by B. C. Tweedt
Greyson stalled just before the drop to see the Fisherman grasp at his forehead, blood gushing through his fingers and into the water around him. And his forehead seemed to do the trick on the arrow. The cracks spread like a spider-web. Water gushed through the opening, and with a magnificent crash, an implosion of water followed like a torrent. The entire tube collapsed inward; the tidal wave of water blasted into Greyson and swallowed him as it spat him into the pool.
He toppled head over heels underwater; the water stirred him like he’d fallen into a raging waterfall. Holding his breath, he fought for control; he couldn’t tell up from down. The current was too strong.
And then it happened. A large body hit against his, but it wasn’t the Fisherman’s. Its powerful grey shape loomed over him as he flailed about. Greyson’s skin crawled and he let out a muffled scream. Suddenly the grey shape thrashed about; its fin scraped against his arm; the water gurgled and bubbled; he saw its jaws flash by and red water mixed with blue.
His head felt like it would explode and his heart thumped with panic; the red water burned his eyes as he searched and kicked until finally, his body hit a wall; he scraped at it until he felt his body lifting higher. He saw the light above; with desperate kicks and a lunge, he burst out of the water, grabbing at the side of the pool.
Just as he pulled himself out, expecting to have his legs ripped from his body, he saw the red dripping over his eyes. And when he rolled to the ground, he realized he was covered in it from head to toe.
Blood.
It covered him.
Still gasping for air, he rubbed his hands over his body, searching for bite marks – but there were none. As his heart continued to thrash in his chest, he rolled to his side on the cement and looked into the pool. The current had slowed from the slide opening, but the water that came stirred the red water, diluting it. The grey fin rose above the surface, jerking about like sails.
The shark lunged above the water and snapped a harpoon in two, submerging again to continue feeding.
There fishy, fishy, fishy…
Before he turned away from the grotesque scene, a red hat lolled toward him on the pool’s surface. He snagged it, hugged it close, and rolled to his back, staring into the rain clouds, letting the rain wash the blood from his face as he tried to breathe slower and slower. He was almost too tired to move. Too sore. Too scared. It had been right next to him. He could still feel its rough skin on his. He shuddered.
As he closed his eyes, his head still swirled as if underwater. He wanted to drift to sleep, listening to the wind and the pattering rain. He was one with the cement – he was a stone, letting the gravity pull him in, forcing him to rest. A hurricane couldn’t make him get up.
“Greyson?”
Chapter 53
Two figures stood looking at Greyson, the pouring rain bouncing off their shoulders.
Greyson pushed himself off the cement, feeling every sore muscle. He stared at them for a long moment, his mind blank, and the twins stared back – their mouths hanging open. They gawked at the blood twisting down his clothes. His buzzed hair and the scar on his brow. They didn’t have the words.
Greyson wanted to greet them, but couldn’t. Maybe it was the shock or the dizziness from the pool. He just stood there, tottering and trying not to let the wind blow him over.
And then someone came running, shoving her way between the twins and lunging for Greyson. Before he knew what had happened, Sydney had wrapped him in a wet hug, burying her face in his shoulder.
“Greyson!” she cried with a scratch in her voice. “Thank, God. You’re alive!”
Grimacing from the painful hug, he wrapped her in his arms as well, holding her close in the rain. He’d been imagining the moment for weeks, and now that it was here, it was so much better. To hug a friend after so long, to smell her hair, to know she had been longing to hug him back made all the days of suffering seem dim in comparison.
Finally, she pulled back and looked at him fully. She was beautiful.
“Hi,” he said sheepishly.
She half-smiled, half-frowned as she stroked his eyebrow, examining the mark. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. It’s not my blood.”
He donned his hat while watching the shark still thrashing in the pool.
“You look different,” she said, matter-of-fact. Her eyes examined his features.
Different? Is that a good thing? “I cut my hair.”
“Not just your hair…”
Nick took a step forward and cocked his head. “You a Plurb now?” His tone wasn’t accusing; it was curious – almost a little hopeful.
“No,” he replied. “Just a mark.”
Nick nodded.
“You’re so tan. And your voice is deeper,” Jarryd added, still keeping his distance.
Greyson shrugged.
“You got pit-hair now, too?”
He nodded with a tired smile. “A little.”
“Sweet.”
Sydney shook her head with a disgusted wince. “Annnny-way…you made it.”
“Yeah.”
“Your dad?”
He shook his head. “Not yet.”
She flashed him a sympathetic look. “We just got here, too. Paradise, huh?”
He gave a short laugh, but an urgency crept into his voice. “I think that guy was after you guys before he went after me.”
Sydney recalled walking out of the room to see the Fisherman running toward the staircase. They had followed at a distance. “It’s because of what we did on the ship.”
The rain began to pick up and distant voices drifted through the palm trees, prompting Greyson to rush forward. He grabbed her hand. “Come on, boy!” Realizing his mistake, he shook his head, “I mean…come on!” Pulling the confused Sydney past the twins, he urged them onward. “We’ve got to hide. Fill me in.”
Sydney whispered hard over the wind and rain. “They poisoned our parents…and Sammy.”
