Robert Muldoon sighed as he leaned back in his chair. He watched the rain streaming past the barred windows and gurgling somewhere up in the gutter. The storm had come swiftly in the night, with no warning whatsoever. In the distance he could hear the thunder crackling, the lightning flashing for a second against the window frame. Then all was silent again, for a few precious seconds.
Muldoon closed his eyes, clutching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. He slowly eased the crust that had built up after those nights sleep, and looked away from the window. He was sitting upright in a chair, his feet resting on an end table. In his arms was cradled a SPAS-12 shotgun, his right hand was clutching the stock, and his left, the barrel. He held it tight to his chest, as if he was afraid of losing it.
As he sat up, he knocked over the liquor bottles and shotgun shells that littered the end table. His mouth was parched and dry, and his eyes were bloodshot. It had been a sleepless night, one plagued with night terrors and insomnia. He got up from the chair slowly; still hanging on to his gun like it was some kind of comfort. He felt a calamity in his head, he felt like a stiff. He felt his eyes unable to focus, his gaze wandering around the room. It felt so different, although that could just be because of the drink.
He felt his legs buckle slightly under him, as he tried to maintain his balance. Muldoon let go of the gun as he raised his hand to steady his head. He tried to remember, but it was all a haze. He had come back to his compound screaming and yelling, but the rest of it seemed lost in a haze. Last night… he bit his lip and scratched his stubble as he racked his brains. All that came to mind was a half muddled light, shining in the proverbial darkness. He couldn't make it out, only that it seemed so bright, and what had appeared had been so utterly beyond what he had been expecting.
He felt a sense of loss, as if he had failed somehow in a way that he didn't understand. His head was still throbbing, and he thought that maybe he needed something to clear it up a bit. Aspirin maybe, or something a bit stronger for this hangover. That was right, just something to clear the head a bit, make him remember what exactly made him gulp down four bottles of cheap Mexican beer. He knew it had to be something bad. Normally on his worst days he only could get down two and a half.
Grasping the gun by the pistol grip, he leaned onto the wall with the other hand. Slowly, he staggered his way to the door, which lay half open propped up with a chair. He raised the gun slightly, feeling his palm sweat as he looked to each side. The hall was empty, and he could see the muddy tracks of his boots leading out to the main exit. He wondered vaguely if he had bothered to close the door, and then remembered that the door shut automatically after each person entered, the way he'd planned it.
All the precautions of an old man, he thought to himself with a wry shake of his head. He turned to go to the medicine cabinet, when he noticed something out of the corner of his eye. Old habit forced him to act quickly, raising the gun as he drew in his breath. Only his practiced hand paused a very second before he hit the trigger, preventing him from shooting out the monitor on the opposite wall. He let himself relax, but only for a second. There was a blinking red light, just flashing on and off. Shit, it was sort of giving him a headache, since it was reflecting right in his eye. The light had one purpose he knew, to inform him there was somebody at the gates.
Shit. He thought, as he walked the opposite direction. He didn't really feel like receiving any visitors, at least not this late in the morning. Muldoon set the gun down in an alcove along the wall, and draped a blanket over it. Sometimes he thought he was being too careful, and other times he thought he was not nearly careful enough. He passed by the coat rack on the way to the door, and he grabbed the hat he'd left there, it was still a bit damp from last night.
He opened the door, turning down the brim of his hat so that he would not catch the rain on his face. Looking up, Muldoon closed the door behind him with the back of his hand. The yard was a complete mess, mud everywhere due to the onslaught of the storm. He walked gingerly on the concrete slabs leading outward from the door, as he made his way to the gate. He could see his visitor, and inside he couldn't help smirking a bit. So at long last the man decided to come and talk to him, when he tried to pretend he didn't even know him. Oh how the mighty have fallen, he thought in that moment.
Leaning up close to the fence, he was careful not to touch it. With the rain coming down this hard, frankly he was surprised that there wasn't an electrical short somewhere. Well, he'd learned from the past, and the fuse box was inside, insulated from the rain. Still, the water would be a natural conductor of electricity, and anyone touching this would be subject to ten thousand volts. So Robert Muldoon simply stared with bloodshot eyes at his guest, Marty Guitierrez. Damn, if there were an award for unexpected appearances, this man would win first place. He thought it was best to get to the point, and quickly too.
Given how hard the rain was coming down, Muldoon wasn't that surprised the other man was wearing a slicker, which was plainly not his size. "Nice day isn't it?" He cracked, finding it impossible to resist. "So what brings you out here today," he said levelly, trying to straighten himself out. He started walking a bit to the side, towards the entrance to the gate. After a second, he saw Marty follow him, their eyes locked as they walked.
"It's not exactly time for pleasantries is it Robert?" There was a haunting familiarity in there that rubbed him the wrong way, and he found his grin disappearing off of his face. "There's something I want to talk to you about, what happened last night for instance."
Muldoon closed his eyes again, raising his head so that the rain could fall on his face. It felt cool to the touch, and he could taste the humidity in the air. He took a deep breath, opening his eyes again. "I wish I could tell you that Marty, I really do." The plain fact of the matter was that where last night was concerned, Muldoon was drawing a blank. The events of eight hours ago simply did not exist in his memory.
"But there's absolutely nothing that I remember…"
"Really?" Marty seemed to withdraw into himself, as if he was thinking. "Because I really need to know. What happened in the barn last night?" He was walking a bit faster if anything, forcing Muldoon to quicken his pace as well. He found his mouth drawing into a hard line, as some part of him started to remember…yes he had been in the barn last night but…"what happened in the barn last night?"
