Impact wf-3 Page 14

  Jackie nodded, swallowing.

  Abbey looked around. The V-berths were a mess, the sleeping bags rumpled up, dirty dishes in the sink, everything covered with shredded fiberglass powder. The water was gushing in through the hole and she could hear the automatic bilge pumps running.

  The toolbox under the sink. Staying low, she reached across and yanked opened the cabinet.

  A voice sounded across the water. "Hey, girls! Daddy's home!" Another six blasts from the gun followed, ripping through the cabin over their heads. Keeping low, Abbey dragged the toolbox out and unlatched it, the tools spilling to the floor. She sorted through them, grabbing a fish knife and a hammer. "The Mace. Where is it?"

  Jackie gasped. "In the backpack in the stern compartment."

  "Shit." Sticking the knife in her belt, Abbey handed the hammer to Jackie. "Take this."

  Jackie took the hammer.

  Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Another set of shots from the gun. The splinters of fiberglass ricocheted around the cabin, filling the air with choking, resinous dust. Abbey crawled up to the companionway door, turned the lock, and crawled back.

  "We're sinking," Jackie said.

  "That's the least of our problems."

  She heard the sound of Worth's engine rumbling as he came up alongside their boat. The engine sound went into neutral, then a quick reverse, and a moment later she felt the boat bump up against theirs. His feet landed on their deck with a thump.

  "Fuck, fuck," said Jackie, heaving. "He's boarding."

  Abbey tried to stop herself from hyperventilating. They needed a plan. "You lie on the floor," she said. "In the middle. Pretend to be shot. I'll hide in the head. When he busts through that door, I'll jump out and stab him with the knife."

  "Are you crazy? He's got a gun!"

  "He's all fucked up on drugs. Do as I say and lie down."

  Jackie curled up on the floor, helpless and sobbing.

  Ducking into the head, Abbey closed the door so that only the barest crack remained, through which she could see the stairs of the companionway. She tensed, ready to spring.

  She heard the tump tump of Worth's boots over the deck. "Daddy's home!"

  Abbey clutched the knife, peering through the crack.

  Slow footfalls moved around the deck and into the pilothouse. He tried the door into the cabin with a shake. "Now you're gonna learn the meaning of deeper, you coon bitch! You and your butch friend. I'm taking your treasure and I'm going to teach you a lesson you'll never forget!"

  Treasure? The moron had believed their story. She could hear his ragged, labored breathing, the unsteady tremor in his voice. It scared her even more than the gunshots.

  "We . . . don't have any treasure," Jackie said, curled up on the floor and choking in fear.

  A raucous laugh. "You think I'm stupid, you little cunt? Don't fucking lie to me. I'm here to get the treasure--and teach you two a lesson in respect."

  "I swear we don't have--"

  She was interrupted by a kick to the flimsy door, which cracked it almost in half. Jackie gave a scream. "No! Don't!"

  Abbey tensed.

  Another kick and the door parted, hanging in two pieces from the frame. Worth appeared at the top of the stairs, bending over, peering down, a big gun in his hand. "Wendy, I'm home!" He kicked away the two pieces of door and placed a big boot on the top step, another step, and another, until he stood at the bottom of the little stair. Jackie was curled up on the floor, sobbing, He aimed the gun at her, holding it sideways.

  "Where's the treasure?"

  "Please, I swear it . . . There isn't any treasure . . ." Jackie sobbed, covering her head, curling up. "No treasure . . . please . . . just a crater . . ."

  "Bullshit!" he screamed, shaking the gun. "Don't fuck with me!"

  One more step.

  He took another step.

  Abbey burst out of the head and brought the knife down toward his back with all her might. But he heard her and flung up his free arm, smacking her away. The knife flew out of her hand and he fired the gun at her, wildly, the round blasting another hole in the hull well below the waterline.

  A jet of seawater came gushing in.

  Abbey threw herself at him but he slugged her in the stomach and she fell to her knees, wind knocked out, choking and gasping, trying to get her breath back, icy seawater pouring over her.

  "Where's the treasure, bitch!" He grabbed her hair, jerked her head around, and jammed the gun into her ear.

  She managed to suck in air, heaving. He pulled her head around, pushed the gun barrel into her mouth. "Hey, Jackie! Tell me where the treasure is or I pull the trigger!"

