| |
Sunset urged him to turn back, but Bark refused, pushing the Mayhem onward towards the vortex. With Newt cleaning up the house, Bark bore the slightest hope that maybe he’d still be able to sort all this out. There’d be questions about Stacy, but Bark felt up to the task of misdirecting the law as necessary. As long as Newt could keep his mouth shut.
The door to the hold sat open, so Bark could hear when his passengers awoke. There’d be no need to keep them quiet out here, and he hoped he’d be able to talk to them before...
“What the hell am I doing?” he said out loud.
He struggled to make sense of it, but he felt like he’d been put on autopilot and couldn’t take control of the situation. He felt cornered. Claustrophobic. Stuck in a horror movie that he couldn’t escape. He played through alternate scenarios in his head, imagining the fallout from turning himself in. Prison, for sure. Maybe the death penalty if they found out about the other two kids.
Bark thought of himself as a selfless man. He lived in poverty and gave away as much fish as he sold. He spent what little money he scraped up to feed damn near every stray cat in Cape Madre. And none of it mattered now. None of it added up to anything. He wondered if his good deeds would even make a dent on the ledger when he passed to the other side.
Through the swish of the wind and the swash of the water hitting the hull, Bark heard the slightest hint of a voice. He cut the engine on the Mayhem and let her coast to a stop, bobbing up and down with the waves. He didn’t bother to drop anchor.
He slipped below down the steep ladder, tough on his old knees, but easy in the way of all practiced things. When his feet planted on the floor, he looked to see Stacy and the boy — Tanner, he thought Newt had said — whispering to one another. When they saw him, they popped to attention, their eyes wide with fear.
Both still sat with their backs against separate legs of his table, tied with a precision of knots that Bark had perfected through years of sailing. They looked so helpless and defeated.
The silence stretched on. Bark stared at his captives, trying to figure out what to say. How to tell them that he couldn’t help what was happening. Neither of them struggled or yelled this time. Not yet, anyway.
Bark broke the silence. “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry?” Stacy spat sharp words. “You’re sorry?”
Bark always liked Stacy. The only good thing that had ever happened to Joe. To see her in pain, both physically and emotionally, tore Bark up inside. Even with the blood dried on her face, Stacy was still pretty in her own unique way.
Bark tried to speak with sincerity, but his croaking voice sounded menacing. “This isn’t what I wanted to happen, Stacy.”
“What? You mean you didn’t want to hurt me? Just him? What the hell is wrong with you, Bark?”
So many burning, leading questions, but he deserved the vitriol, he supposed. For a brief moment, Bark considered that maybe he could convince Stacy to keep quiet. To let him kill the boy and walk away from it all. That’d be the last of it, he decided. After that, this damn monster could take care of itself.
Guilt surged in him from that last thought, stronger even than any associated with betraying Stacy. He’d never be able to walk away from such a beautiful creature. And Stacy would never be able to keep quiet. The goodness in her would prevail, and she’d turn him over to the authorities. He’d rot in prison, and then what would happen? To Cape Madre? To the magnificent natural wonder below?
“I can’t explain it. I want to. I just. I have to keep everyone safe.”
Stacy stomped a foot against the wooden planks of the floor. “How is this keeping anyone safe?”
“It might get worse if I don’t.”
Without an answer, Stacy struggled against the ropes and screamed into the belly of the hold, the shrill echo muted into silence almost immediately by the small space. When she stopped, her chest heaved up and down, full of rage she couldn’t release. For the first time, Bark considered that Stacy might want to kill him.
“You won’t get away with it.” Tanner’s voice broke into the conversation with confidence and conviction. “Miriam won’t stop until she finds you.”
That little girl? Bark certainly had no fear of her. Tanner presented a threat — or at least he had before Bark beat him with a baseball bat — but Miriam? What could she possibly do to him?
Before Bark could formulate an answer, a foreign voice wafted down from the top of the stairs, far away but loud. “Fred Barker. This is the US Coast Guard. Show yourself. We will board your vessel and employ deadly force if necessary.”
