But, no. No, it wasn’t that easy. Not anymore. He recalled how Sadie had embraced him when he agreed to take her along, how she had cried as she whispered her thanks. And with that, any chance of reneging crumbled.
Through the fog, lightning cracked the sky. It cast an eerie blue glow over the warden’s house, like a searchlight from above. The similarity conjured a thought.
They would be looking on the south end of the island, the civilian areas. The gymnasium, the parade grounds. They wouldn’t suspect where she had gone.
They could do this.
The plan could still work.
So long as they never found the girl.
Shan transferred the cart. He reported for count. And now the minutes were ticking.
In the lower greenhouse, he turned on the overhead light bulb to prevent suspicion. The Powerhouse Tower guard wouldn’t have a clear view into the room, but still Shan retreated to a back corner before removing and hiding his prison cap, coat, and coveralls. The guard uniform underneath, which he had donned an hour ago, was fully ready minus the raincoat and hat. He threw them both on.
The windows offered a faint reflection of his appearance. The whole uniform was a tad large, but he had no time to worry about that. He hurried back outside to the cart, set on the far side of the greenhouse. With no one in sight, he pulled out the burlap bag, now also concealing the tarp.
Steeling himself, he embarked on a walk guaranteed to be the longest of his life. The bag swayed in the wind, bumping hard against his leg. Though he assumed an air of authority, he kept his hat lowered under his hood, not unnatural given the weather. He fixed his gaze on the model building, his first destination. Thrashing waves echoed from the shore. The foghorn continued to moan.
From the Powerhouse Tower, the guard would have noticed his presence by now. More than eighty officers rotated shifts and stations every week. From a distance Shan’s average build could fit one of many. He told himself this as he continued his strides, fighting the thought of a guard’s finger on a trigger, taking easy aim.
Keep going. Walk with purpose. He was halfway there.
Cyclone wire and fencing waited ahead. The guard in the Model Tower, atop the industries building, was typically gone at this hour. But the officer in the Hill Tower stood at his post. His large shadow loomed above in the glass enclosure.
A gust of icy wind stalled Shan for a moment, causing him to gasp. Yet he forged on, determined not to stop. No longer an inmate, he was an officer assigned to drop off supplies.
Just fifty feet left now—and half as many minutes. It took all his willpower not to break into a sprint. He could hear his own breathing, a hoarse rhythm in his ears.
The Hill Tower guard appeared to be facing the other way. Still no sign of an officer on the roof.
Shan briskly navigated his way to the fence behind the mat shop. There, he savored the reprieve from a tower guard’s view. In seconds he found the locked gate through which cons discarded unneeded tire parts. It was the meeting spot he and Sadie had agreed upon. So where was the girl?
“Sadie,” he whispered through the rain.
If she didn’t show, would he be leaving without her?
She’d been so confident about reaching the place, having explored many areas deemed off-limits, though not always of her choosing. Since the warden prohibited booze, she’d explained, Yappy had occasionally tasked her with dumping the empties in the water out of sight. While he might not have specified how far, the bastard likely didn’t care.
“Sadie,” Shan called again a fraction louder.
A person approached from the dimness—not matching her likeness. Hunched in a winter coat, knickers exposed at the hem, the figure gave him pause. But once the kid got closer, Shan recognized her face, even before she removed her flat cap.
“It’s a disguise,” Sadie whispered. She shook her head to showcase her hair, hacked to a boy’s length. “Like in The Count of Monte Cristo. They’ll only be looking for a girl.” Her conspiratorial smile almost made Shan forget the danger of their actions.
“You got the keys?” he pressed, setting down the bag.
“Right here.” She scrambled to produce them from her pocket, and went to hand them over. But from anxiousness, or slickness from the rain, she let go too soon and the ring of keys dropped with a jangle.
They both froze. Alarm replaced the enthusiasm in Sadie’s eyes.
But no guard shouted a warning. No shots were fired.
Shan snatched up Yappy’s keys, raising them to the padlock on the gate. “Which one?”
