Chapter 3 – Nathan
CHAPTER 3
NATHAN
I t’s’ not uncommon for me to be the tallest guy in the room, at least when I’m not with my TAPS team. But the hulking blonde monstrosity that just knocked down the front door like a domino is at least seven inches taller than me. I took aim and squeezed the trigger as he entered, but he spotted me and backed away just as I thought my two slugs were going to connect with his chest and connected with the doorframe instead. Is Blondie psychic too?
I kept my sights on the front door, waiting for him to try entering again. I heard his heavy feet crunch gravel outside. I considered what he was up to as his fist busted through the wall. He grabbed me by the wrist before I knew what was happening, and he yanked me off my feet, knocking the pistol out of my hand as I smashed into the wall.
This guy’s an absolute freak of nature!
Blondie’s partner, a stocky man with a tiny mustache, calmly walked over the splintered door and entered the house. I reached towards him with my free hand, trying to keep him from going another step further into the house, but I could not escape Blondie’s death grip on my wrist.
Unable to reach my gun with my hands, I stretched out as far as I could with my foot, but the toe of my shoe could barely reach the pistol’s grip. As I futilely tapped at my pistol with my foot, Blondie gave my wrist a hard tug. I let out a bark of agony but was relieved to see my arm still in one piece.
Realizing the pistol solution to Blondie’s aggression was simply not going to happen with it out of reach, I set about removing his thumb where it met his palm with my teeth. I bit down, thinking I could wrench my wrist free if he was missing a digit. Blondie let go of my wrist and screamed like a little schoolboy. I call that progress.
I held my wrist in my other hand, turning it over and inspecting it, bewildered that it was still in one piece. Blondie’s fingers left huge white marks where he had been squeezing, and my hand trembled as the blood returned to it.
Blondie entered, his weight cracking the front door on the floor entirely in half. He moved toward my gun, and I scrambled to reach it first.
We both laid our hands on it at the same time–Blondie with his teeth-marked hand on the barrel and me with my still shakey hand wrapped around the grip.
We locked eyes like Lady and the Tramp, and before I could bust his nose in with a headbutt, his free fist met my face, rattling my teeth and tongue and knocking me against the wall yet again.
My whole world went ghost-white for a moment, and I swear I was conversing with angels for a second. The taste of iron in my mouth and the whole side of my face tingling with pain, snapping me back to earth.
Knowing a fistfight with a guy whose neck was the size of a watermelon was a no-win scenario for me, I refocused on the gun.
Miraculously, I hadn’t let go of the grip but wasn’t holding it at the right angle to squeeze it with my trigger finger. I wiggled my thumb through the trigger guard, and a shot let loose, whizzing by Blondie’s foot but connecting with a couch instead. The crackle of a fired round instantly brought a deafening ring to my ears. The bullet casing was no doubt caught in the chamber thanks to Blondie’s grip messing up the slide action.
I couldn’t tell if I was hearing ringing from the fired round or if Emma was screaming bloody murder thanks to some evil man with a mustache about to end her in the bedroom.
Seeing Blondie smile at the sound made me think it was the latter, and I knew it was now or never to do... something .
I doubled down on the headbutting plan that was rudely interrupted with Blondie’s fist-pounding. My forehead met the brute’s nose straight-on. Blood gushed from his nose, and his eyes instantly teared up. He scowled at me, looking more angry than stunned. He growled and clenched his fist for another swing, but I again bashed the top of my forehead into his face before he could coordinate another swing. His fist missed its mark, connecting with my shoulder with a limp thud.
With that second head-bashing to his face, he lost his grip on the pistol. I tried to repalm it to hold onto the grip in the right orientation, but my damaged hand failed me. He tackled me at the waist before I could even attempt to clear the chamber. Despite my planted feet, I was no match for his sheer size.
My back slammed into the living room wall, my head snapping back and breaking through the sheetrock. The pistol slipped from my grasp once more and clattered to the floor.
The room spun around me, and once again, I felt surrounded by angles. What are they saying to me? It sounds like they’re quietly...screaming? Emma ? Are you here in heaven too? Emma!?
