Predator in the Keys

by Matthew Rief

  If we’d had any luck, they’d both be making their way through a gator’s digestion system at that very moment.

  “No,” I said. “Seen anything else?”

  “Not since this morning.”

  “Which way did they go?” Ange asked. “They head upriver?”

  Eli shrugged. “Couldn’t tell ya. I only saw them over near Midway Pass. They were headed in this direction, that’s all I know.”

  “Mitch says you’ve spent a lot of time in the Glades over the years,” I said. “You seem pretty nonchalant about all this. The close proximity of these killers doesn’t bother you?”

  Eli shook his head and smiled, revealing a few gold teeth.

  “He doesn’t scare me none,” he said.

  He reached into the back of his waistband and pulled out a tarnished steel-colored revolver with a smooth walnut grip. It was a handgun I’d recognize a mile away, a Colt M1917 .45.

  My right hand hovered over my Sig.

  “I keep my Colt within arm’s reach at all times,” he added. “I fought in ’Nam. Had it since then. Anyone tries to pull something on me and they’re gonna get filled with lead, simple as that.”

  I was slightly irritated but did my best not to show it. When Mitch had mentioned Eli back at Flamingo, he’d made it sound like the guy could help us. Now it turned out that he knew less than we did.

  “Getting kinda late,” he said, looking up at the sky. “All the chickees nearby are filled up. Y’all have a place to set up camp for the night?”

  Before Jack or Ange could answer, I said, “Yeah.”

  And that was all I said. It was a lie, of course. But I didn’t feel like delving into the truth.

  Eli raised his hands into the air.

  “Didn’t mean to pry, friend,” he said. “I’ve got a place inland just down the way. It’s a secret camp in the middle of that island there.” He pointed to a small mangrove-infested island roughly half a mile southwest of us. “There’s plenty of room for y’all. You’d have to bring your own tents, though. Mine’s a little small, and the bugs here will eat ya alive.”

  “I appreciate the offer,” I said.

  “And it’s on the table all night. I’ll have the fire going.” He stepped back over to the control seat of his airboat and grabbed his earmuffs. “Y’all want some gator jerky?”

  I waved him off.

  “We’ve got plenty of food. Thanks for the offer, though.”

  He nodded, smiled broadly, and told us to have a good night before starting up the engine and roaring toward his secret island camp.

  “Is it just me, or does that guy give off a strange vibe?” Jack said.

  “It’s not just you,” Ange said. “I can’t tell if he’s Ned Flanders or Ted Bundy. What do you think, Logan?”

  I kept my eyes trained out over the water, watching as his airboat motored away from us.

  “I think we need to set watches for tonight,” I said. “I don’t want anyone creeping up on us while we sleep.”

  “Speaking of sleep,” Jack said, “where exactly is this camp of ours?”

  I took a quick look around. Options were slim. We had the choice between alligator-infested murky water or patches of land with foliage so thick you couldn’t even see the ground. Then my eyes gravitated to the large deck at our feet.

  “With the seats removed, this boat looks big enough to set up our tents,” I said.

  Jack bent down and rapped the aluminum hull with his knuckles.

  “Couldn’t have thought up a harder surface to sleep on?” he said.

  “It’s not ideal,” I said, “but sometimes in the pursuit of justice, you’ve got to deal with a little discomfort. It comes with the territory.”

  “Who said that?” Jack said, raising his eyebrows at me. “It sounds like something Batman would say.”

  We opened the cooler and pulled out the sandwiches Ange had made before leaving the house in Key West. After washing it all down with water, we sat around the maps and charts and planned out what we’d do the next day. It wasn’t long before the sun started to fall. We set up our tents and sprayed about a gallon of bug spray each, knowing that the tiny pests would come swarming with the cooler air.

  I’ve always enjoyed watching the sunset. I make an effort to watch the artistic glowing exit every evening, especially when I’m out on the water. But tonight was different. Tonight, all my thoughts were elsewhere and I kept my head down as we looked over maps and brainstormed what course of action to take next. I glanced up only a few times, just enough to catch part of the show and to feel the warmth on my face before everything faded into darkness.

