Shattered Shell

by Brendan DuBois

Glass showered over me and Felix grunted, and I rolled back down, dropping my head behind the seat. The car fishtailed again, the rear end slamming into a frozen snowbank, and Felix cursed in Italian and yelled, "Are you hurt?"

  "I don't think so," I yelled back.

  "How about you?"

  "Just mightily pissed. Hold on."

  The road was bumpy and Felix was speeding along, sliding and braking. I got up and spared a look to the rear. Most of the window was gone, broken glass littering the back seat. Headlights were back there in the darkness, following us, moving up and down as the other car speeded across the bumps. The interior of the car was colder and Felix drove like a whirling dervish, pumping the accelerator, braking and turning with a hard-edged fury, slamming the side of the steering wheel with his hands. We raced down the access road and I held on to my door handle and desperately I tried to find my pistol with a free hand, moving across the fabric, finding nothing. My right foot nudged something and I reached down and came up with a night scope instead, and I got a cracked skull for my troubles as Felix whipped through a curve, another loud bang! echoing from inside the car as we broadsided a snowbank.

  I looked up, head aching, tears in my eyes, as I made out a streetlight, and I yelled out, "Street's coming up!"

  "I see it!" he shouted back. "How are we doing back there?"

  I turned and said, "About sixty feet or so. They're moving pretty fast."

  "Okay," he said, as we plowed through onto the main road, going about as fast as a landing space shuttle, "let's see if --- damn it to hell!"

  There was a screech of tires as Felix spun left and just as sharply spun right, sliding out into the street. There was a flash of headlights and the blare of horns and another fishtail, and then we were racing down the road, heading toward Plum Island. I finally sat up, heart pounding, my legs shaking. There was the roar of the' engine and the rushing sound of the wind through the empty hole where the rear window had been, and I bent down and frantically rooted around, finally coming up with my Beretta.

  "What the hell was that back there?" I demanded. "Simple," he said, as we raced past the frozen fields and marshlands. "Just as we popped out on the street, I saw headlights from where we came in. Another car. If we had headed back to town, they could have boxed us in."

  I looked back and saw one and then two sets of headlights charging behind us. "Shit," I said.

  "Very perceptive," Felix said, glancing at the rearview mirror, "Mind reminding me what we got ahead of us? And make it quick."

  Which was true. Ahead of us was the straight lane of the road, heading into the low lights of Plum Island. I stammered for a second and said, "Plum Island. Wildlife preserve to the south. The village is to the north. Probably just a few hundred people there in the winter. If we can get into the town, dump the car, we'll be all right. We'll dive into a cottage or something and call the cops."

  "Are we still in Newburyport?" Felix said, voice grim. "That asshole police detective will give us a hard time."

  I almost laughed. "Christ on a crutch, Tinios, we're being chased by two carloads of bad guys. I don't care if we're hassled by the ghost of J. Edgar Hoover. Look, after we cross over the bridge, either go straight or go left. That will bring us into town. Whatever you do, don't turn right."

  There was a small drawbridge coming up and we were moving so fast that we were airborne just for a moment, long enough for me to hit my head again on the car roof as we rose up. We slammed down and there was a scraping sound, and I wondered what fool would ever rent a car to Felix ever again. I spared another glance back.

  “Looks like they're gaining," I said.

  Felix also glanced back. "Hate to say you're right. Okay, here we ---“

  Then he shut up, just swearing again in Italian, as we flew by orange and black signs that said DETOUR and ROAD CLOSED and ONE LANE AHEAD and the intersection was blocked off, only the road to the right and one lane straight ahead being open. Sets of headlights were screaming toward us and Felix jammed on the brakes and I slammed my hand forward on the dashboard as we slewed to the right.

  "Felix!" I yelled, but there was nothing we could do.

  We were now heading down a narrow road. Ahead were two signs: WELCOME TO THE PLUM ISLAND WILDLIFE REFUGE. And another: DEAD END.

  For the first time I saw real fear on Felix's face. "Jesus, Lewis, I'm sorry."