She shook her head regretfully. She couldn’t know them all.
He wasted no time before attempting the options. “Ah, come on,” he groaned after several failed.
Only four chances left. He shot a peek at the roof—no one there—and his thoughts whirled. Having considered this obstacle, he planned to use the air tank in his bag to bust the lock. Yet he couldn’t be sure if rain and waves would hide the sound.
Another key slid in but wouldn’t budge. Now three remained.
He tried again. It went in . . . and turned! The padlock released.
After another glance upward, he opened the gate and ushered Sadie through, tossing the lock into the withered weeds. He grabbed the bag and closed the gate behind them. Five rows of barbwire stood knee-high. Sadie looked up at him.
He retrieved the tarp and flung it over the rows. “Get on,” he ordered in a hush, crouching down. She climbed onto his back and held tight to his neck. A deep blast of thunder shook the ground. Shan hugged the bulky bag to his chest and worked his way over the hurdles. He strained to keep his balance, refusing to envision the girl slipping off and tangling in the wires.
Once they had crossed, he set her down and yanked up the tarp, preventing a blaring trail. Now came the steep slope. Together, they negotiated the cliff, then strewn tire parts, to reach the water. Sadie made it look easier than it felt, traversing slick rubber and wet boulders. But then, she wasn’t doing it while lugging a deflated raft.
Finally he and Sadie made it into a cave that extended far into an inky void. The air smelled of salt and decayed fish. Frigid water, ankle high, seeped into their shoes as they wove through piles of trash, tires, and debris. Waves broke on rocks bordering the entrance.
From this view, dense fog veiled the Golden Gate. Even buoys denoting the island’s two-hundred-foot perimeter had disappeared. Until he and Sadie did the same, he prayed the uniform would once more shield him from a tower guard’s aim.
Shan emptied the bag onto a heap of driftwood. Vision adjusting to the darkness, he united the raft with the valve of the tank. He gave it a crank and the air started to blow, feeding life into the rubber boat. A minute or two and they’d be on their way. But without notice, the whooshing of air waned and the raft swiftly died.
He turned the main valve of the tank as far as it would go, opening it full bore. But nothing came out. He shook the tank, terror rising in his chest. “Please, please no . . .” He tried again.
When he’d tested it days earlier, he had released just a whiff. Hadn’t he closed the valve? Was there a slow leak? Had it been only partly filled from the start?
“What’s wrong?” Sadie asked anxiously, hovering beside him.
At most, they had twenty minutes to spare. But they could do this.
He brought the valve of the raft to his mouth and blew out deep breaths. Faster, faster. The weight of the rubber slowed his efforts, but he kept going. Another breath, another. His lungs were burning, his brain turning lightheaded.
He patted the raft to gauge his progress. He wasn’t filling it fast enough. How would they ever make it into the water in time?
Nights ago, he’d decided that if anything went terribly wrong, so long as they hadn’t been discovered, they would sneak back up if they could. Try again another time, find a different way. He’d told Sadie and she had agreed, yet now he dreaded to deliver the news.
“I’m sorry, but we gotta
go back.”
Her lips pursed and her chin quivered. He wanted to comfort her—above all, to solve this—but the window of opportunity was closing. “We have to go now.”
Sadie inhaled sharply, hands flying to her mouth. It was an expression of disappointment, he assumed, until she pointed toward the water. Shan turned just in time to catch a bright flash. He took it for lightning before it returned as a beam. A searchlight.
“Oh, God, no.”
His absence shouldn’t have been noticed yet. He had time left on his detail. Then he realized . . .
Still no alarm.
Suddenly a voice carried from outside. It was dim, but judging from Sadie’s face, they had both heard it. Then louder. A man was calling her name. This meant Johnston had expanded the search. They were combing the entire island.
There was no escaping.
Shan would have to surrender—now as a kidnapper—or wait to be found. If his greenhouse chats with Sadie had risked foul and dark rumors, the fallout of this would be unimaginable. Not to mention what waited after Ted and Ralph learned of his deception.
