“We’ve been searching for hours; you still think Lynne is here?” Clay asks.
“I know what I saw,” her resolve is adamant, “It’s not that small of an island Clay; she’s here, I just have to find her.”
“Well,” his knuckles white on the wheel Clay says, “Might I suggest we find her after the storm has passed? We stay out in this much longer and we’re going to join the missing.”
Clicking the searchlight off Wendy agrees, “I guess you’re right. We need to find a place to get out of the storm before Fiona levels her full might on this place. Any thoughts on where?”
“We’re close to the outskirts now,” Clay offers, “I noticed earlier that the private school was solidly built. I think we’d be safe there until it passes.”
“And where is it from here?”
“Not far,” Clay says with a smile, “End of this road actually.”
She looks over at him and comments, “Been planning this have we?”
With an aw shucks grin he replies, “Any port in the storm right? Sides, I never could afford private school.”
Pulling the Bronco up to the front door they both dash out into the night. The few feet they have to travel are like trying to scale Everest. The wind whips at their sodden clothes and bites at their skin.
It takes them ten minutes to find shelter behind the ornate wooden door that welcomes guests to St. John’s Preparatory Academy.
Atlanta, Georgia
She opens her eyes to see the shrouded figure standing at the foot of her bed as it reaches out a skeletal hand for her and she knows it’s time.
“Roger,” she breathes his name.
Grasping her hand he is immediately next to her saying, “I’m here honey.” Kissing her hand tenderly he repeats, “I’m here.”
A slight smile plays at the corner of her mouth as she breathlessly whispers, “I…love…you…”
“I love you,” he replies earnestly, “You’re going to be OK.”
“Not…this…” her eyes slide closed for a brief moment before reopening, “Not…this…time…”
His tone is pleading as he speaks her name. With the strength that is left to her she squeezes his hand saying, “I’m not…going to make it.”
“You are,” he declares with tears rolling down his cheeks, “Yes you are. You have to.”
“Listen…” her voice barely carries in the room but Roger hears every word. “I wouldn’t…change anything.”
“Miriam,” he cries. Lowering his head onto her lap he sniffles, “Don’t die…please. I can’t go on without you.”
“Yes…you can.”
“This is my fault.”
“No,” she says defiantly.
“I should’ve been there for you.”
She manages to raise her hand to his cheek and smile one final time. “You were…always…there.”
His eyes are fixed to hers as the last of her life slips away. One instant she is here and the next she is gone. She has taken the skeletal hand that has led her away.
“Miriam?” Roger sobs as the cardiac monitor wails an incessant alarm as it tracks a flat line across its screen.
The room is flooded by nurses responding to the alarm, followed closely by Dr. Levi. None are unaffected by the wellspring of grief that pours from inside Roger. They bear witness to the last expression of true love. With moist eyes the call is made.
One life has been lost this night but two hearts have been broken.
Chapter 35
Hope, North Carolina
Eighteen foot high waves rock the battered thirty foot barge as it crosses the distance between the mainland and Hope. The deck is soaked from the waves and the driving rain as winds in excess of ninety miles an hour lash the cumbersome ship.
Huddled together inside the small enclosed space of the wheelhouse, Li Ling Tran and Caleb Fine watch nervously as George Dore pilots the vessel into the teeth of the storm. Seated on worn bench seats, their knuckles are white from gripping so hard.
As another monster wave spills across the deck a red light and warning buzz emanate from the control panel.
“What’s that?” Caleb asks over the roar of the storm.
Without turning away from the controls George barks, “It ain’t good!”
“What is it?” Caleb and Ling Tran holler in unison.
“Engine warning light!” he shouts over his shoulder, “Taking on water!”
“What happens if we stall out here?” Caleb asks.
“We die out here!”
Another wave slams into them, spraying up and over the windscreen on the wheelhouse. Turning back to his passengers George says, “One of you is gonna have to take the wheel while I check the engine down below.”
“What?!” Ling Tran exclaims, “You’re joking right? You can’t go out on deck in this; you’ll be swept away.”
“Well somebody’s got to check the engine or we’ll all be swamped.”
“I’ll take the wheel,” Caleb offers standing up, “But try to hurry back will you?”
Patting his shoulder, George squeezes past saying, “Just keep her steady in this direction. I’ll be back in two shakes.”
As soon as the door is opened the wind rips it out of his hands and flings it back hard against the side of the wheelhouse. Rain and wind tear at his yellow slicker as George takes a single step outside on deck. Tying a safety line off to the railing he moves aft to check on the engine.
Inside the wheelhouse Ling Tran tries to keep a worried eye on his progress but he quickly becomes a shadow behind the torrent of rain.
“He’ll be fine,” Caleb says.
“Yeah,” she replies, “And you know this how?”
The buzzing seems to grow in pitch as they stare at each other in silence—each contemplating the predicament they’re in. The wheel stutters under his hands as a wave slams into the side of the ship.
Through the wind and rain and encroaching darkness, Caleb squints for any sign of land. Whether it is imagined or not he thinks he can see light off to their left a bit.
