Free Time & Space (Short Fiction Collection Vol. 2) by Gord Rollo, Gene O'Neill, Everette Bell

all?”
    “No, not a word. He’s carved obscene pictures into a few of the victim’s bellies, but there’s no apparent method to his madness. We don’t know why he’s doing this? Maybe you can ask him… before you kill the bastard. Pump a bullet through his twisted brain for us, okay?”
    Carson nodded and took a couple of tentative steps along the trail. He was as ready as he was ever going to be.
    “Good luck, man,” Bishop said from behind him. Then in a barely audible whisper, said, “You can bet your freakin’ ass… you’re gonna need it.”
     
    ***
     
    Stein had instructed Carson to follow the trail to a shallow stream. Just across the stream, he’d find a path sloping up and away to his right. The entrance to the cave was at the top of the slope, where the ground leveled off.
    It might have been his imagination, but Carson was sure the forest had become quieter. As if every plant and animal in the area were collectively holding their breath, awaiting the outcome of the battle ahead. He took a deep breath to calm his nerves, and started moving forward again.
    It wasn’t long until he spotted the stream about one hundred paces away. He could just barely make out the noise of its water gently gurgling downstream. It would normally be a calming sound, peaceful, but tonight it filled him with dread. Soft as it was, the flowing water would still easily cover any telltale noises of someone trying to sneak up on him.
    With every step closer to the stream, the noise, as well as his anxiety, steadily increased. Carson’s heart was pounding so hard, that by the time he made it successfully to the edge of the shallow stream, it felt like a sledgehammer banging inside his chest. The journey had taken two minutes, but had felt more like two hours. Although extremely nerve racking; so far, things had been relatively uneventful. Things wouldn’t stay that way, though. Carson could feel the approaching danger like an icy January wind. Something bad was about to happen and he knew it was going to happen soon.
    Carson had no idea how accurate his prediction would be. He had only waded a few feet into the knee-deep dark water, when his feet were suddenly swept out from underneath him. He barely had time to draw a deep breath and register the presence of a massive man rising above him, before landing on his back, submerging beneath the froth.
    In his panic, Carson sprayed off a few rounds from the rapid-firing Heckler and Koch, but the shots were wild, more of a reflex action then any real attempt at defending himself. He quickly tried to get his head above water and regain his feet, but a large hand crashed into his chest, pinning him to the rocky bottom. Carson tried to pry the assailant’s hand away and roll loose, but whoever it was, they were as strong as a bull.
    Carson’s lungs were already screaming for oxygen. If he couldn’t fight his way to the surface soon, there would be no fight left in him. He didn’t want to die like this. The water was cold, dark, and so murky that Carson couldn’t see the hand on his chest, much less the face of the man who was killing him. The machine gun was of no good for this kind of in close fighting. His only option was the Magnum 44. The Magnum was one of the most powerful handguns around and would make a mess of this madman from this range.
    Carson somehow managed to wiggle the handgun out from under his belt. He was forced to use his left hand to fire the weapon but from an arm’s length away, it was virtually impossible to miss. He had a horrific vision flash through his oxygen-starved brain, of pulling the trigger over and over, but the gun being too waterlogged to fire. Fortunately, the Magnum performed flawlessly, the first bullet exploding out of the chamber toward where Carson believed his assailant’s chest to be.
    The hand pinning Carson lifted away, as the deafening blast must have scored a bull’s eye, tossing the large man backward. Carson had barely broken