[Shelby Alexander 04.0] Serenity Submerged

by Craig A. Hart

  The others followed, both holding weapons. Ward had never put her pistol away after drawing it on the deputy, and Mack never went anywhere without a weapon on board.

  A minute later, the clearing opened before them. Shelby held up a hand to stop them, and then pointed. On the far side of the clearing was a white box truck. A patrol car sat parked behind it.

  “We found the bastard,” Mack said, his voice low.

  Shelby nodded. “And I’m guessing Fritz is inside that truck. We don’t have much time. We’ll circle around and flank the truck. When we go in, don’t take chances. Drop anyone who even remotely looks like a threat.”

  They moved out, keeping low in the tall grass. Once they had the broadside of the truck in front of them, they changed the angle and began approaching directly. Shelby scanned the area, searching for any movement. His worst fear was someone would drop from the back of the truck and spot them before they’d gotten into position.

  Soon they were flattened against the side of the truck. Shelby gestured to Mack, knowing he would understand the signs. Mack nodded and moved quietly around the front of the truck to take up a position on the far side. On signal, they would attack in concert. Shelby turned to translate to Ward, but she had understood and was already on the move.

  Fake agent or not, she knew what she was doing, Shelby thought.

  Shelby waited for Mack to set himself, and then Shelby’s worst fear was realized. There was the scuffle of feet and then a pair of legs appeared under the truck. Another step and whoever was there would be in line of sight for either Shelby and Ward, or Mack. But the man didn’t move. Shelby heard the flick of a lighter and then smelled cigarette smoke.

  What a time for a smoke break, Shelby thought. Well, it would be this loser’s last.

  A minute later, Shelby saw a cigarette drop to the ground. A booted foot crushed it into the dirt and the man climbed back into the truck.

  “Okay,” the man said. “Let’s finish this. He can’t hold out much longer.”

  “I have a better idea,” said a familiar voice. “You want to live, Ballard? Do you? Fine. I’ll let you live. Tell me about my brother and the money and you can go free. Hell, I’ll even drop you at a hospital on my way out of this shithole. But you have to talk right now, or I’m putting a bullet in your goddamn head. You hear me? I’m tired of this shit!”

  Shelby’s blood, already running hot, began to boil. He forced himself to wait and took some deep breaths to soothe his nerves. Steady hands would improve his aim, and he had no desire to miss when the shooting finally started.

  Glancing under the truck, Shelby saw Mack on one knee, checking his weapon one last time. Shelby took a small rock from the ground and tossed it under the truck, hitting Mack’s shoe. His friend gave a thumb up and rose to his feet. Shelby glanced at Ward, who nodded and adjusted her grip on the pistol. Shelby held up three fingers and then slowly, one by one, let them drop.

  They rushed the truck.

  22

  Wilkes placed the chisel snugly against the finger next to the one he’d already claimed. Trainwreck grunted and came forward. He gripped Wilkes’ shoulder. The sheriff turned, annoyance clear on his face.

  “You think you can do better? If you weren’t so soft, we’d already have this wrapped up. But, as usual, it falls to me to finish the job. Now I’d appreciate it if you’d let go of my shoulder so I can finish this.”

  Trainwreck glanced at Simon.

  “It’s all right, Trainwreck,” Simon said. “You’ve done enough for now. Take a rest. You have to be exhausted.”

  For a moment, Fritz thought there might be a fight, but after a few moments of intense staring, Trainwreck backed away. His yellow eyes burned and Fritz could tell this was an affront the big man would not soon forget. Still, he retreated and lowered himself out of the truck. Soon after, the truck shook as Trainwreck hoisted his enormous frame into the cab. The truck cab door slammed, and all was quiet.

  Wilkes shuddered. “Good riddance. That guy gives me the creeps. As I said before, I don’t know why you even brought him.”

  “And as I said before, he comes in handy.” Simon sighed. “And I wish you wouldn’t provoke the man. We might need him.”

  “The only thing I need is a little cooperation from Captain Stoic.” Wilkes glowered at Fritz and steadied the chisel against the finger. “My god, this is turning into the biggest shit show I’ve ever had the misfortune of being involved in. I thought you people were professionals.”

