by Matthew Rief
With that thug down, I counted fifteen still on their feet and most of them were as heavily armed as the professionals I’d taken out earlier that morning. All but three wore bulletproof vests and most of them wore plated helmets. Staring down at them through the window, I watched as they surrounded the house like a SWAT team preparing to make a major drug bust. Four of the thugs approached the front door, covered from behind and at their flanks by the others.
As they reached for the doorknob I knelt down and, reaching inside the large roller bag I pulled out my spear gun along with one metal spear. Digging into my wet pocket, I pulled out the tablecloth and the lighter I’d covered in saran wrap to keep from getting soaked. Sliding my dive knife from its sheath, I tore off a piece of the tablecloth then tied it around the tip of the spear. I made sure to use only as much cloth as I needed, not wanting to weigh down the spear too much or throw off its aerodynamics any more than was necessary. Then, using the pointed tip of my knife, I poked a crack in the Bic lighter and held it over the tied piece of tablecloth, pouring the lighter fluid out and soaking the cloth in highly flammable liquid. Loading the spear onto the gun track, I pulled back on the two elastic bands and locked it into place.
The four thugs had already entered through the wide open front door when I looked back down through the glass, followed closely behind by two more. That was my chance. It had been long enough since I’d cut the hose that most, if not all, of the three hundred and sixty gallons of propane would have depressurized from the tank, changed phase to a gas, and filled the empty house. Grabbing my spear gun in one hand and the lighter in the other, I held the top of the lighter up close to the tip of the spear and flicked it a couple of times. Sparks shot out, a few of them landing on the fluid-soaked tablecloth and causing it to go up in flames.
Dropping the lighter, I held my spear gun shoulder height then unlatched the window facing the house and pushed it open. Moving one step outside, I took aim at the middle of the upstairs open window then squeezed the trigger. The stretched bands snapped free, launching the spear through the air towards the house at over one hundred and fifty feet per second. It shot straight through the open window and, in an instant, the flaming tip ignited the propane filled house, turning the entire structure into one giant bomb. The massive explosion boomed as balls of fire shot out from the house. The flames spread instantaneously, engulfing the entire house in flames as half of the roof was blown high into the air. Pieces of torched, splintered wood flew out in all directions as a large plume of smoke mushroomed up into the morning sky.
CHAPTER
NINETEEN
There was no chance for the six thugs who had gone inside. They were charred alive instantly as they were surrounded by the ignited flammable gas. Two of the guys who’d stood by aimlessly providing cover from the side of the house were on fire and rolled frantically in the shrubs, trying to put themselves out. Grabbing my M4, I took aim and put each of them out of their misery with clean shots through their skulls. Once they were dead, I drew my aim towards one of the other guys on the ground but was forced to drop for cover as bullets shattered through the glass and deflected around the tiny room. One of the bullets exploded through the rotating light, destroying the bulb and extinguishing its beam from the sky around the island.
As the bullets continued to fly into the small space from all directions below, I thought about the thugs who’d been killed already. There were still seven down there, alive and kicking, and that was assuming no more bad guys had shown up from the ship. I heard a guy yell and then the firing stopped abruptly so I popped my head up, taking a look at the damage. The entire wraparound window was shattered, leaving only a few pointy shards around the edges. I hoisted myself for a better view of the ground and saw that they’d moved towards the door to the lighthouse.
Jumping to my feet, I grabbed one of the grenades and clipped it to my belt. Then, I switched my M4 out for the sawed-off shotgun, which would be more effective in the close quarters of the stairwell and pocketed a handful of shells. Turning around, I ran down the stairs that seemed to never end, spiraling around over and over before finally reaching the bottom. When I did, I saw that the thugs had already made good progress on my make-shift barricade. They were slamming their bodies against the door as I kept to the shadows of the room, thinking of a plan. When they’d forced the door about halfway open, causing a stream of morning light to illuminate the dark room, I reached for the grenade clipped to my belt.
