SKELETON

by Peter Parkin

  "Good evening, sir. How are you?"

  Dennis smiled again—the warmest, most innocent smile he could muster.

  "I'm fine, officers. How can I help you?"

  "We're investigating a car theft. Did you see anything suspicious here in the last few hours?"

  Dennis felt his stomach churn. "No, it's been pretty quiet. I've been here for most of the afternoon. Where was the theft from?"

  "Those villas up there." The officer pointed up the hill behind him. "The owner was drugged or something, and his wife discovered him when she returned from bingo."

  "That's terrible. Well, at least they can't get too far on this island." "Well, sometimes they drive them onto large motor launches and take them to other islands for resale. Did you see any large boats beached around here?"

  "No, I didn't see anything. Been a quiet day."

  The officer that had been quiet so far wandered over to the rails of the boat and peeked in. "Nice boat you have here, sir."

  "Thanks. But it's just a charter. I wish I owned it."

  The other officer rubbed his chin and cocked his head. "Do you own one of the villas here?"

  "No, I don't. Just visiting."

  "Who are you visiting?"

  "I'm not visiting anyone here. My friends and I are just visiting the island. I'm waiting for them. They're photographers and they decided to take a hike up into the jungle and get some nature photos."

  "Trying to snap pictures of monkeys?"

  "Sure. And some of your beautiful tropical foliage."

  The other officer jumped up into the boat. Dennis dreaded what he knew would come next. "Sir, there's a pistol up here. Is it yours?"

  "Yes."

  "Do you have a license for it?"

  Dennis had a license in his wallet for his guns at home, not this smuggled one. But that license didn't even match the name on his phony passport: 'Frank Cotterhill.' He couldn't fake this.

  He gulped. "No."

  Both officers pulled their guns simultaneously.

  Dennis raised his hands into the air. "Hey, officers, take it easy."

  "We'll take your gun, and you can buy it back from us, okay?"

  Dennis sighed. So, this was their money-making ruse for the day. "How much?"

  "Two thousand dollars."

  Dennis shook his head. "I don't have that kind of money with me. I can give you two hundred."

  "Sorry, no deal. We'll take the gun, and confiscate the boat as well." "You can't do that. The gun is just a minor infraction. Take it, but I need the boat to get back."

  The officer standing next to him on the dock spread his fingers out over his shirt. "You see this uniform, man? This means we can do anything we want. You're on our island and we're in charge."

  "How do you propose I get back to St. Kitts?"

  The officer on the boat jumped down onto the dock. "You're not going back, not tonight. We'll hold you until the banks open tomorrow, then you can maybe transfer some money to us for your...um...bail?"

  He heard the officer behind him unsnap handcuffs from his waist. He knew the man's gun was pointed straight at his back. His partner holstered his own pistol, and then walked around and roughly yanked Dennis' hands down, twisting them behind his back.

  Dennis knew he had no choice. This was an unexpected turn of events, but he had to just deal with it. He looked quickly up the pier to make sure they were still alone. They were.

  With his hands still held behind his back, he pulled down rapidly bringing the officer towards him, then reared his head back and smashed it into the stunned man's nose. His hands now free, he spun around and flashed both hands towards the other policeman. One hand knocked the gun free while the other one went palm first into the man's nose.

  The other one was struggling now to get his own gun back out of its holster; clearly frantic, fumbling. Dennis leaned back and flung his right foot into the man's gut, sending him flying about fifteen feet in the air. He spun around back to the other guy—he didn't want to kill them, just put them out. His hands worked in perfect unison, one finger jabbed him in the Adam's apple and the other one rammed him in the temple. Dennis pulled back on both impacts at just the last millisecond. The officer went down, unconscious before he hit the ground.

  Dennis walked over to the other hapless policeman, who was now trying desperately to scurry away from him on his hands and knees. Dennis kicked him in the gut, turning him face up, then reached down and pulled the gun out of the holster and tossed it over the pier into the water.

