Stalked: The Boy Who Said No (39 page)

Frank crouched down in the blind, bow still in hand. The deer panted, working its legs as if he were riding a bike. The vulture circled low, soon joined by another. The movement ceased. Frank sat in his blind for thirty minutes, making sure the deer was dead.

When the time seemed right, Frank retrieved his dressing glove, his knife, and his binoculars from his backpack and cautiously approached the deer, bow and arrow in hand. He traversed the fallen tree. The deer lay motionless on its side. Its eyes stared blankly into space. Frank poked it with his bow. It was lifeless. Frank smiled, feeling elated. It was a great day. He was happy.

But that feeling was to be short lived.

When the sun rose, Damian scoured the surroundings with his eyes. He hoped Frank was somewhere in the vicinity, so his companions would not have to walk too far. He knew they weren’t up to the challenge.

Damian turned and looked through the trees. To his surprise, he had a clear view of Frank. He was leaning over something, examining it. Damian didn’t know whether it was a deer, an elk, or a moose. He nudged his companions and nodded in Frank’s direction. Keeping his eyes on Frank, Damian drew his .45-caliber pistol. He hesitated, knowing he didn’t have a good shot. Frank was beyond the range of his gun. He waited, hoping for a better opportunity.

Damian’s trigger-happy companions scrambled to their feet. Failing to await an order, Sebastian and Elias preempted Damian, firing their shotguns in Frank’s direction. Sebastian shot first. Elias followed suit. José held his fire.

Frank crouched down and listened, adrenaline boiling his blood. He tried to think, to calm himself, while a spray of pellets penetrated nearby trees. Frank took cover and shielded his eyes from the sun, trying to see who was shooting. Three more shots rang out in rapid succession. Bang! Bang! Bang!

What the hell is this about? Who’s trying to kill me? And why? Well, whoever they are, they’re using shotguns, not rifles. And they’re terrible shots.

Then Frank heard it—the familiar sound of someone banging on a pail. It was the same sound he heard when the Special Forces were about to apprehend him in Cuba. Although Frank didn’t see
him, he knew the sound came from the blue-eyed boy, the one he considered his guardian angel.

The sound grew louder, more insistent. The hairs on Frank’s arms spiked like porcupine quills. The drum was calling him to safety, telling him which way to go. A voice in Frank’s head said:
Pay attention, this is real. This is what you’ve feared all these years. This is your nightmare.

Frank fell to the ground, covered his head, and wedged his body beside the fallen tree. When the shooting stopped, he leaned on his elbows and looked between the branches. To his surprise, he glimpsed the young man he had encountered at the mall. Frank’s heart skipped a beat. He knew this was trouble.

The man’s arms were muscled, his shoulders squared. His thick head of hair bore no hat. He looked furious, speaking in Spanish and gesturing to his companions. Frank inched forward, straining to hear what was being said. He was amazed at the conversation.

“Damn it, you assholes. What the hell do you think you’re doing?” asked Damian. “You couldn’t hit a brick building ten feet away.”

“What are you talking about? I got him!” said Sebastian.

“Put your guns down.”

“Really, I think I hit him. If not, I’ll give it another try.”

“Damn you, Sebastian. You didn’t hit anything but a bunch of trees. Your shotgun doesn’t have the range to hit him from here. All you’ve done is disclose our position. You’ve made this an even fight. Prepare for the worst.”

“What? You think Mederos is going to get us with his lousy bow and arrows?”

“You know what, Sebastian, you just don’t get it. You disgust me.”

Sebastian started to speak, and Damian held up his hand to stop him. He thought for a minute, and said, “I figure Mederos will do one of two things: either run up the hill, or run down the hill and follow the stream. I bet he’ll take the stream. If we split up, we can surround him.

“Sebastian and Elias, you go down the logging road and up the other mountain. Stay low.” He nodded and gestured to José. “We’ll try to catch up with him at the stream. Let’s go.”

Sebastian looked at Damian, and asked, “Can I shoot the bastard if I see him?”

“Shut the hell up, Sebastian.”

“Can I?” pleaded Elias.

“No, damn it. Neither of you have earned the right to shoot Mederos. I know how he operates. I’ll do the shooting.”

Lazo was dismayed to hear the shots. They echoed through the hills, reverberating in all directions. He turned to Augustin, and said, “That’s them—the Cuban operatives. Let’s go.”

