by L. T. Ryan
Turk fired again. Missed. He adjusted to the sights, aimed and squeezed the trigger.
Nothing happened.
“Shit,” he shouted, reaching for his pistol, which was no longer in the holster.
The other man gutted through his pain and regained control of his weapon. He had Turk dead to rights, but hesitated. Maybe he needed to steady himself. Perhaps the pain was too intense.
Turk turned and ran toward the corner of the fort. He’d left the loaded rifle against the wall. Halfway there, the other man fired. The shot went high and wide, zipping past into the harbor.
Another shot.
It slammed into the wall over Turk’s head. Brick and mortar rained down.
Five feet from the corner, Turk dove forward. Pain ripped through his side and stomach. He still hadn’t investigated the injury. What was the point? If his guts were hanging out, what was he supposed to do? Lay there and wait for death?
Using the wall, he pulled himself to his feet and staggered to the spot where he’d left the rifle. A lump rose in his throat. He didn’t see it there.
He reached out and felt along the wall, down to the ground. His hand brushed against the muzzle. He scooped up the weapon and rushed back to the corner.
The man had abandoned his position and was now standing in front of the gate. One arm hung limp while the other yanked at the door. He’d set his rifle against the wall.
Turk leaned his left shoulder into the bricks, then lifted the rifle, aimed, and fired. The bullet slammed into the guy’s head, tearing it in half. His body jerked and fell a few feet from where he stood.
How long did he have until someone else came?
Though he couldn’t be sure, none of the men looked like the two he had encountered during his earlier pass of the fort.
The encounter had taught him that the men were inexperienced. Yet they were the ones sent out to find their missing friend. That meant there was a good chance anyone left inside had even less experience and training.
But would they mistake the sounds of a gunfight with thunder?
With adrenaline waning, his side burned more intensely. He glanced down, and instead of forcing himself to look away, he inspected the wound.
He had to know. After all, not twenty yards away were a couple small boats and kayaks. He could climb inside one and fight his way through the harbor to shore. Be done with this place. Get back to his family.
But he couldn’t leave yet.
He’d made a promise to Rose and Rob. And he’d made one to his daughter before he set out. He’d make it home. What good was that promise if he broke another?
Feeling the wound, he realized the damage wasn’t as bad as he had feared. The bullet had torn through flesh, maybe a bit of muscle, but that was it. Nothing internal. No fear of bleeding out.
A surge of energy filled him as he went back to where the bodies lay and searched for the key. He splashed through the growing puddle and found it.
With the cord secured around his wrist, Turk ran to the gate. He kicked the body on the ground out of the way. Bits of skull and brain coated the wooden door. It slid slowly down, helped along by the rivers of rainwater.
He tugged on the handle, but the door didn’t budge.
They had heard. And someone had come out and locked the gate. Were they on the other side? Watching from atop the fort?
He slung the rifle around his back and went to where the boats were piled. An inch of water had already gathered there. It wouldn’t be long before the vessels were swept off the island.
Ignoring the pain in his side, Turk grabbed the back of one of the Jon boat and dragged it through the mud and grass to the wall. Then he lifted it and placed the hull against the bricks so the boat was at a thirty-degree angle.
He stepped on the end and jumped a couple times, settling it into the soft ground. The boat had three rows of bench seats, evenly spaced, with the middle row in the exact center of the craft. He climbed the benches like steps. At the top, the boat teetered to the right. Turk adjusted and re-centered it. Keeping the makeshift ladder upright was a challenge, but he managed to do so long enough to grip the top of the wall.
Turk pulled himself up. The boat toppled over with a crash. He got his head over the ledge and scanned the courtyard. If someone had come out and locked the gate, they’d already retreated inside.
What would he do in that situation?
If he knew someone or a group of people were on the other side of the wall, armed and firing, he wouldn’t approach them head on. No, he would lead a team around to flank the assailants.
That was him, though. He couldn’t count on the inhabitants of the fort to use the same tactics.
Turk pulled his body over the top of the wall, then dropped to the ground. He cinched up the strap securing the rifle to his back, pressed his other hand against the wound on his side, and ran as fast as he could toward the cell. Halfway, he stumbled forward, hitting the ground and sliding onto the concrete. The flesh on his chest and shoulder tore. The hammering rain pelted his wounds like nails.
He got his legs under him and continued forward.
Rhea waited, her thin fingers wrapped around the old rusted bars.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
Turk glanced down at his blood coated torso.
“I’m fine.”
He jammed the key into the lock and turned it. Even amid the howling wind and cracks of thunder, he heard a satisfying click as it unlocked. He tossed it to the ground and yanked the chain through the bars. Metal clanked against iron, then thudded in a heap on the concrete. The old cell door groaned as he yanked it open. He grabbed her hand and dragged her out of the cell.
They raced across the center of the courtyard, slipping in the mud, but managing to remain upright. They reached the gate and stopped there.
“I don’t know what we’re going to find on the other side,” Turk said. “But if we run into the shit out there, you turn right and sprint until you are in the water. Then you swim as hard as you can on a diagonal line toward the city. It’s only a couple hundred yards to shore. You think you can manage that?”
