by Denis Martin
She didn’t answer that. “What about all this string?”
“That’s so you don’t lose the spear. And so you can pull the fish in.”
“We won’t need that – it’d just get in the way. Can you untie it?”
“Yeah. But Kat, you can’t use it.” The thought was sickening. “Not on a person.”
“Why not?” She was still whispering, but her voice was harsh. “You’d rather use a jack handle?” She stopped, and I didn’t say anything. I unclipped the string and tossed it into the dinghy. There was a long silence and then she spoke again. “Sorry. That was mean. Really mean. But I think we need to be ready. In case …”
“Fine.” I decided it might be safer to change the subject. “Tell us about Kreigler. What did you mean when you said you wouldn’t do anything he said?”
“Um … just things he didn’t want me to do. Like getting a job – he hated me working at the ice-cream shop. But mostly I did do what he wanted. Like staying out of sports and things like that. He didn’t want me to be noticed, didn’t want me to show up as being good at anything. He wasn’t too stuck on you either – didn’t want me to have boyfriends and things.”
“Is that what I am? Your boyfriend?”
She paused. “Well, pretty much,” she said, and suddenly I felt better than I had for quite a while.
“What about hiding your birthmark? Was that Kreigler’s idea?”
“No … no, that was me. He didn’t think it mattered, but I felt sort of marked by it. Like putting up a sign telling everyone who I was.” She picked up the gaff from where she’d laid it against the wall. “What about this? If we bent the hook into a point, it wouldn’t make a bad weapon.”
I took it from her, wincing at the thought of using it, of thrusting it into someone’s flesh. “Hell, Kat …” But there wasn’t much point in arguing, and it wouldn’t be hard to make a spike out of the hook. I used the metal cradle the dinghy was resting on, feeding the tip of the hook into an open end of pipe, and using the gaff handle as a lever. It straightened easily.
But as I held it up to show her, I nudged the outboard cover with my elbow. It was resting against the side, and it crashed into the dinghy. A noise like thunder.
“Shit!” Kat whirled around. In the gloom her eyes were bright with horror. “What the hell are you doing?” Then she spun back to the crack in the wall, peering out fearfully. “Jeez, he heard that. I think he’s coming over.”
I found another chink in the wall and put my eye to it, heart thumping, every muscle tensed in panic. He was walking across the sand towards us, hesitantly glancing about, but coming in our direction. He stopped, and I held my breath as his gaze headed back up the hill. His head was cocked to one side, listening. Then he looked at the boatshed again, as if struggling to make up his mind.
After a moment, he turned, and I let out a sigh of relief. He was making his way back to the boat. He seemed purposeful now, moving more quickly. Still watching him through my peephole, I felt my body relax and let my weight sag against the wall. One of my knees was trembling.
“That was close,” breathed Kat.
“Hang on,” I whispered. “What’s he doing now?” The man hadn’t returned to the bow where he’d been sitting earlier. He was standing in the shallows beside the boat, reaching under the dodger. A dark shadow against the hull, he had his back to us, supporting himself with one hand on the side. What’s he looking for?
A torch flashed briefly as if he was testing the batteries and then he moved away from the boat. Now I could see what he was carrying. At first I thought it was a rifle, but it was too short. A sawn-off shotgun – I’d never seen one before, except in the movies.
“Jesus, Kat … what’re we gonna do? See what he’s got?” My voice was quavering and I could hear the fear in it.
“It’s a shotgun. If he comes in here, you know what we’ve gotta do.” Her tone was flat and harsh. She was scared, but she wasn’t giving in. “Quick! Get that spear gun ready. You want me to take it?”
Kat had real grit – and it was just what I needed. Couldn’t let her face him by herself. “No, I’ll do it. You grab the gaff and get up by the bow. If we keep well apart, he won’t know who to go for.”
