Storm Surge (28 page)

Whatever.
He needed to move. But then he saw
the woman. She was moving towards him, head down, eyes focused a few feet in
front of her. She was alone. Moon raised the machine gun, but held his fire.
Where was Mercer?

CHAPTER
SIXTY-EIGHT

“Look,” Phillips said. “There’s no
reason we have to sit here staring at one another all day. Can I get a book to
read?”

“What?”
Bohler
said.

“In my pack, up
there.”
Phillips
gestured with his head towards the lantern room above. “I figured I’d be here
alone for a bit, so I brought something to read.”

Bohler
looked nonplussed. “How do you expect
to turn the pages?”

“I’m not going to try to get away,”
Phillips said. “Where would I go? And besides,” he looked around. “I’m not
looking forward to seeing our furry little friends again. Once they get hungry
enough, or scared enough, they may give us some problems.”

Bohler
looked up. “I don’t think I can get
you up the ladder with your hands bound like that.”

“So undo them. Look, I surrender, all
right? I know it’s over. There’s no pickup for me. Just undo my hands, we go up
the ladder away from the rats, and I’ll get a book to read. Frankly, Deputy,
you’re not much company.”

Bohler
thought for a moment,
then
nodded. “Okay,” he said. “I can see the logic of
getting up there. But I’m not letting you go rummaging in your pack.”

“Then you can get the book out,”
Phillips said.

“Okay.”
Bohler
took the knife from his belt and walked over. “Turn around,” he told Phillips.
“And remember, I’ve still got the gun.”

“Don’t worry,” said Phillips. “I’m not
likely to forget it.” He turned his back on
Bohler
.
He felt the gentle sawing motion as the deputy cut the tape away. The moment
the last bit of tape parted and Phillips’ hands were free,
Bohler
stepped back out of reach, the gun still trained on him.

“See?” Phillips
said,
his hands up.
“Safe as houses.”

“Right,”
Bohler
said. “Now, this is how it’s going to be. You go up the ladder first. Then you
stand away from it. Don’t move.”

“Got it,” Phillips said.

“Remember, all your weapons are down
here.”

“I remember,” Philips said.

“You’re being awfully agreeable.”

Phillips shrugged, a smile on his face
“No reason we can’t be civilized.”

“Uh-huh,”
Bohler
stepped back. Phillips walked over to the ladder.

“Slowly,”
Bohler
said.

Phillips climbed the ladder with
elaborate care, taking almost a minute and a half to reach the top. He looked
around as he entered the lantern room. The storm had returned full force. The
rain lashed against the windows, and the by now familiar howling of the wind
was as loud and annoying as ever.

“Step back,”
Bohler
said. “Put your back against the window.
Hands on your head.”
Phillips complied, still smiling. He heard
Bohler
coming up the ladder, slowly, hindered by the gun in one hand.

“Want me to hold that for you,
Deputy?” Phillips called out.

“Funny,”
Bohler
grunted. Phillips saw the machine gun first, poking up above the hole in the
floor.
Bohler’s
head followed a second later, his
eyes fixed on Phillips. Phillips didn’t move.
Bohler
came up the rest of the way until he was standing a few feet away from
Phillips. He seemed more relaxed. “Okay,” he said. “Now where’s the pack?”

“Right over there,” Phillips said.
“On the floor.”

When
Bohler
looked, Phillips crossed the distance between them in a half second and threw a
circular crescent kick at the hand holding the gun. The kick connected solidly
and the weapon flew from
Bohler’s
hand. Phillips
followed with a brutal punch to the face.
Bohler
went
down.

CHAPTER
SIXTY-NINE

The woman stopped a few feet in front
of Moon’s position and raised her hands.

“If you think that’ll stop me from
killing you,” Moon croaked, “You’re wrong.”

“I’m not armed,” she said.

“I don’t care,” Moon replied. “Where’s
Mercer?”

