1 Manic Monday, page 11
part #1 of Jake Monday Chronicles Series
Another bullet tore into his ankle, shattering bone and tendon. He grasped the grass in front of him and tried to lie lower, crawling desperately and fighting the pain in his arm and leg. He reached for the .45 at his waist and brought it up with his good hand and fired off several shots, knowing he was firing too high and too wildly.
The same was not true for Mateo. His shots rained across the hood of the car, pinging off the engine, flattening the front tire, caving in the passenger door. The door flew open as the truck hurtled past them and one man fell out limp to the ground. Mateo began to fire at the truck as it fled back toward the bridge.
“NO! Domingo is in the back! Mateo!”
He fired high, stopped suddenly, and fell forward, face first. There was a moist smack as his gun hit the ground. Manny blinked. Mateo was dead.
Manny struggled to his knees and crawled over to him. Just as he reached him and saw the large exit hole in his skull, he heard the truck stop with a loud screech, and a scream of the engine. Manny looked up in time to see it flip over, end over end. He felt a sickened knot develop in his chest.
He tucked the .45 into the waist of his slacks and grabbed Mateo’s weapon. He used it as a crutch to rise to standing. As he did, he glanced again to the ridge. He saw a glint of light off the optic sight of Cesar’s SVD. Suspicious, Manny grimaced as he limped forward to the truck immobile and on its side two hundred feet away.
As he neared the durable personnel carrier, he could see flames licking the underside near the engine. He knew time was crucial. Two bodies lay to the side of the truck, one the driver and the other the final guard. He was dead. The driver groaned and turned over onto his back.
Manny stepped on his hand, which held a .45 Colt revolver. A classic, American Wild West revolver like his cousin Al liked to play with. Manny shot the man in the center of the head with a single shot from the FN MAG.
He heard footsteps and looked up to see Luis struggling across the field. He stopped and looked at the truck, his eyes sad and his right arm hanging limp and dripping blood down his side. He was dead, standing.
“This was a mess,” he admitted. He collapsed to his knees on the grass.
“Yes, Luis. A mess. Stay here a minute. I will be back. I have to see if Domingo is alive.”
“You’ll die trying.”
“If I must,” he said, not looking at Luis. He stared at the truck as the flames raised higher, lighting the grass around it in a smoky blaze.
He staggered forward, limping on his destroyed ankle. His arm throbbed mercilessly. He trudged on inexorably and lifted the canvas cover over the rear compartment of the truck. Domingo lay there, his leg at a sickening angle beneath his torso, his arms splayed over his head in a sort of bizarre dance pose.
Manny got on his knees, feeling the heat of the fire licking at his clothes. He crawled, it was easier than walking. He grabbed Domingo’s collar and dragged him out from the back of the truck. He didn’t examine him closely. For all he knew, Domingo was dead. His body certainly felt stiff and heavy.
“Come on, brother. Wake up,” he whispered hoarsely. The smoke was filling his lungs, burning his throat. His eyes watered. With all his strength he pulled. He could feel the muscle in his arm tear more. He could feel the crunch of the shattered bones of his ankle.
Pretty boy Manny would never look the same. He smiled despite the pain, despite the fear and grief that grasped at his heart. Father, and now Domingo. He pleaded with God, a God he had never believed in. A God that he had denounced. Now Manny needed Him, would do anything.
The tears in his eyes streamed down his face, etching the soot there in moisture, leaving a dark trail. Through the smoke and the tears, Manny saw the figure of Luis lying in the grass now where he had left him. His breath came in shallow spurts and rasps.
Luis looked at him from the ground, turning his head. He smiled at him sadly and blinked slowly.
“You found him. He looks as dead as me.”
“You both will be fine. Cesar will come get us in the truck soon.”
“No. Cesar killed Mateo and shot the driver. He is working for them, too. Manny, be car—” he coughed, blood splattering the grasses near him. He swallowed with a grimace. “Be careful, Manny. They will kill all the Villarreals.”
Luis’ face and his words haunted his dreams ever since. In those next few years after he had rescued Domingo, avenged their father’s death, and re-established the Villarreal family legacy, Manny had taken a great amount of pride in his efforts to never allow Luis’ prophecy come true.
Many times as danger lurked, he would have this dream. It was a dream to remind him that enemies were everywhere and that even the most innocent had an agenda.
He opened his eyes, taking in the vista of the mountains ahead, the river cutting a wide brown swath through the forest and the fields. He wondered what threats were at hand and if maybe he was in the wrong place, if maybe he had made the wrong decisions. The past beckoned him, his guilt called him, a sense of responsibility pulled at him.
He regretted speaking to Paul the way he had last night. Deep down, Manny knew that Paul was right. He could not ignore the influence of the dream and the warning it held. At the same time, he could not submit to the man he had been. He had to focus on the man that God wanted him to be.
He felt sad and wary. He had left his brother alone with wolves at his door. If only he could convince Domingo to put it all behind him and begin a new legacy. Maybe it was too late, maybe that was why the dream had come and why his gut was telling him something bad was going to happen soon.
CRY ME A RIVER
By Robert Michael
Available at www.infinitewordpress.com on Kindle, Kobo, NOOK, Sony, iBooks, and paperback.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I want to thank a ton of people. My wife, foremost, because without you, Tracey, I could not have even dreamed this would be possible. You are my agent/editor/biggest fan/critique group/publicist/mother of our children/Sex Goddess/loving wife.. I cannot thank you enough.
I would also like to thank Laura Copeland for inspiring me to expand my ideas about Jake when he was confined to a little short story that needed some work. I also owe appreciation to my son, Isaac for being a fan, a beta reader, and a great friend. To Braden King, for your efforts in editing, giving advice, and your contributions to this book. To Matt and Julie Swaim. You are so special to Tracey and I and we look forward to involving you more in our work. You were instrumental in helping shape the final draft and in writing a tighter marketing copy. Your expertise and critique help on the cover design is appreciated. I would also like to thank Danielle Culbert who took the photo of Jake Monday. Jake is actually Ed Zoellner, to whom I am deeply grateful.
So many people have helped make this possible. I appreciate the support and love I receive and I hope and pray that my efforts, talent and performance are worthy of the gifts you give. God bless you all.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Robert Michael is a writer and commercial roofing sales director. His love for books, family, and God fill his time and his spirit. He enjoys reading, writing, sports, fishing, and gaming. He lives in Broken Arrow with his wife and four children.
Connect with the Robert at:
www.robertamichael.blogspot.com
www.twitter.com/InfiniteWord
Other books available from Infinite Word Press:
CRY ME A RIVER by Robert Michael
DARK MOUNTAIN by Robert Michael
THE VAGARY TALES by Robert Michael
And, coming soon:
A MONTH OF MONDAYS (Jake Monday Chronicles Book 2) by Robert Michael
Get your copy today at http://www.infinitewordpress.com.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
BONUS MATERIAL
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Robert Michael, 1 Manic Monday
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