  "The treasure was a lie," gasped Jackie. "Please believe me, just a cover story--"

  He thumbed back the action. "Stop lying, bitch, or she's dead! Now where the fuck is it? Go get it, now!"

  Abbey tried to say something, but couldn't. The water was coming up fast.

  "Last chance!"

  "Okay, all right, I'll tell you!" Jackie screamed. "Stop and I'll tell you!"

  "Where?" Worth shrieked, his voice cracking into the high register.

  "In the stern cockpit under the rear hatch. Taped up underneath the deck, above the rudder box."

  "Hurry, go get it! The boat's sinking!"

  Jackie climbed to her feet. She was dripping wet. The water was six inches deep already.

  "You! Abbey! Go with her." He yanked the gun out of her mouth, breaking one of her teeth, and jerked her up, shoving her up the ladder and manhandling her through the pilothouse to the stern.

  "Open it!" Worth yelled at Jackie, still holding Abbey with the gun at her head.

  Jackie tried to open the hatch, lifting the lever and twisting it.

  "Hurry up or I shoot her!"

  She heaved on it, heaved again. "I can't! It's stuck, I need help!"

  Worth thrust Abbey to the deck. "Go help her!" His face was contorted, blazing red, the cords in his neck standing out, his greasy hair matted on his skull, mouthful of rotten teeth stinking.

  Abbey scrambled across the deck and grabbed one side of the lever, Jackie the other. Their eyes met, and they both made a show of trying to twist open the lever. It still wouldn't release.

  "Harder!"

  More struggling.

  "Get on the other side of the boat," Worth said. "Both of you. Over there." He waggled the gun.

  Abbey and Jackie moved to the other side of the boat. They huddled together, and Abbey nudged Jackie, making a movement with her eyes toward the hammer she still had. Jackie slipped the hammer into her hand.

  Slowly, keeping an eye on them, Worth laid down the gun, grabbed the handles, and wrenched them around. The hatch unlocked easily.

  "Weak-ass bitches," he said, sliding the hatch aside. He hesitated, staring eagerly at the dark opening. He just couldn't help himself: he stuck his head down to peer below the deck.

  Abbey leapt across the deck and brought hammer down with both hands just as he was pulling his head back out. It hit the top of his skull with a sickening sound, like a bat hitting a hollow log. Worth slumped forward. Blood welled from the depressed fracture, gushing onto the deck, running and mingling with the rainwater. Worth's little finger twitched grotesquely and went still. Jackie leapt on the backpack and pulled out the Mace, spraying it on his inert form.

  There was a long silence and then Jackie said, her voice full of awe, "Oh my God, he's dead."

  Abbey stared. It seemed unreal, like a movie. She couldn't move, she couldn't breathe.

  "Abbey?" said Jackie. "We're sinking."

  Her father's boat was sinking. She dropped the hammer and ran to the engine panel. Both bilge pumps were going full bore, but even as she checked for damage, there was a sizzling sound as the rising water topped the battery cases and shorted them out. The electrical systems went dead, the bilge pumps humming down to silence.

  Jackie went into action. She charged down into the cabin, sloshing through the rising water, examined the holes. T
hen she grabbed a blanket and some loose rope and hauled it on deck. "Abbey! Help me!" She tossed her rope. "Cut the line into four pieces and tie them onto the corners of the blanket!"

  Abbey obeyed while Jackie pulled off her shoes, held her breath, and jumped in the water. She surfaced.

  "Hand me one end of the blanket! We'll tie it around the boat, cover these holes!"

  Abbey tossed the blanket overboard, and Jackie grabbed one end and swam under the boat, wrapping the blanket over the holes, and then came up the other side with the lines in hand. She surfaced, gasping. "Take these!"

  Abbey tied the lines to the rails and hauled Jackie back on board. The Marea was beginning to list.

  "Is that going to work?" Abbey said.

  "Might buy us time. We'll use Worth's boat to tow and beach her on the nearest island," said Jackie. "Follow me." She leapt from the Marea to the Old Salt, which was still tied up, engine idling, and took the helm, Abbey following. Jackie thrust it into full throttle. The engine roared, the boat straining forward, pulling the nine-ton Marea alongside it, Jackie adjusting the rudder to compensate for the dead weight.

