by William Oday
The explosion didn’t happen.
After they turned the corner at the nearby intersection and got a building between them and the brewery, he allowed them to slow so Bob and Rome could catch a breath.
Rome yanked the helmet up and sucked down huge breaths. “You have a,” more breathing, “rat on your shoulder.”
“It’s a weasel. Name’s Oscar.” Marco reached up a finger and stroked under his chin.
“Looks like a rat,” Rome said.
The weasel turned to Rome and hissed.
Marco waited for them to catch their breath. Running them into the ground wasn’t going to help. “Your dud grenade still did the job.”
Rome shook his head. “Wasn’t a dud. Worked just fine lighting joints.”
Marco’s mouth fell open. “That was a novelty lighter?”
Bob snorted. “You can buy all kinds of stuff online and have it delivered right to your front door.”
43
Marco glanced at his watch. Emily’s watch that was now his.
6:22PM
They were too late.
He grabbed Rome’s shoulder and hauled him back into the shadows behind the corner.
An old Chevy truck lit up the intersection as it turned and roared by. The town had been crawling with Charlie’s men ever since the attack on the brewery.
They’d returned to Rome’s apartment and packed up. The plan was to get out before the fallout arrived. It was a great plan, right up until they’d left the apartment and headed into town.
Gang patrols were everywhere. The echoed reports of gunshots suggested the patrols occasionally found people. They also suggested how those people were being dealt with.
The gang’s activity also suggested that the other prisoners had gotten away and that Charlie Bog was furious about it.
Good.
In leaving the town, Marco had only two regrets.
One was that they hadn’t managed to kill that sociopath.
And two was that this was the last place he’d been close to Emily. She was gone and the new world wasn’t like the modern world everyone had taken for granted. She wasn’t a text away. She wasn’t an email away. She wasn’t even a letter away.
The old world and the new world had rejoined paths.
When someone went to another town or another place, chances were almost zero you’d ever see them again. Travel was again much more costly and much more dangerous.
Marco peeked around the corner and scanned the street in both directions. Clear for now. “Let’s go!”
He took off across the intersection with Oscar perched on one shoulder like a living car hood ornament. He glanced to verify that Rome and Bob were right behind.
The hazy night sky cast a dim glow below. It must’ve been a full moon. In the old world, it would’ve lit up the streets on a clear night. Now, the perpetual haze cut down and diffused what light made it through.
“There it is!” Marco whispered-shouted as he spotted the marina.
The faint rumble of a boat engine echoed across the street. “Hurry up! Someone’s still there!”
The plan was for everyone to meet an hour after sunset, but they were well past that now. Two hours maybe.
They sprinted down Mission Road toward the dock at the end. They made it halfway when Oscar started chittering and zipping back and forth across his shoulders.
The unmistakable action of a pump shotgun made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.
“Who goes there?”
Marco raised his hands, hoping he was about to identify himself to someone on his side. Otherwise, their plan ended here.
“Marco Morales with Rome Bickle and Bob… What’s your last name Bob?”
“How did you remember his last name but not mine? I’m the famous Hollywood producer. I’m the one that invited you to the show! I’m the reason you’re here at all!”
The moron said it like it was a good thing. Marco answered for him. “Bob the Hollywood producer jerk,” he said to the hidden voice that had challenged them.
Another voice shouted from the dock. “Marco! Get over here!”
Chief Stuckey!
Marco looked to the side as they ran and saw a man with a shotgun step behind a nearby parked boat. It was a good spot for a lookout. Cover behind the boat and trailer. Open view of anyone that passed through the narrowed neck to get to the dock.
Stuckey rolled Marco up into a bear hug that would’ve crushed the air out of him if he hadn’t been ready for it.
Oscar jumped over to his shoulders and nibbled on the chief’s earlobes as he pulled back.
“Good to see you, too!” A smile lifted the corners of his mouth. He patted Marco’s shoulder and Oscar darted across it like a bridge. “Figured you didn’t make it out of that shooting gallery.”
Marco thumbed toward Rome. “We had a battering ram that worked out pretty well.”
“Well, you three have more luck than a leprechaun because you’ve made it for the last ride out.”
Marco scanned the dark water of the adjacent channel but didn’t see movement. “Where are the others?”
Stuckey shook his head. “Not many made it. A couple hundred, maybe. Not enough time to get the word out.”
“Yeah, that and Charlie’s patrols have made getting through town a dangerous undertaking.”
Stuckey turned back toward the shadowed faces on the nearby boat. “How’s it looking, Alfie?”
“Well, engine’s still leaking like a busted baby’s diaper, but I think she’ll make it. And if not, we’ve got the Zodiac and a flare kit to call for rescue if everything goes kaput.”
“Good.” Stuckey turned back to Marco. “All aboard. We haven’t been spotted yet and I don’t want to hang around to change that.”