“Dammit!” Bark muttered, taking a few long steps to the half-open door leading into his office. He slipped through the tiny opening, barely able to shove himself through, and opened the top left drawer of the desk. He preferred using a fishing pole to a gun, but he’d been to the range. He knew how to use it.
Once he squeezed back through the door, he slipped the pistol inside the waistband along the small of his back and, with no further glance to his captives, started up the stairs. When he stepped up on the deck, he blinked against the Coast Guard cutter’s blinding light.
The voice from the bullhorn: “Put your hands up. Don’t make any sudden movements.”
Instantly, Bark dropped to the deck and rolled behind the boat’s four-foot wall. His bones creaked and ached but he managed the maneuver, shielding himself just as bullets flew over his head. One bullet popped into the fiberglass hull below. One splintered wood from the deck.
He jerked the pistol from his waistband, reached up, and blindly fired towards the cutter. Someone yelled, “Take cover!”
“What the hell am I doing?” Bark repeated to himself.
He couldn’t hold off the Coast Guard with an old rickety fishing boat and a pistol. This would be the end. All the hard work would fail here. Either by arrest or by death. In the moment, death seemed preferable, so Bark lifted the gun again, firing more rounds across the void between the Mayhem and the cutter.
They didn’t return fire, leaving Bark to wonder what happened, but his questions were answered when he heard the thump of the cutter’s launching ramp against his hull. They were boarding, and unlike all the other times when they just wanted to perform a friendly inspection, Bark suspected this time would come with far more violence.
When he heard the first set of boots hit the deck, Bark slid the pistol away from him and put his hands above his head. He tried to get up, but without the use of his hands for support, he couldn’t manage it. The sound of officers flooded the deck now, causing Bark to lose count of his assailants.
“Keep your hands up!” the first officer yelled at him. “Face down!”
Bark kept his hands above his head and wriggled until he felt the hard wood of the deck pressing against his chest. In an instant, he felt a knee fall hard into his back, knocking the wind out of him. Bark yelped from the pain, but the officer above him didn’t seem to care.
Three officers stood within Bark’s field of view, no doubt itching for any excuse to shoot him. That made four, leaving probably at least six unaccounted for if the cutter was at capacity. It was the only vessel the coast guard had at Cape Madre. If he could escape this, it would be a long time before anyone else would come for him.
The officer on his back reached up and jerked Bark’s left hand down, twisting Bark’s arm and wrenching his elbow, causing even more pain. A cold, metal handcuff slipped around Bark’s wrist as he moved to offer his other hand.
Just as the handcuff touched his right wrist, the weight on his back vanished. A scream pierced the air. Hesitant to make any sudden moves, Bark lifted his head just in time to see tentacles wrapping around the legs of the officers in front of him, each one striking the deck in unison before being dragged away. Some of them held their guns, others dropped them.
None, however, stood a chance.
Bark shuffled himself back up, handcuffs dangling from his left wrist as he tried to get a better sense of what might be left of the threat. Strangled screams issued from the water, disappearing beneath the waves as quickly as they rose. Bark kept himself low, gathering up two of the sidearms the officers had dropped. More would be coming. He needed to be ready.
The deck shook with the weight of another officer boarding the deck, followed by a gunshot that nearly grazed Bark. He grabbed one of the guns and fired a round towards the young, fresh-faced man—a rookie, probably. The bullet hit him somewhere, but Bark couldn’t be sure exactly where. The kid fell to the deck almost instantly but rolled to his side and squeezed off another round.
Bark spun, not really knowing if he could dodge a bullet, and understanding that he couldn’t when pain shot up his leg. It didn’t bring him down, though. Not yet. He fired again at the prone officer and watched as the officer’s body went still. Not the first-person Bark had killed, but it still shocked him.
Five left.
He peeked up over the side of the hull, where the searchlight had been swiveled toward the water; where dark tentacles snaked out in every direction, on both sides of the cutter. Bark heard gunshots, but they weren’t for him.
