Bad Son Rising

by Julie A. Richman

  Reminding Zac of less devilish versions of Nathaniel and Portia, he enjoyed having them around and had spent his fair share of time kicking a soccer ball around with Lionel. Although he’d spent less time with Belvie, the little girl was always very sweet and well-mannered.

  “Oh cool,” and then pointing a finger at Lily and giving her an evil eye, “so no funny business from you today, missy,” he teased.

  Taking the path instead of the main road to make for a shorter journey, Lily amused the kids with classic ghost stories that had them screeching and whooping. Hanging back on the path a little, Zac couldn’t help but wait for the moment when Lily was about to deliver the big scare and rushed upon them with a big growl. Heart stopping screams ensued, followed by raucous laughter.

  “Got you good, didn’t I,” Zac laughed.

  “You scared me so bad, Zac,” Belvie had literally jumped with fright.

  Laughing, he hugged the little girl to his side, “Sorry, Belvie.” Then he smiled down at her, “Did you ever hear the one about the haunted house.”

  Smiling up at him, she shook her head, no.

  “Seriously, you don’t know that one? It’s a good one. Let’s see if I can remember it.” He thought for a second, then began, “It was a dark and stormy night…”

  A lightning bolt slashed the clouds in the sky before them just as Zac finished his sentence, causing another round of frightened screams.

  Looking at Lily, “Wow, I am good,” he bragged.

  With clouds rolling in fast, the wind picked up and the temperature began to drop rapidly. Zac and Lily knew from experience how quickly these flooding storms were upon them.

  “Ok, kids, we’re going to jog and try and make it to cover before the storm hits,” Lily led the pack with the two kids following, and Zac picked up the rear. When Belvie started to fall behind, Zac scooped up the little girl, without even breaking stride.

  By the time the heavens let loose, they had just rounded the curve in the path, the blue shack finally in sight.

  “Lil, let’s go in the through the back,” Zac called up to her over the wind’s howl.

  Turning her head she nodded, letting him know that she had heard him. With Lionel now in tow, she dug in deeper to get to the shack as the electrical storm was striking all around them. Reaching the back door of the shack, she tried to open it, but it wouldn’t budge.

  “I can’t open it,” she called to Zac.

  As he reached them, he placed the little girl down next to her brother and rammed the paint-chipped old door with his shoulder. The door gave way with a loud thud, and he ushered the others into the shack, closing the door behind them against the harsh wind.

  Shaking the rain off, Zac looked at Lily with a smile, “Déjà vu?”

  Blushing, she smiled back at him recalling the sweet memory of that day, the day they both leapt off their self-induced precipices, taking a chance at the love they each desperately craved and secretly feared.

  Pulling out the satellite phone, Zac just shook his head, “I’m beginning to think these things are useless.”

  Sitting down on the floor with the kids, “Now that we’re in the haunted house, maybe this is a good time to tell ghost stories,” Zac teased.

  “No. No more ghost stories,” Belvie begged, shaking her head vehemently.

  Lily gave the little girl a hug, “He’s pretty mean, isn’t he?” she winked at Zac.

  “I think he likes scaring us,” Belvie surmised with a nod.

  “Is this someone’s house?” Lionel was taking it all in.

  “At some point it probably was, but now it’s just an abandoned shack and lucky for us that it’s here.” Zac couldn’t help but smile at Lily.

  The next hour was spent playing camp games. They began with Telephone and laughed hysterically at what they’d thought they’d heard whispered to them. That was followed by multiple rounds of Who Stole the Cookie from the Cookie Jar?

  By the time they started rounds of Michael, Row Your Boat Ashore, the rain had slowed down considerably.

  “Did you go to camp?” Belvie asked Lily. The kids were totally intrigued by the concept.

  “I did. I went every summer when I was a kid,” she told the little girl.

  “Did you go too, Zac?”

  “I went to a different kind of camp,” he explained. “I went to tennis camp. It was a sports camp.” As he finished the sentence, something caught his eye outside the window. His autonomic nervous system kicked into high gear as a burst of adrenaline coursed through his veins, preparing him for fight or flight mode.

