Dead End

by Jeramy Gates

  “Dispatch, this is One Lincoln Twelve,” one of the cops said into his radio. “We need all units to be on the lookout for a vintage Harley Davidson with blue flames. The rider is approximately six feet tall, with blond hair and an eye patch.”

  “Repeat Lincoln Twelve,” said dispatch. “Did you say an eye patch?”

  “That’s affirmative.” Laughter bubbled out of the police radio and echoed in the dark parking lot.

  Chapter 23

  Valkyrie stood at the edge of the plateau with her back to the precipice. The orange flicker of flames painted the fog at the base of the stairs behind her as the fire consumed what was left of the boats. The wind snapped at her blazer and whipped her long hair. Lightning cracked across the sky, lighting the heavens with an eerie blue glow. A few moments later came the deep rumble of thunder. The noise swelled, rolling over the sea until it was snuffed out by the howling wind and the dull, persistent sound of waves crashing against the cliffs.

  The aspirin was beginning to work now, Valkyrie thought. The knots in her back had loosened enough that she could walk without wincing. The climb may have done her some good. Exercise could do that, if she didn’t overdo it. Working the muscles helped to keep her back straight, and when it was time, helped them to relax instead of twisting into knots.

  Valkyrie drew her gaze across the plateau, scanning the dark and barren landscape. The island was small, not even half a mile in total length and only thirty or forty feet above sea level. Near the center, Val saw the shadowy outline of an old stone building. She frowned, wondering at the place. It must be a historical site, she thought. Maybe it was the ancient home of some hermit fisherman from centuries past. She wondered if this rock out in the middle of nowhere was public or private property. If the former, park rangers or Coast Guard boats might frequent the area.

  As she stood there, a light came on inside the building. Her eyebrows shot up, and she found her hand inching toward the handle of her pistol. The timing could have been coincidental… but what if it wasn’t? Did the Collector know she was there? Had Lester seen her following him through the fog earlier? She moved closer, shifting her weight to her cane. The dull throbbing faded into the background, and her senses became alert to everything. She felt the mist on her skin, smelled the ocean and the sage and the moss. She caught a whiff of something pungent, like burning oil.

  Valkyrie approached the window near the corner of the structure and peered inside. A dull haze covered the ancient hand-made glass, warping her perspective of the things inside. She saw the distorted figure of a man sitting at a table beside a lantern. He sat motionless, with his head lowered into his hands.

  Val gripped the handle of her Glock. She didn’t even remember drawing it, but there it was.

  What now? she thought. She had found the Collector at last, had followed him to this cold and isolated place with no thought other than that. Now that she had him, what was she going to do? Was she ready to kill him? It might come to that. She doubted he’d allow himself to be taken without a fight. Equally certain was that he would kill her if he had the chance. And what other option was there, now that escape was impossible?

  This is it. One of us is about to die.

  There was no point in making him wait any longer. It was time to get her answers. Val stepped away from the window and circled to the front door. It opened with a gentle, smooth motion until it reached the halfway point. Then the bottom of the door scraped along the floorboards with a horrible grinding noise, and the hinges let out a screech.

  The Collector leapt to his feet, reaching for something on the table. It was a gun. Val raised her pistol and squeezed off a shot. He simultaneously shot at her. She felt the whoosh! of his bullet as it exploded in the door next to her. Val ducked to the side. She squeezed the trigger again, and the killer jerked as the bullet struck him. He bolted into the next room.

  Valkyrie dropped her cane. She sprinted around the table, dodging boxes and camp supplies that lay scattered across the floor. She heard breaking glass, and knew he was making his escape. She entered the dark room with both hands on her firearm. The cold wind blew in through the broken window, and she blinked against the mist. Scanning the darkness outside, it was impossible to tell earth from sky, much less the shape of a human.

  She heard a noise behind her. Before she could turn, something heavy and hard hit her across the back of her head. Val fell forward, hands flying out to catch herself as she landed on the hard-packed dirt floor. Dust filled her nostrils. Stars swam through her vision. She tried to blink them away as she rolled over, still clutching the Glock in her right hand.