I scooped up the spear gun and pushed past her into the corner opposite the door. Now that things were happening, the panic had gone. I was scared as hell, but my mind was clear. I tried to imagine the side door bursting open – his silhouette against the fading light behind him. In the darkness I should see him before he could focus on us. With the butt braced against my chest, I was struggling to tension the spring. I’d seen Jed do it, but that was in daylight and I hadn’t realised how much effort it took. He hadn’t been in a hurry either. My arms ached, pain stabbed through my ribs – I ignored all that. Had to stretch the heavy rubber enough to lock it into the slot on the spear. God, how much time have I got? I was feeling for the groove with my thumb blindly. Finally, I felt it slide into place with a click. I was panting – but I was ready and my mind was still clear. I stared at the door, with Kat’s words running through my head. You know what we’ve gotta do.
“Hey, you kids!” My grip tightened on the spear gun as a man’s voice slashed across the deepening dusk. “Come out! I know you’re in there.”
The world outside held its breath, the shuffling murmur of the sea stilled. The only sound was the rasping thunder of my own heart. Don’t move. Don’t answer. He doesn’t know for sure we’re in here. Just wait. Stay still and maybe he’ll go away.
Maybe.
Using the outboard as cover, I rested the gun on the dinghy’s side, pointing it at the door. It was heavy, a clumsy thing with only a single handhold at the butt end. But it was all I had. Gotta do this.
“Come on, you kids! Make it easy on yourselves. Just come outta there.”
Nobody moved. A long silence. I was ready, coiled tight as a spring at breaking point, breathing in tiny gasps.
“Bloody kids.”
And then suddenly the door was flung open.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
But he didn’t stand there, outlined against the night sky as I’d expected. He wasn’t a flat-footed brawler, standing centrestage in the ring. He was an out-fighter, a dancer, light on his toes, and as the door crashed back he followed it into the corner. In that instant I lost him.
A torch beam stabbed at me out of the darkness, dazzling me. I froze, crouched rigid behind the outboard.
But then I heard Kat’s voice, strong and harsh. “Over here, you bastard!”
The beam moved away, playing on the far end of the shed. And now I could see him. He moved in front of the door, no longer a dancer. A brutal silhouette, frame by frame in slow motion – torch in one hand, gun in the other. Raising the barrel towards Kat … about to fire.
But I fired first. My hand sweaty on the pistol grip, my finger tense, curled around the trigger, curling, clenching. I didn’t aim, just pointed. Had to stop him. And then the spear gun jerked and bucked against me, the rubber spring twanging into the darkness.
There was a blinding flash. A blast of thunder. And I was on my knees, clutching the dinghy with both hands, eyes closed. My ears were ringing. I didn’t know what had happened to the spear gun. Couldn’t think properly. But I knew he’d fired that shotgun. I’d missed … and Kat …
Kat!
Moaning. I could hear her moaning. A deep gurgling whimper from the back of her throat. I’d been too slow. I’d frozen, and he’d shot her. She needs help …
Then I heard her voice, loud and close to my ear. “Cull! Cully! Are you all right?” A hand took me by the shoulder, and I looked up. It was her. Kat. A shadowy form above me.
Still the moaning went on. It was coming from the other side of the dinghy. A light was shining there too, the torch beam, a circle of brightness on the wall. But no movement, just the moaning. Moaning and gurgling. Not Kat. It was the dancer, the out-fighter – and he was out for the count. I struggled to my feet, Kat’s arms
supporting me, and I could feel her shaking. “You all right?” she repeated.
“Yeah, I’m okay, I think. What happened?”
The moaning stopped. A moist burbling sob, and then silence.
“You got him with the spear. He’s in the doorway there.” Kat sounded in control, talking calmly, but she was trembling and I knew she was close to cracking. “I think he’s dead. He’s gotta be. It went right through him.”
“Jesus …”
“Yeah.” She squeezed my shoulder hard, fingers digging in. “We’ve gotta get out of here!” she said urgently. “They could’ve heard that shot. Come on, Cully.” She turned as she moved away. “But for God’s sake, can you get that light out?”
