Storm Surge

by Rhoades, J. D.

  Each also took a 9MM Beretta in a shoulder rig and a long wicked-looking combat knife in a thigh sheath. Blake held out a pistol and holster to Montrose, who shook her head. Blake shrugged and handed the weapon to Phillips. Phillips put on the shoulder holster, then took a pair of large leather bags from one of the crates and set them down. “I’ll put this together in the lighthouse,” he said. “It’s a bit awkward to carry down the road.”

  “What the hell is it?” Barstow asked.

  “Something to make sure no inquisitive boats or aircraft are around to give away our position.”

  “It better,” Blake said. “It was hard enough to get.”

  “You realize,” Worth said, “that if what you said is true and we don’t get any resistance, we’re seriously overdressed here. But if we do get any major resistance, this stuff isn’t going to be nearly enough.”

  “So what else is new?” Barstow said as he slapped Worth on the shoulder.

  Worth stepped around the plywood barrier into the open space. He could look through the holes where doors and windows would go, out into the darkness. The sound of the sea was like white noise, topped off by the moaning of the constant wind around and through the spaces in the unfinished house. He walked to the window and leaned out.

  Streaks of cloud were beginning to hasten across the sky, the full moon behind them casting dark, fast-moving shadows on the rolling sea. For a moment, Worth saw them as monstrous shapes like mighty leviathans rushing below the water rather than on the surface. He shivered. He didn’t think he’d be getting much sleep tonight.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  The ramp of the construction ferry clanged down onto the dock. Sharon was one of the first across, staggering a little as her legs encountered a surface that wasn’t moving beneath her. The trip over had been awful, the normally placid waters of the sound rolling with an unaccustomed chop.

  The overcrowding of the barge hadn’t helped; the entire clubhouse staff, from the food and beverage manager to the maintenance guys, had clambered aboard, and the ferry had been jammed from rail to shaky rail. Travis the ferry driver had protested that it was too many people until the sous-chef had asked him exactly who he was thinking of leaving behind. The looks on the staff’s faces had shut Travis up. Now, they came off the boat, many of them looking a bit green. At least no one had thrown up. Yet. The group headed towards the clubhouse.

  “I’m gonna go look for my iPod,” Glory said.

  “Maybe you should come to the office,” Sharon said, “and check the Lost and Found.”

  “I know exactly where it is, Mom,” Glory said. “I know right where I left it.”

  “Okay,” Sharon said, too weary and queasy to start another fight. “But run. We can’t stay long. Meet me back at the clubhouse.” Glory just nodded, then turned and took off towards the beach.

  “Where’s she going?” Sharon heard a voice say. She turned. It was Max, walking behind her.

  “She left her iPod in one of the cabanas. On the beach.”

  “She better not take too long,” Max said. “I don’t think our captain over there’s in a mood to wait.”

  “Neither am I,” Sharon said. “I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to be on that damn boat if it gets much worse.”

  Max looked up at the totally gray sky. “It’s gonna get worse,” he said. “And soon.”

  As if on cue, it started to rain.

  ***

  Glory’s long legs ate up the distance quickly, and she was barely out of breath as she reached the big unfinished mansion. She had a pretty good idea where the iPod was. She knew she’d had it when she went up in the house to smoke pot with Graeme. She’d start looking on the top floor and work her way down. It had to turn up.

  Her life sucked so bad these days, her music was about the only thing that kept her from going totally nuts. She looked around to see if anyone was watching. The street was deserted. She dashed across the yard and up the stairs to the front door, throwing it open with a crash.

  ***

  “What the fuck?” Barstow said. He tossed the MRE he had been eating aside and leaped to his feet, grabbing his weapon as he did. Blake slid off the crate where he’d been eating a similar breakfast and drew his knife. He put a finger to his lips.

  Worth and Phillips were on their feet as well. They could hear the pounding of feet on the stairs. Blake looked at Barstow, raised one finger. One person. Barstow nodded. The footsteps drew nearer to their plywood cubicle. They heard a voice, female, young sounding.

  “What…the…fuck…?”