Marco handed his backpack to a woman on the boat and then climbed aboard. He turned to grab Rome’s duffle bag but Bob had cut in front to get on the boat.
Bob handed him a suitcase and then accepted Marco’s hand to help him over.
Marco looked to Rome next, but the kid hadn’t moved. “Rome! Let’s go!”
Rome dropped the duffle bag at his feet. “I can’t do it.”
“What?” Bob asked. “We talked about this already. We have to go. That fallout is coming and it’s going to poison the whole island.”
Rome covered his face with one enormous hand and pinched his temples. “No. I’m not leaving until Charlie Bog is dead.”
Bob threw his hands up in the air. “I get it! I really do! That maniac deserves to die horribly, but you’re killing yourself if you stay here!”
Stuckey laid a hand on Rome’s shoulder. “He’s right. You need to go with them. You all need to get going. The others are probably already waiting for you up at Spruce Cape.”
Marco noticed the subtle suggestion in the words.
Go with them. You all.
“Is your gear already stowed, Chief?”
Stuckey chewed his lower lip. “I’m not going.”
“Why?” someone on the boat said.
“There are six thousand people that live in this town. The town that I swore to protect and serve with my life. While I’m happy a few of them made it out tonight, that leaves thousands that haven’t.”
As much as Marco wanted to, he couldn’t argue with the man. Police, the good ones, were a dedicated and honorable brotherhood. His own uncle had been a county deputy a long time ago. He’d grown up with a respect and understanding for those that worked in law enforcement.
The bad ones weren’t worth the tin badges in their wallets.
Chief Stuckey was one of the good ones. One of the best ones.
“Rome, you need to go,” Stuckey said. “You’re not going to get a second chance.”
“The only second chance I want is one at killing that murderer.”
Stuckey turned to Marco. “He may not be eighteen but he is a man. He’s made his choice.”
Bob sighed. “I guess I’m staying too, then.”
Rome shook his head. “I don’t need you, old man. I can do it myself.”
Bob grabbed his suitcase and slung it over to the dock. “Did you come up with the car rolling down the hill idea? Or was that me? Because I distinctly remember telling you the idea and you saying how stupid it was and how it was so not like the A-Team version of a rescue.”
He kept on while Marco helped him cross over to the dock.
“And if my elderly, decrepit, failing memory has managed to remember one final thing, I recall that the plan worked out pretty well! We broke into the brewery, got the prisoners free, and somehow managed not to get killed! That’s what I call a I love it when a plan comes together Hannibal A-Team moment!”
Bob yanked his suitcase off the ground and slammed it down. One of the wheels broke off and rolled away. Bob let go of the handle and it fell over. “Great! Just great!”
“Fine, I’ll stay too,” Marco said as he lifted his backpack.
“No,” Stuckey said. “You go. You’re a natural leader, son. These people will need you.”
“You need my help,” Marco said as he tossed the backpack over to the dock.
Stuckey grabbed it and launched it over Marco’s head to the other side of the boat. He untied the line securing the boat to the dock, pushed the boat away with his foot, and tossed the line over.
The engines rumbled as the boat pulled away.
Marco appeared at the side with his retrieved backpack. He eyed the span of dark water between the boat and dock. Too far to jump. “Take us back to the dock!”
Oscar screeched in shared anger.
“No!” Stuckey roared with his command voice. The one that expected obedience.
The engines didn’t spin down.
“Marco, you’re still my deputy and I order you to go! There are a couple hundred people that are going to need you. I expect that my faith in you is well-placed. I expect that you will do your job.”
Marco set the backpack down on the deck.
The boat turned left into the channel that ran between Kodiak and Near Island. The figures on the dock started to slip into shadow.
A voice came across the water.
“Will you do it, son?”
“Yes.”
A distant pair of headlights raked across the channel before they turned down Mission Road.
The deep boom of a shotgun fired.
The sharper cracks of rifles responded.
The headlights raked across the end of the dock.
Stuckey, Rome and Bob were already gone.
“Should we go back?” someone asked.
Marco shook his head. “No. Keep going. We have to join up with the others.” He reached up and stroked Oscar’s back to calm him. The weasel slowly relaxed and the hairs laid flat.
Marco whispered so that only the weasel would hear. “I hope we’re up to this.”
44
EMILY gripped the railing lining the bow of the boat as she stared out into the darkness. Was there something out there?
Between the minimal light and the rolling surface of the ocean, she couldn’t be sure.
Sometimes near and sometimes in the distance. A darker shadow than the surrounding black. A terrifying vision of the Megalodon rising up out of the water and tearing the boat apart.
Nonsense, in other words. Her mind playing tricks on her. She must’ve left that monster behind hours ago. But it was still impossible to stop her brain from replaying the vision over and over again.
The shadows were nothing substantial. Nothing more than tricks of light or the lack thereof.
She took another look into the distance, straining to soak up every last photon.
There!
Off to the right!
A light on the water!
