by Max Turner
“Yeah, but a canoe doesn’t cost you all your Microsoft stock. Do you know how many beer bottles I’m going to have to collect before I can make another one of these?”
“So what do we do?” I asked. “Didn’t you plan for this? I thought you could see the future.”
Mr. Entwistle took off his hat and held it over his heart. “Of course I had a plan. My plan was to sink. I never thought these tires would keep us afloat.”
“Sink?”
“Yeah. I figured we sink and swim out the top.” He looked at the hatch, above. “It’s why I brought the air tanks.” He pointed toward the first-aid kit. I could see several small canisters strapped to the wall beside it. “The top is the only way out. You may be right. It might be time to get wet. We can leave the controls in place. That will keep the tires moving. We’ve got to take our chances in the water.”
I was about as comfortable in the water as I was in the sun. “I can’t swim.”
“I know,” he said. “I watched you nearly drown the last time we were in the river, remember?”
I did. It was part of our escape from the Nicholls Ward last year. It had nearly been the death of me.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “You can just walk on the bottom.”
“Really?”
“Well, there’s no harm in trying. . . . Here.” He handed me his whiskey bottle. Then he started fiddling with the dash.
The engine’s rumble turned into a quiet purr. Then something bumped into us. I heard a muffled sound, like someone shouting through a loudspeaker.
“Turn off your engine and come out slowly with your hands up. I repeat . . .”
“Just ignore them,” Mr. Entwistle said.
“What can they do?” I asked.
He pursed his lips and thought. Then he reached out, yanked the bottle from my hand, took a deep haul, then wiped his sleeve across his mouth. “They don’t have to do anything. We’ve got nowhere to go and no way to get there. We’re going to run out of gas shortly. This thing drinks more than I do.”
“Brilliant,” I said. “So we’re floundering in this sea cow waiting to get shot.”
“Sea cow! Sea cow?” Mr. Entwistle threw up his hands. “Show some respect. This thing can bounce a plutonium-tipped warhead. We can’t get shot in here.”
“But we can’t stay, either.”
“Good point.” He walked over to the hatch and undid it, then pushed it open. I moved closer and peered up through the open hole. There was nothing to see but stars and clouds. Then the beam of a searchlight bounced off the far side. Enough light leaked in that I had to squint.
“I don’t suppose there’s any point in waiting.” He sounded painfully glum. “I don’t normally get attached to things.” He looked around the cockpit. “Well, I guess I owe them.”
“Owe who?” Charlie asked.
“The Peterborough police. I trashed a police cycle last year, and that Ford Mustang, and a few more in that roadblock. And you demoed at least three cars tonight in that underground garage, Charlie.” Mr. Entwistle took a pull from his bottle. “I guess this makes us even.” Then he grunted in disgust. “I really wanted to take this thing to the Warsaw Fair.”
It seemed an odd time to get nostalgic. The police were still shouting instructions through a loudspeaker and I could feel the front of their boat bumping into the car. Mr. Entwistle reached up to the roof. I was hoping he’d pull out the controls for a laser cannon, or a giant slingshot, but instead he pulled down a short ladder that was hinged near the opening. It swung into place with a click. He gave it a shake to test it, then grabbed the waist of my pants with one hand and cupped the other one around his mouth.
“Here’s your man!” he shouted to the police. An instant later, he raised me off the ground and flung me up through the hatch.
— CHAPTER 14
WEED WORLD
I landed on top of the car in the blinding glare of a searchlight. Even with my hands shielding my eyes, and my head turned away, I couldn’t make out anything but some blurry silhouettes—maybe four, on the deck of the boat. I could hear another vessel speeding over from the docks behind us. And I could hear Mr. Entwistle laughing in the cockpit of the car.
“Don’t move. Keep your hands where we can see them,” someone shouted.
I don’t think they could have moved me with a keg of dynamite. I was petrified. I didn’t want to get shot, and I didn’t want to slip into the water, so I just stood there, not moving, and waited for further instructions. They never arrived. Instead, I heard a gunshot. It came from inside the car. Mr. Entwistle was firing the pistol he’d taken from the police officer in the jail.