“You see that?” he asks while pointing toward it.
Ling Tran stares off in that direction saying, “I don’t see anything.”
“There’s light over there,” he states, “I know it. We got to be close to shore.”
“And what?” she asks, “You think if the boat stalls we can swim for it in this? We could be two feet offshore and still drown before reaching land.”
Just then the door is flung open again and a thoroughly soaked George is standing in the doorway. Stepping back inside he shakes his head solemnly, “This ain’t good.”
“What?” they ask in tandem.
“I got the bilge pump working but the engine is drenched—don’t know how much longer it’ll keep churning if we keep taking on water. We need to get to shore fast.”
Taking the wheel back from Caleb, he checks out the instruments and corrects their course direction.
“I think there’s light over there,” Caleb points out.
Ignoring him George says, “Dock’s ahead thirty feet. Strap yourselves in, this ain’t gonna be a smooth landing.”
Strapped in across from Caleb, Ling Tran recognizes her own fears in his features. This was a bad idea, she surmises, we should’ve waited the storm out.
As a wave tilts the barge dramatically she holds her breath for the correction. What were we thinking coming out in this? What was George thinking even agreeing to this?
Bringing the throttle back George guides them toward where he knows the dock to be. The lights in the marina have failed from the storm and all is black ahead of them but he doesn’t need to see it to know that it’s there.
“Take the wheel and hold this heading!” he orders, “When I raise my hand you kill the engine with this lever here. Got it?”
Unstrapping himself, Caleb nods and is back at the wheel as George leaves the wheelhouse again. Walking along the barge’s portside railing he grabs the dock line and wait
s for it to appear out of the black.
Seeing it materialize before his eyes, he sucks in a deep breath upon seeing another ship moored in front of them. It’s an eighteen foot fiberglass speedboat and they’re headed straight for it.
Raising his hand he adamantly signals for the engines to be cut knowing it won’t matter—they’re going to hit.
He feels the hulking vessel slowing down right before it collides with the speedboat. Even over the howling wind the squealing sound of steel scraping against fiberglass can be heard. The barge jerks on impact sending George sprawling to the deck.
Inside the wheelhouse Caleb is tossed forward against the wheel—its handles digging into his injuries. With a groan he collapses to the side on top of the instrument panel.
“Caleb!” Ling Tran hollers as she herself is wrenched against her restraints.
After a few minutes of echoing cracks, the barge finally stops its forward momentum having come to rest on top of the now slowly sinking speedboat.
The high winds continue to wobble the barge as its foredeck has lifted three feet off the surface of the water.
Climbing back to his feet, George discards the dock line and hurries back to the wheelhouse. Throwing the door open he hollers inside, “Move it!”
“Ugh,” Caleb moans, “What the hell happened?”
“We crashed,” George states, “And now we need to get off this vessel pronto.”
“Why?” Ling Tran cries out as she struggles to get out of her restraints.
“We’re partially sitting on top of another boat in a hurricane. Need I say more? We ain’t tied to shore and once our weight submerges that boat, ain’t nothing keeping us here. We could drift back out to sea where with no engine we’ll drown. So let’s move it!”
Unsheathing a fishing knife, George reaches in and cuts Ling Tran’s restraints. “Help your friend and let’s get out of here!”
Unsteadily Ling Tran stands up and wobbles over to Caleb. Putting his arm around her neck she asks, “You all right?”
Grimacing he says, “Thought we had a deal?”
“Sorry,” she says with a shake of her head.
“Help me off this death trap and we’ll forget it.”
Stepping outside onto the slanting deck they’re bombarded with the brunt of Fiona’s fury. The winds nearly knock them from their feet as they turn into it. Rain slashes their faces feeling like tiny razors cutting their cheeks.
Ahead of them, Ling Tran spies George’s yellow slicker as he stands at the tilting railing of his barge. Moving toward him, Ling Tran watches as he opens the railing and leaps off the barge into the night.
Reaching the opening she looks down at the dock below and George waiting for them. She swears she sees him saying something but his words are swept away on the wind. Sharing a look with Caleb, she lets him go as he jumps down onto the dock and George’s waiting arms.
Following close after him she lands with a dull thud and rolls once. Like rats escaping a sinking ship the three of them scurry up the dock in search of some shelter from the storm.
Finding some cover on the leeside of a rickety looking bait shop, they duck their heads together in conference.
“St. John’s ain’t too far from here,” George says, “Since it looks like I’ll be sticking around, we can ride the storm out together there.”
“Lead the way,” Ling Tran says without argument.
With a nod, George leads them up the grassy hill toward the promise of sanctuary while behind them their ship is slowly swallowed by the tempest.
They entered the gymnasium of St. John’s Preparatory Academy still drenched and exhausted from their climb up the steep hillside.
Cole shone his Maglite into the dark recesses of the cavernous space while Jeremy seemingly ignored all his surroundings—so intent on getting dry and complaining was he.
“I can’t believe I ever agreed to come along on this wild goose chase,” he griped.
