by Luke Murphy
“You think they’d go that far?”
“You better believe it. See you in the morning.”
♣
Calvin slowly lifted his head out of the water, rising gently as to not make a splash and set off alarms. He looked around.
“I don’t see anyone,” he whispered to Livia, treading beside him. “Let’s get out of the water.”
The giant anaconda that crushed Sanders hadn’t left Calvin’s thoughts for a minute. Nor had any of the other deadly creatures that resided in the Amazonian River.
The night was lit up by the sky, the ambient stellar light leading the way. They pulled themselves out of the water, exhausted from swimming and the stress and anxiety of the whole situation. Calvin’s muscles ached, but the cool river water had actually felt soothing on the burning bullet wound behind his leg.
“What happened back there?”
“What do you mean?”
“You were like a man possessed. You would have run in there if I hadn’t stopped you. What were you going to do? Wrestle the anaconda?”
He shook his head. “I’m not sure. I wasn’t thinking clearly. I just saw Sanders and reacted. I’ve let a lot of people down.”
“You can’t win every time.”
“Sanders was the reason I’m here. I’ve never been good at accepting defeat.”
He’d promised Dale that he wasn’t coming home empty-handed, but Calvin hadn’t been able to hold up his end of the bargain, and that infuriated him even more.
“I think all the pain you’re in is dulling your sensory perception, forcing you to make bad decisions.”
“Sorry, you’re right. I wasn’t thinking clearly.” He sat down to rest, take the pressure off his leg, and it felt good.
Livia sat down beside him. “Where do you think they are?”
He didn’t see the boat. Calvin searched the trees, listening for sounds that didn’t belong. He’d thought for sure the cartel knew where the plane was parked and would be waiting for them. But he saw no signs of tracks or a disturbance to the natural environment.
He got back up, knowing they had no time to stop. He helped her up as well.
“Are we walking into a trap?” Livia looked concerned.
Calvin tried to be strong and brave for the two of them. “Just be careful.”
If Calvin remembered correctly, the plane was less than two miles from the water line. They walked slowly, which was a nice break on his leg. It had been a long night and they both showed signs of exhaustion.
“Ah!” Livia went down, grabbing at the back of her leg.
Calvin turned with his gun drawn. He ran to her. “What is it?”
“My leg. A cramp.”
Calvin lifted Livia’s pant leg and felt her right calf. The muscle had spasmed into a tight, firm mass about the size of a tennis ball. The temperature change from water to land and constant movement shocked both of their bodies.
“Extend your leg,” Calvin said, gently lengthening her leg and straightening the knee.
He cautiously massaged the ball using his palm in a round, circular rhythm. Livia’s legs were slick from perspiration and water, her skin smooth and soft.
“Sorry about your friend.” Her eyes turned sad.
“Sanders wasn’t my friend. He was a job. A lowlife murderous scumbag who got what he deserved. Trust me, no one will mourn his death.”
“Then why were you so adamant back there?”
“You wouldn’t understand, it’s how I’m wired. School, football, collecting…I had to win. I had to be the best.”
“Sometimes you have to let go.”
“I just had a misread, won’t happen again.” But this “misread” worried Calvin. How had the stress and pain affected his psyche, his decision making? And if it had altered him, what had it done to his reaction time? Rachel had been right, he never should have come here. Now, they’d be lucky to get to the plane unscathed, and he was coming home worse off and empty handed. He gritted his teeth, then let out a breath.
“That should do it.” He dropped her leg to the ground. “Are you okay to move?”
Livia pouted her lips. “I guess so,” she said.
A crack of gunfire broke out. They dove headfirst behind a small hill, the bullets ripping up the dirt in front of them and snapping off branches over their heads. Spanish cartel soldiers called out to each other. Calvin pulled the duffel bag loose over his head.
They lay on their backs, looking up at the sky, as the rapid-fire gun blasts peppered the ground and bushes around them. Calvin looked at Livia, her eyes closed, mouthing a silent prayer. He could see the anxiety on her face, knowing that it was her cry of pain from her cramped muscle that had attracted the army to their location.
