Kill Shot - An Abram Kinkaid Thriller

by Blake, Cameron

  He stuffed the sandwich in his mouth and consumed it in three bites. He pondered a second, but replaced the rest in the fridge instead. He grabbed two water bottles, chugged one, then sipped on the second. He broke off two bananas from a bunch and grabbed one of the red apples before heading back down the hall to his room.

  When he came around the corner, he stopped by the entrance of his room. Qang Jing was facing the lone window, seemingly staring into the wall. Without turning, Qang Jing said,

  "Come in."

  Abram dropped the two bananas and the apple on the small table, but held the rim of the water bottle to his lips. The cold liquid rolled down his throat in a cooling rinse.

  "Sit."

  Qang Jing didn't move. His arms were neatly folded in front of him. Abram sat in the stool.

  "Do you know who I am?" Qang Jing asked.

  "Yes," Abram said.

  "I see. And do you know why you're here?"

  "To be trained as an assassin," Abram said.

  Qang Jing shifted on his feet, but continued to face the wall.

  "Assassins are a muddled breed; narrow-minded, and delusional. We don't make assassins here. We teach you how to harness your inner energy to achieve whatever you desire. Sometimes people die."

  "So I'm not an assassin. What am I then?"

  Qang Jing spun around like lightning and grabbed both of Abram's wrists in his hands so tight that the blood circulation ceased immediately. The gulp of water clung to the roof of Abram's mouth.

  "That is for you to decide. I am only a teacher, here to help you on your way."

  Qang Jing flipped Abram's palms skyward and examined them. Abram wasn't sure what to think, but he didn't pull away.

  A few moments later, Qang Jing released him with a quick jolt and walked to the door. He paused without turning back.

  "Your future is masked in shadow. You have a darkness that follows you. You must learn to release it, or it'll consume you. What's done is done."

  He disappeared like a wraith, shooting down the hallway as if floating on air. Abram flexed his fists, urging the blood back to his fingers. The man's strength was incredible. Being face to face with him, Qang Jing was no taller than Jihir, if not shorter. And yet, the man appeared to be a giant. Abram fell on his back, allowing the thin mattress to draw his weight. There were no more unannounced guests the rest of the evening. As the light faded and the room grew dark, Abram allowed his eyelids to deepen and the sleep to come.

  ***

  Abram's eyes shot open. His skin was sticky, his head heavy, and his breathing labored. The pounding had awoken him from his dream. The ghosts of his past still hung on his eyelids as he tried to blink them away. The drums echoed up the hallway. So he hadn't dreamt them up. The room was still dark. Unable to see the stars or the moon, Abram didn't know whether it was night or early morning. Judging from the ache in his legs and the weight of his muscles, it must be the first. For all he knew, he had only just fallen asleep before the drums started their roll.

  Abram flung his legs over the edge. He hadn't bothered removing his boots. The soles thudded on the concrete floor. He rolled his neck from side to side and stretched his arms to the ceiling. His body was tired, but far from depleted. He drank the remaining water from the bottle that he must have fallen in bed clinging to. It helped wash away the rest of the night.

  With each step, the roar in his ears grew. The tunnels seemed to swell from side to side. Abram shook his head to clear the cloud that was quickly forming. His eyes felt as though a warm air was whipping at them. They burned with dryness. Abram blinked to moisten his follicles. The closer he got to the sound, the heavier his feet felt. When he noticed his shirt was sticky with sweat and his breaths were more labored, he knew he was ascending. The tunnel ahead opened to the outside. A rush of hot air knocked him against the wall. It whipped around his arms, navel, and chest, sucking up the moisture that had formed. His legs grew lighter as he gained his breath. From his new vantage point, the land below seemed miles away. The terrain seemed flatter when he first arrived. His ears no longer throbbed, but the drumming didn't cease. Except now, what once were drums sounded more like rods smacking together.

