Stone Fury

by J. D. Weston

  Men were dragging nets, pulling ropes, and casting rods, but none of them wore yellow fishing trousers. He wiped the filthy dirty lenses on his shirt and did another scan of the boats out at sea. One small white boat was moving fast way out beyond the stationary fishing vessels. To the left of it, a fifty-foot cruiser easily cut through the rough, deep water. It was much larger than the fishing boat and held a faster speed.

  Harvey was sure it was Denver at the wheel of the cruiser. They were running adjacent to the fishing boat, but not directly in its wake. Harvey stepped down to the helm and slammed the throttles forward. The little engine surged back into life. He pointed the prow at the white fishing boat in the distance and held his course. The hull slammed continuously into the water and shook the entire boat each time.

  Tearing between the other fishing boats, Harvey sprayed surf high into the air above them; he ignored the calls and shouts of angry fisherman. He was locked onto a target.

  He left the fishermen far behind; the land became dark, as did the distant strip on the horizon that split the white sky and black ocean. Denver's dream was far out to his left, Harvey guessed it to be a kilometre away. Directly in front of Harvey was the little white fishing boat, maybe two kilometres away. It had stopped and turned side on. Harvey turned right to circle the boat then killed his engines.

  The little craft rose and fell with the waves, which made using the binos difficult. Harvey found the boat and focused. Then he looked on with dread. Melody was stood on the side of the deck, her hands were bound. She was dressed in only her underwear and looked absolutely broken. Her posture had lost its usual strong and defiant rigidness; her shoulders hung weak and limp, framed by the frigid sky beyond. The man in yellow rubber trousers had hold of her arm and was shouting at her.

  Then he shoved her into the water.

  Harvey reached for the Diemaco and took aim. But the ocean swells and the distance made it an impossible shot. He shoved the throttles forwards and aimed at the fishing boat.

  He smashed the front glass with the butt of his rifle and turned his head away; fragments of glass bounced off his skin and t-shirt. He took aim through the broken window.

  One of the men turned and saw Harvey approaching. He called to his mate, and the little boat immediately took off, leaving Melody in the freezing water, barely able to keep her head above the water.

  Harvey took aim, fired, missed, fired again and missed. Too much movement. He closed in and killed the engines, then quickly switched the rifle's selector into burst, and fired off the magazine in groups of three.

  The two men remained standing, but black smoke began to pour from one of the engines.

  Harvey turned his attention to Melody. He found her, a small dark spot in an already dark ocean. Aiming the boat at her, he slammed the throttles into full once more. As he drew near, she sank lower out of sight. He steered the boat past where she had been moments before, slipped the rifle over his shoulder, and hurled himself into the ocean.

  He crashed into the hard water and span beneath the surface, rolling in a world of tiny bubbles. He forced his eyes open and searched around him. Looking down, he saw Melody's bound hands reaching up, sinking further. Harvey turned, kicked and reached, he held his nose and equalised then kicked harder; his lungs screamed. He just needed to inhale, the urge was overwhelming. He told himself one more kick, then another. One final kick and his fingers grazed hers in the darkness. He reached down further and gave every bit of energy his body could muster. His hands found the ties on her wrist; he pulled and straightened up.

  Harvey kicked up hard, breathing out the spent air. His legs were burning, his boots and the rifle were heavy, and his clothes dragged in the water, but he kicked harder, faster, urgently, until he finally broke through the surface. Inhaling huge lungfuls of air, he gasped for breath, straining to stay buoyant.

  Melody did not gasp for air.

  She remained silent with her eyes closed and mouth open, with pale white skin.

  Harvey held her head above the water, her skin was ice cold. He waved over to the incoming boat and shouted, “Hurry!”

  Melody’s hair clung to her face so Harvey brushed it away. He was fighting to stay afloat, but felt for a pulse, nothing. He felt for her heartbeat, nothing. He breathed into her mouth. The boat was closing in on them. Harvey couldn’t perform CPR bobbing up and down in the ocean, it was as much as he could do to keep them both afloat. His breaths into her did little to help, but he wasn’t a trained first aider, he was just doing what he could. He pulled her bound hands over his head and lay on his back, kicking towards the boat.