“We need to do something,” Livia said.
“What did you have in mind? Surround them?” He gave a small grin.
“Hardly the time for jokes. I thought you might have a plan. You always have a plan.” She gave him a weak smile.
Calvin rolled over onto this stomach and looked out over the hill as more bullets ricocheted around him. He swiftly rolled onto his back and looked at Livia.
“I can’t see them now, but I remember the boat. There’s probably about a dozen of them, all with semi-automatic weapons, and well hidden.”
“So, it’s hopeless?”
“As long as we’re breathing, there’s always a chance.” He looked around. “How far are we from the plane?”
“Less than a mile.”
Calvin nodded. “That’s what I thought, too. Wait here. Whatever you do, don’t move. Take this.”
Calvin emptied the duffel bag, pulling out every weapon he had, from handguns to rifles. He handed a small one to her.
“Get ready to open fire. You can’t see them, but you know the area they’re in, so just shoot in their direction. You might get lucky, but this is for a distraction more than anything else. Empty the clip if you have to. Ready?”
“Wait, where are you go—”
He took off before Livia could finish her sentence. He sprinted, as fast as his leg would allow him, through the trees, dodging puddles, branches, thorny shrubs and bushes. He didn’t look back, but he could hear Livia firing off shots behind him.
It took him just over five minutes, running hard despite the pain, to find the plane. It was well concealed, and it looked like nobody had been there since they’d left. He located the bag he was looking for, grabbed the case out of it, and took off for Livia, hoping she’d done as he’d asked.
He found her, still firing the gun. She was now on her stomach, spread eagle in a shooter’s crouch, the gun in her right hand, her left hand cradling it for support.
When she saw Calvin, she stopped firing and rolled onto her back. “What’s in the bag?”
He unzipped it and pulled out a fat-barreled handgun and a grenade. “Have they stopped firing at all?”
She shook her head. “Not yet.”
“Okay, so that means they need to reload soon.”
They waited it out. After a few more minutes, the gunfire stopped.
He used the opening, moving quickly, pulling the pin on the grenade and standing up. Calvin lobbed the explosive in the middle of the area where the shooting had come from.
He fell on Livia, covering her, before a loud boom echoed throughout the island. The ground shook, dirt shot up, trees fell, and body parts exploded. Screams filled the night air.
“How many did you hit?”
“No way to tell, but not all of them. If they think I have more grenades, they’ll be spreading out. But it doesn’t matter anyway, because that was my last one.”
He slid pieces of a rifle out of the bag, connected them, and attached a scope.
“What are you doing?”
Calvin scowled. “I’m no sniper, but I think I’ve had enough practice on this to get the job done. Plus, they aren’t that far away.”
He handed her the fat gun he’d taken out earlier. “This is a flare g
un.” He loaded it. “When I give you the signal, shoot it into the air over where they are. After you shoot it, don’t hesitate, take off for the plane.”
“What about you?” Her face showed concern. It felt good to have her worried for his safety.
“I won’t be far behind you.”
Calvin moved immediately, slithering along the ground in the opposite direction of the plane, staying hidden behind the hill from the gunmen. He found an opening and propped himself up on the top of a small knoll diagonally from the cartel, about fifty yards from where he and Livia had holed up. He had a better view of the hidden cartel, because he was positioned with a straight-line vision where the dips met, creating a clear sight.
Calvin connected the end of the rifle barrel to a small tripod, and then opened the breech, placing a magazine below and clicking it into place. He pushed the bolt forward as far as he could, and then closed it. Locking the rifle into his shoulder and holding it firmly, he removed the safety and nodded to Livia.
She held the gun up over her head with both hands, closed her eyes and pulled the trigger. It jolted her back a bit, but a flare shot up into the black of night, lighting up the surrounding area. The island looked like the fourth of July. When Calvin looked back, Livia was gone.