My spirit returned to this world, and I pulled my head out of the hole in the wall. I shook off the white dust and bits of plaster and looked down. The guy still had me grasped in a bear hug. I brought my elbow down hard, hoping a kidney shot would loosen his grip, but he didn’t budge. The bleach-blonde boa constrictor tightened his grip and I feared I might be breathing my last breaths on earth.
I cupped my hands and swung them down upon both his ears, making the loudest clap I could using his head. My hands met his ears, making a loud double-pop. He let out a roar from the pain, and his legs buckled. Having his eardrums burst no doubt did a number on him.
Finally–the blonde boa constrictor let me out of his grasp as he brought his hands up to his ears––as though that could do any good for him now.
I scrambled to get past him and reach the gun on the floor, but he kicked the back of my knee, bringing me into a kneeling position. Instinctively, I raised both elbows.
When his punch hit my forearm, I grabbed his wrist, yanking him off balance to pull myself back into a standing position, thrusting a kick into the center of his chest. He stumbled back as I moved toward him. I swung for an uppercut just under his jaw, but he leaned back, and I missed.
He landed a left hook, and blood trickled out of my nose, but I didn’t go down. Side-stepping his next punch, I glanced down at the wooden coffee table. Using the top of my foot to flip it into my hands, I held it up like a shield. His fist hit like a battering ram, and I closed my eyes as wood splinters went everywhere.
Emma screamed from the other room. I glanced toward the hallway, relieved to know she was still alive. Losing focus, even for a split second, wasn’t like me, but it only takes one mistake to change your life forever.
I barely had time to register my fuck-up when shit went sideways… literally.
His shin felt like a tree trunk as it swept my legs out from under me, and I found myself staring at the ceiling as I hit the floor, flat on my back. The wind was almost knocked out me out, but I flexed every muscle, refusing to let the impact stun me. As he punched downward, time seemed to slow. I knew I wouldn’t be walking out of here if I didn’t take him down quickly.
I thrust my hips upward, catching his neck between my thighs. I crossed my ankles and clamped down as hard as I could. He glared at me, his pale face turning pink as he struggled to break free.
“Yeah, you’re not going anywhere, bud,” I said through clenched teeth.
His face deepened to red as he grimaced, and I felt a flutter of panic in my guts as he lifted me off the ground.
I glanced around as his boots thumped against the floor. He rushed toward a glass showcase full of fancy tea cups. “No, no, no, no!” I clenched my eyes shut as glass shelves and tea cups shattered against my back. Stabbing pain bit into my side, but I knew this was my best, maybe my only shot at taking this goliath down.
“Knock yourself out, fuckface… I’m not letting go.” I grunted.
He reached out a trembling hand and swung feebly, punching me in the ass, but it did nothing to help his situation. His face darkened to purple and his bloodshot eyes started to roll back and flutter.
He slowly collapsed as he passed out, his knees hitting the floor like fallen trees.
That’s it, big guy… I tightened my thighs. Nap-time.
We fell sideways as I continued to squeeze with my thighs.
His muscles spasmed twice, and finally, he went completely limp.
I hung on for a few extra seconds, just in case he was pretending, but when I was sure he was out, I pulled myself out from under him.
Searing pain in my side rang out with every move I made. I looked down at a two-inch glass shard sticking out of my side.
Guess I’ll deal with that in a bit.
I scrambled forward, grabbed the gun from under scattered debris, and turned to head for the bedroom.
“Stop.” A calm voice said from the hallway, “Stop right there…”
The stocky man with a thin, graying mustache stood behind Emma, his arm wrapped around her middle to keep her from running. He held a snub-nose revolver to her temple.
“There, there, pretty boy. No need for violence. You don’t want to see her brains splattered against the wall, do you?”
The blood drained out of Emma’s face as his words sank in. I slowly raised my arms as if I were surrendering but kept my pistol in my raised hand. She stopped writhing in his grasp, looking like a deer caught in headlights as my raised arms signaled our defeat.
