by Matthew Rief
They watched as Buck climbed back into the control seat, looked back over his shoulder, then turned sharply out of view. The metal bars of the barricade were held strongly in place. Pete and Jack both leaned over to try and push it down or out of the way, but it was no use.
Billy killed the airboat’s engine. They listened as the brother’s airboat grew fainter and fainter.
“You’ve got to be kidding me, man,” Jack said. “What the hell is it with these guys?”
“He’s a pesky slimy vermin,” Pete said, shaking his head. He stepped toward the center of the boat, grabbing the radio from his bag. “We need to call in reinforcements. He’s on the run. Desperate. We can still get him.”
TWENTY-FOUR
Buck Harlan could feel his pursuers breathing down his neck. They were closing in. Three guys, looked like. All of them armed, no doubt. If they caught up to him, he’d be done for.
He stared anxiously up ahead at a river that was growing narrower and narrower by the second.
Almost there. Less than a quarter mile now.
His heart pounded and he gritted his teeth. He kept his mind focused on the terrain that he knew like the back of his own hand. He couldn’t cloud his mind with thoughts of his brothers. Couldn’t think about whether the distant screams he’d heard were his brother or his attackers. He’d betrayed both of them, left them for dead so that he could make his escape.
No, he couldn’t think about that.
He squeezed on the rudder stick and pushed it forward, turning the boat to the left. The propeller rocketed him down a narrow channel. Looking behind him, he’d hoped that it was too narrow for his pursuers’ boat, but they continued, closing the gap between them.
He pressed on down the channel, weaving around corners and avoiding half-submerged logs. Up ahead, he spotted a faint yellow flag tied to a tree. It hung ten feet in the air, right over the dense shoreline.
This is it. This better fucking work.
Letting go of the controls, he snatched his machete and stepped carefully over to the port side. With his foot off the throttle, the engine settled, but the momentum continued to drive the craft forward.
Almost to the flag, Buck leaned over the side of the boat. He spotted his target, a half-inch-thick rope, and locked his gaze on to it. Rearing back the long blade, he swung it as hard as he could. The sharpened steel snapped the tensioned rope with ease, and his follow-through nearly caused him to tumble into the water. Glancing back, he watched as a metal barricade snapped into place just moments after his boat motored past.
He smirked as his pursuers had no choice but to stop in their tracks. Climbing back into the control seat, he hit the gas and turned another corner, leaving them in his wake.
First stage complete.
He was following an outline, an escape route he and his brothers had orchestrated years earlier. It was an “if-all-else-fails” plan, just in case they were ever compromised.
He headed northwest through a maze of narrow, winding channels for half an hour before he hit the end of the line.
Just before the channel ended, he reached a black pool of water that he knew was well over twenty feet deep. When he reached the center of the deep hole, he slowed and drove the bow up onto the muddy shore beside him. Killing the engine, he threw a black duffle bag and a backpack onto a small patch of tall grass, then moved to the transom. Bending down, he pulled the drain plug, allowing water to flow in freely. He threw the plug aside, stepped up onto the bow and vaulted onto the shore.
With a strong push, he shoved the boat out into the center of the pool. Grabbing his bag and duffle, he watched as water filled his airboat. Within minutes, the dark liquid completely engulfed the boat and it disappeared from view.
He stood still for a moment, listening to the silence around him. He thought he could hear something far in the distance, an engine of some kind. They were looking for him, no doubt. They’d called in all the cavalry to take him down. He looked out over the vast swamp. He was miles from his island but was far from being out of the woods yet.
With his backpack secured and the black duffle strapped across his chest, he took off north, trailblazing through thick clusters of trees and swampland. An hour later, he’d traversed all the way to a branch of Shark River, a major tributary that stretches ten miles from Ponce de Leon Bay up into the heart of the Glades.
He headed up along the shoreline for a quarter mile, then dropped his bags, crouched down, and crawled under a thick patch of foliage. Reaching into a narrow gap, he grabbed a plastic handle and pulled a kayak out of its hiding place. There were two others resting beside it that wouldn’t be needed. A paddle was secured to its side, and once it was out, he loaded up his gear and slid it into the river.
He paddled eight miles in all, passing the Canepatch historic site and heading up Squawk Creek. By the time he reached his destination, the sun was starting to set. It had been a hell of a long day. He was exhausted, dehydrated, and hungry.
When the creek died off, he stepped out and pulled the kayak up onto the shore. He climbed out and unloaded his gear. Then, just as he had for his airboat, he sent the kayak to a watery grave by pressing it down, fully submerging the cockpit and letting it sink down toward the center of the river.
He grabbed his gear, trekked three miles east through the swamp, and eventually reached the end of an old service road. Near the base of a rusted radio tower that had long been left to the elements, there was a large camouflage tarp covering a vehicle. Buck removed thick branches that had been used to keep the tarp in place. Lifting it off, he revealed an old Silverado he’d stolen from a junkyard and fixed up years earlier. Having been sitting idle for so long, it didn’t start up at first. But Buck had all the tools he needed in the cab, and within an hour, he had the old engine humming.