The searchlight went out.
A pause followed that was just long enough for me to realize I was a dead man, then the police returned fire. I suppose I should have ducked behind the open hatch cover. It was bulletproof. But I couldn’t do anything but flail my arms, largely because Mr. Entwistle had climbed the ladder and was pulling my feet out from underneath me. My head shot backward and I crashed into the lake. I started to flail in the water and managed to get my fingers into the deep treads of the back tire. They were still slowly moving and pulled me to the surface. I then pushed myself to the back in a space under the bumper. The police boat was on the other side of the car, so I had a few seconds to decide whether I wanted to stay with Mr. Entwistle or take my chances with the legal system. Then a blue flame arced out from the car. It was Mr. Entwistle’s whiskey bottle. He’d set fire to it and sent it somersaulting through the air. One gunshot later it exploded, showering the top of the police boat with burning alcohol.
In that instant, Charlie leapt from the car with Mr. Entwistle right behind him. The old vampire was fast, but not fast enough. A barrage of bullets caught him in the back. His dive became a tragic belly flop. I reached out and pulled him over. He was sputtering and coughing. I felt the tire shift slightly as the front of the car dipped down. Someone had stepped on the top.
“They’re coming,” I said. “Are you all right?”
He nodded, thumping the chest of his body armour. “I’m fine.” Then he patted the top of his head. “But I’ll be better when I find my lucky hat.” It must have come off in the water.
Charlie swam over beside us. He looked as if he was having the time of his life. “What now?”
“Duck.” Mr. Entwistle put a hand on top of my head and pushed me under. I had just enough time for a quick breath, then I dropped as the smaller, faster boat sped past. The prop cut through the water with an angry whine. When it faded, we surfaced. I had one hand on his coat and another on the tire spinning slowly beside me. I didn’t want to drown.
Mr. Entwistle had his top hat in one hand. He slapped it on his head so he could tread water with me hanging from his other side.
“Did you guys grab an oxygen tank?” he asked.
I looked at Charlie. He looked at me.
The old vampire sighed, then muttered something about youth being wasted on the young. He reached into his coat and pulled out one of the small canisters. “We’ll have to share. Here’s the plan . . .”
I don’t know how much time you’ve spent walking on the bottom of a lake. My understanding is that our primordial ancestors just loved this kind of thing. Needless to say, after half a billion years of evolution, I was totally out of my element. My feet hit the muck at the bottom and I thought I was in Weed World. It was as if I were on a different planet. It wasn’t just the density of the atmosphere, or the weird plants and soft earth, but that sound travels well underwater, and with the police buzzing overhead, I half expected a horde of giant hornet-men to descend and carry me off.
I started walking right away, although walking isn’t the best description. You had to really push and lunge. It was tricky at first, because of the weeds. They made it tough to see and pulled at my body like strands of a giant, green spiderweb. The props of the police boats were loud, but as we walked farther through Weed World, the sound faded, and my fear of ho
rnet-men disappeared. The frantic activity above us was all centered around the car, which they started to tow away. I could imagine the headlines in tomorrow’s paper: Drunk Mercenary Frees Terrorist from City Jail.
We went single file. Charlie was first. He more or less swam, pushing off the bottom at irregular intervals. Mr. Entwistle went in the middle and helped us pass the tank back and forth. With his long hair flowing out in all directions and his overcoat, he looked like a dangerous hybrid of lion and manta ray.
Slowly, the water got deeper, and cooler. The plant life disappeared. I guess the sunlight couldn’t get down this far. The lake bottom was silt so my feet raised little puffs of dirt with every step. To anyone watching, it would have looked as if I’d gone from the surface of a strange planet filled with exotic vegetation to a desolate moon with little gravity. The only hitch was that the temperature dropped quickly. The two bullet wounds in my leg and shoulder started to ache, and the pressure from the water grew so strong that it started to feel as if I had a nail sticking in both ears. Then Mr. Entwistle pinched his nose and puffed up his cheeks. He motioned for me to do the same. My ears popped and the discomfort went away.