“You think you’re so tough, but a thirty-eight special can do a lot of damage too. Drop the gun or...” he moved the hand he was restraining her with from her ribs up to her chest, fondling her breast, and nestled his face into her hair. He took in a deep breath of her scent, then returned his gaze to me. He looked me dead in the eye, cocked his eyebrow as he drew a circle around her nipple with his finger, and said, “... you’ll have nothing left to hump but a corpse.” Emma tilted her head away from him with disgust as his hot breath grazed her neck. “Although, it would be warm long enough to...”
“The hell do you want.” I growled, anger boiling inside me faster than I could contain. I already knew why he was there. He had no intention of leaving either of us alive. There wasn’t time to tell Emma it was going to be okay, and I knew that there was no way out of this without traumatizing her for life.
He let out a laugh. “What do you think you’re going to do here? Put down the gun. Trust me, she’s much more fun alive than dead.”
Taunting me, he nuzzled her neck with his face, breathing in the smell of her again, briefly fluttering his eyelids in mock ecstasy.
In a quick downward motion, I brought down my pistol and squeezed the trigger without aiming, as if I were throwing a baseball instead of firing a bullet. The twenty-seven hundred feet per second fastball of lead struck just above his right eyebrow.
Emma didn’t scream.
She stood solid as his limp body peeled off her and fell lifeless on the floor––a cooling pile of meat and bones where a dangerous man stood just moments ago.
I tucked the gun into the back of my pants and rushed to put my arms around her, thinking she might faint and hit the floor.
“Oh my God.” She wiped her hand through the blood that had splattered on her cheek and looked down at the scarlet smear across her trembling fingers.
Hoping she wasn’t absolutely freaking out, I tried to act calm, like this was all not a big deal so we could continue without her becoming a wreck.
“Emma, you did good. You’re okay.” I put my hands squarely on her shoulders and squeezed a little. “You hear me?”
“Oh my God!” She looked down and pointed at the piece of glass in my side.
“That’s… nothing,” I hissed. I stepped back from her, delicately pinched the glass, braced for the pain, and pulled it out. It made a noise like pulling a spoon out of hot macaroni and cheese as I tugged to reveal another three inches of bloody glass from my thigh. I held it up, inspected it, and felt a bit woozy, my body reacting to the potential of losing blood. Luckily, the tip was still there. If the end had broken off, this could have been serious.
She doubled over and threw up.
“Mmmm.” I nodded, patting her on the back. “Yeah, it’s been a stressful morning.”
She furrowed her brow and looked at me, clamping her elbow across her mouth.
“I’m sure you’ll want to talk to a therapist of your own about all this at some point, but right now, we’ve gotta get cleaned up and get the hell out of here. Pain––that I can handle. But blood loss? I gotta do something about this wound and then we gotta jet.”
Looking behind me, she screamed and pointed.
I whipped around, drawing my gun just in time to see Blondie hobbling out the front door. I cursed under my breath. I suppose I should have hunted the blonde beast down and taken him out, but right now, my only objective is to get Emma off the island in one piece–not to take care of local wildlife. Leaving Emma unprotected to go after the freakishly large animal that is Blondie’s just not an option.
Turning back to Emma, I lifted her chin with my fingers, pulling her wide-eyed gaze back to mine.
“You’re doing good, Emma. You’ve got this.” I spoke slowly, not leaving any room for discussion. “But you and I need to leave. You’ve got five minutes while I get myself bandaged up. Get whatever you need, and then we’re gone. Sound good?”
She nodded, and I felt relieved knowing she wouldn’t fight me on getting off this island anymore.
I dug around in her medicine cabinet for what I needed to bandage the wound in my leg but came up short.
What I need is stitches, lidocaine, and saline. What I have is bandaids and rubbing alcohol.
Between drywall dust and glass bits, all sorts of undesirables could be stuck in my leg. I found some pointy scissors in her cabinet and poked a hole in the top of Emma’s plastic container of alcohol, turning it into an alcohol squirt gun when squeezed––as good as it gets for flushing out a wound here.
