by Ray Wench
“Then I'll go myself.”
Lynn bit her lip. “I know you can. I can't and won't stop you if that's what you decide to do. But I'm asking you to wait till just before dawn so you don't lead yourself, and others, into an ambush. I hope you can see the sense in that. That will also allow us to gather some people to go with you.”
Becca's face crumpled in on itself. She lowered her head to the table to hide the tears. Just as abruptly, her head shot up. “What I know is, if he dies, it will be on you.” She got up from the table and walked quickly away.
Bobby let her go without comment. “I'm sorry for that, Lynn. You know how she gets under stress. She really doesn't mean half of what she says.”
“I know, Bobby. I've been there before with her. We'll get past it. Do you understand my position?”
“Yes. But I also know my sister. As much as she agrees with you deep inside, she will be unable to wait for long. Even if it's just the two of us, we'll be leaving soon. I won't ask anyone else to come with us, but I hope you will send a team after us in the morning.”
“You know I will. And Bobby, just because I won't send people with you, doesn't mean you can't ask for volunteers to go with you.”
He nodded. “True.”
“At any rate, take some time to think and to get prepared, whether or not you leave in the morning or in an hour.”
“Of course.”
They let a few moments pass before Bobby spoke again. “There's something else you should know.” In the firelight, Bobby saw her eyebrow go up in silent question. “We found a gas tanker that I think might be full of fuel.”
“Where?”
“Not too far down the road from the marina. It's in a secluded area near a factory and at the end of a small neighborhood. It looks like the driver was ready to empty his load into the underground tank, but got sidetracked. Who knows how long it's been there or for how much longer. Getting that tanker here would be a huge boost to our dwindling gas reserves.”
“Yes, it would go a long way. Go find your sister and get ready to leave. I'll call a meeting of those here now to ask for volunteers. Ah, your father is the priority though, of course. Regardless, I'll send a second team out before dawn.”
He nodded and left to find his sister.
Lynn sat for a moment, thinking about how cold she must have sounded to Bobby. She’d balked at rescuing his father, the man she supposedly loved but was willing to call a meeting over the possibility of scoring a tanker full of gas. No wonder Becca questioned her feelings for Mark. She must see her as a heartless bitch. Maybe she was.
“Becca,” Bobby called. “Where are you?” He stood at the edge of the corn field spinning in a three-sixty. “Don't make me search for you, you twit. Get your butt out here so we can make plans to get dad. We're wasting time and your little temper tantrum isn't helping.”
The rustling of stalks made him turn fast and reach for his gun. He relaxed when Becca stepped out.
“Who you calling twit, dweeb?”
“Dweeb? Aren't we all nineties? At least you didn't call me a dork.”
“That too, and nerd and dingledorf on top.”
He chuckled. “You're such a bitch sometimes.”
“So?” she challenged.
“Don't take your worry about dad out in anger against Lynn. She wants us to go find Dad, she's just concerned about the danger in the dark. She doesn't feel right about ordering others to risk their lives against the unseen and unknown.”
“I know it's not her fault. She just pisses me off sometimes. I mean she tossed Daddy away like a used, ah, I mean, she just left him. How much can she really care about him?”
“If they're having problems, that's between them, but I don't think you can question that she still cares about him. Come on. She's calling a meeting to ask for volunteers and we have to get ready.”
“She is?”
“Of course.” He didn't tell her it was only after he mentioned the tanker.
“In that case, I take back what I said about her and half of what I thought.”
He smiled. “You're just an emotional and slightly—”
“Hey, don't you say crazy bitch.”
“I was gonna say tense, but if the other word fits ...”
She punched him in the shoulder. “Tense I can take, but don't ever call me crazy.”
No, he thought, disturbed maybe, but not crazy. At least not to her face.
“You know, little brother, you sounded an awful lot like Daddy back there, when you were reprimanding me for my outburst.”
“Yeah? Is that a good thing or bad?”
“I'll let you know. Just don't make a habit of it.”
Twenty
Mark waited for more than an hour before the platform lowered again. The man who’d taken Shavonne was the lone figure. A box or crate sat next to him. What had become of Shavonne? Mark knew they wouldn't have killed her, but there were other things as bad.
He thought about the siege they had laid to a compound of men a few weeks back who had abducted some of the women from his commune. They auctioned them off to the highest bidder like so much chattel. Would the same fate await Shavonne?
The scaffold stopped next to the speedboat and the man stepped off. He reached back and dragged the box on board, then the platform was hoisted back up. Mark speculated that his trade had been approved; the contents of the box his payment. He felt like Judas. How much had her body been worth to the men?
The boat pulled away and veered toward him. In minutes he'd know what kind of payment to expect, food or bullets. He fingered the gun in his belt and decided to put it where he could pull it faster, placing it next to the wheel.
The patrol boat slid next to his and the crewman grabbed the side again. “Here's your food. Your trade was approved with the captain's thanks.” He held out a cardboard box.
Mark hesitated. If they were going to kill him, what better time than when his arms were full with no way to defend himself?
He glanced at the gun but left it. As much as he wanted the security it offered, the sight of it in his hands would lead to bloodshed for sure. Most of which would be his.
