The Butterfly Forest (Mystery/Thriller) (44 page)

Billy Lawson reached under the seat of his truck and found the short-nosed .38 he’d carried for safety.  He stayed in the shadows of the palms and followed the men.  

TWO

Just get the keys and go, Billy told himself.  GO!  RUN!  The Germans would see him if he walked down near the water’s edge to search for his keys.  Just wait them out.  See what the bastards are doing and report everything as quickly as possible to the Navy base in Jacksonville.  If he could reach them, they might capture or bomb the U-boat. 

Billy kept behind the trees and sea oats as he followed the men around a bend at the mouth of the inlet.  In the distance, a wink of light popped over the horizon from the St. Augustine lighthouse.  A green sea turtle crawled from the surf.  She would dig a hole to lay her eggs.  The men ignored the sea turtle.  They were near the 250-year-old Fort Matanzas.  The old Spanish fort, with its tower and coquina stone, was a dark, gothic sentry, and now a silent witness to another round of military history.  The men sloshed through ankle-deep water in the inlet, stopped near a live oak gnarled from time and weather, and they started digging. 

Billy hid behind sea oats, watching the men finish the hole.
Gotta phone Glenda.

There was movement.

Someone hiding behind dunes and palmettos approached the men.  They stopped digging and spoke.  Under the moonlight, he could tell that the man who walked up to the Germans was dressed like an American.  It looked like they were exchanging something.  

 As they began shoveling sand back into the pit, one of the men dressed in civilian clothes stopped and said something to the German officer.  The officer shook his head and dismissed whatever it was the shorter man had said.  Now Billy could hear the shorter man raise his voice.  And the words were not German.

He spoke heated Japanese.

Billy mumbled to himself, “Japs and Germans here on American soil...why?” 

One of the other German soldiers stepped in and raised the shovel like he was going to hit the Japanese man standing next to him.  The tall German officer pulled a pistol out of his holster and shot the German sailor in the head, his body crumpled next to the hole.  The two Japanese men made a cursory bow to the officer and the man dressed in American clothes before walking quickly toward Highway AIA.

Billy felt his heart hammer in his throat.  He had to work to control his breathing.  CALM.  STAY CALM.

He ran toward his truck. 
Could make it to get the keys
, he thought.  He turned and darted down the beach, dropping to his knees to search for his keys.  The tide soaked his pants.  WHERE ARE THE KEYS?  His hands fanned sand and rushing water.  The keys seemed to tumble into his hand.  Headlights from an approaching car punched through the tree line, and Billy became a moving shadow in the sand.  He heard the Germans yell as he tried to run up the beach to the truck.

RUN!  His rebuilt knee snapped causing Billy to fall face down.  He spat sand out of his mouth, lifted himself up, ignored the pain and ran as fast as he could.  He saw the remaining sailors moving back in the direction of the life raft.  They’d spotted Billy, no doubt.  A German was missing.  Maybe he left with the Japs.  Deserted.

Billy jumped in his truck.  The engine strained, sucking the life out of the old battery.  “Start!  Just fucking start!”  The engine turned over and roared.  Billy burned rubber going from sand to pavement.

He drove a mile to the A1A Bait ‘n Tackle, which he knew was closed.  He pulled up to a phone booth and searched his pockets.  One dime!  Who to call?  Glenda or the Navy?  Phone Glenda and tell her what’s happening and tell her to call the Navy and the sheriff.  What was his damn phone number?   His index finger shook so hard he could barely get it in the rotary dial.

“Glenda!”

“Billy, what’s wrong?”

“Just listen.  I just saw a murder!”

“What?”

“A German soldier shot another German soldier on the beach.  There were six of them—four Germans and two Japanese.  One guy I think is American.  He walked outta the bushes after the Germans and Japs came ashore in a life raft from a German U-boat sitting off the beach—”

“A what—”

“Listen, baby!  They buried something on Rattlesnake Island!  South of the fort.   It’s in line with light from the lighthouse passing through the tower window.  Six o’clock position.  Maybe two hundred feet from the old fort.  Call the Navy!  Tell them there’s a German submarine lying about a quarter mile off Matanzas Pass.  Tell them there’s been a killing on the beach.  Tell them two Japs ran away!  And tell them it looks like an American—maybe a spy—met them.  The Japs headed north on A1A on foot.  I don’t know what this is about.  War in Europe is over, but the Japanese haven’t surrendered.”

“Oh God, Billy.  Sweetie, this isn’t one of those flashbacks from—”

“Glenda!  It’s real!  Call them!  I’m outta change.  I’ll be home in a few minutes.”

Billy saw the reflection in the phone glass.  A dark figure leaping from the truck-bed.  Billy dug for his pistol as two bullets shattered the glass and slammed into his chest.

“Billy!”  The tiny voice came through the receiver.  “Billy!  Dear God, no!”

The man stood next to the phone booth and fired a third shot into Billy’s stomach and then ran.  He jumped in the truck and drove away while Billy slid down the back wall of the booth.  He sat in the broken glass and blood, nausea and bile rising in his throat.

Billy lifted a bloodied hand toward the phone hanging by the cord just out of reach.  “Billy!  Billy!”  His wife’s cries sounded far away.  He wanted to speak, to tell Glenda how much he loved her.  To tell her goodbye…to have her put the phone on her stomach, right where he’d felt the little kick, to whisper his love to his unborn child.  “Glenda…”  He coughed the taste of blood like pennies in his mouth, his wife’s cries so distant now.  Darkness covering him.  

Billy heard the explosion of a mortar above Company C.  The blast was the whitest white he’d ever seen, and he saw his wife’s smile somewhere in the absence of color.  Felt the gentle kick of his baby on the tips of his fingers.  The ringing in his left ear was now silent, the sound of the pounding surf across AIA the only noise in the night.