Frank was submerged in muck, the only thing keeping him conscious the air still in his lungs. He couldn't open his eyes and he could only hear the thumping of his panicking heart in his chest. It felt like a ton of weight was pressing down on him. If he could stand he'd be able to push up through the muck. Images of Maria and the children flashed through his mind. Barracuda had done this, The King had done this. They had to pay for what they did, justice had to be served.
With his lungs burning he pushed with his arms and knees. His head tilted back so that his nose or mouth would break the surface first. He spread his arms slowly through the already drying cement and used it to push himself up toward the surface the movement draining the strength in his arms. Frank had always tried to stay fit after he left the service. It had been hardwired into his brain during PT but now he felt inadequate.
Inadequate to protect Maria and the children. Anger rose up in him and with one last push his head cleared the surface of the pool and he took a deep breath of air before coughing hard. Without his chest clear it was hard to inhale to maximum and he found himself taking quick short breaths. His body was screaming, it had been a short climb to the top but the weight of the cement had made it seem like he was shifting tons of material. He clawed at the surface and pulled himself toward the edge. The cement truck was already empty and no one was around the hole, they had been so sure he was dead.
It took nearly the rest of his energy to pull himself onto solid ground. Cement clung to him like a second skin, he could feel it already drying on his pores. He took a minute to catch his breath, chest heaving. The whole construction yard was illuminated by giant white lights. There was a hut near the fence where a softer orange glow could be seen in the windows. Frank felt he knew Barracuda would be in there.
It took a moment to gather his strength again, adrenaline wearing off. Maria and the children flashed through his mind again, no matter how tired he was he had a job to do. He pulled off his sports coat and dropped the cement soaked garment on the dirt. Then with another push he lifted himself to a standing position and walked foot by foot toward the hut. Instinct was thrown to the wind and he didn't put himself behind any cover on his approach, exhaustion had stripped him of any self-perseverance.
He made it to the hut without anyone emerging from it, he heard laughter inside. He placed himself to the side with the knob. The step up was two blocks of wood, one slightly larger than the other. He kicked it the side and lifted his hand, knocking lightly on the door. The laughter died and he heard talking instead, his body tensed, he had no idea what he was getting into nor how many there were. Maria and the children deserved it though.
A younger thug opened the door, his eyes were looking forward and not to the side where Frank was, Frank watched him swing the door open and start to take a step out. As soon as his foot hit still air Frank was on him, jerking the leg down while the other was still on the floor of the hut. He heard a crack and the man screamed, without pause Frank reached into the man's coat and pulled out a pistol, he didn't have time to check the make and model. He lifted it and aimed at the next man he could see inside and pulled the trigger.
Frank wondered if he looked like some kind of swamp monster covered in the drying muck. The second man inside had two bullets through his chest and Frank was already turning to the next, clearing the hut from the door when he could. He pulled the trigger a total of six more times before the gun clicked empty, by that time each man in the hut was dead. No Barracuda, no hulking monster of a man. Frank pulled himself up into the hut and grabbed a fresh pistol off a man in a suit, marred by blood that seeped out of his wounds.
The man outside was still groaning in pain so Frank only took a quick stock of the men in the hut, all were thugs, all low on the totem pole. He stepped back out, stepping over the man with the broken leg. He rolled him over on his back, the movement promoting a hiss out of his target. He applied his foot on the broken limb, "Where's Barracuda?"
"I don't know, ah, I swear!" The man yelped at the pressure of his foot, "He said he something to do and took a couple guys. I swear!"
Frank believed him and he held the pistol out to aim down at him, "Did you go my house today?"
"I was the driver man, I didn't go in or do nothing."
Frank almost aimed away, but then he remembered the van, empty, not a single person in it. He thought of Maria, protecting their children. More than one gun had fired in that room, he pulled the trigger and the man stopped groaning. Frank turned his head and looked around what he could see of the construction yard, where could Barracuda have gone? Back to the King?
He thought of finding a phone and calling the police but that thought was soon banished when the van he had seen outside his house came rolling around a stone pile. It stopped its headlights boring into him. Frank lifted his pistol and opened fire at the same time both doors flew open. Barracuda came out of one, another man out of the other, both had long rifles in their hands, their silhouttee and the reports that followed calling AK47 to Franks memory.
Frank was running before he stopped firing, he could hear the rounds passing close. He dove toward the side of the hut, hoping to crawl to the back when he felt blinding pain in his shoulder. Another jab of heat ran up from his kidney and he was stumbling forward coughing hard. He crawled behind the hut, a small wooden support wall between him and his attackers. He could feel blood escaping his both and he knew the wounds would be mortal unless he could get medical help. He looked around, body screaming in pain and spied a gap under the fence behind the hut, leading out into the darkness.
His body screamed worse than when he had pulled himself from his cement tomb, every moment pumped more blood out of his body. Barracuda and the other man were talking, getting closer. Frank pushed with every ounce of strength he had left, the fence digging into his neck and dragging on his clothes. Fingers worked furiously on the buttons of his shirt, left arm screaming each time he moved his hand. His shirt came undone and he pulled himself out from under the fence and a few feet further onto a hard surface. He realized it was pavement, he moved himself vertical and with great effort rolled himself across.
He heard Barracuda and the other man coming around the hut but by then Frank had pulled himself out of the wash of light from the overhead lights. He held his pain in, watching them stare out at the darkness, their voices were whispers from here and he watched them argue about something and then run back around to the front of the hut. Frank coughed and felt himself relax, he felt so tired, so ready for sleep.
Headlights flashed across his vision and he braced himself for the coming pain, but instead his mind let go and he felt the world go dark. For the second time in twenty-four hours the undead phantoms of his wife and children danced in his mind.