On the port side of the cutter, Bark saw an officer behind a giant harpoon gun affixed to the deck. He’d never seen that before. If they were kitted out to fight her, then that meant they knew what to expect. For the first time, Bark had enough breathing room to realize that Newt had betrayed him.
A loud clunk sounded across the waves as Bark watched a huge harpoon fly towards one of the arching tentacles. The splash in the water told him that the harpoon missed its mark. The cutter lurched as the kraken grabbed hold of the starboard side and tilted it low into the water. The officer manning the gun lost his balance, but quickly righted himself with the harness he had strapped around his waist. They were too prepared. Ready to kill her.
Bark took a step, fighting back the blinding pain in his leg. The muscles all worked. He suspected that the bullet had only grazed his shin. Good. He needed to get to the other boat. There’d be more than just the guy with the harpoon gun, but he didn’t care. She needed his help.
He grabbed his pants leg and forced his leg over the wall, dropping down onto the cutter’s ramp and almost losing his balance to the pain.
“Freeze!” someone shouted at him from the other end of the ramp. A woman this time, short and stout, with good sea legs under her, pointing a sidearm at Bark from only a few feet away. She wouldn’t miss, and the effort of getting off the Mayhem had lowered his guard. He put both hands up but didn’t let go of the guns.
She took a slow, measured step toward him, impressively restrained considering the madness going on around her. From his new vantage point, Bark could see other officers firing pistols into the water. Bark doubted very much that pistols were going to stop her.
Bark didn’t move. He didn’t have a way out, and he felt certain the officer on the other end of the ramp would pull the trigger if she felt threatened. He let the guns fall out of his hands, where they rattled along the metal ramp before bouncing off into the ocean below. She took another step, this time quicker, surer of her success. Within seconds she stood in front of him, close enough that he could get the full measure of her almond-shaped brown eyes and stern features. He dropped his hands in front of him and she expertly used one hand to latch the other handcuff to his right wrist. Though he couldn’t give himself up easily, he felt relieved to know that he wouldn’t be able to do anymore harm.
The fight raged around him, tentacles slapping the cutter’s deck and twisting the boat. The ramp skidded across the hull of Madre’s Mayhem until it lost contact entirely. The officer in front of him spread her feet apart, bracing against the sudden movement, but Bark reacted too slowly and lost his balance. He tumbled through the air and crashed into the water below.
Each kick through the salty brine sent shivers of pain from the gunshot wound, but Bark still managed to work his way back up to the surface. He gulped for breath between each wave that battered his face. Without the use of his hands, he wouldn’t be able to stay above the water long. The Mayhem was too far away. He’d have to make for the cutter and deal with whatever that meant. He laid out on the water and kicked, using his hands in front of him in small motions, hoping that it would help propel him along.
Miraculously, he managed to hold his breath long enough to make it to the hull of the cutter. He eyed the side of the ship until he found the small handholds of a built-in ladder along the side. Would he even be able to make it up in his state? He didn’t know, and some mental nudge urged him to just give up.
But he couldn’t. He wouldn’t.
As he made his way up the small indentations, another officer flew over his head in the grasp of a tentacle.
Four left.
To his right, he saw the kraken’s head pop above water, the bulbous mass of flesh surrounding her big inky eyes. The boat lurched again as Bark realized that she’d grabbed hold of both sides now, pulling the cutter towards her. She was big, but not big enough to eat a boat.
Bark scrambled, fighting through the pain until he finally managed to sling himself onto the deck of the cutter. No one seemed to notice. Two officers now stood at the rear of the boat, firing rounds towards the kraken’s head. She didn’t flinch, either because the bullets didn’t hit or because they didn’t faze her. That left a guy at the harpoon gun out of Bark’s view, and the woman. Who would be—
A boot struck him hard on the left side of his ribs, causing Bark to cough and wheeze. For the life of him, Bark couldn’t understand why she hadn’t shot him yet. He rolled onto his back, gasping for air and resigned to whatever fate came.