I followed her towards the door. The dancer’s body was lying across the opening and she stepped over him, disappearing outside. I tried not to look down, but couldn’t stop myself. In the torchlight the spear was clearly visible, and I fought back the gorge that surged and bubbled into my throat. He was lying on the shaft, but it had passed right through his body, the tip poking out of a darkening stain just beneath his shoulder. The torch was still in his hand, skewed at an angle. Almost gagging, I reached down and flicked it off.
Outside, Kat was standing beside the boatshed, motionless. She was facing it, leaning against it, the palms of both hands pressed to the wall. Her head was down, chin resting on her chest and she seemed ready to collapse.
I moved to her side and put my arm around her. Could feel her whole body quivering. “For God’s sake, Kat, sit down,” I whispered. “You’re dead on your feet.”
She lifted her chin. “I’m okay. We haven’t got time to piss about. Did you get the torch?”
“No … I …”
She took one hand from the wall and pushed me gently back towards the door. “Can you get it? We’ll need it to get that boat going in the dark.”
I didn’t move. Just stared at her. No way did I want to set foot in there again.
“Please,” she said. “Just get it. I don’t think I can.”
Even in the state she was in, Kat was still thinking clearly. And she was right – we did need the torch. The boat was our only chance. A boat neither of us knew, and I didn’t fancy our chances of finding our way around the controls without any light.
I turned to the open door, trying to shut out the horror that lay just inside. A deep breath. Another. Then I stepped through the opening.
“Get the gun too.” Kat’s voice from behind me.
I stopped, shut my eyes tightly for a moment, steeling myself. Another deep breath, and I stooped over the dancer’s body, feeling for the torch.
His hand was warm, and I panicked. Thought he was still alive. Get real, Cully. Of course he’s still warm. He’d only been dead a few seconds. Before that, a living person – a crafty opponent, light on his feet. A nimble boxer whose luck ran out. Kat had thrown him a feint, and he’d fallen for it. He’d dropped his guard – and I’d connected with a haymaker. Dad would’ve been proud of us.
I eased the torch from his grasp. Didn’t want to switch it on again but I knew I had to. Feeling around in the dark for a loaded gun wasn’t my idea of fun.
He was lying on it, the barrel poking out from under his shoulder. I tugged at it with one hand, but it didn’t move. Thought about leaving it, then imagined facing Kat without it.
I propped the torch against the wall and lifted the body with one hand, easing the gun out with the other. The butt was sticky, and I knew it was blood. Not the first blood I’d come across that day, but I was swallowing hard as I tried to wipe it clean on the tail of his shirt. Again, I was close to gagging. I picked up the torch and stumbled back through the door. Leaned against the boatshed, gulping cool night air into my lungs.
“Good, you got them. Thanks.” Kat was sitting on the sand now, her back slumped against the boatshed wall. “Let’s get out of here.” She hauled herself to her feet. “That was a bloody good shot in there with the spear gun. Brilliant.”
“Just lucky,” I muttered.
“Not for him.” She’d come to life again, and I was relieved. I’d been leaning hard on her, relying on her toughness. Following her along the beach, I wondered how long she could keep it up.
The boat was bigger than I’d imagined, and heavier. It had been turned side on by the waves and almost stranded by the outgoing tide. “Quick,” I said urgently, reaching into the cockpit and laying the shotgun on the floor. “We need to get it off the beach before it’s stuck for good.”
We leaned against the bow and shoved, but it just rocked back and forth without any useful movement. We’d have to take it by the stern, lifting as we dragged, hauling the boat around into deeper water.
Easier said than done. It was only a seventy horsepower motor, but it was a deadweight, especially with the battery and fuel tanks also at the back. Both pontoons had handles, and we took one each – but it was like trying to float a beached whale. The wet sand sucked at the hull, keeping it in place.
“Gonna have to lighten it,” I said and reached in to pick up one of the tanks. It was heavy, nearly full, and Kat leaned over to take it from me. She carried it across to the beach while I disconnected the fuel hose and hefted out the second tank.
“Let’s see if that made any difference.” I stooped to take hold of the handle once more.
