by William Oday
Alcatraz.
53
The craggy face of Alcatraz Island rose alone in the water. The rock had been hewn flat in places to create terraces of usable land. The lighthouse stood on the highest level at the south end. Buildings dotted the surrounding area. A passenger ferry was parked dockside.
Mason scanned the horizon and saw no other boats on the water. His approach wouldn’t go unnoticed.
And they weren’t going to roll out the welcome mat.
He needed a plan.
He looked around the boat.
There was the dead guy and little else. A glove box with a missing lock was next to the steering wheel. He flipped it open and found some discolored bobbers, an assortment of rusted hooks, a small flashlight, and a tattered old captain’s hat.
He took the flashlight and clicked it. To his surprise, the bulb glowed. A working flashlight. A nice find which did nothing to help his current situation.
He checked his watch. Forty-two minutes until the scheduled execution.
The sun climbed in the sky.
Minutes passed.
And then a plan sprang into his mind. It was ridiculous. Odds were even that it would get him killed, but death was a certainty if he pulled up expecting to be greeted like an old friend.
The dead delta.
The pack of gum in his pocket.
The captain’s hat.
The flashlight.
A ridiculous plan was better than nothing and so he got to work.
He tied the dock line around the steering wheel and secured it to the supports below the seat, making sure the boat was aimed a little north of the dock to account for the current pushing out to sea. He retrieved the flashlight, extracted the AA battery, and dropped it into his pocket.
Next, Mason pulled the body up into the pilot’s seat. He used more of the rope and tied the poor guy to the seat. He grabbed the captain’s hat and snugged it down over the dead man’s drooping head.
Did he say ridiculous?
That was being kind.
He crouched down into the bottom of the boat, staying low to avoid detection. He crawled back behind the rear seat. He threw open compartments and found the fuel reservoir. He unscrewed the cap and was happy to see the tank was half-full.
Mason tore long, uneven strips out of his ruined shirt.
If this worked, MacGyver would have to bow down to him. Except that the actor that once played that ingenious character was no doubt dead either from old age or the Delta Virus.
Mason tied the cotton strips together until he had about six feet of length.
He glanced over the seat to check on the distance.
The dock and the ferry were less than a hundred yards away. Several police officers stood there with M4 rifles zeroed on his position. One stared through binoculars.
Mason ducked back behind the seat. He wadded the length of shirt up and dunked it into the fuel tank. He pulled out the soaked fabric and unwound it. One end went back into the tank.
He dug the pack of Juicy Fruit out of his pocket and pulled out a stick. He unwrapped the foil wrapper and popped the gum into his mouth.
The first one had already lost its flavor.
With his hands bobbing up and down trying to compensate for the waves battering the side of the boat, he carefully folded the wrapper lengthwise in half. He then folded a triangle and tore it along the crease.
After unfolding it, he ended up with a wrapper that looked like a bowtie. Wide at the ends with a thin connection in the middle.
This was so not going to work.
“Stop the vessel or you will be fired upon!” a megaphone bellowed.
Mason squirmed over the stern, carefully trailing the wet strip of shirt behind him. A wave tossed him off balance and his leg touched the motor. The hot metal singed his skin. He jerked away.
CRACK.
A bullet snapped by.
“Stop the vessel immediately!”
The boat motored on now forty yards away and closing fast.
CRACK. CRACK. CRACK.
Blood splattered through the air. At least the guy was already dead.
Mason peeked around the seat.
Time was up.
He fished the battery out of his pocket, bracing himself with one shoe pushing against the motor mount. He held the end of the soaked cloth next to the narrow middle of the gum wrapper.
With the foil side in, he touched one end to the bottom of the battery. He folded the other end over and touched it to the top terminal of the battery.
The narrow middle of the wrapper smoked, blackened, and caught fire. A tiny blue flame leapt up. It caught the fuel-soaked cloth and a blue flame raced forward over the stern.
Mason took a deep breath and pushed off into the water as the boat sped into the dock.
The freezing water hit him like a wall and dragged him under.
He righted himself looking up through several feet of water.
A bright orange flashed overhead. A huge yellow cloud of flame surged above the surface. The intense heat briefly penetrated down into the water.
Mason dug into the water, kicking in the direction he was pretty sure would put him under the dock. A shadow slipped overhead. His lungs ached as he pushed deeper into the shadows.
He went as far as he could, to the point that his lungs burned and heart pounded wildly in his chest, before surfacing and gasping for air. He looked up and was relieved to discover he’d made it under the dock a good ways.
At the far end, a flaming fireball burned. The end of the wood dock had caught. Shouting voices above verified that the distraction had been a success.
Mason continued on below the dock until he found a ladder rising out of the water along the sea wall. He climbed up until he could just peek over.
A small building that was once a public restroom for tourists lay between him and the other end of the dock where the boat had hit. A dozen people ran around dealing with the fire.