He trodded along as the twins caught up. “What? Poisoned?”
“Yeah,” she answered. “The mints at the hotel.”
“Are they okay?”
Jarryd blurted, “We don’t know. Didn’t get to taste them. Sammy ate ‘em before – ”
“They’re still breathing,” Sydney interjected. “It must have been like a tranquilizer or something.”
They splashed through the wet ground, cutting through the food area and winding along the path. As they made their way to an artificial cave, Greyson stopped and scanned the corners for any more Plurbs. “Wait. Stop here. We have to think.”
Nick smiled at Greyson, anxious to hear what he had to say.
“You have to tell me everything,” he commanded. It was much quieter, and his voice echoed. “What happened on the ship?”
Sydney and Nick explained everything and Jarryd added details about Avery. When Sydney told of their discovery of the Plurbs on the cruise, Greyson’s eyes were lost in a daydream, visualizing each event. They told him about the text messages they had received while in possession of the watch, the interview with Baldy afterwards, and their eventual discovery of Daryl’s identity. Greyson thoughts were making connections every which way.
“…and then we followed you out here.”
Greyson nodded, returning from his daydream. For a moment he wrestled with the options. There were so many things to consider, and each one demanded him. The parents inside the hotel, the terrorists on the cruise…his dad. Each one would be good to pursue. Each would be daring.
It was never easy.
Recruit your friends and find Dad, part of him urged. What else did you come here for?
“What do we do now, Greyson?”
“I…don’t know. We could go to your parents…or we could find my dad and he could help.”
They were nodding. They were willing.
But he recalled his vow to never again leave anyone behind. If he left the terrorists to do what they want, it would be as if he were leaving all the passenger
s behind. He couldn’t. There was good to do. It would require every ounce of daring he had, but he knew he had to do it.
Don’t lose yourself while finding him. If he did ever find his dad, he wanted to be the boy his dad had left. A boy who stood for good, no matter how hard it was. A boy, who, like Jesus, was on a mission – but who would still stop to save people or to fight evil.
“Or we could try to save the people on the ship,” he whispered.
“All 8,000 of them,” Nick added.
Greyson met eyes with each of his friends. They didn’t know about the Payback List. They didn’t know the significance of the number 8,000. But he did. It confirmed his decision. He had found a stiff resolve, realizing what he had to do. The burden eased from his conscience and he almost smiled.
But first, he had forgotten something. He took Nick into a hug and patted his back. “Thanks for coming after me. I like your fanny pack.”
Surprised, Nick hugged him back with a pat of his own. “Thanks.”
Jarryd was next, though he was squeamish about the blood on his clothes. “You have to meet Avery. She’s Australian, so you know she’s hot.”
Nick scoffed. “You’re so racist.”
“What? How?”
“You prefer one race over another.”
Jarryd laughed and pointed at his chest. “You’re the one who like the Kentucky Derby but says Nascar is for hicks. Who’s racist now?”
“Not that kind of races…”
“Guys.” Greyson interrupted.
The twins turned to him. “Sorry.”
“Anyway. Thank you guys – for coming all the way here…to help me.”
The three of them nodded and smiled.
“You guys are the best friends I could ask for.”
“Ah shucks,” Jarryd chimed.
“But I need your help again. And we can’t go back to the hotel.”
“But what about our parents?” Sydney complained, trying not to show her fear. “And Sammy?”
“We got one of them, but who knows how many more are after you…waiting for you to come back? And if we told security, they would contact someone in the US government, who for some reason is trying to kill me.”
Nick drew back, concerned. He shared a look with Sydney as Greyson went on.
“Plus, we just don’t have time. You said the Plurb text said they would depart at 4 p.m.?”
“Yeah,” Nick answered, “that’s two hours before Captain Chip said we should be back! They must want to leave some people behind.”
Greyson eyed his watch. 3:45. “Then we have fifteen minutes to get back on the ship.”
“What?” the three kids eyed Greyson like he was crazy. “Why?”
“We have to stop them.”
“But…”
“Look. They’re going to keep coming after us. We run. We hide – but they find us. And they won’t stop until we’re all dead.”
They stared at him. A confident, almost sinister look formed on his face, the mark on his brow all the more visible in the cave’s hard light.
“I’m tired of running.”
Sydney shook her head in frustration. “What about your dad? He’s in Nassau, right? And you want to leave?”
The thought nipped at him once more, but there was a new clarity he hadn’t had before. He set his jaw and looked to each one of them. “I don’t know where he is, but I know my dad. He finds trouble or it finds him. If the Plurbs have been planning something on Nassau, getting ready for it – maybe he’ll be on that ship trying to stop it.”
The twins and Sydney gave him skeptical looks, and he was beyond skeptical himself.
“But if he’s not – I want him to be proud of me when I find him. I want him to know that we always did what was right – no matter how hard it was.”
The rest of the kids felt his passion. Sydney gave him an agreeing nod. “I’m with you.”
Her comment gave wind to his sails. She had always been his main supporter. She had urged him to do what was right from the very start. If only she had been with him when he had made the wrong decision at the fair…
“We’re in, too,” Jarryd declared. “Sucks for you after coming all this way.”
