[Shelby Alexander 04.0] Serenity Submerged

by Craig A. Hart

  It moved beneath his foot. It wasn’t a stick or a vine; it was a snake. A snake out searching for food and angry at having its hunt disturbed. Shelby managed to stifle a yelp of surprise but felt himself teetering. His right foot came down hard on the snake. It writhed and wrapped around his leg. He felt the sting of a bite and heard the distinctive buzzing of a rattle. Instant pain, a burning sensation, began enveloping his ankle. It had been a poisonous bite and needed immediate attention.

  The gunman whirled, the pistol held ready. Shelby reached down and gripped the snake around the neck. He yanked it off his leg and stepped forward, using the snake as a whip. The gunman yelped as the snake’s body struck him across the face.

  “What the shit—?!”

  Shelby lunged forward, tossed the serpent as far into the woods as he could, and grabbed the gun with one hand. He pushed it to one side as the gunman squeezed the trigger. Hot powder burned Shelby’s face.

  Two loud pops and then a click—the gun was empty.

  Shelby gripped the man’s wrist and twisted viciously. The man cried out as the wrist emitted a crunching sound.

  “Snap, crackle, and pop,” Shelby grated out. “It isn’t just for cereal anymore.” Feeling pleased with this one-liner, he spun his adversary and kicked him behind the knee. The man’s leg buckled and he went down, but only partially, recovering in time to avoid having Shelby’s forearm cross over his windpipe. The man twisted and lurched sideways. He tossed the useless pistol and his hand dove for his boot. The flash of steel alerted Shelby in time to avoid a sweeping knife blow. It was a clumsy attack, a signal his assailant was unused to fighting with a blade.

  It’s all about the angle, Shelby reminded himself. In a knife fight, always play the angles. He backed up, moving left to right. His attacker gathered and then lunged, the knife point moving straight forward like a viper’s strike. Shelby sidestepped, allowing the blade to slide past his ribs. A split second later, he had the man’s knife arm pinned to his side. He jerked the man forward and brought the heel of his palm upward against the chin. The man’s eyes widened and then went blank. Shelby let him slide to the ground, removing the knife from his slack grasp.

  Shelby stepped back, breathing hard. The blow to the chin had sent a surge of pain down his arm. He massaged his wrist. He was going to need to see a doctor about this if it got any worse. But he hated the idea of letting joint pain get the better of him yet again. It had been instrumental in ruining his boxing career. He didn’t want to admit it might be impacting his life even more. His doctor might suggest it was time to stop slugging people.

  “Then they should stop needing to be slugged,” Shelby muttered, looking at the unconscious man who lay on the ground half-covered in mist.

  His foot and ankle burned like a furnace. He sat down on the ground and pulled off his sock. His foot was already beginning to swell. Using the sock, he wiped at the bite area to remove any venom left on the skin surface. Then, removing his belt, he wrapped it around his leg below the knee and pulled it tight enough to restrict blood flow. He tried to concentrate on lowering his heart rate, but it took a sudden spike when a beam of light hit him in the face and a woman’s voice said, “One move and I’ll put a bullet in your head.”

  13

  Shelby froze, his heart thudding against his chest. He considered plunging into the dark woods but knew he’d never make it—assuming the person behind him had a weapon. Besides that, his lower leg had turned into a raging inferno, and the rest of him was beginning to feel awful as well.

  “Get your hands up,” the woman said.

  Shelby followed the order.

  “Now stand up and turn around. Slowly. One stupid move and you’re forest food.”

  Shelby did so, keeping his hands high. In the darkness, he made out the form of a woman. Tall, slender—it was the woman who’d come to his house. The woman recognized him at the same time.

  “Well, well,” she said. “You look so much more dignified with your clothes on. Although I’m not a fan of the tucked-in-sock look.”

  “I’m ahead of my time.”

  “Does that also explain the belt around the knee?”

