"What if they’re listening to the radio?" Tony yelled into the wind.
"We don't have time to worry about it," Reese called over his shoulder. He clipped the radio back to its holster and focused on the wheel. The motorboat raced straight for them, some 300 yards out. It wouldn't be long before any man with weapons on board that boat started to shoot.
“You might want to get close to the deck and get up front with that shotgun. Maybe we can make him think twice about trying to attack us," Reese said.
"What happens if they shoot you?" Tony asked as he scrambled forward.
"No different than if you shoot me,"" Reese grumbled.
The first shots, while expected, still took Reese by surprise. Several black dots appeared on the spinnaker and Reese cursed. Intrepid was a good boat and didn't deserve to be turned into a floating target. It certainly wouldn't help him get home any faster with all the sails punched full of holes. He didn't know who he was angrier at, Byron for recklessly endangering their lives, or the attackers on the motorboat.
"Here they come!" Tony yelled from the bow. Reese had to strain to hear him. His voice was almost totally lost in the sound of the wind whistling through the rigging, and the waves hissing along the hull. He glanced starboard and saw with gratitude that Byron had adopted his tactic, raised all the sails on Tiberia and lurched closer to shore.
The gulf between the two sailboats widened, and the motorboat adjusted course to pass between them. Whoever drove the oncoming boat waited until the last second to make their decision. "I think it's working—they don't know who to go after first!” Reese said.
Gunfire erupted from the motorboat, a crude, rusted thing with faded paint and far too many men aboard. It smashed through the waves with the grace of a flying cow and the three men with weapons raked the length of Intrepid.
Reese held firm the wheel and prayed as chunks of fiberglass and wood exploded around him and a bullet sparked off the metal railing. "What are you waiting for?” Reese yelled. "Return fire!"
Oh, what I wouldn't give for a few ten-pounder cannons…
"Pull over!" someone shouted through a bullhorn from the motorboat as they cut between the two sailboats.
Tony aimed and fired. The shotgun roared like the canon Reese wished he had, and several men aboard the motorboat dropped below the railings in a storm of curses and shouts of alarm. The motorboat swerved in its course, and one man flew overboard with a scream that was cut off when he hit the water with an enormous splash of white foam. Reese couldn't help but laugh at the sight of the chaos that Tony's shot had caused.
"Nice!" he yelled. “Do it again!”
"Keep going—we can make it to the island and turn," Byron ordered over the radio.
Tony ran back to Reese and kept watch over the motorboat as it circled in the water to pick up the man who’d fallen overboard. By the time the men had regained control of themselves and retrieved the man in the water, Tiberia and Intrepid were a couple hundred yards away. The motorboat kicked up a rooster tail of white spray, the bow lifted up out of the water, and it roared after them.
“Uh-oh, here they come again!” warned Tony.
"Not much I can do about it,” Reese replied through clenched teeth.
"Just keep going," Byron urged from the deck of Tiberia.
The seconds ticked by like years as the motorboat quickly caught up with them and the men who crowded the bow shot wildly in the direction of both sailboats. Reese didn't wait for Byron to give the command—he spun the wheel hard to port, and the gap between the two sailboats grew wider. The motorboat wavered but maintained a loose formation in the middle.
As they slowed to give their shooters a better shot at the sailboat, Tony took aim and fired over the starboard railing. The thunderous crash of his shotgun shattered the air, and a man on the motorboat clutched one shoulder and fell back onto the deck.
From Tiberia, the sharp report of the pistol Cal Foster had given Reese and Jo cracked across the water. The men on the motorboat ducked again, and eventually the driver had enough. The boat changed course abruptly, sending up another spray of foam, and headed back toward the lighthouse.
"You guys are either really brave, really lucky, or really stupid. Either way,” the man in the lighthouse reported, “looks like they're giving up. Best of luck to you both—and next time, when somebody gives you some good advice—take it!"
Reese ignored the radio and tried to get his heart rate under control. Adrenaline coursed through his body and tingled up and down his spine. He needed the boat to go faster, he needed more wind, he needed something to shoot back at the guys on the boat—he needed to be home.