A swell rolled through, sucking the spark of hope back into darkness.
Her chest tightened with worry as she started to think she’d imagined it.
The swell passed and the light appeared again.
It was real!
Someone was out on the water.
She should’ve been more careful, more thoughtful of the potential of meeting an unknown party in the dark of night.
But she wasn’t.
All she felt was joy at no longer being alone.
She turned back for the cabin and froze as the soundtrack of her imminent rescue abruptly changed.
The rumbling of the engines.
They sputtered and guttered out.
Emily ran back inside the cabin and tried to restart them. The ignition turned over, but they didn’t catch. She tried for another minute as the boat slowed and the rear dipped lower into the water.
She flipped the topside lights on and off, over and over, hoping the blinking would draw the other boat over before it was too late. She swallowed hard, knowing this moment might come.
And it had.
The sound of water crashing through the hull below echoed up to the cabin. She’d tried to reinforce the patch, but had only succeeded in making it worse. It was then that she came up with backup plan. A plan for when the current plan failed.
Something to give her a chance when the fuel ran out and the boat sank into the depths.
Emily zipped up the neck of the survival suit as a cold, dark dread settled in her gut.
It was time to get back into the water.
At night.
With no land in sight.
With nothing but water all around.
Knowing there was a monster out there.
Probably nowhere close.
Probably.
Emily gave the switch a final few flicks and then left it on before hurrying out to the forward deck.
Already it was like walking up one of the steeper streets in San Francisco.
She dragged the thing that was supposedly going to help her survive.
Constructed of all of the remaining life vests she could find, nine to be exact, lashed together with the round plastic table top secured above. It was large enough to sit on, but not lay down to sleep.
As if that would be possible.
She’d lashed a duffle bag filled with bottles of fresh water on one side and another bag containing some food she’d scavenged from the kitchen. The stuffed bags also doubled as something to lean back on, which was nice because the rest of the table had no edge, no border, nothing to separate it from the dark water that would soon be lapping at the perimeter.
The rear of the boat suddenly plunged lower into the water, almost making her fall.
She heaved her makeshift craft up onto the rail, making sure she had the tow line firmly in one hand, and then shoved it the rest of the way over.
The sad excuse for a life raft splashed down onto the surface and steadied itself.
Before she could change her mind and decide to go down with the boat, she leaped over the rail and down onto the table.
The heel of her boot hit and shot out from under her. She careened backwards and fell into the water.
It hit her face like a thousand needle pricks at once.
She clamped her mouth shut to avoid sucking in a lungful of seawater.
Even going under, her hand shot out and latched onto one of the life preserver straps. She pulled back up and flopped over onto her belly. Pulling and kicking, she levered herself up onto the table and scooted forward to balance the load.
The emergency light tied to the suit flashed bright yellow. She snapped her eyes shut and pushed it around to her back to keep it from ruining her night vision.
She lay flat, face down for a minute or two. Trying to settle her chattering teeth. Trying to slow her racing heart. After succeeding enough at both to function, she carefully pushed up and turned to sit.
That’s when she saw it.
Forty feet away.
The end of all hope.
The end of everything that made a future possible.
The bow of the boat slipped under the black surface.
A heavy feeling of despair
settled onto her shoulders. A hopeless certainty that it was over.
All the struggle.
All in vain.
Emily bit down on her lip. Hard. Sliced it open and blood oozed out. She tasted the mineral tang and a flame ignited in her chest.
She spat out blood and saltwater, shifted into position between the opposing bags of supplies and tied herself in.
A wave lifted her up and she spotted the light in the distance.
Was it any closer?
The wave passed and she sunk into a valley of shadow.
She was not going to surrender.
She was not going to lay down and die.
If the sea took her, fine.
If the shark took her, fine.
If the cold took her, fine.
“But I will not give in!” she screamed at the unforgiving world. “Never!”
The fury warmed her, gave her strength as the struggle tried to sap it away.
She reached for the oar secured with straps.
It was right there. A minute ago.
But she’d noticed a minute too late.
She glanced over and saw it rise on a wave and then disappear into a valley as it drifted away. Already too far to retrieve. She clenched her jaws tight. “Never,” she hissed through bared teeth.
But never could turn out to be an unimaginably long time.
Never could wait out everything and everyone.
She drifted and held on.
Her face and hands were numb from being constantly scoured with water. The driving wind sucked the heat out of her exposed skin. Her body and limbs were functioning, though they had little energy to work with.
A large wave passed beneath, lifting her high into the air.
There were several lights now!
One closer than the rest. A spotlight sweeping back and forth through the churning mist.
But still so far.
Too far.
The wave passed and she descended into a depression. The walls extended up many feet all around. The waves were getting bigger. She’d been fortunate before with calmer waters.
Even that little bit of luck was running out.
Another wave shot her up like climbing to the crow’s next to get a better view.
She squinted through the splashing and swirling mist.