  ***

  Glory stopped and stared in confusion. She knew that the flimsy plywood walls at the back of the second floor hadn’t been there yesterday. She approached slowly, like someone encountering an alien spaceship that might suddenly sprout tentacles or shoot out a heat ray. There was an opening around one side. She crept up and looked around it.

  ***

  The moment the face appeared around the corner, Barstow grabbed a handful of the dark hair and yanked the intruder into the room. She only got out a short scream before Barstow had slammed her up against the partition, covering her mouth with his hand.

  “Jesus,” Worth said, “it’s a kid.”

  “God damn it,” Blake muttered.

  “Shhhhh,” Barstow was whispering to the girl. “Hush now. It’s okay.”

  The girl obviously wasn’t buying that. Her eyes were wide, the whites showing above where Barstow’s big hand covered her mouth. The other hand was wrapped around her slim neck, holding her up, almost on tiptoe, braced against the wall. She made a low keening noise, deep on her throat, like a terrified animal.

  “If I let you go,” Barstow said, “you have to promise not to make any noise. Okay? Can you promise me that?” he spoke in a sing-song voice as if he was speaking to a child.

  The girl nodded frantically, to the extent she could with Barstow holding her so firmly. He took his hand away. As he did, the words spilled out of her like water from a broken dam.

  “Oh shit oh Jesus please just let me go I won’t tell anybody please please just let me go, I promise, swear to God just please let me go…” her voice rose in pitch and volume, ramping up towards hysteria.

  Barstow gave a low growl of disgust and clamped his hand back over her mouth.

  “Lovely,” Phillips said. “What do we do now?”

  “Hey,” Worth said. “What the fuck is he doing?”

  Barstow’s hand had clamped more firmly over the girl’s nose and mouth. Her struggles grew more frantic.

  “Shhhhhhh….” Barstow was saying. “Shhhhhhh….just go to sleep now….”

  He had her completely up off the floor now. Her heels drummed against the plywood, making loud hammering sounds.

  “He’s killing her!” Worth shouted.

  “Keep your voice down,” Phillips said.

  “Sergeant,” Blake said calmly. “Stand down.”

  Barstow ignored him. “Shhhhhh…” he said again to the girl. Her eyes were rolling back in her head, her struggles growing weaker. “Shhhhh….”

  “I said Stand DOWN!” Blake snapped. He drew his sidearm and advanced until the barrel was placed against Barstow’s neck. “That is a goddamn ORDER, Mister!”

  “She’s a risk,” Barstow grunted.

  “I’m in command here,” Blake said. “I decide what’s an acceptable risk.”

  Barstow turned his head slowly, like a gun tracking, and looked Blake in the eye. Then, never breaking eye contact, he stepped back and dropped the girl. She collapsed to the sawdust covered floor, on her knees, retching and gasping for breath. They gathered round her, in a tight, looming circle. She looked up to find Blake’s gun trained on the center of her forehead.

  “Please,” she whispered. A tear ran down her face.

  “Who the hell’s she?” Montrose said from outside the circle. She had been downstairs, looking for a place to relieve herself.

  “Good question,” Blake said. “Te
ll us, little girl. What’s your name?”

  She was starting to shake. “Glory. Glory Brennan.”

  “And who’s with you, Glory Brennan?”

  She hesitated. “No one. I just came looking for my iPod. I think I left it here.”

  Barstow broke in. “So you’re one of the kids who come up here to party, huh?” He leered down at her. “You like to party, sweet thing?”

  “Shut up,” Blake said. “So, Glory Brennan, where’s mommy and daddy while you’re off looking for your iPod? They know you come up here?”

  The girl shook her head. “No. Just me and my friends know about this place.”

  Blake nodded as if he understood. “A kid needs some place to get away, huh?” His voice hardened. “Any of them with you?”

  The sudden sharpness in his voice made her start shaking again. “No. It’s just me. I swear it.”

  “And what do we do,” Phillips said, “when mummy and daddy come searching for their lost little girl?”

  “How about it, sweetie?” Blake said. “Mom and Dad right behind you? Are we gonna have to deal with them too?”