This time we felt the boat move slightly as we strained. Again, one, two, three … heave! Another movement. We were inching the stern into deeper water. It took everything we had, but we were winning. Another heave, and another. I was trying to ignore the pain in my chest, and we were both breathing heavily. The hull was moving in the water now as waves slapped against the pontoons.
“Just hold her there,” I said. “I’ll get the tanks.”
But she wasn’t listening, staring across the beach over my shoulder. “Shit!”
I felt my stomach clench into a squirming knot. I turned, following her gaze. Lights … high on the hill behind us. Moving lights, spearing twin beams into the night at every bend. A vehicle was making its way down the road towards us.
We both knew who it was. Men in a black Pajero we’d hoped never to see again. And they were travelling fast – minutes at most before they reached the beach.
“Kat! Quick! The anchor. Just toss it into the cockpit.”
Splashing through the shallows, I grabbed one of the tanks and heaved it back into the stern. Kat lifted the anchor out of the sand and then came racing back to the boat, gathering the rope up as she ran. She fired it into the front of the cockpit beside the shotgun.
“Gotta get into deep water.” I grabbed one of the pontoon handles, glancing back up the hill. “You take that side. Heave!” The stern was lifting to the bigger waves as they passed beneath, but the bow still rested firmly on the sand. The Pajero’s lights were much closer now, and I was starting to panic. “Heave!” I could hear myself screaming. “One, two, three … heave!”
And then it moved. Another massive heave and we were afloat, backing into the surf. “Turn it bow on to the waves,” I yelled. We spun it easily and began pushing into deeper water. A quick look over my shoulder – the lights were almost at the beach. Just passing Jed’s shack.
“Get in! See if you can find an oar,” I yelled.
Kat pulled herself over the side as I kept pushing. Waist-deep now, and getting deeper. Gave it a final shove and then dragged myself onto one of the pontoons. Kat grabbed me by the scruff of the neck and hauled me into the cockpit.
“I’ve found an oar.” She sounded hoarse, short of breath. We both were. “You’ll have to get the motor going. Jeez, they’re right on the beach.”
“For God’s sake, keep paddling. We’re not deep enough yet.” I’d found the torch and was fumbling with the fuel hose, clipping it back onto the tank and priming it. Hoped like hell we had enough petrol – the other tank was still on the beach.
I could hear the Pajero’s engine. Someone was shouting and suddenly we were bathed in brightn
ess. They’d parked facing out to sea and left the headlights on. More shouting, but I couldn’t make out what they were saying. Vague images of movement on the beach, darkness against the glare.
The headlights weren’t doing anything for my night vision, but I found the outboard controls easily enough. They looked pretty standard, and I pressed the tilt lever to lower the motor. The key was in the ignition switch, a big plastic float dangling from it. Old-fashioned twin lever remotes, gears into neutral, throttle back. I turned the key and heard the engine cranking over. It spluttered and then died. Banging noises from the beach and something whanged against the alloy dodger, whining away into the night.
“They’re shooting at us!” Kat’s voice loud in my ear, and I saw her drop the paddle onto the floor. Next moment the shotgun was in her hands and she was steadying herself against the seat.
There was a flash and a deafening clap of thunder right beside my head. Then blackness as the Pajero’s lights were turned off. My ears were ringing, and in the sudden darkness I was working by torchlight, but I turned the key again. Needed to focus my hearing. Turned it again, terrified of flooding the engine. The shooting seemed to have stopped. Another try with the key and the motor gurgled into life.
A bit more throttle. I held my breath, praying I wouldn’t kill it with too much juice. But it was running sweetly. I shoved it into gear and gunned it hard, punching through the low surf towards the open sea.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
“Jeez, I thought that was the end. Didn’t think we were gonna make it.” The inside of my head was still reeling from the shotgun blast, but I could hear Kat clearly enough. She was leaning close to me, one hand clutching the rail and the other on my shoulder. “What now?”
“Let’s get out to sea a bit.”
With the engine howling just behind us, we were almost shouting and I was scared our voices might carry back to shore. They’d turned the Pajero’s lights on again, and I thought I heard a couple more shots.