Westport

by James Bierce

  "I'm sorry man, I really am. I'll leave this on the dock in front of the boat. I hope everything works out for you, I honestly do."

  "Fuck... You..."

  The words sound painful, and bitter.

  Jake reaches down and takes out Sean's stun gun, then unzips his armored vest, exposing his v-neck shirt underneath.

  "Again, I'm sorry about this, but it has to happen this way, and you know why."

  He stands up, aims the stun gun, and fires another round at his bare skin. This time he doesn't wait around — instead he bolts for the door and runs toward the dock, hoping to find Beth and Larry waiting for him. As he gets to the halfway point he realizes that the dock is empty, and he sees the two of them standing on the deck, staring in his direction. As soon as they spot him Larry climbs up to the pilothouse, and Beth starts throwing bags out of the cabin and onto the stern deck.

  "Why didn't you already do that?" Jake screams as he jumps onto the boat.

  "I didn't know if you were going to go through with it!" Beth replies, her voice frantic. "He's still alive?"

  "Of course he's still alive, but he's gonna be pissed when he wakes up."

  As Larry starts the engine, Jake joins Beth in tossing the bags onto the dock. He pulls Sean's gun out of his pocket, then throws in onto the dock with everything else.

  "Why did you do that?" she asks.

  "I'm not leaving him here unarmed."

  Beth picks up the last piece — a hard, black case that looks like a over-sized briefcase, then throws it overboard with the rest — just as the boat starts to slowly move away from the dock.

  "Not that one!" yells Jake.

  "Why?"

  "That's his rifle."

  "So? You just gave him a gun..."

  "I gave him a pistol, not a rifle." He looks up to the pilothouse. "Larry, is there any chance you could go back?"

  Instead of answering, Larry points in the direction of the store, where Jake sees Sean staggering out of the doorway and onto the wooden planks of the dock, his feet almost dragging across the decking.

  "Fuck!" Jake climbs partway up the ladder, making eye contact with Larry. "Is there any way you can get us out of here any faster?"

  "I'm at full-throttle already."

  He climbs back down, trying to clear his head enough to think this through rationally. Sean is about fifty feet from the bags they left behind, and his pace is getting quicker with every step. Their pace is picking up too, but it still feels agonizingly slow.

  "Why can't you just shoot him?" asks Beth, her voice filled with fear.

  "I'm not going to shoot him."

  She grabs the .38 from out of her pocket, the one that Larry gave her, then points it at the docks. When Jake sees it he grabs it out of her hands.

  "He's going to kill us if he gets to those guns!" she screams.

  Jake's voice turns calm and reassuring. "No he won't, we're out of range now."

  "What about the rifle?"

  "Its in pieces, he'd have to put it together."

  They watch as Sean finally reaches the bags. He picks up his pistol first, placing it back in its holster, then looks around the dock. He jumps onto a boat sitting nearby and breaks the cabin door down, then disappears inside. After thirty seconds or so, he reemerges and steps back onto the dock. Then just as they start to lose sight of him behind a waterfront hotel, they see him throwing the bags onto the boat, one by one, slowly and calmly.

  "He's coming after us, isn't he?" Beth asks.

  "Yeah." responds Jake, his voice grim. "I think he is."

  There are three large bodies of water that make up the Salish Sea — the Puget Sound, the Strait of Georgia, and the Strait of Juan de Fuca. These, along with the Columbia river to the south, the Olympic mountains to the west, and the Cascade mountains to the east, create some of the world's most complicated weather patterns. They can also cause severe, and often unpredictable currents in the ocean. In the heart of the Salish Sea is Port Townsend, where all of the major components come together as one. Directly to the west, through the rough waters of the Strait of Juan de Fuca, lies the Pacific Ocean.