She nodded. “Do you have a weapon?”
Turk reached for the knife and pulled it free of its sheath. Blood coated the steel blade. He wiped it off on his pants and handed it to her.
“Just don’t stab me,” he said.
She smiled.
Turk removed the heavy wooden beam that barricaded the door. He tossed it to the side. The wind blew the door open a few inches. It rattled back and forth until Turk reached out and pushed it open. He burst through with the rifle drawn.
A man ten feet away spun and tried to aim his rifle.
Turk didn’t allow him the opportunity. His shot landed dead center and the man flew back five feet.
Men shouted from outside his field of view. Could have been anywhere. Around the corner. Out by the other boats.
“Run,” he said, tugging Rhea’s arm and propelling her toward the harbor and giving up any hope of securing one of the remaining boats or kayaks for their travel.
Rhea pulled ahead and sprinted into the water. She was knee deep when she dove in.
One of the men called out. “Over there.”
A few seconds later, it seemed as though they all fired at once.
Turk took two lunging steps into the water and then dove toward the spot he’d last seen Rhea. The current tugged at him, but it was nothing like he had encountered around the jetty. The key was making sure they didn’t get pulled off course and into the Atlantic where death was a certainty.
He surfaced and located Rhea. “Let’s swim straight into the harbor, then left to shore.”
The plan had drawbacks. There was a good chance that abandoned and wrecked vessels were moving through the water. In the dark where their vision was only aided by flashes of lightning, a craft could quickly come up on them.
It was a risk worth taking.
Behind them, the men yelled from shore.
Rhea grabbed Turk’s hand and they both sunk below the surface. Muffled shots rang out. Bullets hit the water with soft thuds. The two dove down, then swam along the bottom. Rhea swam slower than Turk, and he had to maintain her pace. After thirty seconds, she pulled upward. Together, they rose and filled their lungs amid the small thrashing waves.
“Wait,” he said, craning his head over his shoulder.
One of the men remained on the bank. The other two had waded into the water, waist deep. He saw the outlines of their rifles extended, sweeping side to side. But it was too dark now.
“One more time under,” Turk said. “Tug on my arm again when you need to come up for air.”
They dove down again. With no visibility, they were swimming blind. At any moment they could run into an obstacle or get knocked apart by debris floating in the current. It would be the surprise, not the force of the impact that would do the damage.
After a minute, Rhea tugged on his arm, and they floated upward. Looking back, Turk saw three white orbs by the fort. Long beams of light stretched out, sweeping the harbor. If conditions were perfect, the men might spot them. But through the heavy downpour, chances were slim.
“Are we safe?” she asked.
He started to say yes, but then realized they had been pulled back toward the Atlantic during the last leg of their swim. Even as they tread water, they were drifting east. Turk struggled to get a visual on Morris Island until a flash of lightning illuminated the area.
“Shit,” he said.
“What?” she said.
“We’re getting too close to the mouth of the harbor. We hit that, then the current around the jetty is gonna crush us.” He shifted to the outside, keeping Rhea toward the city. “I need you to swim as hard and fast as you can. Aim for land. I’m gonna stay on your shoulder and do my best to keep us on course.”
She threw her arm back, then forward and began swimming. Turk pulled up alongside her, fighting the current and the rising swell. They were thrown up four or five feet with every wave that passed. One crested and broke on top of Rhea, shoving her underwater. Turk dove down after her. He reached through the darkness in wide arcs. Side to side. Up and down. Seconds passed. He surfaced, but she wasn’t there. He dove again.
His hand brushed up against something several feet down.
Without thinking, he made a fist and pulled. He broke the surface. A handful of hair emerged, followed by Rhea’s forehead. She coughed and gagged, her body spasming. Turk wrapped his right arm around her chest and shifted to his side. Using his free arm to paddle, he swam toward shore, keeping the waves at his back. It was less than ideal. He couldn’t keep his eyes fixed on the dark mass that signaled the tip of the island. He wouldn’t know until too late that they had swum past and were on a course for the ocean.
“Talk to me, Rhea,” he said.
She said nothing.
“You all right?”
She squeezed his forearm. Good enough.
How much further?
He tried to turn his head around, but it was pointless. The only other way was to reverse position and expose the woman to the surf.
Or they’d have to stop. It would give him a minute to recoup, and her a chance to see if she could continue on her own. It would also allow the current to tug harder on them.
“I’m gonna stop for a sec,” he said.
The waves rolled past, higher now. They rose slowly, dropped sharply. And there was no order or pattern. From the troughs, Turk and Rhea were surrounded by a wall of water. When they crested, there always seemed to be a taller swell that blocked the view.
Turk had taken in too much seawater. He could feel it cramping his stomach. The perfect culmination given everything that had happened that day.
His thoughts shifted to his wife and daughter. They were protected in the house. They had to be. Whatever the case, he couldn’t dwell on it. Not now.
A broad stroke of lighting lit the sky at the right moment. Turk caught a glimpse of shore. The pain in his gut turned to fear. They had already been pulled past the tip and were in danger of being swept into the current.