  A shallow dip wound to his left. The smacking appeared to be coming from that direction. He followed it and quickly his knees whined from the stress of going downhill. His calves celebrated. The trail looped in an inward circular motion until he was nearly ground level again. It exited into a small clearing surrounded by tall boulders and fig trees. Even from this distance Abram knew whom the lean figure dancing around like an acrobatic ninja was. Qang Jing was a wonder to watch. He seemed to levitate and float a few inches off the ground, the long wooden rod in his hands merely an extension of his body. The ground and rocks even seemed to aid him in his movement. The three other men in the circle weren’t faring as well. Each of them had sweat pouring from their bare chests. Bruises marked their backs and arms. Abram was at the foot of the embankment now, only twenty feet from the fighting ring. He assumed that’s what this place was: a combative arena.

  One of the men suddenly rushed Qang Jing from the side when his back was turned toward the other two. The man’s face displayed a hungry grin right until Qang Jing’s rod upper cut his exposed chin. The man tumbled onto his back and didn’t move right away. The other two men paused, weighing the odds of their initial surprise and eagerness to attack. Qang Jing didn’t hesitate. He continued his circular motion and allowed the fluid momentum of his rod to sweep around and right into the unsuspecting men’s ankles. Both toppled to the ground as well. Qang Jing’s tip popped both in the chest.

  Their rods had fallen from their grips and one lay only a few feet from Abram. He looked at it as a child would a foreign toy. When he raised his eyes back to the others, Qang Jing was staring at him. Qang Jing’s eyes were fierce, but soft. Abram knew the man was assessing him, maybe even challenging him to pick up the rod and fight. If there was one thing Abram wasn’t, it was dumb. He knew when he was outmanned. Instead, he walked toward Qang Jing, making sure the rod was close but not too close. Qang Jing must have sensed his refusal to enter the fight. He quickly rushed at Abram, holding the rod behind him.

  Abram stepped back instinctively when Qang Jing swung the rod around his hip and thrust it at Abram’s forehead. The rod barely missed Abram’s temple and he could feel the electric buzz of energy as it swept by his face. Qang Jing allowed the momentum of the thrust to twirl him counterclockwise. This time Qang Jing squatted slightly, altering the trajectory of the second and third blows. Abram had to act quicker to dodge these. He sidestepped the first one and then jumped over the second. His hands were up now in a defensive posture as he judged where the next blow would come from.

  To his surprise, the next blow wasn’t a strike, but Qang Jing kicking the spare rod on the ground with his heel. Abram snatched it out of the air with his right hand and barely brought it to bear just as Qang Jing sent another volley of swings and strikes his way. He managed to block each strike, but he backpedaled to keep his balance. Sweat formed on his brow and his heart raced in his chest. Qang Jing was quick, seemingly sending the rod flying at every part of Abram’s body as if it was as easy as sifting sand through fingers. Qang Jing didn’t appear to be tiring either, nor was there any sign of fatigue or sweat on his brown skin.

  The next blow smacked Abram’s rod inches from his left jawline. The strike of wood against wood reverberated in his ear, blurring his vision slightly. He retreated several steps on impulse to put distance between him and Qang Jing. Qang Jing sensed his handicap and thrust forward with more force. Abram blocked the first two swings, but the third found its mark. Abram’s shoulder thudded as the rod made contact. Instant pain ricocheted down his back and up his neck. His right arm went numb and his fingers tingled. He shifted the rod to his good arm, but Qang Jing’s next volleys were precise and he landed another blow, this time to Abram’s left shoulder. The same fire burned down his arm. Both hands were numb, and his finge
rs strained to maintain a hold on the rod.

  Abram knew he had only a moment to act before the next blow found his head. Despite the lack of feeling in his arms, Abram charged Qang Jing, leading with his rod like a spear. Qang Jing’s expression showed his surprise, but he quickly pushed Abram’s thrust to the side. Abram’s charge was chaotic and uncalculated. He had too much momentum moving forward and he realized his mistake the moment the back of his neck exploded in pain. The ground flew up to meet his face. Abram’s body skidded along the dirt, his hand losing its grip on his rod. He knew what was coming more than saw it. Abram rolled to the side. Qang Jing’s staff sent dirt flying. Abram used the only weapon he had left to parry Qang Jing’s attacks. His shins and calves were taking a hammering, but at least he was able to maintain some distance and protect his face.