  The office had his hands up in front of his face, pleading. "It's okay, it's okay! The two hundred dollars is fine! We'll let you go!"

  Dennis looked down at him and laughed. "Oh, will you, now? You'll let me go, will you?"

  "Yes, yes!"

  Dennis leaned over, grabbed the man by the hair and pulled his head up off the pier. Then he reached behind and squeezed at the base of the skull until his pupils rolled cross-eyed. He gently lowered his head back onto the pier.

  Dennis moved quickly now— first glancing toward the beach to make sure that there had been no witnesses. Luck was still with him. He jumped up onto the boat and ran down to the lower cabin, raised the hatch and climbed further down into the engine room. He yanked open the door to a utility chest and found what he wanted. Duct tape.

  Before heading back up, he noticed the contraption that Desmond had lugged on board. He was surprised to see that it wasn't connected to the engine as Brett had said it would be. It was just standing alone in the centre of the engine room. It had dials and switches and was about three-foot square. He'd have to ask Brett about it—it appeared as if Desmond had neglected to connect it after all. As Brett had said, they would probably need that extra speed that this booster would give them. They would need every edge they could get.

  He ran back up and duct-taped both officers' hands, legs and mouths. He found the keys to the patrol vehicle in the pocket of one of them. He was glad that it was a Honda CRV—plenty of room in the hatch for these clowns.

  Dennis tossed the first one over his shoulder and ran to the Honda, opened the hatch and laid him inside. Then he repeated the trip for the second officer. The windows were darkly tinted so no one would see inside. He then jumped into the driver's seat and drove the vehicle along the beach road and into a beach club parking lot. It was deserted, and the restaurant was closed. Perfect.

  Dennis ran a fast mile back to the boat, cast off the lines and jumped on board. He fired up the Ocean 62's 1500 HP engine, swooped away from the pier, and cruised slowly out to sea. He knew he had to get away from the pier now in case other officers came by to find out what happened to their buddies. He didn't want to leave but he had to. He wouldn't go far. Dennis intended to just cruise back and forth along the shallow coast, keeping an eye out for his three friends.

  One friend in particular.

  He couldn't leave her. He couldn't lose her. Brett had given him sound advice, for sure: leave the island, jump on the Gulfstream and fly back to Virginia. Then expose this whole mess with what they had hidden in the vault back at the safe house in Norfolk.

  That was smart and logical advice. But emotions weren't necessarily smart and logical, and right now Dennis was listening only to his emotions. He loved Fiona; if it hadn't occurred to him before, it sure did now. Sometimes it takes the fear of losing someone to realize how much they mean to you.

  Dennis turned on his running lights and then immediately switched them back off again. He saw something on the horizon that made his heart stop.

  He shoved the throttle into neutral, and swung the binoculars up to his eyes. About three miles distant were two motor launches—but through the powerful binoculars he could see that they weren't normal launches. These were gunboats, and they seemed to be at full stop in the water.

  Dennis was surprised—he wasn't aware of St. Kitts/Nevis having any kind of naval power.

  He stared for a full minute, letting his eyes adjust through the lens to the dim ligh
t. Then his heart stopped for the second time in as many minutes.

  Both gunboats flew flags of the United States of America.

  CHAPTER FIFTY THREE

  When the beasts were about thirty yards away they started firing. Fiona aimed for the chest of the chimp on her left, closed her eyes and pulled her trembling finger against the trigger. The gun rattled and shook in her hand but she held it steady in desperate determination. Beside her she could feel the vibration of Brett's gun as he fired at the monster on the right.

  Then the rattling stopped. The guns were empty.

  She felt something slide against her foot and she sensed Brett falling to the ground. Fiona opened her eyes with dread.

  "Help me, Fiona!"

  At her feet was the creature she had been firing at, blood pouring out of several wounds in its chest. The other one was dead also, draped on top of Brett. The thing was so large all she saw was Brett's blood-covered face peeking around from under its chest.

