by Graham Smith
There’s a marina, and the crewman manoeuvres the yacht until its bow is swinging away from the floating pontoons that comprise the dock. The deck vibrates beneath my feet as the crewman puts the boat into reverse and starts edging the yacht towards the pontoons.
Taylor touches my arm. ‘You’re quiet. What are you thinking?’
I don’t answer. My eyes are scanning everywhere and there’s a sense of foreboding that is dominating my thoughts. Something is wrong here.
I look around the marina. The car park is empty; there isn’t a single person working on a boat, ferrying supplies back and forth, or doing any of the other things you’d expect. Other than the seagulls, I can’t see another living creature.
I look at the bar and restaurant building next. With so many yachts and pleasure craft moored here, the bar and restaurant should be booming. It looks closed.
Something moves on the roof of the building. It’s a human shape and is holding a long, thin item. It could be a worker hiding on the roof with a mop, but I don’t think so.
‘Ambush.’ My yell startles everyone on the yacht, but I’m not worried about hurt feelings. I point at the man piloting it. ‘Get us out of here. Fast!’
He leans on the throttle lever but the yacht is a pleasure craft, not a racer, and despite getting full power, it reacts with the kind of sluggishness you’d expect from a vehicle this size.
There’s a crack, and a hole appears in the bridge’s windshield. Cameron and Taylor are on the exposed rear deck, while the two crewmen show their loyalty to Cameron and jump overboard. I’d do the same myself were it not for the girl I love and the brother I’m trying to save.
With nobody at the helm, the yacht will crash into another boat before it has gone two hundred yards. I give myself a mental crossing and dive for the helm. I’m trying to make myself as small a target as possible, when I hear another crack of rifle fire.
Not feeling any pain, or being aware of the bullet striking anywhere near me, I turn and look to the others. Cameron is backing away towards the cabin but, like the coward he is, he’s using Taylor as a shield.
His arm circles her chest and he’s keeping his body behind hers.
I forget all about steering the craft and leap over the rail so I can separate them and get her into the safety of the cabin.
My feet land with a thud and I roll towards them but, as I’m straightening my legs, I hear another crack.
This one is followed a millisecond later by a dull thunk that snaps Taylor’s head back, over Cameron’s shoulder.
A mess of red and grey splatters the side of his face and the bulkhead.
Cameron drops Taylor at his feet and dives into the cabin.
As much as I want to follow him, and punch him until my hands are raw and broken and his head is a squashed pulp, I know what my priority is.
The man with the rifle will just train his gun on the cabin door, and wait for us to emerge while his buddies close in on us.
I scramble up the stairs and take control of the yacht as another bullet smacks into the windshield.
I keep myself as low as I can as I twist the wheel left and right to make sure the gunman’s opportunities to score another kill are as limited as possible.
Once we’re away from danger, I’ll deal with Cameron.
36
There are three more cracks and three slaps, as bullets crash through the windshield or into the timber deck.
I chance a look back, see the sniper on the roof has raised his rifle, and surmise that he’s given up. From nowhere, a bunch of shapes are running towards the pontoons. I figure they mean to steal another boat and follow us.
That won’t do them a whole lot of good. Not with what I have in mind.
Cameron’s actions have turned my veins into glaciers. To say I feel murderous is an understatement.
Despite my anger, and the urge to go down into the cabin and beat my father to death, I have a cold, dispassionate part of my brain, and this is controlling my actions and working out ways to survive.
As furious as I am with Cameron, I know that killing him will sentence John to death. Even in my fury, I still have enough control not to submit to base emotions. There will come a time of reckoning between me and Cameron, but it cannot happen until John’s transfusion has gone ahead.
With the yacht on a course that’ll keep it free from any possible collisions, I clatter down the stairs and go to the cabin. The door is locked but I’m long past the point of caring about the yacht’s resale value.
My foot crashes against the lock side and it splinters inwards. A second kick sees it swing open.
‘You.’ I point a finger at Cameron. ‘Get to the bridge now. Things have changed. I’m in charge now.’ My tone doesn’t leave room for argument, and he’s wise enough to do as he’s told.
I grab my backpack and return to the bridge.
I cannot bear to look at Taylor.
It’s bad enough seeing bits of her smeared across Cameron’s face, without looking at her ruined beauty for a second time.
When Cameron joins me on the bridge, I hold out my hand. ‘Cell.’
He hesitates, so I double him over with a powerful gut punch and pluck it from his pocket. It’s sailing over the rail before he’s finished his second gasp. The punch felt good to me. Too good in fact. It is all I can do not to give in to the desire to throw a few more. Say, a million or two; that might be enough to sate my need for revenge.
I put my own phone to my ear and connect with Alfonse. I give him Cameron’s cell number and tell him to do a trace on anyone who’s been tracking it. He goes quiet when I ask him to make sure he can’t be tracked himself. I want to tell him about what has happened to Taylor, but I can’t bring myself to say the words. Acknowledging her death will make it real and definite.
Deep inside, I know she really is dead, it’s just I can’t yet bring myself to believe it.
