Lone Survivor (Book 3): All That Escapes

by Hunt, Jack

  “That he does. Except he has a little more hair than you did back then.”

  They roared with laughter and even Max smiled. Ray placed a hand on his shoulder. “I’m fucking with you, kid. Of course I will help you. I just wanted to see what you’re made of. I can see now.” He jerked his head towards the table. “Come. Join us.”

  19

  Mick cracked Sam on the jaw with such force it knocked him off the chair. With his wrists zip tied behind his back, Sam could do little more than groan and wiggle on the ground. He spat a mouthful of blood before looking up at him with a grin. “Is that all you’ve got?” A quick jerk of Mick’s head and one of his men hauled Sam up again. This time Mick bent at the waist in front of him.

  “Ever since you barged into my house and arrested me, I’ve been looking forward to this day.”

  Through swollen eyes Sam looked back at him with amusement. “Well get on with it.”

  Mick sank his fingers into Sam’s thighs and stared him in the eye. “Karma has a sick sense of humor, doesn’t it?”

  Sam chuckled. “That it does.”

  “Just tell me where the boys are?”

  He remained silent.

  Mick raised his fist again and Sam finally nodded. “Okay, I’ll tell you.” He mumbled something and Mick got closer.

  “Speak up.”

  He mumbled causing Mick to get closer.

  In an instant, Sam headbutted right on the bridge of his nose with such force it burst like a fire hydrant. Mick stumbled back, groaning and gripping his face. Blood gushed over his lip and dripped off his chin. He clenched his jaw, balled his fists and unleashed a furious flurry of strikes to Sam’s face and gut. Every time Sam curled over, Mick had one of his guys drag him up and he continued the assault. In less than five minutes, Sam was barely conscious. Mick spat blood in his face and told his guys to take him back to his cell. He followed them out of the steel housing and watched as Sam’s feet dragged behind him, down the narrow corridor inside the ship.

  The State of Maine was a training vessel used by the Maine Maritime Academy. Every summer more than 250 students and fifty faculty, crew and support staff would board it for its annual training cruise to European ports. This had been the first year it had remained in the dock. Mick was now using it as his main center for operations, and for housing prisoners. The 500-foot, 16,000-ton vessel was perfect with many steel-enclosed rooms in the lower decks, making escape virtually impossible.

  One of his guys unlocked a door, and tossed Sam inside with the rest of them. Carl sneered at Mick; his face still swollen from his own beating. The door clanged shut and Mick double-timed it to the upper deck to get an update on the search.

  Entering the bridge, he scooped up a cloth and wiped blood from his knuckles before getting on the radio. “Holden, where are you?”

  “On the east side of the island.”

  “Any luck?”

  “None so far. We revisited the Manor but no sign of them.”

  “Well they couldn’t have just vanished.”

  “I’ll keep you in the loop.”

  Mick stared out of the window and then took some binoculars and scanned the tops of the buildings. Anyone brazen enough to shoot one of his guys and steal a Humvee out from underneath their nose might be daring enough to attempt to get his family out. That was another reason why he’d taken them. Still, they needed to get on top of this and fast. There was a lot riding on this first shipment of supplies to FEMA and for a while he was on track to deliver.

  What a screw-up.

  Now they’d already received word that Colonel Lukeman was planning on paying Castine a visit, what was he meant to do? They had nothing to show for their efforts. All the fish were gone, the Humvee was at the bottom of the bay and they had been outwitted by two teenagers. He still hadn’t told Teresa. If she found out, he would be stripped of his position immediately and he hadn’t come this far to have the rug pulled out from underneath him. This was the beginning of something big, a means for him to work his way up to a position of power.

  Already he had over forty people under his command, and another ten were supposed to sign up. Everything was going to plan. He was making progress until those two assholes screwed it up. Mick turned to Davis, a large, imposing man who used to run his own construction company. “Did you collect the catch this morning?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Fifty percent?”