“Not yet,” said Augustin.

“But Frank could be wounded.”

“I doubt it. There were too many shots. Chances are they didn’t hit him. He’s probably alive and running for cover. We need to wait for the Cubans to shoot again to determine their exact position.”

Lazo shook his head, unsure of the strategy. “I hope to hell you’re right.”

Sitting in his blind, Raúl unscrewed his thermos bottle, poured some coffee and brought the red plastic cup to his lips. Just as he was about to drink, he heard gunshots. Startled, Raúl spilled the coffee down the front of his shirt. He swore and grabbed a rag to wipe himself off.

Hearing a rustle, he capped the thermos and set it aside. He hoped a deer had made the sound. He waited twenty-five minutes for the animal to appear, while cursing what he thought were fools shooting birds.

Frank grabbed his bow and arrow, retrieved his large knife from his backpack, and slipped it under his belt. His didn’t have time to secure it properly.

Knowing his pursuers expected him to run along the stream, he took a shortcut. He knew where he was headed, and the shortcut would give him a head start. He hoped to beat his pursuers to the stream. He inched his way to a nearby ridge and scrambled down the rough terrain on his butt.

He descended as quietly as he could, cringing at the sound of rocks that tumbled in his wake. He forded the stream at its narrowest point and ran up the opposite hill toward the meadow, thinking of the generous forests surrounding it. They were thick and almost impenetrable, a perfect hiding place. He moved over the wet earth, carefully, silently, glad he had outmaneuvered his stalkers.

While Damian and José headed toward the stream, Sebastian and Elias set off toward the logging road and began ascending the opposite hill. They were out of shape. They couldn’t walk fast enough. They had made a strategic error.

Having reached the far hill, Frank hurried up the mountain toward the meadow. The last part of the climb was so steep he had to crawl on his hands and knees. He adjusted his knife several times so it wouldn’t slice his stomach or leg.

As he inched his way upward, a thousand thoughts clogged his mind. He felt like he had spent the best part of his life on the run, first from Fidel’s forces and then from the fear and horror surrounding his escape. The more he thought about it, the angrier he became. He needed to tame his emotions.

He crested the hill and gazed at the meadow, his way out. The expanse looked like a beacon of hope. Sun warmed the earth, and wind danced on the yellowed grasses. The forests loomed in the distance, a beckoning sanctuary. The forest on the left was closer and denser. Once Frank entered it, he would disappear. His pursuers would never find him. If he ran fast enough, he could make it to safety before they spotted him.

Frank began to sprint, feeling his adrenaline flowing. His muscles responded, his arms and legs worked in unison to propel him forward. The wind lifted his hair and the breeze kissed his face. He felt like a kite skimming the sky, exhilarated. His speed surprised him. No burn singed his lungs. He could do this. He managed a quick smile.

A hawk circled overhead. The forest came closer. He would make it. He would escape. Then a feeling struck him like a boulder rolling downhill. It felt like a blow to his gut. He had no idea where it originated, but it was so powerful it made him suck in his breath.
He stopped and bent over, hands on his knees. He gathered his wits and stood, rubbing his forehead and eyes.

He thought about
el lider maximo
and all he had done to his people: more than a million Cubans having fled his tyranny and millions more living in abject fear. He thought about the men, women, and children lost at sea, about those who were jailed for requesting more food, about those imprisoned for speaking against a system that robbed them of their freedom and dignity.

He thought about his family, still suffering under Fidel. He thought about the government razing his grandfather’s house, about young Joey Lopez being shot in the back at the age of thirteen, just for trying to escape. He thought about living under a bed for five long months, deprived of sunlight and the ability to move. He thought about hiding in the wretched outhouse.

Now he was in New Jersey, in America, in the land of the free. And yet he was being stalked. He was on the run. Again! Why, he did not know. But he knew he had a choice.

I can run and hide. Or I can do what I can to eradicate evil. Would it be evil to eradicate evil? I don’t know. That’s a question for theologians and philosophers, one beyond my ken. But one thing I know for sure. Whoever these bastards are, they are out to kill me. I’m not running any more. Not here. Not in America. Enough is enough!