I cut the call and turn to Cameron. ‘You have one minute to get anything you think we may need, and then we’re leaving this boat.’
His face goes ashen as he realises that I’m serious. He’s not going to get the windfall he was hoping for.
Cameron nods as he faces up to his new reality. There are now finger trails running through the remnants of Taylor on his face. It’s obvious he’s disgusted by the gore and has tried to scrape it from his cheek. The sight offends me as much as him, so I toss him a rag. ‘Clean your face. I don’t want you touching her ever again.’
He ducks away. The sniper attack has shaken him. He’s been outclassed and his plans have turned to crap. I’m his best chance of survival and, as much as I’m furious with him, he knows that, for John’s sake, I won’t kill him.
As I plan a way to get us off the boat without getting shot, I’m thinking ahead: analysing the ways our pursuers can track us, and how to evade any traps they might set.
I’m not just thinking about the next few hours, I’m thinking about tomorrow and the days after that.
John needs Cameron to be in Casperton. As soon as I can find a way to lose our tail, I can then begin to consider how to get Cameron to the hospital.
The only thing I’m certain of is that Cameron cannot be trusted not to disappear the second I stop watching his every move.
A second thought dominates my mind. One of vengeance and violence; retribution and revenge.
Once I get Cameron to Casperton I will act upon my second thought.
My fingers grip the yacht’s wheel until they turn white, as I imagine myself killing the man responsible for Taylor’s death.
I make a vow to myself that Taylor will be avenged, or I will die in the attempt.
‘Cameron?’ His head snaps towards me. ‘Hold on. Things are about to get bumpy.’
37
Cameron sees what Jake is planning and grips the rail surrounding the rear deck with both hands. What his son is doing will cost him millions of dollars, but right now he doesn’t care. With his plan ruined, the only thing on
his agenda is staying alive.
It’s a shame the girl died. That wasn’t part of his calculations. He hadn’t expected the sniper to fire at him when he was shielded by an innocent. Still, better her than him.
Cameron knows that Jake will blame him for the girl’s death, due to the way he’d used her, rather than the man who had pulled the trigger. The look in his eyes had been murderous, but the fact that Cameron’s bone marrow is needed for John was enough to save his life.
That will continue to save him until he can slip away from Jake and start a new life again. Money will be tight to begin with, but he’ll find a way. He always does.
Cameron knows he should feel guilty about abandoning John to his fate, but really, he thinks it’s a bit rich – only looking him up when they need something from him.
He left both of his families behind for a reason. The same reason each time: they suffocated him; made demands on his time that he wasn’t prepared to give. Sure, reading a story to a pyjama-clad child is endearing. But only if you do it once in a while. To do it twice and thrice a day is monotonous and stultifying. Doubly so when it’s the same story, night after night.
His ex-wives were no better, with their nagging about the lawns that needed cutting, or the shelves they wanted erecting. On and on they’d droned until he’d lost sight of the thing that had attracted him to them in the first place.
The yacht falls silent as Jake cuts the engines and lets momentum carry them into the shore.
Cameron braces himself and only just manages to stop himself from being thrown forward, as the bow digs into the soft sand, ten yards from shore.
The yacht’s momentum carries it a few yards further before it grinds to a complete halt and then slowly, it lists twenty degrees onto its starboard side.
Cameron goes to the front of the boat and looks down. It’s ten feet from the rail to the waves lapping on the beach. The water is perhaps a foot or two deep, which means a five foot drop if he hangs from the deck.
It’s doable. The water and sand will cushion his blow and prevent him from breaking any bones.
He looks at Jake.
His son has gone to the rear deck and is kneeling by the girl’s body. It’s the perfect chance for him to get away.
Cameron slides his body over the lip of the deck and hangs by his fingertips for the briefest of moments before letting go.
38
I crouch beside Taylor’s body and take a last look at her. Were it not for the hole that has shattered her right cheek, she could be mistaken for being asleep.
As I bend forward to kiss her lips, I reaffirm my earlier vow to seek out the person who ended her life. Not just the person who pulled the trigger, but the man who put the gun in his hands and money in his pocket.
I hear a splash and turn my head.
There’s no sign of Cameron so I give Taylor’s forehead a kiss, and dash to the bow as best I can on the tilted deck.
I see Cameron; he’s forging his way up the beach towards the many trees that shield rich men’s houses from prying eyes.
He’s not looking back, or even making a pretence of waiting for me.
I’m neither surprised nor disappointed. All his escape attempt has done is confirm my fears that he will dump me at the first opportunity.
I grab my backpack, stride back from the rail, take three quick steps and throw myself forward, hurdling the rail before gravity takes hold of me.
I land in a foot of water and manage to stagger forward until I stumble into an ungainly roll at the edge of the water.
In less than a second I’m back on my feet and chasing after Cameron.
When I reach him, he’s trying to pull himself over a six-foot wall. I’d throw a punch or two as retribution, but I need him to be both compliant and fit to move without being carried. Laying him out will only add to my problems. Plus, there’s the issue of him turning up at the hospital with obvious signs of a beating. Should I give him a black eye or two, the doctors may well decide he’s being coerced into donating the bone marrow, and refuse to do the transfusion.