Pulling the pin, I held down the safety lever, reared it back and lobbed it through the partially open door. The guys on the other side were caught off guard by the sight of it. They yelled out curses and dove for cover as the grenade exploded, sending a pile of sharpened pieces of shrapnel darting through the air in all directions. They screamed in pain following the loud blast and I heard at least one body collapse to the ground just outside the door. I heard them scramble and, just moments after the blast, they were firing their automatic weapons at the door. I moved up a few stairs and dropped down for cover as hundreds of bullets shattered through the door, splintering it to pieces along with the bookcase, table, and chairs that were propped behind it. I felt like I was in a war zone as their bullets screamed through the air, rattling against the walls of the room.
After about five seconds of solid fire, from what sounded like at least three rifles, the shooting stopped. In the relative silence that followed, one of the guys yelled out for them to move in. Just as I saw the first guy appear in the doorway, I turned around and moved quietly back upstairs. Stopping halfway up, I moved into the small storage space where I’d found the blue folding chair and hid in the shadows behind an old wooden crate. Listening, I heard them talking amongst themselves in the room below, followed soon after by the sounds of their boots stomping their way up the stairs straight for me.
I cracked open my sawed-off shotgun, verifying again that there were shells inserted, then shut it back up. As the first thug ran by me I grabbed my dive knife with my left hand, sprang from my position and stabbed down into the base of his neck. Blood splattered out as he gagged and, holding the sawed-off shotgun tightly with my right hand, I aimed it around the dying thug and blasted a storm of lead pellets into the second thug’s head. His face was torn apart in a mess of blood as his body fell backward, the sound of the shell exploding deafening in the tight space of the stairwell.
Before I could take aim at the third guy as he appeared around the corner, he pulled the trigger on his MAC-10 Uzi, firing a stream of bullets straight towards me. Two of the bullets caught me, driving into the left side of my bulletproof vest and causing me to grunt in pain, feeling as though I’d just been hit twice with a sledgehammer. Using the two dead guys as cover, I tackled them down the stairs, hurtling our bodies towards the third guy as he continued to fire off round after round. Aiming forward, I blasted the second shell from my shotgun into the third thug’s chest, shredding the skin from his hands and causing him to yell wildly as he dropped his Uzi. The three of us plowed into him and we tumbled violently down the stairs, my body slamming into flailing limbs and the pointed angles of the stairs. It hurt like hell as we rounded the corner, slamming into a fourth thug who was standing in the middle and jumped sideways to try and avoid us but couldn’t.
He stepped backward, almost losing his balance as the four of us slowed to a painful stop. I felt like hell. Pain surged from every corner of my body as I struggled to my feet, still gripping my dive knife tightly in my left hand. Just as I looked up the fourth guy, who was much bigger and stronger than the other guys, slammed his meaty fist across the side of my face, causing my head to snap sideways and blood to spray out of my mouth. It felt like he’d broken half of the muscles in my face as I turned back to engage him. I was met with a strong front kick, his massive boot hitting me square in the chest like a freight train and knocking all of the air from my lungs. I fell backward, landing on top of the three sprawled out bodies behind me.
As I looked up, rage coursi
ng through my veins, I saw the barrel of the big thug’s revolver aiming straight at my head. It was hard to tell on the stairs, but he looked to be at least six-foot-five and probably weighed two hundred and fifty pounds. He had dark tanned skin and black hair cut close to his scalp. His black eyes glared at me and a vein stuck out from his forehead as his face contorted, revealing his anger.
“Where are they?” he snarled, pulling back the hammer of his revolver and moving the end of the barrel within a few inches of my face.
I took a few quick breaths, assessing the situation for a moment before replying. My mind was dazed from the blow and I pictured the image of Ryan’s dying body in the back of the helicopter. I spit out a spray of blood, the red gobs splattering across his gray cutoff shirt that was stretched so tight from his bulging muscles that it looked like it would tear at any moment.
Staring deep into his menacing eyes, I said, “Fuck you.”
