Revenge

by Mark A. Cooper

  Don’t let him reload, Jason told himself as he ran as fast as he could toward Kotang. Kotang fumbled with his gun and dropped the clip, but his swift hands soon scooped it up and slammed it into the handle of the gun. As he turned the gun, it was too late. Jason had launched himself into a flying kick aimed at Kotang’s hand.

  The kick was perfectly aimed. It threw the gun into the air and twenty feet away. However, Kotang was fast—his left hand catching Jason’s foot. Jason fell to the ground. Kotang laughed and started dragging Jason toward him. Jason tried kicking with his other leg. He frantically wriggled, squirmed, and twisted, trying to get away. Kotang’s viselike grip was strong. His right hand tightly squeezed Jason’s thigh. He pulled Jason close to him, lifted the boy like a toy doll, and then grabbed Jason’s throat with his huge left hand.

  Immediately, he started to squeeze. Jason felt Kotang cut off his oxygen supply. His face was turning blue as he fought back. He was no match for Kotang’s strength. He felt himself getting light-headed, so he closed his eyes and let his body go limp. If Kotang kept squeezing, Jason would soon be dead. He wanted to panic and fight back, but he knew if he did, Kotang would kill him.

  Come on. I’m dead already. Let me go.

  His lungs were bursting for air. He forced himself to stay limp, counting the seconds.

  How much longer?

  Kotang, thinking he had squeezed the life out of the boy, finally let him go. Jason lay motionless on the ground. Kotang pushed Jason’s limp body off his leg and climbed to his feet. Slowly, Jason took a gentle breath.

  Joanne started to scream. She had run to Martin and found him lying and bleeding. She kneeled down beside him, screamed for help, and pled for Martin to wake up. Kotang walked toward Joanne, holding his wounded shoulder.

  “Don’t worry. You won’t be harmed…much,” he said before he grabbed her by her hair. She turned and punched Kotang on his chest, screaming at him to let her go. She kicked, punched, and clawed at him. Kotang found it amusing. Blood ran down his left hand from the bullet wound in his shoulder. He painfully lifted his hand and grasped her throat—his huge fingers wrapping themselves around her thin, delicate neck.

  “Now you be quiet or I will kill you. You’re lucky. You’re worth more alive than dead. Boudica needs your help,” he joked.

  A loud bang echoed across the farmyard, and he released his grip. Kotang’s eyes rolled to the top of his head. His legs gave way under him, and his heavy body collapsed onto the gravel. A large hole in the back of his head oozed out life. Jason stood over him, his shaking hand still holding Kotang’s gun. Joanne screamed more when she saw the damage to Kotang’s head. Jason ran back toward the farmhouse.

  A Land Rover barreled around the corner from the back of the house. The farmer, his wife, and two children sped off down the small lane toward the main road in a cloud of dust. Jason ran into the house and found Jean lying on the floor. She looked unmarked. He kneeled down and felt her wrist, trying to find a pulse. She stirred and held her face in pain.

  “Martin,” she called out.

  “He’s hurt but will live. We need to get him to a hospital. Go and get Kotang’s car,” he said, pointing out the window at a black Mercedes.

  “Kotang?” she asked.

  “Him.” Jason pointed at the body. The conversation was stopped by the sound of gunfire in the distance. They all looked down the small lane that led to the main road. Two cars had stopped the farmer’s Land Rover and killed the entire family.

  A black Mercedes-Benz was fast approaching the farmhouse. Jason raised his gun and opened fire at the car. It stopped, and the occupants ducked down as the windows rained broken glass on them. Jason emptied the gun on the car. By luck, it hit the fuel tank, and a huge explosion at the back of the car blew out a flume of flames. A fist of gray smoke erupted into the clear morning sky. Three men jumped free. One of them was on fire, screaming in agony while rolling on the floor, trying to suffocate the flames.