Bark felt the deck shift under him, gravity pulling him towards the aft section of the cutter. The woman lost her balance, tumbled into his chest, and scrambled to get her footing. Bark rolled and twisted, managing to grab hold of the railing along the side. How the hell was the kraken tilting the boat up? Even Bark didn’t realize she was that strong.
As he got himself situated, hot pain shot up his leg again, this time from the force of the agent holding onto his ankle. Bark looked down at her wild eyes and realized that this woman no longer meant to subdue him. Now she needed him to survive.
With his good leg, Bark kicked hard at her knuckles, over and over, struggling to keep his hands gripping the wet railing. Partially because he knew he couldn’t support the weight of them both, but also because he knew he’d have to sacrifice her if he wanted to escape.
The woman was strong, latching on to his good leg with her other hand so he couldn’t kick anymore. His hands slipped, but he barely managed to regain control. They’d both fall soon enough.
Then a tentacle shot over the railing, towards the agent, the purplish tip wrapping around her throat. The woman clawed with one hand at the suction cups tightening around her but found no purchase against the kraken’s oily skin. The force pulling on Bark slackened as the tentacle supported the weight of the officer.
Crack!
At first, Bark thought it might have been the boat, caving to the pressure of being upended, but his stomach churned as he realized that the sickening pop came from the now lifeless agent. Her hands released as she fell away from Bark into the water. A glance down confirmed that the two agents had also fallen in.
One left.
The kraken lifted her head farther out of the water, revealing a huge beak serrated with terrifying white teeth. Bark had never seen this part of her before, but the stress of keeping himself aboard the vessel left no time for wonder. The water around her swirled and shifted as she seemed to inhale everything around her. One of the agents screamed as his leg lodged into the crooks of her teeth.
Bark didn’t see the rest. He refocused, managing to pull himself up enough to steady his good foot onto the railing. When secure enough, he glanced down, only to see half of one of the agents floating out to sea. He could only assume the other half now slid down the kraken’s gullet. Why had he bothered to dismember those teens at all?
The boat started to correct itself, tilting back to its normal horizontal position. The kraken’s head lowered into the water, leaving only her eyes staring back at Bark. A harpoon collided into the water next to her, causing her to disappear beneath the waves and reminding Bark that he wasn’t safe yet.
When the boat crashed back down, Bark fell to the deck and scrambled up to his knees, searching for any sign of a gun. When he couldn’t find that, he hobbled over to a fire suppression cabinet, punched the glass, and pulled out a crowbar. Blood trickled from his knuckles, but the pain easily faded into the background as he moved to find the last of the Coast Guard officers.
Bark made his way around the cockpit and peeked around the corner at the harpoon gun. The officer unshackled from the harness and sprinted to the aft section of the boat to check on his compatriots, never suspecting that Bark might have been aboard. Once the officer crossed in front of him, Bark slammed the crowbar down into the crown of the agent’s head and watched as the young man crumpled to the deck.
Bark dropped the crowbar, doubled over with his hands on his knees and took a big long breath, coughing and tasting the salty water burning in his throat. He fought the urge to sink to the deck and instead made sure that none of the officers in the water still lived. A few rounds surveying the deck made it obvious that they’d all drowned — or worse.
He found a set of universal keys in the officer’s pockets, managed to get the handcuffs off, then, welling his strength, heaved the harpoon officer over the railing. He didn’t know if the crowbar had killed the harpooner, but if not, the water would.
The cutter now sat unmanned, silently floating alone in the water. Madre’s Mayhem had drifted away, so Bark worked his way to the cockpit of the Coast Guard vessel.
Bark knew they’d be coming for him now. In greater numbers and with more weapons. Though no one would know the entire situation, he harbored no doubt that one of them had radioed back to shore.
As he slid across the water to the Mayhem, he tried to work out the next step, but came up empty. Did it even matter if he got rid of Stacy and Tanner?
By the time he climbed back aboard his own ship, the agony and pain overtook him. He collapsed onto the deck of the Mayhem and tried to catch his breath, forcing his brain to stay awake and fight for an answer, but he could only come to one conclusion.
There was no way out of this one.
