Tiger Dog

1

A wild celebration erupted in the capital. Royal pilots confirmed two direct hits on Broad Plain with precision-guided munitions. The sleet of red ash powdered the air above the island, rendering satellite imagery useless for hours. Nevertheless, the report from the airmen of the King's Intelligence was that all high value individuals were likely killed by the blast.

The festivity of the King's officers was tempered with unease, however. One of the Royal pilots reported the sighting of what appeared to be a white male running away from Broad Plain with a growing mass of hostile Marikatan fighters flooding behind him. The pilot described the chaos below as the overturning of a hornet's nest. From the air, the compound surrounding the target site appeared to be swelling with clusters of tiny ants. Gunfire erupted in scattered staccato bursts.

On the ground, Caleb raced toward the shoreline at a feverish pace. The total distance from Broad Plain to the beach was no more than a quarter of a mile he figured, so he could sprint it. To his advantage, the Marikatan were still reeling in shock from the immensity of the detonation.

Had the Marikatan been given the opportunity to collect themselves, Caleb's chances of reaching the sea would have slipped to nothing. Fortunately, however, he found himself running past clusters of half-dressed figures, clambering and buzzing in the wrong direction, some even exchanging gunfire blindly with other pockets of angry Marikatan soldiers. Broad Plain was blanketed with fear.

It took Caleb about 90 seconds to reach the heavy brown sand of the shoreline. Between gasps for air, he stole a sharp glance behind him. His fears were confirmed when he detected a swarm of dark figures close behind. By his estimation, the distance separating them was about the length of a football field, well within rifle range but far enough to give him a much-needed head start in the water.

As his toes felt the splash of warm green water and his heels pressed deeply into the loose sand, Caleb prayed that the beach loudly drop off rapidly enough to let him get completely underwater. He remembered a pond back home in East Texas that seemed to extend knee-deep forever until suddenly dropping off to a depth of 12 feet. Caleb pressed forward into the sea of green, the waterline now breaking at his shins. Huffing for air, he felt his pulse racing and his heart pounding in his chest.

"Worst possible thing right now," he thought as he remembered what Misha had said to him only hours earlier.

The key to staying underwater was a slow heart rate. He knew it, and he dreaded it. He could hear the distinct rattle of an AK-47 rifle barking behind him. Within moments, the sound swelled into a chorus of chattering rifles, maybe five or six, at various pitches and firing at different tempos.

"Get under," he commanded himself.

"Never mind the depth. Get under. Now. Now!"