  “Get down,” he reached out and pressed the kids to the floor. “Interhamwe and they’re armed.” Even from the slight distance, he could tell that each of the four rebels was carrying a semi-automatic weapon. Forced out of Rwanda post the genocide, members of the terrorist group had sought asylum in the Congo and Uganda, hiding in the forests. Responsible for killing tourists in Uganda’s Bwindi National Park, Zac knew the danger they now faced, death being the least of it. These men were ruthless killers.

  Panic immediately registered on Lily’s face, as her color drained. She moved her mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

  Getting to a vantage point where they couldn’t see him through the window, Zac quickly assessed the situation and it did not look good. From their current position on the road, the insurgents had a clear view of both the front and back of the shack. There was no escape and Zac knew there was not a shot in Hell that they wouldn’t search the shack looking for whatever could be pillaged. Finding a beautiful woman, an American man and two children would be the jackpot.

  “Ok, this is what we are doing and we have to act fast if we’re going to make it out of this. When they get to the front of the shack and no longer have a view of the back, I’m going to count to three and I’m going out the front door and I’ll create a distraction.”

  Lily began to protest and he stopped her with a sharp tone.

  “On exactly three, you are going to go out the back, stay low, move fast and stay on the path. Under no circumstances go to the main road. I’m going to bring them in on the main road. After you get to the curve in the path, try calling in to base camp and get help out to the main road.” He handed the satellite radio to Lily.

  “You can’t go out there, they will kill you,” Lily was shaking.

  “They very well might, but it’s the only chance we have.”

  Reaching into the front pocket of his jeans, he pulled something out and shoved it into the front pocket of her pants. Taking her face in both hands, he looked into her golden eyes, knowing it might be the last time, “I love you, Lily.” The words would not go unsaid.

  “I love you, Zac.” Her eyes said it all for too brief a moment before fear eclipsed the beautiful emotion.

  With a smile that quickly faded, “Go,” he commanded in a harsh voice.

  Going to the front door, he consciously pushed his nerves to the edges of his psyche, knowing they had no place in what he was about to do. As he pulled off his white tee-shirt, he once again dug into the front pocket of his jeans. Please forgive me, Grandpa, he said silently and then in a voice loud enough for Lily to hear, “One, two, three. Go!” And flung open the front door.

  Standing in the doorway of the blue shack, white tee-shirt waving in his left hand and a shiny object glinting in his right, stood Zac Moore, Con Artist Extraordinaire.

  “Gentlemen,” he announced in a loud voice, all eyes and rifles immediately trained on him. He continued to wave his white flag at the surprised quartet who never expected a tall, white, blonde man to emerge from the rundown shack on a dirt road in the Congo.

  Quickly assessing the pack’s order based on their clothing and shoes, Zac immediately focused on one of the men, “Is this your group?” he asked. “Are you in charge?”

  “Yes,” the man nodded.

  “Well, it’s a pleasure meeting you. Please accept this gift,” and Zac tossed the Moore family gold and diamond heirloom to
him.

  Catching it mid-air, the man turned it over in his hands a few times and then looked up at Zac, perplexed.

  Hitting him with a confident Moore smile, “There’s plenty more where that came from.”

  Hearing that brought a smile to the man’s face.

  “Can you get them to lower their guns? That shit makes me nervous.”

  The man signaled for the other three to take their sights off Zac.

  Knowing he needed to keep talking, Zac approached the man extending his hand, “I’m Zac Moore.”

  The man put the money clip in a pocket of his camouflage vest and extended a hand to Zac, “Protais Ndimbati.” Looking Zac up and down, “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m a movie producer. From Hollywood. You know, Hollywood, right?” Zac was very animated in his delivery.

  The man’s eyes widened, “John Wayne. You make westerns?”

  Zac laughed, “Yes, I’ve made a few westerns. I work with Clint Eastwood. Do you know Clint Eastwood?”

  The group muttered Clint Eastwood’s name, all duly impressed. They knew Clint. Thank you, Clint.

