Dead in the Water

by Janice Kay Johnson - His Best Friend's Baby

  Or would one come up right under an inflatable boat with a color that would be hard to distinguish from water?

  More likely, he thought grimly, the orcas would choose to pass wide around the boat because of the rumble of the motor.

  Go, go, go, he ordered himself, not daring to look back. Another back rose a few feet farther away; another spout of water shot into the air. More, more. A couple of the whales passed to his left. They were splitting to go around him.

  The shouts behind him now had a different tone. He hoped Boyden and Gibbons were scared by the killer whales. He hoped this pod was huge.

  Instead of pausing to go for the flare gun, he concentrated on paddling for his life. White-hot pain consumed him, but it was a small part of the whole.

  Go.

  He caught a glimpse ahead of Claire, pausing in her strokes to take a look over her shoulder.

  Another orca rose so close by, his kayak rocked and the spout rained on him. He couldn’t hear the outboard motor behind him anymore, and finally dared to risk a look back himself. Mist swirled; he saw nothing but whales, beautiful and almost ghostly rising from the water, their spouts joining the mist, the sound of their breaths a powerful symphony.

  Adam looked down at the butt of the flare gun, but instead of reaching for it, he resumed paddling.

  * * *

  ADAM’S PROGRESS WAS no longer smooth. Checking frequently behind her, Claire saw that he’d begun a subtle zigzag, inevitably pushed out toward the middle of the passage. Scared, she realized they had to stop, and soon.

  The last of the orcas had passed Claire a few minutes ago. She could still hear them, that mysterious, deep blowing that sounded primeval. What she couldn’t hear was the outboard motor. In their panic, the men might have choked the motor, they might have turned around and fled or the boat might have been overturned by the wave created by a rising or diving orca.

  She so wished the last was true, but doubted it would happen. An inflatable boat the size she’d seen would be especially hard to tip.

  Even as she paddled for all she was worth, she wished desperately that she’d chosen a different route. This was her fault; the Spider Channel was too open. She’d hoped they would encounter other boaters, but all she’d done was leave Adam and her vulnerable to the men hunting them. Men who could move faster because their boat was motorized.

  Maybe they should have gone directly east, except they’d have been even more exposed there, crossing the same anchorage where the freighter and the yacht had met to exchange cargo.

  Hurricane Channel would have been good, narrow as it was, with rocks lurking beneath the water at high tide and reputedly choked in with kelp where waters were shallow—except she and Adam would have had to paddle east across Spider Anchorage to reach it.

  Same problem.

  She strained to hear the motor behind them, but it didn’t come. They had to get off the water and pray their hunters didn’t see the inlet.

  There’d been a radar station on Spider Island during World War II, one of a string of them along the Pacific Coast. She’d read that a wooden boardwalk had led from a dock on the west coast of the island to the station, set at a high point. In recent years, the station and boardwalk alike had been overgrown to the point of disappearing. The inlet she was aiming for was now on private land, according to the books she’d read when planning the trip, but right now, she didn’t care. They’d be lucky if the projected fishing resort had been built. If not—trespassing was the least of their worries.

  She kept stealing looks over her shoulder. Adam was falling back, but had her in sight. The water grew rougher as they neared the north end of the island, losing its protection from the open ocean currents and weather patterns. What if they crossed the channel, took a chance that there’d be someplace to pull their kayaks out of the water on Spitfire Island?

  Even if their progress was frustratingly slow, she knew better. Adam needed time to recover. They couldn’t go on now.

  She saw a cove of sorts and turned toward it. If a fishing resort was under construction, it wasn’t here. This was no hidden inlet, either, nor even a beach, but surely they could haul their kayaks and gear over the rocks and hide in the forest.

  She waved a paddle. Adam waved back. She still didn’t hear any pursuit.

  * * *

  THEY MOVED FAST once they’d managed to beach the kayaks on low-lying slabs of ocean-sculpted rock. Pull out necessary gear, get it above the high-tide line, keep it out of sight in the vegetation. Back for the kayaks, one at a time. Claire slipped on the rocks and would have given in to the injury and exhaustion except they couldn’t afford time for whining. She held up her end of Adam’s kayak and kept moving.

  Once they, the kayaks and their gear were out of sight from the water, Claire collapsed on a rotting log that was probably full of creepy-crawly things, but she was past caring. Adam lowered himself more carefully beside her.

  That’s when she noticed what looked like the butt of a pistol sticking out of the pocket of his PFD.

  Her eyes must have widened.

  His gaze followed hers. “Flare gun. Kyle Sheppard’s. Remember?”

  “Yes. It’s just...it looks so much like a gun.”

  “It is a gun. Unfortunately, it shoots a flare instead of a bullet, and has to be reloaded before it can be used again.”

  “Oh.” Of course he was carrying it for its potential as a weapon. “At least it’s legal.” Heat singed her cheeks. “That’s a dumb thing to say. Like that matters.” She usually carried one. That, in an effort to lighten her load, she’d figured one flare gun between two people was good enough was just another example of her complacency.