  From the strait just northwest of town you can see the city of Victoria on Vancouver Island — and also Whidbey Island, the San Juan Islands, and the jagged peaks from two mountain ranges, some of which soar over fourteen-thousand feet. Despite the breathtaking view surrounding them, Beth and Jake Wilson are focused on only one thing — a small glimmer of reflected light that seems to be following them. Even with the assistance of binoculars, they still can't tell what it is, or who.

  "That has to be him. Can he shoot us from that range?" Beth asks.

  "No, he's still too far away."

  He puts the binoculars down and sits on the bench, noticing for the first time the sights that surround them. The sun is just beginning to descend into the horizon in front of them, creating a glare on the water that shimmers in the tidal flow.

  "God, its beautiful here isn't it?"

  "Yeah..." she answers back, not taking her sight off of the object.

  He turns his view toward Victoria to the north, a city that sits in one of the most picturesque locations in the world, and yet still suffers an identity crisis in its quest to be more like another city halfway around the world, London. He picks up his binoculars and looks toward the city, but the normally busy streets look as empty as the ones in Port Townsend. He faces his wife again, feeling exhausted, like an escaped convict watching every movement, or lack thereof.

  "Did you notice how empty the town looked?" he asks.

  "I didn't really pay any attention. I had a few other things on my mind."

  "It was eerie, like everyone just disappeared without a trace. You couldn't even hear anything."

  She turns away from the object and looks down at him, recognizing the fear in his voice, then she sits down.

  "Maybe they were hiding." she says.

  "You'd think there'd be looters though, right? The shelves in the store were mostly empty, but there was still some stuff left, and the door was still locked when we got there."

  Beth picks up her binoculars and looks at Port Townsend, its streets still visible, but only barely.

  "There aren't any boats out here either, except for the one following us." says Jake. He stands up and looks toward the object again. "That's definitely a boat, you can see it better now."

  Beth joins him, and can tell even with her naked eyes that he's right, they're being followed by a boat. "If we can see him better that must mean he's gaining on us."

  "I should have killed the son of a bitch when I had the chance."

  "At this rate you might get that chance again." Leaving Jake on the main deck, she climbs the ladder to the pilothouse, where Larry is sitting behind the wheel. "Did you hear all of that?" she asks Larry.

  "Yeah, sounds like we're gonna have company."

  "Is there anything you can do to speed us up?"

  "The best I can do is try to make it to Port Angeles by nightfall."

  "How will that help exactly?"

  "We'll hide in the marina, and hope he keeps moving."

  "He'll still find us. He knows where we're going."

  "My guess is he'll end up on the sandbar just outside the jetties, if he even finds his way down there."

  "I'm sure that boat has GPS."

  "That doesn't seem to be working very well for some reason." he says, pointing at his own GPS screen.

  "Maybe its just yours."

  "I have another one, and they're both giving the same location. They have us approximately two miles the other side of Highway 101."

  She looks more closely at the screen, and sure enough, it shows them moving across dry land, several miles off-course.

  "Is that going to be a problem navigating?"

  "Not for me, I never liked the damn thing anyway. As long as the compass and sonar keep working, we'll be fine."

  They finally lose sight of the boat following them as they move past the town of
Sequim, a town with a large population of retirees, and referred to as 'God's waiting room' by many in the area. Although the boat is drawing closer with every passing minute, the slow veil of nightfall is making its way across the water from the east, and they're now only a few miles from Port Angeles. Larry has ordered both Jake and Beth to turn off every light on the boat, and to cover as best they can the most reflective surfaces on-board. Whether or not it will help remains to be seen, but if they have any shot at slipping away during the night they have to remove as much visibility as possible.

  As they pass each small town and community along the waterway, Jake watches them closely, hoping to see another living person or moving car somewhere, if for no other reason than to know they aren't the only ones left alive. So far all he's seen are what looks like the after-effects of a war. A scattering of houses and trees burned to the ground, cars with no lights lined up on the highway, dogs and cats running free through otherwise empty neighborhoods, and at least one person he knows for certain was dead. There were several other things that could have been people, alive or otherwise, but at this distance he couldn't be sure one way or the other. Now with darkness obscuring his view, even the unrecognizable objects are disappearing.