  “That’s right.”

  “We’re gonna need more to replace what was taken. Follow me.” Mick snatched up his AR-15 and headed out with a group of five. The ship was guarded by ten of his men, and the rest were out searching for the boys. After making their way down a slope to the dock, they got on horses and headed south towards the location where Pete Barnes’ company brought in their catch. With fish being the main source of food since the blackout, those who didn’t own boats had to give their time and assist in return for a portion of the catch.

  Mick pulled on the reins and dismounted, then tied the horse to a post. Locals looked on at the show of force as they emptied nets full of fish into large containers.

  “Where’s Pete?” he asked one lady.

  “On his boat, over there.” She pointed. Mick gave some instructions to three of his guys to keep an eye on the people while he went and had a word with Pete. He was only one of a handful of fishermen they would need to approach that morning.

  “Pete!” Mick bellowed. Pete looked up from where he was helping a man load crab cages onto the boat. “I need a word with you.”

  Pete muttered something to his co-worker, hopped off the boat and made his way down the dock, wiping his grimy hands on a rag that he tucked into his back pocket. His clothes were covered in fish guts. He ran a hand over what remained of his hair and frowned as he approached. “Yeah?”

  “Walk with me,” Mick said turning and clasping his hands behind his back. While he was more than prepared to use force to get his point across, he was of the mind that if he could achieve it without doing so, he stood a better chance of getting the people behind him. It was all a matter of using the right words. He already knew that Pete didn’t like him but if he could get him to see it as something that directly affected them all, maybe he could persuade him. “As you know, I have been put in the unfortunate position of assisting FEMA with the collection of supplies. I know you and I haven’t seen eye to eye on this matter but understand one thing. If it’s not me, they would just find someone else. Either way you would still have to give up 50 percent of your catch.”

  “But how long do they expect us to do this? We’re already spending most of the day out there just to bring in enough for residents, but then they go and take 50 percent and…”

  “Pete, I get it. Right now we aren’t in a place to negotiate. I was told outright that they would take our guns and our supplies if we didn’t contribute.”

  “Bastards. Just like the government. Greedy. Always asking for more and yet complaining they don’t have enough. You know, they used to take over a hundred thousand dollars from me every year in taxes. I mean, I don’t mind paying 10 percent but these guys were taking close to 50 percent and now, finally when the nation goes to shit you think you’ll get some relief from their grimy hands, and here they are asking for more. Oh no, they won’t come and do the hard work themselves. They expect us to get our hands dirty. Well 50 percent is all they are getting.”

  Mick sucked air between his teeth. “That’s why I needed to talk to you.”

  “They want more?”

  “No they don’t, but we’re gonna need to take everything you have caught today.”

  Pete stopped walking and scowled. “What?”

  “The Humvee with the previous day’s load was taken last night. Dumped in the bay. Everything we had is gone. They are expecting us to deliver today.”

  Pete laughed. “Then they can keep expecting. That’s not my problem,” he said continuing to walk. Mick caught up with him.

  “Actually it
is. Shit rolls downhill. Now if I fail to deliver they will make good on that promise to take our weapons. Then we will have no recourse if and when things go bad between us and them.”

  Pete turned fast and jabbed a finger into Mick’s chest. “We did what was asked. We’re not the ones that screwed up. This is on you, Mick. Not me. Not this community. You! You want to fix this, get out there and fish yourself and hope to God you get enough but we are done.”

  He turned to walk away and Mick pulled out his revolver and cocked it. “No you’re not.”

  Pete froze. “So this is what it’s coming to?”

  “I told you. This is not us and you. It’s us and them. We are in the same boat together. If I go down, so do all of you. So you are gonna go back to your crew and have them bring all the catch over to our ship. You understand?”

  Pete turned slowly, his hands raised ever so slightly. “I understand you’re a bitch.”