  The other car stayed at the end of the drive. Jason helped Jean carry Martin and pull him across the backseat of Kotang’s car. He told Joanne to sit next to Martin and apply pressure to the boy’s wound to stop the bleeding. He jumped into the front passenger seat and told Jean to strap herself in.

  “Now look at me and listen,” he told Jean. Her hands were trembling. Her nose was still bleeding, and she was sobbing.

  “Look at me!” he yelled. She was surprised by his outburst and looked at him.

  “Jean, you need to be strong now for Martin’s sake. I need you to drive to the nearest police station,” he told her while he reloaded his gun using Kotang’s box of bullets. “To the right is a wooden gate leading to the main road. This car should smash through it easily. Don’t stop until you get to the police station.”

  She nodded and gripped the wheel. “What about you?” she asked desperately.

  “Once you get through the gate, drive a few hundred yards and wait for me. But if the car is still following you, just go.”

  “I can’t just leave you,” she said.

  “You may not have to. I hope I can stop the car and join you.” He leaned forward and kissed her cheek. “You can do it, Jean. This is for Martin.”

  Jean nodded and gritted her teeth while she clenched the wheel.

  A large cloud of dust erupted from the wheels of the car as she drove across the small field and broke through the gates, sending shards of wood up in the air. The two-thousand-pound car made matchsticks of the old wooden gate. As it pulled onto the main road, Jason jumped out, rolled, and ducked behind an olive tree. Jean did as she was told and drove off and stopped out of sight farther up the road.

  The Triad’s car wheels squealed, spitting gravel and dust as it returned to the main road in pursuit. Jason looked through the dense foliage of the small tree and took aim at the driver.

  As soon as he could get a good shot, he let off three rounds. At least one hit and killed the driver. Jason ducked down, but to his horror, the car careered directly toward him. It crashed into the olive tree in front of him and knocked him down before it finally came to a stop on top of him and the tree. He was lying flat on his back under the car. It was a miracle we was not run over by the wheels. His gun was stuck fast under a tire.

  He took a deep breath and wriggled his toes and fingers. To his relief, they all worked. His chest was hurting from the blow. It could have been worse. The tree seemed to have taken the brunt of it. A door opened, and he saw a pair of feet climb out of the passenger seat. The person spoke in Chinese to the others but got no response. They were either dead or unconscious.

  It took Jason a few moments to come to his senses. He knew his chest was injured, although he was unsure just how bad. But he felt dampness on his leg.

  I hope that’s not blood and I’ve just peed myself, he said to himself as he felt the dampness getting worse. As he tried to slowly move, it became obvious.

  It’s gas.

  As fast as he could, he crawled from under the car. The stunned Triad member stepped back as he watched Jason scramble out. He pointed his gun at Jason and gestured for the boy to stand. Jason pretended he was injured and pulled himself up by the rear wheel. He dug his fingernails behind the chrome hubcap and pulled it off. In one movement, he spun around and launched the hubcap like a Frisbee, aimed at the man. It flew and smacked the Triad member in the mouth. The man was momentarily stunned.

  Jason pounced in that time and delivered a deadly blow to the man’s windpipe. The car started to burn. The gas around him caught fire. Within seconds, the entire car was engulfed in flames. Jason had had a lucky escape. The stench of burning flesh hit Jason’s senses. The others in the car were cremated. The smell reminded Jason of what Boudica had done to Kinver.

  Jason ran up the road toward Jean’s waiting car, holding his chest. She and Joanne had covered Martin’s wound with clo
thing. He was now conscious and groaning in pain. They didn’t say anything to Jason as he climbed in the car. They pretty much took for granted that he would take care of the Triad’s thugs.

  Sitting in the front seat of the car, wearing nothing but swimming shorts, Jason began shaking uncontrollably. His young body was cut, bruised, and burned from the sun—and it was taking its toll on him. He was exhausted.

