by Matthew Rief
We couldn’t see his body after the fall. He was hidden from our view, having landed and tumbled near the northwest corner of the island. It didn’t matter. He was no longer a concern of mine. Two rounds center mass and an awkward thirty-foot fall didn’t bode well for him.
We quickly turned our attention back toward the center of their hideout. We expected the third and final brother to appear with a surge of vengeance that would give Captain Ahab chills. Instead, we heard the loud and unmistakable sound of a barking dog.
A large German Shepherd appeared near the center of the camp. It barked violently, bared its teeth, and jumped up and down, trying to take off in our direction. But he couldn’t—he was being held back.
Right behind the dog, the third brother appeared. It was the biggest brother, the one I’d wrestled two days earlier in Hells Bay. He looked exactly the same except for a black bandanna with a skull that was tied over his bald head. His face was still painted dark, his clothes tattered and dirty as hell. He had a revolver in his left hand and a baseball-sized object in his right hand.
Just as his upper body appeared, he reared the object back and hurled it straight toward us. It took my mind a fraction of a second to process what I was seeing.
A grenade.
There was no time to speak. No time to contemplate what we should do.
I spun around, wrapped my right arm around Ange, and forced us over the large stump behind us with all my strength. In a slow-motion blur, we flew through the air and crashed into a thick tangle of branches on the other side. As soon as we hit the ground, I rolled Ange over so that she was against the corner of the stump, then covered her with my body. I was gambling with my life. I’d only seen the grenade’s trajectory for an instant before turning around. If I’d misjudged its speed and it flew over the edge of the stump, I was dead.
As soon as I shielded Ange with my body, the grenade exploded. A loud and powerful boom rattled the air and shook the ground. My body was tense and pressed hard against Ange’s. I’d prepared for pain, expecting shards of sharp shrapnel to stab into my body. But none came.
I let out a breath. My heart was pounding, booming inside my chest. I pushed myself away from Ange and looked her over briefly. She tilted her head, her eyes wide as she made eye contact with me.
There was no time to ask how she was, no time to discuss the fact that we’d both just been fractions of a second from meeting a painful end.
As the explosion subsided, the loud intense barking again filled the air. It was louder. I could hear the dog’s snarling and its paws landing on the dirt as it sprinted toward us. I peeked over the stump, Sig in hand, ready to take it out. I loved dogs and hated the idea of hurting one, but I knew that this badly trained pooch would bite and claw us to shreds if given the chance.
Just as I popped up into view and spotted the dog hightailing it right for us, gunfire erupted behind it. I caught a quick glance of the third brother. He was barely in view, aiming and firing his rifle in our direction. I dropped back down as a succession of bullets struck the other side of the stump. He was covering his dog’s deadly approach.
Ange and I scrambled into a crouching position. She rolled sideways, popped up, and fired two rounds at the brother. He stopped firing momentarily, and a second later, the German Shepherd hurled itself over the stump and into my field of vision.
It dove right at me, its heavy frame slamming into mine, tackling me and pinning me against the ground. The beast of a dog growled and drove its teeth-riddled mouth toward me. It took everything I had to keep space between us. This wasn’t an ordinary attack dog. It had the size, the aggression, and the killer look in its eyes of a starving wolf.
Digging my hands into its neck and body, I tried to force it off me but ended up causing both our bodies to roll, cracking small branches beneath us. My backpack flew from my body. The straps holding the hardcase in place loosened enough for it to break free. It tumbled beside me, the force causing the case to break open like a steamed clam.
I wrapped my hands around the ravenous canine’s neck, using all my strength to keep it from biting the hell out of me. Drool dripped from its sharp teeth. I could feel the intensity of its anger resonating from its body.
With my back jammed against the ground, I was unable to grab my new hunting knife. Glancing briefly to my right, I saw the open hardcase and the tranquilizer gun resting inside of it. The pink fuzzy part of the dart that hadn’t been fired was still barely sticking out of the chamber. Keeping my left hand wrapped around the dog’s neck, I reached as far as I could with my right. The animal forced itself into me, digging its teeth into my shoulder and biting down hard. I yelled as the sharp pain surged. My right hand struggled blindly, gripping the dart, and I forced it free from the gun.