And yet, from the sheer panic in Sadie’s eyes, he feared even more the punishment she would face from her father. For bringing him shame, surely jeopardizing his career, how much more of her skin would he burn? How many hits could she endure before her body simply gave out?
Whether she had come voluntarily or not, Shan’s crimes would be no different. His ending was sealed, but hers could be saved.
Shan leaned in and held her arms. “You tell them I forced you. Got it? That I threatened to hurt you, and your father, too, if you didn’t help me. Do you hear?”
She nodded, her eyes rimmed with tears.
“Now, stay put.” He rushed to the entrance of the cave, debating how best to surrender. Once they recognized him, the goon squad might descend with guns blazing, putting Sadie in equal danger.
He could always dive into the waves and ignore their warnings. Pull a Dutch Bowers. End it all right here. The idea gained appeal as he edged his head out and peered up the cliff. He expected guards to be working their way down, but no one was coming.
Again a voice called for Sadie. It traveled across the water, originating from the left. The silhouette of a rowboat carrying two people floated into view. One controlled the oars while the other held a flashlight, intermittently yelling, “Sadie!” Both were in guard uniforms and hats, topped with raincoats. Just like . . .
Shan.
The thought stopped him. In its wake an old memory slung back. Desperate to save himself and Nick, he’d once used the trick of a hat and a voice to become a ship steward. And the gamble had worked. The current stakes were inconceivably higher, but he glanced toward Sadie in the fuzzy blackness, and something in his gut, his heart, insisted he try.
An assessment of resources zipped through his mind, sprouting an idea.
“I think we still got a shot,” he told her. “But we’d have to work fast.”
The boat was closing in, likely with plans to pass by, but that was going to change. With supplies ready, Sadie crouched into hiding and Shan disguised his profile with his hood. He peered at the boat but still couldn’t determine which guards were approaching. Hoping to high heaven they didn’t include Ranger Roy, Shan transformed into the Southern lieutenant.
He cupped his mouth with one hand, further obscuring his face, as he stepped into view and hollered through the wind, “Fellas, over here! I need some help from y’all!” He motioned them closer, his heart thumping all the while. When the flashlight beamed toward his face, he angled away as if it were too bright.
“Who is that?” a guard shouted.
“It’s Roy! Now, stop lollygagging and get over here. Found somethin’ peculiar.” Retreating into the shadows, Shan hugged the wall at the entrance. He waited, shank in hand.
If this didn’t work, it would all be over.
Then came a thunk—the boat hitting rocks by the side of the cave. “Lieutenant? What is it?”
They were just outside. While searching for a civilian, they would be unarmed. Shan hoped.
He poked his head out just enough for a peek. “Y’all can tie up to that pile of tires there! But I need a hand from just one of ya. So hurry it up!”
If they hadn’t heard him clearly and both came in at once, the odds of pulling this off could plummet.
The guards appeared to talk for a moment before one hopped out and quickly tied off the boat as ordered. Then he took the flashlight, leaving his pal behind, and scurried over a tire and some rocks.
The fact that it was Rookie was not a disappointment.
Shan moved a little farther in to assume his pose. His back to the entrance, hands on hips, he stared down at the raft. He heard the sloshing of Rookie’s footsteps.
“What’d you find, Lieutenant?”
“Get a load of this,” Shan said. “Reckon some inmates were fixin’ to escape.”
Rookie directed his flashlight at the ground and sidled up to Shan. “Well, how about that,” he said in awe. “Who do you think—”
Shan stopped him with a blade to the neck. “Drop the light and put your hands behind your back.” The guard bristled, and the flashlight fell into the water. “You keep silent, and my pal Ted Cole over there won’t shoot the .45 he took off the Hill Tower guard. And trust me, he’d sure be happy to.”
Rookie released a shaky breath and nodded. The guy was new to the gig, but not new enough to be unfamiliar with Ted’s volatility.