  “Oh yeah, he is a total badass, love working with the guy.”

  “Why are you here?” Protais asked again.

  “I’m scouting locations for my next film. I’m setting it here in the Congo. It’s with Vin Diesel. Do you guys know Vin Diesel?” Their blank looks told him he hadn’t struck a chord with them, “Well, if you love John Wayne and Clint Eastwood, you’re going to love Vin Diesel. Total badass. Like you guys.”

  Zac could tell they didn’t know quite what to make of him, but he was still alive, so on some level this line of thought was working.

  “What were you doing in there?” the leader wanted to know.

  “Oh, just checking it for a location. I’m always looking for really photogenic places to film.” He’d almost said ‘shoot’ but didn’t want to give them any ideas.

  Stall. Stall them a little more. Lily has to get to that curve in the path so that they won’t see her. She’s probably past that, but just in case. Stall.

  “What’s in there?” Protais had doubt in his tone.

  “Nothing,” Zac shook his head, “not a motherfucking thing.”

  With a slight nod of his head, two of the men took their first few steps toward the shack.

  “What the hell is on your feet, boys?” Zac’s tone was loud and exaggerated.

  The men stopped dead in their tracks to look at him, “You can’t be walking around the jungles with those on your feet. You all need a new pair of LeBron’s.” He pointed to his feet and the impressive looking sneakers that adorned them. “I’ve got pairs for all of you.” Walking over to one of the men who was heading to the shack, he looked at his feet, critically, “You look like you’re about a nine,” and to the other man, “you’ve got some big-assed feet. What are you? About an eleven and a half?” Walking back to Protais and the fourth man, he looked at Protais’ feet, “You look like you’re about a ten and a half,” he looked directly into the terrorists eyes and smiled, “I’m right, aren’t I?”

  Protais smiled back, clearly not quite sure what to do with the brash American.

  “Well, you are in luck,” Zac announced, “I have one pair of ten and a half’s left and they’re yours.”

  “Gold? Diamonds? LeBron shoes? Why do you have these things?” Protais was suspicious.

  Rolling his eyes, Zac sighed, “Have you seen the value of the American dollar lately? It sucks. How can I offer people here useless pieces of paper when I’m using their property and taking their time? I need to be able to offer things of value.” He could tell Protais bought that, so he continued. “Protais, may I call you Protais?”

  The man nodded.

  “When I come to scout locations and find locals to both help with production and to act in the movie, I need to come equipped. Most people on location don’t want money. They want gold. They want LeBrons. Or AirJordans. I have AirJordans, too. Do you like Michael Jordan?”

  He was thinking enough time had passed, he could let them in there and they’d see there was nothing there and hopefully trust him a little more — or at least enough not to kill him.

  “So, this place,” he pointed to the shack, “the exterior might look great in a movie, don’t you think? It’s a great color. Can’t you just picture Clint Eastwood in that doorway?”

  “You said nothing’s inside?” Protais questioned.

  “Not a motherfucking thing and the natural light in there isn’t great. I was hoping it would have a more authentic feel to it, but this could be in South Central Los Angeles. There’s not a damn thing about the inside of that shack that screams Congo.” They all started to walk toward the shack. You’d better have listened, Lily. His heart was in his stomach, as he licked his lips, his mouth suddenly parched. Please be gone.

  They entered the shack and it was just as he had said. Completely empty. And she had closed the door fully behind them, so there was no indication that anyone had escaped out the back. Good girl. You did good, Lils, you did good.

  Realizing he had to stay in character to pull this off, and frankly amazed that he was still alive, Zac kept up the ruse.

  “Protais, go stand by that window.” Zac ordered.

  The hardened terrorist actually listened.

  I’m going to play to your vanity, ego and greed, douche monkey. This was a game of wits and the stakes didn’t get any higher than this. Knowing the odds were not in his favor, the boy who liked to gamble, needed to be totally on his game. There was no margin for error. None.

  “OK, face me and put an arm up on the window frame and turn your head to look out. Bring your chin slightly more towards me. Perfect.” Zac slowly walked in front of the man, appearing to be deep in thought, “God, the camera is going to love you. Maybe we can work with the light in here. Stay like that,” he told Protais.