The dog continued to bark maniacally. It clawed one of its paws across the side of my chest, digging the sharp edges deep through my skin. The pain was intense, but I did my best to ignore it as I gripped the dart and stabbed the needle into the dog’s side. The plunger slid all the way forward, injecting the sedating liquid. It took effect almost instantly, causing the dog’s growling to quiet and its body to go limp.
I shoved the heavy unconscious pooch off me and saw Ange crouched beside the stump. She was holding her Glock in one hand, her dive knife in the other. Clearly, she’d been just about to stab the dog when I’d put it to sleep. The brutal scuffle had lasted just a few quick seconds, but it had felt like much longer.
I rose up, grabbed my Sig, and moved beside her.
“Are you okay?” she said, eyeing my chest and shoulder.
The dog had clawed my shirt to pieces, and blood oozed out from both wounds.
I nodded.
“Minor scratches.”
Bullets fired off yet again, interrupting us as they hammered into the other side of the wood. The truth was that my wounds were anything but minor. They hurt like hell, and the only reason I wasn’t screaming in pain was because of the adrenaline coursing through my veins.
Ange and I lowered our bodies even more, and I inched closer to her.
“I’ll flank him,” I said.
She nodded, waited for our attacker to stop shooting, then popped up and fired off a few rounds to cover me. I sprang to my feet and took off across the hideout. I had my Sig gripped with both hands and my eyes locked on to the place where I’d seen the third brother moments earlier. My heart continued to pound, but I kept the weapon stable. The moment he appeared, he’d be dead. I’d put a round through his skull before he could blink.
My mind focused and my breathing steady, I moved in. The camp was surprisingly barren. A few camouflage tarps concealed tin roofs covering large plastic barrels and metal cooking utensils. Gas tanks, a grill, what looked like a water-collection system of some kind with a cistern. But there was no sign of the remaining brother.
Up ahead, beside a large barrel, there was a round sheet of metal on the ground. It was covered in dirt and was resting at an odd angle. When I stepped closer, I realized what it was. A hatch.
I looked around, then dropped down and wrapped my fingers around the edges. I lifted it up and threw it aside, revealing a wide hole in the ground. Leaning over, I saw a metal-rung ladder leading down the side of a metal tube. I could see light flickering and hear the shuffling of feet coming from the bottom roughly ten feet below.
How in the hell did these guys build this thing?
I looked at the hole in awe for a few seconds, then turned back to look at Ange, who was eyeing me questioningly from behind the shot-up stump.
With my right hand clutching my Sig, I waved her over with my left. She stood up, slid over the log, and ran over to me while keeping her head on a swivel. Before she’d reached me, I dropped down and grabbed hold of the first rung. Sliding my hands across to the metal bars that ran the vertical length of the ladder, I took in a deep breath. My chest and shoulder were both bleeding and hurt like hell. But I’d chased these assholes through the Glades, and I wasn’t abou
t to let a few cuts stop me from finishing the job.
Here we go.
I slid my boots to the outer bars and let my body slide down quickly as I maintained control using pressure from my extremities. I reached the bottom in seconds. The soles of my boots made contact with a concrete floor, and I bent my knees to absorb the shock, landing as quietly as possible.
Gripping my Sig with both hands, I quickly scanned the small, rustic room. It was a dirty, worn-down living space. A few metal bunk beds with stained mattresses and scattered ragged blankets. An old table and chairs. Shelves filled with stacked canned foods, dehydrated meals, and dried jerky meat. The floor was covered in dirt. The place looked about how the brothers did. Dirty and smelly and in dire need of a good cleaning.
Near the back, I spotted a closed wooden door. There were muddy boot prints on the ground leading under it.
