The cigarette boat was just ahead, stalled. Orc was in the water, yelling in fury. Howard scampered around looking for a life jacket while the driver tried to restart the engines. Unfortunately, the engines did not appear to be damaged.
It was now or never.
With frantic fingers Sam untied the rope from his ankle and took the loose end in his teeth. He jumped into the water and plowed through the few feet of water separating the Whaler from the speedboat.
“He’s swimming over here. His boat is sinking,” the speedboat driver yelled, misunderstanding.
But Howard knew better. “He’s up to something.”
Sam dove down under the water. It had to be now, before the driver got the engines started. If those props started turning it would be too late, and there was a very good chance that Sam would lose his fingers or even a whole hand.
Fighting his own buoyancy, Sam stayed under, peering through the churn, fingers trying to make sense of…there. That was one propeller.
He looped the nylon rope around the rightward prop and twisted it as tight as he could. Then he jetted to his left, blowing out the last of his air so he could stay submerged.
He heard the ignition click, the key being turned over. One twist of the boat driver’s fingers and…
The engine gave a start. Sam pushed back in panic.
Both props jerked and churned. Then the right prop seized and the left spun and stopped.
With the last of his strength Sam wound the rope around the left propeller, kicked off from the stern, and surfaced a few feet away for a quick gasp of air.
He heard the engines turn over again, and stall again.
The cigarette boat’s driver now realized what had happened, and Howard was at the stern shouting angry threats.
Sam twisted and started swimming hard for the Whaler, which was bouncing against the barrier.
“Sam.” It was Astrid shouting. “Behind you.”
The blow came out of nowhere.
Sam’s head spun. His eyes wouldn’t focus. The muscles in his limbs were all slack.
He’d been here before. It was just like when he’d fallen off his surfboard and it had come back and hit him. A corner of his mind knew what to do: avoid panic, take a few seconds to let his head clear.
Only this wasn’t a surfboard. A second impact hit just beside him, missing his head and hitting his collarbone.
The sharp pain helped Sam focus.
He saw Howard raise the long aluminum boathook for a third blow, and now Sam avoided it easily. As the boathook slapped the water, Sam lunged, bringing all his weight onto it.
Howard lost his balance, and Sam yanked. Howard let go of the boathook and slammed chest first onto one of the engines.
Again Sam turned toward the Whaler, but too late. Orc was on him now, and while one giant hand grabbed for a purchase on Sam’s neck, the other pounded at him.
Orc’s fist hit water before it hit Sam’s nose, so it was slowed down, but still the impact was shocking.
Sam curled into a ball and drove both his legs as hard as he could into Orc’s solar plexus. His blow too, was slowed by the drag of the water, but it pushed Sam forward and Orc back.
Sam was the better swimmer, but Orc was stronger. As Sam tried to escape, Orc grabbed the waist of Sam’s shorts and held him firmly.
Howard was on his feet now, shouting encouragement and praise for Orc. The fight was directly beneath the Whaler’s crunched bow. Sam somersaulted backward, slammed his bare feet against the hull, and pushed himself down under the water. He hoped when Orc’s head submerged, he’d panic and let go. It worked, and Sam was free. Free but trapped in a tight corner between the FAYZ wall and the boat’s bow.
Orc’s face was a fright mask of rage. He came straight at Sam, and Sam had no choice at all. He waited for Orc, grabbed his shirt as he came in range, twisted and, using Orc’s own momentum, drove the bully face first into the FAYZ wall.
Orc screamed. He flailed madly and screamed again.
Sam kicked away using Orc’s body as a launchpad. The kick drove Orc sideways into the barrier and he bellowed like a dying bull.
Sam swam, snagged the starboard gunwale, and held on.
“Edilio. Go.”
Edilio threw the throttle forward as Sam, with a hand from Astrid and Quinn, pulled himself aboard.
Orc was yelling incoherent, half-drowned curses from the water. Howard was reaching down to him, and the boat’s driver was shell-shocked, not sure what to do.
The rope was firmly tied to the deck cleat. The cleat would never hold, but a good sharp snap might finish off at least one of the jammed props.
Edilio turned the Whaler away from the barrier and said, “Watch the rope, Sam.”
The warning was just in time, as the slack came off the rope and it shot up out of the water. The rope tightened, nearly snapping Sam’s arm in the process.
The Whaler jerked from the impact. The cleat tore from the deck. But the cigarette boat’s props were useless now.
“Okay, that was crazy,” Edilio said with a laugh.
“I guess you’re over the seasickness now?”
The radio crackled to life, Howard’s familiar voice, subdued and afraid now, whining. “This is Howard. They got away.”
The faint voice from shore answered, “Why am I not surprised?”
Then, Howard again. “Our boat doesn’t work.”
“Sam,” Caine said. “If you can hear me, brother, you better know I’ll kill you.”