  I just stared ahead, not knowing what to say.

  In a matter of moments we were at a length of chain near a wooden guard shack, blocking the parking lot entrance. Another slam of the brakes, but we hit a patch of ice, and Felix turned and buried the front end into a snowbank. I bucked forward, injuring my head for the third time that night, and Felix got out, yelling, "Let's go, let’s go!"

  He had popped the trunk lid from inside and I was right with him, the soft interior light making everything look innocent. I had my Beretta in my coat pocket and a couple of spare magazines on the holster, and looking into the trunk, I made a quick choice. The zippered bag with the rifle went over my shoulder and the shotgun stayed behind. We would be running through snow and sand dunes, moving fast. A shotgun is good for close work and the rifle was good for long work, and I didn't want to be close to anyone. This took all of a second or two to decide, but I was still fairly slow, for by the time I stood up, with the heavy weight over my shoulder, Felix had already slammed the trunk lid and was running across the parking lot, spare ammo in his hands.

  I joined him and saw the lights of our pursuers come roaring up the park road.

  We ran past darkened park buildings, heading into the wildlife preserve, and with each step the pounding in my heart grew louder. Felix stopped as we reached a set of wooden boardwalks, and 1 said, "This isn't good, Felix, this isn't good at all."

  "No shit."

  "No, I mean this place. It's just sand dunes and beaches. No trees, no forests, nothing except sand, brush, and grass. Not a hell of a lot of hiding places."

  From beyond the dark parking lot came the sounds of doors slamming and loud voices. I could just barely make out Felix's form in the dark. "Well, complaining's not going to do much tonight except waste air. You have any suggestions?"

  "Yeah, let's get off the boardwalk, start going into the dunes."

  "We just passed a sign that said stay on the boardwalks," he said, trying to make his voice sound light.

  "We get any complaints, I'll take care of it."

  "Deal."

  We leaped from the boardwalk onto a nearby dune --- no use painting a picture for our pursuers ---and we scrambled up the sand and snow. The wind was starting to come up and I was breathing harshly as we climbed up the shifting sands. As we neared the crest I grabbed Felix's leg and said in a whisper, "Don't stand up as we get to the top. You'll be silhouetted from the moonlight. Hunch down and roll across."

  He said nothing but did as I requested, and I joined him, rolling across the sands and snow. We went up two successive dunes like that, and then I grabbed his arm this time and said, "Quick rest break."

  "You got it."

  Felix lay next to me, his breathing slow and steady, while my own lungs were racing to keep up. The snow up here had been blown away by the constant winds, and the hardy dune grasses were still clinging to life. Felix shifted and then he had a night-vision scope in his hands, and I was flushed with embarrassment, knowing my own scope was left behind in the wrecked Camry.

  "See anything?"

  "Yeah, I do," he said, his voice slightly muffled. "At least eight or nine guys, and they're doing a pretty good job. They're moving in a skirmish line, beating their way here, taking their time. Damn it, this is one narrow island. They could practically hold hands and walk across."

  He lowered the glasses. "You think we should split up?”

  "No," I said instantly. "We'll be splitting up our firepower."

  Felix paused. "Pretty bold words, Lewis. What have you got in mind?"

  I tugged my bag free from my shoulder. "You're right, this is
one damn narrow island. Eventually we're going to be at the south end, right on the beach with the ocean at our back, and this is no night for swimming."

  The bag was free and I took the heavy FN 8mm rifle out, feeling the smoothness of the wooden stock. It's old, and when I had purchased it I made the excuse that I was investing in an antique. But it's also Belgian-made (Fabrique Nationale) and quite accurate, and on this cold and lonely night with the sand against my belly and the sound of the winds and waves about my head, I was thankful for its ten-round magazine.

  "Lewis---" Felix began.

  "So they're chasing us south," I said, putting the rifle up to my shoulder. "So let's slow them down. Let's put the fear of God into them for a change. I'll rip off a few rounds and then we'll scurry back to the next dune. We'll make them hesitate before going up every dune. Damn it, I'm tired of being a target. You got a problem with that?"