“I need you to swim, Rhea,” he said.
“I can’t,” she said. “I’m cramping.”
He couldn’t leave her. She’d die without his help. They’d both die with it.
“All right,” he said. “Can you lock your hands together?”
“I think.”
He spun in the water so his back was to her, then pulled one of her arms over his shoulder. She swung the other around, catching him in the eye. A tiny star burst filled his vision. Her hand then slid down his cheek and wrapped around her other.
“Grab a deep breath.” He didn’t wait for her to confirm. Turk opened his mouth, filled his lungs, and then threw himself toward shore.
The extra weight was no more than a rucksack. That’s what he told himself, at least. He brought his hands forward, then flung them to the side. His legs kicked hard. All the while, he ignored the burning in his abdomen. And everywhere else.
After several seconds, he surfaced and pulled in another breath. Rhea gasped as she did the same.
Again, he dove down. The water pushed against his chest and shoulders. It grabbed hold of his feet and pulled back. He fought it off as though an anaconda was trying to subdue him and drag him into its lair.
Turk powered up through the water, looking to replenish his dwindling oxygen supply. As he neared where he estimated the surface to be, he felt himself yanked upward. When he finally broke free of the current’s grasp, he found himself on top of a wave, racing toward shore. He stretched one arm out and grabbed hold of Rhea’s wrist with the other to keep her from being thrown off.
The wave rose and crested. They were near the edge. He knew the drop could be brutal depending on how close they were to shore.
“Don’t let go,” he shouted over the rush of the water.
Rhea clutched so tightly her arm dug into his windpipe. It didn’t matter. As quickly as they were high, riding the top of the wave, they were then plunged toward the shore in only a few feet of water.
And when Turk’s head slammed into the hard bottom, the lights went out.
Twenty-Five
Darkness surrounded Sean and Addison. She clutched his arm. The wind blew thick humid air and carried the sound of engines approaching.
“You sure there’s more than one?” Addison asked.
“I’ll be right back.”
Sean raced through the house, past the opening in the floor and out the rear door. He went straight to the trees, turned right, and counted his steps to where he pulled the ATV in. Looking back, he was lined up with the far corner of the house. A few steps in, he saw that he ATV was where he had left it. He grabbed the key and went back inside.
Sean stopped at the opening where Emma and Paige waited. He reached down and squeezed his daughter’s hand.
“Everything okay?” Emma asked.
“Just being careful, Em.”
He returned to the front. Fractured headlights shone through the woods. Multiple vehicles were cutting across the field toward them.
Turning, Sean said, “Addison, come here.”
She rushed up to him. He placed the key in her hand.
“What’s this?”
“For the ATV.”
“What’s happening?”
“I don’t know, but do you remember at the house in Virginia? The trucks?”
She nodded.
“These sound an awful lot like those did from a distance. Now, I know trucks sound the same, but there were three then, and it sure as hell looks like three coming at us right now.”
“How? How could they have tracked us?”
“I don’t know, and I don’t have time to figure it out. They, or someone else, are out there and coming this way. I want you under the house with Jenny and the girls. I want you guys to head to the back and get the ATV once they leave.”
“No. You’ll be with us, Sean.”<
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“Stop.” He wrapped his hands around her shoulders. “Listen to me. In the far rear corner is an access door. You’ll go straight to the woods. About ten feet in is where you’ll find the ATV. It might be a bitch to back out, but be careful and you’ll get through it fine.”
She looked away for a second, then met his gaze again and nodded.
“Don’t even think about following them. I don’t care if they are dragging me through the woods by a rope. You get the fuck out of here. The GPS is already set up to get you to Turk’s place. Just follow it. From here, go south. Stick to roads where you can. If you come across anything that looks like a roadblock, head for the woods. You’ll need to cross I-40 again. No way around it. But from there, back roads will get you to his place. You tell him you were with me and he’ll take care of you. After that, you can make your decision to go with him or try to find your grandparents’ place. But first get Emma to Turk. Promise me you’ll do that.”
She wiped tears and matted hair from her eyes. “I promise.”
Focused light swept across the room, lighting Addison’s face. Sean reached up and placed his hand on her cheek.
“Go, Addie. I’m gonna cover the trap door up, then deal with these guys.”
Addison joined Jenny, Emma and Paige in the hole. Marley wasn’t down there, and was nowhere to be found. If Sean had to guess, the dog had returned to Barbara’s side.
He closed the hatch and pulled the rug and table back over top.
Outside, the trucks were lined up, headlights on hi-beam, coating the house in a wash of white. It lit the inside, blinding Sean.
He had little time to form a plan. All he knew was that he didn’t want whoever was out there to come in. Sean shoved the pistol in his waistband behind his back and walked to the front door with his hands raised. He pulled it open, exposing himself to the men.
The silhouettes of several men were spread across the clearing in front of the cabin. He counted eight before realizing that someone stood next to him. A fist caught him on the side of his face as he turned toward the guy.
Sean went down to his right knee. Another punch knocked him to the ground. He felt hands running over his side and back. The guy pulled the pistol from his waistband, then continued to search Sean’s body.