His eyes grew wide and he growled violently as he wiped a few red splotches from his face. “Where are they?” he yelled while bringing his revolver sideways and slamming the handle towards my forehead.
I forced my head back in an instant, the handle soaring less than an inch from my forehead as I squeezed my hands around his massive wrist and jammed the gun into the brick wall beside us. The revolver fell from his grasp, clattering down the wooden steps beneath us. Still digging my hands into his right wrist, I punched him square in the nose, feeling the fragile bones crack under my knuckles. His massive head jerked backward as blood flowed down over his mouth. I tried to stand up, but before I could, his bulky hands were wrapped around my neck, his fingers squeezing the life out of me. He growled, and I felt my windpipe start to crack as he squeezed even harder, his eyes bulging out of his blood-splattered face.
As the world around me started to fade, I jerked my chin into my chest then bit down on his left thumb, feeling it crack like a carrot between my teeth. He yelled out viciously and loosened his grip just enough for me to force his hands off me. Gasping for a quick breath, I dug my heels into his massive chest and straightened my legs with all of my strength, kicking his body backward. The oversized thug slammed onto his back, tumbling down the stairs with one loud crash after another. I distinctly heard more than one major bone crack before he finally slowed to a stop around the corner and out of my view.
My body still hurt like hell from my own roll down the stairs as I rose to my feet. My jaw felt funny and the right side of my face screamed in pain from when the big thug had hit me with a hulking left hook. Looking down at my left side I saw where the two bullets had hit me and were still lodged in the Kevlar and sticking into my skin. Sure, wearing the bulletproof vest had saved my life, but it still hurt like hell and it felt like I’d severely bruised that entire part of my body.
Reaching for my bloody dive knife resting two steps up from me, I wiped off the blood and slid it back into my sheath. Grabbing my Sig from my leg holster, I held it in both hands as I moved down the stairs, ready just in case more thugs had decided to join in on the party.
As I rounded the corner, I saw thug number four’s enormous body lodged against the wall with his head tilted in an unnatural angle and his limbs sprawled out around him. Blood poured out from his open mouth as his body lay motionless.
“The bigger they are the harder they fall,” I said as I stepped over him. He’d been inches away from killing me and I found myself thankful for all of the hours I’d spent in the gym over the years doing leg presses.
CHAPTER
TWENTY
Reaching the bottom of the stairs, I climbed over the wreckage of shattered wood that was piled up in the doorway and stepped outside. With my Sig raised shoulder height, I did a quick scan of the area around me, looking for any sign of movement. There were two dead thugs just outside the doorway into the lighthouse, their bodies covered with blood and pieces of shrapnel as they lay motionless in the sand. The entire house had been consumed by a blazing inferno, with powerful yellow flames that burned so hot I could feel them on my exposed skin from over two hundred feet away.
As I moved my aching body to the other side of the lighthouse, doing a quick survey of the island, I saw that one of the dead thugs had been carrying a green Alejandro sniper rifle. I grinned as I crouched down, rolled the corpse over and picked up the Cuban made, long range rifle which had its standard PSO-1 scope attached to it. I did a quick inspection of the weapon to make sure that it was loaded and ready to fire, then holstered my Sig and held the sniper rifle in my hands as I stood up.
Looking over the portions of the island that were within view, it appeared as though that had been all of the thugs. As I glanced towards the eastern beach, I saw that one of the thug’s boats had left, but the other was still sitting idly in the surf, rocking up and down slightly with each crashing wave. Though my body hurt like hell and my chest was starting to drip out blood through the bulletproof vest, I knew what I had to do.
Lumbering my way south towards the other side of the island, I soon reached the place where I’d left Chris and his family to hide. I let out a sigh of relief at knowing that their hiding place hadn’t been disturbed at all since I’d left it. Stepping onto the large, wooden sheet, I stomped my right heal three times, letting them know it was me. Then, in a loud voice, I yelled out my name a few times, just in case.