  A shadow lurked over her. She tried to bring the gun up to fire, but a fist came out of the darkness, delivering a solid blow to her left temple. Her eyelids fluttered. She fought unconsciousness, trying to push herself upright. Another blow came out of nowhere, striking her hard on the face. Cold, smothering darkness enveloped her.

  Chapter 24

  Matt was sitting at the computer when Carver stepped out of the elevator. The younger man rose to greet him. The veteran looked frazzled, his hair a tangled mess and his eye watery from the ride. He carried an old canvas backpack slung over his shoulder.

  “Are you all right?” Matt said.

  Carver ignored the question. “Where’s Valkyrie?”

  Matt looked sick. “I don’t know… I’ve been hoping you might have heard from her.”

  “Not a word. What happened to her phone?”

  “I lost the signal. I think she went too far offshore.”

  “Shouldn’t it reconnect when she gets back within range?”

  Matt shrugged his narrow shoulders. “I don’t know… it depends.”

  Carver frowned. “Depends on what?”

  “On whether her phone is dead, or if there’s a cell tower anywhere near where she landed… or if she even made it back.” The last part was hard for him to say. For Carver, it was just as hard to hear. There were oh so many things that could go wrong on the ocean at night. Rocks hidden under the swells, sleeper waves, engine failure. A boat was a system of mechanical parts like any other vehicle. Only, unlike other vehicles, a failure of any one of those parts on a boat could quickly become a life and death situation. Even without some critical failure, a boat drifting on the current might be lost at sea for years.

  Carver ran a hand through his thick blond locks as he paced before the hacker. “What about security cameras? They might have recorded which way she went.”

  “I haven’t found any. We’re talking about the harbor hotel, not a bank downtown.”

  “Satellites?”

  “There aren’t any imaging satellites in range. Won’t be for at least another hour. Even then, it won’t show what happened hours ago.”

  Carver kicked a chair and it went flying across the room.

  “I’m sorry,” Matt said. “I don’t know what to do.”

  Carver locked gazes with him. “I have to go down there. She stole a boat, right? Someone must have seen it.”

  “You can’t! The cops will be all over the place.”

  “I’ve got to. She might need me. While I’m gone, you hack into one of those satellites and start looking for live images. Check the coastline. I’ll get a description of the boat.”

  “I already have it,” Matt said. “I heard it on the police scanner. It’s a wooden racing boat.”

  A smile came to Carver’s lips. Matt was baffled. “What are you grinning about?”

  “Val,” the vet gave a shake of his head. “You’ve gotta admit, the woman’s got taste.”

  Matt rolled his eyes. Carver gave him a strange look. “What?” Matt said.

  “I need something from you.”

  “Okay… Should I be worried?”

  Carver opened the backpack, revealing the several pounds of rescued plastic explosives. “I need a radio trigger.”

  Matt made a gulping noise.

  “Hurry,” Carver said.

  Matt started to argue
, but Carver silenced him with a one-eyed glare that nearly froze his blood. The hacker went to work.

  Fifteen minutes later, Carver headed for the door. Matt caught him on the way out and handed him a new cell phone.

  “Good idea,” Carver said. “Mine’s dead.”

  “This is a Satellite phone,” Matt said. “You can use this anywhere, even if there’s no cell tower. And I’ll be able to track you, just in case.”

  Carver hesitated. He wasn’t used to voluntarily giving someone the ability to track his movements. “Is something wrong?” Matt said.

  Carver shook his head. “Nothing. Call me if you find her.”

  “You do the same.”

  Carver drove his stolen Harley to a marina at the north end of the harbor, about a mile from where Val had stolen her boat. The sun was just rising as he pulled into the parking lot, but the only notable difference was a subtle change in the brightness of the gray sky. The concrete was damp from a light drizzle that had recently passed. The air smelled fresh, and for the moment, the city was quiet. The fishing boats had already gone, and most wouldn’t be back until ten o’clock or later.

