The Last Family

49

Woody was reading when a shadow crossed the page of the book in his hand. He got his hand on the Glock and brought the barrel around to find it aimed at a very surprised nine-year-old holding a red nylon sleeping bag and a cage with a bird inside. The cage had something white running along the walls. Reb had lashed Styrofoam blocks inside the bars.

“Reb,” he said as he put the Glock in front of him on the coffee table and exhaled deeply. “You sneaked up on me.”

“That was neat how you drew it out,” Reb said. “I bet my daddy could do it faster.”

“I know he could,” Woody said. “Why aren’t you asleep? It’s late.”

“The bed keeps moving me awake.”

“The water’s rough, that’s all. The wind will die down in a while. But you’re safe in a boat that was built for ocean traveling in rough seas. And, besides, I’m the Lone Ranger, kiddo, and Reid is Tonto.”

“Reid doesn’t know how to shoot,” he said. “What’s a Tonto?”

“We won’t be shooting anyone.” Woody smiled. “Go back to sleep.”

“Where’s Mom?”

Woody pointed to the teak door a few feet from where he was sitting.

“In there with Erin.”

“I’m gonna sleep in there, too. I don’t like the bunk cabin.”

“I’m sure they’ll be delighted to see you.”

“See ya later,” Reb said. “Where’s Wolf?”

“He’s walking. He’ll be at the door any minute,” Woody said. He looked up and saw the coated figure move by the porthole. Glad I’m not out there, he thought to himself.

“Reb, what’s that in the cage?”

“It used to be an ice-chest lid. It’s to keep Biscuit from drownin’ if the boat goes under.” He looked at the bird and shrugged. “I’ll get him another chest cover. It was an emergency.”

“Flotation? I see,” he said, nodding and laughing to himself. “Wouldn’t want a bird to drown.”

He watched Reb disappear into the V berth. For a moment Erin’s music filled the lounge with strains of hard-edged music. Then he started to open the book but heard a tapping at the door. He stood, picked up the Glock, and went over to it. “Yeah,” he said.

“The dog,” came the muffled reply.

Something’s wrong! Woody pulled the gun from the holster and moved to the door with the gun ready. As he opened the door to the sight of a man he had never seen before, something moved behind him. Shit! No hard shoes against the deck! He was trying to bring the gun around when the man on his flank fired the Taser. Woody saw the lead wires stretching from his chest to the man’s hand as he fell, helpless and twitching, to the floor.

“Hello, son,” Martin said as he stepped in and loomed over the agent. “Watched you do your stuff in the bar this afternoon- nice job.” Martin stepped away and into the galley. “You too, Kurt,” he said to the man in the rubber wet suit standing beside the couch with the Taser in his hand.

Steiner bent over and laid the Taser on the floor. He pulled a half-inch-wide nylon cable band from his back pocket, put the loop over Woody’s wrists, and cinched it tight by pulling it.

“I got an idea you’re gonna enjoy the fireworks show,” Martin said.

Kurt got a second cable band and secured the babysitter’s ankles. Then he took a small roll of duct tape from another pocket and sealed Woody’s lips.

“If I hadn’t had Kurt on board with that electricity rig, you woulda had me,” Martin said. Then he dragged him easily down the hall toward the sound of the running shower.

Reb had come in and lain beside Erin on the bed, interrupting the mood in the room. Erin had been listening to Laura, who was seated across from her on the V-shaped bed.

“Reb?”

“Can I sleep in here?” He put the birdcage on the side table. The bird yawned and stretched a wing. “Pretty bird,” it said. “Love the bird.”

“Yes, we love the bird,” Erin said, laughing. “Except when he shits on our clothes.”

“Erin!” Laura said. “Poops, remember?”

“Except when the little shit poops on our clothes.”

“Mama, remember the story about the little bird?”

“What story?” she asked.

“The one where the man has the bird in his hand and he asks the other man if the bird is alive or dead.”

“Well,” she started. “This war lord had a bird hidden in his hands, and he asked the wise man to tell him whether the bird was alive or dead. He planned to crush it if the wise man said it was alive and let it live if he said dead. Foolproof, right?”

“And he said?” Reb prompted.

“He said. You, great one, have the power to make the bird as you wish it,” Laura said.

Erin said, “Blah, blah, blah.”

Reb looked as if he were going to hit her.

“And he let the bird go?” Reb said.

“I think so,” Laura said. “I can’t remember. I believe he did.”