  "Hell, no," Felix said. "I was just going to offer to be a spotter, that's all. Let's get to it."

  Felix crawled up next to me, night-vision scope to his eyes, and said, "Off to the left, boardwalk. Maybe a hundred yards. Two guys, talking and pointing. Got them?"

  The FN had no scope, just open iron sights, which was fine. I clicked the sights to one hundred meters --- being Belgian, it was metric --- and breathed in. The wooden boardwalk was clear enough in the starlight and the light from the new moon, and I saw to dark shapes Felix had mentioned, just before a set of smaller dunes. I had no great expectations of marksmanship this winter night. 1 only wanted to keep their heads down, slow their advance until Felix and I could think of something else.

  I breathed in and out, and said, "They still there?"

  "Sure are."

  "Okay, here it goes," I said, and gently squeezed the trigger.

  The first shot scared even me, the report quite loud and the muzzle flash looking like a tiny blowtorch in the night. I fired off three additional rounds, shifting my aim just a bit with each shot, the recoil no bother at all, and Felix slapped me on the back and said, "Let's go," and I moved down the slope of the dune with him, sand cascading around our feet, the smell of burnt gunpowder quite strong.

  "Did you see anything?"

  "They both dropped."

  "But I probably missed."

  "Probably," he said. "But they both dropped."

  From the other side of the dunes came the sound of return gunfire, and a few yells, and the sounds made me smile. I felt good. We were fighting back.

  Another two dunes, and we were on our bellies again. Felix had the scope back up. "The little bastards are more cautious," he said. "They're moving real slow."

  "Can you see what they've got for weapons?" I asked.

  "Pistols and shotguns, best I can tell," he said.

  "Good," I said. "No distance. All right, off to the left. Any target out there? I don't want them outflanking us."

  He sighted in and scanned for a moment, and said, "Looks like a wooden trail sign. Kind of big. Can you make it out?"

  I looked down over the rifle's sights. "No. Give me more."

  "Straight ahead and straight down. Catch the boardwalk. Move to the left. Some scrub brush, some sand, another chunk of the boardwalk, and the sign."

  Square, dark shape. "Got it."

  I fired off three more rounds, then Felix and I scrambled off to the right. The FN doesn't have a muzzle flash guard, and with every shot, we were showing them our positions. When we stopped again, breathing hard, I said, "Anything?"

  "You dropped him," Felix said, his voice a bit peculiar.

  "You mean he fell?"

  "No, I think you shot him. He fell back pretty hard."

  "Oh."

  I suppose I should have felt remorse, some regret at what I had just done. But blame it on the cold and the night's wild ride, and my own terrible walk the other night in North Tyler after being shot at, for what I truly felt: I was glad no one was coming up our 1eft flank.

  Felix kept moving the night scope back and forth, and said, 'Damn it, they're too quick now. By the time I tell you where they are, they've moved somewhere else."

  "Just give me a general direction, that's all I need."

  "That's not going to work for long."

  "I know. But it'll give us time."

  "Time for what?"

  "Time for someone to hear the gunshots and call the cops," I said.

  Felix looked around at the scrub brush, the hills and ravines and dunes and sand piles, and said, "Well, they must be tripping over themselves to get there, 'cause I don't see a single damn person, except for the bastards trying to get us."

  "Fishermen come out here at night, do some surf fishing."

  "In January? With this wind?"

  I raised up my rifle. "Damn it, Felix, if you can't agree with me, at least give me some targets. Where to?"

  He muttered something and said, "A bit off to my right. Down where two dunes look like they intersect. I saw a couple of heads poke up."

  "Got it."

  Another shot, and then another, and then a click. Magazine was empty. Time to reload.

  Return fire, a bit closer this time, and that awful bone-chilling wheee! that comes when a copper-jacketed slug of lead goes zipping over your head at several hundred feet per second. Felix joined in this time, the gunfire from his pistol very loud.

  "Fools are getting better," Felix said, as we tumbled down the slope of the dune, heading to another rise of sand.

  "I can handle them getting better," I said. "I can't handle them getting good. That would be terrible."