I braced myself for the pain and squeezed the bottle of alcohol into the bleeding opening in my leg to flush as much stuff out of my muscle tissue as I possibly could. I could feel those angels closing in again, trying to talk to me through the walls. I gritted my teeth as tears flowed, wincing from the pain. I squeezed the bottle harder as white-hot bolts of pain jolted up my entire leg. My hands shook, every fiber of my being telling me to stop.
If there’s any glass left in there, it’ll be germ-free now.
I stopped flushing out my wound, pushed it closed to squeeze out the remaining alcohol and blood, and just took a second to calm the hell down. My heart went from pounding so hard I could feel my pulse in my face to a slow, steady beat. Steadying my hands, I patched up the gash with three bandaids and considered that good for now.
I stashed a few spare bandaids and a tube of antibiotic ointment in the lower pocket of my cargo pants, knowing my wound would no doubt reopen if I so much as jogged.
I limped to the front door. Emma was already there with a small suitcase in tow and keys in her hands. “You know, they say you can tell a lot about a person by the car they drive. So, let’s see how well you know me.” She handed over the keys with a chuckle. I know she was trying to lighten the mood, but I was still reeling from my half-assed patch job on the leg wound.
I took the keys and gave her a faint smile, trying to hide the pain. “Let’s hope I don’t bleed all over your seats,” I joked, attempting to match her lightheartedness.
We stepped outside to her pristine little black Bimmer, straight from the showroom. I slid into the driver’s seat, my wound singing to me as I stomped on the gas. The engine roared to life, and I couldn’t help but feel a bit of relief as we sped away from the house. The weight of the situation still pressed heavily on my mind, but at least we were moving, and that was something.
Emma glanced over at me, concern etched on her face. “Are you sure you can drive? You look...pale.”
I nodded, focusing on the road ahead. “I’ve been through worse,” I replied, though the throbbing in my leg begged to differ.
I don’t have a clue what a little black Bimmer says about a woman; I was just glad to be driving it toward my plane.
“Do… you think we should call the police?” Her eyes were glassy and bloodshot from tears, but I hadn’t seen her cry at all. “There’s a dead guy in my living room. What if they think I–”
“Your client’s wife is in politics,” I said as we pulled away. “We can’t know who these people are or what kind of connections they have. Just because they went in there with the intent to kill us both doesn’t mean they weren’t with the police, you know?”
“So, you think the cops are, what, supporting a coup or something?” Her voice cracked.
I glanced over at her.
“I don’t know,” I sighed. I’m guessing the president’s eliminating opponents and dissidents–even if that includes his wife–before going full-dictator on this whole island.”
She mulled this over as we picked up speed.
“Also, I don’t know if you noticed, but something’s just plain off about this whole damn island. Humans aren’t supposed to grow that big, you know?”
“There wasn’t anything off until you got here, Nathan. Just sayin'."
“Let’s get you somewhere safe, then we can call John Dough. He’ll make sure you won’t get in any trouble for the stuff at the house, okay?”
She nodded but didn’t say anything else.
Every inch we drove further from that house felt like a mile away from the kill zone. I glanced at the BMW logo on the wheel. Exfil in a BMW. That’s a first.
Emma squeezed my forearm as we drove to the coast and our way out of here, my baby, my Cessna amphibian.
We reached the marina and went straight to the plane waiting at the end of a boat dock.
I did a quick walk-around to make sure the water rudder cables and pulleys were still good to go. Pulling out a screwdriver from the cockpit, I climbed from one side to the other, opening each float compartment to check for leaks.
It wasn’t that I thought someone would have tampered with my plane, but like my grandpa always said, “When people are trying to kill you, don’t let anyone tell you you’re paranoid.”
A polite lady customs agent met us at the plane. Her calm attitude said she’d done this a thousand times and that she was bored with this job. God, right now a boring job sounds freakin’ amazing. We showed our passports and IDs, and she checked all the forms and told us to fly safely.
As we boarded my Cessna, something in my gut told me I couldn’t relax until we touched down in Puerto Rico, but it felt good to get strapped in anyway. Something about being in the air always felt like a weight lifting off my shoulders.