My Sig at the ready, I stepped toward the door and tried the handle. It was locked. I stayed silent for a few seconds, listening for any sign of life on the other side. These guys had rigged their island with traps and vicious animals. I did my best to prepare for whatever game this last asshole was playing.
I was in pain and had lost a decent amount of blood. But I manned up, leaned back, and slammed my right heel as hard as I could into the door. It shattered from its frame, fell forward, and landed on the floor.
I waited for a cloud of dust to clear, then stepped through. The doorway led to an even smaller room. There were metal shelves with stacks of black duffle bags on both sides. Straight across from me, I saw another ladder. Stepping across the room, I looked up and saw bright light bleeding down from overhead. It was smaller than the main tunnel, but still plenty wide enough for even the big Harlan boys to crawl through.
I heard a sound back in the main room. Looking back, I saw Ange land on the floor and spin around. She walked through the doorway and examined the small room with stacked plastic packages.
“Looks like we found the mother lode,” Ange said.
I nodded, then turned to look at the small escape ladder.
Suddenly, Ange and I froze as we heard the sound of a large outboard engine start up.
It wasn’t our backup. Their engine was already running—we could hear it humming in the distance near the other side of the island. This was one of the Harlan brothers’ airboats. He’d led us down here so he could run up and try and make an escape.
“That coward’s trying to make a run for it!” I said, gritting my teeth as I slid my Sig into its holster and took on the ladder as fast as I could.
I quickly reached the top. Grabbing my Sig, I moved toward the northern shoreline and the sound of the newly started engine. I heard the whoosh of a giant fan. The sound was coming from the camouflage-painted structure I’d originally thought was their house. I sprinted across the camp and shouldered my way inside.
It was a small rustic boathouse. Half of it was wide open, revealing a muddy bank covered in mangroves. Vines and branches hung down from all sides. From the outside looking in, it looked like ordinary untamed shoreline. The brothers had clearly used it to quickly hide their boats for years.
Just as I entered, the final brother’s airboat took off across the water, picking up speed as it headed directly away from me.
It was like déjà vu with this guy. I aimed my Sig and pulled the trigger, firing round after round toward him and his rapidly escaping boat. The lead struck, shooting up sparks but not slowing the fan.
I heard footsteps behind me. When the slide of my Sig locked back, indicating that the magazine was spent, I glanced over my shoulder and saw Ange moving toward me.
“The sat phone,” she demanded, holding out her hand.
“It’s in my backpack,” I said, motioning toward the other side of the hideout.
Ange shook her head. “Ah, hell with it.”
She strode through the mud right up to the shoreline. While the killer’s boat was growing fainter, ours was growing louder. We could hear it motoring toward us, rounding the northwestern part of the island.
Lifting her right thumb and index finger up to her mouth, she let out a loud squeaky whistle. Billy motored the airboat into view just a few hundred feet offshore. Jack and Pete were standing at the bow, weapons at the ready.
Ange and I both pointed toward the final brother, who was motoring off to the west.
Billy looked from us to the escaping boat and nodded.
“We’ll get him!” Pete shouted at the top of his lungs.
Billy hit the throttles, giving it everything she had and rocketing their airboat into their quarry’s wake.
Ange and I stood side by side for a few seconds, trying to think of a way to help with the chase.
Now might be a good time to get the authorities involved, I thought. But we’ll need more than a strong whistle to do it.
I was just about to turn around and go after my backpack when I heard shuffling in the dense foliage beside us.
Is it another gator? Or maybe their not-so-friendly pooch has woken up from his nap?
Ange and I both aimed our weapons at the unknown sound. A moment later, I realized that neither of my guesses were right.
“Buck!” the brother we’d shot yelled at the top of his lungs as he stepped into view along the shore. He moved with slow, jerky steps. He had his hands pressed to his side, trying to stop the gushes of blood that were flowing out and dripping onto the mud at his feet. “No! How dare you leave me. No! You son of a bitch, Buck!”
His yells were loud and filled with rage. His body shook as he stopped and let out a powerful, barbaric cry.