  Three more dunes, and two more reloads on my part. The last time Felix had surprised me by pulling out his pistol and firing a half dozen shots off to the right.

  "Jesus!" he had said when he was done and we had scampered off to another wiling mass of sand. "That guy was good. He was coming right up the slope."

  I didn't ask him the obvious question, if he had hit anything, I figured he'd tell me in his own good time. Right now I was on my stomach again, trying to keep my teeth from chattering. I would put one hand in my coat pocket to warm it up, and then repeat the process with the other. Hat and gloves were back in the Camry, along with the night scope. Sloppy. Felix had his pistol in one hand and the night scope up to his eyes.

  "Anything?" I asked.

  "Nothing. They're either hunkered down or they're making a wide sweep. That's what I would do. Get down to the beach on this side of the island, dog-trot down to the end, and then reverse and come back up on the dunes to the south of us."

  "Nice thoughts."

  "That's what they're probably doing."

  "Well, they could be discussing how to surrender."

  A short laugh. "Well, if that happens, you can be the gentlemen who handles the surrender terms. I'm getting too cold and cranky."

  "It is getting cold."

  "Too cold, and too tiring. How's your ammo?"

  "One full magazine in the rifle, ten rounds," I said. "Haven't used any thing from my Beretta. How about you?"

  "One magazine in the pistol. That's it."

  I reached under my jacket and tugged at my shoulder holster.

  There were two full clips of 9mm ammunition hanging there, which I pulled free and passed over to Felix, along with my own pistol. “Here. Strip my ammo out and reload your clips."

  "Lewis, you're going -- "

  "Felix, I'm going to need you armed more than anything else. Do it and shut up."

  He said nothing in return, but his hands got busy as he ripped the 9mm rounds from my full magazines and loaded up his empty Smith & Wesson magazines for his own pistol. I burrowed both hands in my coat and rolled over and looked up at the stars, listening to the soft click-click sounds as Felix worked. The stars were nice and bright and maybe it was the lateness of the hour, or my exhaustion or fear, but everything seemed to be a mishmash of lights in the sky, a random scattering that made no sense.

  Sort of what we were in the middle of.

  "Who are those g
uys?" I asked.

  "Robert Redford and Paul Newman," Felix said.

  "What?"

  "Line from their movie, right? ‘Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid.’ Halfway through the movie they're outnumbered and they're being chased, and one line they say, over and over again. Who are those guys?"

  "All right, so I stole the line. You tell me. Who are those guys?"

  Felix grunted and handed me back my now-empty magazines and empty pistol. It was a scary feeling, right there, knowing that I was almost out of ammunition.

  "No, you tell me. We start out looking for someone who raped your friend Kara, and a couple of weeks later we end up out here being shot at and being chased. So you answer the question. Who are those guys?"

  "Friends of Doug Miles, it seems."

  "A good guess, as good as any others."

  "Time for another chat with the young Doug Miles, don't you think?"

  Felix laughed. "If you and I are on speaking terms tomorrow, we'll chat about that. Right now, let's see if we can get out of hero. Any more ideas? And don't tell me we're still relying on your phantom fishermen."

  "Tell me what's going on down there."

  He shifted and scanned the dunes below us. "Nothing."

  "But they must be on the move."

  "Sure. Circling around on the beaches. Half of them are also probably staying back, in case we double back."

  "What's behind us? Any movements?"

  Felix moved around on the dune, the sands shifting, making a comforting scraping sound. It reminded me of when I was impossibly young and innocent, and when a shovel and sand pail and being with my parents at old Tyler Beach could keep me happy for hours.

  "Nothing. Just dunes and grass and scrub brush. And one utility pole."

  "A utility pole?"

  "Yep."

  "Any streetlight on it?"

  "Nope."

  "You see any wires running to it?"

  "Can't tell."

  "Is there a junction box or something, about a third of the way up from the bottom?"

  "Yeah, it looks like it."

  Something stirred in me, something I seized and would not let go of. "Felix, let's get moving. And let's head to the utility pole."