  “Oh no, don’t you lay this at our door.” Simon pushed away from the wall. “We’ve been keeping our side of the deal.”

  “Badly. How you managed to lose a man at the campground, I’ll never know.”

  “I told you. We were ambushed. And we got away, didn’t we?”

  “Dumb luck,” Wilkes said. “Pure dumb luck.”

  Simon stalked angrily to the back of the truck, tapping a cigarette from the pack as he went. “I don’t have to stand here and listen to this. I need a smoke.”

  “Goddamn diva,” Wilkes muttered.

  A minute later, Simon returned, looking marginally calmer. “Okay. Let’s do this. Let’s just finish this. He can’t hold out much longer.”

  “I have a better idea,” Wilkes said. He pulled out his sidearm and shoved it against Fritz’s head. He leaned down close and shouted into Fritz’s face, “You want to live, Ballard? Do you? Fine. I’ll let you live. Tell me about my brother and the money and you can go free. Hell, I’ll even drop you at a hospital on my way out of this shithole. But you have to talk right now, or I’m putting a bullet in your goddamn head. You hear me? I’m tired of this shit!”

  Fritz squeezed his eyes shut. So this was it. This was the moment, the culmination of everything he’d gone through. And now the rules had changed, leaving Fritz feeling a perverse sense of disappointment, as if he’d been cheated out of a final victory.

  “Talk, damn you!”

  Wilkes shoved the pistol so hard against Fritz’s head that one ear tore loose from its nail. Fresh warm blood began to flow.

  “You want a bullet in the head bad, don’t you, tough guy? Well, I can oblige, you piece of—”

  A gun roared and Fritz flinched involuntarily, expecting immediate oblivion. Instead, he opened his eyes to see several forms charging into the truck, guns drawn. Fritz squinted at the lead figure, scarcely able to believe his eyes.

  “Holy shit,” he breathed. “This has to be, what you say, a miracle.”

  23

  Shelby leaped into the truck, followed closely by the others. He fired at the first target he saw, a man he didn’t recognize. His shot went wide and punched through the side of the truck. A thin shaft of light stabbed through the puncture hole, swirling with dust. The man dove to the side, pulling his weapon. The interior of the truck exploded in gunfire as Mack and Ward opened up. The noise was deafening, a physical force battering Shelby’s ears. He could feel the sounds in his chest.

  Bang! Bang! Bang!

  Then Shelby saw Wilkes.

  The sheriff was crouched beside a wooden chair that held what appeared to be a man, if such a battered, bloody creature could be called a man. Wilkes was using Fritz as cover as he tried to draw a bead on the attackers.

  Shelby locked eyes with the sheriff. A thrill ran up his spine as he realized this was it—the showdown so long in coming. The law could no longer protect Wilkes and Shelby had him dead to rights.

  Wilkes turned his gun to fire, but it was too late.

  Blam!

  Shelby’s bullet ripped through Wilkes’ shoulder. The sheriff twisted and gripped the wound with his free hand, clawing as if trying to remove a stinging insect from his skin. His own weapon fired, but the bullet ripped through the roof of the truck. Shelby steadied his aim. One clean shot and Serenity would be free from this scourge.

  The truck’s engine roared to life, jerked, and then surged forward. Shelby slid backward on the wooden floor. He clawed for purchase, finally grabbing a stru
t running along the wall. He tried to stand, but the truck was still accelerating. It bounded across the open field, making for the dirt access road where they had parked the Jeep.

  Ward and Mack had also gripped the wall for support, while Wilkes had latched onto a chair leg. The force of the acceleration, combined with Wilkes’ weight, had caused the chair to skitter sideways, tearing the nail from Fritz’s other ear.

  The man Shelby had first targeted appeared to be dead, brought down by either Ward or Mack. The body bounced toward the back of the truck. Shelby reached out with one foot and delivered a kick that sent the body out the back and rolling away into the field like a two-hundred-pound sack of potatoes.

