a thousand feet, spinning wildly and rocketing towards the beach like a meteor.

  I took cover and could only watch as the damaged helicopter screamed through the air over my head then crashed into the ocean just a few hundred feet from the shore, sending a chaotic fountain of water bursting into the air. The white sand shook beneath my feet and pieces of metal and shattered glass flew out in all directions as the helicopter tumbled ferociously through the water, its main rotor blade spraying sheets of seawater for a split second before being ripped free from the motor.

  The hot, roaring flames from the metal fire continued to burn as what remained of the helicopter came to a stop, halfway sunk beneath the waves. I felt a surge of anger deep inside of me as I ran as fast as I could towards the beach. The thug’s boat floated helplessly in the water, but I could see a few heads poking up and the barrels of their weapons as they stared at the burning wreckage. Turning over my left shoulder, I realized that fortunately the ship was out of view, just hidden around the Northern portion of the island. Grabbing my M4, I fired off a spray of bullets, blowing two of their heads into a bloody heap as they fell from view.

  Splashing through the shallows, I came to the boat which was floating in just a few feet of water. Only one of the four guys on board was alive, and just as I peeked over the side of the hull, I saw him reach for an AK47 lying on the deck beside him. Diving over the transom, I tackled his crawling body, slamming it onto the fiberglass deck as I reached for my dive knife. Without hesitation, I stabbed the blade into the back of his neck, piercing up through his skull. Sliding my blade free, I wiped the blood then secured it back onto my leg.

  With my heart racing like a freight train, I jumped back into the water and sprinted towards the burning wreck which only moments earlier had been a functioning Jayhawk helicopter. The water quickly rose up past my waist, forcing me to dive head first and swim freestyle as fast as I could through the warm, Caribbean water. I could feel the heat from the burning rubble as I reached the helicopter which was propped up on its side against a shallow reef. Looking through the shattered windows, I saw that most of the cockpit was filled with water. Careful to avoid the rows of glass shards, I crawled inside.

  The two pilots were bloody and not moving. I did a quick check of their vitals, but it was clear that they were dead. Pulling my body into the cabin, I saw a third guy leaning against the top of the helicopter, his body shaking as he held his hands pressed against his chest. Thick splotches of blood oozed through his orange rescue suit. He was still wearing his helmet and face shield, allowing me to just barely see his eyes as he glanced up at me.

  Splashing my body through the few feet of water inside the craft, I did a quick assessment of his injuries and, realizing how bad they were, decided I had to get him out of the helicopter as quickly and as carefully as possible. I would have tried to help him right there, but with the fire still burning what remained of the tail, I knew that the fuel tank could explode at any moment, killing us both in an explosion of flames.

  “I’m gonna get you out of here,” I said, staring into his eyes. He’d already lost a good amount of blood and judging by the way his body was shaking, I estimated I had no more than a few minutes to try and save him.

  I wrapped my arm around his upper body, trying to rotate him around so I could pull him out. But before I could get a good hold on him, he squeezed my shirt tightly with his left hand.

  “No,” he said suddenly, closing his eyes and wincing in pain. “Leave me be, Logan,” his words struggled from his mouth as his intense eyes focused mine.

  I heard a slight familiarity in his voice and, by the way he said my name, it seemed as though he knew me.

  “I’m getting you out of here,” I said, staring into his eyes and letting him know that I wasn’t about to let him die without doing everything I could to help him.

  He lifted his gloved hand slightly, trying to wave me off. “I’m already done for,” he said, coughing and squinting as blood continued to flow out between the fingers pressed against his c
hest. “Can you take this off?” he said, motioning to the helmet and face shield covering his entire head.

  Carefully, I unclipped the plastic strap, tucked my hands under the sides and slowly lifted it up. My eyes grew wide as I recognized the dying, young man in front of me. My mind raced back to a few days earlier when I’d met him while hunting pythons with Jack in the Everglades. His short brown hair and his young, lean face were unmistakable.

  “I need you to do something for me,” Ryan said, his dark eyes filling with salty tears as he struggled to get his final words out. “I need you to tell my wife that I love her.” His body shook as he gagged for air, willing himself to continue. “And my son, Logan.” He tilted his head back and his eyes shut slowly. “Look after him for me.”

