Temples, Tempests & Blood

by Andrew Allan

  We reached the opposite riverbank. It was void of man’s influence. But, plenty of animals called it home. Animals we didn’t necessarily want to quarrel with. If they were there, they were out of sight.

  We moved fast, out of the water and into the trees. Looking back to the other shore, we discovered the current had pulled us further than we realized. Ilsa was a good fifty yards up river.

  “This way,” said DG.

  He led the way, stomping through the woods despite nothing covering his feet. That was the Florida boy in him. He’d grown up in the backwoods and this was natural as breathing. That, or his feet were more callused than mine and I could recommend a TV heel smoother.

  The storm kept the mosquitos away. Leaf crunch was minimal due to soggy conditions. It was all walking, no talking.

  We spotted the fallen log in the water.

  “What’s the play?”

  “Gotta just slip into the water when that sucker’s looking the other way.”

  “What am I looking for?” I said.

  “Forget it. I’ll do the swimming.”

  “Okay.”

  DG got down and crawled his way up to the edge of the river. He was partially obscured by the thick base of the tree that had fallen into the water.

  “Keep an eye on him. If he’s looking this way, don’t let me come outta the water.”

  “Okay.”

  The police officer was looking the other way, not paying attention. When I looked back to DG, all I saw were his legs before they slithered below the water’s surface.

  I could see the blurred rendition of DG’s articulating body through the crystal clear water.

  I looked back to the police officer.

  He was looking right at me.

  Could he see me? And, if he could, could he tell who I was? Was he seeing a person or a shape?

  I didn’t move; didn’t even breathe. Nothing. What did he see? I contemplated dropping to the ground. Creating doubt there was anything there if he did a double take.

  No, wait.

  Just think invisible and you will be invisible and he won’t see a goddamned thing.

  DG resurfaced. I didn’t see it. I heard it. But, I couldn’t look.

  “Walt,” he whispered.

  I worried the sound of his voice would carry across the water.

  He called my name again. I didn’t move, didn’t look, didn’t acknowledge. Shut the hell up, DG!

  The cop looked away.

  I still didn’t move. I waited to see if he was gonna look back.

  He didn’t.

  I still waited.

  He turned on the dock and walked towards the far end, his back to me.

  I dropped to the ground and gave DG the shhh sign.

  He nodded and held up the lock box.

  Hallelujah.

  DG rolled the dials of a combo lock on the outside of the dripping box. Hard to tell what it was made of. Didn’t look metal, had almost a natural finish. I presume to keep it untraceable to anyone swimming past.

  He tried to open it. No luck. Frustration on his face. He kicked to keep afloat. He drifted into the log. He redialed, thumbed the lever—the box opened.

  DG pulled out the phone. I recognized it as being Ilsa’s with the orange Netherlands protector case. When he looked to me, I nodded.

  He set the phone on the log.

  I checked the cop. He was still looking the other way. We were clear for the moment.

  DG shut the box and dove under the water. His feet splashed the water. But, it drew no looks from the officer on patrol.

  The phone was just sitting there, strangely out of place in a plastic bag on the wet log. It’s bright, orange shell vibrant in these dull, gray surroundings. But, hot damn, there it was. I hoped that by the time DG breeched the water’s surface the phone would have found its signal. Then, we do a quick send to Stokely and get out of here.

  That was all we needed to do.

  A blade pressed against my throat.

  51

  “WE SKIPPING INTRODUCTIONS?” said DG in a hushed voice.

  “Get out of the water,” said the man holding the knife to my throat.

  I didn’t know who he was. But, I knew his affiliation—Kith. They had been watching the area, too.

  “Come on,” said the voice.

  The blade was tight against my throat but I could still talk. “Talk any louder and you’re going to get police attention you don’t want,” I said.

  The knifeman’s response was to pull me back, away from the shore, into the shadowy cluster of trees.

  “You know this guy, Walt?” said DG.

  I shook my head.

  “Last time. Get outta that water,” said the voice.

  “Or, what? You’re gonna kill him?” said DG. “Thought that was why you’re here.”

  Thanks, pal.

  I pushed my body back. We staggered into nothing and fell to the ground. It was enough to stun my assailant. His grip loosened and I slipped free.

  He recovered quick and slashed at me with the knife. Put a gash in my left arm that stung.

  We began the fight dance. He watched for an opportunity to strike. I waited to dodge.

  Strike.

  Dodge.

  Strike. Strike.

  Dodge.

  Fall.

  My hand found a branch broken off in the storm. I swung its gangly claw. It wasn’t a heavy blow. But, it was enough to make him put defenses up. And, that was a enough to open him up. I pounced on him. Branches crunched between us. He fell against a log, and I couldn’t tell if it was the wood that cracked or his ribs.

  He shoved me off. I slipped on leaves.

  Where the hell was DG?

  My attacker appeared to be from Kith HQ, not one of the militia freelancers. He was groomed, and well-equipped—modern camouflaged apparel that allowed him to move with ease. He was fit and athletic and appeared more dangerous than the yokel we’d left with Ornel.