  “Come here,” he said to the others. They stood by him and he pointed to their leader, “Looks good, right?” and the others agreed.

  Stepping back out into what was now bright sunshine again, Zac squinted, trying to get his pupils to acclimate quickly. He needed all his senses at full throttle.

  “Where are the gold and LeBrons?”

  Greed, let me play to your greed, “Back where I’m staying, just up this road. About thirty minutes. And I’ve got cold Ngok there, too.” Zac smiled confidently as he mentioned the beer. “Come, we’ll throw back some Ngoks,” he extended the invite as if he were inviting some guys from the dorm versus four terrorists with semi-automatics, handguns and knives. But he knew that if he could keep it cool like this, act like he was not a prisoner being forced, that he had a better chance of making it to the point where there would be help to come rescue him from this near impossible situation.

  They started down the road, one insurgent leading the pack, Zac and Protais at the center and the remaining two behind them. His legs were beginning to feel like inanimate objects and he knew that was the fear kicking in as he marched toward what very well could be his own death.

  Get focused, he yelled at himself. Pretend you’re a contestant on Survivor. What’s their slogan, he tried to remember, trying to keep his brain sharp. Oh yeah, Outwit. Outplay. Outlast. Ok, that’s what I need to do. Outwit. Outplay. Outlast. This tribe hasn’t spoken yet, motherfuckers.

  Terrorists are generally fame whores, Zac thought, taking credit for bombings, killings and hijackings. They loved notoriety like most narcissistic psychopaths. He had played to greed. Next step, ego. Here goes.

  “Have you ever thought about moving to the United States?” Trying to remain nonchalant, every cell in his body stood at high alert, the tension in his muscles was becoming painful as he consciously tried to will away the cramping.

  “I would like to visit Hollywood,” was Protais’ response.

  “You absolutely should. Seriously, I’d like you to be in the movie that I’m going to make here. You’re authentic, man. I can see you st
ealing every scene. You’ve just got that certain something. You’re going to be a star. Mark my words. I am never wrong. When I say someone is going to be a star. They become a star. You just need to be prepared to move to the States after the movie comes out.” Zac smiled, and said, as if he were talking to himself, “Another one I’m going to make rich and famous.”

  Keep talking, don’t think about your muscles. Only another fifteen minutes and this thing is going to end one way or another.

  As if thinking to himself, “You’d just be so perfect for the role of the general. I was thinking Morgan Freeman, but everyone expects Morgan in a role like this. No one will expect you. You’re a match made in Heaven to play opposite Denzel.”

  “Denzel Washington?”

  Fucking A, the man knew Denzel. Yes! “Yeah, he’s like my best friend. He’s the one that wanted me to make this movie. You’ll get to meet him.” Zac smiled at the man.

  Continuing down the road, the walk, one he had taken many times, now seemed interminable. Time had taken on a very different face, seconds were lasting hours, yet they were covering ground too quickly and he feared that Lily hadn’t had enough time to gather the right people to help.

  They were now fairly close to base camp. Where’s the cavalry? Zac thought. I need the cavalry. Project Hydrate had an outside security firm guarding the facility and he knew Niles and some of the others kept guns. Come on, man. If this were a John Ford western, the cavalry would be showing up just about now.

  Looking up at the sky, he tried to memorize the intense shade of blue. Would it be the last sky he’d ever see? The storm had cleared out all the dust and humidity and he couldn’t help but think that the sky was the color of Nathaniel’s eyes. Maybe that was some kind of a sign.

  That simple thought crossing his consciousness, led to the reality he hadn’t let surface over the last hour. He might never see his family again. Just the thought of not seeing Natie and Po grow up slammed him with the force and desolation of a tsunami carrying him away to certain death. Stumbling over his own feet, he felt the poke of a gun barrel in his back, reinforcing the harsh reality. Chances of surviving this day were a crapshoot at best, and if he and Brian had been running bets on it, he would have been smart enough to refrain from making a wager.