by Ray Wench
He said a silent prayer, set the rifle down against the tree, and slid out his handgun. Things were about to get close and the rifle would be too slow. Plus, if Darlene got an advantage he'd fire, if only to distract her. His eyes were drawn to the fight.
Becca feigned a lunge. Darlene jumped back and countered with a slash at Becca's wrist. A quick flurry of stabs and slashes from both women had each breathing hard and looking more wary of the other.
Mark brought his eyes back to the trees in time to see another flash of red material dart through the trees. He triggered a round into the tree the figure hid behind. That should give whoever it was pause before trying to get closer. He turned back to the two women.
Darlene feinted left, then did a quick backhand cut. A metallic clang rang out as Becca parried the strike with her blade. Stepping forward, she lashed out with a front kick, catching Darlene in the pelvis. She spun back, but Becca continued the assault. As Darlene tried to stab forward, Becca managed to grab her wrist. Becca stepped inside her defense and stabbed, but just before the knife penetrated the girl’s face, she turned her hand and struck the woman with her fist and knife handle.
Darlene cried out and tried to snap her hand free, but Becca held tight and followed the punch with another kick, which landed between her legs. Darlene’s body lifted from the ground. Her feet touched down again and her legs folded under her. Becca dropped a knee into her chest, exploding whatever air was left from Darlene's lungs. She pinned Darlene’s knife hand to the ground and put her own blade to her throat.
She snarled as if preparing for the kill. From a distance, a tortured voice screamed, “No!”
Mark looked to see Elijah sprinting through the trees. “Please, don't hurt her!” He tossed his own weapon away and ran on, unconcerned about the danger he faced from Mark's gun.
“Becca!” Mark yelled.
His daughter forced her eyes up to meet his as if waging an internal battle. He shook his head violently. “Don't.”
Elijah broke into the small clearing and stopped, his hands up, in surrender. “Oh, please, please, please, don't kill her.”
Becca glared at the man as if incensed by his intrusion. Breath puffed from her nose like a bull ready to charge. Elijah looked from Becca to Mark, tears filled his eyes. “She's my daughter.”
Mark shifted his gaze back to trees. His radio sparked. He thumbed the button. Tara's voice came over the airwaves. “Go, we've got you covered.”
Trusting her words, he lowered the gun and went to his daughter. Becca snarled and leaned forward as if preparing to puncture through the soft flesh of Darlene's throat. “Becca, let her up.”
Becca's eyes darted from Mark to Elijah, finally lighting on Darlene. Her opponent had gone white, her eyes wide with fear. “Tell her to let go of the knife,” Becca said.
Elijah took a tentative step forward and softened his voice. “Darlene?” His daughter looked at him. “Drop the knife, honey.” A sob escaped her lips, racking her body sufficiently to cause the blade to nick her. She winced.
Mark stepped forward too. “Becca.”
“Daddy, she has to let go of the knife.”
It was obvious to Mark, Darlene was struggling with that as if preferring death to admitting defeat. Elijah dropped to his knees and crawled to his daughter. He reached across her body, in front of Becca and placed his fingers on her hand. He pried Darlene's fingers apart and withdrew the knife. Switching his gaze to Becca, he made a show of placing the knife on the ground a few feet beyond Darlene's head.
Becca gave one more snarl as if declaring victory and pulled her knife away. She sat on Darlene a moment longer, stood and picked up the knife, claiming it as a trophy.
Darlene rolled to a sitting position and cried as Elijah wrapped his arms around her. He looked at Mark as he rocked her. “Thank you.”
Thirty-Six
A steady breeze blew off the lake bringing with it a heavy, fishy smell. They sat around the tables in Elijah's camp to talk. Most of his followers stood behind him, watching and listening to the discussion. Lynn sat to Mark's right, Tara to the left. The only other member of their group present in the clearing was Mel. Mark wanted to keep as large a team as possible outside the encampment should a rescue be necessary.
