6th Horseman, Extremist Edge Series: Part 1 (32 page)

“Cover your ears!” I take the safety off my
M16A and breathe. “Big fire, please,” I whisper.

The puppets keep their distance from the
flaming cart. They stare at it like they’re stoned and it looks
pretty.

One shot into the heart of the gas canister.
POW! Explosions rock the door. Another explosion. Then a huge
explosion erupts and the door is flung open.

All the canisters went off, I think. I stand
and look out the door. The puppets are on fire and scattering. Now
is our chance. “Run!” Each one of us grabs the handles of our cart
and pushes them out the door.

Markus and Josh follow me out to the parking
lot and onto Cross Bay, heading back to the boat. I ram into a
puppet and knock it over. It’s some dude in a Red Hot Chili Peppers
t-shirt. His ear buds are still in his ears and the cord is no
longer connected to his iPod. Our carts vibrate wildly on the
pavement. Josh loses a bottle of water. My mind is blank, glands
spitting out adrenaline like a dragon breathing fire up my spine. A
minute passes and I start to feel pain fighting through my
sledge-hammering heart. I need to focus on something in order to
ignore my complaining ankle and ribs.

The cheap wheels on the carts rattle like an
insane monkey locked in a cage. The sound reminds me of the rapid
fire of a nail gun. I picture shooting the nail gun into my
father’s knees. One nail for each nail he and his thug employees
shot into their interrogated victims. That would be something I’d
like to see — my father in pain.

#

I remember walking in on one of his
interrogations. It was late on a Sunday night when I was twelve.
I’d just gotten up for water when, after grabbing a glass and
shutting the cabinet door, I heard a thud. The floor had jumped
under my feet. I noticed the basement door was open. The thud came
again. It was followed by the sudden scream of some fool. The
scream was cut off. I remember it so well. I tiptoed down to the
cellar. A single lamp on a desk lit the wooden stairs as I
descended. The shadows seemed to reach out for me like a monster,
but I didn’t let that stop me. I was so afraid the stairs would
squeak, but they didn’t. Half way down the steps I saw my father
and cousin Lorenzo standing in front of a guy strapped to a chair.
He had a sock crammed into his mouth and blood all over his
face.

My father hissed at the guy about his money
and how he had trusted him like a son. Lorenzo raised his nail gun
and shot a nail into the ceiling. “You gonna get one in the other
leg, so help me God. Maybe in your family jewels next time.”

My father pulled the sock from the man’s
mouth and waited. The man coughed blood all over my dad’s face.
Lorenzo brought the gun to the man’s leg and pulled the trigger.
THUNK! The man gasped just as the sock was crammed back into his
mouth.

I yelped, then ran upstairs. My father
followed me.

He busted down my door and then smacked me
across the face. “Do not go where you should not be.” He’d hissed.
In the darkness of my room he looked like a monster. It wasn’t the
first time I’d met his evil side. When he was in a rage he didn’t
look like my father. He looked like an old troll with red eyes and
deep wrinkles. He hit me again.

“I have to show you with pain how not to
stick your nose in business you don’t understand,” he yelled. After
that beating, I didn’t cry when he hit me. It hurt, but I didn’t
cry. Sometimes it would piss him off that I wasn’t crying. This
same man, on Sunday, would act like he was God’s favorite son. He’d
hug old ladies, give money to God’s church, and pray. He liked
talking about family and strength, but he was the weakest of them
all.

#

We continue running down Cross Bay toward the
boat when I notice Markus trailing. I slow down.

Markus heaves, “I . . . can’t run
like this.”

We’re so close to the beach. “Fine, but don’t
lag too much, otherwise, see ya,” I say.

Josh is huffing, too. He chugs from a bottle
of water.

When we reach the shore there’re no puppets
on the beach. It’s not too sandy at first so the carts take the
rough terrain okay. However, farther down the path we go, the
harder it is to push them through. Markus falls further behind. I
stop and wait. I don’t like waiting, but the way is clear so I give
him a minute.

Behind Markus is movement. Quick movement. I
block the sun with my hand but it blocks the movement. I wait. I
move off the trail to get a better view. The movement is fast, like
a…

Ian on a mountain bike?! Hana and Tanis
follow him on bikes — with a dog. It’s a hairy, white mutt with
brown and black patches. It looks so happy. Fuckin’ dogs always
look happy. Josh jumps up and down. Don’t ask me why. Maybe he
loves dogs, or he’s an avid biker.

Ian slows, “Hey, nice work.” On the back of
his bike is a metal rack with three five-gallon gas cans strapped
to it.

“Looks like you did okay, too.” I smile for
the first time in a while. He looks at me cockeyed, like I’m a dog
that just spoke English. “Nice smile.”

“Shut up,” I say, hiding my smile, but he
keeps smiling at me. “Don’t make me smack that smile off your
face.”

“Right,” Ian replies, still smiling.

Hana pulls up to Ian’s side, “Nice to see you
brought the groceries,” she says. “Let’s get off the mainland.”

“Yeah, lets,” Josh says as he pets the
dog.

