by B. C. Tweedt
“It’s a lifeboat!”
The orange boat was bigger than a van, with a covered roof that made it look more like a spaceship than a boat. As it lowered closer to them, Jarryd pulled himself out of the water and Sydney turned her engine back on.
“Back up!”
The waverunners kicked into reverse and steered clear of the boat as it smacked the water. When Greyson saw that the two ropes still hooked to the top of the boat trailed all the way to cranes on the top deck, the plan fit together.
“Get on the boat!” he commanded. And he gave Nick a nod of acknowledgment for the brilliant idea.
Far above, Avery waved down at them, though the storm and the sudden roar of the ship’s engines drowned her voice out. A loud blasting air horn signaled the cruise’s departure, and the hull began a slow churn through the water.
It was leaving without them and pulling their lifeboat with it.
“Jump on!”
Sydney made the jump, grabbing one of the hooks and squirming over the slippery top to a sitting position. Nick and then Jarryd followed suit, just barely grabbing the rope as it floated further away.
The lifeboat drifted in front of Greyson’s waverunner, pushing it away with its wake. The waves swelled, splashing warm water on his clothes as he balanced on the rocking seat. Finally working up the courage, he took one step and launched from the front panel.
His arms reached out for Nick’s hands. Jarryd’s mouth hung agape as he watched Greyson fall short.
Chapter 55
Greyson was still catching his breath as the cranes finally cranked them to the top deck. It had been another close call. He’d just caught the top edge of the lifeboat long enough for Nick and Jarryd to pull him up.
The lifeboat jerked to a stop.
“’Ello, mates!”
Greyson turned and took in the sight of Avery with a white beach dress that flowed in the wind. She smiled a brilliant smile and reached out to help them over the railing.
Avery helped Jarryd over first, and he veered into her arms. He hugged her and looked back to Greyson with a chin pump, but Greyson was too busy scanning the boat for terrorists.
Avery reached next for Sydney, but she was already helping herself from the boat to the deck. Instead, she grabbed Greyson’s arm and helped him.
As soon as he found his sea legs, he was able to take a closer look at their rescuer. He couldn’t help but stare. She smiled, still taking glances at him as she helped Nick.
“Thanks,” Greyson managed to say, turning his hat and tipping it at her.
“Any time.”
Sydney watched them both skeptically, trying to force her jealousy into submission, but failing.
“I’m Avery.”
Greyson nodded at her, but furrowed his brow with determination. “Greyson,” he noted as he rushed past her. Much to Sydney’s surprise, he was rushing to her. He looked straight at her eyes. “We need to hide. Know a place?”
Avery arched her brow at Greyson. She wasn’t used to getting brushed off.
Sydney stumbled with her words as she glanced from Greyson’s green eyes to their surroundings. “Uh…actually, the best place will probably be the top deck. No one will be up here in the storm.”
“How about the waterpark?” Nick suggested.
Greyson drew back. “They have a waterpark?”
“Dude, you missed out,” Jarryd exclaimed, patting him on the back.
Sydney smiled. “We’ll take you with us next time.”
Abruptly, Greyson’s face changed and he pulled Sydney down to the wooden floor. “Down!” he whispered.
The rest followed suit and peered across the darkened deck that shone with a glaze of rainwater. They heard footsteps and masculine voices.
“Quick.”
Greyson led them along the wall to a corner. At their backs were stacks of rooms where the cockpit would be. Guests weren’t allowed up, but they could see the crew walkway that led to the communications tower and satellite dishes. It was on that walkway that two men dressed in full white sailor gear and long, black raincoats were making their way to the top. A spiral staircase led them to the tower.
“It’s Suk!” Jarryd whispered with a rasp. “He’s a Plurb, and he’s got a wicked uni-brow…”
“His name isn’t ‘Suck’,” Nick scolded.
“Yeah it is. S-U-K. Last name’s ‘Toe’. Haha!”