Mason ducked as a police officer ran toward him and disappeared into the bathroom.
Mason didn’t think.
He acted.
He pulled himself up and headed for the door.
Voices shouted and he didn’t stop to find out if any of them were referring to him.
He shot through the door and slammed into the officer coming back out. The man’s eyes went wide with surprise, but only for a second.
The next instant they rolled up into his head after Mason chopped a knife hand into his temple.
Mason caught him and dragged him back inside. He dragged the inert form into a bathroom stall and closed the door.
In minutes, he wore a dark blue uniform whereas the unconscious man wore only a birthday suit.
Mason stuffed the guy’s skivvies into his mouth to keep him quiet when he finally woke up. He cuffed the poor guy to a pipe.
He stood up and checked himself over. The fit wasn’t all that bad. The pants pinched in the groin and the cuffs rode high on his socks, but it would do.
He strapped on the belt and holster. He drew a nice forty caliber Sig Sauer P226. He inched back the slide and found a chambered round. He slipped the officer’s hat down over his brow.
Mason checked his watch.
7:44.
Sixteen minutes to save his daughter.
54
BETH peeled off the slick latex gloves that were now more red than blue. She dropped each into a biohazard bin and let out a big sigh. An exhale of tension that had been stuck in her chest the entire time she’d been patching up the poor dog.
Buddy’s skull was intact.
That was the important thing.
He was still intubated and anesthetized. His vitals were stable, but she guarded against false hope. If there was brain swelling, he could still be in trouble. She knew how quickly things could turn just when you thought you were in the clear.
Best case scenario, he would survive with no brain damage and nothing more than an impressive scar where the sti
tches held together the wound.
She gently stroked the top of his head. His sweet eyes were pinched closed. His chest rose and fell.
Iridia went about cleaning up after as she had learned to do over the last two months.
Beth glanced at the clock on the wall.
7:44 in the morning.
Her chest squeezed tight and her head swam in circles.
Caring for Buddy had focused her attention, had blocked out everything else but the task at hand.
The mission to save a life.
Her reality was timeless during such times. Unfortunately, the effect didn’t extend to the surrounding world.
She grabbed Iridia’s phone off the counter and flicked it on. She navigated to the global text and clicked the link to the live broadcast. The screen froze for a few seconds and then an image appeared.
The screen showed the one hundred lottery winners seated in front of a stage, like they were waiting for the band to arrive. Only there were no instruments in view.
The raised platform was seven feet off the ground. On the right side, there was a podium and a microphone. On the left side, a heavy crossbeam was supported by thick posts on both sides. There were two ropes hanging from the horizontal beam.
Each rope ended in a noose.
Beth’s legs went numb. She doubled over a counter to keep from falling down.
Iridia was at her side an instant later.
Miro had said he and Mason split up last night. Her husband was going to Alcatraz to save their daughter and Elio.
Where was he?
The last Miro saw of him, a pack of deltas was chasing him south deeper into the Red Zone. She knew Mason was resourceful beyond what most people could ever hope to attain, but he wasn’t Superman.
He couldn’t fly and shoot lasers out of his eyes.
He was flesh and bone. And as determined and skillful as he was, that meant he could be stopped.
He could be killed.
Which meant their daughter was doomed.
Beth turned away. She couldn’t watch.
She turned back.
She couldn’t not watch.
Not when she might be witnessing the final minutes of her beautiful baby’s life.
Oh God, please no.
Save her. Save them both.
The view cut to another camera. This one centered on faded green double doors in a squat building that must’ve been the jail house. Figures emerged from the dark interior a few seconds later.
This time, Beth’s legs gave out completely. Iridia caught her mid-fall and guided her into a nearby chair.
Her baby shuffled out of the shadows and into the light. Theresa raised her hands to shield her eyes from the sun. Shackles secured her wrists together. Another did the same for her ankles.
Elio walked beside her. His bald head scuffed with dirt and blood. His face was a purpled mess of contused tissue. Someone had clearly beat him half to death.
Where was Mason?
Was he alive?
They were surrounded by prison guards, their gray uniforms a marked contrast to the dark blue uniforms of the police officers in the area. A priest walked along behind with his head bowed in prayer. His long, black robes fluttered in the wind. He carried a scepter of dark polished wood with a large golden cross on top. The skin on half his face looked like it had been burned or melted.
Theresa tripped and the guard walking next to her grabbed her arm and yanked her back up.
“My baby!” Beth shouted at the small screen. She wanted to jam a scalpel into his eye for touching Theresa.
The camera followed the group as they walked down a ramp and eventually made it to the stage. This wider view showed the towering lighthouse on the terrace above.
Gabriel Cruz stood behind the lectern with a manufactured solemn look on his face. Like the weight of the world rested on his shoulders.
The lying murderer!
Theresa and Elio were escorted up the steps to the gallows. Elio jerked away from the guards and lunged to Theresa. He wrapped one arm around her and pulled her close.