  Fiona managed to lift one side of the bloody mess up—just enough for Brett to get his arms free and finish the job himself. She reached down a hand and pulled him to his feet.

  No time to chat. They had survived this last onslaught but more would be on the way. They had to find a way out.

  Brett turned around and examined the metal door. "Look, Fiona. This door doesn't have a magnetic reader—just a number keypad. I'm guessing because it's just an exit door. Maybe we'll get lucky." He punched in the same numbers again: nine—thirty—seventy-seven. Nothing happened.

  He ran his fingers along the sliding door. It was tight in the track and its edge was completely inaccessible, being a good two inches inside the frame. There was no way this door could be pried open, and they didn't have a tool that would be able to do it anyway. The barrels of their guns were too thick.

  Brett moved away from the door and ran his fingers through his hair. "Shit! We were so close!"

  Suddenly an image popped into Fiona's head—the little remote combination seeker that Brett used to get inside the villa so they could steal the Lexus.

  "Brett! The little remote! Don't you still have it?"

  She could see his eyes brighten. He quickly patted himself around his waist and checked his pockets. Then he groaned, leaned back against the door and slid to the floor.

  "Oh, God. I gave it to Avery when we got into the car."

  Fiona felt like she was going to be sick again.

  Brett looked up at her. "We have to go back. It might not even work on this door, but it's all we've got. We have to go back for it, Fiona."

  She knew they had no choice. They were running out of time and more beasts would be here soon. All they had left were their Glocks and the magazines were at least half-empty. She gulped and nodded.

  Brett jumped to his feet. "We can do this. It's going to be a mess, we both know that. Just don't let it get to you. Tell yourself it's not Avery, that it's just a scene from a horror movie. Detach yourself from it."

  Fiona nodded again, her mouth as dry as sandpaper.

  Brett cupped her face in his strong hands. "Okay?"

  "Yes."

  Brett reached into his holster and pulled out the Glock. "Here, take this in one hand and carry yours in the other. I'll need my hands free to search Avery. You'll have to cover me, okay?"

  "Okay."

  "Let's go."

  They climbed over the dead animals and Brett led the way back up the hallway they had come from. Their stocking feet were completely red now, covered in blood from the beastly things. They didn't slide now, being sticky with blood. Fiona thought this was a good thing—better traction if they had to run for it again.

  They reached the end of the hall and Fiona could feel her heart pounding in her chest. She knew that as soon as they turned left at this corner they would see Avery. She held both guns high, pointed at the ceiling, knowing without a doubt that she'd have to use them again.

  Brett held up his hand and they stopped. He peeked around the corner, and then turned back to Fiona. "Looks like two of them are still there. We're going to have to kill them. Run fast and get ready to fire when we get close.

  Be careful not to hit me while I'm digging around for the remote!"

  Fiona's knees were wobbling and she wondered how fast she'd be able to run. She sucked it up and nodded.

  "Okay, now!"

  They rounded the corner side by side and Fiona could see the mess that was Avery forty yards ahead. She remembered what Brett had said and concentrated on pretending that she was not looking at what was left of someone she knew.

  Chewing away at Avery's body were two mutant types she hadn't seen yet; two disgusting aberrations of nature.

  One had the body of a chimp but its head was cat-like, almost like a cougar. Pointed ears, whiskers. Its claws were enormous and it was busy using them to tear the flesh away from Avery's chest.

  The other creature had the head of a wolf, but the body of a Vervet monkey. The head was enormous, totally out of proportion to the little body of a Vervet. And she noticed that its paws were definitely a wolf's paws, not the dainty little human-like hands of a Vervet. Fiona felt acid rising into her throat—she choked on it as she ran.

  Brett yelled. "Start firing!"