  As Jean started to drive off, Jason thought about his father. His eyes stung as tears ran down his cheeks. He turned his head away and looked out the window, trying to conceal his tears. For their sake, he acted tough, but inside, he was in pain and wanted nothing more than to burst out in sobs.

  She drove to Malaga Hospital, where Martin was taken into the emergency ward. Jason called Interpol and then was given some basic medical treatment for his cuts. His neck and chest were badly bruised, but nothing was broken when he was given an X-ray.

  Jean sat in the waiting room with Joanne. They looked up at Jason as he entered.

  “I called Interpol. George had given me the number just in case,” he said. “The local police will be here any second and will take me and Jo to a safe house. Jo, your father has already sent an agent from China. He will take care of you.”

  “What about you, Jason?” she asked.

  “I will probably stay at the safe house until you are safe and they catch Boudica.”

  They didn’t have time to say good-bye to Jean and Martin. A police car arrived, and two Spanish police officers came to collect Jason and Joanne and move them to safety.

  • • •

  Jason remained silent for the journey to the safe house. He didn’t speak to Joanne, even when she asked if his feet felt better in his new socks and shoes. He ignored the remark and wished he was someplace else. He gently touched his neck. It was swollen and badly bruised from Kotang’s attempt to kill him.

  “Jason, I asked you a question. What’s wrong with you? You’ve been like this since we left the farm,” she asked.

  “You mean, since you and Jean left me to fend off a car full of armed Triads that resulted in getting run over and nearly burned to death,” he snapped back.

  “You told her to drive off and wait.”

  He knew she was right, but he did not want to talk about it. He shook his head and looked away. The number of dead bodies and the constant pressure were getting to him. Even though he had washed up at the hospital, he could still smell the burning flesh of the Triads who never made it out of the car.

  A message came over the radio in Spanish. The two officers looked at each other and shook their heads. One grabbed the car’s radio, replied, and then turned the car around. Jason did not translate much of the conversation—something about taking them somewhere to be picked up.

  As the last few houses past them and they once again came into open countryside, Jason finally started to question what was happening.

  “We should be going to a police station,” he said in Spanish.

  “Sí, but now we have orders to take you to the main highway and wait. Spanish Special Forces will take care of you.”

  It made sense to Jason. The local police may not have been able to protect Joanne, but he had a bad feeling in his gut. He sat back heavily in his seat and tried to relax, but something was still bothering him. An uneasy feeling snaked around his insides and gave him a tight knot in his stomach.

  “Sorry,” he said quietly to Joanne without looking at her.

  She looked at him sympathetically and smiled. “What for? You’re right, Jason. We expect too much of you.”

  “It’s not your fault. None of this is. You can’t help having an important father.” He smiled back and gestured his hand to shake in friendship. Joanne took his hand and held it with both of her hands. He gave her a tight-lipped smile.

  They stopped at a large service station on the main highway. A few cars were filling up with gas. Some drivers were eating inside at the café. The police car waited at the end of the parking lot.

  Jason noticed a black Mercedes parked to his left. Maybe he was being paranoid. Not every driver of a black Mercedes wanted to kill him. But when a second black Mercedes stopped just a few parking places away to his right, he started to get nervous.

  He noticed several Asian men dressed in the same black clothing as the hit men getting out of the car at the same time.

  Chapter 20

  Move! They’re Triads. It’s a trap,” Jason shouted.

  The windscreen shattered as two bullets broke through and planted themselves in the head of the driver. The other police officer took out his gun and fired back. Joanne screamed, her hands over her head. Jason took the gun from the dead driver’s holster and shot back at them. The two Triads to his left both fell. With the police officer shooting at the gunmen on the other side, Jason kicked opened his door and pulled Joanne with him, keeping low to the ground.

  Another black Mercedes screeched to a halt. The doors opened, and three men with automatic weapons got out. Jason ran with Joanne down a small embankment that dropped down to a field with a few grazing cows. As he helped her over the wire fence, the sound of automatic gunfire and shattering glass came from above. The police car was riddled with 9mm bullets. The policeman was hit, his body slumped over his dead colleague.