  He climbs up into the pilothouse, where his wife and Larry are already seated.

  "How long until we get to the marina?" he asks.

  "Another twenty minutes maybe. It'll be nice and dark by the time we get there." answers Larry.

  "Are there usually a lot of boats there?"

  "A couple hundred under normal circumstances. I'm hoping he doesn't even see us go in."

  "What do we do after he passes us? He might spot us if we just follow behind him." Beth says.

  "I thought maybe we'd hang out in town for a while, let him think he's chasing us down the coast." replies Larry.

  As the boat turns south toward town, the waves hit the boat against the starboard side, causing it to rock side to side. With only two chairs in the room, Jake sits down on the floor before he loses his footing. Between the wind and waves crashing against them, and the sound of the engine as it forces its way through the current, the only way they can hear one another is to yell.

  "Maybe we should double-back instead..." says Jake.

  "What do you mean?" asks Beth.

  "I mean go back to Sequim for a while. He won't expect that, not after he's chased us this far."

  "For how long?"

  "I don't know, maybe a week or two. We'll just stay low for a while."

  "At some point he'll catch on, he might come back..."

  "If he keeps moving it'll be morning before he realizes he's not following us." The boat lurches to the side violently, nearly throwing Jake down onto the deck below. "Where would he be by then?" he asks Larry.

  "Its hard to say, he could be clear to Astoria if he ran all night. I'll bet he stops in Neah Bay before hitting the ocean though."

  "Why is that?"

  "Its at the end of the strait, right at the opening to the ocean. When he tries to go around the cape he's gonna feel like he's been kicked in the gut. This is mild compared to out there."

  Beth looks out the window at the city of Port Angeles, which is quickly disappearing as the sunset vanishes from the sky. Soon the only illumination they'll have left will be from the moon overhead. The city itself is dark, and the buildings look like shadows against the snow-covered mountains in the distance.

  As they reach the outskirts of the marina, Jake watches behind them carefully for any sign of their pursuer. The docks are only about half-full, but Larry weaves his way through them anyway, trying to pick out the perfect spot. After about ten minutes of searching he finally finds one. As he straightens the boat out with the space, he cuts the engine, gliding into place with only a slight jolt as they collide with the dock. Looking over the marina they can see a ripple effect on the other boats as they sway from side to side. There's a reason Larry chose this spot — not only does it sit back in the middle of the other boats, it also has a perfect view of the entrance from the strait. If anyone comes in they'll be able to see them, and that might give them a crucial advantage.

  "So, I guess we wait..." says Beth.

  "Yep." replies Larry.

  Jake lowers himself down to the stern deck and looks around at the other boats, and at the city. At first everything is quiet, almost too quiet, and then he hears a noise coming from down the dock — a low thumping, like the muffled sound of footsteps from inside a building.

  "I'll be back in a minute." he whispers to the others.

  "Where are you going?" Beth asks.

  "I hear something, I'm gonna go to check it out. Stay here and keep an eye out for Sean."

  Clearly not happy, she spins her chair around, shaking her head as she faces Larry. As Jake sneaks down the dock, trying to discern where the noise is coming from, he notices a boat that's rocking more than the others. He ducks his head down low and carefully creeps closer, until he comes close enough to reach out and touch it. The boat is moored only four spaces down from them, and aside from the sounds, looks to be completely lifeless. With his gun firmly in his grasp, he leans in closer and listens. Somebody, or something, is inside, thrashing around and throwing things. Back and forth they walk, pacing from one end of the boat to the other. He looks at the windows, trying to get a peek inside, but the curtains are pulled shut, and there aren't any lights on inside anyway. As he starts to make his way back, a hand suddenly appears from behind the curtain on the side window — their palm pressed firmly against the pane. Slowly they begin scratching the window, a high-pitched steady screech coming from the glass as their nails glide down the surface. When it reaches the bottom it disappears, then slams into the glass, the hand still stretched out flat. Again and again it hits the window, and each time it does, Jake expects it to break — and then it stops. He stands there for a minute, waiting for something to happen, waiting for someone to come outside — but nobody does. The night is suddenly silent again, and the only noise aside from the dock itself is coming from the direction of the city. It sounds like the rattling of chain link fencing.