Phase one and two of the escape plan were complete. Now all he had to do was drive out of the park without getting stopped.
He threw his gear on the passenger seat, climbed in, and shut the door behind him.
No, getting stopped wouldn’t mean the end.
He had his revolver and a handful of rounds. He could handle things if he got stopped. Could take care of the situation with a well-placed round. It was getting captured that he feared. He just had to get the hell out of there without getting captured.
He put the truck in drive and hit the gas. He had two miles of neglected backroad to traverse before hitting the main road. It was 2100 and the sky was dark. He just had to keep it together for another hour or so. He glanced at the black duffle bag resting beside him.
Then I need to see about selling this and getting the fuck out of this country.
TWENTY-FIVE
I stood on the edge of the hideout, looking out over the water as they returned on the airboat. Using hand signals, I directed them over to a part of the beach that didn’t have a chained-down alligator. Billy was at the controls, and he killed the engine, letting the boat slow naturally and rise up over the muddy shore. I wrapped a hand around the bow and pulled it up even more.
“We were so close to having him,” Jack said as he stepped up toward the bow.
Pete shook his head in frustration and glanced over at me. “You call in the feds?”
I nodded. They’d called me on my sat phone just as I was about to call the local police and Coast Guard station. They’d quickly informed me that the final remaining brother had managed to get away and was running northwest toward Shark River.
Jack and Pete leaned over and got their first good look at me.
“Damn, you alright, bro?” Jack said, motioning toward my wounds. Ange had bandaged me up pretty good using a first aid kit Mitch had on his airboat. “Seems like every time I see you, you look worse and worse.”
“Well, it looks worse than it is,” I said, waving a hand. “Though I might be able to top your forty-five gunshot wound now.”
He told me we could compare scars later, then hopped down onto the shore. Pete followed down behind
him, then Billy took up the rear. He didn’t look like the usual tall, confident guy I’d been accustomed to the past few days. Instead, he was hunched over with his head down.
“I’m sorry, Logan,” he said quietly as he passed by me. “We had one job to do and we blew it. I blew it.”
I placed a hand on his shoulder.
“Don’t worry about it, my friend,” I said. “You’ve been a big help in this. Sometimes you do everything right and the fish still gets off the hook.”
He cracked a smile, nodded, and straightened up a little. The four of us headed up into the abandoned hideout.
“What the hell’s that?” Jack said, pointing toward the hatch at the center of the camp.
“A tunnel,” I said. “Goes down about ten feet or so.”
“What’s down there?” Pete asked.
“A small living space,” I said. “Beds, nonperishable food, and a few hundred pounds of cocaine.”
That got all of their attention quick.
Jack’s eyes grew wide. “That much? Holy shit, bro.”
Pete and Billy both stared in awe for a few seconds.
“Has Mitch shown up yet?” Pete asked.
I nodded. “He’s down there now. Officers from the Monroe County Police Department are on their way, ETA under an hour, with a few detectives as well as EODs to take care of the explosives. They’re also sending two boats up Shark River since that’s the direction he was heading. And I also called the Guard over on Islamorada. They’re sending two choppers to look for our lost Gladesman.”
“Good,” Pete said with a nod. “What’s the plan now for us?”
“We leave,” Ange said, climbing up out of the hatch. “Before we get stuck in a small room for hours on end answering question after question.” She walked over, wrapped an arm around me, and added, “Plus, we need to get you to a doctor. After you take a shower.”
I cracked a smile and looked down at my bandaged-up shoulder and chest.
“I think you did a pretty good job of taking care of it,” I said. “I don’t see any need to go to a hospital.”
I shot her my best smile, hoping she’d fall for it.
“Fine,” she said. “You win. I’ll stitch it up myself on the boat ride home. But we gotta at least get Dr. Patel to make a house call. I’m sure you’ll need a rabies shot now.”
“Agreed,” I said, knowing that it was as good of a compromise as I was gonna get.
Though I understood their obvious importance and they’d brought me back from down and out a handful of times in my life, I couldn’t stand hospitals. I think it’s the smell of them more than anything.
“Rabies?” Jack said, raising an eyebrow at me. “What the hell did you pick a fight with?”
“A German Shepherd,” I said. “A big one. That reminds me, how’s the pooch doing?”
“Still sleeping like a baby,” Ange replied. “We got him secured for when he wakes up. We’ll need to get him transported and taken to an animal shelter.”
I nodded. It would be a long and difficult road to bring that dog back to normalcy.
“A German Shepherd,” Jack said, shaking his head. “You’re right. That might top my forty-five wound.”
We fell silent for a moment, and Pete looked around the group. “So if we leave, who will Mitch say did all this?”
There was a slight pause.
“Billy,” I said. “You mind taking the credit for this one? After all, I never would’ve been able to track that brother down if it wasn’t for you.”
He was taken aback. He looked around at the group, stunned.
“I barely did anything,” he said. “I can’t take credit for something I didn’t do.”
“I don’t want to force you to do anything you’re not comfortable with. But you’d be doing us a big favor.”
“But people should know who did this. This is a big story, and you’re heroes for bringing these men down.”
“We don’t like the attention,” I said. “But if you don’t either, I understand. We can just say Mitch spotted something suspicious on the island.”