He stepped to the port side, reached out and accepted his reward for exchanging a human life. He tried not to look at the contents, instead keeping his eyes on the man. He knew he should say something, but came up blank. Before the other boat shoved off, he found his voice. “What will happen to her?”
“That's not your concern anymore.” The man paused. “Don't worry. We don't abuse women here. She'll be indoctrinated into our society and given a chance to be part of us. She'll be fine.”
“What about my request to join the group?”
The man eyed him and said, “That's still under discussion. I wouldn't hold my breath, but if you want to wait for an answer, pull back away from the ship and someone will send word.”
“When do you think?”
“How the hell should I know?” The crewman pushed away. “Probably in the morning. Stay back from the ship and away from the patrol boats. My advice, if you don't hear by morning, don't stick around.” The engine revved and swung in a wide arc back to its position near the freighter.
Mark set the box down and examined the contents. Shavonne's life had been worth two dozen assorted cans of food and a pack of taco shells. He took the wheel, shifted into gear and moved away from the larger vessel. He stopped and dropped anchor about a hundred yards away.
He stared for a long time at the deck of the freighter, not sure what he was looking for. He looked down at the box. It'd been a long time since he'd eaten. As long as he was waiting, he might as well take the opportunity. He pulled out a can of chili beans and a can of corn. Below deck, he rummaged through the drawers and found a spoon and a can opener. Taking food to the rear bench he sat down and made a meal, putting some of the beans and corn in a taco shell.
As he ate, he studied the ship for ways to get on board without raising the alarm. Without seeing the othe
r side, his options were limited: the cargo net or the anchor chain. Both would be in view of the many escort vessels alongside. Scaling the ship would be suicide and although he would exchange himself for Shavonne and the girl, giving up his life trying to get aboard would accomplish nothing.
No, he would have to find another way. He made another taco and worked on a plan. Not much of one, but a plan none the less.
The meeting concluded, Becca, Bobby, Lincoln and one of their newest members, Drew Morris, piled into the SUV. Their gear already loaded, Bobby shifted into reverse as Lynn came to the passenger window. Becca hesitated but lowered it.
“Be careful. I'll have a large group following before dawn,” Lynn said.
Bobby nodded. Becca looked down, avoiding her eyes.
“You've got your radios, right?”
“Yep, we're all set.”
“I know they won't work this far away, but we'll need to contact you when we get there.”
He nodded again, anxious to get on the road. He noticed Becca's leg bouncing with nervous energy as well. It was best to get trolling before she said something to exacerbate the already strained situation.
Lynn said, “Okay then.” She paused and placed a hand on Becca's arm. “I know it may not seem like it, but I do care for your father. Bring him home safe.”
It was the first time Becca looked at Lynn. Whatever she saw there softened her attitude. “We will.”
Lynn backed away from the vehicle and Bobby drove away. No one spoke for several long moments till Becca said, “Damn! I can really be a bitch sometimes.”
“Sometimes!” Bobby said.
“Hey, it's better than being a dick.”
“You're only saying that ’cause you don't have one.”
From the back seat, Lincoln said, “I don't know about that, but she's got balls big enough to throw touchdowns.”
Silence. Everyone howled with laughter.
“Damn, Linc!” Bobby said.
“That's right, baby brother. I've got bigger balls than you do.”
“Yeah, well try not to fumble them.”
They reached the turnpike and accelerated. The dire situation called for more speed than Bobby was comfortable with. They had to drive with the headlights on, but as fast as they were going, he'd have little warning if something suddenly appeared in front of them. Not to mention that the headlights might draw unwanted attention.
A while later, Becca said, “Bobby, do you think he's all right?”
Bobby was thinking about that very thing, only in more of a prayer. “He'll be okay.” He has to be. “Besides, he's too ornery to get,” he hesitated, “get taken by a bunch of pirate wannabes.”
“Yeah, that's what I was thinking too.” But she clearly hadn't been thinking that. The worry was etched on her face.
Lincoln said, “Don't you be fretting about your dad. He's a lot smarter and tougher than anyone I know. Besides, he's probably holed up somewhere with his feet up and a beer he discovered someplace, in his hand.”
“Bullshit!” said Bobby.
“Double bullshit from me,” Becca said. “He's probably neck deep in trouble about now.”
“Yeah, well, I can always hope,” Lincoln said.
Bobby laughed. “I know what you're hoping for. That he's got an extra beer set aside for you.”
“And your point?”
“My point is, as long as you're creating dreams you might as well hope for a keg.”
“A keg,” Lincoln mulled that over. “Bobby, I like the way you think.”
“Like father like son,” said Becca.
“And your point?”
“Hmm! Yeah, I guess that's a good thing.”
Lincoln chuckled.
“What's so funny?” Becca asked.
“I was just thinking. I shoulda known your daddy would get me to go fishing, one way or another.”
Twenty-One
Mark finished his meal and took out the binoculars. Though dark, the ship's lights illuminated the deck enough for him to see anyone moving. So far he'd counted eleven different men and three women. The bridge was behind tinted glass which blocked sight of anyone there. He scanned from bow to stern checking for anyone watching him, but if they were there, they were well hidden, unless they were on the bridge.
