by L. T. Ryan
“You’re making a mistake,” Percy said.
Medrick’s entire demeanor changed. Was it the challenge his subordinate was posing? Was it that he was doing it in public?
“Go get the truck,” he said to the third man. Then he walked up to Percy, who retreated to the wall. Medrick spoke low, but not so quiet as to keep Sean from hearing. “Don’t know what you think you’re doing here, but if you got a problem with how I lead, there’s the fucking door. Let’s see how long your crying ass can survive out there alone.”
Percy jerked his head up and down an inch. His stare never left Medrick’s eyes. What was the story there? What kind of history existed between these men? Sean had to find a way to get inside Percy’s head and figure a few things out.
“How far?” Sean said.
Medrick turned to look at him. “What?”
“How far to your place?”
“Down the road.”
“How long’ve you been there?”
“A while.”
“How many people you got there?”
“Enough to start a war.”
“What about—”
Medrick pointed at him. “Let’s cut the twenty questions, okay, Sean. I’m doing you a favor here. The least you can do for me is shut up. Got it?”
Sean felt Beth and Leo staring at him. Either they were waiting to see what he would do next or begging for him to glance in their direction so he could see the chastising looks on their faces.
“I’m getting mighty tired of you ignoring me when I ask you a question, Sean.” He tugged on the waistband of his pants as he closed the gap between the two of them. “Answer me!”
With the .357 pointing up at his chin, Sean said, “Yeah, I got it.” There wasn’t much choice in the matter. They weren’t walking out of the cabin on their own. If he attempted to overpower Medrick and failed, it wouldn’t be only him that would pay. There were others to consider. And though he did not know them, he had committed to them. They were now in his stead, and he had to act for the betterment of the group.
The door swung open and with it came that familiar icy air. The third man stepped back in, and behind him were two more men, armed with assault rifles.
Sean glanced at Medrick, who met his stare with that same toothy smile. The picture grew clearer in his mind. There was no way out. Even if they had killed the three intruders, Sean and Beth and Leo and even the baby would have been shot the moment they exited the house alone.
Medrick leaned in close to Sean and spoke so only Sean could hear him. “You get it now, don’t you?”
Sean nodded and said nothing. He watched them escort Beth and Leo through the door. He followed a moment later. The snow fell in sheets now. They trudged a hundred yards or so where a black Ford Excursion waited. They were directed inside the vehicle. An unnamed man with a heavy brown beard kept a black rifle pointed at them in the back seat.
Sean glanced out the side windows and threw a look over his shoulder in search of Marley. If the dog was close, he’d remained hidden. Maybe he’d find a way to keep up. Probably not, though. He began to resign himself that he might never see Marley again.
Medrick climbed in last and eased into the front passenger seat. He pulled down the visor and caught Sean’s attention in the vanity mirror.
“I hope you guys are ready to head to your new home.”
Ten
The skies were black as night. The area between sea and cloud glowed an off shade of green. The waves rolled, some as high as thirty feet, tossing the sailboat about. It was past one in the afternoon. Turk had held on for more than four hours, fighting the storm, doing everything in his power to head into the waves and not be overtaken by them.
The other boat had stayed in heavy pursuit for an hour. Even with Turk’s vessel running full throttle, the other ship gained on them. He’d come close to starting to fire warning shots at them. Let them know he wouldn’t be taken over easily. Hell, if they knew who he was, and the things he’d done in his career, they would’ve backed off.
And then Turk wouldn’t have led the people he was entrusted to take care of into the middle of a hurricane. Alec had insisted it was a nor’easter, but it was only November. Still hurricane season. They could have debated it all afternoon, had it not been for the nasty conditions. If only the Weather Channel still existed to set them straight on the matter.
When the first wave over twenty feet swept over the deck, the other boat called off its chase. Maybe Turk should’ve stopped there. Perhaps he should have attempted to skirt the storm, heading inland.
They would’ve watched for that. And it wasn’t only Turk who thought so. Alec, Jerry, and Rhea agreed. And as of right now, they were his inner circle when it came to decisions.
So he pushed forward. And now regretted it.
He was tied off with a thirty-foot length of rope. Gave him enough slack to move about the deck should he need to. Also left plenty for him to be washed overboard. To combat that, he hooked on to the console with a shorter strap. Of course, that posed as many problems as being swept over. If the boat rolled, and he was knocked unconscious, there was no chance of survival.
Below deck, everyone had on life vests. The snorkel gear had been distributed. In the current conditions it’d be useless. But the storm wouldn’t last forever.
They’d gone through the eye wall, which meant they’d encountered the toughest part of the storm, northeast of the wall. From here it’d diminish. If only it were that easy.
Exiting out of the calm had been worse than going in. The pattern of the sea had changed. If Turk hadn’t adapted as quickly as he did, they would’ve rolled and every last one of them might’ve drowned.
Alec came up to check on him every ten to fifteen minutes. He tied off to the stairs leading down. He kept Turk informed on everyone’s condition down below. There were a few injuries attributed to the storm, but nothing major.