  Just before calling it a night at 2200, we came to the conclusion that we were going to head upriver the following morning. I didn’t care how long it took. I was resolved to search every single tributary if I had to in order to find these guys.

  Ange took the first watch and I relieved her at midnight. Atticus seemed to really appreciate the cool of the evening. He’d stayed up with her and kept me company for half an hour before passing out beside me. It was dark and intensely quiet. I kept myself occupied by running over scenarios in my mind. When going after bad guys, you need to think like they do, but putting myself into the frame of mind of a sadistic serial killer proved difficult. I thought about my fight with them that morning. I thought about the cocaine Ange had found. And I thought about the Shepherds.

  Jack relieved me at 0200 and I crawled into the two-person tent alongside Ange. I’d slept in some rough places in my life, so the hard metal hull didn’t affect me. I was out in less than a minute.

  TWELVE

  I awoke suddenly to the sound of loud gunshots. Ange jolted awake beside me. Her eyes opened, and we shot up. We were both out of the tent with our hands wrapped around our pistols in seconds. The sounds had stopped by the time we stepped out into the dim early-morning light.

  Jack stood at the stern, his compact Desert Eagle in one hand, the other holding a pair of binoculars up to his eyes. Atticus was standing beside him, his paws on the rail as he barked and peered inquisitively toward the source of the sounds.

  “Heard three shots in all,” Jack said before either of us could ask.

  Sound travels well over water, and the sporadic low-elevation islands offer little resistance to passing sound waves. It makes it difficult to gauge how far away and from what direction a sound originated.

  “I think it came from over there,” Jack said, pointing southwest.

  There was a layer of morning fog hovering over the landscape. Piercing through the veil of white, we could just barely see the stretch of land that Jack was pointing at.

  “Isn’t that the island that Eli guy said he’d be staying at?” Ange said.

  Just as the words left her lips, the still morning air was cut by a loud, sharp cry. It was high-pitched, but definitely a man’s voice, and it boomed across the Glades for a few seconds before being silenced by two more gunshots.

  “Holy shit,” Jack said.

  In an instant, I was at the bow, untying the line that kept us in place in the slow-moving river.

  “Time to move, Jack!” I said.

  He was already climbing into the control seat and starting up the engine. Ange unclipped the bungee cords, and we collapsed the two tents as Jack accelerated us into a sweeping turn, bringing us around to face the direction of the sounds. We barely managed to strap the gear down before Jack had us roaring at full speed. The sound was painful, and I snatched both our sets of earmuffs and we donned them as the water flew past us.

  Ange and I kept our eyes forward, doing our best to examine the scene while blocking the billowing wind as we rocketed at over sixty knots. We could see Eli’s airboat tied off to our right on the western side of the island. I kept my right hand gripping my Sig while my eyes scanned over the thick shoreline, looking for any sign of movement.

  I caught a brief glance of the Watson Chickee to the southeast. The kayaks were gone, along with the tents. There was
no sign of the four people we’d seen the day before. Jack motored around the tip of the small arrowhead-shaped island and pulled up alongside Eli’s airboat. I spotted what looked like a trail, and before Jack had shut off the engine, I vaulted the gap and landed on a small patch of dirt.

  The engine died at my back. I yelled for Atticus to stay on the boat. Keeping my eyes forward, I moved as fast as I could along the path, heading toward the center of the island. Seconds later, I heard footsteps behind me. Looking back over my shoulder for a second, I saw Jack and Ange closing in with their weapons ready.

  The ground was a messy tangle of roots and branches. Overhead was a solid canopy of green. In the early-morning light, the inner part of the island was shrouded in shadows, making it difficult to navigate the overgrown trail. At the center of the island was a cluster of cypress trees, and as I moved closer, I spotted a bright blue tarp, a bedroll with a blanket, and a folding chair in a small clearing.

