1 Manic Monday (15 page)
Authors: Robert Michael
Manny leapt to the porch and
to the left to avoid the spray of bullets whipping by him. They echoed in the night,
ripping the rotten siding of the cabin to shreds and mowing down two guerilla
captors.
He kept his back to the wall,
glancing inside the only remaining intact window. He saw someone coming
toward the door.
Manny fired from the hip,
taking out a mustached officer as he slammed the front door open, an automatic
pistol in one hand and a flashlight in the other.
The flashlight was torn from
the officer’s hand as his chest exploded in a rain of gore. Manny swore
under his breath as he desperately searched for his brother inside. He
could see him through the dirty glass of the window. Two men had Domingo
between them. His head was slumped down, unconscious.
Manny heard the loud report of
Luis’
Franchi
SPAS-12 tactical shotgun exploding
inside the confines of the house. Someone screamed. Someone cursed. Blood
splattered windows, wood splintered and Manny continued to move and fire in
bursts. Two more guards lay dead.
“Reloading!”
Mateo
yelled.
Manny could see him squat down
and hear the coil feed drop clinking to the ground beside him. Mateo
opened the metal box and pulled a new chain of ammunition out and fed it into
the huge rifle. Without suppression, without surprise, and without
numbers to their advantage, Manny began to worry. He could see concern
etched on Mateo’s face as well.
Seasoned soldiers, they
understood the risk they had taken following Manny into this folly. The
Villarreal family would not allow their father’s murder to go unpunished and
they would never allow the family cartel to be taken from under them with
violence. Retribution was necessary.
Manny felt a pull in the air
near his shoulder and watched as a high-velocity shell tore out the eye of an
officer who had flanked him while Mateo was reloading. Mateo glanced to
the knoll and offered a silent nod of sincere thanks to Cesar. The
officer snapped his head back and lay across the doorway.
Manny ran for the door, and
hurdled
the body, firing a round off as he entered. It
penetrated an overturned couch and he heard the satisfying cry of a voice from
behind it. He checked his left briefly, seeing Luis slumped near the side
door, blood covering his pants and boots, a grimace of agony on his haggard
face.
“You
alright?”
Manny asked.
“They left through the back.”
Luis responded, pointing with his eyes.
Manny heard the shuffle and
clink of Mateo running while lugging the machine gun and ammo outside.
Manny glanced out the window and saw him pursuing someone to the west, back
toward Cesar’s flank.
They would get away if he
didn’t move quickly. He patted Luis shoulder and exited through the back
door.
The man he had shot behind the
couch rose up, a long combat knife slashing the air. He stabbed out,
missing Manny by a scant inch. By reflex, Manny smashed the man’s cheek
with his rifle. He felt the stock crunch against bone and watched out of
his peripheral vision as the man slumped lifeless into a heap amid the
overturned table. He rushed through the door and continued into the
night, pursuing the plodding guards as they
drragged
the unconscious Domingo through the tall grasses west of the cabin.
Manny didn’t stop to consider
why they were running in the opposite direction from the APC until he saw the
headlights bounding through the grass towards him. A truck skidded to a
stop, illuminating the retreating guerilla soldiers. Then shots fired,
bullets arcing blue and white fire into the darkness, flinging dirt and
spraying grass all around him.
A white hot pain struck his
arm and spun him around as he ran. He lost his balance, dropped his rifle
and felt the earth come up to meet him roughly as he fell. He heard Mateo
shout and fire at the truck as the men pushed Domingo into the back.
Another bullet tore into his
ankle, shattering bone and tendon. He grasped the grass in front of him
and tried to lie lower, crawling desperately and fighting the pain in his arm
and leg. He reached for the .45 at his waist and brought it up with his
good hand and fired off several shots, knowing he was firing too high and too
wildly.
The same was not true for
Mateo. His shots rained across the hood of the car, pinging off the
engine, flattening the front tire, caving in the passenger door. The door
flew open as the truck hurtled past them and one man fell out limp to the
ground. Mateo began to fire at the truck as it fled back toward the
bridge.
“NO! Domingo is in the
back!
Mateo!”
He fired high, stopped
suddenly, and fell forward, face first. There was a moist smack as his
gun hit the ground. Manny blinked. Mateo was dead.
Manny struggled to his knees
and crawled over to him. Just as he reached him and saw the large exit
hole in his skull, he heard the truck stop with a loud screech, and a scream of
the engine. Manny looked up in time to see it flip over, end over end. He
felt a sickened knot develop in his chest.
He tucked the .45 into the
waist of his slacks and grabbed Mateo’s weapon. He used it as a crutch to
rise to standing. As he did, he glanced again to the ridge. He saw
a glint of light off the optic sight of Cesar’s SVD. Suspicious, Manny
grimaced as he limped forward to the truck immobile and on its side two hundred
feet away.
As he neared the durable
personnel carrier, he could see flames licking the underside near the
engine. He knew time was crucial. Two bodies lay to the side of the
truck, one the driver and the other the final guard. He was dead.
The driver groaned and turned over onto his back.
Manny stepped on his hand,
which held a .45 Colt revolver. A classic, American Wild West revolver
like his cousin Al liked to play with. Manny shot the man in the center of the
head with a single shot from the FN MAG.