As much as it galls me to keep my hands off him, I know that I must, for John’s sake.
Cameron sees me and jerks his head. ‘Good. You’ve caught up.’
Had I not seen him use my girlfriend as a shield, I might have bought his comment, but I let it wash over me rather than waste time and energy challenging him on it. We need to get out of here before the guys with guns either storm up the beach, or circle round and get to us from the land side.
There’s a guy cleaning a pool. He’s engrossed in his task and has the ubiquitous leads trailing from his ears. It’s the first bit of luck we’ve had since getting on that damned yacht.
I lead Cameron through the heavy bushes and skirt behind the pool guy. The house is large and expensive, and there’s little doubt that the pool guy’s truck will be sitting out front.
Rather than take the home owner’s car, and risk it being fitted with a tracker, I plan to steal the pool guy’s truck. I don’t need it for long and don’t plan to damage it in any way. I’ll even leave him a few bucks for gas if we travel far.
As I anticipated, he’s been kind enough to leave his keys in the ignition.
What little luck we’ve had, runs out when I see there are huge wrought iron gates barring our exit from the house’s grounds. As I stop in front of them, they open with a subdued whine.
I glance to my side and see what must be a sensor, disguised as one of the rocks lining the driveway.
Two minutes later I’m powering along the road as fast as I dare go without attracting too much attention.
Cameron is silent in the passenger seat, but he can do as he pleases as far as I’m concerned. I’ve no doubt that he’s plotting his next move. I know I’m planning mine.
‘Did you bring your gun from the yacht?’
‘Of course.’
‘Next time we go over a bridge, toss it into the water.’
‘No way. I’m keeping it.’ His jaw sets in determination. ‘It’s saved us once and may save us again.’
‘Agreed. But it may well condemn us.’
‘How?’
I can’t believe he hasn’t figured this out himself. He’s obviously good with pre-planned situations, but is unable to react, or think on his feet when the need arises. I’m the opposite; I don’t ever plan too far ahead and tend to go with what seems right in the moment.
‘If we get pulled by the police and they find that gun, we’re done for.’
I choose not to mention the papers in my backpack. They are nothing more than another complication, should we find ourselves talking to the police.
Another thing I don’t mention is how I don’t trust him not to pull the gun on me.
‘I have a permit for it.’
‘Maybe you do.’ I take my eyes off the road for a second to look at him. ‘What do you think the police will want to talk about when they find that gun on you? When they get our fingerprints from the yacht we’ve just left? You know, the one with my girlfriend on it; you must remember her? She’s the one who caught the bullet intended for you.’ I make no effort to hide the resentment and anger in my voice.
He scowls at me, but even as he’s scowling he’s nodding his head.
There are still a lot of points to consider. The first being that the people we’re up against have resources, enough manpower to scramble a team to be ready for us when we docked, and no fear of killing.
As soon as we were free of the ambush, I realised that the only way they could have tracked us was Cameron’s phone. The same thing will be true for his credit and debit cards.
For the time being I reckon I’m clean, but it’s only a matter of time before they find out who I am. This gives me a window of opportunity.
I hand Cameron my cell and tell him to bring up our location on the maps app. I need to know where we are, so I can plan our next move.
We need to draw as much money from our banks as possible. My accoun
t is pretty much empty and I’m against using our cards as they’ll leave a trail.
Cameron shows me the screen and I see the nearest town in the direction we’re travelling is East Falmouth.
It will have a bank and so far, that’s all we need.
When we have some money we can hole up in a motel, while I try to figure out a way of getting us back to Casperton.
39
As we’re driving through Mashpee on our way to East Falmouth, Cameron points at a building I’ve missed due to a suburban that was threatening to cut me up.
I glance at where he’s pointing and see a bank. There’s an ATM beside it.
I swing the wheel over and park fifty yards from the bank. Cameron has the door open and is about to climb out when I grab his arm. ‘Not so fast. I’ll get money here. As soon as your card goes into one of those machines, it’s at risk of being traced.’
Alfonse answers my call on the first ring. He tries to speak but I cut across him. ‘Listen, don’t talk. Put a thousand bucks in my account and find me a place where I can rent a car in the nearest place to Mashpee. I think it’s on Cape Cod, but I’m not sure. Let me know when you have done each task. Move quick, Alfonse. We’re quite literally on the run from bad guys.’
I hear the low whistle from him before I end the call. Two minutes later I insert my card and check my balance. It’s up by a thousand bucks.
My card limit is set at three hundred dollars a day. I could get it raised but it’s wiser for me not to. On the rare occasions I drink, I tend to burn through money, so the less I have access to, the better.
Rather than raise suspicions by walking into the bank and withdrawing all the money that’s just appeared in my account, I use the ATM to get my daily allowance.
Cameron goes to do the same, but again I stop him. His card will be used to hire a car. The blandest, least conspicuous car it’s possible to rent. The car we get will blend in with all the other similar models on the road.