  "Where are we going?" Abbey cried.

  "Franklin. We're going to run both boats right up on the beach. It's the only way. Abbey, check those cleats--make sure they hold."

  While Abbey checked, Jackie pulled down the VHF and began broadcasting a mayday. "This is the Marea, Marea, Marea, position 43 50 north 69 23 west. My boat is sinking, we have a severely injured passenger. A second boat is on scene and towing. I require immediate assistance. Over."

  She stopped broadcasting and waited. A minute later the response came.

  "Marea, this is the Coast Guard station Tenants Harbor, responding. The closest boat to your position is the lobster boat Misty Sue, south of Friendship Long Island, coming to your assistance at ten knots. The Misty Sue will communicate with you on channel six. Over."

  "There's nobody closer?" Jackie screamed. "We're sinking!"

  "There aren't many vessels out there, Marea. We're sending out the Coast Guard RB-M Admiral Fitch from Tenants Harbor with a paramedic, over."

  "I'm going to try to beach it on Franklin," Jackie said.

  "Marea, what's the nature of the injury?"

  "He's dead, I think. Head bashed in with a hammer."

  A silence. "Repeat that, please."

  "I said he's dead. Randall Worth. He shot up our boat and boarded. Attempted robbery. So we killed him."

  A pause. "Is anyone else hurt?"

  "Not really."

  "This is a crime scene, then, and should be treated as such. Please be advised . . ." The voice droned on. They were barely crawling along at three knots and slowing down as the Marea continued to take on water. Abbey checked below; the blanket had slowed the flow of water but hadn't stopped it. Franklin was four miles away--at this speed more than an hour of travel time.

  "Fuck!" Jackie said out loud, cutting off the Coast Guard and tuning to channel 6. "This is Marea, calling Misty Sue, what's your position?"

  "Just coming through the Allen Island passage. What's happening?"

  "I'm towing a sinking boat. I need more towing power. I'm looking to beach it on Franklin."

  "I should be there in . . . forty minutes."

  Worth's boat struggled to make headway, hauling the sinking Marea alongside of it. The Marea was now listing badly and their boat was losing steerage due to the deadweight.

  "We've got to cut it loose," said Jackie. "When it sinks, it'll capsize us, pull us under."

  "No!" Abbey said. "Please. We'll uncleat it from the side and retie it to the stern--and drag it behind us. We'll go faster that way."

  "Give it a try."

  Abbey untied the Marea and pulled ahead, attaching a cable from the anchor post to a stern cleat on Worth's boat.

  "That cleat's not going to hold," said Jackie.

  "Better than the other one."

  Jackie eased up the throttle, letting the strain build gradually. The Marea was now listing so hard to port that water began pouring in one of the stern scuppers. Worth's boat roared and strained, the cable taut as a violin string, but still they were barely moving.

  "Abbey, for God's sake it's sinking! It's going to pull us under!"

  "No, please, it's my father's only boat! Just keep going!"

  Jackie pushed the throttle all the way forward. The engine screamed with the strain, there was a crack like a shotgun blast and the cleat snapped out, taking a piece of the stern with it. Worth's boat leapt forward, the strain gone. Jackie threw the helm hard aport and brought the boat back around toward the Marea. But it was too late. With a sigh, the lobster boat settled onto its side, air rushing out. Then it slipped under the waves and vanished, leaving an oil slick behind.

  "Oh my God," said Jackie. "Worth was still on board."

  Abbey stared in horror, not quite able to grasp the awfulness of what had just happened. "My father's boat . . . it just sank."

  36

  The peppercan buoy at the mouth of Round Pond Harbor loomed out of the drizzle, rolling back and forth in the rising swell. Abbey stood at the wheel of Worth's boat, following the Coast Guard boat Admiral Fitch into the harbor. It had caught up with them about a mile out--too late to be of any use--and the Coast Guard were now having a grand time "escorting" them back in. The fog had mostly lifted, leaving the world in a damp, depressing twilight. As the piers loomed into view, Abbey could see a mass of flashing lights in the parking lot above the waterfront.

  "Looks like we've got a welcoming committee."