  One, two, the blades swung my way. The first came too close. The second shattered the branch I held up. As he swung through, I jabbed him. Wood raked his face. Blood bloomed in the cut trails.

  DG landed on the attacker and slipped off into the dirt. The man was stunned enough for me to get a clean shot at him. Two right punches. One, two again.

  He kept fighting.

  DG rolled onto one of his arms. I grabbed the other and wrestled the blade from his grip. I set it against his throat. We all breathed hard.

  “Razook?” I said.

  “Fuck you.” The assassin spit at me.

  DG spit on him and punched him in the face.

  The man sniffled blood.

  I said, “You send the pictures?”

  DG shook his head. “Thought you needed a hand.”

  “I did. Thanks.”

  Back to the man on the ground: “I know the Kith sent you. I know what they’re trying to do.”

  His eyes were bloodshot. Blood snaked over his swelling lips.

  “He’s got nothing to say,” said DG.

  The man yelled, “Help! Over here!”

  DG and I dropped low to the ground. We could hear the cop across the water. Urgent conversation, talking into his radio. He was looking this way but didn’t look like he had seen us.

  I grabbed a pile of muddy leaves. Worms turned in the exposed soil.

  The guy knew it was coming. He sealed his lips and turned his head. I pressed the leaves onto his face, attempting to shove them in, careful not to let him bite my fingers.

  DG stabbed the blade into the guy’s wrist. Dude tightened, arched, and screamed. Mouth open, leaves in. The leaves muffled the noise.

  DG twisted the knife. With that arm dead, he moved over to the other arm I was holding and sliced that wrist. Another cry, another convulsion.

  Two officers now. Looking this way.

  DG whispered into the man’s ear. “These are our woods. And, we’re the most dangerous animals out here.”

  “We need
to go. Now.”

  He wasn’t finished. “You’re set to bleed out.”

  “Over there,” said a voice across the river.

  “Now!”

  DG yanked the knife from the wrist and jabbed it into ribs and spit in the guy’s face. We crawled away.

  “They’re gonna know we were here, Walt.”

  “Too late now.”

  We got up and ran.

  “Wait!” I stopped. “Where’s the phone?”

  He patted his pocket then pulled out the phone.

  We moved through the woods, approximating the direction from which we’d arrived. Once we’d gone upstream enough from where we crossed, we crept out to the riverbank. A police patrol boat was pulling up to where we had just been.

  “Swim all the way across without coming up.”

  DG nodded.

  We dove in.

  Fish darted off as we approached. A turtle paddled to the silty sand. I hoped the plastic bag held strong and water couldn’t leak in and ruin the phone.

  We reached the west side of the river, about twenty feet off our target. I grabbed a dock pylon, caught DG by the wrist before he flowed past.

  Police were pulling the assassin onto the patrol boat. Would he talk?

  We climbed the dock ladder and hurried back to the truck. Ilsa brightened at seeing us and hugged me when I arrived.

  “Police cars just raced that way.” She pointed south.

  We climbed into the electric company truck. It rumbled to life and we drove out of there.

  Back at his friend’s house, DG returned the power truck, we hopped in his truck, and rolled out of there.

  DG had a compatible power charger. We connected Ilsa’s phone and waited.

  “Now where?” said DG.

  Good questions. We hadn’t thought that far ahead.

  “I don’t want the blueprint coming from your phone,” I said to Ilsa. I don’t want them thinking you’re involved in any way.

  “Good,” she said.

  What to do? “Look, email it to me. Then, if we can find a place where I can access a computer, I can send—,”

  “No,” said DG. “We don’t have time to get into all that. Just send it to me. I’ll forward it to a guy who can get it to Stokely. What do you want the message to say?”

  “Just tell them the blueprints are for the Kith Rebatina. Got them from Wint Wilson in Orlando. These are legit. I will call.”

  “I have power,” said Ilsa. She sat up excited as she waited for the phone to turn on and data to come in.

  “Is this it?”

  I leaned over for a look. There was the picture of the blueprints. The edges were blurry because I had been in a hurry. But, hot damn, I got it.

  “That’s it. Send it to DG.”

  She did and I sat back in my seat feeling a sense of relief.

  And then, a sense of defeat.

  I really didn’t have a plan. I had a hope and some very circumstantial evidence. For whatever reason, now it felt like weak proof. Like, okay…so these people who may or may not be into horrible shit have a set a blue prints. There’s no law against that. What now?

  We cruised up a two-lane highway. Felt like the middle of nowhere.

  “Do you have a place we can go?” I said.

  He bristled.

  I understood.

  He had helped enough. Now, he wanted to get rid of me.

  “Find a pay phone. Let me make a call Stokely. Then drop me someplace away from there,” I said.

  “You’re leaving?” said Ilsa.

  “You’re not safe with me.”

  “Need to get you back in hiding, darlin’,” said DG.

  She’d forgotten that part.

  “Are you taking her back to the island?”

  “Probably not. Seriously doubt it’s still standing.”

  “Will you let me know where you two end up?”

  He looked at me suspicious. “Maybe.”

  That’s all I was going to get.

  DG’s phone dinged. He had received Ilsa’s text of the blueprints and forwarded it to his contact.

