Authors: Lance Zarimba
Sergio looked at her confused. “What? Who are you talking about? Him?” He pointed at me. “Are you talking about Taylor?"
Her sculpted nail pointed toward Sergio. “Everywhere I go, you're right behind me. I've tried to get to know him,” she motioned toward me, “but you're stalking and blocking me, preventing me from talking to him.” She reached for the purse slung over her shoulder. “But I'm going to put a stop to it,” she flipped the clasp open, “once and for all."
Sergio watched her every move.
Cha-Cha flipped the lid open on her purse and slid her hand inside. “You'll be sorry,” is all she said.
Then, my memory flashed and played before me. That tan foot sitting next to me on the plane here, and the watermelon lotion applied to maintain the tan. Cha-Cha couldn't have killed Duane. She was on the plane next to me. “Wait!” I held up my hand, stepping forward to stop Sergio and Cha-Cha, but I was too late.
Sergio rushed her at full speed, just as her hand emerged from the purse. His weight hit her, full force, propelling both of them backward. Their bodies slammed into the railing at the back of the stage. Both of their breaths were expelled from the impact as the great force threw them over the top bar, where they dangled, each one struggling to right himself. The small of Cha-Cha's back hugged the railing; her head flung back with an unearthly shriek.
Sergio straddled her, clinging to the bar with both of his hands. They teetered back and forth, threatening to fall off into empty space.
"Sergio! She's not the one!” I yelled, rushing forward and trying to pull him off.
But Sergio's feet caught his balance, dropped from the bar, and landed on the stage like a cat. In one fluid motion, he reached down and grabbed hold of one of Cha-Cha's ankles and pulled it up.
With her center of gravity and weight upset, Cha-Cha wasn't able to maintain her balance on the railing any longer. She started to topple over backward, her arms and legs kicking and clawing for a hold. The cigarette she had pulled from her purse flipped out of her hand as she struggled to find a grasp.
Sergio did nothing to stop her fall.
I pushed past him, trying to catch her leg, but in her attempts to right herself, she kicked me, full force in the chest as I approached. The blow drove the breath out of me. My hand, which had caught hold of her ankle, released, and Cha-Cha tumbled over the railing with a shriek.
"What are you doing?” Sergio asked. “Have you gone nuts? She tried to kill us."
"She wasn't trying to kill us,” I said.
"Correction, she was trying to kill me."
I looked over the railing. Cha-Cha lay on a pile of palm fronds and discarded costumes. Her chest rose and fell, but otherwise, she wasn't moving.
I turned to face Sergio. “She, I mean he, sat next to me on the plane ride here. I remember her, I mean, his lotion and how tan he was. I never spoke to him or her, or whatever. At least, I don't remember. I think I was still in shock over the trip and upset about coming to this resort. It must've been denial about where Molly had sent me."
"What?” Sergio asked, confusion covering his face.
"Cha-Cha's not the killer. She couldn't be. She arrived here when I did. There's no way she could've been stalking Duane. She wasn't even here yet."
"But the note...?” Sergio paused and turned to stare at a stunned Logan. “So, who does that leave?"
Logan tried to smile at Sergio, but all he did was shrug his shoulders. He turned around to something that moved behind him.
"I know! I know who did it!” Sergio exclaimed.
But before he could say another word, a shadow rose from behind Sergio and swung something down toward his head.
Logan saw the movement and reacted. He jumped behind Sergio, trying to shield him. The shadow arced down. A sickening hollow splat sounded. Logan's face took on a startled expression as his body crumbled to the stage floor.
My legs started to bend in an attempt to kneel down to help him, but Sergio belatedly reacted to the attack and recoiled, driving me back into an upright position.
As Sergio and I backed up, we watched as the dark form moved forward. It stepped over Logan's prone body. A spotlight from the stage swung in our direction and illuminated Geoff's face. His gun, which he had just used to pistol whip Logan, pointed at us.
"You two, stay where you are,” he commanded and aimed the gun's barrel at Sergio's heart.
But before we could move, “Bastard!” erupted in an ear-splitting shriek from underneath the stage. Cha-Cha popped up and threw one leg over the lower railing.