  The tears were coming faster now. “Please,” she said. ”Don’t hurt my mom. Just let me go. I won’t tell anyone. Please.”

  “What was that?” Montrose said. They all froze, listening intently. They heard a woman’s voice calling from outside. “Glory?”

  “Great,” Barstow whispered. “Any more people show up, we can send out for pizza.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Sharon was ready to wring her daughter’s neck. She had come out of the clubhouse expecting to find Glory waiting, but she wasn’t there.

  “Maybe she’s still down by the cabanas,” Max said.

  “How the hell long could it take?” Sharon fumed. “She said she knew where it was.” She looked toward the dock. People who had already picked up their checks were walking back towards the ferry.

  There was still a long line waiting, shifting restlessly and looking up at the gray sky. The rain had stopped after a brief spattering, but the clouds were looking low and threatening. There would be more rain, and soon.

  “We’ve got a little time,” Max said. “Why don’t you go yell for her?”

  “I swear, I’m going to yank a knot in that girl,” Sharon said. She started towards the beach.

  “You want me to help?”

  She hesitated. “No,” she called back over her shoulder. “I’ll get her. You get on back to the boat.”

  Max watched her go. He felt a vague sense of unease, a nagging tingle at the base of his neck. It was a feeling he hadn’t had since Chicago, but it seemed like an old familiar friend. He’d learned to trust it, and it had kept him alive. But there was no reason for it here. This was a nice place, with nice people. He wondered fleetingly what Kathy-with-a-K was doing, then shook his head. No point in that. He started back towards the ferry. He had gotten to where the footpath crossed the main road when he stopped dead. “Ah, shit,” he said.

  Captain Jack, the marina cat, was stretched out under a perfectly manicured bush next to the split rail fence that ran along the road, head up, watching the passing parade of humanity with an expression of fine disdain. His bushy tail flicked periodically.

  Max sighed. Apparently, no one had thought about the dumb little bastard. Or everyone had thought someone else was going to take him back to the mainland. That was the problem with not having an owner, Max thought. There was no one to look after you. He felt an odd sense of kinship with the cat at that thought.

  “C’mere, shithead,” he said. He crouched down and extended a hand. The cat gave him a look that said you must be joking, then stood up and stretched. He began sauntering toward Max with a studied casualness, so there’d be no mistaking that the path was the cat’s idea and not Max’s.

  “Yeah, you’re a bad-ass all right,” Max said, “but You’re going to need all nine lives when that storm gets here.” Max wasn’t used to dealing with cats; when Captain Jack was almost in reach, Max made a grab. The cat’s eyes suddenly widened in alarm, and it shot off in an orange blur, headed for the beach.

  “Fuck,” Max sighed. He started off at a trot after the cat. He’d gotten almost to the beach when he gave up. The cat had vanished. “Fine,” he said to the absent feline. “Drown then, dumbass. See if I care.”

  He slowed down and strolled the rest of the way to the seawall, looking to see if Sharon and her daughter were on the way back. He stopped at the seawall and looked out at the sea.

  Most days, the surf at Pass Island was hardly deserving of the name. The sea was usually flat, almost glassy, the slender barrier islands farther out stopping the big rollers off the Atlantic. But now the usually placid sea roiled and pitched, the waves mounting high, only to have their white, foamy tops sheared off by the stiffening wind.

  He didn’t want to think about the pounding the outer islands were taking already, or the brutal blows still to come. A bolt of lightning writhed across the sky, lighting the beach up in a hard white flash. It was followed in seconds by a tremendous crack like God’s legs breaking, then a low rumble of thunder Max could feel in his chest.

  He looked down the beach, searching for Sharon and Glory. His brow furrowed. He couldn’t see either of them.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Sharon stood on the beach, looking where the line of cabanas had stood until yesterday. It only stood to reason, she realized, that the maintenance people would have taken the flimsy fabric structures down in the face of the oncoming hurricane. And, of course if Glory’s iPod had been there they would have found that, too. So where the hell was she? She glanced down the beach to where the unfinished Mayhew house loomed over the beach. Surely she wouldn’t have gone… She cocked her head and listened. Over the wind, she thought she heard something like hammering, then a raised voice, suddenly cut off.