  Abram’s hand found his fallen rod and he brought it swooping skyward, low from his core. It struck Qang Jing in the thigh. Qang Jing’s force never changed but Abram saw the faintest of smiles crease along his face for a fraction of a second. With his newfound confidence, Abram flipped over his shoulder, allowing the roll to bring him to his feet. He held out the rod toward Qang Jing, who had stopped his pursuit. He stood there, his rod at a downward forty-five-degree angle, his chest rising and falling slightly.

  “Very good, Mr. Kinkaid. Where did you learn Judo?”

  Abram kept his staff waist-level.

  “I studied some Judo, but mostly Jujutsu for a few years.”

  “More than a few years, I’m sure,” Qang Jing responded.

  His eyes studied Abram.

  “Your posture is good, but your follow through is lacking.”

  Abram raised both arms and pointed to his face.

  “You don’t say.”

  His body throbbed from the blows he had endured. They would heal, but had it been a more lethal weapon…He didn’t finish the thought.

  Abram backed away and tossed the rod back to one of the other three men, who were all standing outside the circle. The man closest snatched it out of the air and held it by his side. They were all expressionless, just like their master.

  Qang Jing tossed his own rod to one of the other men and joined Abram’s side.

  “Come with me,” he said.

  It was the second time the mysterious martial arts guru had requested him to follow. Abram traced Qang Jing’s steps out of the circle of combat, leaving the three men behind. Qang Jing led them through the maze of boulders and underbrush until the density opened up to the bluest water Abram had ever seen. The Pacific disappeared into the horizon. The shoreline stretched north and south for miles on end. Instead of the industrial port and vendors with their makeshift tents and shops, only a clear beach remained.

  “What do you see?” Qang Jing asked.

  “The ocean. The beach. The sky.”

  Qang Jing expected this response. He probed deeper.

  “Look beyond the objects you were trained to focus on. What do you see?”

  Abram gazed into the vastness of the ocean; saw the white puffs as waves tumbled under one another. He heard the whisper of the sea’s breath whipping along the shore. He tasted the gritty air on his tongue and smelled the salt from the ocean. And there was more. His chest rose and fell in peaceful elegance. His lungs filled with the warm nectar of the ocean, then released the excess. Abram’s posture relaxed and his eyes grew heavy. The emptiness of the beach liberated the clutter of his mind, freeing him of the many thoughts racing through his head all day. The sound of the waves splashing into the sand, then withdrawing, only to repeat, rinsed his ears of the background noise. What did he see? The questions lingered like an itch or a curiosity on the tongue. The more he embraced his surroundings, the more the tranquility of it soothed him; changed him.

  What do you feel?

  “I feel nothing.”

  “Explain,” Qang Jing said.

  “My mind is clear; my body weightless. I feel as though the world has stopped, yet beckons me. I feel disconnected while entwined with my surroundings in a deeper way.”

  “I call this the State of Being. Your mind is free of distraction; you’re one with your surroundings. There is no longer a deluge of impressions and obstacles, but all is one. Here, you were able to free yourself from everything and truly be one with your surroundings. But I will teach you how to harness this focus anywhere. When you master that, you can accomplish anything.”

  Abram closed his eyes and embraced the warmth rising from the shore.

  “I’m ready,” he said.

  Chapter 11

  It had been several hours since Qang Jing departed. Abram had stayed behind. He walked the beach, lost in his thoughts and the refuge of the simplicity of nature. He knew the days ahead would not be as peaceful as this moment. He wanted to snatch it in his hand and place it in a jar to hold forever. The sun painted the sky in oranges and pinks. It would be dark in the next hour. Abram felt refreshed, rejuvenated from his stroll. His mind was clear and his goal set. Whatever came next, he was ready.

  From the beach, Abram could see the compound. Tiny yellow specks filled the dimming light where torches bled through the windows. His home for the next undetermined duration looked more like a lost sandcastle buried in the sand. Elevated above the sea, its concrete walls jutted out like fingers clawing their way through the dirt.