  “Snakebite. I need to get to the hospital. If you’re going to shoot me, do it. Otherwise, either help me to my Jeep or get the hell out of my way.”

  Ward shone her light at his foot.

  “Jesus, you do have a bite.” She stuck her gun into a shoulder holster. “Here, let me help.”

  Together, they made good time back to the parking lot, where she put Shelby in the passenger seat. He passed her the keys and Ward started the engine and put the Jeep in gear.

  Shelby was impressed. “You know how to drive a stick?”

  “Why wouldn’t I? Because I’m a woman?”

  “No, Susan B. Anthony. Because hardly anyone does these days.”

  “I can drive the hell out of them.” Ward churning gravel leaving the parking lot and sped down the drive. “Which way do I go on the highway?”

  “Turn left out of here.”

  Ward fishtailed onto the main road. “Try to stay calm. We need to keep your heartrate down.”

  “That would be a lot easier if people would stop pulling guns on me.”

  “Sorry. But I didn’t know who you were. Or that you were bitten.”

  Despite the circumstances, including Ward’s insanely high rate of speed, Shelby’s heart began to slow a bit. Shock began creeping in and he fought to keep his mind alert.

  “Thanks for the help,” he said. “What would you have done if I hadn’t been injected with venom?”

  “I’m not entirely sure. That would depend on whose side you’re on.”

  “I’m usually on my own side.”

  Ward laughed. “That’s not what I hear. Everything I’ve read has you playing the hero for those in distress.”

  “Two entities who love a good story: newspapers and gossips. But I repeat myself. And why were you reading about me anyway?”

  “I like to do my research.”

  The pain in Shelby’s leg had intensified. Against his best effort, a small groan escaped his lips and he leaned forward against the pain.

  “Are you going to make it?” Ward sounded sincerely concerned.

  “I’ll be fine. After all I’ve been through, I’m not going to die from a stupid snakebite.”

  “I didn’t know Michigan even had poisonous snakes.”

  “Only one. The eastern massasauga, known locally as the Michigan rattler. It’s rare. Endangered in most states. The good news is they won’t have to guess about the anti-venom.”

  “How far to the med center?”

  “Not far, but I’m feeling a little woozy. If I pass out, here are the directions. You’ll come to a blinking red light soon. Take a right. Soon after the turn, you’ll begin seeing signs for the center.”

  “Stay awake, Shelby. I need you to stay awake.”

  Even in his increasingly cloudy state of mind, Shelby noticed she had reverted to using his first name.

  Shelby blinked and then squeezed his eyes shut as a harsh light seared his eyes. His leg felt heavy, leaden, but he couldn’t remember why. Something had happened.

  “I won’t tell,” he mumbled. “You can torture me all you want, but I won’t tell you a thing.”

  From somewhere, far away, a man’s voice said, “He’s still an asshole, so I think he’s going to be fine.”

  The voice sounded familiar, but once again, Shelby’s foggy brain refused to make an identification. Was it his father? Old Tom? He opened his eyes again, this time barely a slit. The bright light stabbed his pupils and he heard himself growl, “Turn off the damn light, you bastard. You’re not getting anything out of me.”

  “I didn’t know snake venom made people so antagonistic,” the man said.

  A woman said, “They gave him something for the pain. He’s probably high as a kite.”

  The light mercifully dimmed. Shelby tried to sit up, but hands pushed him back.

/>   “Relax, Shel,” the man said. “You’re fine.”

  “You’ll never break me,” Shelby said. “You’ll have to kill me.”

  The man laughed. “Nobody’s going to kill you. Nobody in this room anyway. Except perhaps me, if you don’t stop calling me names.”

  Shelby opened his eyes and looked around. The room swam before him, then slowly came into focus.

  “Mack?”

  “In the flesh, old buddy.”

  “Now I know I’ve died and gone to hell.”

  “Is that any way to treat someone who drove up from Detroit because his stupid friend got himself bitten by a snake? Christ, Shel, only you would find a way to get bitten by an animal on numerous endangered lists. Do you look for ways to die or do they come looking for you?”

