by Lowry, Chris
But in reality, there was grunting. And groaning. Some moaning. My forearms burned as I wrapped them around the marble. My feet cramped as I gripped with all I had.
Everyone made it to the sand before I made it to the balcony.
I wanted to scream to them to hide in the dunes, but I was too busy trying to catch my breath.
Brian or Byron directed them there anyway.
Then whoever was shooting out front came in through the front door and lit up the inside of the mansion.
I stumbled across the upper balcony and this time used the master bedroom door.
The inside landing was still dark, except for the yellow muzzle flashes of automatic weapons blinking like lightning from the room below.
I laid down, aimed through the rails and sighted on a group of shadows that congregated inside the door.
None of them survived.
There were others though, inside the main living room, and outside the front door.
They zeroed in on my shots and tried to remove my hiding spot.
But I wasn’t there. I moved further back in the darkness.
Something small, round and sounded like a baseball thudded onto the carpet five feet away.
I sprinted through the bedroom, made the door to the balcony when the world blew up around me.
Lifted me up, sent me over the rail. So fast I didn’t have time to windmill. To scream.
Just a quick vision of the black smooth deck rushing up to meet my face.
Then muck.
Stinking green muck and a belly flop into the rancid waters of the pool.
I crashed into the dead guy floating in the water and floundered up, let go of the rifle that was trying to drag me down.
Bounced my forehead off the edge of the pool. Crawled out and scraped toward the boardwalk.
A hand reached over the side of the wood and yanked me into the dunes, then dragged me into the shadows under the walkway.
Someone put a finger on my lips, but they need not have bothered. The edge of the board clipped my rib as they pulled and I didn’t have enough air to breath, let alone scream.
Bootsteps pounded above us. Sand rained down through the cracks in the board.
“Where are they?” a gravelly voice rasped. “Keep searching.”
I could have shot him. If I had a gun. Mine was at the bottom of the swimming pool.
I reached for Brian’s and he pushed my hand away. I dug for my knife instead, but someone else pinned that hand to my side.
Hot breath breezed into my ear as Anna leaned her head into mine. Willing me to be still. Willing me to be quiet.
I listened to what they weren’t saying and kept still.
CHAPTER TWELVE
We could see them searching the beach as dawn broke over the ocean. The horizon slipped from black to purple to the gray light of morning just before the sun peeked up.
They were looking for tracks, and when they didn’t find them, I wasn’t sure what they would do.
We hid in the darkness under the boardwalk as a dozen tromped out to the sand, and back again. Crunching on the shattered glass.
There would be enough light soon to follow the water trail I left from the pool to the edge of the walkway.
That might be enough to make them look.
Whoever was directing the search didn’t make the men fan out. He sent them south, searching from shore to the edge of the dune.
I grabbed Brian by the shirt and pulled his ear close to my mouth.
“Go,” I breathed and pointed north. “Stay inside the dune.”
He nodded.
There was a shallow depression between the dunes and the million dollar homes that lined the sea front.
I hoped we could make it a few houses up or more, then cut inside to the road and run for the river where the promised boat waited.
Brian tapped Peg, who in turn tapped Anna.
They began crawling, each tapping the next in line.
I grabbed Tyler’s rifle before he took off after Bem and held it. He glanced at me, then reached into the waist of his pants and pulled out a pistol before he followed her.
One by one they crawled away as I watched the boardwalk above and the men out by the dune.
The light grew brighter. Still no sun, but it was moments away, and when it was up, the cloudless sky would shine a spotlight where we were and where we went.
Byron and the Boy stopped five houses away, far enough and dim enough I couldn’t make out their features, just the shape of them as they turned and waited.
Their turn to watch over me.
My body screamed as I began crawling. Wet clothes covered in sand, aching muscles stiff and swollen. No telling what kind of bacteria from the pool in the scrapes and wounds.
I moved fast, as fast as I could toward them.
Byron lifted his rifle and sighted over me, and I froze, but the Boy waved me forward.
I glanced back just to be sure.
There was no one there, no one watching, but the hunters had turned and they were making their way back to the mansion.
The light was bright enough they would see our passage in the sand.
I popped up to hands and knees and crawled faster.
Brian picked a good exit point between two houses. The yellow grass didn’t show prints, but I could see the churned sand that marked our way like a beacon.