  Immediately after he yelled that to her, he threw himself feet-first onto the tiled floor and slid the rest of the way on his back. His momentum carried him right to Avery's body, and the surprised beasts snarled their irritation at him. The cat-like animal leaped into the air and Brett caught him with a hard foot to the throat. It fell to the side of Avery's body and started whimpering.

  Fiona had always been a good shot and she made sure to use that skill now. The cat creature struggled to its feet while Brett began his search of Avery's pockets. Fiona fired twice—one bullet in the animal's chest and the other right through an eye. It collapsed across Avery.

  The wolf-like animal seemed confused. It was smaller than the cat creature and probably saw Brett and Fiona as being a threat. But suddenly it seemed to make up its mind and opened its large mouth, baring the largest canine teeth that Fiona had ever seen. It leaped onto Brett and clamped its jaws around his ankle. Brett screamed in pain.

  Fiona didn't want to shoot from a distance, as the thing was right there with Brett. She ran up and rammed the barrel against the giant head and pulled the trigger. Brett screamed again. She reached down and pried the dead thing's jaws off Brett's ankle. Not too much damage, but she could see why Brett had screamed a second time. Her bullet had gone down through the thing's head and out against Brett's ankle, grazing it.

  "Sorry, Brett!"

  He winced. "No sweat. Better than the alternative."

  Now that she was standing over him Fiona could see the damage that the creatures had done to their friend. He was unrecognizable. She turned away.

  "Got it! Let's go!"

  Brett was holding the little remote up in triumph and Fiona prayed to God that it would work. It was probably their last chance to escape from here unless they could find another route.

  They ran as fast as they could down the hallway again, turned the corner and went full tilt to the sliding metal door that had blocked their last escape. Fiona thought she could hear the dreaded clip-clop sounds again but she blocked them out of her mind.

  Brett used the door as a break against his momentum and, out of breath, pointed the remote at the keypad. They heard it do its little singsong, then a beep. Fiona smiled. Two more singsongs and two more beeps, and the door lurched and slid open along its track.

  Shrieking with joy they threw themselves through the open door and drank in the beautifully humid tropical air.

  They hugged each other and high-fived.

  Then they heard them coming. Three of the beasts were running at full speed down the hallway. Brett pointed the remote at the outside keypad and pressed the button. It seemed to take forever for the three beeps. The door groaned closed just in the nick of time and they could hear the beasts crash into it
on the other side.

  They were free. And they could see their stolen Lexus waiting for them right where they had left it hours ago.

  They jumped in and Brett squealed the tires as he swung the car in the direction of the main driveway. As they approached the metal gate, they could see that it was closed. Through gritted teeth Brett said, "Brace yourself."

  He gunned the engine and the swift Lexus rocketed ahead, smashing through the gate with ease. He spun the wheel as they turned down the main highway back toward the pier at 'The Hamilton.'

  Brett looked at his watch. "It's been four hours. Denny should be gone by now, but I'm hoping and praying that he didn't listen to a damn thing I said!"

  *****

  Dennis kept the Ocean 62 as close to the shoreline as he could—with his lights off he had to be careful, but he was able to gain some illumination from the lights of the homes and all the piers. He kept 'The Hamilton' pier in sight, never wandering more than 100 yards away at any one time.

  He had the boat on autopilot while he scanned the shoreline with the binoculars. And he alternated that with scanning the horizon as well, keeping an eye on the gunboats. They were still there—in fact they seemed closer now. As if they knew he was there, which he found hard to believe at the distance involved and the fact that his lights were off. But he remembered that he did have them on briefly, so if they were attentive they could have seen him then.

  The gunboats weren't hiding. All their running lights were on. They were clearly waiting for something, watching for something.

  Suddenly Dennis heard the roar of a car engine and the sound of spinning tires on the dirt road. Someone had just taken a sharp corner.

  He pushed the throttle and began moving closer. Then he saw it—a large sedan spinning onto the pier. It drove right to the end, skidded to a stop just short of flying into the water, and flashed its high beams on and off—then on again.