  Mick lunged forward and jabbed him on the nose with the butt of his gun causing his legs to buckle. He went to kick him and Pete caught his leg and swept out the other from beneath him. A scramble for the gun ensued but before Pete could get to it, Davis, one of Mick’s men, rushed in and pulled him away while another stuck a gun in his face. “Back off!”

  Mick rose to his feet and brushed himself off before putting his gun away. He went over to Pete as a crowd looked on and struck him in the gut twice before pulling up his head by the back of his hair. “If you ever do that again, I will kill you and throw you in the bay. Do you understand?”

  Pete gritted his teeth and gave a nod.

  “Now you know what to do. Go and do it!”

  And just like that they released him and watched him return to his crew where he began barking out orders. They all looked perplexed, and cast a glance at Mick but refused to follow through. Mick unslung his AR-15 and fired off a few rounds over their heads to make sure they knew he meant business. “Now!” he bellowed.

  From there he had his men move in and monitor them.

  Mick pulled out a rag and wiped his lower lip where Pete had struck him.

  His radio crackled.

  “Mick, this is Holden, come in, over.”

  He took the radio off his belt and scowled at the crowd. “Go ahead.”

  “One of our guys reports seeing the two boys rowing towards Witherle Woods.”

  “So they were offshore. No wonder.” He breathed in deeply. “Bring them in.”

  “We already have our guys heading over there now.”

  “Keep me updated.”

  He breathed in deeply the salty air and smiled. Maybe things were looking up. If they could deliver the load today, and hand over Max and his pal to the military, that would speak volumes for his ability to handle matters. Sure, the Humvee was gone but he didn’t expect them to hold that against him. He got back on his horse and cast one more glance over to Pete, who was busy loading fish into large plastic tubs of ice.

  Sam leaned against the steel wall and looked out of the porthole, trying to see who was shooting. It had been a quick burst of gunfire then it was silent. “You really should sit down,” Carl said. “Rest.”

  “I’ll rest when that asshole is dead.”

  Carl leaned back in a chair and stared up at the ceiling. Tess thumped a fist against the door and asked for the umpteenth time to be let out. “You might as well stop doing that. It’s only going to piss them off,” Carl said.

  “They can’t do this,” Tess said. “I can’t stand it in here. I’m claustrophobic.”

  “Breathe, honey, just breathe,” Rita said trying to calm her nerves.

  Sam had to admit it was cramped. It was set up in a bedroom style with one bed, and a tiny closet, but that was it. They’d put them in one of the smallest rooms on the ship and told them they would remain there until they found the two boys at which point they would be released. Janice and Arlo had been placed in a separate room and a couple of times they heard Arlo bellowing at the top of his voice, blaming Sara, but most of all blaming himself for listening to Janice and moving into the inn.

  “If we get out of this, I am moving out.”

  “Settle down, Arlo.”

  Sam looked over at Sara. She had her knees up against her chest and her arms wrapped around them. For the first few hours she’d been frantic with worry; crying and then getting angry. Eventually she went quiet and withdrew into a corner of the room.

  “Penny for your thoughts?” Sam asked, rubbing his aching jaw and taking a seat near her. Two of his teeth had been knocked out. His ribs were so painful it made breathing hard. Every movement was a struggle.

  “You don’t want to know,” she said. “By the way, you look like shit.”

  “Thanks,” he said cracking a smile only to groan as the cut on his lip opened up.

  Although he had no idea how they would get out, he tried to remain optimistic. Mick had never been a man for covering all his bases, that’s why he’d been arrested numerous times. He reacted then thought later. “He better not harm my son.”

  “Ah, he’s full of hot air. It’s all about appearances with him.”

  “Well it looks like he changed your appearance.”

  “Yeah, well that’s been a long time coming. We have a history.”

  “I heard,” she said, jerking her head towards Carl.

  Sam nodded slowly. “Listen, we’ll get out of this. I don’t know how but we will. Max will be fine. Until then we—”

  Pop. Pop. Pop.