I stopped at the Boy and Byron.
“Do you know where the boat is?”
“I do,” the Boy stammered before Byron could say anything.
“Get them there,” I told Byron and pushed him toward Brian and the rest of them.
“Make a mess,” I said to the Boy and pointed further up the dune.
He turned and began crawling, swirling sand in his passage, churning up more track for the hunters to trace. I followed in his wake, adding my own trail to his.
Six houses further, I grabbed his ankle and didn’t mention the yelp he let escape from his lips.
He turned inland and scrambled on the shell pathway until we were hidden from the beach by trees and homes. Then we stood.
“Take us to the river,” I said. “Eyes up.”
I wasn’t sure if there were more hunters on this side, or searching for us.
But we needed to be careful.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
We made the boat without encountering any hunters. Tyler, Bem and Brian stood on the shore, waiting.
It was a thirty two foot party barge on triple pontoons, and I was glad to see Brian had outfitted everyone with an oar.
We were going to run silent across the water.
No one said a word as the Boy traded his gun for a paddle and sat near his sister at the front of the pontoon.
Brian directed me to the seat behind the wheel, spun it around to face the stern.
“Keep watch,” he said.
He shoved us off from the pier, and let the slow current catch us. We didn’t so much as paddle as meander. He let the river do the work, pulling us downstream toward the North causeway and the mouth of the river where it met the ocean.
He sat on the back of the boat and used a paddle as a rudder.
I’d have to ask him where he learned the skill, and it was a skill. He steered into the current and zig zagged across the river.
I wanted to watch, maybe to pick something up, but I kept my eyes trained on the bank we left behind.
“Now,” Brian called as we reached the halfway mark and the others began paddling.
At first, their rhythm was off, but after a few strokes they settled into a steady pull together.
I had guessed twenty minutes to cross the river the night before. I was off by five. We made it in fifteen.
Brian steered us toward a common dock at a park, less than ten minutes from where we parked the bus.
A ping bounced off the roof of the pontoon and I saw the flash of sunlight on a lens on the other side of the river.
Figures gestured and pointed ba
ck where we were, two hundred yards or so away.
One of them aimed a rifle at us and fired again.
We couldn’t hear the echo of the gunshot. It was caught by the wind and carried away from us, too far to travel across the water.
But the bullet clanked into the console next to me.
I lifted the rifle and aimed back. Aimed high for wind, to the right for the drop and shot.
It slammed into the guy next to the shooter and pitched him sideways into the water.
I was aiming for the shooter.
We bounced off the wood dock and Brian leaped up. He wrapped a thin rope around a post and started shoving people up and over.
We were too exposed out on the water, the dock open to the sky, and the far side of the river.
But there was a building, an event center fifty yards further away.
He directed them toward it, and they ran hunched over, toward the shelter of the structure.
I stood on the stern of the rocking ship and shot back but I didn’t hit anyone else.
Blame the waves, the light bouncing off the water, or maybe my fear of someone hitting one of us.
But I kept their aim off. They were just as scared of getting shot.
Brian rolled onto the dock.
“Go! Go!” he shouted and I popped up and pounded after him.
Once we put the building between us and the shooters, I took a breath.
“Anyone hit?” I asked.
“You are,” said the Boy.
I looked down. There was a hole in my shirt, hole in my stomach.
“Shit,” I said.
“They’re coming,” Byron called out as he peered around the wall of the building. “They’ve got a boat too.”
Anna lifted my shirt and tried to examine the wound.
“We’ve got to move,” I said.
Or think I did. It may have come out a little warbled. Garbled.
“We’ve got to move,” Brian shoved Raymer and Peg toward the bus.
Tyler grabbed me by one arm, the Boy the other and helped me stumble toward after the group as we ran.
Anna ripped my shirt as we pounded along. I had it easy. The two boys were almost carrying me.
She tied a strip of cloth around my midsection, cinched it tight.
“Ow,” I groaned.
“Oh that you feel,” she snapped.
The bus hove into view. Still there. Untouched. Waiting.
Peg opened the doors and cranked the engine. Everyone dashed on board in a mad scramble of limbs and grunts.
Or maybe that was me as Tyler and Brian grabbed my arms and helped me in. The Boy lifted my feet.