  “Run and don’t stop,” Jason shouted at Joanne. She did as she was told and ran off across the field.

  Jason ducked down with nothing other than a small fence post to protect him. He looked at the gun he was holding—an Italian-made Beretta 92S. He took out the clip and counted five bullets.

  Five bullets against all those automatic guns. I’m a goner.

  He picked himself up and ran after Joanne. They may not shoot at him if she were with him. To stay and try to fight would be foolish.

  A few shots pounded the ground around him, giving him a burst of speed. He didn’t stop to return fire. He figured the farther away he could get and the closer to Joanne, the safer he would be.

  One of the Mercedes attempted to drive down the embankment; however, the bank proved too steep and the car slid down and became wedged under the wire fence. One got out and ran after Jason on foot. Joanne stopped and looked back. She was relieved when she saw that Jason was coming after her, but she screamed when she saw that they were being chased by one of the men.

  “Jason, behind you!”

  Jason glanced back and cursed. He dove to the ground and aimed his gun at the man who was getting closer.

  The man wrongly assumed the boy he was chasing stumbled and fell. By the time the man saw the glint of light shining off the revolver Jason was holding, it was too late—too late to stop and too late to pull his own gun. He felt the thud against his chest before he heard the first shot. He was dead before the second shot. It sickened Jason to have to kill again.

  Why do they keep coming?

  He picked himself up and caught up with Joanne. In tears, she flung her arms around him when he finally reached her. For a few moments, he closed his eyes and enjoyed the luxury of a friendly hug. He looked back to see if they were being followed. The area was clear. He held her hand and continued running through the field farther away from the road and into the countryside.

  The field ended with a taller wire fence that was almost six feet tall with heavy-duty wire. Without stopping to think, they climbed over it and dropped down the other side. The grass was greener, and it gave off a lush, fresh smell as they walked across the field, hand in hand.

  Once again, the sun was burning into Jason’s neck. He wished now he had chosen a shirt with a collar when he had been given clothing at the hospital.

  “Jason, we’re being watched,” Joanne said and grinned.

  Jason’s head spun around in all directions. “Where? Who?” he gasped.

  “Not who, silly. Look…a cow. She’s chewing her
cud and watching us.”

  “Chewing her what?” he asked.

  “It’s cud. They eat grass and then regurgitate it and chew it all over again. They have three stomachs.”

  “Eeew, that’s gross. Remind me never to eat beef again,” he said and laughed, screwing up his face.

  “You drink loads of milk.” She laughed back and mimicked the face he was pulling.

  They carried on walking through the field. Jason kept checking to see if the Triads were still following and glanced at the cow watching them. Jason stopped in his tracks.

  “That’s not a cow. It’s a bull,” he said.

  “Are you sure? Even cows can have horns.”

  “I may not be as smart as you, but I can tell the difference between male and female. That is a bull. Keep walking but faster.”

  “Don’t be silly. It won’t hurt us.”

  “Now we know why there’s a huge wire fence. It’s coming. Come on.” He started jogging. Joanne was tugged along.

  “Jason, it won’t hurt us. Although,” she said and then paused, “come to think of it, we are in Spain. You don’t think they’re training it for bullfighting, do you? It’s coming!” she screamed.

  The bull lowered its head and charged.

  Chapter 21

  The ground shook beneath the bull’s feet as his hooves pounded the ground. Its huge, sweat-flecked body came closer and closer.

  Jason pulled Joanne along. They were too far away from the fence to get out of harm’s way. The bull was gaining ground and fast. The thud, thud, thud from his hooves became louder. Jason stopped, pulled the gun from his shorts, and shot at it three times. The bull’s front legs gave way. Its massive head ploughed into the ground, and it came to an abrupt halt just a few feet away, steam slowly rising from its body.