Andrew Peterson - Forced to Kill

The whipping continues at ten-second intervals.

Crack.

Crack.

Crack.

Time drifts. The other had taken him away... for how long? How many lashes had he taken? He lost count at twenty-eight.

He opens his eyes and catches a glimpse of Montez leaning against a tree with his arms crossed. Montez yawns in mock boredom and nods runt boy over. They speak in hushed whispers for a few seconds. Maybe runt boy needs a rest, his arm must be tired from the exertion.

Nathan feels liquid running down his legs. He hopes this is the end.

Nathan saw Montez reach an expanse of grass and veer toward a loose group of palms. Closing the distance, he easily kept Montez in sight. His prey was silhouetted against the multicolored lights of the amusement complex beyond.

Time drifts again.

Montez’s calm voice brings him back. “Why don’t you just tell me your name? What possible harm could it cause? Why go through all this needless suffering?”

He doesn’t respond.

Montez snaps a finger.

He closes his eyes, expecting a blinding crack. It doesn’t come.

The waiting is so horrible.

The rope suspending him jerks. He opens his eyes. Runt boy is untying the knot. He’s lowered just enough to stand on his toes. A cruel trick. His shoulders are out of the sockets. They have been for hours.

Montez strolls over and throws power on his torso. He grits his teeth against the blinding sting.

“We’re going to take a lunch break. Can we bring you anything? A club sandwich and beer?”

“Fuck you.”

“Such language.”

Time drifts again.

A slap across his lacerated face brings him forward. He opens his eyes. Montez. Inches away. Holding something. Leaning his head back.

A canteen? Water. He’s drinking water.

His tormentor spits the liquid onto his legs and feet. His welts erupt in fresh agony.

He hears himself again. Laughing. No, crying.

Maybe he could end this. Definitely worth a try.

He winks at Montez and grins.

Montez grabs a handful of his hair and yanks his head forward. “What are you smiling at?”

Fighting to stay conscious, he bites his tongue and feels blood flow into his mouth. With all his strength, he spews the red load into Montez’s face.

Montez wipes his face on his sleeve, hisses something, and hurries toward the shed, where he disappears. A few seconds later, he reappears with something in his hand. A radio?

No, not a radio.

Below a sickening smile, the stun gun disappears from view.

Crackling white agony.

His scream penetrates the jungle wall. All birds go silent.

Merciful blackness. The other returns faithfully, taking his place.

Time drifts again.

Where is he? What’s happening?

The answer arrives in force with another jolt.

He wrenches his head back and forth as he screams.

And screams.

And screams….

Feet forgotten, Nathan reached deeper for a final burst of speed. He flew over the parking lot’s west curb, up a narrow landscaped area, and relished the feel of damp grass. Cool air filled his lungs in full, deep breaths. As the other receded, Nathan’s senses became heightened-razor sharp. His muscles worked in perfect harmony. He felt free, like a cheetah on the savannah. Total exhilaration. He knew his body well. Its limits. Its reserves. He was far from spent.

Montez glanced back. Unbelievable. McBride had managed to close the distance separating them. How could that be? The man was barefoot. His feet had to be shredded from the broken glass back in the hotel room. He couldn’t have traversed that mess unscathed. How was this possible?

One thing become clear. He wouldn’t be able to outrun this man, not over the long haul.Arturo was dead, and his other men remained on the yacht, out of contact. Which left him completely alone. He’d have to set up an ambush. A fatal shot would be best, but he’d settle for any direct hit.

Nathan sensed Montez’s growing unease. By the time his prey reached Mission Boulevard, Nathan had nearly halved the distance separating them. But if Montez entered Belmont Park, the degree of difficulty grew exponentially. There were hundreds of variables in there, all of them to his disadvantage.

Decision time.

He’d have to risk it. No choice.

Like a baseball player sliding into second base, he skidded to a stop on the damp grass, gained a knee, and toggled the laser. He took a deep breath, painted the red dot onto Montez’s fleeing form just below the torso, and pulled the trigger.

Montez felt the bullet tear through his right thigh at the same instant he heard the suppressed shot.

He dodged and weaved on instinct as panic seized him. The shock receded a bit when he realized he could keep going. But for how long? He pivoted and fired a blind shot at his pursuer, hoping to slow him down.

McBride must be using a laser sight, something he wished he had.

He limped toward the park’s entrance, knowing blood loss would soon become critical, especially with his heart rate elevated. He needed to reach the cover of the park before a second bullet found him.

Nathan saw Montez shudder for an instant, but remarkably he didn’t go down. A second later, Montez fired in his direction. The report hammered the air, clapping the surrounding buildings like a mass wake-up call. It wouldn’t be long before the police arrived-they were already racing toward the Bahia. He didn’t like the idea of Montez being arrested and taken into police custody. That wouldn’t do.

He watched Montez limp across Mission Boulevard and hurry through a gate leading into a narrow parking lot.

Maybe he should’ve shot to kill. Forget about it, stay focused .

Nathan pumped his arms for more speed and looked for approaching cars. None. He sprinted across the northbound lanes of Mission Boulevard, across the narrow divider, then across the southbound lanes. His feet slapped hard on the pavement, his first reminder that despite the momentary pain relief, he’d have to face reality soon.

He inwardly cursed as Montez disappeared under the roller coaster and entered Belmont Park. To avoid being ambushed, he’d have to slow his pursuit. Maybe having the police on scene wouldn’t be so bad after all. He’d rather see Montez in police custody than not in custody at all.

And with that thought, the pain in his feet returned in force. The adrenaline rush of the flashback had worn off. Reason had replaced the other , just as therapy had taught him. Fighting against lost hope, Nathan dug deeper and once again, tried to disconnect the pain.

When was the last time he’d been in Belmont Park? A couple of years? A lot can change. He knew there was some sort of artificial wave machine for surfers, an Olympic-sized pool, shops, food stands, rides, and various other attractions. At 0300 hours, all of them would be closed and the park abandoned. Did security guards patrol the place? Probably did. Were they armed or just radio cops? If there were guards, they’d already be on the way to investigate Montez’s gunshot.

Breathing heavily, he crouched to lower his profile, slowed to a jog, and scanned the perimeter fence and roller coaster beyond. The white support system of posts and trusses offered no place for Montez to mount a hidden attack and the roller coaster had an antipersonnel fence around its perimeter to keep people away from the tracks.