“Spotted something suspicious,” Jack said, “then snuck onto the island, killed a gator, cleared a tripwire, took down an attack dog, and killed a murderer?”
I laughed, then stopped myself as the pain in my chest and shoulder hit me.
“I’m sure you guys can think of something,” I said.
Billy paused a moment, then nodded.
“Alright,” he said. “You’ve all done so much, it’s the least I can do.”
“Great,” I said, thanking him and patting him on the back. I turned to the others and added, “Already cleared it with Mitch, so let’s get out of here.”
“Heading home and resting for a few days is a good idea,” Pete said. “This killer’s been spooked out of his cave, and he’ll need to venture into society at some point. We’ll give the authorities a chance to take him down.”
“And if they don’t?” Jack said. “What if he gets away? He stopped us with some kind of spring-loaded gate mechanism thing. He had his escape planned out.”
We paused a moment. Atticus scurried off into the shrubs and came back holding a stick. He dropped it at my feet, then looked up expectantly.
“Not here, boy,” I said with a smile. “But first thing when we get home.”
“If by some miracle he manages to escape,” Ange said, “it’s not like he’s overflowing with options.”
I nodded. “Alright, time to get out of here. These killers have taken up enough of our time, and a bar of soap, a cold beer, and a nap are all calling my name.”
“Billy, you mind if we borrow your boat?” Pete said. “We’ll leave it at Flamingo.”
“No problem,” he said. “My boat is your boat. I’ll ride back with Mitch.”
Everyone climbed back onto the airboat, and I called over Atticus, who was looking for another stick in the middle of the hideout. I was the last to board, and before I did, I turned back to Billy.
“Thanks for everything, Billy,” I said, shaking his hand. “Really, we couldn’t have taken them down without you.” We exchanged a few nods and knowing glances. “You’ll keep us informed if you learn anything about the last brother?”
“Of course,” he replied.
I took a step toward the airboat, then turned back.
“Your family line has a proud history,” I said. “I think Osceola would be proud of you as well. You’re a good man, Billy.”
He smiled, and I turned and clasped hands with Ange, who helped me up onto the boat.
TWENTY-SIX
We kept a low profile, avoiding any possible confrontations with police and Coast Guard as we motored down the Watson and across Whitewater Bay. We navigated down Buttonwood Canal and reached Flamingo just as the sun was beginning to set.
We grabbed a quick bite to eat at the food truck just as it was about to close. Having a hot, well-prepared meal was incredible after living the past few days on MREs and jerky. It reminded me of all of the camping trips and missions I’d gone on over the years. Fresh, hot food never tastes better than after spending time out in the wild.
We ran into Hank Boggs as we were heading back over to the ocean side of the marina. He actually said that he was happy to see me in one piece, which caused me to raise an eyebrow. When I asked him why he was so happy, he motioned toward his airboat. He had a dead wild hog lying in the bow.
Pete and Jack agreed to take the Baia back to Key West while Ange and I hopped into the Cessna. Atticus jumped onto the dock, then vaulted into the cockpit without a word.
“Guess you guys got Atty,” Jack said with a laugh.
Ange started up the engine and motored us out into Florida Bay. We took off into a partially clouded sky with the sun setting to our right. It was beautiful—wide streaks of orange and red hues. The water beneath us glistened like diamonds. Western clouds turned dark purple with bright glowing edges.
I’ve always loved watching the sunset, se
eing it transition and shift to various patterns of color with every passing second. As I watched nature’s work of art unfold, I thought about the past few days. From the moment Jack had told us about the Shepherds’ murder at our underwater hotel in Key Largo, we’d experienced a whirlwind of activity. We’d been swept up into a dangerous and difficult chase through one of the harshest terrains on earth. And we’d managed to pull through together.
But one uncomfortable thought continued to linger. The final Harlan brother. He’d managed to slip through our fingers. I reasoned that there was a slim-to-nothing chance that he’d make it out of that swamp without being caught. But, he and his brothers had proven over and over that they were smarter than they’d appeared. That they had tricks up their sleeves and plans for when shit hit the fan.
I glanced over at Ange. She turned her head and smiled at me. She’d changed into a blue tank top before taking off, and she had her blond hair pulled back and wore a pair of aviator sunglasses. One look at her made me forget all about the killer that got away. There was nothing I could do about that, but what I could do was enjoy the moment I was in. Sitting beside the most beautiful and amazing woman on earth, who just so happened to be my wife.
“You doing good?” she said.
I grabbed her hand and nodded.
“Never better.”
Atticus jumped up into my lap, licked my face, then looked out through the copilot window. He seemed to be enjoying the view as much as I was.
Leaning forward, I gazed down at the beautiful island chain I’d called home for the past year and a half. I was happy to be returning to my paradise on earth and the only tropical destination in the continental United States.
We splashed down in Tarpon Cove twenty minutes later. After tying off, we loaded our stuff into my Tacoma, which was still parked in the lot. The island was dark as we made the short drive to my house on Palmetto Street. Atticus jumped out as soon as the door opened, running off to explore and smell everything in the yard.