  Several rounds echoed. Sam rose and went to the window and looked out to see three of Mick’s guys lying on the ground. What the hell? Another volley of shots rang out, this time getting louder. He saw another guy drop. The thud of boots could be heard above them. Running. More shots.

  “Which one is it?” a voice yelled from outside.

  “Please. Don’t shoot.”

  Another two rounds.

  “They’re in there.”

  “Tess, back away from the door,” Sam said. She took a few steps back and they all heard a key go into the lock, then the door swung open and hope ignited.

  20

  It was a strategic attack.

  If he’d only been at the ship when it happened, he might have been able to save face but now he didn’t have a leg to stand on. Before receiving word from Holden that his team had been ambushed in Witherle Woods, Mick had taken five of his men to meet Colonel Lukeman and a platoon along Battle Avenue. He’d hoped to delay their arrival so they could ensure the shipment was ready. It would have worked as well. Now he just looked like a chump.

  Mick held the radio to his lips. “Holden. Come in. Repeat. What?”

  Holden yelled over gunfire, “Men down. Men down! They’re on both sides. They’ve pinned us down in the clearing.”

  “Who? Where? What?”

  Dead. No response.

  It was then he’d tried to get in contact with Davis at the boat. No one replied. “Come in, Davis. Davis.”

  “Problem, Bennington?” Colonel Lukeman asked from the driver’s seat of a Humvee. There were two military vehicles behind him.

  He raised a finger. “Just give me a minute.”

  Mick walked away, getting out of earshot, and tried multiple times, hoping that someone would respond. Sweat trickled down his back. He could feel panic creeping up in his chest. No longer able to wait, Lukeman got out of the Humvee and strode over. “You want to tell me what is going on?”

  “I’m not getting any response from the ship, and some of my team have been ambushed over at Witherle Woods trying to apprehend two individuals responsible for the death of one of my men.”

  Lukeman gave him a deadpan expression and shook his head. “Maybe we should have let that deputy handle matters.” He turned and pointed for two of the vehicles to head down Main Street toward the dock while he returned to his vehicle and jumped in the driver’s side. Mick’s group followed on horseback as the Humvee peeled away heading for the woods. As their horses galloped along the edge
of the road and they veered into the woods, his heart was racing and his mind worrying more about the consequences for him than the safety of his teams.

  A plume of dust kicked up behind the Humvee as it took a hard right by the Manor Inn onto a trail that led into the heart of the woods and to a clearing, the only one that he knew of. They could already see black smoke rising in the distance as they got closer. The smell of fire permeated. As the Humvee burst through the smoke ahead of them, Mick took in the sight of the carnage. It looked as if his entire team had been wiped out. Horses roamed freely. Bodies scattered the ground. He pulled on the reins and dismounted, searching the faces for Holden, one of his closest friends.

  No one had been shown mercy. They’d been cut down before some even had a chance to unsling their weapons. “Holden!” Mick yelled as the colonel’s men fanned out, rifles ready to secure the perimeter. From across the clearing he saw Lukeman crouch down over a man. Mick hurried over. “Is it him?”

  “No, it’s one of the militia. The same group that attacked us in Belfast.”

  “Militia? But I thought they were working with the National Guard.”

  Lukeman rose and got on his radio and walked away.

  Mick stumbled back as he looked at those he had called friends. He’d known some of them since they were teens in high school. They were good people. Hard working. They didn’t deserve this.

  He continued his search until he found Holden near the tree line. His gun was nearby and the radio was still in his hand, he’d taken four shots to the back. “Holden,” he said turning him over. He clenched Holden’s fatigues in his hand and lowered his head. Mick pounded the earth with a fist. In a single moment he’d lost nearly all his team and for what? Seconds turned into minutes. His mind ran amok as he tried to make sense of how this could happen.

  Then the radio crackled.

  “Come in, Mick.”

  He looked at the radio. Mick recognized the voice.

  “You there, Mick?”