He knew he only had a minute, two, tops. Calvin looked through the scope, sighting his first target. Heads popped up as soldiers watched Livia move and took aim at her. Others looked into the sky at the flare.
He inhaled and squeezed the trigger. When the first soldier went down, Calvin sighted another and took him out. He dropped four more before they even got a shot off at Livia. Then the flare extinguished. The night’s darkness returned.
He couldn’t carry the rifle with him, it was too heavy and awkward. Calvin dropped it and, without thinking, got up and took off toward where the last two soldiers hid. He moved swiftly, but not in haste, soundless to not raise suspicion.
He stopped behind a tree, about twenty yards from where he could see the silhouettes from the final two cartel members. If they worried about having their friends wasted in front of them, they didn’t show it. Calvin could see their lips move as they spoke to each other, pointing to where Livia had run off, and nodding. Then one guy, probably the leader of the small gang who’d tracked Calvin and Livia, took off in Livia’s direction. This must be the second in charge.
Calvin raised his gun and took aim, but couldn’t see well enough to fire. He also didn’t want to risk giving away his position and a possible counterattack of rapid gunfire from the lone cartel member. The other man watched his boss, his attention turned away from where Calvin hid. Now was his chance.
He holstered the weapon and crept quietly, aware of the broken branches and twigs under his feet. He closed in when the guy turned. Calvin sprinted the last few feet and, with his weight on his good leg, sprung into the air, tackling the soldier before he had a chance to turn his weapon and fire it.
The gun fell from the soldier’s grasp and Calvin threw a blind punch, grazing the man’s jaw, but getting enough of it make an impact. The guard grunted, staggered, but didn’t go down. He was bigger than he looked through the scope. His arms were solid tree trunks. Calvin tried to lock them up and avoid giving the man a chance to swing the large anvils.
The men wrestled, but Calvin knew his opponent’s brute strength would be too much and he wouldn’t be able to hang on for long. Calvin was big and strong himself, but the soldier stood two inches taller than Calvin, and probably had twenty pounds on him.
Calvin threw a punch at the guy’s temple and it landed flush. The man stepped back, reeling, and went down to a knee, but quickly recovered and stood. Calvin kicked at the man’s shins, but the soldier anticipated the attack, sidestepping the attempt and throwing an elbow that crunched Calvin’s nose, the nose that had been straightened by Livia.
His eyes watered and he tasted blood. Gritting his teeth, he ran at the giant, hurdling his body and tackling the target. Calvin’s weight, strength and momentum sent both men tumbling to the ground, Calvin landing on top.
Momentarily stunned from the fall, Calvin heard a gurgling sound and felt a sharp point pressing against his chest. The man coughed and sprayed warm liquid into Calvin’s face.
The soldier didn’t fight back, seemed to have nothing left in him, so Calvin rolled off. He removed a tiny flashlight from his pants’ side pocket and flashed it on the man. A wooden spike, from a tree trunk that had fallen from the grenade, speared the man’s stomach. They’d fallen on the split trunk. Calvin was lucky he hadn’t been gored by it too.
Calvin brought the light up to the man’s face. He didn’t look old, maybe late teens, but he was thick and well built. His face paled and blood oozed from his mouth, moistening his lips and leaking down his chin.
The man looked at Calvin. “Kill me,” he said in English that was decent enough to understand.
Calvin sighed, pulled out his handgun and held it against the man’s temple. He pulled the trigger. Quick. Painless. A life ended.
He straightened when he heard the roar of the airplane motor and its propellers. He took off, using the noise of the aircraft’s engine to guide him.
He stopped at the edge of the forest. He couldn’t risk just sprinting out into the middle of the airfield where they’d landed. The single cartel soldier that remained could take him by surprise.
Calvin looked around, but didn’t see or hear anyone. He moved just outside of the bush, awaiting gunfire, but none came. Had the drug boss gone the wrong way? Well, if he had, he’d be heading back quickly from the noise of the plane.