  He looked the remaining vessels over as he approached the dock, thinking it would be nice to “borrow” one of those big fishing boats. They were sturdy -designed to take on all kinds of sea weather- and loaded down with electronics. Unfortunately, a boat like that would be missed almost immediately. One that wouldn’t be missed was probably one he wouldn’t want to steal.

  There was also the matter of fuel. It wasn’t like he could just pull into another marina and refuel a stolen vessel. And since Valkyrie could be anywhere up or down the coast, he’d need plenty of gas. He needed something fast, reliable, and capable of going out and staying out for a long period of time. He knew what the answer was, though he didn’t much care for the sound of it: he needed a sailboat.

  Carver knew from experience that managing a sailboat without a crew was no easy chore. If the seas got rough, he might find himself in real trouble. Never mind the fact that he hadn’t stepped foot on a boat since he was sixteen. Did he even remember how to sail?

  He strolled along the walkway, scanning the pier. Carver didn’t have many choices. There were a few small boats suitable for sailing around the harbor, but they weren’t safe for the open sea. The first large wave would toss them in the air and shatter them like matchsticks. He saw a larger vessel -a fifty-footer- that would have been nice, but it was simply too much for one man to manage.

  Near the end of the pier, Carver located a little twenty-five-footer. It fit the bill perfectly. It was small enough for one person to handle, but sizeable enough to manage ocean swells and even a little rough weather -just so long as it didn’t get too rough.

  Carver made quick work of the theft. After verifying that the boat was unoccupied, he fired up the small inboard engine, untied her moorings, and backed away from the pier. The vessel’s speed under power was minimal, a few knots at best. The moment he was clear of the other vessels, he went straight to work hoisting the mainsail. It was a lot more work than he remembered. He struggled to hold the boom in place, removing the securing straps as he worked the winch with one hand. A light breeze kept him on his toes, making the sail teeter back and forth between the gunwales, and occasionally threatening to knock him overboard. Carver became aware that he was wandering from side to side through the harbor like a drunk.

  Finally, the sail was up. He stood at the wheel, admiring his handiwork. There was a jib, too, he realized, but Carver was in no mood to fight a second sail. He caught the wind and headed out to sea.

  After clearing the harbor, Carver headed north. He wasn’t sure exactly why he went north, other than a gut feeling. Somehow, it seemed like going south would have been more difficult for Valkyrie. Of course, there was no telling what the shoreline had looked like at night, or what Valkyrie may have been thinking as she sped away from the hotel with half the Boston PD on her tail. All Carver had to go on at this point was instinct.

  He kept a sharp eye on the shoreline. He was looking for a wooden speed boat, as Matt had described. He was hoping that Valkyrie had beached somewhere close by and made her way back into the city on foot. At least then, he would know she was safe. Val knew how to take care of herself. It was the unpredictability of the sea that had him worried.

  The breeze was stiff enough to move the boat along at a good clip, but not strong enough to give Carver any real trouble. An hour after leaving the marina, he felt he had a decent handle on things. His memories of sailing with his teenage friends in the local lake had come back to him, and for the most part, he’d realized it was actually easier in the larger vessel. Unfortunately, he hadn’t seen any boats matching Matt’s description anywhere.

  Carver continued up the coastline, scanning the shore while at the same time keeping an eye on the sharp line across the blue horizon. It was possible that Valkyrie was out there somewhere, drifting, helpless. He thought about calling Matt to ask which way the current was moving, but before he had a chance, something caught his eye.

  “What the devil?” he muttered.

  On the horizon, Carver saw a column of black smoke rising up to meet the clouds. It curved, twisted by the breeze into a misshapen funnel that scattered and went transparent at the top, blending in with the ever-stretching expanse of deep blue sky. It was barely visible at that distance, little more than a wisp that might vanish in the blink of an eye.