“Sure,” Erin said. “If he’d had Biscuit, he would have killed it because it would have pooped in his hand.” She laughed.

“You should both try to get some sleep,” Laura said as she finished her story.

“Okay,” Erin said, tapping the magazine beside her. “Soon as I finish this Vogue.”

“You can read anytime. Sleep.”

Laura sat with the children for a few minutes. Reb fell asleep immediately, but Erin seemed to be faking an attempt. Laura stood slowly and crossed the room. She closed the door behind her gently, noticing immediately that Woody wasn’t on the couch. The heavy boat rocked under her feet as the swells rolled against it.

She lifted the wineglasses from the coffee table and started for the galley sink. She tripped, and one of the glasses fell to the wood floor and shattered.

Erin appeared at the door. “What was that?” she asked.

“Nothing, go back to sleep,” she said. “I broke a glass.”

“Where’s Woody and Reid?”

“In the back, I guess. Go to bed.”

“Where’s Wolf?”

“G-O T-O S-L-E-E-P.”

She turned. “You don’t have to spell it, I heard you.”

“I wanted you to think about it.”

Laura collected the pieces of curved glass and dropped them into the refuse can in the galley. On her way back into the lounge she saw something on the floor near the door and knelt for a closer look. It was a G-SHOCK wristwatch, with the strap broken; it looked like the one Woody wore.

“Woody?” she said aloud. “Reid?” Have they been wrestling? Impossible, she said to herself. There was no answer. She looked out the porthole to see what the agents on the pier were doing, but she didn’t see anyone. She couldn’t see the Coast Guard vessel. It was as if she were peering through a thick veil of moisture.

She started down the hallway. When she got to the bathroom, the shower was still running, and she tapped before she opened the door. The light was off and the room was filled with fog.

“Reid, how long does it take to shower? It’s been a half hour. You’re gonna wrinkle up.”

There was no answer, so she turned on the light. She thought the room was empty until she looked into the shower and discovered Reid’s naked form crumpled against the wall of the shower, facedown. The back of his head was swollen, and there was blood running from a long, deep wound. She could see a white river of skull in the valley of clean red.

“Reid!” she gasped. She knelt and picked up his head. It was warm. She turned off the water. Reid opened his eyes slowly.

“Reid, God, you’re bleeding, what happened? Did you fall?”

“I don’t know-I must have.” Then his eyes seemed to clear. “No… someone was in here… I thought it was you… then… Laura, I’m dizzy.”

She turned his head slightly. He winced, but she had to look into his eyes. One was far more dilated than the other. Concussion. She said, “I’ll get Vance and Nelson.”

“Woody?” he asked.

“I couldn’t find Woody. The guards aren’t on the pier as far as I can tell.”

“We’ve been breached. It’s Martin.” Reid closed his eyes and then opened them. “Laura, listen carefully. The bed frame on my side opens up… magnet inside the wood… Press at the top. It’s a cubby and there are guns in there. Take one and lock yourself in the V berth. When you get in there, there’s a switch in the closet… it’s an alarm. When you’re safely in there, flip it. The troops will come running from all over. Don’t open the door under any circumstances. If anyone tries to come in, shoot through the door. You’ll have fifteen shots. Just keep pulling the trigger, and it’ll fire.”

“I’ll help you get there, Reid. Can you stand?”

“There are two guns… get me one. Then get the hell to the V berth. Don’t stop…”

“Reid, I can-”

“Don’t fuckin’ argue with me,” he snarled.

“But your head-”

“My head is the least of our problems. The guns!”

Laura went into the bedroom. She located the cubby, pressed on the side railing, and it fell open. She reached in for the guns; then she ran back and gave one to Reid, who was up on an elbow. “I’ll cover the hall. Help me out.”

She grabbed his arm to help him. He could stand but was stooped and had no sense of balance. She was crying now. “I can’t… leave you.”

“He’ll kill you and he’ll kill the kids. He’ll torture them first. He’s a twisted deviate who has done horrible things to kids like Reb and Erin all over the world.”

Her mind cleared a bit, and she seized on what he was saying. “How do you know so much about him?”

“I can’t explain now. Run.”

Confusion threatened to lock her reason. But she knew the children were more important than Reid was… than she was.

Laura left the bathroom and moved down the hall in an instinctive crouch, sweeping the gun from side to side as she went.