“He’s not coming,” the woman said. “He
says it’s not his fight any more.”

“You’re lying.
Mercer!”
Moon tried to shout the last word, but his voice hadn’t reached that volume in
years. He gritted his teeth. “Get over here,” he ordered the woman. She
approached slowly. He could see she was trembling. She came around the edge of
the tree on the side where the torn roots dangled sadly in the rain.

“Turn around,” he said. “Keep your
hands up.” She did as he ordered. “Call Mercer,” he said. “Tell him to come
out. Or I’ll shoot you where you stand.”

“Mercer!”
Sharon called. “It didn’t work! He
didn’t believe me!”

Maybe it was something in her voice
that tipped Moon off. She didn’t sound nearly as frightened as she should have.
Perhaps he heard the sound behind him on some subliminal level. Or maybe the
sixth sense that seems to protect some men in battle had kicked in. But Moon,
without even thinking, instinctively ducked to one side, so that the knife
which had been aimed towards the center of his back passed between his right
side and right arm. As the hand holding the knife appeared in front of him,
Moon clamped down with his arm onto the forearm. His unseen attacker’s other
hand had snaked around his throat, pulling him back into the man behind him.
Moon shifted the machine gun to his left hand and tried to fire one-handed at
the woman, but she was already ducking away and his shot went wide and high as
the barrel rode up with the recoil. Another bolt of lightning rent the sky
above him. The near-simultaneous detonation of thunder that accompanied it left
his ears ringing and his eyes flash-blind. That didn’t matter, though; he knew
exactly where his target was. He snapped his head back to try and smash his
attacker in the face, but connected with nothing. The man had Moon pulled tightly
against him, his face next to Moon’s right ear. He heard a grunt of effort and
the grip around his throat tightened. Moon turned his head so that his throat
was in the crook of Mercer’s elbow, lessening the direct pressure on the
windpipe and allowing him to breathe more freely. He tried to bring the gun
back, but the barrel was too long and the
strangler too close
.
The hand holding the knife was still out in front of Moon’s body, pinned by his
right arm. He tossed the machine gun down and grabbed at the wrist, gouging
painfully at the pressure point, grinding the sensitive nerve harshly against
bone. Mercer gasped in pain and the knife fell to the ground. Moon felt the
grip around his neck relax slightly and seized the opportunity. He smoothly
shifted his feet, crossing his left leg behind his right,
then
continuing the motion so that he stepped around Mercer with the lower half of
his body, ending with his left knee behind Mercer’s right. He shoved backwards
and down, causing Mercer to stumble. The pressure on his neck released, Moon
whirled and smashed upward with the heel of his hand, aiming for the underside
of Mercer’s jaw. Mercer was too quick, however; he snapped his head back and
Moon’s palm-heel strike missed, barely grazing the tip of Mercer’s nose. Mercer
snapped a quick right of his own straight into Moon’s face. Moon staggered
back, pain detonating in his head. He pushed the agony aside by sheer force of
will, sending it somewhere else. He saw the whiteness of a bandage peeking out
from beneath Mercer’s shirt and remembered something Worth had mentioned before
he died. He aimed a punch at Mercer’s face,
then
dropped it at the last split second so that Mercer’s blocking move also missed.
Moon’s blow connected solidly with Mercer’s wounded shoulder. Mercer cried out
in agony, his face going white,
his
eyes fogging with
pain. His hand dropped slightly and this time Moon did hit him in the face,
with a roundhouse punch that drove Mercer to his knees. Moon smiled and lashed
out with a right footed side kick, again to Mercer’s shoulder. Mercer gave
another strangled cry and toppled over. He rolled as he hit the muddy ground,
then
tried to rise on his one good arm. Moon kicked him in
the side, smiling at the satisfying snap of a rib breaking. He reached down to
pick up the machine gun.

“Don’t,” a voice said.