His brother’s airboat was almost out of sight. If he’d heard the dying screams of desperation behind him, he didn’t show it.
The angry bleeding brother suddenly jerked his head sideways, realizing that Ange and I were standing there for the first time. We were only about twenty feet away from him and both had our weapons aimed straight at him. I’d reloaded my Sig and now had fifteen fresh 9mm rounds. Two apparently hadn’t done the trick with this guy, not quickly enough anyway.
His face contorted as his bulging eyes stared daggers at us. Veins stuck out of his dirty forehead. His teeth chattered like he was freezing to death.
He took a slow, labored step toward us.
“You,” he said, channeling all of his anger toward me. “You fucker. You did all of this.”
He reached for a knife sheathed to his belt. I was about to pull the trigger and put him out of his misery when Ange raised a hand to stop me.
“He’s not worth the ammo,” she said. “I’ve got him.”
She stepped toward the guy, and before he could remove his weapon, she hit him with a powerful side kick. Ange’s heel drove hard into his belly, causing his body to fly backward. He grunted loudly and started to scream but was silenced as he splashed into the murky water.
One of the nearby gators saw and was attracted to the commotion of the struggle. It ran into the water just down the shoreline, chain in tow. An injured animal attracts a predator like a magnet. It’s something innate, something primal deep within its psyche.
The dying brother struggled just to lift his head up out of the water. He managed to get two quick gulps of air before the gator closed in on him. It was over quickly. A powerful snapping of jaws. A final scream of agony. And then the gator pulled him under.
Blood and air bubbles floated up to the surface. After a few seconds, the water went still.
I directed my gaze back up toward the western horizon, watching as our airboat disappeared in the distance.
TWENTY-THREE
Billy kept his eyes forward, his right hand gripping the airboat’s rudder stick hard and his foot pressed to the accelerator. The engine groaned and the propeller roared at his back, shooting them across the water. He took off after the last surviving brother with reckless abandon, weaving in and out of sharp turns and skidding over shallows.
He knew the river as well as anyone. Knew that it was about to
completely die off, to break apart into narrow strips that were too small to navigate an airboat through.
He’ll be trapped soon, he thought. He’ll be trapped and we’ll finish this.
Pete and Jack were crouched down in the bow. They kept low to avoid the gusts of strong wind slapping against their bodies and held on tight to prevent being launched out into the water with every turn. As their boat closed in on their enemy, they fired off a few rounds, trying to take the killer down and put an end to the chase.
With the river dying off ahead of them, Buck cut a hard left into a shallow channel that was just wide enough for his boat to fit through. Billy followed, flying into the wake without hesitation. Their boat was bigger, however, and it scraped against the mangroves on either side. Overhanging branches slapped against their bodies. Logs and debris filled the channel, forcing him to slow down as the hull bounced and rattled every few seconds.
Billy gazed up ahead. They were within a hundred yards of their enemy, and the channel was about to get even narrower.
“Be ready!” Billy shouted over the ear-rattling sounds of the airboat. “We’re about to reach the end of the line!”
Billy eased back to thirty knots. To his astonishment, Buck maintained his daredevil pace.
Is this guy about to try and off himself?
The question lingered in his mind for only a second before he saw something up ahead that caused his eyes to grow wide and his mouth to drop open. He watched as Buck grabbed what looked like a machete, jumped out of his seat, and leaned over the port side of his airboat. With his boat continuing to rocket forward, he slashed the machete at the water like a madman.
Just as Billy was about to yell out that he’d gone crazy, a large object splashed out of the water in front of them, just behind their quarry’s stern. It took Billy’s eyes a moment to focus, and he realized that it was a metal barrier of some kind. He only had a moment to react. At their speed, they’d crash into the obstruction in seconds.
He lifted his foot off the throttle. Knowing that there was only one way to slow them down in time, he jerked the rudder stick back, sending the airboat into a fast spin. It rotated three full times before skidding to a stop as it screeched against the metal grill that rose up out of the water.