They hadn't planned on sitting with Elijah at all until he commented, “They have three of our people. Two women and a teenage boy.”
Mark saw an opportunity. “If we get onboard, do you want us to try to bring them out too?”
Elijah's voice was a whisper. “Yes.”
“We need to talk about how best to do that. Will you help us?”
“One of the women is my wife.”
Elijah stood and closed his eyes and lifted his head to the wind. He inhaled deeply and turned his attention back to Mark. “Christine is not really my wife in pre-event terms. We came together afterward and have committed to each other in front of our community. Before the deaths, I was a minister with my own congregation and a professor of religion at a small religious-based private college.
“Christine had been one of my students. I found her sitting on the shore out at Maumee Bay Park. We've been together ever since; at least until the raiders swooped in and took her.” Elijah faltered, the wounds still tender.
Lynn filled in the silence. “How long ago was that?”
He cleared his throat. “Just over a month. We've been waiting for the right time to make a rescue, but as you see, we have been unable to find a way to sneak through. There are just too many of them.”
Mark tapped the table with his fingertips. “I agree an assault would be suicide. Our plan is not to attack. We're hoping to make an exchange. You've been watching them and know them better than we do. Can you offer any ideas on how best to approach using that scenario?”
“We don't have a contact aboard, if that's what you mean. We have studied their movements though, and I think we have their schedule down. They don't stay long in any one area. They anchor, send raiding parties ashore, move on. It usually takes them a month to turn around and sail to the opposite side of the lake.”
“That might be helpful.”
A man sitting to Elijah's left and introduced as Nathan, said, “Whatever you’re planning, it's not a good idea to get on the freighter unless you have superior numbers and fire power, which you don't. No matter what they say, you'll never make it back off the ship … not alive anyway.”
“Yeah,” Mark rubbed his face as if the action would wipe away the problem. “That's how I see it too.”
Tara leaned forward and looked at Mark. “We might not even get past the patrol boats.”
“Yep, thought about that as well. It won't be easy.”
“I've got a Browning Automatic Rifle in the back of the SUV. We could put the BAR on one of the boats for added firepower. The only problem is we have fewer than a hundred rounds and the way that gun spits out bullets that won't last long.”
“That's still a good idea, Tara. I wish we had more.”
“We found some TNT at a construction site,” said Elijah. “Don't know if they're any good. Only took it so others wouldn't be able to use it against us.”
Mark tightened his lips and nodded. “That might be very helpful.”
“They're yours. I think there are six sticks.” He looked at Nathan for confirmation
Nathan nodded. “Yep. Six.”
“What about your people? Will they help?”
“I would normally speak for them, but since there is a good chance of losing a lot of lives, I'll let them decide for themselves. You can count me in.”
“And me,” Nathan said.
Elijah looked around the circle. You all know what we're planning. If any of you would rather not continue, back away now. No one will think less of you. For me, this decision is a no-brainer, but you do what's right for you. I'm not going to attempt to persuade you in one direction or the other.”
“Okay,” Mark said, “we need to get moving. It's getting late.”
“That might work to our advantage.” Tara stood and stretched. “The dark can hide much of our movement.”
“A lot of the boats have spotlights,” said Nathan.
Mark stood. “Let's get everything and everyone we're taking down to the marina.”
“I'll speak with my people and let you know what's decided,” Elijah said.
Mark thanked him and they left.
An hour later they were ready to go. They found enough boats to carry them. Some had keys, while others needed to be coaxed to life via hot wiring. The boats were loaded and the plan, for what it was, finalized.
The steady breeze had become stronger sporadic gusts. A storm headed their way. Mark, Becca and Bobby took the two prisoners on one boat. Tara controlled the BAR, with Corporal Ward as gunner and Mel as pilot. Lynn took the helm of a third boat; Lincoln another. Elijah and his followers had not yet appeared, but Mark could not afford to wait for them any longer. After pinpointing the freighter's location, the seven-craft armada launched. The two end boats broke away from the main battle group. Mark's vessel moved ahead of the remaining line. All had been instructed to keep a safe and consistent distance between them.
