Montem is the beginning of a trilogy that follows the life of a young boy named Trey Carrero. The boy quickly gets sucked into a world in which he doesn’t belong. A world of violence, pain, and revenge. In a desperate attempt to balance the scales of justice, he embarks on an international journey that will bring him within an inch of death. Packed with plot twists, humor, and espionage, you won’t want to miss it!
He slowly turned to see a man finish placing another explosive device on the wall beside the bedroom door. The man was dressed in all black with pouches running across his waist and sides. Affixed to his head was a small headset with earpiece, as well as a set of goggles that made him look almost alien. Most importantly, Trey noticed the compact pistol attached to the man’s right hip.
If the man was surprised to see Trey standing in the bedroom, he showed no sign of it. As if the world was under water, Trey saw everything in a slow, surreal motion. The gun came up and pointed straight at him. He wouldn’t have a chance. He could jump to either side, but the man would kill him at his leisure. Briefly, he considered pleading that he was just a child, but he could see the cold eyes behind the goggles, and he knew any attempt at talking his way out would be futile.
So he chose the next best thing, the unexpected. Preparing to launch his whole body directly at the man, Trey tensed his legs and emptied his mind, resigning himself to his fate.
Suddenly, from behind the door, a man appeared and stepped directly to the man’s right side, or dead side. It was Mr. Weatherby! With surprising agility, the older man slapped away the assailant’s gun with his left hand, pivoted, and brought his right elbow around into the man’s temple, dropping him to the floor. The gun slid from his hand and fell to the ground alongside him. A solid kick to the skull knocked him unconscious, and after picking up the gun, Trey’s savior rushed toward him.
The old man’s head was a mixture of sweat and ragged, matted hair. His suit was torn in multiple places, and he was even more gaunt than usual. Trey was left there spluttering with his mouth ajar, totally in awe of what he had just seen. Luckily, as Trey seemed unable to form words, Mr. Weatherby left no room for conversation as he grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and began towing him across the room. Flinging open the closet door, they rushed for the window, but not before a soft beep could be heard behind them. Mr. Weatherby had just enough time to give a small inhalation, and then the world as they knew it ceased to exist.
The air was sucked from the room. The closet door flew off its hinges, and all manner of detritus cascaded from inside and proceeded to force its way outside, coincidentally right through the old man and child in tow.
To Trey, it felt like being hit by a train (whatever that felt like). The shock wave slammed into him and sent him, along with Mr. Weatherby and half of the bedroom, flying backward through the air toward the unlatched window. His legs impacted on the shoe organizer, and his body flipped straight into the glass.
In a sickening rain of deadly shards, the two bodies descended in quite the undignified manner onto the ground. On the bright side, had they smashed into the wall, they would have been broken and quite possibly dead.
However, due to the immense amount of pain, Trey had trouble seeing the bright side. Because of his discomfort, incredulity, and fatigue, he wanted nothing more than to just lie there for weeks. But suddenly, someone pulled him upright and started moving him away.
Apparently, Mr. Weatherby had survived the blast as well and was intent on leaving with Trey as soon as possible. Quite a feat given his age and physical condition.
Trey attempted to voice his concerns about the man’s ability to do anything at all in his present condition, but all that came out was a series of incoherent groans.
Weatherby’s mouth moved silently as Trey’s ears struggled to regain their use. He couldn’t make out most of it, but he could’ve sworn he heard the old man say something about his extensive vocabulary.
As they neared the tree line, Trey was able to turn and look back at the devastation.
The whole duplex was ablaze, and brick and pieces of roof shuddered under the heat and collapsed inwards. His home. Literally up in smoke. For a moment, he just stared. Stared in utter helplessness. There was no trace of the men from the house or the presumable “getaway car,” but lights were coming on in different houses along the road, and the cars of the neighbors coughed to life and began navigating toward the inferno.
Finally, he was able to speak and spit out, “M-my parents…”
Mr. Weatherby turned Trey away as another explosion rocked the house and tongues of flame shot out windows and melted any remaining vestige of his home.
“They’re already gone.”