  Reg and Denver approached. Reg was stood at the back of the boat on a little platform. Denver killed the engine and expertly coasted to a stop, swinging the rear of the stolen forty-eight-foot game fishing boat towards Harvey.

  Harvey held Melody's held above the water, and swam on his back, fighting the current with one arm. He kicked with his heavy boots, but the weight was taking its toll on his legs. Harvey reached for the platform and held fast to one of its handles. He let his aching legs drop into the ocean below and clung to Melody with his free arm. Reg bounded back down to the platform with a blanket he'd found, and helped pull her out. Her skin was shockingly white, and she was cold and weak. Her body had released its energy trying to fight the cold in the back of the lorry, then in the boat, then finally in the water it had given up.

  Harvey dragged himself up out of the water onto the platform, slipped the rifle from his shoulder and pulled his wet shirt off. Then knelt beside Melody.

  Harvey shouted at Melody, "Come on, Melody, fight." He banged on her chest, tilted her head back and pinched her nose. He gave her one full breath and saw her chest rise as the air filled her lungs.

  He moved to her chest and placed the heels of his hands over her heart, interlocked his fingers and straightened his arms. He pumped.

  "I heard it's fifteen pumps to one breath," said Reg. He began to pull the blanket over her legs.

  "Come on, Melody, help us," Harvey called. He slapped her face, then returned to her mouth and gave one more deep breath.

  Reg stood with his mouth open, unable to help, he was mortified. Harvey continued to pump her heart.

  "Melody, we need you, you can't leave us now." Harvey pumped. "Twelve, thirteen, Melody hurry up, come on, wake up." Harvey was shouting now. Melody's lips had a tinge of blue around the edges.

  Harvey tilted her head back, pinched her nose, and breathed one more full breath into her. Her chest rose and sank as the air escaped, and Harvey returned to pumping her chest, "I can do this all day if I have to Melody, but you are not leaving us now."

  A little water spurted from Melody's mouth when Harvey pumped and was immediately followed by retching and coughing. Harvey rolled her onto her side.

  "Oh, thank god," said Reg, who knelt opposite Harvey and pulled the blanket over her.

  The two men carefully sat her up, then Harvey heaved her up into his arms, stood, and walked her into the cabin, keeping close to her to share his body heat. He laid her down on the long bench that ran along one side of the cabin.

  "Denver, do you have visual on them?" asked Harvey as he approached the helm with Melody in his arms.

  "They're gone. They headed back to the port."

  "We need to get her to a hospital," said Reg.

  "I don't need a hospital," interrupted Melody weakly, "I need some damn clothes." She was hugging the blanket around her and breathing hot air down onto her chest. She wiped her eyes and sniffed. Harvey laid her on a bench with a blue, plastic-covered foam cushion.

  "Reg, check down below, I'll see what I can find up here. Denver, get us back to shore." Harvey ripped up the other seats and looked inside the storage compartments. He found emergency equipment; flares, first aid and a life raft that looked older than the boat.

  Reg stepped up from the cabin below carrying an old sports bag. He bent down next to Melody and spoke softly, "Hey girl, you're in luck. I found a
bag of old clothes. It's almost like one of the Kardashians left their overnight bag. Here, look at this, there's a thick woolly sweater, the itching will be a reminder of how fab you look." Melody broke into a smile and an involuntary laugh broke through her tears. "And looky here, these are simply stunning darling, the latest line of knock-off Nike tracksuit bottoms. And last but not least, thick, woolly socks. Boy, does this guy like his wool, and look at the size of them," he held the sock up, "Melody, you could literally curl up inside that." She laughed again and he handed her the bag.

  "Can you help me?" She wrapped the blanket tight around her and lifted her arms. Reg fed the thick sweater over her and pulled her arms through so she could pull the top down. Melody pulled the blanket away from underneath. Reg opened up the tracksuit pants and helped her feed her feet into the holes then helped her with the socks, which were far too big and slippery on the deck, but she needed the warmth, so kept them on. She pulled the blanket back around her and dried her hair with it, then pulled her knees under her chin on the bench seat, and closed her eyes.