He screamed into the wind and unleashed all of his pent-up fear and anxiety. Anger took control of his heart, and he spun the wheel hard to starboard. He didn't give Tony any warning. As the boom zipped overhead, Reese smiled when the younger man fell to the deck with a curse. The mainsail snapped full of wind as they completed the tack, and Reese bore down on Tiberia, closer to shore.
Byron noticed and tried to adjust course, but Reese decided to give an example of his own seamanship. He kept the course as tight as possible till the last second, then spun hard to port, completed another tack, and brought Intrepid even closer to Tiberia than Byron had done earlier.
"You trying to get us both killed?" he shouted across the fifteen-foot gap between the boats.
“You almost rammed us!" Byron shouted back.
"No, I didn't, and you know it! This boat goes where I tell it to go! And I'm telling you this: the next time you think you can trick me into sailing into a death trap, forget it. I don't care if I have to knock your nephew overboard, it's not gonna happen! I didn't sign up for this nonsense! All I want to do is get home—I don't want your stupid boat, and I could care less about whatever problem—“
“Libby needs medicine!” Byron, red-faced and sweating, shouted back to cut off Reese's tirade. Byron’s shoulders slumped and he leaned over the silver wheel on Tiberia. "She's diabetic,” he revealed. “We’ve been out of insulin for the past few days. That’s why we came ashore in Boston. I've got to find some insulin. I don't know what else to do."
Reese turned and watched Tony as he picked himself up off the deck. "He's telling the truth,” he said as he rubbed an elbow. “That's why I was watching her earlier."
"Why didn't somebody tell me?" Reese exclaimed. "It's not like—”
“Because I didn't want you to tuck tail and run!" Byron shot back. "I couldn't trust you, and I still can't!"
"After everything we've done for you since we met at Boston, you can't trust me to help you with this?" Reese said, the hurt plain in his voice. "What more do I need to do to prove that I'm not going to run off and steal your boat?"
"Look," Byron began.
"No, you look," Reese growled as he pointed a finger at Tiberia. "I'm done. I'm not going any further until you bring Jo to me, and we can talk." Reese reached down and let slip the halyards by his side. Intrepid’s mainsail flapped in the wind briefly, then collapsed on itself and the deck righted. Within seconds, Intrepid was adrift on the ocean current. Reese folded his arms across his chest as Tony jumped up next to him.
"What's wrong with you? You just ring the dinner bell—those guys are gonna be back any second—“
“Then I guess you better reload," Reese said with a nod at the shotgun. He turned and sat on the starboard bench. "You don't like it, you sail the boat. I'm not doing anything else until I get to talk to Jo. I'm done with this crap. Your uncle’s gonna get us all killed."
Tony turned to look back toward Newport, then watched as Tiberia cut across Intrepid’s bow and looped around to the south. Byron yelled something that echoed across the water, but his words were lost in the wind.
When the sails fell on Tiberia, Reese grinned.
"I hope you're happy," Tony grumbled.
"I hope you're keeping a good watch for that motorboat.," Reese snapped. "Soon as I'm satisfied that Jo is okay—and that your uncle isn't comp
letely crazy—we’ll get underway. Until then, I'm done." Reese kept his arms crossed. "I may as well be swimming back to South Carolina. If we have to stop every day because your uncle doesn't trust me, nobody's gonna get anywhere."
Chapter 7
Lavelle Homestead
Bee’s Landing Subdivision
Northwest of Charleston, South Carolina
Cami handed out the last glass of warm sun tea to Greg Vickers, one of the last volunteers to leave the worksite. They had an impromptu celebration as they completed the lion’s share of the work on the roof and most of the exterior walls. Every window on Marty’s house damaged in the firefight had already been covered with heavy chunks of plywood and tarp donated by other folks in the neighborhood.
She smiled as Greg shook hands with Marty and accepted the older man's sincerest thanks. Just because the house had been damaged in the firefight hadn't stopped Marty from living there while the repair work had been ongoing. He was lucky they hadn't had any storms, and Cami had told him that every day, but he'd always just smiled in response.