The plane bobbed in the water as Emma strapped in and got situated. I untied us from the dock and kicked my baby away, climbing on board as momentum carried the Cessna away from the dock.
Back in the cockpit, I started the engine, checked the fuel gauge, and watched the oil pressure rise as the engine purred to life. I eased the throttle forward slightly, and the plane began to taxi away from the dock.
As we moved through the water, I kept an eye on the instruments, still feeling something was off.
Watching the ripples on the water, I gauged which way and how fast the wind blew. With the gentle breeze sweeping in from the southern sea, I knew we had an easy takeoff ahead of us.
One thing about sea-planes... you need to take it nice and slow or gun it from the beginning. There’s not really an in-between. Considering all we’ve been through, I settled for nice and slow.
I set my fuel mixture to full rich and brought her to about three-quarter throttle. Moving along the water’s surface, I pulled back on the controls to keep the spray from going up into the propellor. The salty sea air embraced me like an old friend.
Emma gripped her shoulder harnesses, white knuckles and eyes closed tight. I wondered how much worse this would have been for her if I’d decided to take off quickly.
As we built up speed, the plane rocked back slightly. I could feel the water loosening its grip on us as the floats emerged. A few seconds later, we lifted up and off the water. I eased the nose forward to level her out as she lifted into the air. Emma took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
“You okay?” I adjusted the mic of my flight helmet. Emma glared daggers at me.
“You’re not afraid of flying, are you?”
“No!” She snapped. “But sometimes, I get nervous on planes that look like something that should be hanging in a museum.”
That means you’re afraid of flying. I wanted to laugh but just smiled and nodded as we made a wide turn.
“Well, you don’t have to worry about anything.” I winked. “I’ll get you to Jax and Jelena’s place in one piece.”
“Your confidence immediately puts me at ease,” she said flatly.
I couldn’t help but chuckle. Off-limits or not, the woman was damn cute… especially when she was feeling sassy. My thoughts drifted back to our kiss and the way her soft, creamy thighs felt against the palms of my hands. If we were under different terms, my hand would be squeezing her thigh right now.
“Alpha-three-seven-four-Echo, this is the Saint Lucia Airforce Base.” A staticky voice came through the radio. “Turn around and return to the marina.”
“This is Alpha-three-seven-four-Echo, Captain Nathaniel Blake of the United States Navy, I’ll be happy to–”
A fighter jet flew up within fifty feet of my nose, forcing me to veer the plane to avoid a collision. The wash from the jet shook the entire aircraft, and I wondered if we’d end up in a tailspin from the disturbed air. “Whoa… what are they doing? And why do they have a freakin'... is that a MIG?! Wow. That takes me back.”
“You are in violation of restricted airspace.” The voice crackled through the static. “Acknowledge or rock your wings.”
“I repeat, this is Captain Nathaniel Blake aboard Alpha-three-seven-four-Echo, we acknowledge, over.” I rocked the wings in case they weren’t hearing us and made a wide turn to follow him back to base.
As I tried to adjust my radio, another hail on the radio bled in with a raspy voice.
“I repeat. Acknowledge or rock your wings or we will shoot you down.”
“This is Captain Nathaniel Blake aboard Alpha-three-seven-four-Echo, we acknowledge. Again. Over.”
I looked at my radio in confusion. Is my radio shot, or are these guys pretending not to hear us so they can claim innocence while shooting us down?
I rocked the wings again just to make sure we were understood.
“Shoot them down.” a crackly voice confirmed my suspicions.
“Wait, what!” Emma turned to look at me. “What did he say?”
The thunk thunk thunk of 20mm rounds piercing the plane’s frame above us pierced through the noise of the prop and engine. I dove to avoid the fire, but it wasn’t enough.
The rounds made an impact somewhere near the fuel compartment, and all my gauges spun out of control. Emma screamed like her head was on fire, and I focused on regaining control of the plane.