  "Should she be sleeping?" asked Denver, "Isn't it dangerous or something?"

  "Leave her be," said Harvey, "we need to find her a hot shower-"

  “And some decent clothes,” Melody added from under the blanket. “I look like a Russian hobo.”

  The three men all smiled, Melody would be okay.

  "We can't go back to the same port in a stolen boat," said Denver.

  "Yeah, I made a few locals mad," said Harvey. "Probably not a good idea. What happened to my boat?" he looked around the horizon, there was no sign of it.

  Denver was looking out to sea. "You leave the throttles open?"

  "Yeah, wasn't time to park it." Harvey smiled. He looked down at the ignition by the wheel, expecting to see similar damage to what he had done to his stolen boat, but there was no damage. "How did you do that?" he asked Denver casually.

  "Do what?"

  "Start the engines without damaging the ignition."

  "I'll teach you someday," said Denver. He turned the wheel, and gently slid the throttles forward. The boat responded, and soon the rhythmic lull of the hull cutting through the ocean swells sent Melody off into a deep sleep.

  Harvey stripped the Diemaco and the Sig and cleaned them as best he could with whatever rags and tools he could find. Reg was lost without his tech, but sat by Melody and held her steady in case she was thrown from her seat on the rough seas.

  When Harvey was done, he stood next to Denver who was navigating a different river estuary looking for a safe place to ditch the boat. Many of the smaller docks had security that would question why three men and a girl might arrive at a dock with no identification in an ensemble of clothes and an automatic weapon.

  He found a marina that looked nearly empty of life and pulled the throttles back to neutral, letting momentum carry the boat forward. He gave a slight tickle of one engine to push the boat into the dockside. Harvey had kicked the fenders out and was ready with the rope when the boat gently nudged the concrete. Harvey tied a neat bowline and reached down to help Melody out.

  The rifle was wrapped in the blanket, much to Melody's annoyance, and they walked up the path towards the main road where a security guard came from out of nowhere and stood before them. "Good morning, can I see your paperwork please?"

  "Paperwork?"

  "Paperwork. Boat registration-" He hadn't even finished his sentence when Harvey's arm came thrusting out from under the blanket, hard and fast. The man's legs turned to jelly, and he crumpled to a heap on the ground.

  "Let's move, now."

  The four moved fast towards the road. It was quiet, so they walked away from the little port, heading north.

  "How did you do that?" asked Denver.

  "Do what?"

  "He's unconscious. How you do that so quick?"

  "I'll teach you one day." Harvey grinned at him.

  14

  Traffic

  The team walked side by side into the small town of Brightlingsea. It was the first time they'd been together and on the same team for what was essentially only a few days, but it felt like weeks.

  They flagged the first cab they saw and rode in near silence northbound back to Mistley; it was a twenty-five-minute journey made longer by the early morning traffic and the cab driver’s reluctance to use first or third gears. Denver struggled to contain his frustration at the man.

  The Diemaco lay across melody's knees wrapped in the blanket. Harvey sat in the front. They drove past the VW Transporter and asked the driver to stop five hundred yards further along the road. The gates of the warehouse looked closed and locked, but they wanted to be sure. Denver walked back on foot and drove the van to pick them up while Reg, Melody and Harvey stood off the main street.

  "How does it look?" asked Harvey. "Any sign of life?"

  "Heard some banging, but couldn't see anything. The Mercedes was gone. I could see it through the gap in the gates earlier, but not anymore, just the truck."

  Reg opened the rear door and began to climb inside, he was already firing up the computers.

  "Hey wait," began Melody, she looked at all three of the men in turn, "I just wanted to thank you all. For what you did." She looked humbled but grateful. "You all saved my life back there, each of you, and I can’t put in words-"

  "We only did what you would have done for us, Melody," said Harvey.

