Twenty-Three

It took about an hour to get where they were going. It was late when they turned off the road, the dark countryside pierced by lights. He was in the backseat, his hands cuffed behind him. The vehicle bumped down a gravel road, turned, backed up. They got out and opened the rear door, unloading gear and supplies. Earlier he’d heard them talking about a boat. This must be where it was docked.

He heard music in the distance, punctuated by the roar of engines. Motorcycles, from the sound of it. He turned his head, trying to see, wincing because it still hurt. He sat up in the seat and looked back. A boat loomed, a big cabin cruiser. They were leaving. They said they would leave him here. Soon this nightmare would be over.

He heard another engine, then saw movement, someone walking this way. The new arrival walked past the vehicle, toward the boat. Then raised voices, arguing.

The gunshot sounded incredibly loud. Then there was an explosion. He stared back at the boat, enveloped in flames.