I twisted the plane in the air again, pulling every evasive maneuver I could manage with the damn pontoons feeling like lead anchors more than floatation. When I finally looked around to see where the F-16 had gone, I wasn’t sure what to make of it. Did whoever gave that order change their mind? Was this all just to make it look like we just happened to crash, not that we were blown out of the sky?
Emma flapped her hands, fanning herself as she bawled, a full panic attack ensuing.
“Emma…” I leveled us out, and she continued screaming an incoherent babble about how she’s always been the responsible one and never even got a speeding ticket. “Emma!”
“What!?” She screamed, tears streaking down her face.
“You okay?” I tried to sound reassuring, but honestly, I was still confused about why the military would half-assedly shoot us down without following through and making sure we went all the way down.
“No,” She whimpered. “No, I’m not okay, Nathan. My house was broken into, we got attacked by a creeper with a gun and a giant blonde...pittbull half-breed wrestler guy. A man died right in front of me. Hell–he died ON me, Nathan! I might still have brain and blood in my hair. Now I’m dying in a plane crash–and that’s literally a recurring nightmare that I have. Well. Not all of it’s a recurring nightmare, but the dying in a plane part is!”
“For what it’s worth…” I said calmly. “We’re stable and just north of Martinique, where people aren’t trying to shoot us. As long as the motor is working, we’ll be fine.”
The engine chugged and then sputtered slowly to a stop.
Fuck.
“What the hell, Nathan! Why would you say that!” She squeaked. “This can’t be happening.”
What kind of trouble is this girl in if the military sent a fighter plane to shoot her down? My Cessna shuddered as we slowed, and I fought to keep control as the stall alarm rang out. I tried to turn us around towards the marina, but our direction was now completely out of my control, our low airspeed removing any ability to aim her in the slightest.
Come on, baby, we’re not going down––not like this.
I fought and fought with the stick, but every attempt to get us on a straight path had the opposite effect. The controls felt both under––and overactive at the same time.
“What’s happening?” She started breathing heavily again. “Are we going to crash?”
“It’ll be a super-controlled water ‘landing’, darlin’. No sweat!” Sweat beaded up on my face as my arms bulged, my heart quickening with the increased danger we were now in. Even though the right words had come out of my mouth, they now felt like a lie. There was no ‘landing’ in our future if I couldn’t regain control.
Knowing there was nothing I could do to correct the awful stall we were in, I stopped fighting the plane on it.
In WWII, when men first started jumping out of planes to save themselves, parachuting pilots repeatedly noticed their planes right themselves after they’d done everything they could and bailed. Without someone behind the stick, frantically commanding the plane, the abandoned aircraft found their own path and righted themselves, soaring off into enemy territory instead of crashing into the ground.
This is gonna work. I know this is gonna work.
I loosened my grip on the stick and pulled my feet off pedals, letting the stick move wildly in my palm. It slapped this way and that, occasionally going the exact opposite direction I would have. We plunged deeper towards the water. Come one, baby! I trust you!
“Nathan! This is no time to mess with me!” Emma screamed.
The stick batted wildly at my hand, then less so. A faint shudder washed over the plane as the stick recentered itself and my heart just about flew up to my throat when our decent to earth leveled out, our freefall turning back into flight.
Oh, baby. I knew you could do it.
“The stall–if it’s bad, the only way to recover is to… let go .”
I gingerly took the stick back into my grasp, hesitant to disturb what felt like dark magic bringing us back from certain death.
I prayed we’d make it to the northern shore of Saint Lucia, but at this point, I wasn’t sure of anything besides our meeting Mother Earth shortly.
“Shit. Shit. Shit.” Emma braced herself. “Nathan!?”
It’s not the best time to distract me, but what the hell?
“Yeah?” I said through my teeth.
“Thanks for coming to my rescue.” She sniffled.
I glanced over, and she looked like every ounce of hope had drained from her–yet she still had the energy to be snarky. Can’t blame her, I guess.
“Hey…” I mustered the will to smile. “We’re gonna be fine.”
The plane shook and she began to cry quietly again. Here we go… I maneuvered the aircraft to be parallel with a swell.
If this one thing could go right, I sure would be grateful…