Falling to my knees, I pushed a few piles of the white sand aside then pried my fingers under the wood and pulled up. When I’d lifted it a few feet off the ground I got some help from Cynthia who was pressing her hands up against it. The four of them looked worried and I could see that they’d been sweating a lot, all of their shirts almost soaked with it. It was now approaching 0700 and was probably already seventy degrees outside. And I knew that it would be much hotter in a tight space like the one they were hiding in.
“The island’s clear for now,” I said, catching my breath.
“Logan!” Cynthia said, staring at the blood oozing out from my left side. She stepped out of the hole and placed her hands on my bulletproof vest. “You got shot?” she said, her eyes glancing up to look at mine.
“Yea, twice,” I said, trying to blow it off and not think about it, hoping that might make it a little more bearable.
“What do you mean, for now?” Chris asked. “I thought that was the last of them. I thought help was coming.”
I shrugged. “There’s no way of knowing.” Then Cynthia started to remove the Velcro strap of my bulletproof vest, causing me to wince and step back. “It’s fine!” I said sternly.
“No, it’s not!” she fired back and closed the distance I’d made between us. “I need to stop the bleeding.” She lifted up a portion of the vest. Then, telling me to hold still, she pulled out the bullets which were sticking about three-quarters of a way into my side. Grabbing a handkerchief from her back pocket, she dabbed some of the blood from my skin.
“There’s no time,” I said, waving her hands away from me and pulling the vest back over me. Grabbing the vest, she tucked the handkerchief under it, covering the wounds, and the tightness of the Velcro as I strapped it back down provided sufficient pressure to keep most of the blood at bay. It wasn’t ideal of course, but it would do for the time being. Then addressing all four of them, I said, “Stay on the island and be careful.” Then I looked up over the northern tip of the island, focusing on the top portion of the ship which was all that was visible far off in the distance. Taking a few deep breaths, I added, “I’m going to the ship and I’m gonna finish this.”
I ushered Cynthia back into the hole and started to lower the wooden plank, but she stopped me. Holding her hands up against the mahogany, she stared deep into my eyes.
“ Logan, stop!” she said. “Just wait. Calm down and think this over.”
“I’m sick as shit of waiting. You saw what those assholes did.” I motioned to the thin line of smoke still rising up into the eastern sky, coming from the wrecked Coast Guard helicopter. “And they’ll do it again when more help
comes. No, I’m taking these guys down.”
“But you’re hurt. How can you even expect to make it onto that ship, let alone fight all of them?”
I took in a deep breath then sighed and said, “I have to try.”
Looking at the two young girls clutching to their father’s leg, I saw tears welling up in their eyes.
“Be careful, Logan,” Alex said, sniffling and burying her face in her dad’s chest.
Though it hurt like hell I bent down beside her and said, “I will. I’m gonna get you and your family off this island. Even if it kills me, I’m gonna get you all out of here.”
Rising back to my feet, I stared into Cynthia’s teary eyes and nodded before turning and heading North, towards the other side of the island. As I passed by the what remained of the burning house, I started to move in a crouching position, keeping my body hidden from view behind the shrub line. Those assholes had made two very big mistakes. First, they’d blown that helicopter full of innocent Coast Guardsman out of the sky, killing the three guys inside including Ryan, a young married guy who’d recently had a baby. The second big ass mistake they’d made was that they’d sent a thug to the island carrying a sniper rifle. Bad idea.
When I reached a thick patch of bushes just a few hundred feet from the northern beach, I dropped down onto my stomach with the sniper rifle in my hands in front of me. There was a soft breeze blowing through the grass and shrubs, allowing me to move without drawing attention to myself. I crawled towards a small sandbank, keeping my body as close to the ground as I could and trying to calm my breathing. When I’d crawled to the top of the sandbank which was covered with thick, green vines, I poked my head up over the sand and grass just enough to spot the ship still anchored about a half of a mile from shore, idly swaying in the current.