Now Turk stood alone. The rain pelted him from all directions, soaking him to his core. He welcomed a good rain these days. It cleansed him. Washed away the evil that surrounded the world. But this was too much. If he managed to lead the group out of the storm, he’d probably die of pneumonia. Temperatures on deck were in the fifties, at best. With the heavy winds, he was reminded of cold water training during BUD/s.
It didn’t take long to settle back into the rhythmic movement of the sea. Even in chaos, harmony existed. Nature was constantly trying to provide patterns. And this was no different. He continued to pilot the craft, picking the path possible at the given moment. A few times the best he could find led to close calls. The boat had been vertical pointing up, down, and ridden the port and starboard rails a couple of times.
But it stayed afloat.
The ship crested a tall wave. The crash down was going to hurt, Turk could tell. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something else. Another wave coming at him. He hadn’t expected it, and there was no way to avoid it.
Turk hunkered forward, gripped the wheel tight, and readied himself for submersion.
As lightning scratched across the sky through the dark swirling clouds, thunder crashed on the deck. Snapping, tearing, destroying. The mast snapped and hung like a severed spine, resting on the rail.
“Alec!” Turk yelled out. The wind took his words and whisked them toward the sea. He yelled out again.
The sail had been pointless in the storm. He focused on navigating, using minimal power from the engines. He’d used a lot of their available fuel getting away from the pirates.
The broken mast posed a different kind of threat. It might swing wildly and hit him or someone else. Or worse, it could somehow penetrate the hull and sink the boat.
He needed Alec, and he needed him on deck now. But he couldn’t risk leaving the controls to get the man. Turk shouted again, but his calls were lost to the wind.
The mast swung and slammed into the side of the platform Turk was standing on, and then whipped back the other direction. It wouldn’t be long b
efore it did serious damage to the vessel.
The decision ate at Turk. He could hold off the churning sea remaining where he stood, but it might not make a difference if the mast hit him and broke his neck. He rigged the wheel to remain in place. That would keep the ship heading into the waves at an angle so long as there weren’t any errant winds. He unclipped himself from the helm and hurried across the slippery deck to the stairs leading below.
“Alec,” he yelled out. “I need you up here.”
Turk didn’t stand idly by after that. He crossed to the broken mast and went to work securing it. If he could get it to remain steady, they had a chance.
The boat turned sharply to the right. Turk took his eyes off what he was doing and noticed the waves coming at him from the side. He cinched off the strap he was working with and dashed across the slippery deck toward the controls.
The boat rose twenty feet, riding the crest on a thin edge. He grabbed onto the rail. They’d either slide back down to the valley or roll and succumb to the force of the ocean. He was strapped in, but getting caught in those churning waters without someone to reel him back meant a certain death.
They descended into the next trough, only to start lifting a few seconds later. Turk hurried to the controls and found his makeshift autopilot cracked. He grabbed the wheel, and as they reached the crest once again, he managed to angle the rudder so they didn’t go down entirely sideways. The next wave lifted them, though not as high. Turk fought to right the ship. Before they reached the next trough, they were lifted again, this time head-on.
“Turk!”
He looked over and saw Alec poking his head out of the opening, looking between Turk and the broken mast. The guy didn’t linger there, or head up to ask for direction. He crossed the deck and went to work completing the job Turk had started.
A tall wave crashed over the boat from the side. The vessel didn’t roll, but a torrent of water slammed into Alec. Turk watched as the water slid off the side and the foam died down.
Alec was gone.
The strap he was attached to was drawn taut.
Without a second thought, Turk left the wheel again. He grabbed onto the strap and walked it to the side. There, he planted his feet against the rail and began yanking. It was tougher than bringing up a marlin. The boat angled sharp left, then right.
“What’s happening?” The shout almost slipped away in the wind.
Turk turned and saw Jerry standing there, hands planted firmly on the handrails.
“Alec went overboard,” Turk yelled. “Get to the wheel. You can tie off up there.”
Jerry nodded and climbed the treacherous staircase to the controls. Turk had no idea if the man knew what he was doing. He couldn’t worry about that.
Hand over hand, he pulled on the strap until his muscles begged for him to quit. And then he pulled harder.
Alec emerged from the insidious grip of the sea, his mouth wide open, locked in a silent scream. His hands waved until they landed on the yellow canvas strap. The only thing that kept him alive.
Seeing the man gave Turk a second wind. He pulled harder and faster, and before he knew it, Alec was up against the boat.
Jerry was keeping them steady as he could. They pitched up and down, high and low, but kept cutting through the oncoming waves instead of rolling sideways.
Turk wrapped Alec’s strap on a tie-out and leaned over, right arm extended. He bent forward and went as far as he could while leaving one foot on the ground.
Alec’s frigid fingers grazed his.
More!
Turk fell back. He took his strap and tied it off too, leaving a little slack. Then he leaned over the rail again, this time letting momentum carry him forward. His feet left the deck. The extra foot was all it took. His hand met Alec’s and formed an unbreakable bond. With every last ounce of strength he had left, Turk pulled the man from the mouth of the ocean. Alec swung his free hand and latched onto the railing. Somehow the guy managed to get his head even with the top. His eyes widened as he looked past Turk.
