Prison Island
17.
Francesco froze. Even Karl wavered and he wiped quickly the sweat off his brow. Morgan lowered the gun. "I mean it when I say that I'm not against you," he said.
Now, they could take a good look at the guy. Morgan had to be 35 or a bit older, and had a strong square jaw. Francesco had to give it to Karl for being able to put to the ground a dude built like a shit brickhouse like Morgan was. He had dark brown hair, cut very short, and his eyes were black and staring at them from underneath thick furrowed eyebrows. His clothes seemed made of good materials, and looked like tactical gear, the kind to see in hunting catalogues and whatnot. Was he a hunter wandering about by accident? But the island was supposed to be off limits or it couldn't serve its purpose as a prison.
Karl still held his knife high, ready to strike.
"You're losing precious time, Karl, by not believing me."
"How the fuck do you know my name?" the blond asked.
"I heard you two talking."
Had they mentioned any names while talking earlier? Francesco wasn't so sure. Karl's eyes were wild now, and it was easy to tell that he didn't buy that, either. Still, he trusted Morgan. He didn't look like a guy who had been sent there to serve a sentence like everyone else on the island.
"Who the fuck are you?"
"I already told you what you need to know," Morgan said, his eyes set on Karl hard. "I'm a hunter. I know what this island is all about."
"Bullshit," Karl hissed.
"There are 5 of them." Morgan pointed with his chin toward the camp. "When they are all back, good luck with taking them all, only the two of you. I can just walk away if that's what you want."
"No," Francesco intervened. "Karl, we need this guy, whoever he is."
Karl didn't seem convinced. Morgan began walking. "Then I suppose you'll have fun watching your friend getting raped. And worse."
The worse part was what Francesco feared the most, even without knowing what it was. He grabbed Morgan by the arm. "Just help us, please."
"Cesco, what the fuck?" Karl said through his teeth.
"We need to get Anya out of there and fast. Let's not search a gift horse in the mouth, okay?"
"Listen to Francesco, Karl. He's a smart boy."
Now, Francesco was pretty sure that Karl hadn't said his name like that for Morgan to know it. It could be a logical guess from Cesco to Francesco, though. They didn't have time to lose.
"All right," Karl said, "but I'm in charge." He pointed at his own chest. "I don't know who the fuck you are, but you'll listen."
"Fine by me."
Francesco was surprised by Morgan's reply, but he didn't say anything.
"Cesco, you shoot your sling, there," Karl pointed out to the far left. "One of them will go check. "You," he turned toward Morgan, "will rush in from the right. They see your gun, they piss their pants. I'll sweep in and grab Anya. Make sure," he added, "that they keep your eyes on you, the whole time. You, Cesco, stay out of sight, no matter what. I don't want any of them to see you and remember your face. Got it?"
"Got it," Francesco replied. "And Morgan? What will he do once we run away with Anya?"
Karl's lips twisted in a scowl. "Whatever the fuck he wants since he offered."
Morgan squeezed Francesco's shoulder. "Don't worry about me, son. I'll make sure these assholes won't bother you again."
He stared into the black eyes and gulped. A shotgun wasn't exactly a hunting weapon, unless the man who had it hunted something else, not wildlife. Morgan winked at him and smiled.
"Cesco, ready?" Karl's voice brought him back to reality.
"Yes."
He snuck farther away and aimed high. At first, none of the men in the camp moved, but then one began walking to check on the source of the sound. Francesco retreated and watched Karl walk quickly while crouched through the tall grass. His heart was in his throat. He moved along the line of shrubs and small trees so that he could meet Karl halfway once he had Anya.
