Bitter Tide

by Jack Hardin

  “Hey, Ellie?” Tyler was leaning over Dawson. “We need to move fast and get him to a doctor.”

  “I know.” She turned to go back to the bridge.

  “Hey, Ellie?”

  “What?”

  “Is it just me or is the water going down?”

  She looked off the port side and over at the vegetation for reference. She blinked. The water line had clearly dropped a foot from where it had been earlier, after Oswald had pointed it out. The upper roots, the trunks, and branches were dark with moisture from where the water line had been just a few minutes ago. The water shouldn’t be receding. It should be rising with the onset of storm surge, not trending down. It was striking. The water line was clearly diminishing.

  And then it hit her. “Oh, no,” she whispered. “Oh, no, no.”

  “What?” Tyler asked. “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s a reverse storm surge,” she said.

  “Reverse? What does that mean?”

  “Sometimes a powerful storm like Josephine can temporarily suck water away from the coast. The closer the storm gets to us the more water it’s going to take with it.”

  “I know I’m from the Texas desert, but I thought hurricanes brought rising water levels. You know, flooding.”

  “They do, but with the really big ones the winds closer to the eye displace so much water that the surrounding areas deplete and run out into the Gulf. If I’m remembering correctly, as the storm gets closer its winds will shift in relation to the drainage and bring it all back in quickly.” She looked back up at the clouds. “But if it keeps up it may suck the sound and the canals dry.” If they didn’t move fast they would soon find themselves beached and, like Moses had almost four thousand years ago, standing on dry land.

  Tyler rubbed at his temples. “So you’re telling me I’ve got a crazy man cuffed over here, three-quarters of a dead man to get to safety, and we’re about to not have enough water to get back to the marina?”

  Ellie’s jaw tightened. “Yes.”

  He groaned. “I’ll get Dawson to a bunk and you get us out of here.”

  Ellie went to climb up the ladder to the bridge, but Oswald, cuffed to it, was standing in her way. The area around his nose was puffy, swollen like a swarm of bees had been working on him. Still though, he maintained that haughty air, that steadfast hubris that he thought was so cute and Ellie found so repulsive. She didn’t ask him to move. Instead, while holding a fresh image of Dawson Montgomery in her mind she curled her right hand into a tight fist and sent it into his face.

  Oswald howled like a wolf in mating season and swung off to the side. Ellie scrambled up the ladder, got behind the wheel, and when she started the engines the boat hummed beneath her. She bumped the boat into forward gear, the anchor line slacked, and she shifted to reverse. Being in such a small cove and so close to so much vegetation beneath the receding waterline, the last thing Ellie needed was to overstrain the windlass motor under the weight of the hull. She bumped back into forward gear again, and the final yards of the rode came out of the water, bringing the anchor with it. Relieved that the anchor didn’t catch, she engaged the transmission a final time, maneuvered the boat around, and exited the route she had come through a few minutes earlier.

  Behind her, Oswald was cursing.

  The Bertram’s draft—the distance between the waterline and the bottom of the v—was roughly three feet and determined the minimum depth of water that could be safely navigated. The props and rudders extended a foot beyond that, which meant that if the water got below four feet they would start dragging the bottom. And if the water went anything below that, they would beach. Most of the areas at the southern end of Pine Island Sound were generally at a nautical depth of six to twelve feet. The immediate problem was that, unlike someone like Major, Ellie didn’t know where those areas where. She turned on the depth finder, and as she came out of McIntyre Creek and back into Pine Island Sound, it gave her a depth of five feet. The transducer was mounted a little higher up from the very bottom of the keelson, so Ellie guessed she had an extra six inches more than what her depth finder was telling her. In this phenomenon every single inch was going to count.

  The contrast from their ride out here was almost chilling. The waters were relatively calm, and the wind had died down to around five knots. Ellie’s adrenaline surged as, from her view up on the bridge, she witnessed random color shifts in the water.

  The sandy bottom.