  The walls’ towering height looked like small embankments from this distance. The structure had lost its intimidating allure. The wind turned cold and nipped at the back of Abram’s neck. He made his way toward the light and his sandcastle. By the time Abram made it to the back entrance, the sky was pitch. The night was clear and the moon cast its light on the dwellers below. No one was guarding the entrance. Abram dismissed this and entered the winding tunnel that would take him back to the heart of the facility.

  Going back proved to be much easier. When Abram popped out into one of the inner halls, he had barely broken a sweat. Voices echoed his way. They were coming from the kitchen. He teetered for a moment then headed to his room instead. He wasn’t hungry anyway. His room welcomed him like a stone dungeon. He laid on his cot and stared blankly into the ceiling reminiscing on the clarity of the beach. It was late before Abram finally fell asleep.

  The next morning was filled with bright light when Abram opened his eyes. Unlike the morning before, the sun had beat him to it. Abram turned on the faucet of his dingy sink and allowed the water to fill his cupped hands. He splashed his face and neck, allowing the wetness to clear the night away. He took a few sips before patting his hands on his shirt and heading out.

  Amir was standing like a stone statue by his door.

  “Sorry to startle you,” Amir said upon seeing Abram flinch and raise his hands. “Did you sleep well?”

  “For the first time in a long time,” Abram said.

  “He take you to the beach?”

  Abram questioned Amir with his eyes.

  “Works every time. That place is magical. I don’t know how he does it, but he gets in your head and removes all the junk.”

  “How long have you been here?” Abram asked.

  “Five years,” Amir said, not the least bit bothered by the sudden conversation shift.

  “Have you been training that long?”

  Amir laughed.

  “The training never stops. If you stop moving, you’re dead.”

  Amir turned down the hall. Abram followed behind. Neither of them said anything until they got to the kitchen.

  “Help yourself. You’ll need your strength today.”

  There were several steaming pots laid out on a table. Amir went over and began piling his plate high with food. Abram’s stomach growled when the smell hit his nostrils. It had been nearly twenty-four hours since his last meal. He joined Amir and filled his plate with potatoes, eggs, and fruit. He sat opposite of Amir at one of the square tables.

  “I would have thought the food would be local,” Abram said as he stuffed a large potato in his mouth.

&
nbsp; “Sometimes the best thing is to bring home to you. Nutrition is important for our success. All our food is imported and carted in by night. This is more as a precaution than a necessity. Better to keep the prying eye in the dark than dangle a key within reach.”

  “So the locals don’t know we’re here?”

  “Oh, they know. They just assume we’re some kind of excavation or research team looking for oil or bones.”

  “Does anyone ever come out here?” Abram asked.

  “A few have.”

  “What happens to them?”

  Amir held Abram’s gaze for a second, then bit down into his mango. Amir didn’t have to tell Abram what happened to the poor souls who stumbled accidentally or willingly upon the compound. They were removed. Abram didn’t ask any more questions for the duration of breakfast. He knew how this all went. He had done it before himself for the first few years after he got discharged from the Navy. ‘Private Contractor’ was what they called him, but he was more a weapon for hire. Those were dark years, but it got him through the pain. This outfit was no different. Same game, different people. Cloak and dagger. When they had both finished, Amir led Abram to what appeared to be the armory. Crates full of ammunition, magazines, rifles, grenades, and more filled the room. Body armor hung on the walls, knives of various shapes and sizes lined the tables, as well as explosives, MREs, sacks, canteens, and first aid kits. A large map hung on the adjacent wall. There were several red lines marked on the parchment.

  Amir shuffled through one of the crates and tossed Abram a pair of cargo pants, a vest, and a rucksack.

  “This is the supply room. We keep it stocked at all times. Take what you need,” he said.

  Amir grabbed a backpack and began stuffing it full of supplies.

  “Where are we going?” Abram asked.

  “For a hike,” Amir said, and jammed a handful of MREs into the side pocket.

  Abram replaced the pants he had been wearing for the last few weeks. He pulled the new cargo pants on and strapped the vest over his shoulders. He walked over to the canteens and grabbed one. He stuffed several MREs and two med kits in his bag. He wasn’t sure what kind of a hike they were going on, but if it was anything like the “hikes” they did at BUD/S, it would be awhile. He grabbed a second canteen just in case.