Nick shook his head. “It’s probably pronounced ‘Sook’, but I don’t think that matters to you.”
“You’re right.”
“Well, it should. He’s probably just as sensitive about his name as you are about your teeth. How would you like it if Jarryd meant Buck-Toothed in Korean?”
“I’d avoid all Koreans…wait…maybe that’s why he wants to kill us? ‘Cuz a bunch of Americans keep making fun of his sucky name.”
Nick raised his eyebrows. “Makes you think.”
Greyson hushed them and they listened closely; but the men were no longer talking.
“What are they doing?” Jarryd asked.
“They’re cleaning the satellite dishes,” Nick responded.
“Really?”
“Yeah. They don’t fit in the dishwasher.”
Greyson hushed them again. “Remember the fair? When that van raised that antenna and our cell phones didn’t work? This could be the same thing.”
“They’re shutting down the cell tower,” Nick realized.
Sydney suddenly whipped her drawstring bag around and removed the phone. “I know they might intercept this, but I don’t care.”
---------------
Sam felt the phone buzz in his pocket, but didn’t let his face register it. He knew who was calling, and desperately wanted to answer, but his dad was in the middle of another speech. He glanced at the people at his table, and then across the room to the guard with the StoneWater emblem on his suit. The guard was already watching him. He let the phone buzz its last.
---------------
Greyson watched the two men open the control hatch and insert some sort of tool. He turned to Sydney as she hung up.
“No answer,” she whispered. “He must not be able to…”
Greyson reached for the phone, but Sydney pulled it away. “Wait,” she said, “I have to try our parents.”
-----------------
Sydney’s mother’s phone rang in her purse, a ringtone of “The Sun Will Come Out Tomorrow” from the musical Annie. It had always cheered her up, but not today. Her body was lifeless.
A gloved hand reached into her purse and answered the phone. “Hello?”
“Dad – is that you?”
In the hotel suite, the gloved man smiled and eyed the girl’s dad. His limp hands were being tied by another gloved man, preparing to move the unconscious body. “No, Deary. We are emergency responders. Is this your mother’s phone I’m talking on?”
“Yes, it is. Are they okay?”
“Yes, they’ll be just fine in a few hours. What about you? Where are you? Do you need help?”
There was a long pause on the other line.
The man tried again. “I hear the wind. You must be outside. Awful dangerous out there. Can you make it back here?”
After another long pause and hushed voices, a boy came on the phone.
“We killed the fisherman guy you sent after us and we called the FBI. They’ll be there to kill you shortly.”
The gloved man gave his partner a look and a shrug. He dropped his nice voice. “If you called the FBI, we’d know about it, kid. Now come back to the hotel or you’ll never see your parents and brother again.”
“We would come back to kill you, too, but we can’t right now. We can call you back in a day or two, maybe. What’s your name?”
“Listen kid, you don’t…”
Click.
-----------------
Greyson swallowed hard and nodded at Sydney and then the twins. “They’re alive. We’ll go back to get’em, okay?”
They nodded their approval, still watching the men work at the communication tower. Sparks blasted from the pane, but the men continued working. Greyson looked at Sydney’s phone. It still had a connection.
Excited with an idea, he whipped out his Bible to find the number he needed. Sydney watched. Her eye caught the edge of the Polaroid, being used as a bookmark.
Greyson punched in the numbers. “Come on…answer…”
------------------
Dan pressed the phone between his pilot’s headphones and his ear. “Who’s this and how’d you get this number?”
“Yes! Dan! It’s Greyson and I’m on my friend’s phone. I don’t have much time.”
Dan surveyed the horizon as he listened. They were approaching their landing in Florida. “You landed safely? Thank, God.”
“Yes, yes. But I need your help. We’re on a cruise ship. A big white one.” There was a pause and more young voices. “The American Dream it’s called. And the Plurbs are doing stuff to the satellite dishes. And they have smart watches. And…we don’t know, but there might be an attack soon!”
