The Liger Plague (Book 1) (11 page)

“I know your type, Colonel. Love bossing those pretty little privates around because of the brass on your shoulders. You’re also one of those fancy-pants with the big house overlooking the water, thinks he can have anything he wants,” she said. “Well, I’m a bonafide Cookie, Colonel. Lived here most of my adult life, and I ain’t leaving this place for nothing.”

“No one says you have to leave, Versa.”

“Then what’s with all these idiots walking around, trying to break into people’s houses? Why don’t they jump back on the ferry and head back to whatever godforsaken place they came from.”

“Because the ferries have been shut down.”

“Shut down?” she said, sounding concerned for the first time. “In all the years I’ve been living here, they’ve never once shut down the ferry system. Delayed maybe, but never completely shut it down. It must be serious for them to do that. Christ, now all these mainlanders are stuck on this island.”

“It is a serious situation, which is why you need to stay away from your house. Look at this bunch heading our way. They don’t look like they’re ready for a barbecue.”

“Give me the other gun, and I’ll show these punks whose island this is.”

“You know how to use a Glock?”

“Of course I do. Think I was born yesterday?”

Tag reached in to retrieve the Glock and handed it to her as the group began to move faster. The leader of the group, a muscular, bald-headed guy with tattoos over his hands and neck, waved for the others to follow. Tag could clearly see that they were carrying hammers, shovels, tire irons, knives and any other weapon they could find. The bald guy gripped a Remington bolt action rifle in hand, and one of his other crew members carried a pistol. Resting the M4 on the roof of the BMW, he closed one eye and tried to zero in on the bald-headed guy. When he closed his left eye, all he could see out of the right was a swirling mass of distorted light.

“Better stop right there if you don’t want any trouble!” he ordered.

The bald-headed guy and the members of his group fanned out along the road. Their voices carried out and confused him, and for a brief second he lost his balance and nearly fell down on the driveway.

“Whoa, Colonel, don’t croak on me now,” Versa said, pressing her hand against his back and keeping him propped up against the car.

“No one’s dying here, but thanks for the support.”

He grabbed hold of the window frame with his free hand and kept himself upright. Resting his left arm on the roof, he tried to focus in on the gang members fanning out on the street. A figure darted out twenty feet in front of him. Tag fired off a round but had no idea whether he’d hit his target or not. It was all he could do to stand.

The sound of a rifle shot echoed behind him, followed by the sound of his daughter’s voice warning the intruders to stay back from the house. By the time he turned, it was too late. He could feel the barrel of the rifle pressed up against his temple. Glancing over, he saw a second man holding Versa at gunpoint. He didn’t need to turn around to see that the bald-headed guy was the one holding him hostage. Knowing Monica and Taylor were in the house, he dropped the rifle and raised his arms. The barrel went from his temple to the small of his back, jabbing painfully into the blistered skin over his spine.

“Drop the gun, lady, before you get hurt.”

“Mainland scum!” Versa said, dropping the gun. “Go screw yourselves, you bunch of leatherheads!”

“You got a fresh mouth on you, lady,” the bald-headed guy said. He turned to Taylor positioned on the second floor, who still had her rifle pointed at them. “If you want your old man to stay alive, sweetie, then you better drop that weapon.”

With his hands on the hood of the car, Tag caught a glimpse of his daughter hanging out the window and aiming down at the thugs. The end of the rifle jabbed him in the small of his back, and he cried out in pain, trying not to lose his balance.

“You take a shot, sweet thing, I got another guy here waiting to put a bullet in his head. Now I’m going to count to three, and by then you better have tossed that rifle down.”

His daughter looked out from behind the scope. She stared for a few seconds before dropping the rifle down in the bushes below. One of the other members ran over and retrieved the rifle out of the rhododendrons. The bald-headed guy jabbed him once again in the back and ordered him to head to the front door. He took three steps before collapsing to the ground. The man’s hand grabbed the back of his shirt and lifted him to his feet, and then pushed him forward. In front of him paced Versa and the gang member.