  Carver stared, his good eye watering as the salty breeze tugged at his hair. He doubted himself. But no, it was there. It was definitely real. The question was, what was it?

  Chapter 25

  Pain seeped into the edges of Valkyrie’s consciousness. A dull rushing sound filled her ears, and a moan escaped her lips. The sensation came in waves, sharp and biting, now ebbing and throbbing, decaying away to a center that she couldn’t quite pinpoint, but which seemed like a ball of lightning inside her head, elusive and agonizing all at once. With that pain, came an unwelcome return to consciousness.

  Her eyelids fluttered open. Daylight splashed across the floor in front of her in an elongated slash. Motes of dust drifted through the light, bursting like sparks and then fading into the obscure dead black background. The light hurt her eyes, felt like it was burning into her retinas. There came another surge, a jolt that shook her limbs and seared her nerves. A great weight seemed to rest on top of her, making it difficult to breathe. Her lungs expanded, tingles of energy shooting up and down her spine. Dark spots floated through her vision.

  “Good morning,” said a man’s voice. It was calm, breathy -almost a whisper- but the sound echoed between the stone walls of the ancient structure. Her fingers twitched, and Val noticed a warm tingling sensation that ran through her arms. She managed to lift her head. Her wrists had been bound above her, suspending her from a beam in the ceiling. Her legs hung limp, just barely dragging on the wooden floorboards. Throbbing pain worked up and down her spine.

  The man stepped forward, giving her the first good look at him that she’d had in six years. He was in his fifties. Dark hair -thinning at the temples- almost certainly dyed. He had a slim build, a narrow face with a somewhat crooked nose… a slight overbite. He stood at five-ten. He wore khaki slacks and a navy-blue polo shirt that looked like they’d been slept in. The dark circles under his bloodshot steel blue eyes made her doubt whether he had truly slept in a long time.

  He had the look of a madman or a prophet, as if he could see and hear things that no one else did. It gave her a terrifying flash of understanding into what sort of creature the Collector was. It was a glimpse into Lester Hurt’s mind -the eyes told everything- and she could see that he was completely insane.

  Valkyrie knew all too well the horrible things he was capable of doing-things he had already done- but to gaze into that frenzied stare and glean in an instant what it was that made him so different was breathtaking. He had the eyes of a rabid animal. There was something wrong inside of him, something that s
hould not be.

  Other than his eyes, there was no feature about the man that stood out in any remarkable way. He wasn’t ugly, not in so many words, but also wasn’t attractive. He wasn’t tall or short, and if anything, he was a bit on the thin side. He wasn’t anything special. He just was. Valkyrie could imagine him disappearing into any crowd, just about anywhere in the world.

  “Don’t you recognize me?” he said, stepping closer. He pushed his face up to hers and his features went blurry. He smelled like sweat and burnt plastic. Val tried to say something, but the words caught in her throat. Her mouth was dry, her tongue swollen. She coughed.

  Her captor disappeared into the shadows. He returned with a bottle of water. Lester opened it, twisting the plastic seal with a cracking sound, and dumped some down her throat. Somewhere in the back of her mind, a voice screamed that it was poison, that she should spit it back out. But the natural instincts of the flesh had taken over, and she was already gulping down the cool, refreshing liquid. She’d heard the seal break, she told herself. It must be safe.

  The killer pulled away, and the world around her came into focus. Valkyrie stretched her legs and found the floor underneath her feet. She straightened, pushing up, taking some of the weight off her wrists and spine. A moan escaped her lips. She flexed her fingers, feeling the tingles as blood began to flow. The painful back spasms died down a little. Enough to let her think, but not much more.

  The Collector had given her just enough rope to stand, but not an inch more. She couldn’t move one step without hanging by her wrists. Valkyrie became aware of the dark stain under the man’s right arm. It looked like he’d been bleeding, and a sense of dull satisfaction washed over her. She locked gazes with him, a grim smile twisting her features. “I shot you,” she said in a low voice.