  Oswald was now humming loudly behind her, as if this entire ordeal was somehow comical.

  Ellie gave the boat more throttle and for the next mile navigated via the depth finder. Then, with no warning at all, as though the gods had ordained this the perfect time to play a joke on her, the depth finder blinked twice, flashed pink and blues lines against a white background, and cut off. Ellie turned it on and off again, slapped it, and received no response. The depth finder was not coming back. She sighed.

  They were only halfway back to the marina. She was going to have to do this on her own. Taking a deep breath, she navigated the colors of the water, trying to stay in the darkest areas. Suddenly, the water moved to a deeper brown, and Ellie throttled back. Her stomach and shoulders tightened as she felt the running gear snag on the bottom before coming clear again. “Come on,” she muttered, and turned the wheel, quickly moving into a darker area of water. Her head jerked forward as they hit bottom again, harder this time, shining the propellers. Ellie turned briefly and saw a cloud of silt stirring up behind the transom. Her heart was racing and her knuckles white as they gripped the wheel.

  She could see the marina clearly now, and she kept her speed. They snagged the bottom again, but Ellie kept going, the boat now vibrating like it had a bad tire, droning like a tired animal. She grit her teeth. Ellie had grown up here, spent the first twenty years of her life on these waters, and yet she had never witnessed anything like this in person. It was like someone had yanked the plug out of the bathtub. “Come on,” she muttered again.

  The channel coming into the marina was deeper; Major had dredged it a couple years ago, and when Ellie turned her attention to the dock she again saw something she had never seen before. The remaining fishing boats were hanging suspended above the water by their mooring lines, like spiders in their webs. To her relief, the boat surged forward as it entered the deeper waters of the channel. She turned and yelled for Tyler. He staggered out of the cabin still looking weak, but better than he had earlier. “Drop the fenders,” she called. “Tie off at starboard!” Then remembering that Tyler knew nothing of boats, she said, “Over here. Right side!”

  He gave her a weak nod and started flipping fenders over the side. They might help against the pilings, but the dock was now five feet higher than it usually was. She idled in, and Tyler scrambled to the bow and pressed his hands into a piling to keep the boat from hitting it. Ellie cut the engines, left the helm, and went to the port side. She grabbed a mooring line and reached up and tied it around a cleat. She repeated it at the next piling, pulling the line tight, and wrapping it some more. A minute later the boat was as secure as it was going to get, given the circumstances. If Josephine was going to make landfall anywhere near the island, the Bertram wouldn’t make it, no matter how well they tied it off. Someone might find it a week from now next to that old fishing boat on Mondongo Rocks, or stuffed into the fringes of a barrier island or, worse, a backyard in Fort Myers. Tyler brought Dawson out of the cabin and laid him gently on the deck while Ellie clambered up to the dock. He uncuffed a still-chuckling Eli Oswald and told him to get up to “get up there with Ellie.” A minute later the four of them were on the dock: one passed out, two of them bloody, all of them soaking wet.

  Tyler hooked his arms under Dawson’s armpits and, after cuffing Oswald again, made him hold Dawson’s feet. As they passed The Salty Mangrove, the side door leading into the covered patio swung open. Major stepped out and nearly ran straight into Oswald.

  Ellie stopped, a puzzled look on her face. “
Major? What are you doing here?”

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Major looked curiously at the motley crew before him. He blinked, and without taking his eyes off Oswald said, “I had forgotten to empty the vault under the bar.” He looked at Ellie. “What’s going on here?”

  “We found Ronnie’s friend, Dawson,” she said, and then nodded toward Oswald. “And this is the guy who was looking for Ronnie.”

  The rain had started up again. Major opened the screen door and motioned for them to step inside the covered porch. He had the clear plastic weather flaps lowered so that, at least for now, the inside was dry. They all went in.

  Major surveyed the odd looking man in handcuffs standing beside Ellie. “That’s Ronnie’s friend? The guy who sent those fingers to Jean?”