“Brother? Why is he calling you brother?” Astrid asked.
“Long story.”
It was now or never.
With frantic fingers Sam untied the rope from his ankle and took the loose end in his teeth. He jumped into the water and plowed through the few feet of water separating the Whaler from the speedboat.
“He’s swimming over here. His boat is sinking,” the speedboat driver yelled, misunderstanding.
But Howard knew better. “He’s up to something.”
Sam dove down under the water. It had to be now, before the driver got the engines started. If those props started turning it would be too late, and there was a very good chance that Sam would lose his fingers or even a whole hand.
Fighting his own buoyancy, Sam stayed under, peering through the churn, fingers trying to make sense of…there. That was one propeller.
He looped the nylon rope around the rightward prop and twisted it as tight as he could. Then he jetted to his left, blowing out the last of his air so he could stay submerged.
He heard the ignition click, the key being turned over. One twist of the boat driver’s fingers and…
The engine gave a start. Sam pushed back in panic.
Both props jerked and churned. Then the right prop seized and the left spun and stopped.
With the last of his strength Sam wound the rope around the left propeller, kicked off from the stern, and surfaced a few feet away for a quick gasp of air.
He heard the engines turn over again, and stall again.
The cigarette boat’s driver now realized what had happened, and Howard was at the stern shouting angry threats.
Sam twisted and started swimming hard for the Whaler, which was bouncing against the barrier.
“Sam.” It was Astrid shouting. “Behind you.”
The blow came out of nowhere.
Sam’s head spun. His eyes wouldn’t focus. The muscles in his limbs were all slack.
He’d been here before. It was just like when he’d fallen off his surfboard and it had come back and hit him. A corner of his mind knew what to do: avoid panic, take a few seconds to let his head clear.
Only this wasn’t a surfboard. A second impact hit just beside him, missing his head and hitting his collarbone.
The sharp pain helped Sam focus.
He saw Howard raise the long aluminum boathook for a third blow, and now Sam avoided it easily. As the boathook slapped the water, Sam lunged, bringing all his weight onto it.
Howard lost his balance, and Sam yanked. Howard let go of the boathook and slammed chest first onto one of the engines.
Again Sam turned toward the Whaler, but too late. Orc was on him now, and while one giant hand grabbed for a purchase on Sam’s neck, the other pounded at him.
Orc’s fist hit water before it hit Sam’s nose, so it was slowed down, but still the impact was shocking.
Sam curled into a ball and drove both his legs as hard as he could into Orc’s solar plexus. His blow too, was slowed by the drag of the water, but it pushed Sam forward and Orc back.
Sam was the better swimmer, but Orc was stronger. As Sam tried to escape, Orc grabbed the waist of Sam’s shorts and held him firmly.
Howard was on his feet now, shouting encouragement and praise for Orc. The fight was directly beneath the Whaler’s crunched bow. Sam somersaulted backward, slammed his bare feet against the hull, and pushed himself down under the water. He hoped when Orc’s head submerged, he’d panic and let go. It worked, and Sam was free. Free but trapped in a tight corner between the FAYZ wall and the boat’s bow.
Orc’s face was a fright mask of rage. He came straight at Sam, and Sam had no choice at all. He waited for Orc, grabbed his shirt as he came in range, twisted and, using Orc’s own momentum, drove the bully face first into the FAYZ wall.
Orc screamed. He flailed madly and screamed again.
Sam kicked away using Orc’s body as a launchpad. The kick drove Orc sideways into the barrier and he bellowed like a dying bull.
Sam swam, snagged the starboard gunwale, and held on.
“Edilio. Go.”
Edilio threw the throttle forward as Sam, with a hand from Astrid and Quinn, pulled himself aboard.
Orc was yelling incoherent, half-drowned curses from the water. Howard was reaching down to him, and the boat’s driver was shell-shocked, not sure what to do.
The rope was firmly tied to the deck cleat. The cleat would never hold, but a good sharp snap might finish off at least one of the jammed props.
Edilio turned the Whaler away from the barrier and said, “Watch the rope, Sam.”
The warning was just in time, as the slack came off the rope and it shot up out of the water. The rope tightened, nearly snapping Sam’s arm in the process.
The Whaler jerked from the impact. The cleat tore from the deck. But the cigarette boat’s props were useless now.
“Okay, that was crazy,” Edilio said with a laugh.
“I guess you’re over the seasickness now?”
The radio crackled to life, Howard’s familiar voice, subdued and afraid now, whining. “This is Howard. They got away.”
The faint voice from shore answered, “Why am I not surprised?”
Then, Howard again. “Our boat doesn’t work.”
“Sam,” Caine said. “If you can hear me, brother, you better know I’ll kill you.”
“Brother? Why is he calling you brother?” Astrid asked.
“Long story.”
