Richard DuBois - Last Resort

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.

“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.

The blow does not come. I dare to open my eyes and see four legs standing before me instead of two. I look up. Action grips Owen’s wrist, staying the blade from descending.

“What dat, you say?” Action demands.

“The… the liquor,” I stammer. “Conner… the big man with the axe… he controls the resort and hid all the liquor. I know where he hid it.”

Action nods to the men holding me down, and they raise me to my feet.

Action takes a knife, presses it to my throat, and leans in close enough for me to smell his sour breath. “Where is de liquor?”

“I won’t tell you,” I swallow hard. “But I will show you. You are attacking tonight, yes?”

Action does not answer. Everything I said is a lie. Conner never hid the liquor; it remains locked in the supply room. Conner has the only key. When Action and his thugs overrun the resort and break into the supply room, they will realize this right away. His baleful stare scrutinizes my face for any sign of trickery.

Fearful that something in my silence will reveal my bluff, I press on. “Conner took my wife from me and drove me from the resort. I want to see him dead as much as you do. Take me with you when you sail tonight. I will show you where Conner hid the liquor. Without me, you could search the resort for days and not find it. In return, you will not harm me or my wife. You will let us go. I don’t care what you do to the others at the resort, but you will not touch my wife.”

The remaining captive young woman glares at me, disgusted by my craven treachery. I turn away from her.

“He lyin’,” Owen says.

I shake my head. “Bring me along when you sail. If I am lying, you can kill me at the resort as easily as you can kill me here. You have nothing to lose.”

I glance at the other thugs. They gathered to watch a man’s head roll and they do not want to be disappointed, but Action weighs my words and removes the blade from my throat.

“For de liquor, we let you live,” he says.

“And my wife, too,” I insist.

Action gives me a nonchalant nod. His assurance of our safety is worthless. Just as I lie to him, I know he lies to me. As far as Action is concerned, I am as good as dead—whether it is now or later tonight is irrelevant.

“He comes wit us,” Action announces. “But first, dunk him in de sea. I don wan him pissin’ up de boat.”

The thugs hoot and clap as two men drag me to the dock that runs alongside the ship and hold me under the water, nearly drowning me in the process of rinsing the urine off me. Finished with their sport, they haul me to the boat but I resist.