The sheriff turned to Keisha. ‘Ma’am, I’m mighty relieved to see y’all in one piece.’
Keisha seemed as though she was about to hug him, too, then saw the blood and the dangling arm and frowned in concern. ‘But you’re hurt, Sheriff,’ she said. ‘You’re hurt real bad. I’m a nurse. Let me take a look at it.’
Roque shook his head. ‘Thank you kindly, Ma’am, but it’ll have to wait. I got things to do. The first of which is to get you and these kids choppered offa this godforsaken island and back to Villeneuve. Officer Hogan, you did well tonight. I’m real proud of you.’
Hogan’s face was ashen but she beamed with satisfaction.
Roque said to Ben, ‘We’ll soon have this island crawlin’ with more state troopers and federal officers than you ever saw in your life. If Jayce Garrett’s still alive, we’ll find him. Unless, of course, someone else finds the dirtbag first.’ He raised an eyebrow.
Ben said, ‘Jayce is mine.’
‘Thought you might feel that way. Then you’d best go get him, son. I don’t suppose he’ll have got too far, with a busted hip. Before you go, reach in my pocket and tell me what you find in there. I can’t do it.’
Ben hesitated, then felt inside the sheriff’s blood-soaked right breast pocket. His fingers closed on something hard and thin and angular. He pulled it out and examined it under what little moonlight remained as the rainclouds blocked out the night sky. It was a blue and gold metal star, all sticky with blood.
‘You might have to clean it up a little,’ Roque said. ‘It’s yours.’
Ben wiped it on his sleeve and looked at it more closely, straining to see in the fading light. The badge’s centre bore a State of Louisiana eagle emblem with the words UNION; JUSTICE; CONFIDENCE. Below that it said CLOVIS PARISH, and above was a scroll displaying the title HONORARY DEPUTY SHERIFF.
‘You’ve got to be joking,’ Ben said.
‘I am not. Consider yourself sworn in as a special officer of the law, Mister Hope,’ Roque said. ‘Now whatever you do, it’s legal.’
‘I still want him alive.’
‘We can’t always get what we want, son. Anyhow, I think we’ve got all the evidence we need, if that’s what you’re worried about.’ Roque pointed at the Winchester in Ben’s hand. ‘How you doin’ for ammo?’
‘One round left,’ Ben said.
‘Maybe you oughtta take this old girl along, too,’ Roque said, offering him the Colt .45. ‘I don’t think I’ll be needin’ her again tonight.’
Ben took the sixgun and checked the cylinder. The old timers carried their Peacemakers loaded with five and the hammer on an empty chamber, for safety. Two live rounds were left. He ejected the three spent cartridge cases and reloaded them with spare shells from Roque’s gunbelt.
Roque said, ‘Now, Deputee. Whatever it takes to finish off that evil piece of shit Jayce Garrett, you go and get it done.’
Chapter 65
Now it had come down to just the pair of them. Like duellists or gladiators of olden times, each man would stand alone and face the other in single combat.
Ben was ready. He’d been born ready. Jayce Garrett had the advantage of being on home ground, but he was badly hurt. That much was obvious from the thickness of the blood trail that Ben was able to track away from the buildings even as the black storm clouds rolled ominously over the face of the moon.
Jayce would be moving slowly. He might not be able to get very far. But he was still dangerous, like a wounded man-eater crouched in a jungle thicket as a hunter stalked nearby, unaware of the hungry eyes watching him. Jayce could be lurking in any of the shadows of trees or tin huts that Ben passed in his search. He could have rearmed himself and be lying in wait to shoot his enemy at any moment. Ben didn’t dare to use his torch, for fear of making himself an obvious target in the darkness.
Now at last, the gathering storm that had been building up pressure all this time finally broke. The first fat raindrop splashed down on Ben’s shoulder, as heavy as a pigeon dropping. Then another, and another, and within moments a deluge was lashing down with fierce intensity, bouncing off the tin roofs of the Garrett compound and running in rivulets across the ground. A flash of lightning violently split the night sky, followed immediately by a rumbling snarl of thunder.
