Automatic fire hit Randall’s pickup, sounding like hailstones, and a line of spider-webbed bullet holes shaped like oversized snowflakes dotted across the edge of the windshield, with the bullets barely missing Hunter and penetrating the outside edge of the seat.
Randall cut the wheel to the left and gunned it, racing past the two parked vehicles as the man on foot moved to get them in his sights again. Hunter said, “He’s gonna shoot!”
The man raised the M4 as Randall drove the pickup beyond the pier and into a small grove of coconut trees. He slalomed between the trunks as they heard the metallic clang of more rounds hitting the tailgate. Randall said, “How many rounds does he have in that thing?”
“Too many!”
“Oh shit,” Randall said. Three black SUVs were coming from far ahead toward them. “I don’t think this is good.”
Hunter said, “I saw a rifle barrel come out one of the side windows. Get us out of the line of fire.”
Randall cut the pickup hard left and they crashed through heavy brush and over berms of sand and crushed limestone before sliding down a short slope into Whiskey Creek, which was normally shallow, but now was brim full.
They left the pickup and pulled their weapons. Randall said, “Let’s go north, stay by the creek, and try to get past those three cars coming this way.”
“What’s up there?”
Way up there is a Coast Guard station. We might make it.”
Hunter said, “Let me take a look first.” She slithered on her stomach.
Randall hissed, “Hunter!”
She ignored him and wormed her way further so she could see. The blowing sand was horrible. She closed her eyes to slits and edged through some stiff grass. She was on a slight elevation under the brush, and could see the two cars they initially sped past. The man holding the M4 was in plain sight, with the stock of the rifle resting on his hip.
Near his feet a body lay sprawled on the ground. Hunter had a terrible feeling. She concentrated to see clearer, to make out who it was. Then she knew and her heart sank.
Andre Benton was dead. Her friend Andre, who had come alone to meet them here.
The three SUVs crept slower, then stopped. The driver in the first car, the Escalade, stuck his arm out and waved at the man with the M4. The doors opened and several armed men emerged. Two walked back down the way they had come in an effort to cut Randall and Hunter off if they went north, and the third man walked toward the spot where Randall’s pickup went off the road. Something out on the water drew Hunter’s attention, and she saw three boats several hundred yards off shore, and one of them listed slightly. It was closest to the pier. All were attempting to come in, despite the large waves and wind. She took one look at Andre, bit her lip to keep from crying, and then moved.
She scrooched backward until she could kneel.
“Andre’s dead. The guy with the M4 shot him, I think.”
Randall shook his head and said, “Aw, man.” The weight of it on him was evident.
“Looks like three of the men in the black cars are coming to hunt us. Two are going north, I’m sure
to ambush us or come this way to trap us, and the other one walked to where we left the road. The guy with the M4 is posing near the bottom of the pier ramp.”
“They all have rifles?”
“Oh yeah. Looks like they all have M4s with the double drum magazines.”
“No wonder that guy kept firing.”
Hunter continued, “They aren’t hunting us, at least not yet. They’re waiting for us to make a move, and for those boats to land. They’re kind of caught about what to do first, I think.”
Randall said, “So we’ve got a little time.”
“Yeah. What are you thinking we should do?”
“We could tell them they’re all under arrest and to throw down their weapons.”
“Uh huh.”
“I think we have to get at least one of those M4s, or we are in deep shit.”