  52

  THE STORM WAS still swirling when DG pulled into a small gas station. It was old-fashioned with just one pump island and no convenience store. It was open despite the storm. Its yellow lights glowed warm against the cold, gray-blue world outside.

  I snagged a few quarters from the center console.

  DG stepped out of the truck. “I’m going inside. Want anything?”

  “I’m good.”

  He looked to Ilsa. She shook her head.

  “Not going in?” I said.

  “No,” she said.

  “I’m going to miss you.”

  “I don’t want you to go.”

  “Thank you. But, I have no choice.”

  We slid to the middle of the seat and hugged tight.

  We were still hugging when DG returned.

  “Hope I’m not interrupting.”

  We broke the hug. “We’re good.”

  DG turned to look at me. “You know I wanna help you buddy. But, nothing has changed since we last talked about it.”

  “I know. Just keep her safe and I’ll do what I do.”

  Ilsa said, “What do you do, Walt?”

  “I survive.”

  DG set his drink in the console and checked his phone.

  “He got the blueprints to Stokely.”

  I got out and walked over to the payphone and dialed.

  “Stokely,” he said.

  “It’s me.”

  “Asher?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Did you get the text?”

  “Someone dropped off a printout of a picture.”

  I checked both directions. No cars. No nothing. Not even cows in the field across the way. But, I still felt exposed standing this close to the highway.

  “Those are the blueprints I mentioned. For the Rebatina Resort the Kith are trying to build.”

  “Hold on.”

  “No.”

  “Where’d you get these again?” he said.

  “Wint Wilson. Look at the edge of the paper. You can see his company name. Out of Orlando. Not only is he a high ranking Kith, he’s their official developer. He took me through those blueprints. They’ve thought of everything a complete deviant could hope for.”

  “Looks big.”

  “It is big. That’s why they needed Hoyt in as governor. He can declare a state of emergency so when, after the hurricane passes, he can cut off the whole area. The Kith are going to go in and take it over, build their resort, and that’s that.”

  Silence.

  I startled as a car drove past. Hadn’t heard it coming. It left tire trails on the wet pavement.

  Stokely cleared his throat. “You’ll have to pardon me for saying that sounds completely ridiculous.”

  “Yeah, I know. Believe me, it’s something you have to get used to. But, that’s how they win. They rely on our disbelief.”

  “These just look like plans for any resort. Especially, coming from a development company in Orlando. That’s what they do.”

  “Know of many resorts with a crematorium?”

  “Jesus.”

  A silent beat.

  “Look, I know what you’re thinking. How does a small town detective stop these powerful maniacs before?…”

  “No, what I’m thinking is why am I not making my life easier by completely ignoring this nonsense. And by nonsense, I mean two dead police officers in Ocala. Good men. Family men. Shot dead at an auto shop known to employ members of The Plague biker gang owned by your friend, Mr. Gary. What I’m thinking is fuck the hurricane, there’s a shit storm of murder spinning across the state and I need to stop it. And, the fastest way I know to stop it is find your fugitive ass and bring you in.”

  “I’m not the cause of it. The only way to stop the killing is by stopping the Kith. What about Razook’s place? The AFB.”

  “We ch
ecked out Misters Tompkins and Gertz.”

  “Well?”

  “They’re successful businessmen. Nothing dirty.”

  “But, they were there.”

  “I got that. Look, I’ve given you enough slack. But now, people are pissed you haven’t been caught yet.”

  “You don’t believe me about the blueprints, do you? Think I just made those up?”

  “I don’t know what to think.” Stokely sounded defeated. I needed him pumped up, ready to strike.

  “I risked my life to get you that information. I wouldn’t have to if those were just innocent plans.

  “These prints lend credence to your story. But.… ”

  “But, nothing. It’s all true. You just have to let yourself believe it.”

  After all I’d experienced the past couple days to get him those prints.…

  Had I fooled myself? Who was going to believe a madman on the loose? It felt like I had entered tinfoil hat territory.

  “Where are you now?”

  “My location doesn’t matter.”

  “Are you safe?”

  “You’re really concerned about my safety?”

  “I’m concerned about a lot of things. And, while I don’t outright believe this theory I’m hearing today, I can’t deny that you’ve been truthful up to this point. So, yeah, I’m giving you a little leeway. A little more time. I just need to know where to find you when the boom drops.”

  “To find me, you’re going to need to find out where the Kith plan on building,” I said.

  “How am I supposed to do that?”

  “Check the weather. Which part of the state has the hurricane destroyed? They rattled off those ideal locations. The Keys, the Aufderheide ranch, Fernandina, and the Titusville Delta.”

  “Hurricane didn’t go near any of those,” he said.

  “That’s good. Kith might not be building as soon as they’d like.”

  “It went around the keys, into the Gulf and plowed through St. Pete and Tampa. Hasn’t been a hurricane to hit there in like a hundred years.”

  “Wait a minute.”

  There was a fifth location they had in mind. They never said what it was.

  Just that the odds of it being struck were near impossible.

  And, there was only one place in the state that fit that description: Tampa.

  “What?”

  What if it had actually happened in their favor?