She'd offered Marty shelter at her own house—and had insisted he stay with them so she could keep an eye on him medically—but the tough old buzzard decided his house was still livable. And he'd been right. Cami shook her head. He been right about everything so far.
She checked her watch. They still had an hour or so of sunlight left, but the sky had already taken on a pastel orange hue to the west. As Greg drained his glass and handed it to Amber, who gathered up the cups and plates, Cami moved over next to Marty. "I bet it’ll be nice not having to worry about people banging on your house first thing in the morning tomorrow."
Marty nodded. "Sure will. I need my beauty sleep."
Cami snorted. "I'm glad we got everything put back in order—well, at least as good as we can make it. I can't tell you how nervous I was having you sleep over there with the news that the sheriff had pulled out."
Marty rolled his shoulders, then wiped his face with a handkerchief. "You and me both, missy. You and me both."
"You don’t seem too nervous," Amber said as she wiped her hands on a rag.
"Well, just because I don't say it, don't make it not so."
Cami and Amber shared a look. “Just remember the offer stands, Marty. If for any reason you need to leave your house, don't hesitate to come over. We've got plenty of space."
In a rare show of affection, Marty reached out and patted Cami's hand. "I appreciate that, missy, I surely do. But me an’ old Kirk will be fine when I wake up in the morning."
They shared a laugh as Marty turned and began his slow shuffle across the side yard.
Mia emerged from Cami’s house, a worried look on her face. She stood on the deck and rubbed her hands together, then looked over her shoulder toward the house again. “Uh…Cami?"
The tone of her voice set Cami on edge immediately. Her hand went to her pistol at her waist, and she scanned the yard for threats. "What is it?" she asked quickly. "Where are the boys?"
Mia, shocked at the response her words had on Cami, was quick to explain. "Oh, no—no, they're fine. They’re inside playing. It's just…there's somebody at the front door. He lives on the other side of the neighborhood, and he's asking for your help."
"My help?" asked Cami as she relaxed. She glanced at Amber. “What’s he want my help for?"
"He says his wife is sick, and since you seem to be running the show now, he didn’t know where else to go…”
“Okay…” Cami said, drawing out the word. "Let's go have a look."
Mia led Amber and Cami back through the house to the front door. "Thank you for not just letting them walk through the house, by the way," Cami said with a light touch on Mia's arm.
The younger woman smiled. "Oh, there's no way I'm going to allow anyone to see what's going on in here. My boys are here too, remember? No one comes through that door unless you tell me it's okay. If they have to talk to you immediately, they can just walk around the house like everybody else."
Cami grinned as she opened the door. Her smile faded immediately as she saw the haggard look on the face of the man who occupied her doorstep. "Merle?"
Merle Orchard, one of Reese's fishing buddies, pulled a boonie hat from his head and crumpled it in his big hands. “Hi, Cami."
"What's going on?" asked Cami as she stepped out on the porch. Mia politely closed the door most of the way behind them and disappeared into the shadowy interior of the house.
"It’s…it's Amy. She's real sick, and I don't know what to do."
Cami crossed her arms. "Merle, I'm no doctor—I hope you know that."
“I—I do. I just—well, ever since the big fight, nobody's really taken charge, you know? Nobody except for you. Everybody's talking about it—you helped save Marty's life—“
Cami raised a hand to stop him. "Hold up—I think you got that backwards. Marty helped save my life, he's the one who came to the rescue and drew the attackers off our house. They hit us first, yes, but they only went after him when he started shooting at them. I didn't save him at all."
Merle shrugged and offered a weak grin. "Well, anyhow…that's what everyone’s saying. Then, when you organized the repair work and took in Mia and her kids…"
Cami wiped the sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand. "Again, I didn't organize anything. People just started showing up—like Mia—and they asked me what they were supposed to do, so we sat down and thought about how best to help Marty…it kinda went from there."
Merle offered the same grin again. "Well, anyhow—“
"I know, I know," Cami said exasperated, "that's what everyone’s saying.” She put her hands on her hips and sighed. “All right, so evidently I'm the neighborhood doctor. What's going on with Amy?"