  "That may be so, but hey, I have to tell you how I feel. It's the way I was raised." She hugged Harvey, turned to Reg, smiled and put her arms around him, then gave Denver a hug. "I'm just glad we're back as a team now. We missed you, Harvey."

  Harvey looked directly at her but said nothing.

  "We done with all the loving?" asked Denver. "We've still got two men to find."

  "Donny and Bruno?" asked Harvey.

  "No, Michael and his friend, Roger, first. Donny comes after," said Melody. "They can’t be too far away."

  "The longer we take looking for them, the further away Donny gets," said Harvey.

  "But we're right here, Harvey."

  "Yeah and they're right there," said Harvey pointing back inland, "but for how long?" He stepped back from the van.

  “You’re going again?” said Melody, almost hurt. “We only just got you back.”

  Harvey didn't reply.

  “You can’t keep quitting on us,” she raised her voice at him.

  "I have to do this, Melody," replied Harvey flatly.

  "Harvey, come on, man," pleaded Denver, "help us take these two clowns down, and we'll all go and get Cartwright with you. Surely we're stronger as a unit?"

  "Where are they now?"

  "Who?"

  "The country bumpkins."

  "I don't have any information other than the chip on the lorry, and that's in the compound five hundred yards away."

  "You don't have their phones’ GPS?"

  "We don't have their names or numbers yet," said Reg flatly. "I can get them in a few minutes, from Cartwright's phone."

  "I can take Donny down and be back here in a day, it'll take you that long to find your two guys."

  "Yeah, with collateral damage," said Melody. "If you leave now Harvey that's it. I don't understand why you'd throw all this away, look at us, we're a great team."

  "I'm not asking you to understand. I'm telling you I'll be away for one day."

  "What do we tell Frank? I have to check in soon," she lied.

  "I don't care what you tell Frank."

  Melody climbed into the passenger side and pulled the door closed. Reg sat down in his seat, and Denver walked to the driver's door shaking his head.

  Harvey watched the van start and pull away from the curb. It disappeared around the corner, and Harvey was left alone holding the Diemaco bundled inside the blanket, with a wet shirt and boots.

  He carried the bundle in the crook of his arms and walked in the opposite direction until he found a bench to sit on. He needed a plan. Sitting on a main road in a wet t-s
hirt with a military grade weapon wrapped in a soggy blanket wasn’t a good place to start.

  He needed to find a car, preferably something old, but fast.

  Denver stopped the VW outside a small house with a bed and breakfast sign outside. Melody hopped out with her pack and walked casually to the door. She was greeted by a middle-aged lady who looked her up and down with compassion.

  "I'm so sorry to bother you, but my friends and I were just in our boat, and I fell overboard. We have a long drive back to London, and I was hoping to have a shower and change my clothes." She held the bag up and gave her best feminine smile.

  "Oh you poor thing, come on in here." She ushered Melody into the house, who looked back and winked at the two men in the van. "Are those your friends?" the lady asked.

  “Yes, they didn't get wet, they’re okay. I’ll pay full price, I don't mind, I-”

  "I wouldn't dream of it, get yourself up to room three, first floor. There's towels on the bed." The lady had a mother's kind but instructive tone. Melody turned back to Denver and Reg and gave a thumbs up. "Do your friends want to have some coffee? It's quiet this time of year, and I have a full pot."

  Melody signed the international hand sign for a drink and pointed in the house with her thumb. The van doors were open and closed before she'd turned back around. She headed up the stairs and heard Reg and Denver's voices greeting the old lady as she closed the door to room three.

  The bedroom was small but cosy, the type of place her nan might have liked to stay on holiday. The bathroom was clearly a refurb, with exposed plumbing and a small shower stall, toilet and washbasin laid out in an efficient use of space. It was everything somebody would need for a short stay on the coast.

  The water was hot, it was everything melody needed right then. Her fingers came back to life as the blood began to flow freely and her skin revelled in the steam.

  She dressed in the clothes she carried in her pack. Overnighters were frequent for the team, so the spare clothes stayed in the van. Reg and Denver also both had packs in the back but chose not to change.