  Inside the harbor, she throttled down and glanced over at Jackie. She looked terrible, her damp hair hanging down limp and dirty, dark circles under her eyes, her hands, face, and clothes covered with mud.

  "What do we tell them?" Jackie asked.

  "Everything except the meteorite. We were looking for Dixie Bull's treasure. Just like they think."

  "Um, why not tell them about the meteorite?"

  "There still may be a way to make money on this."

  "How?"

  "I don't know. Gimme time to work it out."

  A long silence. "Maybe they can raise my father's boat," said Abbey, "and get it running again."

  "Of course they'll raise it," Jackie said. "It's a crime scene and there's a body on board. But it's totaled, Abbey. It sank in a hundred feet of water. I'm sorry."

  Abbey glanced at her friend and saw she was crying. "Hey, Jackie. Hey . . . You tried your best to save it." She put her arm around her. "God, I'm sorry I dragged you out on this wild-goose chase. It's like all the other crazy things I've gotten you into. I don't know why you stay my friend."

  "I don't either," said Jackie.

  "I love you, Jackie. You saved my life."

  "And you saved mine and I love you, too."

  Abbey wiped away a tear herself. "Aw, fuck it, we'll get through this."

  As the docks loomed into view, Abbey could see at least a dozen cop cars had converged in the parking lot, parked willy-nilly, their light bars going. And behind them, on the lawn of the Anchor Inn, it seemed like half the town had turned out to watch them come in. Along with news crews and television cameras.

  "Oh my God, will you look at all those people?" said Jackie, wiping her face and blowing her nose. "I look like shit."

  "Get ready for your fifteen minutes of fame."

  She could now hear the hubbub coming over the water, the murmuring crowd, the shouting cops, the hiss of police radios. Even the volunteer fire department was there, Samoset No. 1, with their brand-new fire truck. They were all decked out in slickers and carrying Pulaskis. Everyone was having a grand old time.

  "RBM Fitch to Old Salt, come in," the officious voice hissed over the VHF.

  "Old Salt here." It made Abbey almost sick to even speak the name of Worth's shit-can of a boat.

  "Old Salt, the state police have requested you berth in position one at the commercial dock and immediately leave the boat, taking nothing. Don't shut off t
he engine or tie up. Law enforcement will board and take over."

  "Got it."

  "RBM Fitch over."

  The Fitch eased up to the public dock, the Coast Guard fellows hopping out in their crisp uniforms and tying up with drill-like efficiency. Abbey brought the Old Salt up behind it. The state police were swarming the dock and they immediately hopped aboard, securing the boat. Abbey stepped off, Jackie by her side. An officer came up, holding a clipboard. "Miss Abbey Straw and Miss Jacqueline Spann?"

  "That's us."

  Abbey glanced across the parking lot. It seemed like the entire town was staring down at her from behind a cordon of police. And to one side, cameras were rolling. She heard a shout, a struggle. "That's my daughter, you idiot! Abbey! Abbey!"

  It was her father. Home early.

  "Let go of me!"

  He came running down the grassy hill, checked shirt untucked, beard flapping, pounded down the wooden stairs, past the bait shed, and down the pier. He got to the top of the ramp and, gripping both rails, came charging down at her, hair wild.

  "Dad--"

  The officer stepped back as he ran to her. He wrapped her in his arms, a big sob wrenched from his broad chest. "Abbey! They say he tried to kill you!"

  "Dad . . ." She wiggled a little but he wasn't letting go. He hugged her again, and then again, while she stood there, feeling awkward, mortified. What a show in front of the whole town.

  He held her by her shoulders and stood back. "I was so worried. Look--your tooth! And your lip is cut. Did that scumbag--?"

  "Dad . . . Forget the tooth . . . Your boat sank."

  He stared at her, thunderstruck.

  She hung her head and began to cry. "I'm sorry."

  A long silence, and then he swallowed, or at least tried to, his Adam's apple bobbing. After a moment he put his arms around her again. "Ah, well. A boat's just a boat."

  A ragged cheer went up from the town.

  PART 2

  37

  Ford entered the office to find Lockwood seated at his desk. A brigadier general with grizzled hair in a rumpled field uniform stood next to him, whom Ford recognized as the Pentagon liaison to the Office of Science and Technology Policy.