“Yeah. But sometimes you have to go west to go south.” After his friends gave him confused looks, he went on. “Anyway, have you guys told anyone else about the Plurbs?”
Nick nodded. “Sydney’s Dad – he called the FBI.”
“No,” Sydney sighed, disappointed with herself. “He didn’t.”
“What?” Nick huffed. “You heard the call…”
She shook her head. “No. He called Sam’s tutor. He’s like a computer genius or something and he tricked the FBI and set it all up for us to be here. Sam gave our parents his tutor’s phone number as the FBI contact when he set it all up.”
“Really?” Nick grew angry. He hadn’t realized he’d been left out of so much. “So the FBI doesn’t know we’re here?”
She shook her head. “Why does it matter? Sam’s tutor got us here and now he’ll send help.”
“Will he? Do you even know him?”
“No, but I know Sam…”
After more arguing, Greyson had enough. “Okay, okay. Cool it. How many minutes do we have now, Nick?”
Nick glanced at his watch and rolled his eyes. “Thirteen.”
“How do we get back to the dock in thirteen minutes or less? Think!”
Jarryd pumped his chin. “Find a horse.”
“Think harder.”
“A steel horse?”
Greyson rolled his eyes. “Think smarter.”
“A nerd horse?”
A memory flashed in Sydney’s mind and she leaned in. “Waverunners.”
Greyson’s eyes lit up. “Where?”
“They were putting them away in a shed on the beach.”
“Does anyone know how to drive one?”
Jarryd laughed.
---------------
Sam’s fingers rested on the piano keys, but his heart was not in the music; his mind was elsewhere. The piano was oddly placed at the end of a wide hallway, placed by two giant ferns and leather chairs meant for casual listeners. The Grand Hotel had wealthy guests who were accustomed to having a grand piano placed in one of their many rooms, so Sam guessed it was placed there to make them feel at home. But for his purposes, it allowed him to get his daily thirty minutes in, even while stuck in Washington D.C.
He turned on the piano bench and glanced down the hall where two men in suits watched the lobby. One of the men sensed Sam’s look and turned. Sam took his secret service agent’s gaze as a keep playing-type of look.
Taking a deep sigh, he tried to slow his rapid thoughts while playing a slow, methodic tune.
He couldn’t wrap his head around what had happened to Calvin – and the fact that his dad approved of it. One moment his mind would rush to his dad’s defense. Calvin was helping the terrorists! He was going to share the nation’s secrets like a traitor! But the next moment he’d remember Calvin drinking Mountain Dew, talking about his girlfriend, helping him send his friends to the Bahamas and giving him ideas for his notes to Sydney.
The tune grew lighter and the tempo picked up. His fingers danced on the keys.
Secrets.
The word popped in his mind and he wrestled with it. The nation had them – kept them from its people. That had been hard to hear, but his dad had made sense. The secrets may look bad, but actually be good. And by keeping the secret, the government was actually doing the nation a favor – keeping it together.
Everyone has secrets.
He hit a wrong key, but didn’t flinch. He continued on as if it hadn’t happened. His piano teacher had taught him the art of covering mistakes – don’t acknowledge them. Most in the audience wouldn’t even notice one wrong note when it was covered by five right ones, but if he made a face or acted flustered – that’s when they’d discover his secret.
I have a secret.
It was
true. He’d stolen his dad’s signature, helped Calvin forge documents, and lied to FBI agents.
His breath caught in his throat and the rhythm of the song suffered. The guilt pressed at his lungs. He’d lied to the government – just like Calvin. He’d lied to his dad. He’d meant good, but he’d had to do those bad things to do so.
He hated himself as he plucked erratically at the keys. How could he have judged his dad when he was just like him? At least Dad had been honest – and I am still hiding things from him!
Playing one last chord, his jaw shook and a tear streaked down his cheek as he hung his head. He cried onto his tie, keeping his sobs to a whimper.
Suddenly the bench creaked and his dad scooted next to him. Sam looked at him through blurry eyes.
“Play with me, son. Schubert Serenade.”
His father began the song, beating out its slow, but happy melody. Uncertain, Sam took in deep breaths and wiped at his tears – ashamed. As Sam’s entrance to the song approached, his father gave him a sideways glance and a nod.
Sam’s fingers found their place and he joined in, tentatively at first, but soon matching his father’s grace and tempo. The song was one of his favorites – fairly simple, but beautiful – captivating, but somehow somber, too.
Taken in with the song, he almost forgot why he was crying. But when he did, he had to say something.
“Dad?”
The governor kept playing, not missing a beat. “Yeah?”
“I…I have to tell you something.”
“Go ahead. You can always tell me anything.”
Sam cleared his throat and gulped down the lump. He had to share. No matter the consequences, he just had to. “I…have a secret.”
“I know.”
His response sent a shudder through Sam’s body. “Y-you know?”
His father smiled. “Of course. It was a clever idea, and well executed. And they did need the vacation.”
It took a few more measures for Sam to process the thought. He knew the whole time? He let me use his signature? And he was okay with it? “You’re not mad?”