The Blood King Conspiracy

CHAPTER SEVEN

Hayden found herself flung to the deck as Kinimaka yanked the airboat’s stick and swerved past a dangerous, reedy bank. She struggled to her knees, bleeding, scraped raw in more places than she could count. Her hair would never be the same. Bullets from their pursuers peppered the airboat’s sides and skimmed and whined around them.

Enemy shouts and jeers carried on the wind, making her grit her teeth as she heard threats she would rather die before enduring.

She saw the channel ahead narrowing drastically. Kinimaka threaded the needle, waterspouts shooting up beside and behind the vehicle. Hayden saw big gators disturbed and twisting away in anger as they passed.

Where the hell were they going?

“Bearings?” She shouted above the harsh roar of engine, wind and weaponry.

The big Hawaiian frowned. “Eh? Nah, there’d be more of a squeal if the bearings had gone.”

“I mean do we have a heading?”

“Away from those bastards!” Kinimaka jerked a thumb behind as more light machine-gun fire preceded the popping and strafing of surrounding water.

The Hawaiian made the water surge as he negotiated another chicane. The airboat clipped the head of a small island and skipped free of the water for a second before landing with a crash and powering on. Hayden and Kinimaka made big eyes at each other.

“Shit!”

Hayden determined she should stay quiet and took a fleeting look back. She had decided that, unless their pursuers got any closer, she wasn’t going to waste ammo on speeding targets.

Three airboats were tailing them, packed with bad guys. Trouble was, they knew the waters. Kinimaka didn’t. It was only a matter of time before one of them recognised a short cut.

Even now she could hear Boudreau’s voice, manic, a banshee chasing her along the dark and bloody byways of hell.

Then Mano hit a partially submerged island. The airboat took flight, engine roaring. Water slewed from its side and rudders in white sheets. Hayden had half a second to hear cheering from behind and then the airboat struck the shallows like a pregnant hippo.

Hard.

She was instantly propelled forward and tucked her head and limbs in as best she could. Still, when she hit the ground the jolt jarred every bone in her body.

For a moment she was stunned. Then Kinimaka splashed down beside her like Shamu and drenched her with half the local water table.

She struggled onto her knees, partially submerged. The machine-gun was nowhere to be seen. She clapped Kinimaka about the ears, knowing she could never drag him up the sloping banks. After a moment his shaggy head came up, gasping for air.

“Thank God.”

Amazingly, they were both intact. The airboat was roaring crazily, lying on its side nearby and completely unusable. Hayden surveyed the reeds and the bank. Their only hope was to climb.

At that moment the three chasing airboats came into view. One of them hit the same island that fooled Kinimaka. The vehicle took off. Men and weapons flew into the air. Hayden scrambled out of the way, yelling at Kinimaka to follow. As she scooted clear she heard splashes all around her.

Machine-guns dropping. Kennedy reached for one and prepped it. Kinimaka made ready with another. Men were now dropping all around them. Splashes and grunts and the sound of breaking bones filled the air. When a man showed more signs of life than feeble movement Kinimaka fired a bullet into him.

Hayden turned and started to scramble through the shallow water. She sloshed among the weeds, tramping desperately upwards towards the drier bank. At that moment there was a huge eruption of water and one of Boudreau’s men rose up before her. His small revolver was levelled between her eyes and his twisted smile showed he had gotten lucky with the crash and decided to lie in wait.

Time stopped.

Kaleidoscopic images of stolen moments and regrets flashed through her brain: an old picture reel of a life of never-ending experiences. The man’s finger tightened on the trigger… Kinimaka was a world away, and screaming in frustration…when the fifteen-foot-long gator struck the man mid-torso.

His scream was high and insanely comical. His gun spiralled away. The man disappeared in less time than it takes to blink, leaving behind him the ghost of a scream and only a hint of spilled blood.

Nothing compared to the nightmare he was now enduring as he was dragged to the bottom of the river.

Violence saturated the air.

Hayden brought every ounce of her will to bear and collected herself. It took every memory of every good thing her father had taught her. Every hard lesson and proud moment. She focused on the moment when she learned of his death, his cold murder, and remembered the life changing vows she had made right then and there.

It was all she had to spur herself on, to forget the carnage and advance. One step at a time. She reached the bank. She dug her fingers into the earth and pulled. She climbed. Then her stomach clutched with dread as she heard another enormous detonation of water behind her and out of her peripheral vision saw the nightmarish shape of the gator as it twisted and lunged for her.

In that moment of utter hell she witnessed a massive blur shooting past. It was Mano Kinimaka, roaring like a man possessed and tackling the gator around the exposed belly with a crunch they probably heard in Disneyland. The gator, no doubt in shock at being tackled by anything, let alone this man-mountain, was tipped over and thrown, back-first, into the shallows. Kinimaka landed atop it, arms encircling its body, gripping tight as if his life and the life of his boss depended on it.

And now, as Hayden balanced and rose to her feet, the men from the other two airboats began to open fire. Bullets thwacked and thudded the greenery around her, and kicked up sprays of water. Kinimaka thrashed with the gator. Hayden fell back against the muddy bank, exposed.

Brought her machine-gun around and opened fire.

And that was their last stand. Hayden, half buried in mud and muck and dripping wet, firing from the hip and felling the bad guys with every bullet. Kinimaka subduing the gator that writhed at her feet, screaming with the effort it took to hold on, eyes wild as he searched for a way to let go in relative safety.

The bad guys were advancing slowly. Boudreau was partially hidden behind his men, alternately shouting instructions and then laughing maniacally when a man right in front of him pirouetted bloodily and fell off the boat.

At that moment there was a scrambling sound behind her. Before she could turn, someone encircled her throat with a grip of iron. A cheer went up from the airboats. Hayden felt herself hauled to her feet.

The man’s grip was death. Kinimaka was in dire straits below. He saw what was happening but daren’t loosen his grip. Hayden fired down and back, turned the man’s foot to bloody mush. He fell away, screaming soundlessly. Hayden turned and fired a burst through his chest.

Then, under fire and dead on her feet, she dragged the dead man down into the churning shallows.

“Do it!” She screamed at Kinimaka. The huge Hawaiian let go and the gator surged. Its tail whipped, sending sheets of bloody water high into the air. Its questing jaws locked on to the dead man and tasted blood. With another flick of its giant tail it was off.

Kinimaka sat in the water, strength sapped to the last ounce. Hayden put an arm around his shoulders. Together they ignored the enemy for a few seconds.

Then, Hayden lifted her machine-gun again. The bad guys were about to disembark, leaving them fully exposed. Click. The weapon was empty.

Her head went down. For one second she felt utter despair and rage that she had not been able to live up to her father’s dreams. That she hadn’t excelled his marvellous legacy.

But no one could say they hadn’t given it their all.

Boudreau was gesticulating. The knife he had used to kill her team reappeared in his hands and chopped at the testosterone-charged air.

Then came the sound of hope, of potential reprieve. The thud, thud, thud of heavy machinery. Choppers, fast approaching.

Big, black, and unmistakably military, they came swinging around a bend in the channel like a motorcyclist takes the last bend in a race.

Boudreau screamed, and suddenly his voice was high-pitched with fear. “Move out! Move out! Now, you assholes! Now we’ll have to go into hiding!”

Yes, Hayden thought. You failed, you bastard. Try explaining that to the goddamn Blood King.