“Watch out,” he said.
Turk glanced to the side in time to see the mast had broken free and swung right toward his head. In that split second, he thought about ducking, but the command never reached the correct muscles.
The last thing that went through his mind was how salty the foam tasted as it washed over his face.
Eleven
Addison froze with her hand on the horse’s head, smoothing back a tuft of wild brown mane. The deep and slow low-country drawl of the man made him sound relaxed, certainly more so than he could be at that moment. She might be wrong, though, and that thought created a knot so tight in her stomach she thought she might throw up on the poor animal’s face.
“Hands up, sweet thing,” the guy said. “Don’t want to have to kill you or your girl.”
Could he see the outline of the Glock under her shirt? She lifted her hand off the horse’s head first. As she raised the other, she shifted her hips so that her right side slid out of view.
“That’s right,” he said. “Just like that. Now take three big steps back. Yeah, one, two, three,” he counted as she complied. “Down to your knees.”
Addison refused the last command. No chance would she place herself in such a vulnerable position. He’d moved around while speaking, and she had no idea where he stood now. He could be hidden for all she knew.
“Addy,” Emma whispered. “Just get down.” The girl had already taken her cue and did as the man instructed. Now she looked up at Addison with large, wet eyes.
The entire day had been one step forward followed by multiple small steps back. Small? Hardly. These setbacks had the potential to be huge. She’d never reach her grandparents’ farm at this rate.
“Listen, I know you’re probably out here trying to survive like most everyone else who’s still standing. But you came upon my property, and I’m not taking kindly to that.” His shoes thudded against the hard ground as he approached from behind. “This can go one of two ways, and it’s entirely up to you. I don’t want to hurt you, but I will.”
Addison stared at Emma’s pale face and the tears that streaked down her cheeks. She had to survive this situation. Who cared if her pride took a blow? She couldn’t leave Emma alone with the guy.
“All right,” she said. “Don’t come any closer.”
She turned slowly to face the guy, leading with her left leg.
“What’re you doing?”
As she brought her face around, her gaze found a rifle muzzle four feet away. She followed the black barrel to a pair of bright blue eyes that were brought out by a dark brown beard. His forehead was smooth. So was the area around his eyes. He couldn’t be much older than her.
He seemed taken aback by Addy, too. “You two sisters?”
“Something like that,” she said, arms still raised.
“Thought you were her mother.”
“Happens all the time.” Addy forced a snort and a smile.
The rifle had slipped a notch. He straightened it out, steeled his face. “What’re you two doing out here? Been following my trail?”
“Passing through is all. Didn’t mean you no harm. Saw your horse in trouble. Just wanted to save her.”
“And take her, right?”
Addison drew in a tight breath. She nodded, said, “That was our plan. Can cover more ground that way.”
“Where is it you’re trying to get to?”
“Does it really matter?” She lowered her arms. He didn’t object. Her wrist brushed against the Glock. She’d practiced pulling it from the holster and knew she could get a shot off within a second of lifting her shirt. “Take your horse and move on. We’ll do the same. Chances are we never cross paths again, so none of this matters. Okay?”
He stood there for several long seconds, tight, rifle aimed at her face.
Addison remained stoic in the face of possible death. Had she reached a point where nothing would faze her? Or was there something about the
young man? She knew he didn’t want to hurt her, and wouldn’t.
He took his finger off the trigger and lowered the rifle. “Maybe I can help you get where you’re going.”
“You don’t need to do that.”
“It’s all right.” The rifle muzzle touched the ground. “Just don’t make me regret it.”
He walked past Addy toward his horse, casting a glance toward the far off wails of afflicted. He slid the rifle into a loop on the saddle. Then he turned back toward Emma and Addison.
“Funny thing about those—”
“Shouldn’t have turned your back on a stranger,” Addison said. “Haven’t you figured that out yet?”
His stare fixed on the Glock 17 in her hand.
“Now, I want you to take three big steps away from the horse, then get down on the ground. Not on your knees, though. I want you on your belly, lips kissing the dirt.”
“Where the hell were you hiding that?”
“Shut up and do what I said.”
“You’re not gonna do a goddamn thing.”
“You really wanna test me?”
He didn’t budge, but didn’t reply either.
Addy squeezed off a round that sliced through the air above his head and slammed into the tree the horse was tied to. The animal reared up on its hind legs. If they’d managed to untie it, it would have taken off there.
“You crazy bitch!” The guy lifted his hands high and backed away from the horse. “You know what that’s gonna do? They’re all gonna find their way here.”
“Then you better get your ass on the ground so we can get out of here.” She nudged Emma. “Go, get her untied.”
Emma hurried to the horse. “Whoa, girl, whoa.” She gained control of the lead and settled her down. After that she went to work on the knot.
The guy dropped to his knees in a pile of leaves. He looked around the woods.
“On your stomach,” Addison said.
“I’m gonna die out here.”