Tag limped up the front stairs, opened the door, and then walked inside the house, where he saw his wife standing next to his daughter in the living room. The man pushed Versa toward his wife and daughter. The bald guy then shoved him hard onto the sofa. He landed face first into the leather, struggling to lift himself into a sitting position. A puddle of sweat pooled up in the leather crater where his face had landed. The other members of the gang entered the house and now stood behind the bald-headed guy, waiting for him to give an order. They definitely looked like members of a motorcycle gang and seemed to know each other well. Four men and two women stared back at them, years of hard living etched over their leathery and tattooed faces.

“Whoa! Check out the elephant man,” the bald-headed guy said, pointing toward Tag and laughing. “You got some kind of disease, pal?”

“Poison ivy,” he said. “Or maybe a reaction to some bad shellfish.”

“Dude, that’s some gnarly shit on your grill,” one of the other guys said, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it.

“What do you guys want with us?”

“Yuppie scum. Thought you were protected on this island with all your guns and your expensive generator, didn’t you? Probably got a nice stash of food and booze somewhere in here too,” the bald-headed guy said, lighting a cigarette from the other guy’s tip. “Tie these assholes up, Gus.”

Gus put his face into Tag’s and blew a cloud of smoke. Tag coughed, gagging from the noxious odor, which made him want to vomit now that he’d come down with the pox.

“Got any rope, tough guy?” Gus said.

“Probably some rope somewhere in the house.”

“Better point it to us, dude, or your girls are going to pay.”

“There’s some twine in the drawer next to the refrigerator,” Tag said between fits of coughing. “And if you lay a finger on either one of them, you’ll only live long enough to regret it.”

“Oooooo!” The man started to laugh hysterically, staring back at the leader in mock fear. “You hear this asshole, Slade? We gonna regret it.”

“Shut the fuck up, Gus, and tie these fuckers up.”

While Gus retrieved the string out of the drawer, Slade walked over and jabbed the barrel of the rifle into Tag’s solar plexus, and Tag winced in pain. The man sat on the coffee table in front of him and stared into his eyes. Slade reached into Tag’s back pocket and pulled out his wallet, and examined his military ID. He let out a low whistle and then flipped it over.

“Looks like we got ourselves a bonafide military man, fellas.” He turned back to Tag. “What are you, part of some secret military operation taking place on Cooke’s Island?” He laughed and took another drag on his cigarette.

“I’ve had this summer house for years.”

“Well, I really don’t give a shit how long you had it, Colonel. As soon as I heard the motor of that generator humming away, I knew we had a live one.” Slade studied his ID. “What the hell does USAMRIID stand for, anyway?”

“We’re a medical branch of the military,” he said, trying to be as nonspecific as possible.

“Look, Colonel, we ain’t here to do you and your family harm, but you leave us no other choice. I know you weren’t about to invite us over for cocktails and lobster bisque. And now with the ferries out and the power down, we got no other choice but to take this place as our own until we can get off this shitty island. Soon as the ferries start up again, we’ll be well out of your hair, but for now we’re gonna stick you guys down in the basement and drink all your booze, which I know you got stashed somewhere. Once we split, someone will eventually find you.”

“Not afraid I’ll call the cops on you after?”

“Dude, we’ll be long gone by then. So I wouldn’t recommend doing that. There’s about twenty of us stuck on this island, and by then we’ll all know where you live, and trust me, we won’t hesitate to come back here if you fuck with us.”

“Let us stay up here in the living room, and I promise we’ll fully cooperate with you and never tell the cops what happened here. We can even work together.”

“Ain’t gonna happen, Colonel. Few of us got ourselves some outstanding warrants. There’s no way we’re getting tossed in the slammer, so you and your family better keep your mouths shut and don’t touch any phones. Do as you’re told, and once we get back to the mainland, we’ll call the authorities and tell them where you are. Fuck with us and they’ll find four good-looking corpses.” He looked at Versa. “Okay, maybe three good-looking corpses.”

“Go to hell, Kojak! I’ll have you know I used to be a helluva looker in my day.”

“Yeah, as in look the other way,” Slade said, laughing.

“I’m a medical doctor,” Tag said. “If you let us stay up here, I can help any of your members if they become sick or injured.”

Slade laughed. “How we gonna get sick, bro? Now that we got this nice pad, a little booze and some cool weapons, there ain’t nobody gonna fuck with us.” He turned to the others. “Take the doc and the hag down to the basement. Keep the bitches up here. And cover their mouths so they don’t make any noise.”