With little more than an hour before sunset, Mark raised his glasses to get a more accurate count of the patrol boats. After several attempts, he settled on twelve. But that was on the side of the freighter he could see. He doubled the number of defenders, then glanced at his boats. Twenty-four against seven. A suicide run for people they didn't even know.
His mind recreated the image of Shavonne tossing Kendra overboard and being hauled away. He respected her for her sacrifice to save Kendra, a child not of her blood. If humanity were to be nourished and grow, shouldn't he be willing to do the same? His eyes drifted to his own kids. His only regret was dragging them into this. He doubted he'd ever recover if something happened to them on one of his 'missions.'
His ruefulness was moot though, because he knew, even if he forbade them, they would find a way to get involved somehow.
Too late now. He pushed all thoughts aside and focused on the encounter to come.
Thirty-Seven
Evidenced by the quick defensive alignment of the patrol boats, their presence had not gone unnoticed. Mark allowed his own flotilla to advance for another minute before waving for them to stop. He would go accompanied by the boat with the BAR for support. The others would stay ready for an abstraction under fire. They had debated this for a while, but Mark was afraid a show of force would send the wrong message about their intentions and trigger a war they clearly could not win.
The two boats moved forward, Tara piloting her boat away from Mark's to have a clear shot if needed. Mark tapped the stick to increase speed. So far none of the patrol boats moved to intercept. He imagined they were discussing options. He lifted the white towel over his head. He didn't have to wave it, the air current snapped the material in its flow. He squeezed his hand tighter to prevent the towel from being ripped from his grip.
A line of five defenders jumped forward to meet them. One man stood higher on the deck than the others. He waved his hand at the boats to his right and two of them broke off and aimed at Tara. The other three continued at a speed much faster than his. Mark guessed it was to keep them from getting too close to the mother ship. That was fine by Mark. If the discussion came to an abrupt end the farther from the freighter, the better.
“Dad,” Bobby pointed to the right, “look.”
Mark swung his gaze from the advancing three boats. From around the stern of the freighter, four more boats emerged.
“They must have some way of communicating with the boats.”
Mark agreed. That was bad. If they could coordinate their efforts, escaping would be more difficult. The four new additions continued on in a straight line to the right, an obvious flanking maneuver. Mark knew their play was to prevent his other boats from coming to their rescue. Icy tentacles squeezed his heart. Had he miscalculated their reaction? A nagging alarm pounded in his head to stop before it was too late. If he allowed them to cut him off from the others, his already slim bargaining power would be nil.
He glanced left at Tara. She stood at the wheel looking at him. Clearly she understood their situation as well as he did. He cut the speed. Two seconds later Tara matched him. “Bobby, use the radio and tell Lynn to move the others up and spread them out. But make sure she knows not to initiate a fight.”
He was only vaguely aware of Bobby's voice as he scanned the water searching desperately for options. He kept the boat moving, not wanting to have to run from a dead stop. As the three boats in front of him closed, he was forced to slow to a crawl. “Becca get below and cover the prisoners from there. Stay out of sight.” Becca moved without comment. She crept down the steps, lay down, and aimed at the men.
The vessel with the tall man moved nose-to-nose with his boat. The other two swept past him and swung behind. Mark caught a glimpse of three men on each craft as they passed. Nine to three. They had no chance if the raiders opened fire.
With the lead vessel in his path, Mark was forced to drop into idle. Bobby crouched next to him, his rifle aimed at the leader.
The tall man said something to the pilot and the boat inched forward at an angle across the bow. They closed to a point Mark could make out who he was speaking to. The tall man had patterned his appearance on some pirate. His head was shaved save for a long braided ponytail down the back. He wore one long earring that looked like a miniature sword; a necklace of what appeared to be bone adorned his chest.
