by Adam Drake
“Ernie. Ernie Anway.”
Well, this is awkward, Nate thought. He knew about Ernie Anway's death intimately, because he was the one who'd arranged it. Unger hated being owed by anyone, and if you took too long to pay, he had you eliminated as an example. Nate was under orders to have the guy killed, so he'd used his connections and got the job done.
Now he's sharing a beer with the dead man's brother. Nate took a sip to hide the smile that threatened to cross his face. This was just too funny. Now I got this guy on a leash and he's completely unaware.
To keep from laughing, he decided to get Martin out of the room. He pointed at the lantern which was dimming more by the minute. “You wouldn't happen to have more juice for this thing?”
Martin nodded, his face somber. “Sure. Brought a canister with me. Just a sec.”
Nate watched the fat man walk outside and dig into the wheel-barrel. Now he was conflicted. It was obvious Martin didn't know of Nate's connection to Ernie's death, but that could change if he happened to talk to the wrong people. Then things would go from funny to fatal. Nate's first instinct was survival, which meant eliminating Martin, here and now.
Ah, too bad, Nate thought as he stood, taking a final sip from his beer. When Martin came back, he'd shoot him. After he filled the lantern, of course.
“Uh, boss?” Martin said from outside.
Nate looked over at him. Martin stared off into the darkness then gave a worried glance over his shoulder to Nate.
Nate grabbed the lantern and hustled to the front door, the shotgun in his free hand.
Once outside, Martin pointed. “Someone is coming.”
Sure enough, several figures were walking across the parking lot toward the bar. Nate could see them because each one carried a flaming torch. As they got closer, he could also see they were armed, some with shotguns, others with automatic weapons.
Oh shit, Nate thought. It was too late to run and too late to draw on them. He'd have to wait it out and see what the deal was.
Martin gave Nate a terrified look. “Do you recognize them?”
Nate looked at the approaching men. He could make out details, but he didn't know any of them. “No, do you?”
“Yeah,” Martin said, nervous. “The big one there with the beard.”
“Yeah, what about him?”
“That's Orson.”
“So?”
Martin was trembling as he said, “Orson is Unger's little brother.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Wyatt
“Save them?” Wyatt said. The words hung between he and Ethan like wet laundry. “That can't be it. How can I save anyone if I can't do the same for myself?”
Ethan shrugged. “Well, that is a good question. And one I hope will be answered soon.”
“You don't have the answer? You're the asshole who said I had a job to do.” As much as Wyatt wanted to to doubt what Ethan was spewing, he felt deep down inside that his dead friend was right. That syrupy feeling returned.
“Hey, I'm just like anyone else, full of questions in search of answers. I can't hold both ends of the rope.”
“What does that even mean?” Wyatt asked.
Ethan shook his head. “Look, Wyatt ol'buddy, I'd love to sit and chat with you some more, but you need to keep your head in the game. Sitting here in this truck will not bring you the answers you're looking for.”
“Then where should I be?”
Ethan laughed. “Certainly not waiting for that security guard to figure out the police won't be coming to pick you up any time soon. They have their own problems, and besides, no one's told them what happened yet.”
Wyatt looked at the guard who was busy arguing with the man who pushed the woman. Ethan was right. No one knew what he'd done here. If he got away, maybe they would never know. How would they even identify him? Without power, any cameras that might have been able to record what happened didn't work anymore. And good luck getting someone to identify him in all this craziness. He could always shave his beard off, too.
“Don't do that,” Ethan said.
Wyatt blinked at his friend. “Do what?”
“Shave your beard off. It gives you a noble visage.”
“How did you know what I was thinking?” Wyatt said, alarmed.
Again, Ethan shrugged and Wyatt found the gesture annoying. “I don't have an answer for you on that, either,” Ethan said. “But, hey, don't worry about me right now. You're going to miss your chance.”
“Chance to what?”
“Escape,” Ethan nodded to the guard.
Wyatt looked to see the large guard wrestling around the ground with the man he'd been arguing with. And then the woman who'd been pushed jumped on the both of them. People shifted along the sidewalk trying to get out of the way.
“Time is wasting, buddy,” Ethan said. “Can't let chance do all the work for ya.”
Wyatt frowned at his dead friend's obtuse words then shifted around. With an effort, he turned his body and fell back onto the seat. He placed both of his frayed runners against the passenger side window.
“What are you doing?” Ethan said, curious.
“I'm breaking out!” Wyatt said, and kicked at the window. Nothing happened, so he did it again with both feet. The window held fast, so he kept hammering at it.
Ethan sighed. “Did you check to see if the door was locked?”
Wyatt paused in his assault. “Uh...” He shifted back up into a sitting position and glanced at the guard. The big man was still rolling around the sidewalk with both assailants.
Wyatt checked the door. It was unlocked. “Huh,” he said as he shifted around so his hands could reach the door latch. “Why'd he do that?”
“You told him he'd let you go. Maybe that's why.”
Wyatt eyed Ethan with suspicion. Ol'Eth was really full of it today, but he wouldn't argue with him. Whether intentional or not, the door was unlocked.