  Who the hell could that be? She thought. She walked up the beach towards the house. She stopped at the foot of the stairway that led up from the beach to a long wooden walkway over the dunes, and from there to the lower of the house’s two huge ocean-facing decks. The openings of the windows and double doors yawned wide and dark behind the decks. She hesitated, then cupped her hands around her mouth and called up to the house. “Glory?”

  There was no response. She climbed the steps, stood on the large square railed platform at the end of the walkway. “GLORY!” She looked up at the second floor and thought she saw a flash of movement, somewhere back in the shadows. Sharon’s jaw clenched. If that girl was playing games with her…she looked around, suddenly aware that she was trespassing. But she didn’t have time to stand around yelling. She walked toward the deck.

  ***

  There. There she was. Max caught sight of Sharon climbing the steps to the Mayhew house. The tingle at the base of his neck intensified. A still small voice in the back of his head spoke up. Don’t go in there. He started off for the house at a jog.

  ***

  Sharon saw Glory, just inside the door. There was a man behind her, his arm around her throat. His other hand held a pistol to her head.

  “Now, Mama,” the man said, “why don’t you step into the house.” She stopped dead, her hand going to her mouth. She tried to speak, but nothing came out. The man jammed the gun harder against Glory’s temple. Glory moaned in fear. “I’m not going to ask again, Mama.”

  ***

  Max saw Sharon on the deck. She stopped, as if she’d seen something inside that scared her. He saw her hand go to her mouth in shock. Then, as if sleepwalking, she moved slowly into the house. He pulled up to a stop. The tingling in the back of his neck was gone. In it place was a feeling of absolute certainty that something had just gone horribly wrong.

  He did something he hadn’t done in months: reached for the gun he had always carried in the holster at the small of his back. He stopped his hand halfway there. Of course there was nothing there. He was Max Chase now, not Kyle Mercer. And Max Chase, the friendly guy who worked at the marina,
didn’t need a gun.

  A drop of rain, fat and heavy, struck the brim of his ball cap. It was immediately followed by another, then another. There was another brilliant flash, the thunder coming quicker on its heels this time. Within moments, everything was blurred by rain that came down so hard and fast it was like a translucent gray curtain.

  Max swore under his breath. He had a sudden mental image: a line of darkly gleaming, expensive shotguns in a beautifully crafted wooden case. His lips pulled back from his teeth in a smile no one had ever seen on Max Chase, but that people had learned to fear from Kyle Mercer. He ran as fast as he could, up and over the dunes, toward the road.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Back at the landing, people were crowding back onto the construction ferry, hunched miserably against the pounding rain. “Is that everybody?” Boyle called out from the pilothouse. He didn’t wait long for an answer, but ducked back into the warmth and dryness as fast as he could.

  ”Hey, Consuela,” Sonny said. He stood beside her at the rail.

  “Hey yourself,” Consuela smiled weakly at him.

  “You seen Sharon?”

  She looked around. “I thought I saw her and Glory get off when we landed. Why?”

  Sonny waved an arm at the crowd. “I don’t see her.”

  Consuela peered through the rain at the people crammed onto the barge. “Me either. But I can’t see shit in this crowd.”

  They heard the tugboat’s big engines change from the low burble of idle to the rapid chugging as Boyle put the props in reverse. There was a high-pitched grinding mechanical whine as the ramp slowly began to rise off the dock. “Hey!” Sonny yelled up at the pilothouse.

  “HEY!” People looked at him in dull curiosity. Before the ramp was even fully up and locked, the tug began to drag the barge backwards away from the landing. “HEY!” Sonny yelled again. “I don’t think everyone’s here!” His words were whipped away in a gust of wind. As the barge began to turn, it went crosswise to the waves headed for the dock. The deck lurched beneath them. People screamed and clutched the rails or each other. A few overbalanced and would have fallen but for the crush.