“I can use this to lower myself over the cliff surrounding the resort,” I explain in response to Nelson’s questioning stare.
Skeptical, he says, “You don’t strike me as the mountain climbing type.”
“There’s no other way—not if I want to rescue Gwen. The night patrol will catch me if I try to swim across the lagoon, and because of the treacherous sea current, swimming along the coast and sneaking onto the resort via the beach is not an option. Lowering myself down the side of the cliff could work because they won’t expect it. They won’t see me after the sun goes down, and I can descend to the nature preserve.”
Nelson appears unconvinced. “Getting out of the resort will be much harder than getting in. I don’t see Gwen being able to climb up the side of a cliff.”
“I’ll climb ahead of her and pull her up on the rope,” I say with rising irritation, annoyed that Nelson finds flaws in my plan. “It’s a chance I have to take.”
“And how’s your backside?”
“Scabbing over nicely. Will you be here when we return?”
Nelson gives a mournful nod. “This is where Curtis is. I’m not going to leave him. Good luck.”
“Thanks,” I reply and head off to rescue my wife.
Sunset is still a few hours away, so I am in no hurry as I walk along the road to the resort. Around the bend, I hear men talking—coming my way. I hide amidst the scraggly shrubs and tall grass along the roadside. Two tall island men walk past me, shirtless, their dark skin shining with perspiration. Gleaming machetes dangle from their belts.
“I get de tall skinny one,” one of the men says to the other.
“Which one is dat?”
“De one wit de long brown hair,” his comrade, who I recognize as Owen, replies. “Remembuh, I pointed her to you when she first arrived. De one wit de husband wit de blonde hair.”
They must be talking about Alexandra, not knowing she is dead.
The other man chortles. “I cannot wait for de night to come.”
Tonight? What do they mean? Discreetly, I follow them through the shrubbery to find out. The road forks and the men follow the branch leading to the sea. I stay far enough way to prevent the men from hearing my footsteps, but close enough so that the men are always in my sight. The land slopes as we reach the sea. The road ends at a boathouse and a bus sized wooden sailboat moored to a dock. Scores of thugs mill about the scene, all of them armed and seeming to have no purpose other than to kill time. Action strolls into view on the deck of the sailboat. This is no sleek rich man’s toy. It is a working boat with obvious signs of wear.
It appears the entire gang of thugs is here. I spot the two young women from the other destroyed resort, Piper and Willow, who shared my plane to Isla Fin de la Tierra. They sit in their bra and panties on the ground, back to back, their wrists bound together with rope. Even from afar, I see how bedraggled and forlorn they are. Two of the marauders hoist one of the young women to her feet. Head bowed in defeat, she makes no effort to resist as they lead her out of sight to the back of the boathouse.
Those poor women. The thugs must have been raping them for weeks, sparing their lives only to keep them as compliant sex slaves. That is exactly what they will do to Gwen, given the chance. Now I know what the thugs are waiting for: nightfall. They plan to use the sailboat to attack the resort from the sea, which is the one direction Conner would least expect. No doubt, Action’s familiarity with the ocean has him aware of the treacherous currents just off shore. Action would know that swimming to the resort for a surprise night attack is impossible. However, sailing a boat into the resort bay is a clever way to circumvent the problem with the currents. There is no way the resort could withstand an assault from the sea. Everyone would die, save for the unlucky few, like my Gwen, who would suffer a fate worse than death.
I think of my wife, on the other side of the ridge, unsuspecting what horror is about to unfold. I must stop this attack.
Back at the house where I took refuge from the dogs, I rummage in the rusted shed.
“You’re back?” Nelson enters the shed.
“Action and his men are about a mile from here.”
The blood drains from Nelson’s face. “We’ve got to hide!”
“Relax,” I take the gasoline canister and empty some of the contents into an empty, flask-shaped glass bottle. “They found a sailboat and they’re waiting till dark to sail around the cape and attack the resort from the sea.”
“The resort will be wiped out,” Nelson exclaims. “As much as I’d like to see Conner gutted like a fish, we need to warn them.”
Using the dirt encrusted edge of a spade I carve a section of foam from inside the orange life vest I retrieved on my way back to the house. After some minor alterations, the glass bottle filled with gasoline fits snugly inside the vest.
I turn to Nelson. “First, it’s doubtful if we warn the resort that they’d even believe us. If they tried to face the marauders on the beach, they’d be overrun. The best option for them is to evacuate, and where would that leave them? Wandering the island? Vulnerable to attacks from Action? No, Gwen and the others will never be safe so long as Action and his men roam the island.”
“So what are we going to do?”
“You’re going to stay here. I’ll try to stop the thugs,” I step outside to gauge how much time I have left before sunset. “We can’t outfight Action and his men, but I might be able to outsmart them. If I’m not back by tomorrow, it will mean I failed and I’m probably dead and you should try to hide as best you can.”
I bid him farewell and set off to confront Action.
Bold and purposeful, I walk towards the boathouse and all the thugs gathered there. Astounded or bemused, they stop whatever they are doing and watch my approach. I am barefoot and shirtless, with the black, rubber flippers that aided my escape from Goat Island dangling from a string at my waist. I carry the orange life vest in a sack. My legs are rubbery. I am about to hyperventilate, but it is too late to turn back now. Some of the thugs snigger and point at me. Three tall men saunter towards me.
I take a shuddering breath so that my voice will not squeak. “I want to see Acti—.”
Owen punches me in the side of the head. The world goes white like a camera flash in my eyes, and the asphalt rushes towards me. I am falling. Hands grab me just before I hit the ground. Through the fog in my head comes the sound of harsh, cruel laughter. The men drag me down the road, scraping the top of my feet on the asphalt.
“I want to see Action!” I manage to yell, though my words sound slurred.
The mental fog clears. I struggle but the men on both sides hold my arms in a vice grip. Lifting my head, I see other thugs forming a half circle before me. I repeat my demand to see Action, but no one listens to me. Someone shoves me to the ground. On my knees, they pull my hands behind my back, forcing my head forward and exposing my neck. Owen steps forth twirling a machete. It spins like a fan. Light glints off the blade.
I am a fool. My big plan is a complete failure. Facing my imminent decapitation, my mind races for someone to come forth and save me. Please, do not let me die like this! The man stops in front of me and raises the machete.
Chapter Twenty
“I know where they hid the liquor!” I shout.
I shut my eyes tight, tensing against that awful chop and the few seconds of horror I expect to follow as my head rolls, and I am still aware to what has happened. Hot urine floods the front of my shorts as I involuntarily piss myself.
It was not supposed to end like this. For once in my life, instead of shrinking from adversity, I tried to be brave. Some people are just not cut out to be the hero.