Carefully, he pulled at the latch and the door popped open. Wyatt held on tight so it wouldn't swing out and hit the car next to them.
The doctor came out of the clinic and started yelling at the guard. The guard paid him no mind and managed to get the woman pinned to the ground so he could put a set of plastic restraints on her. The other man sat propped up against the window, panting heavily, clutching his chest.
“Give it three seconds,” Ethan said.
With the guard ignoring him, the doctor turned his attention to the truck and looked at Wyatt.
Wyatt froze and offered a dead eyed glare in return. He hoped the doctor didn't notice the door ajar in the growing darkness.
The doctor opened his mouth and pointed in Wyatt's direction.
Suddenly the man clutching his chest cried out.
The doctor quickly turned his attention to the man and knelt next to him. He shouted for the nurse.
“Now would be good,” Ethan said with a wide smile.
Wyatt eased the door open behind him and slowly slid out, keeping an eye on the confusion at the front of the truck. The truck's overhead light didn't turn on, for which he was grateful.
Placing one foot at a time onto the asphalt, Wyatt stood. The guard's back was turned, hunched over his new prisoner. The doctor and nurse performed CPR on the ailing man.
Concerned that trying to close the door would draw attention, Wyatt walked slowly backwards down the length of the truck. In seconds he'd be out of sight and on his way.
Suddenly, Ethan leaned out of the open door and grinned at Wyatt. “Everything can't be easy!” He grabbed the door handle and slammed it shut.
The guard, who had stood up, whirled around. “Hey! Stop!”
Wyatt spun around and ran out past the truck and turned right. He raced down the length of the parking lot hoping the cluster of people and cars would slow any pursuers.
His heart thudded in his chest and the restraints pinched deeper into his flesh with his frantic movements. A quick glance over his shoulder revealed the guard in hot pursuit. For
such a big man, he was fast.
But Wyatt had the advantage. The sun had finally vanished behind the buildings. No street lights were turned on. In fact, there were no lights whatsoever. If it wasn't for the bright rash of stars across the sky, Wyatt wouldn't have been able to see a thing.
There was shouting behind him, but he didn't look. His concentration was fully on navigating the encroaching blackness. He swung around the strip mall, past more parked cars and along the side of the building. There were no lights here, either.
Wyatt slowed, unable to make out many details and not wanting to fall. His eyes needed to get used to the night.
A huffing and puffing made him look back.
The guard rounded the corner of the building. His large form was bulbous in the dark.
“Stop!” the big man shouted.
Wyatt had to give him credit, but increased his speed. He couldn't be caught. The guard would make sure another escape didn't happen. Besides, Wyatt had a mysterious job to do which probably did not entail being imprisoned.
He raced down the side of the building, maneuvering around vehicles which had stalled in the middle of the lane.
Wyatt felt invigorated. The last time he was chased had been years ago. The memory of a forest canopy winking with sunlight above played through his head.
Back then his pursuers were just as dogged as the security guard. Only, death was their end game. Gunshots occasionally punctuated the air, breaking the monotony of his footfalls through the thick brush.
“Hunter One, do you copy, over?” someone said in his ear.
The voice sounded like Ethan's, but distorted. Taking a hand off his rifle, Wyatt tapped his ear mic. “I'm moving away from point, north by north-east,” he said.
Static was the only answer. Wyatt raced down a rocky rise. In the distance, he heard a stream. Was that the one on the map? He couldn't be sure. The topography was as varied as it was beautiful.
He angled toward the sound of the running water. It might give him a proper location to find his pickup.
As he ducked under a low hanging branch, its bark shattered with a bullet's impact.
“Shit,” he said, and tried to pick up the pace. They were close. Too close. Capture was not a good idea with these people. Death would be long in its arrival and would be most welcome when it did.
“Cancel pick up,” the static voice said. “No go. New pick up to be determined.”
Fear washed over Wyatt. No pick up? Then what was he running to?
Suddenly a figure appeared deep within the trees to his right. It turned to aim a weapon at him.
With no time to think, Wyatt quickly raised his rifle and let out a short burst.
The figure fell back, his gun pinwheeling away.
Behind him, shouts, this time much closer than before. They got a lock on his position.
For a moment he considered stopping and returning fire from cover. But the risk of being wounded and captured was too great.
“They peel the skin off you,” Ethan said through the static in his ear. “You know that. You've seen it.”
“Shut up,” Wyatt said, huffing along. A pain stung his arms. He risked glancing down to find both his wrists were bleeding. What the hell? Did he get hit?
It was only the briefest of glances, but it took his eyes off the forest in front of him long enough for it to suddenly disappear.
Wyatt slid to a stop, the weight of his equipment and gear shifting on his body.
A wide river presented itself in all its raging glory. A steep embankment led to its edge.
That ain't no stream, he thought. A branch close to his head suddenly exploded. Bark and chips of wood raked against the side of his face.
With nowhere else to go, Wyatt scrambled down the embankment grabbing at anything to keep him from losing his balance and rolling.
Another shout, but he didn't look back. If he could get to the river he'd be safe. Or at least he would live a little longer.