“You will order all your boats to disarm and follow us or we will sink you.” The smug cockiness in his voice echoed off the water.
Mark kept his tone even yet firm. “No. We've come here to do business, nothing more.”
“This isn't a request or a negotiation. You'll follow my orders, or you will die.”
“If that's how you want it, that's your choice, but you'd better be willing to lose a lot of men and boats unnecessarily.”
“But, in the end, you will all be dead.”
“That may be, but I guarantee, you'll die before I will.” He let that sink in, rewarded by the first sign of doubt on the man's face. “We are not here to cause trouble. I propose a simple exchange. The woman I brought before, and two women and a boy you took from the camp in the woods, for two of your men.”
“Men? What men?”
Bobby made to get the prisoners on their feet, but Mark stopped him with a quiet, but harsh, “No. Keep your gun on that man.” He left the wheel, put his gun to one of the captured men's heads and said, “Stand up. Both of you.”
The men looked at each other. “Two for four, that's my offer.”
“Not very likely.”
“Maybe you need to take this to your boss.”
“I don't need to take this anywhere.”
“I doubt he would give you permission to make decisions for him.”
“If I give the order to open fire on you right now, he won't blink an eye or question that decision.”
“It's an easy thing for you to check. If yes, we do the deal, if not, we leave. No fuss, no blood, no death. Nothing lost and no one hurt.”
His counterpart leaned to the side and said something to the pilot. Mark saw him reach for something, but couldn't see what. He tensed ready to start shooting. He waited, the angst of their predicament increased as each minute passed. Sweat beaded and ran. “Something's wrong,” he said, “be ready. Becca, don't make your presence known until absolutely necessary. We may need the surprise.”
The leader finished his discussion and called over. “The captain wants to speak to you.”
“Who?”
“The captain of our little navy. I'm to pilot your boat and only your boat to the ship. Everyone else stays back or we will open fire. Understood?”
Mark wasn't sure how to take this new development but damn sure didn't like it. He'd have no leverage and no fallback. But it was a way onto the freighter.
“You might be right, but it might also be the only way to negotiate a deal, talk to the head man.”
“I'm waiting for your answer.”
Mark made a snap decision. “Let me offload my people first.”
“Leave our men on board.”
“Let me rephrase that. I'm going to offload my boat first.” Not waiting for a response, Mark reversed. Clear of the others, he shifted the wheel and piloted to Tara's craft. “Bobby, help our friends to the other boat. Becca, stay where you are.”
He cut the engine and drifted alongside, where one of Tara's people snagged the gunwale and snuggled them close. “What's happening?” Tara asked.
“The captain of this crew wants to meet with me. I'm offloading so they can take me to him.”
“Wait! You're going alone on that ship? How stupid is that?”
“You tell him,” Becca's voice came from below.
“It may be the only way to negotiate a deal without everyone getting killed.”
“But we don't even know these people. Why risk your life for them?”
Mark sighed. Why indeed? He wasn't sure he could answer that, he just knew he had to try. “Because, even in this lawless world, no one should be held against their will. It's the right thing to do.”
“Man, how am I supposed to argue with that? Try to find a way to signal if you need us.”
“Keep your eyes open. They may try to circle you. Don't let them.”
“Be safe.”
He nodded as Bobby finished transferring the captives. He turned and Mark said, “You too, Bobby.”
“What? No way!”
“Yes, you go too. I'm not going to let them get both of us.”
“What about Becca?”
“She's just there as a precaution. They don't know she's here. She's not going aboard. Besides, if things go bad, I'm going to need your sure shots to aid my escape. You're the only one I trust with that.”
A swarm of emotions raced across his son's face. Mark understood his conflict, but he stepped forward, embraced his father and climbed onto the other boat. They pushed off and Mark re-engaged the engine. “Becca, hide someplace where you can still hear. Only come out if you need to. Once we get to the ship, they may board and search it. Stay out of sight until they go, be ready in case I make a quick exit.”