“Sure, Slade. Okay if I take the mother and daughter to the bedroom and have a little fun?” Gus laughed, grinding his hips.

“You sick bastards ought to get your filthy mouths washed out with soap,” Versa barked.

“Get your hands off me,” Monica spat at Gus when he grabbed her by the elbow.

“I swear to God that if you lay even one finger on them, I’ll utilize every military option at my disposal to hunt you assholes down and wipe you off the face of this earth. And don’t think I won’t.”

Slade snarled, realizing that this was no idle threat.

“Shut your mouth, Gus, and take all four of them downstairs instead and leave ’em be. I don’t want no more trouble here. We’re going to lay low until this shit blows over, and then everything’ll be cool, and we’ll be on the road again.”

“Sure, Slade. You the one calling the shots,” Gus said, disappointed.

Gus lined them up and wrapped gray duct tape around their mouths. Once he’d silenced them, he led them down to the basement. Tag went last, hoping to be a buffer between Gus and his family. He’d burned the bastards’ faces into his memory in case any of them got any ideas. His legs felt weak and rubbery, and he prayed he wouldn’t cartwheel down the stairwell. The duct tape around his mouth adhered to some of the blisters, and now they itched like hell, and he had a difficult time breathing out of his nose. He’d pay just about anything to reach up and scratch his cheek. It felt like agony not being able to relieve the torturous tickle. And he knew it would hurt like hell when the time came to peel off the tape. It would probably take most of the blisters with it in a bloody mess.

At least the family room downstairs was spacious and comfortable. Once they’d been seated, Gus took out the twine and secured their ankles to the wooden legs of the furniture. He turned on the flat-screen TV and then stood in front of Tag’s wife, leering at her shapely body.

“Yeah, you’re a yummy mommy all right. I like my MILFs mature,” he said, smacking his lips. “If that Slade wasn’t here right now, I’d be showing you and the other little whore a real good time.”

Tag felt so angry he thought he might explode. The look he gave the guy would have bored a hole through his chest.

“Yeah, I see you looking at me, Colonel numb nuts.” Gus pulled out his pistol, walked over, and pressed it up against his temple. “Fuck you, man. I had assholes like you telling me what to do my entire life. School, prison, work. Even that shithead upstairs, Slade. Feels kind of nice to be in control for once. Maybe this situation will last for a while, and we can have a little fun if Slade somehow ‘disappears.’”

He put away his gun and scampered back upstairs, shutting off the lights. All the curtains were closed and the blinders shut tight. The flickering picture of the TV threw off flashes of illumination into the room, and every few seconds he could see the scared faces of Monica and Taylor sitting on the sofa next to him. Versa was tied to an armchair in the back and out of sight. He nodded, trying to convey to them that everything would be okay. At least they hadn’t discovered the supply room in the rear of the basement, filled with food, ammo and guns.

Tag turned toward the TV and saw the news coming on. Because the flat screen was on mute, closed captioning streamed at the bottom. The lead story was the mysterious situation on Cooke’s Island. The mayor and police chief had no comment other than to say the matter was in the hands of the feds and that they were waiting for more information to come in before they offered an official statement. The feds had refused to provide any insight other than a written release to the effect that the investigation was pending and that no other information could be provided at the moment. Video footage from the top of Munjoy Hill showed Coast Guard cutters circling the island. Several hundred spectators were standing along the Eastern Promenade and watching the mysterious situation taking place on Cooke’s. Some people had binoculars and telescopes, and there was increasing speculation that the feds would soon be closing off any areas with a view of the island.

The gang of thugs upstairs had no idea what was about to hit this island.

Tag’s head hurt, and his blisters burned deep. He felt sick to his stomach and prayed that he wouldn’t vomit with his mouth taped. That would be a terrible way to die. His breathing became labored and difficult because of the blistering inside his nasal cavity. The news ended, and one of those stupid sitcoms came on TV. He felt his eyes starting to close. The three women were already asleep, and as hard as he tried to stay awake, he couldn’t keep his eyes open. Before he knew it, he fell into a deep slumber, punctuated by some of the most disturbing, terrifying nightmares he’d ever experienced.