  The truck was driving flat out, tearing across the clearing, mowing down tall grass and churning up the earth beneath the big tires. Shelby tried to calculate their position. He’d hunted around this field before. Deer favored it in the early morning when the heavy dew fell. Given the speed of the truck, the access road had to be coming up quickly, but the driver would have to make a sharp turn to the right to make it. It had to be approaching quickly.

  And then Shelby realized the driver wasn’t going to make it. The truck wasn’t going to turn in time.

  “Brace yourselves!” he shouted to the others. “We’re going to crack up!”

  As the words left his mouth, the truck careened to the right and teetered on one set of wheels, still traveling at top speed. Then it thudded back to earth and swerved as the spinning tires bit deep into the ground. The tortured engine screamed and whined. Then everyone was thrown forward as a deafening crunching sound filled the air. Twisting metal shrieked. Shelby crashed into the wall of the truck, jamming his injured foot in the corner and slamming his gun hand against the metal strut. His gun clattered to the floor. The truck settled with a final shudder and the smell of burning rubber scorched Shelby’s nostrils. The truck horn emitted a constant blare—the driver must be wedged against the steering wheel.

  Then he spotted Wilkes. The sheriff was on the move, seizing his chance for escape, crawling toward the open door. Shelby got to his feet, wincing. His foot had taken a direct hit as he’d slammed into the truck wall, but he shook off the pain and made a grab for Wilkes. The sheriff, wounded shoulder and all, scooted to the side. He still held his weapon and brought it around. Shelby lunged, hoping to beat the speed of Wilkes’ trigger finger.

  He didn’t have to. Wilkes jerked and twisted as three bullets slammed into center mass. Shelby glanced up. Mack leaned against the side of the truck, his weapon pointed at the sheriff.

  Shelby moved to Wilkes, who lay on the wooden slat floor, gasping for breath and hacking blood.

  “The hell…with you…Alexander.”

  “It didn’t have to be this way, Wilkes.”

  “You’re…wrong about that.” Then his head fell to one side in the most clichéd death scene Shelby had ever witnessed outside of a movie theater.

  Shelby stood up and looked at Mack. “Thanks, brother. He probably would have got me.”

  Mack nodded. “I plan to hold it over your head forever, of course, but other than that, think nothing of it.”

  “You asshole. Come on, help me check on Fritz.”

  Fritz was unconscious when they got to him. His hands had been nailed to the chair arms, but one had torn free in the crash.

  Mack leaned in. “Is he still alive?”

  “He has a pulse. It’s weak, but there. He’s lost a lot of blood. Let’s get him into the fresh air. The back of this truck is putrid.”

  Shelby spotted a hammer lying to one side. He picked it up and made quick work of the remaining nail. Fritz didn’t even stir as the nail screeched free.

  “He’s out, all right. I have an emergency kit in the Jeep.”

  Shelby picked up Fritz, cradling him like a child, and made his way into the open air. He lowered his friend gently to the ground. Mack had retrieved the kit and the three of them used the bandages to staunch any further bleeding. Shelby reached into the kit and withdrew a capsule of ammonia inhalant. He broke the capsule and passed it beneath Fritz’s nostrils. Fritz coughed once and his eyes fluttered. When he saw Shelby, he attempted a smile.

  “If you keep…coming to the rescue, I might start having a hard time, what you say, hating you.”

  Shelby grinned. “I’ll make up for it somehow. By the way, you look like hell.”

  “I feel worse.”

  “We’re going to get you to a hospital.”

  “Not going to make it.”

  “Don’t be such a whiner. Of course, you’ll make it. We’ll stretch you out in the Jeep and—”

  “Shelby!”

  Ward’s scream of warning came too late. Shelby had been so engrossed in caring for Fritz he hadn’t noticed the truck horn had ceased to sound. Nor had he heard the truck door open or the heavy footsteps coming around the truck.

  Two powerful arms encircled Shelby, squeezing with the strength of a python. Shelby struggled and tried to duck beneath the brawny arms, but they held fast. He tried turning his captor to give either Ward or Mack a clear shot, but whoever held him refused to move. Shelby felt the man’s grip switch to his throat, cutting off his airway completely and decisively. He saw Mack and Ward split up, flanking in opposite directions, trying to get a shot.