As the crack of the thunder died away, Ben suddenly heard an engine starting up. Not a truck this time; it sounded more like a motorcycle. Remembering the quad bikes parked near the house, he turned and took off in that direction. For a few moments he was disorientated, confused by the maze of pathways that crisscrossed here and there throughout the compound. Then he heard the rev of the engine more clearly and knew he was close.
As Ben went sprinting around a corner he glimpsed the quad bike speeding away from him with the dark figure of a man bent low over the handlebars as though desperately wringing every drop of power out of the machine. Jayce Garrett was tearing off towards the woods on the other side of the compound. Ben wondered what was down there. Jayce was obviously planning his escape somehow, and a speedboat was the most obvious answer. He couldn’t be allowed to get away.
Ben ran for the rest of the quads, praying that he’d find one with keys in the ignition. The rain was cascading and gushing from the roof of the lean-to under which the vehicles were parked. He ducked under the waterfall and quickly checked each one in turn.
No keys. That would delay him giving chase, but it wouldn’t stop him. He fell into a crouch by the nearest machine and shone his light under the steering column, looking for the nest of ignition wiring he could use to hotwire the thing. Then he saw the ripped-out spark plug cables lying on the ground, and realised that Jayce had anticipated his move and sabotaged all the remaining vehicles.
No time. No choice. Ben’s only option was to pursue him on foot. He swore and took off again, sprinting after the disappearing sound of the quad bike. Rivers of rainwater swirled under his feet and turned the hard-packed earth of the compound to slippery mud as he chased the tracks of the quad’s tyres. They led along a beaten path that twisted through the woods, but the terrain was so awash with water that he could barely follow them.
The storm was raging even harder now. Another flickering, strobing glare of lightning danced across the sky. Another crash of thunder. Then another, as continuous as an artillery barrage. Ben couldn’t hear the quad bike any more.
He slowed his pace and turned off his torch, suddenly anxious that Jayce might have pulled over and be waiting to ambush him. He stood there, dripping, straining his ears over the rolling thunder and willing his eyes to see into the impenetrable patches of shadow among the dense foliage, every muscle in his body tight with the knowledge that, at any moment, the hunter could become the hunted.
Then another flash of lightning sliced a brilliant white zigzag above the trees, and for an instant Ben was able to see the imprints of blocky all-terrain tyres, half washed away but still visible, telling him that Jayce had come this way and wasn’t lying in wait for him.
Ben ran on, stumbling in the mud, blinking rainwater from his eyes, whipped across the face and body by unseen branches. The torrent was coming down with fury, soaking him right through his ballistic vest and plastering his hair across his brow. Still, no gunshot rang out from the darkness. His cracked rib was burning like a hot brand inside his chest, but he ignored the pain by focusing all his mental energy on what lay ahead.
He was beyond the apex of the island’s humped curve and the ground was sloping downhill now, heading towards the eastern shore and the Bayou Sanglante beyond. As he emerged from the trees he could see the path winding down towards the water’s edge. A dark shape at the end of the path made him squint to see it clearly; then another white flash of lightning illuminated the shoreline and he saw that it was the quad bike, abandoned and overturned on its side with a wheel still spinning. This was the end of the line for motor vehicles, and its rider must have braked to a halt in such a hurry that he’d skidded and rolled the machine.
Ben
scrambled down the path to the quad. He could smell the sharp tang of leaking petrol. There was no sign of Jayce Garrett.
Then once more the sky frazzled with an arcing spasm of electricity that seared the horizon from north to south, and in its momentary strobe-light glare Ben made out the tracks in the long grass leading away from the overturned vehicle, all flattened out as if someone had dragged a wooden board over it. Jayce must have literally crawled away, determined to escape no matter how badly hurt.
But where had he gone?
In the lull before the next clap of thunder crashed and rolled overhead, Ben detected another sound. This time the motor he could hear firing up was the distinctive puttering chug of a marine outboard. His fears had been right. Jayce was going to try to escape by boat. Once he’d crossed the bayou he had a vast wilderness to lose himself in. Alive or dead, he might never be found or seen again.
Ben turned towards the sound, and through the curtain of lashing rain he saw the dark shape of a little boathouse down by the water’s edge, next to a pontoon with a fishing boom rig and a narrow jetty nearby.
