them?”
“Everything on this island has changed now, and it’s only going to get worse from here on in.”
“These morons better not pass that crud onto me,” she said in a disgusted tone.
Tag struggled to keep from throwing up and kept his eye on the approaching gang.
“Who the hell are those meatballs?”
“Go inside the house, Versa. You’ll be safer there.”
“Bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you? I suppose you have some devious trap inside there to make me your sex slave or something.”
“Sex slave?” Tag looked over at her in disbelief. Having this woman trapped in his house was the last thing he wanted to happen, especially in his condition. In fact, the idea of having sex with her very nearly made him gag.
“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,
“Everything on this island has changed now, and it’s only going to get worse from here on in.”
“These morons better not pass that crud onto me,” she said in a disgusted tone.
Tag struggled to keep from throwing up and kept his eye on the approaching gang.
“Who the hell are those meatballs?”
“Go inside the house, Versa. You’ll be safer there.”
“Bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you? I suppose you have some devious trap inside there to make me your sex slave or something.”
“Sex slave?” Tag looked over at her in disbelief. Having this woman trapped in his house was the last thing he wanted to happen, especially in his condition. In fact, the idea of having sex with her very nearly made him gag.
“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,
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