We didn’t make it all the way across before the oxygen tank ran out, but it didn’t matter. The water got shallow enough for us to walk awkwardly with our heads clear. We had to tip them back so only our faces rose above the surface. Anything else and we would have been spotted. We were nearing the far bank, a good quarter mile from the opposite shore where the cluster of cruisers were still lined bumper to bumper.
“If we go farther upriver, we’ll be able to make a clean exit,” Mr. Entwistle said.
I knew the area well. It was just down the hill from a kids’ park with play structures and a soccer field. I did a lot of running there, and on the bike path next to the water. As we got closer to shore, we heard the barking of dogs. A crew of police officers was patrolling the bank. Mr. Entwistle waved for us to stay low.
“Keep your heads down. We’ll wait for them to pass, then we run. Don’t hesitate and don’t look back. Can you handle that?”
Charlie nodded. I wasn’t sure. I was hurt, and the water at the bottom of the lake had been frigid. My joints felt brittle. I was sure if I tried to move quickly, they’d shatter. Normally cold doesn’t bother vampires. With enough human blood in the tank, I could wander into a snowstorm with my clothes stuffed full of ice and I wouldn’t have come home with so much as a goose bump. But I’d lost a lot of blood from my gunshot wounds, and the cold stiffness in my bones was a sign that I was getting weak.
We waited for the police to pass, then Mr. Entwistle pointed up the bank in the direction of the park. “This way. Let’s get going.”
I climbed awkwardly out of the water, my knees full of cement.
“Hurry,” he whispered. Then he started off at a jog. In a few seconds, he was sprinting up the hill.
Charlie kept up, but I couldn’t. Normally I could have outrun him dragging Moby-Dick and half the cast of The Lord of the Rings behind me, but now I was spent. My wet shoes squished like sponges as I struggled up the hill, the cadence of my footfalls much slower than it should have been. My body was shivering. I couldn’t force it into overdrive. To top it off, my shoulder was bleeding again. The water had washed the scab free and so my shirt was covered with a deep red patch.
I wasn’t at the top of the hill before I heard barking behind me. The police officers were a long way off. I doubt they’d seen us. But I’m guessing their dogs could hear my shoes and ragged breathing, because a few seconds later, as I crested the rise, I heard more barking. The dogs were off their leads and on the chase.
I could see Charlie ahead. A vanishing shadow. Mr. Entwistle had disappeared. I started across the field, then looked back over my shoulder. Two German shepherds were racing toward me. In no time, the first was nipping at my heels. Then I felt its teeth sink into my ankle. I pitched forward and hit the ground hard. It snarled and went for my throat. I got my hands up, then heard it squeal. Mr. Entwistle was back. He’d hauled it off the ground by a tuft of fur above its neck. Before I could blink the dog was hanging from the stump of a tree branch, the broken shard of wood resting cleanly under its collar. While it whimpered and thrashed, he turned to square off against dog number two. Both had their fangs out. I was thinking four out of five dentists would have been impressed. Then Mr. Entwistle spread his fingers like claws, hunched down, bared his teeth, and let out a hiss that made my hair stand up. They say police dogs are among the smartest of their species. Dog number two was no idiot. It fled.
Mr. Entwistle turned back to help me up. “Sorry, I had no idea you were so tired. Heavens, boy, you look like a bleached bone. And you’re freezing.”
I could barely hear him over my breathing. No matter how quickly I kept refilling my lungs, I couldn’t seem to get enough air.
“Can you keep going?”
My hands were on my knees. I looked up and nodded.
“Good. Because this place is going to be crawling with cops in a few seconds.”
Right on cue, the whir of sirens and the telltale red and blue flashes of their lights bounced up Parkhill Road beside us.
“Quickly, into the trees,” he said.
He ran, half dragging, half carrying me through the kids’ park and into a cluster of pines at the edge of the field. Charlie was waiting. His eyes were wide with excitement. We scrambled over a fence and started running through backyards. Our pace was slow, but it was all I could manage. At high speeds, a backyard could be an obstacle course. At the pace I was going, I wouldn’t have outrun a fish, but at least I didn’t stumble into a pool or impale myself on anyone’s patio furniture. Soon my body started to warm, at least enough that my teeth stopped chattering.