  “Yes, it’s him.”

  “Well, well, now,” Oswald said, “I suppose my reputation doth precede me.” He looked around the space. “Hey now, good sir, any chance for a local celebrity to gain a glass of water? I’m buyin’.”

  Major ignored him. “How did you find him?”

  “Long story, I can fill you in later. I’ve got to get Dawson to a hospital.”

  “She kidnapped me, that’s what,” Oswald protested.

  Major surveyed Dawson and shook his head. “The hospitals have evacuated, but their emergency rooms should still be operational.”

  He eyed Oswald. “Why don’t you let me take this guy while you get Ronnie’s friend here to the doctor?”

  Ellie hesitated. Having Oswald would continue to complicate things. Ellie wasn’t exactly in a position to just drop him off at the local precinct. If she locked him back in the bed of her truck, there was no guarantee he wouldn't start making noise or scream for help when they pulled up to the ER. She had kidnapped a fugitive wanted by the FBI, DEA, and ATF, tortured him in secret, and then forced him to come with her across hurricane infested waters to find one of his kidnap victims.

  “He’s a wanted man,” she explained. “And to be honest, I’m going to get in some trouble for having him. I don’t want to implicate you.”

  “You went off the reservation and got him on your own.”

  She just stared back at him.

  “You know what?” Major said, “I think we can figure something out. You found Ronnie’s friend here after all. But right now you need to get this man some help. ”

  She thought about it, unsettled by both options. Finally, “Okay. But please, be careful. He’s dangerous. You sure you’re good with him?”

  “Go on. We’ll be fine. We’ll go somewhere safe and away from prying eyes. If you still have service, call me when you’re done at the hospital and we’ll figure out a plan. Tyler, you take care of her, son.”

  “Of course.”

  Turning to Tyler she said, “I need two minutes to run by my place and get Citrus.” There were a few other items as well. Specifically, the copper samovar Vida Murad had given her, the straw doll that little Khalida had made, and a couple items her father had left behind.

  “Sure thing. Let’s go.”

  Ellie took Dawson’s ankles, and as Tyler walked backwards he bumped the screen door open with his backside. Ellie paused. “Major. Are you sure? Like I said, I’m not supposed to hav—”

  “Go,” he said. “I’m on your team, kiddo.”

  “Yeah,” she nodded. “Okay.”

  “Go on now. Get that poor man some medical help.”

  The wind was picking up again and sent the window flaps jouncing. Major watched the party of three make their way down the ramp to Ellie’s truck. He waited, and when he saw their taillights fade up the road, he crossed his arms, lifted his chin, and gave Eli Oswald a predatory grin.

  Oswald chuckled nervously. “Why you lookin’ at me like that?”

  “So...you’re the one who stole some of my cocaine and swapped it for guns?”

  Chapter Fifty

  Ellie slowed her speed as she approached the Matlacha Pass Bridge. The rain and wind were coming down in hard, stinging sheets again. When she got to the other side, a police officer dressed in a neon yellow rain slicker waved her down with an orange signal light. Tyler was sitting behind her with Dawson propped next to him. “Can you reposition him so the officer can’t see him? The last thing I need right now is to get a bunch of questions.”

  “Yeah. One sec.” Ellie saw Dawson disappear from the rearview mirror. She heard a thunk and then a shuffling. “Okay. We’re good back here.”

  Ellie rolled down her window. The officer yelled to keep his voice above the wind as he spoke. “Where are you headed?”

  Citrus bounded into Ellie’s lap and yapped at the officer, thrilled that someone else was willing to have a discussion with him. Ellie laid a hand on his back. “Shhh, boy.” Citrus darted onto the passenger seat and set his two front paws on the dash. He looked out the window and barked at the rain.