Dan caught Greyson’s urgency and punched in a few buttons on the control panel. “I can’t turn back now. Low on fuel and about to land. Do you know where you’re headed?”
“We’re just leaving Nassau, but I can’t tell which way…”
“Then listen. Find a safe place to hide. Don’t rush into something stupid, but if you’re able, find out what you can. I’ll contact Grover and see what he can do.” There was a long pause. “Greyson? Are you there?”
The call had ended.
Dan glanced at Asher, who had fear plastered on his young face. The plane shook, but their stare was unfazed.
“He’ll be okay, Ash.”
---------------
The sparks flew again, and this time it worked. The control panel’s lights flicked off and the electric hum dimmed to silence. Suk nodded at his partner and pocketed the screwdriver. Their job was done. There would be panicked passengers for the next few minutes, but nothing like the panic that would ensue shortly after.
He snickered to himself as they descended the spiral staircase, but he stopped suddenly. He’d heard something.
He peered to his right, down the deck’s perimeter railing where the lifeboats were suspended off the side. The wind was whipping a loose rope about, but there was nothing else. His narrow eyes glowered at the boats, like he wanted some enemy to show himself, but to no avail.
“Suk.”
Suk followed his partner, but not without one look back.
----------------
“Geez, that was close!” Jarryd squealed, pressed against Sydney in the small alcove. He wished he had been pressed against Avery, but it hadn’t happened that way. Somehow Avery was smashed against Greyson with only her forearms between them. She was staring at him with scared, puppy-dog eyes.
“That was close,” she whispered slowly, her hands on his chest.
Greyson stared at her, more confused then scared before squirming free and peeking around the alcove’s corner. Suk and his friend were gone.
“Come on,” he said, motioning them to follow. “We have to find a better place to hide.”
Sydney pushed Jarryd away and joined Greyson, but Nick stepped out of the alcove, defiant. “To hide?”
“Yeah.”
“Why? We didn’t come here to hide.”
Greyson dropped his eyes. Did he have to explain that he was taking Dan’s advice? “I know. But we can’t rush into anything stupid. We need a place to regroup – a place to launch our attack – like a base or something.”
Nick nodded his agreement and wiped his glasses on his wet shirt.
“Avery,” Jarryd started, “how about your parents’ room? They can help us.”
She shook her head no. “I can’t find them. They grounded me to the room before we ported, left for the spa – I still can’t find them. I was still lookin’ when you called.”
The kids didn’t say what they knew everyone was thinking. They’d been taken – or worse.
Nick finished wiping his glasses and put them back on, though they were still streaked. “We can’t go back to our rooms. We have to go where they wouldn’t think to look for us.” He waited for their agreement and then peered toward the hull. “I think I know a place.”
Chapter 56
Mark, a husky man of thirty-six years, watched the television screen above the bar’s rows of alcohol. His eyes and lips drooped, a weight of sadness weighing him down, pulling his shoulders deeper into the bar stool’s cushion. A storm during vacation was depressing enough, but the news made it even worse. Details about the attack in Georgia kept coming in. The terrorists had killed over a dozen soldiers, several civilians, and caused millions of dollars of damage. Old images of the slain soldiers before they had been killed, video of their grieving families, and stories of their heroism brought up old, unwanted memories for Mark – memories of the attack in New Orleans that had taken his cousin.
“Another shot.”
The bartender filled his glass and returned to wiping the empty bar. Mark was the only one inside. A few others had been with him, but when the ship had begun moving, they had panicked, yelling something about leaving too early and leaving someone behind. Mark had just shrugged with a “don’t ask me” face. When the bartender didn’t have any answers, they had made for the front desk.
Suddenly the TV’s news anchors disappeared, replaced with static fuzz. The bartender rushed to it and punched it with the butt of his palm, but nothing happened. He moved it up and down the channels, but they were all the same.