They laid me down in the back as the rumble of the engine grew louder and Peg did her best imitation of me in a yellow convertible as she burned rubber to get us going.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
I expected chaos. I got Anna and Bem.
They kneeled on either side of me, working in tandem.
“Through and through,” Anna said as she tilted me to one side and removed the shirt tied around me.
“We have to stop the bleeding,” Bem said.
“It may have nicked something,” said Anna. “This is going to hurt.”
She warned me.
Then she stuck her finger inside of me. It was just the pinky, just the tip to feel around and I didn’t scream.
I closed my eyes, gritted my teeth and when I opened them again, they were done.
Who said there’s no dignity in passing out from pain. It let me skip some of the hard stuff.
That’s not to say it didn’t hurt.
It did. A lot.
The slick mess on the floor, wadded up sheets stained crimson and black, and the tight dressing wrapped around my middle let me know they had done some work.
“Look at me,” Anna said, eyes locked on mine. “You’re going to get an infection. We need to find medicine. Alcohol.”
“Whatever was in the pool was on your skin,” Bem said. “It’s in you now.”
I nodded. I got it. As soon as I moved my head, I got it even more. Fever. Aches.
“How long was I out?”
“Twenty minutes,” Brian peeked over the seat to the section we had cleared for sleeping in the back. “Your son knew the way so he’s directing Peg.”
I tried to sit up, fought a wave of nausea and black cloud in my vision.
“That’s a fast infection,” I said.
“It may be more,” Anna sniffed. “We don’t know what was in the water. Or on the bullet.”
I nodded. Or tried to.
“We’ll find what we need,” I said. “A bottle of whiskey will work wonders.”
“I like an old fashioned,” Brian said.
I reached out for Anna’s hand with one of mine. Reached for Bem with the other.
They were nice enough to ignore my grimace.
“You’ve pulled me through worse,” I told Anna.
She shook her head.
“Not like this.”
“It’s just a flesh wound,” I glanced at Brian.
He snorted.
“You’re scaring us,” he said in a soft voice. “You don’t have to take all the chances.”
I wanted to tell him it wasn’t my idea to get shot. That some idiot with a rifle got lucky.
But I kept quiet.
And hoped my luck hadn’t run out. I needed it to hold til we reached Oviedo. Til we found Bis.
Then we could hole up someplace off the grid and I’d heal. With or without whiskey.
“Water,” I said. “I need water.”
Bem passed me a bottle and I sipped the sulfur tang of Florida’s aquifer, tried not to gag.
“We’re going to be fine,” I told them as I leaned back in the blanket.
My tired body was ready for a rest. I just needed to hold out for forty minutes. An hour tops.
Then we’d find her.
“Rest,” Anna tucked a blanket in around me.
A nap until we got there. That sounded good.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
We didn't know it was over until it was. Bullets ripped through the side of the bus, shattering windows that fell in razor sharp bits of shrapnel. People screamed and ducked, fell to the floor, bits and bloody sprays arced across the seats.
Peg slumped out of the driver's seat, one hand gripped on the wheel. It yanked the bus sideways, carried it off the road. The long roaming home of ours for the past few weeks bounced off the asphalt, across slick grass and tilted.
The speed of the bus, the angle of the berm, all worked together and sent it tilting up on two wheels. A crazy stunt if it were a movie, but full of screaming men, women and children it was a rolling nightmare.
Gravity grabbed the roof and completed the tilt, slammed the side of the vehicle into the sandy brown dirt. It slid into a palm tree that crumpled a dent in the roof.
We were bounced around. Off the floor, into the side of the bus that was now the floor. Bodies jammed against cracked and blasted windows.
Screams of fear replaced with wails of terror, and pain and grief. Bullets still pinged off the undercarriage of the bus, but we were safer now, the thick iron acting as a shield.
It bought us time. Moments only, maybe. But time.
I stood up and grabbed the side of a seat above my head for balance. The world was still spinning, salty sticky blood leaking from a cut in my hair, another over that eye. My side burning like a hot poker shoved through it.
My hip hurt where I landed. Stiff, swollen.
"Rifle!" It came out as a croak.
Besides, no one was listening to me.
Weak light leaked through the shattered front windshield, a spiderweb of reflections on the wall of the bus. Now the floor.