“This dog comin’ with us?” I ask. I don’t
like dogs much. The mutt comes up to me and licks my shoe. It looks
dumb and happy, like all dogs do. I shoo the dog away. “I’m off
limits, mutt.”

Tanis rides past me slowly, “My dog’s name is
Kat.” He laughs, then rides off toward the beach.

When all six of us get to the water, Tanis
freaks out. He hops off his bike and runs down the small dock to
where the rowboat is supposed to be. “The boat’s floating away!” I
run to the water’s edge. The rowboat bobs in the water, slowly
moving away from us.

Markus is farthest from the water. He shouts,
“The walkers are gathering. If we don’t get that boat, we’re
trapped. We’ll end up swimming to the
Pioneer
.”

“There’s so many of them.” Josh says, looking
back.

Ian waves for me to follow him. “Get all the
gear to the end of the dock. Get ready for me.” Before I have a
chance to react the fool dives into the water. I consider joining
him. He’s as slow as a cripple.

After what seems like two years, Ian tries to
haul himself into the rowboat. It rocks and takes on water. I get
hot in my veins as I watch him struggle. Never send a man to do a
woman’s job. Finally, he gets one leg on the boat’s edge, but he
can’t pull his other leg from the water.

“For fuck’s sake, Ian! You look like a
weenie!”

“Something’s got my leg!” he cries out. He
manages to get mostly in the boat. Sure enough, somethin’s got his
leg.

I pull out my pistol, flick off the safety,
and aim.

“Don’t shoot me!”

“Then don’t move!” I can see the puppet
holding on to his ankle. I aim for the wrist. Damn, he’s moving too
much. It’s trying to pull him off the boat. I take a breath and tap
the trigger. POW.

The puppet’s forearm is split by the bullet,
freeing Ian’s leg. He swings it into the boat. The boat calms. Ian
starts rowing it toward us.

“That was cool,” Josh says. “Where’s a vid
recorder when you need one?”

“Yeah,” Tanis agrees.

“That was unexpected,” Markus says. “They
aren’t drowning. That one was under the water waiting for him.”

Markus and the others start hauling the
groceries and the fuel to the end of the dock. Puppets are thirty,
maybe forty yards off. The path is full and there are puppets
bush-whacking through the thicket to get to us. I look at Ian. He
is rowing too slowly. I try to hurry everyone, “Jesus, get a move
on it!”

Finally, he bumps into the dock. He tosses
the rope tied to the front of the boat to me. I hand the rope to
Hana and run past everyone to the sand, Beater Stick in hand, to
stand guard. Everyone else starts loading the boat. A puppet
lumbers up to me and grabs my arm. Its fingers are strong. Stronger
now. This puppet used to be a middle-aged chick, probably a
waitress at some diner, or a soccer mom. Her brown hair is matted
and mud-splattered. I notice a change. There are more roots on this
one. They cover her skin like a million worms. I raise my Beater
and point it at her face. She tries to grab it. I tire of looking
at her ugly mug. With a thrust that would run a lion through, I jab
my Beater into her face. Her skull cracks like I shattered a car
window or cracked an eggshell. She reaches out for me, so I swing
at her chest.

I sweep my Beater behind her leg and she
falls onto her butt. She gets up. I jab and jab her in the chest,
feeling her ribs crack. She stumbles after me. I keep her at the
end of my Beater and force her to the water’s edge. I push her
in.

They finish loading the food and water and
start yelling at me.

Another puppet reaches me, some ugly dude. I
grab his shirtsleeve and spin him like a top. The next one behind
him gets a jab to the knee. His whole leg breaks backwards. He’s
not able to stand anymore and topples to the sand.

“Come on, Isabella!” Ian yells.

I bash up one more puppet then run to the
rowboat and get in. Too crowded. I land on some cans and boxes.
Something hits my injured ankle and makes it throb. Ian unties the
boat and pushes us off the dock.

One of the puppets I’d knocked in the water
starts sloshing toward us. It can’t swim. I think. I hope.

“Come on,” Josh complains. “Let’s go faster.”
Ian and Hana push and pull the oars as fast as they can. “We’re
dragging,” Ian says.

“Yeah, I feel it too,” Hana replies.

I watch the one sloshing toward us submerge
itself up to its head. “They can’t swim, but they’re trying.”

Josh yells, “The puppet is still under
us!”

Hana and Ian grunt as they push and pull the
oars through the water. We aren’t moving at all.

M
itchell and I run
out of the Ali Ben Abid Mosque. Mitchell holds my hand like a vice.
He had instructed me to cover my eyes, peek at my feet and run, and
I did. For the second I had my eyes uncovered I saw ten machine gun
barrels pointed at me.

Cringing, waiting for the pain to come, I say
a little prayer. Pops explode in front of me like fireworks.
Mitchell seems to be shielding me with his body. I can’t see with
my eyes squinted into slits and looking down, but bright light
sneaks through my eyelashes and washes out the ground. Incredibly
bright light. Then Mitchell pulls me along and we start running.
I’m stumbling, trying to keep my feet from tripping as machine gun
fire goes off.