  He walks quietly and quickly down the dock to their boat, then jumps on-board and climbs up to the pilothouse.

  "What was it?" asks Beth in a normal tone.

  "Shh... I think we should get ready to leave, now." he whispers back.

  "Why?" she replies, her voice now soft, but concerned.

  "We're not the only ones here..."

  "Did you see somebody?" asks Larry.

  "Sort of, and I don't think they were well."

  Beth excitedly taps both of them on the shoulders. "Look!" she whispers.

  Just beyond the jetty, at the entrance to the marina, is another boat easing its way into the calm waters that surround the docks. Its lights are out, but they can hear the sound of its engine. As it makes its way down the first aisle, three down from where they're at, they see a spotlight appear. They all drop their heads to the dash, but they keep watching. The light is moving from boat to boat, taking only a few seconds to examine each one.

  "He must have seen us..." says Beth.

  "He couldn't have, it was too dark." answers Jake. "Besides, it'll take him half an hour to search this place at that rate. He won't waste that much time."

  "He'll find us in half that..." replies Larry.

  As they watch the boat ahead of them, all three suddenly become aware at the exact same time that someone is behind them, staggering down the dock. They turn around and sit on the floor, hiding in darkness, and wishing they had a door on the pilothouse to provide at least some cover. Jake pulls out his gun, then holds up his hand at Beth and Larry, motioning for them to keep their guns concealed. The last thing he wants is for one of them to get scared and pull their trigger, alerting the entire marina of their location. With only a small portion of the dock in his sights, he waits, listening to the uncoordinated steps grow louder. Then he finally sees someone, fully illuminated by the moon overhead,
walking from the direction of the city toward the end of the dock.

  The man is dressed in what looks like a hospital gown, his bare feet dirty and bloodied, and his face wearing no expression at all — like he was in some sort of a trance. He looks either drunk or drugged by the way he's moving, stumbling and stubbing his toes with almost every step. Jake spreads himself out on the floor and stretches forward as the man walks past them, never leaving him out of his gun sights. Beth slowly creeps up beside him, her body shaking with fear. With their heads sticking out from the pilothouse doorway, they watch as the man casually walks off of the edge of the dock and into the water, hitting the back of his head against the wooden deck on his way down.

  After a quick look up and down the rest of the dock, Jake and Beth pull themselves back into the pilothouse.

  "What the hell was that?" Beth asks Jake.

  "Fuck if I know, he looked like he was half-dead."

  Larry pops up to his feet, looking the marina over to see where the boat ended up — but he sees nothing.

  "Where is he?" asks Jake, now back on his feet beside him.

  "I don't know, I don't see the light anymore."

  "Fuck! He could be sitting out there, just waiting for us."

  "We'll wait until midnight, then we'll go."

  "What if he is out there? He's faster than us..." says Beth.

  "Its three against one. The odds are in our favor in a shootout." replies Larry.

  "Yeah, but he has the rifle, and he's trained to use it." says Jake. "I think you're right though, we have to move. If he's still here he'll find us eventually anyway."

  They wait, watching the area for any sign of Sean, or anyone else. At ten after midnight Larry starts the engine, keeping it at low throttle. He inches out of the space, then moves down the aisle toward the entrance and into the strait. With no sign of another boat, Beth glances back at the streets behind them. What she sees doesn't register at first, its the last thing she expected to see as they left Port Angeles — in fact its the last thing she expected to see anywhere.