All three of us turned to stare at her disheveled state. She ripped the Tina Turner wig off her head and tossed it behind her. She reached below the stage and brought up one of her pumps. She cocked her arm back and hurtled it at Sergio with all of her might.
Sergio dodged and pushed me to the side. We both ducked as the shoe flew overhead. It sailed through the air and struck Geoff on the forearm. The pointed heel hit his hand, knocking the gun from his grasp.
Sergio lunged forward and pushed Geoff backward.
With the suddenness of the assault, Geoff lost his balance and skidded across the wet stage.
In her struggle to pull herself up, Cha-Cha lost her grip on the railing, and she dropped behind the stage with another scream.
In all the commotion, Sergio grabbed my arm and pulled. “
Run
!"
He didn't have to tell me twice.
Sergio pulled me down the side stairs of the stage. My hard hat flew off and tumbled down behind us. I reached up and whipped off my sunglasses, throwing them to the side. In this darkness, I needed all the help I could get.
The rain had finally stopped, and everything appeared black from the wetness. A cement path wound its way between the stage and a row of chaise lounges. It ascended and circled toward the back of the resort. As we raced along the walkway, puddles of water splashed under each step.
"Where are we going?” I called to him.
"I don't know. We have to get the hell out of here."
The path rounded a palm tree and ended at a staircase. The steps traversed the slope and headed to the far side of the resort. Water cascaded down the steps as we sloshed up.
"This must be a service passage,” Sergio said, but didn't look back.
"I don't think they'll mind.” I followed close at his heels.
A shot rang out behind us, exploding chips of concrete from the stair we had just stepped off. Fine bits of debris cut through my jeans, burying themselves into the back of my legs.
Sergio dashed off the side of the staircase. “Come on!” he shouted, running behind a palm tree.
I followed. My legs sunk into the sodden earth as the ground slanted sharply down. I struggled for traction across an incline covered with plants and grass, adding to the treachery of the slope.
I ran behind a palm tree just as another bullet burrowed into the wood. The trunk splintered, but the bullet didn't exit. “Holy shit!"
Our path veered upward and diagonally, away from the stairs. Our feet slipped with each step. The mucky ground sucked at our feet, slowing our progress.
"We need to find cover,” Sergio shouted.
A laundry cart lay on its side halfway down the incline. As we ran above it, the earth suddenly gave way. The whole rain-soaked slope pulled away and started to slide down.
We lunged forward and grabbed onto the nearest shrubs. The mud pulled down the cart and the ground where we had been standing. My feet slipped out from under me, and I slammed into the ground, knocking the breath from my lungs. If I hadn't been hanging on to the bush, I would've followed.
Sergio reached over, grabbed my belt, and stabilized me. Our knees dug into the ground as we struggled to find a hold. We crawled several feet over the terrain. Finally, the earth leveled out and formed a narrow shelf that led to the nearest building. The cement foundation jutted out from the ground and formed the outside walkway between buildings and into the bowels of the resort. We used it as our runway inside. Just as we passed through the archway, a bullet ricocheted along the walls.
Which building were we in? In the dark and in our panic, I couldn't remember the layout of the resort. As our footfalls echoed along the cement floor, I asked, “Where are we going? We can't go back to our room. It'll be the first place he'd look."
Sergio slowed slightly, so I could run alongside. “I don't know."
"We need to be where people are. We should never have left the talent show."
"I guess I panicked.” Sergio exhaled loudly. “My only thought was to get the hell out of there."
"Maybe we should try to make our way back to the stage."
"I don't know if we can,” Sergio said, breathlessly.
"At least at the talent show, we had witnesses."
Footsteps echoed down the hallway behind us, just as we turned the corner at a ninety-degree angle. Another shot echoed through the dark passageway.
I pushed Sergio forward. “He's getting closer."
"Over there.” He pointed to a door with “Laundry” printed on it. We headed toward it, and he pulled it open. Shoving the brooms and mops out of the way, he motioned to the laundry chute. “There,” was all he said.