  He took one final, painstaking breath and then his body went limp. I wiped the tears from my eyes then placed my hand on his forehead and told him that I would do as he’d asked.

  A loud roar of flames and the sound of creaking metal snatched me out of the moment, reminding me that the wrecked helicopter I was standing inside was on fire and could blow sky high any second. Taking one more look at the dead young man, I moved to the front of the chopper and crawled over the shards of shattered glass, splashing into the water on the other side. There had been a few moments in my life where I’d seen things, images that I’ve never been able to clear from my mind. As I swam for the shore, I knew that seeing Ryan lying dead in the back of that wrecked helicopter would be one of them.

  When I reached the surface, I dug my feet into the sand and trudged through the water, reaching the sandy beach in less than a minute. Standing on the shore for a moment, I turned around and watched as the flames continued to spread throughout the crashed, partially sunken helicopter. Within a few seconds of arriving on the beach, the flames reached the fuel tank and what remained of the chopper was blown to pieces in a massive ball of fire. The explosion shook the ground and was so loud that I was sure anyone within a hundred-mile radius of the island must have heard it.

  I gritted my teeth as I watched the helicopter burn, shooting a massive plume of black smoke high into the air. My heart raced, the adrenaline pumping blood through my veins at a dangerous rate. I narrowed my gaze and clenched my fists. Those assholes were going to pay for this. I was going to bring each and every one of them down or I was going to die trying.

  Looking down the beach, I watched as the thug’s deflated boat floated aimlessly passed the southern tip of Loggerhead, its useless engine still shooting plumes of black smoke and its hull riddled to pieces with bullet holes. A few dead guys lay sprawled out over the sides, blood dripping from their bodies into the ocean below. The clear morning sky was lit up in an array of reds and pinks, making it easy to see without the need for my night vision monocular.

  Grabbing my M4 from where I’d thrown it on the beach, I brushed off the sand and moved swiftly back toward the center of the island. As I thought about how I was going to engage the ship, knowing that they still had two more boats, a helicopter and who knew how many more men, I heard the sounds of two outboard engines echoing across the water, coming from the direction of the ship. It appeared as though the thugs had finally had enough and were coming to hunt me down with their full force and finish the job. Gripping my M4, I couldn’t help but smile as they motored closer to the island. That asshole Salazar and his gang had messed with the wrong guy. Payback’s a bitch.

  CHAPTER

  EIGHTEEN

  “Follow me,” I said, standing in the door frame of the old, white house after creaking the front door open. As I stepped towards the wooden chair by the door I helped Chris to his feet.

  “Where are we going?” he asked sternly.

  “We heard explosions,” Cynthia added, her voice filled with worry and dejection.

  “There isn’t time to explain,” I said, ushering them towards the door as I supported most of Chris’ weight with my right arm.

  As I led the four of them down the old, wooden steps, I heard the sounds of the boats moving closer, heading around the northern tip towards the eastern side of the island. Moving away from the house, I led them through a gap of about five feet between two coconut trees, making sure that they each avoided the clear fishing line tensioned out on both sides. The last thing I wanted was for one of my booby traps to be used against us. Forcing them to move as fast as they could, we maneuvered around thick, green bushes and over small sand dunes for about a minute before reaching our destination.

  Making sure Cynthia had Chris’ weight supported, I bent down, pushed aside a few inches of loose sand and dug my fingers under the sheet of mahogany I’d found earlier. When I had a good grip I pulled it up, causing sand to cascade over the sides as I revealed the small hollowed out space below. It looked like it hadn’t been used or taken care of much over the years, but it would do the job of hiding the family.

  Looking at the four of them, I motioned my head towards the space and said, “Get inside.”

  They hesitated a moment, then seeing the ferocity in my eyes, Cynthia crawled inside and held up her hands to help her two daughters.

  “Keep quiet,” I said as I helped Chris down then did a quick scan of the beach to make sure that none of the thugs were nearby, watching where I was hiding the four of them.

  “What happened?” Cynthia asked, staring gravely over the eastern side of the island at the thick trail of black smoke rising high into the air.