In a minute tops, Shan had the guard seated behind a mound of tires with hands and feet bound with rope, gagged and blindfolded with strips of canvas. To support the ruse, Shan switched to the deeper, more sinister tone of Ted Cole. “Not a peep, you goddamn screw.”
Rookie became a statue.
Shan salvaged the flashlight and scrambled back toward the entrance. Reverting to Ranger Roy, he would pull the same stunt in a flash. Only then did he consider that the second guard could be Yappy.
At the cave’s edge, he was about to holler regardless, yet caught himself. The boat was rocking, with no one aboard. Where the hell had he gone?
The answer came when the officer stepped from the side and stopped two feet away. It was Chandler, the guard with no reservations about shooting cons, as proven by the death of Bowers. The officer hedged, startled from recognition, and flicked a look at the shank in Shan’s grip.
Though it was likely mere seconds, it felt far longer before Chandler lunged. All at once they were struggling for the weapon. Shan battled to hold on as he was slammed against the wall. The back of his skull met rock and his hat toppled forward. Chandler hammered at Shan’s hand until the shank broke free. On reflex Shan reached out, but the blade disappeared with a splash.
He caught a glow in the water, from the flashlight now on the ground, before a fist struck his face. He’d barely registered the hit when another came to his gut. Trapped against the wall, he had to break loose.
Shan used every bit of his strength to push the guy back. He’d managed a few feet when Chandler lost his footing, taking them both to the slippery ground. The icy water stunned Shan momentarily; he recovered only to find Chandler scrambling for the shank.
In that instant, focused only on survival, Shan snatched the flashlight and swung it toward the guard, connecting with his head. The man collapsed.
Despite Shan’s adrenaline, he registered fear about what he had done. But a quick check confirmed that Chandler was simply knocked out. With little time for relief, Shan heaved the guard to the side, enough to clear him from the water.
Shan was going to retrieve Sadie, but she was already at his side. He signaled for her to stay quiet. Then he snagged his hat, lifted her up, and carried her to the mouth of the cave. The searchlight was slanted away from the area. There were maybe five minutes to spare—their chances were minuscule. But at this point, hell, why not?
He untied the rope as Sadie climbed into the rowboat, and he after her. “Down on the flo
or,” he told her. She obeyed without hesitation as he grabbed hold of the oars. Seated backward, he started rowing against the rain, the currents. Over his shoulder there was no destination to see, only a wall of fog.
The searchlight slid closer, closer. It moved over the black waves like an electric eel at the surface. Shan held his breath, clutching the oars, and the beam brushed right past them. After all, he was a guard. Or invisible.
That was certainly how he felt when the mist swallowed them up. He kept an ear out for proof that an inmate search had been launched. But due to the weather or a delay of discovery—the count perhaps disturbed by the hunt for Sadie—he heard no siren.
The boat picked up speed in the shipping channel, the outgoing tide sending them toward the Golden Gate. Southwest of the island, the red suspension bridge that he’d eyed for months, and with purposeful interest this past week, now lay in hiding.
Panic simmered in his gut as he recalled Father Anthony’s words. Stray off course and they’d be swept off to sea. In this fog, they could very well be headed to Alaska.
Where was the damn bridge? Where was the mainland?
“Unbelievable,” he muttered. He continued to row, scanning over his shoulder, his muscles burning. His damp body trembled from cold and adrenaline. “After all this, we can’t even find the stupid landing?”
Sadie’s face eased upward. Though there was probably little harm in her sitting now, he preferred to be careful, and to focus. He started to tell her to stay low when she interjected.
“Would this help?” She drew a necklace from under her coat collar. It was the compass, stored around her neck. The shock of it halted Shan.
“Actually, yeah.” A laugh tumbled from his mouth. “It would.”
Sadie grinned.
He directed her in holding the compass as he rowed. She displayed the wiggling needle, keeping as steady as possible.
The rain lightened to a sprinkle along the way, and thinning fog bettered visibility, but only in patches. At this speed, it couldn’t be much farther. If they hadn’t passed it already.
The Edge of Lost Page 28