He didn't want to leave his post in case something happened. If it did, he would have to move fast, but he also knew, working by himself, he'd need equipment, so he took a few moments to do a quick search of the boat.
Setting his findings on the deck at his feet, Mark did another quick scan of the freighter's deck and set about organizing his catch. He had two lifesavers, both of which he tied to long yellow ropes. The flare gun and three extra flares he placed on the bench next to him. The fillet knife he stuck point first into the wood where he'd be able to find it if needed. He'd also discovered the location of the first aid kit. Nothing else was of use, but he had more than he started with.
An image of what Shavonne might be enduring flashed through his mind, but he quickly pushed it aside. Those thoughts would serve no purpose. Instead, he looked at the night sky to fix the time. A slim moon hung in the air to the south, almost even with his position. He estimated it was nearly midnight. Morning was a long way off and he doubted he would sleep. Shavonne and Kendra's lives depended on him remaining vigilant.
He thought about his kids. Had they made it safely back home? Will I ever see home again? His children? Lynn? He shook off the thoughts. He had too much to do to allow other things to distract him. But he couldn't shake one idea. Knowing Becca and Bobby, they'd be on their way back to rescue him by now. Lynn would be unable to stop them, even if she tried. He hoped there would be something left of him to rescue.
His name sounded over the water from a distance; he snapped his head up and stood. “Mark!” Again someone called his name. He snatched up the glasses and almost immediately they lined up with Shavonne running on the deck, a young girl held tight to her chest. Several men gave pursuit.
He spun around and hustled to the wheel. The motor roared to life and he shifted into gear, accelerated; the bow threatened to lift from the water. He tried to keep the glasses pressed to his face, but as the craft gained speed, the bouncing made it difficult.
Shavonne ran toward the guard rail along the top deck of the freighter. She reached the end, called for him again, and searched the dark waters for the boat. He steered a path to get underneath her. From where she stood there was no way down unless she jumped. What was her plan? “Oh, dear God!” he said, seeing her climb over the rail. Light swamped the deck as large spotlights on the forecastle ignited and captured Shavonne in their halo.
Mark felt his pulse quicken as an injection of fear-laced adrenaline flooded his veins. Aware of other engines starting around him, he was unable to pull his eyes from Shavonne. At this pace, the men would reach her long before he arrived. How would she find him in the dark, amidst all these other small craft?
He thought of the flare gun, but he’d left it on the bench across the deck. He gauged the distance, checked the path in front of him, let go of the wheel, and lunged for the flare gun. The wheel turned a few degrees as the boat dropped over a wave. He adjusted the course and back in control and on target, he lifted the gun and fired. A bolt of red flew skyward, bursting into a fiery ball. Shavonne seemed to focus on his boat then.
The men were only steps away. She held Kendra, the name came to him, out away from her and he knew what she was going to do. She pulled the girl back for a quick hug and kiss and released her just as the men arrived. The child plummeted toward the water.
Above, Shavonne struggled with the men, trying to make her own dive. Mark pulled his gun and tried to draw a bead on one of the men, but at this speed over the choppy water, he could just as well hit Shavonne. She broke free for a moment and jumped, but multiple hands reached for and snagged her before she could drop beyond their grasp. They hauled her back, kicking and screaming frantically.
M
ark looked to where Kendra hit the water, then judged how much time he had before others got to her first. One boat was closer. With a last look at Shavonne, Mark turned toward Kendra, praying he reached her before the other boat and before she drowned.
He closed the gap in a hurry, but the other boat had already slowed to begin its search. A quick glance around showed he had perhaps a minute to eliminate the competition and get Kendra on board before being surrounded. He advanced on the other vessel, swung the wheel and threw up a gout of water and soaked the enemy crew.
He shifted into neutral and snagged a life preserver on his way to the side. A scream helped him pinpoint the panicked girl. The other boat had to come about to reach her. He flung the life preserver. It arched high in the air and fell a foot from Kendra. Struggling to stay afloat, the girl failed to see the flotation ring. He slowed so as not to swamp her. The competing boat pulled up on the opposite side. They were nearer. One of the men had a pole and extended it toward her. The tip touched her and she screamed.
She spun in the water and found the pole. She grabbed hold and the man pulled her toward the boat. Mark aimed to broadside the boat, climbed on the bow and ran forward, working hard to keep his balance. Just before impact, he took two running steps and leaped. The boats collided just before he made contact with the man with the pole. The boats rose up bringing the deck closer. His opponent went flying backward and over the side. Mark landed in a heap on the deck. His boat veered off toward the freighter, while the one he was on now, bounced deeply, sending water rushing over the sides, the deck slick as he got to his feet. He spied the pole, now hanging on the sidewall, straight up.
As Mark reached for the pole before it slipped beneath the waves, he pulled the gun from his belt. The speed boat's pilot moved to intercept him, but Mark reached the pole first. Wrapping one hand around it, he spun fast and whipped the gun across the other man's face. He staggered and crumpled to the deck.