  Sweat covered my brow. It was already warm and humid. My heart raced as I raised my weapon, ready to take down a bad guy at a moment’s notice.

  When I moved within a few hundred feet of the clearing, I slowed and caught a whiff of a powerful stench. It was the raw, overbearing smell of gasoline. The fumes tore into my nostrils, catching me off guard as they dominated the fresh swampy air of the Glades.

  Gunshots. Screams. Gasoline. What the hell’s going on here?

  I looked around, but it was difficult to see more than twenty feet through the thick brush surrounding me. Ange and Jack had caught up and were right on my heels. The three of us moved in, and when we reached the clearing, we spotted someone for the first time.

  Eli lay bent over a thick tangle of roots. He had his back to us and wasn’t moving. It was clearly him, given his uniquely small stature. He was also wearing the same clothes he’d been wearing the evening before.

  I raised my Sig and stepped toward him cautiously. We’d made good time from the mouth of the river, reaching the center of the island less than five minutes after hearing the gunshots and scream. Whoever had fired off the rounds was still close by.

  “Got you covered, Logan,” Ange said. “Close in and see if he’s breathing.”

  I nodded, lowered my Sig, and strode over to Eli. He was still alive. I could tell that before I’d touched him by observing the rising and lowering of his body. I wrapped an arm around him and carefully turned his body around to face me. I’d expected to find stains of dark red across his body, but I saw nothing. He looked fine but was breathing heavily.

  His eyes were closed and his left arm was hidden beneath the thick brush beside us. For a moment, I thought he was stuck. Then his arm began to slide out. His eyes opened and his breathing relaxed in an instant. Before I knew what was happening, his hand appeared into view. He was holding his M1911 handgun.

  I didn’t have time to raise my Sig, didn’t have time to wonder at his motives. All I could do was lunge toward his left hand as the barrel of his weapon arched toward me and his finger pulled the trigger. The sound was overwhelming. A loud and powerful boom that roared like thunder just a few feet from my face and rattled my eardrums. My head shook and my mind fell into a painful haze. I could hear nothing but a high-pitched ringing in my right ear as I continued to force Eli’s gun hand toward the ground.

  Using all my strength, I forced myself over him and slammed his hand hard, knocking the revolver loose before he could manage another squeeze of the trigger. He gritted his teeth, let out a grunt, and retaliated by throwing his right fist toward my face. I tilted my head back and felt only the graze of knuckles against my chin.

  I let out a grunt of my own, then let him have it. A strong right, a pounding left, and then another right. I was stronger and more trained than he was, and after a few seconds, I’d crunched his face into a bloody pulp. He struggled to breathe, struggled to do anything but shake as I ripped his life away.

  Soon his head dropped back, lifeless, and his eyes shot sideways. For a second I thought he was dead, then his eyes focused and I realized that he was looking at something.

  No, not something. Someone.

  My mind was still hazy and my ears still rang painfully from the gunshot. I focused my gaze on the thick foliage surrounding us and saw a large man standing a few hundred feet away. He was standing perfectly still, facing us.

  It was hard to see him under the shaded canopy of the tall cypress trees, but he looked similar to the big guy who I’d tussled with the previous morning. He was big and husky and wore camo clothing from head to toe. He had a bandanna covering the bottom half of his face like some kind of Wild West bandit. His forehead looked strange, like it was covered in scars.

  What drew most of my attention, however, was the silver object in his right hand. It was small—too small to be a pistol. And it was rectangular.

  My eyes grew wide as the top part of the object hinged up in an instant. With the quick flick of his fingers, the killer sparked a small flame to life.

  Gunshots. Screams. Gasoline. Fire.

  The killer let the tiny glow flicker a few times, then dropped the Zippo. The moment it hit the ground, it ignited, setting the thick tangle of branches ablaze. I gasped as the flames spread, forming a circle that was quickly closing in around us.

  The crazy asshole had led us into a trap.