He looked ahead through the pouring rain, biting his lower lip as he walked on. He could see the gate now, the only real entrance and exit to the compound. They would be there in a matter of seconds, and he would make up his mind then. After all, the situation wasn't that dire…was it? "It's contained," he said without really knowing why. "It's stable, the situation is stable… it can't get out." He didn't know why his throat was dry when he said that, or why he suddenly found that he stopped walking.
They were face to face now, staring at each other from opposite sides of the gate. Muldoon looked down, seeing the protective cover for the handprint entry. His arm started to raise, but he looked back at Marty, feeling a sense of anticipation. "Is it stable?" He found himself blurting out, a bit quicker then he'd expected. He found his heart beating very fast now, though he felt he didn't want to know the answer.
"I don't know what when on between you and that man Muldoon, but he's dead now." The words seemed to reberate through his head, and he felt himself taken aback. If there was ever anything to get someone sober in two seconds, there was it. "He's dead and his guts are all over the floor of the barn." Marty stopped a second, shaking his head. "You know how this looks don't you Robert? You were the only person there with him last night."
Without consciously noticing it, Muldoon's hand slipped into the hand scanner, and he heard a dull 'beep' indicating the authorization. The gate slowly began retracting to the side, although Muldoon didn't move. He could have but he didn't, just stared ahead feeling like he couldn't breathe. He felt a surge of anger inside him, something just needing to get out. "What are you going to do about it then?" he said, feeling a bit of confidence rising inside him. "Shitty little village like this, you can do absolutely nothing about that, right?"
Marty Guitierrez raised his head, and Muldoon was surprised at how tired he seemed. "I wish that were the case Robert," he said at last. "Actually I don't know how they found out but…the Costa Ricans are here."
Muldoon froze in an instant, the sort you remember everything in. The memories of last night flooded in, and it all seemed to come back too fast. He couldn't deal with it, and he was forcing his brain to process the events one at a time. "But how…" he found himself moving without consciously thinking about it, grabbing Marty by the arm and just walking on. It wasn't that far to go, and the other man didn't struggle or put up a fight. He just let himself be led on by Muldoon to the edge of the clearing.
Like Gandoca, Muldoon had built his compound on a hill, but his was slightly smaller, although he could see the whole village from here. He stopped when he came into view of the clearing, shaking his head. "Get down," he said to Marty, more out of practiced sense then any real threat. He looked out, craning his neck but at the same time trying to remain inconspicuous. He could see the helicopter in the clearing near the bar, even through this rain. It was getting ready to leave he saw, and there were three figures standing beside it.
"They arrived before dawn," Marty said in a whisper beside him. "Said all non-essential personnel had to leave the village immediately." He leaned forward a bit for a better look. "Said the doctor, and the barman could stay, but nobody else. " Muldoon gave him a funny look, wondering why…it didn't fit. Only three people…"Also said I could, since I was the first responder, they need me to show them the scene after they evacuate everyone."
So that was it…Muldoon looked to his left, and saw a slow line of beat up trucks exit the village in a morose parade. He thought vaguely of people who had lived there all their lives, just get kicked out one day when the authorities come knocking. That didn't sit well with him, not in his gut. He felt his fists clench, he wasn't sure what to do about that or even if he could do anything.
"Three of them," he found himself repeating like a broken record. "Did you get what they looked like?" Something was bothering him about the operation. The Costa Ricans would never send an operation this small for something this large of a scale. He watched the last few trucks disappear down the bend and out of sight. He wondered where they were even going, probably they themselves didn't even know.
"They were dressed in Camouflage gear and are armed with Machine guns," Marty said. "I think… I didn't get a good look at their leader though. He kept his back to me, and his subordinate told me everything. Then the other one, some chick started yelling at me so I decided to leave until the evacuation was over."
Muldoon was silent for a second. "I'm only going to say this once Marty." He turned his head to face the other man and his face was hard and tired at the same time. "Those guys aren't Costa Rican. It's just not how they do things." He shook his head. "But…." He was thinking and he knew because he finally remembered last night, it had all come back to him. And he knew from the look on Marty's face that they both knew what he was going to say next.
"Right," Marty said. "I'm going to go down to them, show them the barn." He started to get up, but Muldoon only got up halfway. "I'm not going to tell them you're here but I recommend you get ready, because what's coming might be bad."
Muldoon grabbed the tree trunk, pulled himself up and nodded. "Might be bad? Marty there's a whole shitstorm this way. Only question is if these guys have the training to handle it." Something was bothering him, the same question that had bothered him last night and these past five years. "I don't know what's in there though. It's big, but I don't know what it is."
Marty gave him a look, breaking the unspoken code of silence for the first time in ten years. "Raptor?" He had heard enough of the Nublar incident to know he should be worried if there was one of them here.
"No…" Muldoon's eyes were distant, and he took a deep breath. "I thought it might be…for the longest time." He turned away from Marty and started walking back towards the compound. "You go down there, alone. Get the kid to safety and the doctor too. When the shooting starts…"
Muldoon looked back at his compound, mentally picturing the barn in his mind. Too big for a raptor, besides it would've climbed that ladder. A Dilo? It was possible but…. He just did not have the information right now.
"I'll be there," he said, and started walking back to the compound.