I didn't question him. I dove through the flapping door and landed on the aluminum slide. My body hit and immediately began to pick up speed as I descended down the ramp. Behind me, another bang resounded as Sergio dove in after. Our bodies bumped and banged along the chute. The noise thundered and intensified in the narrow space.
The slide quickly disappeared from underneath me, and I slammed into the concrete floor. The force of the descent propelled me across the cement, scraping the skin off my forearms.
Sergio landed on top of me, his weight and momentum shoving me further along.
In the dim light, we struggled to our feet, our sore bodies protesting as we limped to the end of the tunnel. Trying to catch our breath, we watched and waited to see if Geoff followed us down the slide.
"Maybe he didn't hear us sliding down,” Sergio whispered, hopefully.
But we both knew how loud it had been, and I doubted that Geoff had missed it. “We need to keep moving, so we don't get trapped down here."
Sergio pointed to the rows of washers and dryers. “Should we hide in here?"
"It's a dead end,” I said, and pushed him through the door and into the tunnel. I motioned toward the stairs. “We need to get out of here. Head to the kitchen."
Small light bulbs glowed along the tunnel's walls this time. Even with the lights back on, they did little to illuminate the gloom. We pressed our bodies against the wall as we headed to the stairs. Just as my foot hit the bottom step, the kitchen door was flung open, and a shadow blocked the light coming down.
Before Geoff could see us, I stopped and backed up. Sergio ran into me, but I spun him around and covered his mouth with my hand. I pointed down the garbage tunnel, and gently pushed him in that direction. Maybe we could find another way out down there.
Sergio nodded. As we silently ran down the tunnel, he tossed me the gun from his holster. “I have a plan."
The gun was metal and heavy—it appeared to be real. Fumbling, I almost dropped it but managed to slip it into my belt.
As we neared the end of the corridor, Sergio whispered, “I'll search in there for something we can use to hold him off. You see if you can find another way out of here.” And then he disappeared into the small utility room.
I scanned the tunnel for a trapdoor. As I looked around, I heard Sergio rummaging in the small room. Plastic bottles clunked and rattled against each other. Something scraped along a wall as it slid down and hit the floor with a resounding tap.
My heart stopped. Nothing like letting Geoff know where we were.
I continued on to the end of the tunnel, frantically looking to see if there was another way to escape.
The water at the end was slapping against the walls and spilling over the lip of the garbage pit. The tide must have been coming in or going out. A thunderous beating throbbed along the tunnel. Or was that my heartbeat?
I looked at the water. Maybe we could dive in and swim out of here. But how long would that take? Could Sergio and I hold our breath that long? Duane's body had made it out of here, but he was dead. Could Sergio and I do the same? Or would we end up like Duane? We'd have to try something. Our options were running out.
As I turned to go back and get Sergio, the thought struck me—could he even swim?
He had gotten seasick on the boat and didn't go snorkeling. I paused, turning back to the water. Maybe I should just go for help. But that would leave him down here, alone with Geoff. I didn't think there was enough time to take that chance. I had to ask Sergio if he knew how to swim.
As I neared the utility room, Geoff's voice echoed down the tunnel. “Freeze! Put your hands where I can see them.” The light blinked out and Geoff's rapidly approaching footsteps echoed down the tunnel.
I stood frozen, trying to decide what to do. Should I turn around and dive into the water, race into the side room, or wait for Sergio to emerge? But if I went in after him, I could tip off Geoff to his hiding place.
Before I could decide anything, the lights came back on, and Geoff filled the tunnel. He pointed the gun at me.
My mind reeled. How many bullets were left? How many shots had he taken? It wasn't as if I knew how many bullets his gun held. Wait. I remembered. Sergio had given me a gun. Was it real or only a prop? I stood still, quietly pulled it out of my belt, and aimed it at him.
Geoff came to a stop when he saw my gun. He took one more step forward. Mocking me, he asked, “Where's your friend? Did he abandon you?” He leveled his gun and trained it on my chest.
"He's getting help as we speak,” my voice croaked. The gun trembled in my hand.
"I didn't see him go up the stairs to the kitchen. I've been working here ever since I left Miami, and I haven't found another way out.” He motioned around the tunnel with his gun and then he swung it back at me.