The Last Peak (Book 3): The Darwin Sacrifice

by William Oday

  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 for 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 bastard 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.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  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 had the poor dog opened up.

  The bullet had punctured the large muscle of the quadriceps femoris which might’ve been a best case scenario.

  But as she’d cleaned the wound, she’d discovered the problem was worse. Much worse.

  The bullet had hit the hip bone and fragmented. One sliver had ricocheted up and nicked the spinal cord between the first and second caudal vertebrae.

  Buddy was still intubated and anesthetized. His vitals were finally stable, but she guarded against false hope. She knew how quickly things could turn just when you thought you were in the clear.

  Best case scenario, he would probably have some degree of paralysis. They wouldn’t begin to know to what extent until he woke up.

  If he woke up.

  She gently stroked his head. His sweet eyes were pinched closed. His chest rose and fell.

  Iridia went about cleaning up after the surgery 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.

  The surgery 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 surgeries. 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 caught her arm and kept her on her feet.

  “What a fucking gentleman!” Beth shouted at the small screen. She wanted to jam a scalpel into his eye.

  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 fake-as-shit 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.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

  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 that 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 too 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 impossible to engage, we have done our best to respect the traditions of 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.”

  The priest opened his eyes and turned to President Cruz. “No man escapes the justice of the Lord. Neither the tax collector nor the pharisee. It is the man who is most assured of his own righteousness that is most in need of God’s justice.”

  “Thank you, Father.” President Cruz nodded to the guards restraining Theresa and Elio. They dragged Theresa a few steps forward, to the middle of the trap door.

  A third guard approached Theresa. He carried black cloth in his hands.

  She watched him in shocked silence.

  He spread out the cloth and then slipped it down over her
head.

  The bright morning sun disappeared behind the veil.

  She sucked in a breath, but the fabric made it difficult.

  The thick coil of rope scraped down over her face. It cinched around her neck. Tiny filaments scratched and stung her skin as the rope tightened.

  Theresa wondered with detached curiosity if the weight of her falling body would break her neck and so kill her quickly, or if her relatively thin frame would keep her struggling for a while as she choked to death.

  I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

  She felt terrible.

  Her mom and dad were going to be crushed. Her death would push them over the edge. She wished she could hug them one last time. Tell them that she loved them so much.

  And she didn’t return Elio’s words of love. She’d tried but couldn’t.

  A hollow regret settled into the pit of her stomach.

  Here at the last when nothing could be done to change it, Theresa realized that there were so many things she wished she would’ve done.

  But now it was too late.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

  MASON circled around to the back of the scaffolding as guards pulled the nooses down over Theresa’s and Elio’s heads. Everyone was facing away. It was everything he could do to not draw his pistol and shoot down every guard or police officer in sight.

  To keep firing until he ran out of bullets and the slide locked back.

  The problem with that urge was that it wasn’t a solution. It wouldn’t solve the problem. He’d be killed and the execution would continue as before.

  Mason’s mind spun through options like slot machine wheels blurring by. He kept waiting for them to stop on a winning combination. They didn’t and he was out of time. He climbed up the back side of the scaffolding.

  The President checked his watch and then nodded at the guard standing next to the drop lever. “It’s time. Do it.”

  The guard grabbed the handle with both hands.

  He froze when the muzzle of Mason’s pistol touched his temple.

  Mason pressed the Sig Sauer harder into the poor guy’s head and cinched his other arm around his neck.