  I waved her off, “Just stay here and keep quiet. When I come back, I’ll stomp three times, so you know that it’s me.” Then I looked off into the distance, took in a deep breath of fresh air and added, “Look, if something happens to me, your only hope is to stay hidden here.” Pointing at the black smoke I said, “That smoke can be seen for miles. Now that the storm has passed, it’s only a matter of hours now until more help arrives on the island. But if these guys do find you, you know what to do.” I nodded at the Beretta strapped to her hip.

  As I lowered the sheet of mahogany, I saw that Jordan and Alex were starting to cry and had clutched their arms around their parents. Over the past twenty-four hours, I’d tried my best to avoid talking about the situation with them close by, not wanting to frighten them any more than they already were. But I had no other choice at that moment.

  “Be careful,” Cynthia said as she crouched down, staring up at me with her family huddled beside her as I lowered the sheet back down onto the sand.

  I didn’t reply. The truth was, I had no intention of being careful. Salazar and his thugs had pissed me off more than I could describe and for the first time in years, I was gonna let myself go wild. I would give in to my adrenaline-fueled body and hold nothing back.

  I spent a few brief moments hiding the wooden sheet as best as I could, shoving piles of sand over the top of it and smoothing it out so it blended with the area around it. Grabbing a few fallen palm leaves, I set them on top then turned on my heels and headed back towards the house. It didn’t look perfect by any means, but it was the best I could do with the short amount of time that I had.

  Just as I reached the side of the house the sounds of the outboards suddenly went silent, one right after the other, signaling that both boats had landed on the beach. Kneeling down, I lifted the green plastic lid and opened the isolation valve to the propane tank, allowing it to pressurize the hose leading into the house, then shut the lid and moved inside through the front door. Once inside, I ran upstairs then propped the bedroom window fully open using a small plank of wood set aside for that purpose and pushed aside the old curtains. Then I rushed back downstairs into the kitchen and opened the cabinet door next to the stove. Using my dive knife, I crawled inside and cut the black, rubber line leading outside to the propane tank, letting the highly explosive gas flow freely into the house.

  As I stood up, I pulled open a kitchen drawer and grabbed one of the tablecloths, along with the lighter I’d seen the previous night while fighting the big thug. I wrapped them both in a few layers of saran w
rap then shoved them into the front pocket of my wet cargo shorts. Opening the pantry, I knelt down and pried open the old chest. As fast as I could, I grabbed what I needed, including an extra M4 magazine, a sawed-off shotgun, the two remaining grenades and my spear gun along with two spears. Shoving it all into the large roller bag stashed beside the chest, I moved swiftly across the living room and through the front door, the faint sound of leaking gas hissing in the air. Slamming it shut behind me, I stood on the porch for a moment and did a quick scan of the area around me. With the roller bag resting on the porch, I held my M4 with a tight grip as I looked for any nearby bad guys, ready to fire at a moment’s notice. When I saw that it was clear, I sprinted for the lighthouse.

  Opening the door, I took one more glance towards the surf and spotted a few thugs, their heads barely visible over the thick shrubs along the top of a sandbank. I heard the loud barking of orders as they moved my direction, but before they spotted me, I stepped into the lighthouse then shut the door behind me, sliding the small piece of brass sideways, locking the door. Striding across the dimly lit room, I set the roller bag on the ground and grabbed the edges of a large, cherry bookcase filled with volumes and threw it forward, slamming it onto the ground. Leaning forward, I pushed it, scrapping the floor as I forced it up against the door. I piled a few more items on top of it, including a table and chairs, then headed upstairs. I knew that it wouldn’t keep them from getting inside, but it sure as hell would slow them down.

  Halfway up the tall spiral staircase, I froze as I heard an explosion resonate with a muffled boom through the brick walls. It had sounded like a grenade, indicating that one of my booby traps had been tripped. When I reached the top of the stairs, I looked down through the glass windows and saw one thug on the ground, his body covered with shrapnel that stuck deep into his skin and oozed out blood. A few more guys limped, clearly wounded by the grenade as they struggled towards the house. A few of the thugs yelled out orders and the large group closed in on the old house, going after the family just as I thought they would.