“Let’s go,” MacAlister replied.
“Let ‘em loose,” Evan said into his radio.
A few seconds later they heard three gunshots off in the distance toward the north end of the island.
“Apparently our game was a little reluctant to get moving,” the island’s owner said. “We’ll give them a couple more minutes before we get started. When we do, we’ll stay together. You get the honors; I’ll serve as backup.”
For the first half-hour they moved slowly, barely at a walking pace, through the rough terrain. Two hundred yards past the place where the Hispanic boys were released, Evan spotted one. He was crouched down next to a short tree trying to hide in some tall grass.
“Too easy,” MacAlister said. “Give him a little kick in the ass to get him going.”
MacAlister was standing holding the roll bar and Evan stood up and joined him.
“Vamoose, vamoose,” Evan yelled. The boy, barely fourteen years old, was too afraid to move. He stared back not really comprehending the game he was in.
“Run, you idiot!” Evan yelled in English. “Corer, corer,” he yelled believing it meant run in Spanish.
By now, the other ATV had joined them.
“What’s the problem?” the driver asked.
“He’s too scared to run,” Evan replied.
Evan’s boss stood up and drew his handgun, a .44 caliber Colt six-gun. Taking careful aim, he fired three shots into the tree the boy leaned against. The impact of the heavy bullets shook the tree enough to knock him backwards. It also made the terrified child jump to his feet and take off.
The men, along with Odessa, all stood watching him run through the chest-high brush. About two hundred yards out he made a sharp left turn, still running.
“Get ready,” Evan said to MacAlister. “He’s heading for that opening where that stand of trees is on that little hill.”
“All set,” MacAlister said as he raised the rifle to his shoulder.
He watched through the scope, the target appearing to be no more than twenty yards away as he crashed through the tall grass.
He exited the heavy thicket into a clearing and Evan said, “There he is. He’s heading for the hill.”
The hill he referred to was only about thirty feet high. The boy was running toward the trees and got almost to them when the rifle barked, and the .308 caliber bullet took off. Before MacAlister could blink, the bullet hit the boy between the shoulder blades, ripped open his chest when it exited and dropped him dead before he hit the ground.
“Goddamn,” MacAlister said pulling the bolt to expel the spent cartridge. “That’s better than sex. I’m telling you. The power over another human being like that. Whew. It can’t be beat.”
“We’ll drive up and mark him,” the other driver said.
“Great shot, Mac,” the island’s owner told him.
It took another hour to find the second one. Usually three ATVs did a better job of covering the width of the island. Two were easier to hide from. They had used a weaving pattern driving back and forth to push him to the north end and that was where they found him.
“He’s gonna jump,” Evan said.
The boy was standing on the edge of the cliff above the water of the Gulf. The tide was out, and the rocks were visible below. The youngster was trying to decide what to do. At one point, he turned around and looked directly at his tormentors, less than a hundred yards from him.
“If you don’t want to take him, I will…” the island’s owner said.
Instead the rifle barked again and MacAlister hit the boy in the chest and the impact drove him over the side, onto the rocks.
“Don’t worry about it, Mac,” the island’s owner said. “He’ll wash out in a few hours.”
They were standing along the edge of the cliff looking down at the shattered body. He was about a hundred feet down. His young, dead eyes open and staring back at them.
“Well, shit, I wasn’t gonna go down after him,” MacAlister replied bringing a bit of laughter from his companions.