A guard yanked his arm back. Two guards dragged him away.
Theresa and Elio were each lined up in front of a red square metal panel in the floor of the stage.
The trapdoors.
One of the guards walked over to the left edge of the stage. A long lever stuck up out of the floor.
Beth knew what would happen when he pulled that handle.
“Where is Mason?” she shouted as tears blurred the screen.
Iridia looked around. “Where is Miro?”
She ran out of the O.R. and Beth heard doors opening and closing. She came back a minute later.
“He’s gone.”
55
THERESA went limp trying to drop to the ground but the guards holding each of her arms held her up. Her feet dragged along behind as they carried her up the steps to the platform where the two nooses hung.
She screamed, but no sound came out.
It couldn’t be real, couldn’t be happening…
But it was.
It wasn’t a bad dream that the morning light would drive away.
The morning light had made this nightmare real.
An invisible blanket suffocated her, made the air too thick to breathe. It separated her from everything, making the proceedings feel like they were happening to someone else. Or maybe they were happening to a version of herself that was one dimension removed.
The realities overlapped enough so that she knew it was her about to be hanged. But it remained far enough away to not concern her overly much.
At the same time, a raging animal shrieked inside her chest.
Elio lurched toward her and embraced her as much as the shackles around his wrists allowed.
“I will always love you.”
She wanted to tell him the same thing, but her mouth wouldn’t make words.
The guards dragged him away.
She was dragged across the platform and turned around to face her destiny.
A couple of feet in front of her hung a noose. Below it was a four by four foot red trap door. Beyond that, a small crowd of people were seated. Most looked horrified, but a few stared with eager anticipation. In front of the crowd, a camera on a tripod was pointed at the stage.
The priest that had escorted them out stood below in front of the stage. It was the first good look she’d gotten of him and wished she hadn’t. The right half of his face was a horrific ruin of scarred skin.
“Good citizens of the United States of America,” a voice droned.
She turned to her left and saw President Cruz standing behind a lectern twenty feet away, his posture stiff and solemn like a wise professor about to teach the class an invaluable lesson.
He adjusted his glasses and then adjusted the microphone in front of him. The morning sun glinted off his smooth head. “The administration of justice is a heavy weight that any culture striving for liberty must bear.”
He gestured to them. “You see before you two criminals who have been found guilty of murder. A functioning society must both have and enforce a basic framework for justice. It is this social compact that ensures the right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.”
President Cruz gripped both sides of the podium.
“The unwarranted taking of a life is one such inviolate rule if any of our lives are to have value. These two took a police officer’s life.”
He paused while presumably the viewing audience reflected on the horror.
It was a horror.
Theresa agreed one hundred percent. But it wasn’t murder. It was an accident. The guard wasn’t apprehending her, he was choking her to death.
And in trying to defend themselves, he had accidentally tripped and fallen off the roof.
Not that the truth mattered.
They wouldn’t be here now if it did.
“And so even in these desperate times when the usual mechanisms of government are i
mpossible to engage, we have done our best to respect the traditions of the criminal justice system. They have been tried, convicted, and sentenced to death.”
Theresa didn’t remember any trial.
“As you know, I was forced to make this execution required viewing for all citizens. We must not shirk away from our duty, no matter how distasteful it may be. We must do the hard things to safeguard our future, to protect a world for our children to inherit.”
He stepped from behind the podium and approached the edge of the stage. He stared into the camera like an actor in an Oscar winning role.
“As your President, I promise you that, together, we will make this country great again. We will rebuild. We will bring together the survivors from across the land. As the thirteen colonies began on the East Coast, we will gather again on the West Coast to fortify our strength and resolve. And when the time is right, America will again stretch from sea to shining sea. It is our destiny!”
President Cruz paced back behind the podium. He checked his watch.
“It is time.” He gestured to the priest standing at the bottom of the steps. “We will now offer a prayer for their souls. Because while justice must necessarily be blind, it does not have to be heartless. Father Roberts?”
The man with the ruined face ascended the steps and took the President’s place behind the microphone. He carried a shiny wood staff with an ornate golden cross on top. “Thank you, Mr. President.” He faced the crowd. “Please close your eyes and join me in prayer.
Dear Father, it is when we are surrounded by iniquity that our faith is tested most and also when it is most valuable.
Only too recently, mankind thought itself the master of all it surveyed. Our pride held us above You and Your laws. With our technology and our greed, we falsely believed ourselves to be gods. And where did that lead us?
To the only place it ever could… to ruin. To damnation. And so we suffered for our sins. Like the flood of ancient times, another wave came and wiped out humanity. Pushed us to the brink of extinction for our sins.
And so God will punish all those who break His word.
We pray, Oh Lord, that You cleanse the sin from all of our souls, as we each in our own way have so many times chosen ourselves above You.”