  “Where am I?”

  “The med center.”

  “I was bitten?”

  “You have the fang marks to prove it.”

  “I’ve got a headache.”

  “Your leg looks like shit too. Although it’s better than it was when I first got here.”

  “First got here? How long was I out?”

  Ward stepped forward. “Several hours. You passed out as we got to the med center. They wheeled you in, pumped you full of drugs, and you were out for the count. Oh, and if you’re wondering, you’ll keep the leg.”

  Mack chuckled. “That’s only because no one else wanted it.”

  “Can I leave here?”

  “Not yet. They want to keep an eye on you a little longer.”

  Shelby struggled again to sit up and this time Mack helped instead of pushing him back.

  “If this isn’t the damnedest thing,” Shelby said.

  Ward smiled. “The doctor wants you to take it easy for a while and says you’ll likely experience pain and stiffness in your leg for some time. But he also said the first aid you did and the quick trip to medical help minimized the damage to the tissue around the bite, so the effects should be limited. He was surprised by the slow progression of the toxin.”

  “Slow progression of the toxin? It moved plenty fast enough for me.”

  “He meant in comparison to other bites he’s seen, although there haven’t been many. He suspects you got a low dose of venom.”

  Mack nodded. “Makes sense. The massasauga is a night hunter, so it was probably out looking for food when you stepped on him. Hungry vipers tend to expend less venom than well-fed ones.”

  Shelby huffed. “When did you become an expert on snakes?”

  “About the same time you became dumb enough to step on one.”

  “I was distracted.”

  “That reminds me,” Ward said. “I still have some questions for you.”

  “Cool your baby jets,” Shelby said. “I’m not the bad guy here.”

  “Says the man I found standing over a body in a dark forest.”

  “I was defending myself. And let’s not forget you were lurking around with a gun. I never would have expected the forest to be so crowded.”

  “If enough people want the same thing, traffic is bound to increase.”

  “I assume we’re talking about Fritz?” Shelby’s face blanched. “Oh, shit—Fritz!” He started swinging off the bed and this time Mack restrained him.

  “Hold it, pal. You’re not going anywhere yet.”

  Ward shook her head. “I went back to the campground while you were out. There’s no sign of him.”

  “Did you do anything with the—er, you know?”

  Ward shook her head again. “I might need help with that. I’m assuming we can trust your friend here? What’s his background exactly?”

  “Retired cop.”

  “Well, shit.”

  “Relax,” Mack said. “I was never much of a straight lace. Now that I’m retired, I’m finding the law more and more inconvenient.”

  Ward turned back to Shelby. “I’m glad you’re finally admitting you know the man. Fritz, I mean. Or, as I knew him, James Ballard.”

  “You seem to have it all figured out.”

  “If I did, we wouldn’t be here. And I’d know where Fritz is hiding.”

  “You don’t think he’s dead?”

  “If they’d gotten him, I’d have found his body. There was nothing, so either he’s holed up somewhere waiting for the heat to die down or they took him alive. In any case, it’s a relief to have you stop this pretense of not knowing the man in the picture. The first person I asked in town said they knew him and that you and he were practically best friends.”

  “‘Friends’ is much too generous a term.”

  “Stop trying to distract me with stupid jokes. You lied to me, Shelby.”

  “I’m not the only one with pants on fire. If you’re an FBI agent, I’m Jesus Christ.”

  “Then it would appear we’re even.”

  “And I think it’s about time you told me what the hell is going on. Who are you, what do you want with Fritz? And who were those baboons who tried to kill me?”

  14

  Shelby checked himself out of the med center the next morning, against the wishes of his doctor, Ward, and even Mack. He loped through the lobby on a single crutch, trying hard to suppress the grimace of pain on his face. If it weren’t vitally important to find Fritz quickly, he would have been more than happy to spend the next two weeks lying around the house drinking beer. He felt he could use a good vacation. But the disappearance—and possible death—of his friend required swift action, massasauga bite or no.