He heard footsteps and looked
up to see Luis struggling across the field. He stopped and looked at the
truck, his eyes sad and his right arm hanging limp and dripping blood down his
side. He was dead, standing.
“This was a mess,” he
admitted. He collapsed to his knees on the grass.
“Yes, Luis.
A mess.
Stay here a minute. I will be
back. I have to see if Domingo is alive.”
“You’ll die trying.”
“If I must,” he said, not
looking at Luis. He stared at the truck as the flames raised higher,
lighting the grass around it in a smoky blaze.
He staggered forward, limping
on his destroyed ankle. His arm throbbed mercilessly. He trudged on
inexorably and lifted the canvas cover over the rear compartment of the
truck. Domingo lay there, his leg at a sickening angle beneath his torso,
his arms splayed over his head in a sort of bizarre dance pose.
Manny got on his knees,
feeling the heat of the fire licking at his clothes. He crawled, it was
easier than walking. He grabbed Domingo’s collar and dragged him out from
the back of the truck. He didn’t examine him closely. For all he
knew, Domingo was dead. His body certainly felt stiff and heavy.
“Come on, brother. Wake
up,” he whispered hoarsely. The smoke was filling his lungs, burning his
throat. His eyes watered. With all his strength he pulled. He
could feel the muscle in his arm tear more. He could feel the crunch of
the shattered bones of his ankle.
Pretty boy Manny would never
look the same. He smiled despite the pain, despite the fear and grief
that grasped at his heart.
Father,
and now
Domingo. He pleaded with God, a God he had never believed in.
A God that he had denounced.
Now Manny needed Him,
would do anything.
The tears in his eyes streamed
down his face, etching the soot there in moisture, leaving a dark trail.
Through the smoke and the tears, Manny saw the figure of Luis lying in the
grass now where he had left him. His breath came in shallow spurts and
rasps.
Luis looked at him from the
ground, turning his head. He smiled at him sadly and blinked slowly.
“You found him. He looks
as dead as me.”
“You both will be fine.
Cesar will come get us in the truck soon.”
“No. Cesar killed Mateo and
shot the driver. He is working for them, too. Manny, be car—” he
coughed, blood splattering the grasses near him. He swallowed with a
grimace. “Be careful, Manny. They will kill all the Villarreals.”
Luis’ face and his words
haunted his dreams ever since. In those next few years after he had
rescued Domingo, avenged their father’s death, and re-established the
Villarreal family legacy, Manny had taken a great amount of pride in his
efforts to never allow Luis’ prophecy come true.
Many times as danger lurked,
he would have this dream. It was a dream to remind him that enemies were
everywhere and that even the most innocent had an agenda.
He opened his eyes, taking in
the vista of the mountains ahead, the river cutting a wide brown swath through
the forest and the fields. He wondered what threats were at hand and if
maybe he was in the wrong place, if maybe he had made the wrong
decisions. The past beckoned him, his guilt called him, a sense of
responsibility pulled at him.
He regretted speaking to Paul
the way he had last night. Deep down, Manny knew that Paul was
right. He could not ignore the influence of the dream and the warning it
held. At the same time, he could not submit to the man he had been.
He had to focus on the man that God wanted him to be.
He felt sad and wary. He
had left his brother alone with wolves at his door. If only he could
convince Domingo to put it all behind him and begin a new legacy. Maybe
it was too late, maybe that was why the dream had come and why his gut was
telling him something bad was going to happen soon.
By
Robert Michael
Available at
www.infinitewordpress.com
on Kindle, Kobo, NOOK, Sony,
iBooks
, and paperback.
I want to thank a ton of people. My wife, foremost,
because without you, Tracey, I could not have even dreamed this would be
possible. You are my agent/editor/biggest fan/critique group/publicist/mother
of our children/Sex Goddess/loving wife
..
I cannot
thank you enough.
I would also like to thank Laura Copeland for inspiring
me to expand my ideas about Jake when he was confined to a little short story
that needed some work. I also owe appreciation to my son, Isaac for being
a fan, a beta reader, and a great friend.
To Braden
King, for your efforts in editing, giving advice, and your contributions to
this book.
To Matt and Julie
Swaim
.
You are so special to Tracey and I and we look forward to involving you more in
our work. You were instrumental in helping shape the final draft and in
writing a tighter marketing copy. Your expertise and critique help on the
cover design is appreciated. I would also like to thank Danielle
Culbert
who took the photo of Jake Monday. Jake is
actually Ed
Zoellner
, to whom I am deeply grateful.
So many people have helped make this possible. I
appreciate the support and love I receive and I hope and pray that my efforts,
talent and performance are worthy of the gifts you give. God bless you
all.
Robert Michael is a
writer and commercial roofing sales director. His love for books, family,
and God fill his time and his spirit. He enjoys reading, writing, sports,
fishing, and gaming. He lives in Broken Arrow with his wife and four children.
Connect with the Robert
at:
www.robertamichael.blogspot.com
Other books available
from Infinite Word Press:
CRY ME A RIVER by
Robert Michael
DARK MOUNTAIN by Robert
Michael
THE VAGARY TALES by
Robert Michael
And,
coming soon:
A MONTH OF MONDAYS (Jake
Monday Chronicles Book 2) by Robert Michael
Get your copy today at
http://www.infinitewordpress.com
.