We fled past a golf course to an area of town I didn’t know well, dodging police cars and barking dogs all the way. Then Mr. Entwistle stopped in front of a split-level house near a strip mall. We slipped into the backyard and he jumped up into a tree. I scrambled up after, with help, then followed his gaze to the property behind. The two-story house was dark and empty. I listened, trying to make my breath soundless so that I could pick up anything unusual. After a few seconds, I tapped him gently on the shoulder, then silently mouthed, Why are we waiting?
He didn’t answer. Instead he hopped down and made for the back entrance. He opened the outer screen door, then tested the knob on the storm door behind. It was locked.
“You don’t have a key?” I whispered.
“It’s not my house.”
Wonderful. So I was about to add breaking and entering to my list of offenses.
“Whose house is it?” Charlie asked.
“It belongs to another vampire.”
“Someone you know?”
“Not exactly, but rumor has it she’s one of the good guys, even though she doesn’t get out much.”
Mr. Entwistle motioned for Charlie to bend down so he could step up on his back and reach the nearest window.
“No,” I said. “There’s no point. They’ll all be locked.” I didn’t even bother keeping my voice down.
Mr. Entwistle looked at me. His forehead was creased with furrows.
“Our best bet’s the doorbell.” I pressed it. One ding-dong later, I heard the familiar click-clack of hard-soled shoes on the floor.
There was a short pause. The door had no windows, so I leaned in and waved at the small peephole. I heard a dead bolt slide in its casing, then a chain rattled, the door swung inward, and there stood Ophelia smiling like a sun.
— CHAPTER 15
BY ANY OTHER NAME
Ophelia stared at me for a few seconds. My clothes were bloodstained, my hands chalk-white. Her smile evaporated. “Good Lord,” she gasped. “What happened here?”
Before I could answer, Charlie stepped onto the stoop behind me. Ophelia saw him. Concern mixed with relief.
“Charlie? Thank heavens!”
I would have said something, but I was too busy sta
ring at the revolver in her hand. It was like the kind you see in old gangster movies.
“Forgive me.” She set it on a small table that was just inside the door. “I wasn’t expecting company. I’ve been terribly worried about you two.”
She hadn’t noticed Mr. Entwistle. His back was against the brick wall beside the door.
“What happened?” she asked again. “Are you okay?”
I said I was fine, even though I wasn’t. She moved aside so I could slip past. Charlie followed. Then Mr. Entwistle stepped out from his hiding place. Ophelia paused for just an instant, then tried to slam the door shut. Mr. Entwistle stopped it with his hand and forced it open, pushing her backward. She reached for the gun on the table, but he was faster.
“Excuse me,” he said, “but I’ve been shot enough tonight.”
I waited for Ophelia to say something, but she didn’t. Instead, she stood there stunned while he examined the weapon. He opened the chamber, looked down the barrel, flicked it shut, then raised the hammer and gave the wheel a spin. “You’ve looked after this well.” He switched his grip so that he was holding it by the barrel. Ophelia reached out and grabbed the handle. Her hand was a bit unsteady. He didn’t let go until she met his gaze. Neither spoke.
Something odd was happening. Was this just the way it was when two vampires met for the first time—awkward, tense, uncomfortable? Then I remembered that the two had seen each other before. Just briefly the night Mr. Entwistle had crashed through the doors of the Nicholls Ward on that stolen police cycle. The police had been there, so he didn’t stick around long, just enough to tell her to get me out of there. I don’t know how much he knew about her, or she of him, but something wasn’t right. I could feel it. I’d never seen her scared before. Not like this. When she pulled the gun away, her hand was still shaking, the barrel quivering slightly. She kept it pointed in his general direction, as if she wasn’t sure if she should start shooting or not. I tried to see him as she would. Hair matted. Whiskers. Oversize boots and fingerless gloves. Weathered face. Intense eyes. Like a refugee from the Apocalypse. He took off his top hat and tucked it inside his coat. I wondered if he wanted her to see the armor he was wearing underneath. If this was a poker game, he was laying his cards down on the table, one at a time.