Ignoring him, Cole walked further into the gymnasium. From what he could see the floors were parquet and encompassed a regulation size basketball court and a smaller area that could be used for other sports like volleyball or judging by the colorful targets along the closest wall, archery.
His sneakers squeaked as he made his way to center court, leaving a trail of puddles in his wake. Shining his light upward and around he saw a large scoreboard suspended from the ceiling and rows of bleachers along the back wall that were at least ten rows deep.
“Can you find the lights?” Cole asked Jeremy.
“The power’s out,” Jeremy groused without actually knowing if this were true or not.
“Just look,” Cole instructed by shining his light back onto him.
Standing at center court a feeling came over him that something was just not right. Something about the gymnasium felt odd. A cold shiver creeping down his spine he shone his light back up into the rafters and saw it reflect off the clear glass running along the top of the near wall.
Behind it he imagined an exercise room would be found. Guiding his light downward he found the staircase set back against the wall that would lead to the enclosed room.
“A little light would help you know,” Jeremy called out from his right.
Turning the Maglite in that direction, he illuminated his surly photographer standing just off the parquet floor, at the mouth to a hallway leading to the equipment storage.
“Forget the light,” Cole said to him, “I want to check out the room up there.”
Grumbling under his breath, Jeremy followed him to the staircase and then up it. Their steps echoed loudly on the metal steps. Reaching the top Cole swung the door open and shone his light inside.
As he thought it was an exercise room, but the smell is what struck him first. “You smell that?” he asked Jeremy.
“Yeah,” he replied, “What is that? Fresh paint?”
Moving further into the room they saw that all the equipment had been removed and the wall facing the window had been newly painted a bright white.
“Ain’t nothing here,” Jeremy complained, “Let’s go.”
“Wait,” Cole pondered over the significance of the paint job, “The people here vanished what, three weeks ago?”
“So?”
“So,” he elaborated, “The smell wouldn’t still be this strong. This was painted after the vanishing. I gotta wonder why?”
He walked closer to the wall and in the light of his beam found what he had been looking for. With little effort he scraped some of the paint away to reveal holes littering the wall beneath.
“Bullet holes,” he breathed.
“What?” Jeremy stepped closer, his face rife with concern.
“This is where they did it,” Cole confirmed, “The rifle shots—the execution.”
“We’re deep inside concrete walls here,” Jeremy pointed out, “No way Earl heard those shots offshore.”
“Then this isn’t the only site,” Cole said, “Maybe just for the students.”
He reached inside his bag then, retrieving a spray bottle filled with luminol. Spraying the substance around, the floor and wall of the room immediately began glowing like the Vegas strip at midnight.
“Blood,” Cole whispered, “It’s everywhere.”
Opening his eyes, Cole banishes the horrid memory. Along with Jeremy, he’s sitting at a table on the mezzanine overlooking the cafeteria. He can hear Fiona raging outside; her anger matched only by their rising fear.
Jeremy has said nothing since their finding in the exercise room—his complaining stifled by a real concern for their own safety; a valid concern that Cole shares.
The evacuation should’ve left us alone on this island but what if not all of Black Creek’s mercenaries left? If they learn what we’ve uncovered will we be lined up against a wall too?
He’s just wishing they hadn’t found what they did when a door is opened down below in the cafeteria and his breath catches in his throat.
Chapter 36
Ryan Heath smiles thinly as he faces his captive. With a preternatural calm about him he orates, “You want to be free…you can be. If you desire to take leave of me though, I shall require penance.”
Gazing down at his prisoner kneeling in front of him, Ryan unsheathes a blade. Even in the sparse light of a bare bulb the dried blood is noticeable.
“You took something from me,” he says while sniffing the blade, “Now you will give something back.” Slipping the blade back into its sheath he presses it into his captive’s hand.
“You know what I require,” he turns his back saying; “You will leave here through this door. I wouldn’t advise travel outdoors—a rather powerful storm rages as I speak.
“Turn left from here and walk down the long tunnel. After roughly a mile you’ll come to a crossroads; you can’t miss it. Left leads back to the surface,” wagging a finger and clicking his tongue he says, “Not the way to go. Straight leads you further into darkness but right…right is the way.
“You will come to a dead end but there is a doorway set into the earthen wall. I have left it unlocked for you. Once you pass through it you will shut it again as it is hidden from view on the other side. Do not attempt to lock it; it will not keep me out.
“Once in the basement, head straight until you reach a narrow ladder fixed to a cement wall. It leads up to a trapdoor through which you will find what you’re looking for.
“Do as I’ve told you and you will be free. Make the choice commanded of you—the right choice—and you shall be liberated from the shackles that restrain you.
“Now go,” he waves his hand in dismissal, “And remember my words.”
His captive staggers to their feet and with a last withering look at him, stumbles from the room.
“Go!” Ryan shouts to their back, “For the descent of man draws near! Let the hunt begin!”
Next to the gymnasium, the cafeteria is the largest room at the academy. It accommodates twenty-four lengthy wooden tables that each seat between eight and ten students.
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