Frank’s killing instinct surfaced with surprising vengeance. He extracted his serrated knife from his pants, looped the case through his belt, and tied it securely to his thigh. If worst came to worst, he could defend himself with it.

He gripped his bow and arrows so hard his knuckles gleamed white. His mouth turned cottony. He had never felt more furious.
This is the end of it right now. If you guys want a fight, you’ll get one. Now let’s see what’s going to happen.

Frank pivoted and marched down the hill, jaw set, spine steeled. He grabbed a couple of branches for cover and headed toward his pursuers. He walked two-thirds down the hill and stopped. About twenty-five yards away he spotted two men collapsed on the ground, shotguns in hand. He stooped and studied them. They were the men
he had seen in the clearing: the ones called Sebastian and Elias. The ones who had tried to shoot him. They looked exhausted.

Sebastian leaned against a tree, red in the face and panting. Despite his physical condition, he was barking orders. His shirt hung open, revealing a massive mound of flesh. His face glistened with perspiration, and his hair clung to his cheeks. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with his shirttail. He licked his lips. He looked thirsty.

Frank had no second thoughts. He plucked an arrow from his quiver, cocked his compound bow, and let it do its work. His arrow sailed toward Sebastian at lightning speed—right on target. Sebastian moved, ever so slightly, but not enough to avoid Frank’s arrow. The arrow missed his heart by a couple of inches, slicing his shoulder. Blood spurted like water from a fire hose. Frank had nailed Sebastian to a tree.

For a moment, Sebastian looked stunned. He tried to get up before he realized he was pinned in place. He grabbed his shoulder, his screams sawing the air. He writhed in pain, blood wetting his hands.

As soon as the arrow hit, Elias scrambled to his feet, shooting wildly in all directions. Frank covered his head with his hands and hid behind a tree as pellets filled the air. He needed to hurry down the hill, get Raúl, and make their way home. He had created a nice diversion, which he hoped might buy him some time.

Raúl hoped Frank was having more luck hunting than he was. He was not happy that someone had scared away the deer. But it happened sometimes. He shrugged, ready to finally have some coffee. He brought the cup to his lips and had just taken a mouthful when more shots exploded. He jumped in surprise. To his dismay, he spat his coffee all over his hands. “Jesus Christ. What a mess I’ve made. Something’s wrong when a man can’t drink a cup of coffee in the woods.”

Upon hearing Sebastian’s screams, Damian and José hurried toward him and Elias. Frank saw them advance through the forest,
periodically taking cover. Damian entered the small clearing before José did, his eyes darting back and forth, his body coiled for action.

Frank watched Damian closely, wondering about his mission.
Why are these men trying to kill me? I’ve never done them harm. I’m just living my life, minding my own business.

When Damian turned around, Frank saw something chilling. The young man was wearing an enamel belt buckle stamped with the communist hammer and sickle. Frank shook his head before he took off in the direction of the stream.

Fearing Sebastian was giving away their position, Damian approached him with fire in his eyes. He covered Sebastian’s mouth with his hand, and said, “Shut up, you worthless slime. I don’t want to hear another peep out of you. It’s your job to withstand pain.”

Damian took a knife and sawed off the aluminum arrow, which stuck out on both sides of Sebastian’s shoulder. His action released the Cuban operative from the tree. Had he tried to extract the arrow from his shoulder, Sebastian would have bled to death.

Damian turned to Elias, and said, “Stay with Sebastian. José and I will go after Mederos. I know where he’s headed. He’s got to get out of here, and he’s not going to leave his friend behind. His buddy might try to help him. Don’t mess with him. Take him out only if he gives you trouble.” He glanced at Sebastian. “Just make sure this jerk doesn’t start screaming again.”

Damian and José descended the hill, careful to make as little noise as possible.

As soon as Frank reached the bottom of the hill, he looked around. To get to where he needed to go, he had to ford the creek and climb the opposite hill. He hesitated, thinking. The water was only ankle deep. While it wouldn’t take long to cross the stream, doing so would make him easy prey.

Frank waded into the creek and stepped over some rocks, glancing
from side to side. He walked as fast as he could while trying not to fall. About six feet in, his foot met a moss-covered rock. For a moment he lost his balance. He bent over and then straightened up. He winced, knowing he was in a vulnerable position. He extended his arms to steady himself. When he looked up, he saw two figures standing amid the greenery, about thirty yards away.