Andrew Peterson - Forced to Kill

Montez watched McBride poke his head out from behind the trash bin, then quickly pull back. Had he been seen? It seemed unlikely. This hiding place offered deep shadow. No way he’d been seen. He peered around the corner in the opposite direction and saw what had made McBride duck.

A security guard.

Running right toward him.

He raised his gun.

Nathan watched the security guard turn right at the mini-motorboat ride and head for the east perimeter. He didn’t know how long the guard would be gone, so he used this opportunity to advance to the next trash bin.

His new threat areas became the souvenir kiosks in the middle of the walkway and a blind corner on the left side. Scratch the blind corner, the security guard would’ve seen Montez.

He craned his neck above the trash bin and saw the bloody footprints continue past the kiosks, but he couldn’t see how far. The low angle didn’t allow him to see much beyond the kiosks, and he wasn’t about to stand up for a better look. He began to wonder if Montez had bolted all the way through the park. Montez could be getting into a prearranged escape vehicle in the southern parking lot. That could’ve been his plan all along-to take a pursuer down a difficult gauntlet riddled with multiple ambush points in order to buy enough time for an escape out the south end.

He couldn’t wait any longer.

Following the bloody footprints, Nathan sprinted in a low crouch past the souvenir kiosks.

Something flashed through his mind as he ran.

A scene in a movie he’d recently watched.

One that featured a trail of footprints.

Which movie was it?

The Shining .

Montez adjusted his position to follow the guard’s exit from the main walkway. As he did, he heard motion behind him. McBride must’ve raced past his position toward the south entrance. He readjusted his position to get a shot from behind. He poked his head around the corner, trained his weapon on McBride’s back, and smiled.

The bloody footprints suddenly ended.

Right in the middle of the walkway? Impossible.

Montez couldn’t fly, but he could-

Backtrack!

Nathan hit the deck and rolled to his left, seeking the cover of a small landscaped alcove.

Steeling himself for a bullet, he inwardly cursed.

Montez couldn’t believe it. Without warning, McBride dropped and rolled into cover. What tipped him off? The bloody footprint ruse should’ve worked. He’d fully expected McBride to freeze in confusion and turn around. But it didn’t happen. The man obviously had a quick mind and swift reactions.

Now what? The blood pooling in his shoe reflected the desperation of his situation. He didn’t have time for a prolonged engagement.

And that security guard could return at any moment.

He needed a new plan. Fast.

The bullet never came.

He flattened himself against the wall inside a small alcove and took a deep breath.

Stephen King, I owe you one.

Now what? There wasn’t time to wait for Montez’s next move.

And the security guard could reappear any second. SDPD too. One of their A-Star helicopters was probably on the way.

He scanned the concrete for drops of blood toward the south. Nothing. If Montez had hopped on one foot to disguise his blood trail, there’d still be drops of blood going that direction.

He needed options.

Think, Nathan.

Think.

And then it came to him.

A sickening chill hammered Montez as he realized what was happening. No. Not now !

His cell phone had chirped to life.

He’d forgotten to mute it. In the near silence of the park, it sounded like a blaring car alarm. He quickly switched gun hands and reached into his pants pocket. He needed to silence the damned thing before it rang a third time.

Without hesitating, Nathan pocketed his phone and sprinted toward the ringing sound, his approach silent.

Gun first, he approached the souvenir kiosks from the opposite side of the walkway. He knew he’d scored a direct hit when the ringing ended in the middle of the third chime. It hadn’t lasted long enough to be forwarded to voice mail.

Montez.

But there were three kiosks, which meant two places to hide between them.

Which one?

If he guessed wrong, it could be fatal. Going with instinct, he rushed the first gap and caught Montez peering around the opposite side.

Bingo .

Three steps later, he drove the butt of his gun onto the base of Montez’s skull and had the satisfaction of seeing his former tormentor collapse to his knees.

The small handgun clattered away into the walkway.

And now, you’re mine.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t my old pal, Monty Goose.” Nathan felt the other stir, like a bull testing its steel enclosure. Keeping his face hidden in shadow, he retrieved Montez’s pistol from the walkway before kicking his captive onto his side. He patted him down for additional weapons. Nothing. But in Montez’s inner vest pocket, he found a thumb drive.

“W-who are you?”

“You don’t recognize my voice? Then take a look.” He moved his face into the orange light slicing into the gap between the kiosks.

“ You! ”

“Yes, me.”

The expression on Montez’s face told all. Nathan had thought he’d take pleasure in the man’s shocked recognition. Instead, he felt sick to his stomach. Conflicting emotions assaulted him, unbidden.

Loathing of the vicious thing inside him.

Fear of being two people locked in the same body.

Shame at the knowledge.

But, worst of all, hatred. Acidic and crippling. He owned a hatred so strong, it had permanently etched itself onto his soul. And all because of this sadistic shithead . The temptation to unleash the other and grant it vengeance was strong.

“But- but you’re-”

“Dead?” He yanked Montez close and squinted. “Do I look dead?”

“But they found your body at the camp.”

He slapped Montez’s face. “Do I feel dead?” He drew his Predator knife and brought it up to eye level. “Shall we get started?”

“Wait!”

“For what?”

“My men are holding a man and his daughters. An important man. I’ve given them orders to kill all of them, and I’m the only one who can call it off.”

He moved the knife to the side of Montez’s face and pressed the tip into his cheek. A bead of blood formed.

“Please, stop. I’ll call it off.”

“Where’s your cell phone?”

“Pants.”

Feeling revulsion, he reached into Montez’s pocket.

“Listen up, Monty. Cooperate and you’ll earn a few brownie points. And trust me, you’re going to need them. Tell your men you killed me, but you were shot in the process. Order them to return to the marina immediately without killing anyone. Tell them to sit tight until they hear from you again, no matter how long it takes. You got that?”

Montez nodded.

How much time did he have? The sirens he’d heard earlier had gone silent. Were the police already here, entering Belmont Park right now?

“Put it on speaker and make the call. Do you normally speak Spanish?”

“No.”

“If you’re lying-”

“I’m not. I make my men practice English as much as possible.” Montez had grown calmer. Perhaps blood loss was taking a toll.

“Make the call.”

Montez complied, and Nathan listened to the brief conversation for anything sounding like code. As far as he could tell, Montez did exactly as told. Nathan took the phone back.

“You don’t have to torture me. I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”

“Of that I have no doubt.”

“Hurting me won’t solve anything.”