  His lips firmed. “If it comes down to us or them, I don’t give a damn about the legalities. I feel pretty sure that using it to shoot someone isn’t legal.”

  She’d swear it hadn’t been in his pocket when they set out this morning. “That’s what you have in mind.”

  “If need be.” His voice and expression both were implacable.

  Claire imagined what a flare fired at high speed would do to a human being, but she couldn’t work up the horror she should probably feel. Those men had not only shot Adam, they’d been trying to shoot him again today. With bullets. And their guns probably had magazines that allowed for multiple shots before needing to be swapped out.

  “What if you shot the boat?” she asked.

  “I saw it on the freighter. Didn’t look closely, but I doubt it’s like the rafts people buy for their kids. You know, the ones that sink after one puncture, or even a little wear and tear. I’m betting an inflatable like this one has compartments. One gets punctured, the boat still floats.”

  “You’re right. I didn’t pay that much attention, but I heard a few people talking who had inflatable kayaks. The fabric is really tough, and I think they have multiple valves and separate chambers for air.” She frowned. “That means one shot might not even slow them down.”

  “Right. Although it’s possible a flare would penetrate deep enough to do some real damage. Still, I doubt the accuracy is the same as a serious handgun, either.” He sounded regretful. “I’d need to be fairly close to take someone out.”

  “And there are two of them.”

  He tipped his head but didn’t say anything.

  “If only I had one, too.” If only were about the most useless words in the English language.

  Eventually, they poked around until they found a relatively flat spot to lay out their sleeping bags or set up a tent, and moved their gear. Adam asked for help removing the makeshift body cast, and after that, they began to unpack what they needed.

  Her ankle hurt and she had a bad feeling it was swollen, but she could ignore it, along with the scratches she’d just acquired pushing through branches not eager to give way. There wasn’t much she could do about the ankle, for sure, and fortu
nately, Adam didn’t seem to have noticed her favoring that leg. Anyway, if she hurt, he had to be in agony.

  They didn’t have much view through the dense growth of trees, but they’d hear a motor, and Claire felt sure they’d see anyone dragging a boat up onto the smooth slabs of rock.

  Not until she had water on to boil on the small stove did she say, “They have to know more or less where we are.”

  “Possibly,” he said slowly. “That depends what they did when the orcas scared them. They could have tried to get off the water and failed, turned around to run for the ship, or actually suffered enough of a mishap to have a motor that’s dead or some other damage to the boat.”

  She had to say this. “It’s my fault we were so out in the open. We can’t go back now, but...I’ve changed my mind about our route.”

  Furrows deepened in his forehead and between his nose and mouth. He spoke slowly in contrast to what she’d blurted out.

  “If we make it out into Queens Sound, you seemed confident there’d be enough traffic, we wouldn’t have any trouble waving someone down.”

  When kayaking up the Inside Passage, she’d gone two or three days at a time without seeing other people, although in those better-traveled waters, she’d had frequent sightings of passing ferries or other large boats in the distance.

  She and Mike had chosen to come on this trip early in the season partly because of their jobs, but mostly in hopes of being able to enjoy the beauty of these islands without constant company. By July, there’d be a lot more cabin cruisers, fishing boats and other kayakers. This surprisingly complete solitude...well, she’d have appreciated it in other circumstances.

  “Why not go ahead?” Adam asked, after she failed to respond to the last thing he’d said. He’d studied the charts carefully.

  Claire took a deep breath. “Because the freighter could be anchored there. As we’ve been chased north, it would have made sense for your former boss to putter along in the same direction to wait for us. Also, we’d have no place to hide if we’re spotted out in the open like that.”

  “So what are you thinking?”

  “Let me grab my charts.”

  “Water’s boiling,” he remarked, and they agreed to eat first. This was early for dinner, but they hadn’t had lunch. They could snack closer to bedtime.

  She took some ibuprofen, as did he—his a double dose.

  When she was able to show him what she had in mind, he leaned forward and traced a fingertip along the narrow, twisting channel that headed east and then sharply south, cutting between several of the larger islands in the area.

  “That’ll let us out not far from where we started,” he said slowly. “What’s the point of that?”

  “I think it would be unexpected. They’ve followed us this far. Would they expect us to circle around?”

  “You think they can’t follow us?”

  “I imagine they can, but from what I remember reading, the Spitfire Channel is tricky. It’s really narrow at one point, has dangerous submerged rocks, kelp beds that could tangle around the propeller.” She hesitated. “There are two problems with going that way.”

  “Besides going in a circle?”

  Claire ignored his comment. “One is that I have no idea whether there are any places at all where we could beach the kayaks until we come out on the other side, and I think that’s too far for you to paddle in one day. There almost has to be a possible campsite somewhere, but we’ll need to keep a sharp eye or miss our chance.”

  “And the other problem?”

  “Crossing the open water unseen to get to the channel.”