  THIRTEEN

  With the flames racing around me, following a drenched trail of gasoline, I reached for my Sig. In less than a second, I had the sights raised toward where the killer had been standing, but he was gone. He’d vanished into the dark jungle around me.

  Fire roared and smoke billowed around me. We had to move. We all had to get the hell out of there, and fast.

  Jumping to my feet, I swung my leg and kicked Eli’s left knee hard enough that I heard it crack over the scorching flames beside us. He yelled in pain, spitting out gobs of blood onto the dirt beside his face. I didn’t know if I’d be making it out of there alive, but I knew for certain that Eli Hutt didn’t stand a chance. He’d die right there. He’d sealed his fate when he’d tried to take us down.

  “Logan!” I heard Ange scream over my ringing ears.

  I whirled around with my Sig raised, expecting to see the killer once again. Instead, I saw Jack lying on his back. Blood stained his gray tee shirt, and his face contorted in pain. Ange knelt beside him, trying to help him to his feet.

  I sprinted over and dropped down beside my friend. He’d been shot, that much was clear. Fortunately, the bullet had only grazed his side just under his right armpit. But he was still bleeding out steadily and would need help getting to his feet.

  “Damn, it hurts,” he said, biting hard and wincing as I dropped down and wrapped an arm around him.

  As we lifted him to his feet, Ange and I glanced over at the wall of fire that was just about to close in around us. I could feel the heat from the scorching flames as we helped Jack toward the trail back to the airboat. We struggled to reach it before the flames did but were too late. Like a slamming gate, the walls of fire connected, sealing us in a circle of intense heat. The dry summer plants, doused in gasoline, burst into flames and quickly spread out toward us. Waves of smoke grew thicker and thicker, making it difficult to breathe.

  Looking forward, I saw a wall of flames at least five feet wide blocking our way back to the path. I coughed and lifted the neck of my shirt up over my nose and mouth to try and block out the choking smoke. I quickly ran through our limited options. We could make a run for it. At best we’d get through with second-degree burns. At worst, third-degree, or it was possible we wouldn’t make it at all.

  Time was running out as the flames roared around us. We needed to think of something.

  I glanced over my shoulder at Eli’s camp and got an idea.

  “Hold Jack,” I said. Before Ange could reply, I shifted his weight, forcing her to hold him up. “I’ll be right back!”

  She and Jack both said something I couldn’t hear over the ringing in my ears and the crackli
ng of the flames. I sprinted back to the camp, snatched the blanket from the bedroll, and ran back to the others. Wool is naturally flame resistant and doesn’t melt or stick to your skin when it burns.

  Even in the few seconds it took me to run over and get back, the flames had spread significantly. When I reached them, I unfolded the blanket and stepped as close as I could to the heat without my skin getting seared. The blanket wouldn’t guarantee our safe escape from the inferno, but it would sure help our chances.

  “On the count of three, we sprint for it!” I said, helping Jack and Ange closer.

  We could feel the heat growing in severity. We didn’t have long. Maybe just a few more seconds before the flames took over and completely engulfed our little refuge.

  “One… two… three!”

  I tossed the blanket over the fire, creating a narrow path through the blaze. We took off into the opening with reckless abandon. The heat scorched our bodies, baking us like an intense oven as we passed through. After what felt like an eternity, we broke free on the other side and staggered to a stop on the overgrown trail.

  We coughed and caught our breath as we pressed on, putting distance between us and the fire. I looked both Jack and Ange up and down. Our skin was red and I’d lost a few arm hairs, but we were alive. The wool had done its job well.

  Ange glanced over at me, letting me know that she was okay, then looked around. The killer was still close by and we were both ready to make him pay.

  “You alright?” I said to Jack.

  His head was down and he groaned.

  “Shit, bro,” he said. He shook his head and added, “At least I won’t have to cauterize this thing.”

  We moved as fast as we could down the overgrown path toward the airboat. We kept our heads on a swivel and reached the water in under a minute. The flames continued to spread at our backs, and I knew that it was only a matter of minutes before the entire island went ablaze.