Moon turned. The woman was standing by
the sundered roots of the tree, holding a pistol in a two handed grip. “Don’t,”
she repeated.

“Your hands are shaking,” Moon said.

“I’m close enough,” the woman replied,
“that it shouldn’t make a difference.”

“If you can pull the
trigger.”

“She can,” Mercer said. He had risen
to his knees. “She dropped the hammer on your pal Phillips.”

Moon smiled sardonically. “So it’s
come to this?” he asked Mercer. “You’re letting the women take care of your
business?”

“That’s my daughter you took,
asshole,” Sharon snapped. “That makes it my business, wouldn’t you say?”

Moon shrugged. Without warning, he
dove toward the gun on the ground. Sharon’s pistol shot caught him in the right
side. He grunted in pain, but continued his lunge for his weapon. He’d actually
scooped it up off the ground and was bringing it to bear when Sharon fired
again. This shot caught Moon in the middle of the chest and drove him back
against the tree trunk, forcefully enough to spear him onto the ragged end of a
stripped and shattered limb. The splintered branch entered his back a few
inches away from the exit wound of the bullet and came out of his chest,
covered with gore and bits of flesh. Moon looked down in surprise at the new
appendage that seemed to have appeared as if by magic. “Fuck,” He croaked.
Blood poured from his mouth in a sudden cataract. He convulsed once, twice,
then
died.

Mercer stood up and walked over to Sharon.
She was shaking, the gun still held out in front of her. Her eyes were fixed on
Moon, hanging impaled on the tree. He could see the white surrounding her
pupils. Mercer gently took her wrist and lowered the gun.

“Next time,” he said, “Just shoot the motherfucker.
Don’t give him warnings.”

Her voice was unsteady. “I didn’t know
if he’d go for the gun.”

Mercer looked over at Moon. “Guys like
that,” he said, “always go for the gun.
Always.
It’s
probably kinder not to give them the hope that they’ll get it.”

He looked down the road, in the
direction of the Buchan house. “Come on,” he said, “let’s go get your
daughter.”

CHAPTER
SEVENTY

Blake walked back out into the
bedroom, the notebook underneath his arm. The girl was staring at him,
wide-eyed. She had heard what had gone in the next room, her imagination
filling in the gaps. Blake was pleased to see that her earlier sass had
evaporated in the sound of gunshots. He reached up and keyed the mike on his
headset.
“Mercer.”

There was a moment of silence,
then
the voice came back. “I’m here.”

“Have you thought about my proposal?”
he said.
“Because your time’s running out.
Or maybe I
should say hers is.”

“Yeah,” Mercer said. “But I took care
of your sniper and the deputy. I’d call it a gesture of good faith, but the
truth is, they were just in the way.”

“See?” Blake said. “I knew we’d see
eye to eye. I confess, Mercer, I’m sorry I doubted your professionalism. I have
work for a man like you. Tell you what. Why don’t we all sit down and talk
about it. Nice and snug in the lighthouse.”

“What about the woman?
And the girl?”

“Well,” Blake said, “I think they’d
just be in the way, don’t you? But oh, I forgot. You have a problem with
killing women and children. No way you can get over that?”

“Not really,” Mercer said. “Guess we
can’t see eye to eye after all.”

“
Which puts us back
to our original proposal.
”

“How do I know you haven’t killed the
girl already?”

“Excellent point.”
Blake took the headset off and walked
over to where Glory sat in the chair.

“Here you go, sweetie,” he said. “Tell
Mr. Mercer you’re alright.”

“KYLE!” Glory yelled. “It’s a trap!
That other guy’s waiting for you!” She looked up at Blake and flinched, as if
she knew she was going to be punished. But Blake only chuckled and put the headset
back on. “What?” he said to her. “You think you’re telling him some big secret
he doesn't know?” He keyed the mike again. “See?” he told Mercer. “She’s fine.”

“And she’s right about your
friend…Moon, is it?”