  Ellie had half expected the officer to say something about evading him when she snuck back onto the island earlier, but he said nothing. Maybe it was a new shift. “To a relative’s house further inland,” Ellie said. She wasn’t going to tell him that she needed to take someone to the hospital. Naturally, as a public servant, he would want to get eyes on him and see how bad off he was, possibly call in an escort to help her get there safely. Dawson’s face looked like ground meat, and one look at him would only prompt a series of sober questions from the officer.

  “All right,” he yelled. “But you’d better hurry up and get there. The bridge is closed to all incoming and won’t open until after the storm passes. You should have left hours ago.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Be safe now!” He stepped back and waved her on.

  “Captain Obvious, there,” Tyler mumbled. Citrus barked, agreeing with him.

  Ellie rolled up her window and slowly advanced. “How’s he doing?”

  “His breathing is more shallow since we got him in here.”

  Ellie scanned both sides of the road for any pedestrians crazy enough to be out in this weather. Seeing none, she punched the accelerator.

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Oswald eyed the man standing before him. He had grown weary of being carted around all day. In the last few hours he had been taken to that cabin, hurt real bad, forced to ride out to Sanibel, and now, this. When that Ellie lady handed him off to this guy, Eli Oswald had had enough. He was going to get rid of these people, find a way off this island before the storm came, and get out of the state—for good. That’s what he had been thinking while he stared at the bar owner in front of him. But all that had changed with the man’s last words.

  “What’re you talking about?” Oswald said, scowling.

  Another smile broke across the man’s face. A smile that sent a chill down Oswald's spine and into his thighs. “You can...call me Ringo.”

  Oswald grinned suspiciously. “You? You’re Ringo?” He laughed to himself. “I don’t think so, Jimmy Jan—”

  “I’ve been intending to make your acquaintance, but I must say that I was a bit disappointed to hear that you escaped the raid on your compound as well as the little present that Aldrich left you.”

  Oswald stopped smiling.

  “And now look at this. Fate has dropped you right in my lap. I think we have some talking to do, you and I.” He looked down and noticed the wet bandage on Oswald’s hand. “What happened there?”

  “That Ellie girl. She cut off my thumb, man.”

  Ringo laughed. “You’re joking. My, my. She’s the brightest beam of sunshine in my life, but she’ll burn the wrong person to toast if they aren’t wearing sunscreen.”

  Oswald was beginning to feel a bit nervous. “She know about you? She a part of your little enterprise too? I thought she was with the good guys.”

  “She does not know about me, Eli Oswald, and I’ve been very careful to keep it that way.” He placed a heavy hand on Oswald's shoulder. “Do you see the dilemma that puts me in with you? It puts me in a position where I have to trus
t you, Oswald. Do you think I’m prepared to trust you with something like that?”

  Oswald swallowed nervously. “Oh, come on, man. I wouldn’t say anything. You and me, we got common interests. We can help each other. You know what I'm sayin’?”

  “Yes. I do think we can help each other,” Ringo said, now rubbing his chin. “How about you and I go someplace we can chat?”

  “Boy...now you’re talkin’.”

  Ringo opened the door and led Oswald back out into the elements. A heavy gust of wind cut across the boardwalk like a bulldozer. The two men crouched down and steadied themselves against the onslaught. Ringo grabbed Oswald and pushed him toward the ramp that led to his Jeep.

  * * *

  When they drew near to the hospital, Ellie followed the signs to the emergency room entrance. She pulled the Silverado underneath the carport, and she and Tyler jumped out. With speed and care, they drew Dawson out of the cab and entered through the sliding glass doors. Before they were halfway to the front desk, they caught the attention of a nurse who raced over. She called for a gurney, and Ellie quickly updated the nurse on his situation; what had been done to him, estimating for how long, and under what circumstance they had found him.

  The nurse called for her team to assemble faster.

  * * *

  Warren Hall’s house was a modest two story a couple miles north of The Salty Mangrove and sat close to Dobbs Preserve. Butting up against the east side of the island his was the last house on Sunburst Drive. He brought his Jeep Wrangler into the driveway and, after opening the passenger door, said, “Let’s go.”