“Friggin’ TV. Must be Darryl messing with the reception.”
Mark shrugged. “I’d seen enough anyhow.”
“I’m with you there!” the bartender replied, shaking his head with frustration. “Friggin’ government lets the thugs kill American soldiers…on our own soil. Despicable,” the bartender said to himself, shaking his head.
Mark shrugged again and rotated the drink in his cup. “Yup.”
“Foster’s a weak-kneed idiot. Thinks these half-hearted random roadblocks and gun control laws can solve this? Never Again Act, my arse! A real man would find these thugs and wipe ‘em all out – and anybody who’s with ‘em. Wouldn’t you say?”
Mark shrugged again, still resting his elbows on the bar. He took another swig of his drink. “Need that Reckhemmer guy.”
“The Hammer? Now you’re talking. He’ll do what it takes.”
The intercom clicked on and the sound of the TV’s static automatically muted.
“Heeeeellooo guests of the American Dream. I’m afraid that Darryl has made a change of course. Because of this, we have had to leave the harbor for safety reasons. The ship will be safer out at sea. Those guests that are still on the island are being escorted to secure shelters, and I assure you that we will reunite with them as soon as Darryl leaves. Until we are fully out of harm’s way, you must now report to your nearest muster station. This is mandatory for all guests and staff. You will find your station written on your doors, along the hallways, and in the staircases. Once there, we will answer all your questions – and who knows? There may even be prizes! Thank you for your cooperation!”
Mark rolled his eyes.
The bartender gestured toward the door. “We better leave.”
“I didn’t pay for mandatory meetings.” He downed the last of his drink in one gulp. “Another shot.”
A new voice broke from the doorway. “Sure!”
Mark turned just in time to see the muzzle flash; the bullet’s impact sent his body careening off the barstool. His shot glass shattered on the floor as more muffled gunshots dropped the bartender and pierced the bottles behind him in splatters of alcohol.
When the echoes of the shots had faded, the shooter lowered his pistol and sneered at the bodies. His free hand hovered around his crooked nose.
Orion had received the same message on his smart watch as the rest of them
.
Communications down. Proceed with
round-up after announcement.
Another teenager smiled from his side. His face and hair were wet with rain; drops slid over the jagged scars on his discolored face, curling left and right before falling to the floor at his feet. A third boy with glasses stood astonished behind them. “Did you have to do that?”
Orion scoffed. “No. But it’s easier than escorting them to their muster station.”
Buzz laughed a snorting, choking laugh, and shrugged. He followed Orion outside to Central Park’s winding path, peeking inside each store where several guests had sought refuge in the storm. Most were on their way to their muster stations, but those that lingered were not to be tolerated. He would put them down like he had the ones in the bar. In the back of Orion’s mind, he was hoping he would somehow see Greyson inside. He knew Greyson had been heading to Nassau – but the likelihood was slim to none.
Still, he had the right to dream.
-------------
The announcement had taken Greyson off guard. Suddenly a mass of people filled the hallways, employees barked orders and ushered them like cattle down a stairway. The kids marched with the crowd, grasping at each other to stay close, panic beginning to take hold.
“This is the wrong way!” Nick whispered, pulling on Greyson’s arm.
A warning siren was going off in Greyson’s mind. If there were an attack, this might be it. “We gotta get out of this. This way!”
Greyson darted through the rustling crowd and shimmied through an “employees only” door. His friends followed suit, hushed – on the edge of panic. He led them through the small drink-service kitchen that had been hastily abandoned by its staff, and exited through a narrow swinging door in the back. After a moment taking in his surroundings, Greyson judged they were on a small balcony of a lavish auditorium. He could immediately sense the tension. A great murmuring of voices was below. Hundreds of voices.
Greyson’s pace slowed to a crawl as he knelt along the empty balcony’s railing with his friends trailing behind. They leaned over him, eyeing the scene below.
“We stay here,” Greyson whispered. “Let the people clear the halls.”