Calvin found the airplane idling, the propellers rotating but the plane unmoving. He looked around but didn’t see Livia or the drug boss. Livia had to be inside waiting for his return.
“Where are you?” Calvin wondered aloud, looking around for the cartel member.
He shuffled his way to the airplane, conscious of his surroundings. He stopped outside the aircraft’s door, looking around again. He saw the side and back of Livia’s head, as she was seated in the pilot’s seat in the cockpit of the airplane. He tried to wave to her but she didn’t turn her head, her focus on the outside in front of her.
“Livia!”
No answer, but there would be no way for her to hear over the roar of the engine and propeller. After one more glimpse behind him, Calvin opened the door and climbed in.
“Let’s get out of here,” he said, as he shut the door.
When he turned around, he saw Livia and the Colombian.
“Glad you could join us,” the man said in heavily-accented English.
From this close, Calvin could see his rough, scaly-skinned face.
A piece of tape covered Livia’s mouth, and her hands were tied in her lap. When she turned, her look pleaded with him past her wet, swollen eyes. Concern etched her face.
The man looked at Calvin, but had the nine-millimeter, sixteen-round semi-automatic pointed at the back of Livia’s head. The gunman stood in the front of the cabin, just outside of the cockpit.
“You okay?”
She nodded.
“For now,” the gunman said, smiling to reveal yellow-stained, chipped front teeth.
“What’s your plan?” Calvin asked. “Hold us both for ransom?”
The drug boss scrunched his nose, shook his head, and gave a mock sigh. “I wouldn’t get ten pesos for a whore like her, and you, well, you’ve worn out your usefulness. You’re more of a pain than anything and not worth any ransom. But we’re going back to the base to see what needs to be done with you.”
Calvin didn’t say anything. He kept looking back and forth from Livia to the gun, gauging, trying to come up with a plan to get them out of this trouble. His muscles flexed tight.
The drug lord smiled again. “Why don’t we go for a ride? Let’s see if your pretty girlfriend can fly, literally.”
Was he really planning to throw Livia from the plane when they were in the air? Calvin looked into the man’s e
yes and didn’t doubt his intentions.
He shook his head. “You dumb shit. She’s the only one who knows how to fly this thing. You kill her, we all die. Untie her if you plan on going anywhere.”
The man looked genuinely surprised. He turned the gun on Calvin and Calvin thought, momentarily, that the man was going to pull the trigger and end his life.
Without taking his eyes off the ex-running back, the man pulled out a knife with his free hand and easily sliced through the ropes tied around Livia’s wrists.
As Livia rubbed the red marks, the man snapped a jab with the butt of the knife, busting Livia’s lip and cracking her head back. She let out a soft whimper, but refused to wipe the blood from her face.
Calvin took a step closer but was stopped as the man lifted the gun towards Calvin’s face.
“Don’t be a hero.” The gunman chuckled then put the knife back in his pouch.
Livia turned around. “I’ll need a co-pilot to coordinate,” she said warily.
She spit blood when she spoke, and Calvin could see that her four bottom teeth were bloodied, and either chipped or broken.
The cartel boss used the gun to motion for Calvin to move to the cockpit and the co-pilot chair.
“No funny business,” he said. This time, he didn’t smile.
Calvin hesitated, and then slowly made his way past the gunman and into the cockpit. He could feel the cold steel muzzle pressed firmly against the middle of his back. The former football star leaned back into the weapon to make sure it stayed there, so he could sense the exact height the man held the gun.
The PI stopped and stood behind Livia’s seat, a hand on her shoulder. Livia didn’t turn, but kept looking forward, her back to both men.
Calvin didn’t drop his head, but darted his eyes downward at the back of Livia’s head, particularly her hair.
“What are you waiting for?” The gunman jabbed Calvin’s back.
In one quick, fluid motion, Calvin snatched the steel pin from Livia’s hair and spun.
As the gunman realized what was happening, he pulled the trigger. Calvin was faster. Sticking the steel pin in the trigger guard, behind the trigger, obstructing it from being pulled the full length to fire.