Merle frowned. "She can't eat anything. Well, she can, but she just throws it up. She's got the runs, and nothing’s stayin’ down—I’m real worried about her. She's got these terrible headaches."
Cami frowned. "That sounds like food poisoning—did she eat anything that had gone bad lately?"
Merle snorted. "Who hasn't? Seriously, we’re scraping the bottom of the barrel of what we got left in the house. I'm sure most of the stuff we've got left is expired. But you gotta eat, right?"
Guilt gripped Cami’s soul, and she swallowed. Her mouth had gone dry. "What about water, do you enough to drink?"
“Well, we haven't had tap water in…I don't know how long—we’re getting so thirsty we drink and just about anything we can find…I’ve been collecting it from the pond—“
“Oh, no, no—please don't tell me you're drinking that nasty water?" asked Cami.
Merle shrugged and took a step back, defensively. "Not like we got a well pump and any way to run it, is it? What would you rather us do, die of thirst or drink some pond water? I ain’t stupid, Cami," Merle said. "I rigged up a filter—we got charcoal and sand and grass. It runs through the bucket and comes out crystal clear on the other side."
Cami looked out across the front yard. “Look, Merle, there’s nothing wrong with filtering water like that, but it only gets rid of cloudiness and big matter, like leaves and stuff. That doesn’t do anything for microbes and diseases.”
Amber opened the door and stepped out. She wiped her hands on a rag and smiled at Merle. “Hi, Mr. Orchard.”
“Hey, Amber.” Merle looked down. “I know I haven’t done the best job of filtering that water, Cami. I had one them LifeStraw things, but after the spring fishin’ season, I can’t find it. The stove don’t work and I tried to boil water over a fire, but I don’t think it’s working, because she’s still getting sick. That’s why I thought it was from the food…”
Cami stepped over to the railing and leaned back. She looked at the sky as it deepened through pinks and oranges. “It could be. I just don’t know. She got a fever?”
“Oh, yeah—constantly sweaty and moaning about how thirsty she is. But nothing stays down!” Merle twisted his hat and paced in a tight circle
on the porch like a caged animal.
“Merle, there’s nothing I have that will fight this, if it’s a virus or bacteria.” Cami said slowly. “Amy needs to see a doctor—“
“Yeah, well, you know of any still open? I’d love to take her to the hospital, but Eddie Torrence down the street had took his kid there the other day and they came back with bullet holes in their car!”
“Why’d he have to go to the hospital?” asked Amber.
“Their little boy had stomach flu, I guess,” Merle said with a shrug. “I don’t know. They had to take him back yesterday and didn’t come home. Marylin’s there with the other kids all alone now.” He ran a hand through his greasy hair and turned back to Cami. “I don’t know what to do, Cami. Now I gotta worry about Eddie’s family, too, and Amy’s so sick…”
“There’s nothing we can do about Eddie—let’s focus on Amy,” Cami offered.
“Mr. Price was talking about people getting sick at some point. I think he’s got a book or something we could use. Want me to check?” asked Amber.
“Please. Thank you, honey,” Cami said. Amber hopped off the porch and ran across the yard.
“Cami, what if she doesn’t get better?” asked Merle, his hat twisted almost into a knot.
Cami put a reassuring hand on his arm. “Merle, we’re not gonna think about that. We’re going to think about how we can help her. For the time being, let’s get as much water and food into her as possible, okay?”
He groaned. “But she just throws everything up…or it all comes out the other end…”
“How about you? Have you been feeling okay?”
Merle swallowed. “Well, I’m not great—but who is, right?—I’m a lot better than her. Ain’t throwing up or got the runs or anything, but I’m none too hungry, either.” He shrugged.
Cami frowned and tilted her head while she looked at him. His skin looked sallow, and dark circles hung under his eyes. Beads of sweat clung to his forehead. “Have you been getting enough rest?”
He laughed, a bitter sound. “Other than taking care of her, trying to keep the house from falling apart, and looking after Eddie’s family—and Eddie’s place—yeah, I get plenty of sleep. Not like there’s anything on TV to watch at night, is there?”
Broken Tide | Book 3 | Maelstrom Page 7