Ben raced through the long, wet grasses and reeds towards the boathouse, hoping that he could intercept Jayce before he got out onto the water.
But Ben was too late. Before he got there he saw the dark silhouette of the boat emerge and start tracking across the bayou. The motor was straining and whining and the propeller was churning up a white wake behind it. He could see the outline of the man slumped at the stern, working the rudder as he steered out into the open channel. Jayce Garrett was getting away.
Ben ran to the edge of the dark, murky water. He raised the shotgun to his shoulder and swivelled the barrel along the line of the boat’s path. But the short-barrelled scattergun was no use at this range. Its spread might easily hit Jayce by mistake, and he still wanted to bring him in alive if he could.
Ben threw down the shotgun, yanked Roque’s revolver from his belt, thumbed back the hammer and took careful aim at the escaping boat. Even if the stinging rain in his eyes hadn’t made it hard to see the sights, the old gun was no target pistol. But he knew he had to disable the boat somehow, before it got too far away. That outboard motor was its Achilles’ heel. One solid hit, and he could bring it to a halt. That was the plan, at any rate. It was the only one he had right now.
Five shots. Make them count, he thought. He squeezed the trigger, and the revolver’s butt kicked sharply against his palm and the loud report of the .45 cracked out across the water.
No dice. The boat kept chugging along, apparently untouched.
Ben recocked the hammer, lined up the sights and fired again. His second shot was drowned out by a clap of thunder. Same result. This time he saw the plop of the bullet hit the water, about three feet from the boat’s stern as it continued on its course, putting more distance between itself and the shore.
Third shot. Nowhere near close. The bullet splashed down a body’s length ahead of the boat’s prow, now more than sixty yards from shore and getting further away with every second.
Fourth shot. Ben saw splinters kick up from the boat’s gunwale. He was definitely getting Jayce Garrett’s attention, but nothing more.
‘Get it together, you idiot,’ Ben muttered to himself as he cocked the hammer for his fifth and last shot.
He took a deep breath, steadied his aim and fired.
Chapter 66
Ben’s last bullet hit its mark. But the result wasn’t what he’d expected. The outboard motor sputtered out and then burst into flame. He must have severed a fuel line. The fire was just a small flickering orange glow at this distance, but which suddenly grew bigger and brighter – and Ben realised that the flames must have touched off a spare gas can. Maybe Jayce had needed to refuel the boat and in his haste spilled some petrol or neglected to close the jerrycan lid.
Whatever the reason, he was in trouble.
Ben dropped the gun and watched as the silhouetted figure of Jayce Garrett hobbled upright in the swaying boat and scrambled away from the flames. The fire was spreading quickly along the length of its hull, unabated by the lashing rain. Jayce backed up all the way to the prow, seemed to freeze for a moment, then leaped into the water with a splash. He was going to try to swim for the opposite shore. But with a broken hip he was sure to drown.
Which Ben could stand here on the shore and watch happen, or else try to do something to prevent. And as much as Jayce Garrett deserved to die, right here, right now, Ben wanted to hear him confess to the murder of Lottie Landreneau. He wanted to fly home to France with the knowledge that the man who’d sent her to her grave was being carted off in chains to begin his terminal stay in the Louisiana State Prison.
So Ben now became the rescuer of the man who’d framed him for a crime he didn’t commit, kidnapped his friends and tried to kill him.
The loose boards of the little wooden jetty clattered under Ben’s feet as he sprinted along its length. He reached its end and launched himself into a dive, and went knifing headlong into the murky black bayou.
Stroke after powerful stroke, gritting his teeth against the pain in his chest, he narrowed the distance to the burning boat. Jayce Garrett was in even worse trouble now. As another writhing snake of lightning lit up the whole wide expanse of the bayou, Ben saw the bobbing shape churning up the water in his desperation to stay afloat.
Twenty more yards. Then ten, then five, and then Ben was on him. Jayce was choking and spluttering and beginning to sink as Ben wrapped an arm around his chest and hauled his head back above the surface.
Jayce spouted water and was coughing violently. But some people just didn’t want to be rescued. He ripped free of Ben’s hold. His eyes focused on his enemy with an intensity of hatred so demonic that Ben couldn’t help but remember the things Sallie Mambo had told him about the devils of Garrett Island.