As he stumbled to the river's edge a burst of bullets created a spray of water from the river.
Wyatt jumped.
Cool water enveloped him and numbed his skin. Mountain streams were always the worst for that.
Wyatt kicked through the water, letting the current pull him along. His head bobbed to the surface, and he gasped for air.
A shout echoed through the trees, louder than the roaring water itself. Wyatt turned to look back as the forest sped past him.
The security guard stood on the concrete walkway along the river. His sweaty skin actually twinkled from the light of the stars above.
As the current carried Wyatt out of view, he heard Ethan in his ear. He reached up to tap the ear mic, but found nothing.
“You always were one for a dramatic exit,” Ethan said.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Nate
As the men approached, Nate counted seven of them.
Lucky number seven, he thought. Too many for him to handle at such close range, and especially with them so well armed. He saw no possible way out of this considering he stood outside the bar where the bodies of Unger and his henchmen were sprawled in the back.
This was bad. Really bad.
Nate wanted to tell Martin to play it cool and let him do the talking. But there was no time and it would look suspicious to the other group. He only hoped his new underling had enough sense to keep his mouth shut and start firing when he did.
As they got within speaking distance, Nate casually placed the lantern on the ground and nodded to Orson. “Hello,” Nate said, cool as can be.
The men spread out in a line, then stopped.
Orson, large, burly and bearded was the spitting image of his older brother. His expression was of suspicion. By way of greeting, he said, “Who the fuck are you?”
“Nate,” Nate said. “This is Marty. We just got here and found the place empty. Know where Unger is?”
Orson eyed both of them up and down. “What the hell are you talking about, empty?”
“No one's around, so we're going waiting for Unger to get back,” Nate said.
Each man held a torch out to his side so the burning material didn't fall on them. In their other hands was a weapon. No one was pointing anything at Nate, yet. But that would change soon enough.
Orson glared at the two of them. Nate hoped that just by being present here at the bar showed that he and Martin were Unger's men. If not, things would go south sooner than he liked.
“I don't know you, and I don't know you,” Orson said, pointing at them in turn with a machine gun. “Where's Wilson and Earl? They should be on front door duty.”
Martin started to sputter something out, but Nate cut him off. “I don't know. Like I said, we just arrived and found the place like this.”
One of the men spoke up. “I know him,” he said, nodding toward Martin.
“Oh, hey, Scott,” Martin muttered with a smile more like a rictus.
This took a little of the suspicion out of Orson's face, but he still scowled at them. Then he brushed past Nate and went into the bar. Three of the men followed him in.
Nate's heart pounded rapidly in his chest. He gave it twenty seconds before Orson found his dead brother, then five more before the shooting started.
“Bit of a messed up day, huh?” Martin said to Scott.
“Fuckin understatement,” Scott said.
Everyone ignored the burning apartment building at the far end of the lot. Not their concern. Their concern was their boss.
Good, keep him distracted, lower his guard. Nate shifted a little so he could see Orson and his men move through the bar. They still clutched their torches which Nate thought odd. But he didn't care. Once they went into the office things would escalate quickly.
He had these three outside to contend with first. How things panned out with the remainder was up for debate. At least the group had split up.
Meanwhile, Martin kept talking. Whether it was a genuine attempt at distraction or just nervou
sness, Nate didn't care. It was working.
“Yeah, I had to walk all day to get here,” Martin said, and gestured at the wheel-barrel full of prawns. “A real pain in the ass.”
Scott snickered. “Yeah, Unger sure likes those things.”
The other two men were eyeing Nate, but kept their guns down. They all may be one big happy criminal organization, but that didn't mean they had to completely lower their guard with each other.
“Tell me about it,” Martin said. Then launched into a spiel about his travels to get here.
As he spoke, Nate gave one final glance into the bar. Orson was in the office along with another man. The other two loitered outside the office door, torches held to their sides.
He saw Orson look in the direction of the hall and Nate could see the curious expression on his face. Orson moved out of sight.
Five seconds, Nate thought. He turned and suddenly made a show of looking into the distance behind the three men.
“Oh, shit, someone is coming,” Nate said with the best impression of a worried underling he could muster.
All three men turned to look and, at that exact moment, Orson shouted from behind the back of the building. This caused Scott to rubberneck toward the front door.
Nate was already shooting.
His first target was the man closest to him. The shotgun ripped off the man's shoulder and sent him spinning backward.
Scott was already facing in the bar's direction, but reacted too slowly to raise his rifle. As Nate shot at him, Scott fired, but the bullet hit the concrete between Martin and Nate.
Nate had aimed for the other man's middle body mass, but ended up taking out his knees, instead. Scott screamed as he fell to the ground.
Amazingly, even as all this was happening in just a few seconds, Martin had the presence of mind to pull out his pistol from his waistband. He pointed it at the final man who let out a burst from his sub-machine gun.
Mercifully, the man's aim was bad. The burst hit the wall to one side of the front door.
But Martin's aim was impeccable. A single shot hit the last man almost between the eyes and he dropped to the ground like a marionette with its strings cut.