  “Where’d you park the Jeep?” he asked Ward.

  She pointed. “Far side of the lot.”

  “Oh, great.”

  “Would you like me to fetch your car, my liege?”

  Shelby growled and set himself for the trek. He started off across the lot, his mouth set in a firm line, bad leg swinging. He got a few yards away when Ward called after him.

  “I was kidding. The Jeep is actually in the first spot next to the handicap row.”

  Shelby stopped. He was already breathing hard. Crutches were a lot harder to use than they looked. He turned slowly and fixed Ward with a look that might have set a weaker soul ablaze.

  “If I weren’t a gentleman, I’d call you a very bad name.”

  Mack looked as if he might sustain internal injuries unless the laugh he was suppressing was set free. “She got you, Shel.”

  “I’m glad you’re both getting such quality enjoyment out of my infirmity. Hey, I know. Let’s go to the physical therapy center and laugh at the cripples. That should be loads of fun for you two degenerates.”

  Ward crossed her arms and smiled. “You’re the one who left against medical advice. For god’s sake, Shelby, they made you sign a form.”

  “Have we forgotten what’s important here? Fritz could still be alive. If he is, we need to move fast to keep it that way.”

  Ward nodded and sobered. “You’re right. Sorry. I’ll help you to the Jeep.” She started forward, but Shelby waved her off.

  “I’ll make it, as long as you drive.”

  “I’m on it.”

  Shelby glanced at Mack. “I suppose you want to tag along?”

  “No, but someone has to be the adult. I’ll chaperone.”

  Shelby swung toward the Jeep. His armpits were already sore from the crutch. He reached the vehicle and climbed in, tossing the crutch into the back seat, and fastened his seat belt. Then he slapped the outside of the door.

  “Let’s go!”

  At the campground, Shelby decided to test his luck without the crutch. His brain told him this was a bad idea, but his pride wondered how bad it could possibly be. Pretty damn bad, as it turned out. The first step was utter agony and his leg buckled. Mack jumped forward, but Shelby waved him away.

  “I’m okay, I’m okay. Just give me a minute.” He took a few deep breaths before pushing himself upright. He waited for the surge of pain to subside and then looked at Ward. “Last night before I went out like a light, you were telling me the whole story. Care to cont
inue that narrative?”

  Ward nodded. “How much do you remember? You were pretty drugged up. I was surprised you were making any sense at all.”

  Shelby thought, then shook his head sheepishly. “Yeah, not much. Nothing, really. I remember demanding you tell me the whole story and then I passed out before you could follow through.”

  “Where should I begin?”

  “Let’s start with what you’re doing here.”

  “I’m here for Fritz. To warn him.”

  “Warn about what?”

  “The men who tried to kill him. I was coming to warn Fritz about them, but they were a step ahead of me.”

  “Who are these men?”

  “They’re from Fritz’s past.”

  Shelby grunted. “Which one? I’m starting to wonder how many lives Fritz has led.”

  “The man you know as Fritz wasn’t always a campground owner. At the time I knew him, he was a man known in the crime world, first in L.A. and then Detroit, once the west coast got too hot. But it didn’t take him long to make enemies in his new habitat, mostly because the underworld there was established and didn’t trust newcomers.”

  “Do they ever?”

  “Not usually, but Detroit is a different case. Crime and corruption runs deep. The only town I fear working in more is Chicago. In both cities, the line between cop and criminal is often blurry, and you never know who to trust.”

  “And what does this have to do with Fritz?”

  “He ran afoul of the wrong people. People with connections beyond Detroit.”

  “You’re talking about Washington, D.C.”

  Ward nodded. “A certain U.S. senator had underworld ties making him a lot of cash, money that was then funneled into various projects and his re-election campaigns. Which, by the way, are rated as some of the most expensive senate campaigns in U.S. history.”