  “Nobody move!” the man roared. “Or I’ll break his neck!”

  Apparently, neither Mack nor Ward doubted the man’s ability to do so. Based on the strength of the hands around his throat, Shelby felt entirely convinced.

  “Drop the weapons! Now!”

  Slowly, both Ward and Mack put their weapons on the ground.

  “Get back!”

  They did so.

  “More! Get back more!”

  The grip loosened from Shelby’s neck. He stumbled as the man twisted him around and pushed him away. He looked up to find the largest man he’d ever seen. This must be the one called Trainwreck, although what Charlene saw in him, Shelby couldn’t imagine. The man was big, that was for sure, but his face was the stuff of horror movies and his eyes burned with a sickly yellow light.

  “You the one they call Alexander?”

  Shelby took a moment to regain his breath. “Yes, that’s me. Who’s asking? And why?”

  “I hear you’re a fighter.”

  “Used to be.”

  “The best around here.”

  “There hasn’t been much competition.”

  “I’m going to fight you, Alexander. And beat you.” The big man walked over, grabbed the guns off the ground, and threw them into the back of the truck.

  “Why not shoot us and save everyone a good deal of trouble?”

  “Don’t use guns,” the man said. “Don’t believe in em.”

  “How progressive of you. I assume you’re the one called Trainwreck?”

  “How’d you know?”

  “Charlene told me.”

  “You know Charlene?”

  “I do. And she’s not happy with you, Trainwreck.”

  “She’ll get over it.” The big man advanced, his fists clenched. “Now it’s time to fight. And after that, I’ll break your two friends in half.”

  Shelby sighed. His foot hurt and felt like it was swelling. He didn’t know what shape his hands were in, and wouldn’t until he landed his first blow. But he didn’t feel up to the task at hand.

  Trainwreck charged.

  Shelby watched him come and time slowed to a crawl. The man was powerful and vicious. But he wasn’t a true fighter. Shelby could see this plainly from the way he held his fists, tight and rigid, and the clumsy way he made his attack: straight on, no strategy, no contemplation. This man was used to winning through brute strength and, most of the time, that would be enough. He was a legitimate monster, a killing machine, but was ignorant of the science of fighting. A single bright spot of hope entered Shelby’s mind. Knowledge would defeat strength almost every time. If Trainwreck had been a trained fighter in concert with his brutal size and strength, ther
e would be no hope. But if he relied only on these latter advantages, there might be a way to defeat him.

  Shelby began by slipping the initial attack. That was easy. A quick twist, even one made unnaturally clumsy by his lame foot, took him past the charging Trainwreck, and Shelby planted a test blow to the man’s kidneys as he went by. Trainwreck grunted and tried to spin, but his size and momentum carried him several more feet. The man’s reflexes were not lightning fast, although pain and anger might heighten his senses.

  Trainwreck seemed to remember he was facing a professional. Turning back toward Shelby, he began shifting his feet, presumably because a moving target was more difficult to hit. But the man’s size made this concept almost laughable.

  Talk about hitting the broad side of a barn, Shelby thought.

  Trainwreck’s footwork was also amateurish. There was more to footwork than simply moving one’s feet. Fighting was a physical chess match. Using clever footwork, a fighter could maneuver his opponent into the proper position to deliver a key blow. The blows themselves were designed to elicit certain responses, which then provided opportunities for vital strikes. It took years of study and training and experience to achieve the ability to devise these strategies and employ them, all within fractions of time. Trainwreck did not have this ability. All it would take to defeat him was patience.

  But Shelby didn’t have to wait. As he prepared his first avenue of attack, a shot rang out and Trainwreck stumbled, going to his knees against the truck’s bumper. Another shot, then another, and the big man slumped over and down. His yellow eyes, now more vacant than ever through death, stared accusingly.

  Shelby looked over. Ward held a small pistol. She smiled.

  “Sorry, I know you could have taken him. But we can’t spare the time. I’m sure the deputy at the station is out of the closet by now, which means the cops will be on the way. In fact, I’m surprised they’re not already here.”