As she edged past the door to the crew cabin, she saw that it was cracked open, and there on the floor, tied hand and foot, was Woody. She started to enter but caught a bit of movement in the mirror and realized that someone was behind the door, waiting. Her mind, already filled with fear, pushed her on.

She moved rapidly to the door to the V berth, went in, and locked it behind her.

“What?” Erin asked.

The children stared at the gun with surprise in their eyes.

“Everything’s gonna be all right. We’ve got to keep our wits,” she said.

Laura was holding the gun tightly when she heard the galley door to the deck open and bang closed. Then she heard voices speaking in hushed tones. She prayed it was Vance or Nelson even though she knew it had to be Martin and someone else.

“Erin, Reb.” She couldn’t think of what to tell them. Her mind was all but frozen, fighting for a plan. She heard something that sounded like wet deck shoes squeaking on the galley floor.

Laura remembered that the hatch in the berth’s ceiling over the bed was locked from the inside. She turned to the door and looked through the keyhole. She saw a figure silhouetted against the light in the hallway. Martin. He looked completely different from the way he had when she had known him, but she knew it was him by the way he was standing-the set of his powerful shoulders.

“Erin. Come here,” she said in a whisper. She sat Reb down and cupped her hands. She nodded in the direction of the ceiling. “Come on, we’re getting out of here,” she said, unscrewing the latch.

Erin put her foot in the stirrups of her mother’s hands and was lifted up into the cool rain. She looked around and back down as her mother started to lift Reb up, but her eyes caught the movement of someone entering the cockpit from the galley. The rain was beating cold against Erin’s hair. She looked down at her mother and Reb.

“Someone’s coming!” Erin whispered, and dropped flat against the deck. She was on the edge of panic, holding the hatch open a sliver.

Laura pulled Reb back. “Go-hurry-get help!”

“I can’t,” Erin pleaded. “I’m coming back inside.”

“Go!” she said, and pulled Reb back. “Just run!”

Erin closed the hatch and Laura locked it. Then Erin scooted backward until she was at the railing, and she pushed herself under the rail wires, slipping into the water between the hull and the pier just as a wave slammed into the boat, making it lurch against the rubber bumpers over her head that kept the hull from striking the dock. It would have crushed my skull like a grapefruit.

As Erin paddled under the dock, she looked up through the cracks in the flooring and saw the figure step to the bow and secure the hatch from the outside. He’s locked it, she thought.

She turned and had just started dog-paddling when she heard a siren scream to life. It was an earsplitting wail and seemed to be coming from the boat-the mast, maybe. Then the Shadowfax’s diesel turned over. A large searchlight came on, pointed at the sailboat from the Coast Guard boat.

“Shadowfax!” an amplified voice boomed. “Cut your engines immediately!”

Erin could make out the shapes of men moving on the deck of the cabin cruiser. She started to swim in that direction but decided to make for the yacht club a hundred yards away. She could see someone standing in the Shadowfax’s cockpit, shielding his eyes from the bright light.

Then, as Erin treaded water, it was if the world were ending in a brilliant finale.

The harbor went white several times in rapid succession at different locations. There was a deafening thud, and the Coast Guard boat was replaced by an orange fireball surrounded by water vapor. Then a boathouse across the way went up, and the cabin cruiser that she had started to swim for evaporated. The harbor was filled with debris flying into the air and raining down all over. Several pieces of fiberglass and metal clattered against the deck of the Shadowfax, then splashed all around her. Several boats moored near the Hatteras were burning. She watched as the Shadowfax pulled away from the pier and began running for the harbor’s mouth, illuminated by the fiery maelstrom. The siren aboard the Shadowfax stopped blaring, and the only noise was the crackling of fire and voices yelling.

Within seconds Erin heard new sirens. Police cars on the outside perimeter had started in toward the devastation. Diesel fuel and gasoline from ruptured tanks caught, and the flames rolled across the harbor out toward the other fingerlike piers, where scores of boats waited to be added to the catastrophe.

As Erin swam for the nearest boat, something rolled under her hands, a form moved, and Tom Nelson’s face turned upward into hers. His lifeless eyes were open far too wide. Then his clothes released the air trapped inside, and he sank slowly into the dark water. Erin screamed, but the sound was covered by newly exploding boats. Then she climbed onto the pier and ran, stepping over debris as best she could. Her teeth chattered loudly, the violence of the muscle spasms blurring her vision as she ran toward the lights of the yacht club, her nightgown clinging to her like wrinkled skin.