  He gazed down at the chart for a minute. “What about crossing the channel, then heading north along the shore of this Hunter Island?”

  “That’s the logical route. They’ll think we’re running for Bella Bella.”

  “I take it that’s the closest thing to civilization on this part of the coast?”

  “Yes, which makes that direction too obvious. We need to do something they won’t expect. Just...disappear.”

  He frowned over the chart for a minute, then nodded. “They didn’t spot us for a couple of hours this morning. They may not be early starters.”

  “No, but I’m more worried because they have to guess we’ve gone to ground somewhere in this vicinity.”

  “Then we launch at first light,” he said grimly. “Or even earlier.”

  He was right; they could cross the open channel in the murky, purple light before the sun actually topped the horizon, given the lack of other boat traffic. That meant setting out between four thirty and five o’clock.

  “You expect to see more boat traffic in this Kildidt Sound?” he asked.

  Claire nodded. “Once we aren’t dodging between tiny islands.” When he didn’t comment, she set aside the charts and put more water on to heat to wash their dishes.

  Watching out of the corner of her eye as Adam brooded, she decided not to mention another issue: Hunter and Hurricane Islands must boast plentiful wildlife, including the bears and wolves smart campers avoided.

  * * *

  IN THE LATE AFTERNOON, a cloud of insects found them.

  They’d been incredibly lucky so far not to have to crouch under netting to keep from being eaten alive.

  “Son of a bitch,” Adam growled, hearing the first whine. “I hate mosquitoes.”

  “They’re not alone. I think those are midges, too. Their bites are even more irritating.”

  Claire dug hurriedly in a bag and came up with some netting and a baseball cap. “You take this. Wrap the netting around your head.”

  Adam clapped the baseball cap on his head. “What about you?”

  “I have another one.” She found it, and a pair of thin gloves. “Look through your bag. Mike carried these, too. They’re actually glove liners.”

  Momentarily protected with no skin exposed, he still swatted irritably at the cloud of bugs swarming them. He swore he itched even if he hadn’t been bitten. “Don’t you have some repellent?”

  “No, it can melt synthetic material. Plus, the smell attracts bears.”

  “Great.”

  “We’ll have to set up the tent. It has netting.”

  He hadn’t noticed, but was glad to hear it.

  “We might as well do that now.” She stood suddenly. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

  She’d already pushed her way through the evergreen branches and lower-growing bushes that blocked them from the beach before he could get to his feet. Surprised and uneasy, Adam followed her.

  Head tipped back, she was looking at the sky. When he did the same, he saw that it was no longer clear the way it had been. The air felt different, too, he realized. Damp.

  “Can we take off in the morning if it’s raining?”

  “It’ll depend.”

  About to ask on what, he stiffened. “Hear that?”

  “Oh, no,” she whispered.

  “You have the binoculars handy?”

  She ducked back the way she’d come and handed them to him. They both crouched behind a veil of low cedar limbs and waited.

  That damn inflatable boat appeared, moving slowly along the shoreline. Adam lifted his netting to use the binoculars. It had come almost abreast of them when he realized he’d left the flare gun at the campsite.

  Don’t look this way.

  Damn, he wished for twilight.

  The boat kept going until it was out of sight. Not sure he’d taken a breath, Adam pulled in a deep one and yanked the netting down.

  Neither he nor Claire moved, both listening to the receding sound of the motor. They heard it for a while, continuing north, until it either faded away or was cut off.

  He swore. “Is there another campsite up there?”

  “I think there must be.” She was almost whispering. “I was ai
ming for one that has to be better than landing on rocks. You think...?”

  “You know as much as I do,” he said shortly, immediately regretting his tone when she stood up and pushed her way back toward their camp.

  By the time he got there, she was packing away the pan, stove and dishes for the night, so practiced at it he didn’t bother to offer to help.

  Damn. He hated feeling completely inept. He’d been stuck in some tight places before, but he’d never been so outside his areas of expertise. Yeah, he was getting better with the kayak, but he didn’t kid himself for a minute that he could handle anything but the placid seas they’d so far traversed, and that in slo-mo. If his kayak rolled, he’d hang there head down until he drowned.

  He knew nothing about navigating or about the dangers in this wild part of the world. Babe in the woods, that was him.

  Which left him utterly dependent on the gutsy woman who’d saved his life and was serving as his guide, trusting him even though she had no reason to believe a word he’d said.

  The woman he would do anything at all to protect from the consequences of her courageous act. He’d like to think that was out of gratitude and because it was part of his job as a federal law enforcement officer, but knew better.

  This woman had gotten to him in a short time, as he’d never allowed anyone to do. These feelings baffled and alarmed him, but he had to acknowledge them. The sooner he got away from her, the better...but he’d like to hold her in his arms every one of the remaining nights before he had to let her go back to her formerly safe life.

  His mouth twisted. Too bad he knew what she’d say if he suggested sharing a sleeping bag again.

  Smart woman.

  Chapter Eleven