Devil or not, Jayce fought with inhuman force and energy as the two men locked together in the water. He tried to grab Ben by the throat. Ben rolled his hands away and slammed a punch into his face. Jayce clawed at Ben’s eyes. Ben head-butted him in the teeth. Jayce lashed out with a knee aimed for the groin. Ben deflected the knee and drove his own hard into Jayce’s broken hip.
The violent struggle seemed to go on for several minutes. Ben was battling to keep his head above the surface with the weight of his furious opponent trying to drag him down. It was a fight to the death, maybe both their deaths. Punch after punch, kick after kick. Ben slammed Jayce Garrett so many times in the face and throat that he should have been half dead, but he kept coming back. He seemed to feel no pain. As he grappled with one hand he reached down to his ankle with the other and whipped out a concealed boot knife like the one Mason had stabbed Ben with. Ben saw the knife lunging up towards him, a vicious strike that would have plunged the blade right up through his jaw into his brain if he hadn’t twisted aside at the last moment. He palmed the knife off course, gripped Jayce Garrett’s wrist and in one hard, fast movement folded the joint inwards and sideways, all the way down, until he felt the snapping and crackling of the wrist breaking. Then he smashed his elbow into Jayce’s eye socket. Then pummelled him with a hammer punch to the bridge of the nose and broke that, too.
Still Jayce wouldn’t give in. With a wild roar he surged up and rammed the hard crown of his skull into Ben’s cheekbone. A white flash that wasn’t from the electrical storm raging overhead spangled Ben’s vision. Stunned, he felt the surface slip over his head, tasted the brackish water filling his mouth. He was sinking. Jayce was pulling him down into the blackness like some kind of mythological aquatic evil spirit intent on dragging him to the bottom.
Ben hit him. And hit him again, with a savage strength born of desperation. Bubbles burst from Jayce’s lips. His face was a ruin. Teeth gone, nose splattered sideways. At last, as Ben’s energy was almost spent, Jayce Garrett started to go limp and his struggles subsided as his lungs filled with water.
Ben wrapped an arm around Jayce’s body and kicked upwards towards the s
urface. He drew in a rasping breath and coughed as he treaded the water, keeping Jayce’s head up.
It was a couple of moments before he could speak. ‘Jayce Garrett, you’re under arrest for the murder of Charlotte Landreneau.’
There was a load of stuff about rights to remain silent and have an attorney present during questioning, but Ben reckoned that could all wait until they reached the shore.
‘Screw you,’ Jayce spluttered in a mushy voice.
‘Whatever you say, Jayce. You’re going to jail. And consider yourself the luckiest man alive.’
Jayce said no more after that. Ben kept on towards the shore, now about forty yards away. The driving rain pocked the surface of the bayou and the thunder shook the sky.
And the black water suddenly churned white as a huge dark shape sliced towards them from the hidden depths and erupted from the surface. Glistening armoured scales caught the light of another flash. The enormous creature came at Ben with its jaws open wide.
He would never know it, but old Cyrus had just arrived on the scene.
Ben kicked out, and the alligator veered away from him. Its black-green tail, thick as a tree trunk, cut the water like a whip. Before Ben could swim another yard it had circled round for another pass, torpedo snout rising from the depths. This time it went for Jayce Garrett. Its huge jaws scissored wide and Ben saw the glint of one tiny reptilian eye and the uneven conical teeth with bits of rotting flesh stuck between them from its last meal. Then the teeth snapped shut around Jayce’s torso and Ben felt the full force of the monster as it tore its prey from his grip.
Jayce screamed and thrashed and blood spouted from his mouth. The giant alligator shook him like a terrier shakes a rat to snap its spine. Then rose up from the water with the man still in its jaws, and bellyflopped down on the surface, sending up a spray of red and white foam that glittered like diamonds and rubies in the next flash of lightning.
For one brief moment the frenzied screaming rose to a terrible high-pitched wail, before it fell forever silent. The alligator crunched the dead body in its jaws and then sank below the surface, still clutching its prize. A swirl of foam and bubbles was all that remained to mark the spot of Jayce Garrett’s passing.
The Rebel's Revenge Page 33