Haze (10 page)
It was a ski boat, but larger than any I had ever seen. The pointed front was covered by a canvas tarp, fastened into place with snaps. A chrome rail ran around the edge, maybe four inches off the side of the boat. There was a windscreen to protect the front seats. The back half of the boat was open to the sky. Four leather seats sat in the middle of the boat with their backs together facing front and back, and two more were at the very back beside the large motor. Nearly everything inside and outside of the boat was black.
“Not just anyone gets a ride,” Nate said. “Must be your lucky day.”
The man with the gun looked relaxed, almost bored. He caught me staring at him. “Nothing personal, kid,” he said. But he kept the gun trained on me.
I tried to step up into the boat, and my ankle collapsed. Steven barely kept both of us out of the water.
Water.
I couldn't outrun them, but I was a damned good swimmer. It was a dark night. If I waited for the right moment, I might have a chance.
I straightened my shoulders and drew my first full breath since I'd seen the gun.
“If you want him in the boat, you'll have to help,” Steven said to Nate. He hadn't said anything since the train tracks. His voice creaked.
“You're not in charge here,” Nate said. Steven flinched, but Nate hopped into the boat.
He grabbed my arm and yanked. I fell into the boat face-first, landing half on the floor and half on the rear-facing seats. The wrench to my ankle sent a bolt of pain up my leg.
I rolled over to face Nate. “You're a big man, aren't you? As long as you've got Daddy's hired gun to back you up.” I watched the man with the gun. The line of his mouth turned up a little when I insulted Nate.
“Shut up,” Nate said. “Do you even know what's going to happen to you?” The boat rocked up and down over the waves, bumping against the dock with a little thud each time.
My heart raced. I kept my eyes on the gunman. “You're going to take me for a nice boat ride, and we'll have a picnic.”
Nate turned red. “You're going to New York. Don't you get it? My father's connected. He's freaking loaded. Do you even know what that means? You're going to New York, and no one's ever going to find your body.”
The words hit me in the chest. My hands closed on nothing, and I felt like I was falling all over again.
But Nate smiled. A victory smile. And in that second, I hated him more than I'd ever thought possible. My hate was hot and alive, deep inside me. I clung to it.
“What do you care?” I asked. “Coach is leaving. That's what this was about, wasn't it? Hanging on to the swim coach that's in your daddy's pocket?”
“Enough,” the gunman said. “Get him inside.”
Nate pointed to the front of the boat. There was a crawl space under the canvas tarp. “In there,” he said.
I looked up at the gunman, making it clear that I thought he was in charge, not Nate. He nodded. I wasn't going to crawl in there like a dog. I stood, using the chairs for support, and Nate had to step out of my way so I could reach the front of the boat.
I dropped into the driver's seat, glared at Nate and then shoved myself into the crawl space backward, so I could see out.
I had about two and a half feet of height between the floor of the boat and the canvas tarp ceiling. Not enough to sit up. I lay on my side, partly curled, and propped myself up, watching the others. The boat floor smelled musty. I had room to move around, but not to straighten.
Nate climbed out of the boat, telling Steven to watch me.
Steven sat in the front passenger's seat and stared at me. His Adam's apple moved up and down as he swallowed again and again. His knuckles were white where he gripped the leather seat.
“Help me,” I mouthed.
He shook his head, a small, tight movement. I was on my own.
Nate and the other man stood at the end of the dock. Nate kept glancing back at the shore and then at his watch.
I felt around. Two benches ran along either side of me and came to a point at the front of the boat. There was a bit of room between the tops of the benches and the tarpâmaybe six inches or more. Enough room to open the benches if I got the chance later. Maybe there was something in there I could use. Life jackets.
Energy coiled through my body. I was ready to fight. All I needed was a chance.
“They're here.” Nate's voice cut over the wind and waves. I craned my neck to see better. Footsteps thudded on the dock.
“She's coming around,” a deep voice said.
“Too bad for her,” Nate answered.
A large man stepped into view. Abby was flung over his shoulder, unconscious. My throat clenched.
At a sign from the man with the gun, Steven stood. The large man passed Abby down to him. Steven's face was blankâtoo blank. He looked shell-shocked. Even while he was easing Abby into his seat, he didn't look at her. She moaned and blinked, tried to sit up, then slowly slumped down again.
“Not there,” the large man said. He had red hair and, like the smaller man with the gun, wore black. “In front with the other kid. I told you, she's coming around. I don't want any trouble in the boat.”
“If there's trouble in the boat, you shoot them,” Nate said.
The red-haired man chuckled. “Your daddy's getting sick of cleaning up after you,” he told Nate. “Try and be a good boy.”
“Enough,” said the wiry man. “Get her inside.”
Nate leered at me. “It's your lucky day, pond scum. Cop a feel for me.”
Steven slid Abby into the opening. Her bent legs hung out from under the tarp.
“I'm going to kill him,” I whispered to Steven. “I'm going to kill both of you.”
He turned his blank stare on me, then disappeared back up with the others.
It was dark under the tarp. I heard the waves, felt the boat rock, heard Abby's breathing. There were thuds, maybe people getting into or out of the boat, and then someone's legs appeared in the driver's seat. “Keep them covered.” It was the red-haired man's voice, the deeper one. “I don't want any problems.”
“You drive, I'll take care of it,” said the other man. He took the back-facing seat on the passenger side of the boat but faced forward. His right hand rested on his knee. Moonlight gleamed off the barrel of his handgun.
Nate and Steven weren't in the boat.
The motor started, vibrating through the hull and through my skin. The sound drowned everything out.
I lay crunched into the very front of the boat, sideways. Abby's head and shoulders rested against my hip. The boat started to move. Abby stirred, and I shook her shoulder. “Abby. Can you hear me? You need to wake up.” I was counting on the motor to cover the sound of my voice.
“Bram?” She tried to sit up, but the canvas tarp was in the way. “Whereâ?”
“Stay still. Don't freak out, okay? We're in a boat.”
“Nate,” she said. “Heâ”
“Is an absolute psychopath and deserves to die,” I said. “But right now we're in trouble. Listen, okay?”
She nodded. I told her what had happened as quickly as I could. She shuddered when I mentioned the gun.
“We have to swim for it,” I said. “We'll wait until the moon goes behind a cloud. But soon, while we're close to shore. We dive under and stay under as long as we can. It's dark. Once they lose us, they won't find us.”
She nodded again and pulled her legs in tight. “So they get used to not seeing me,” she said. It was a good thing she was small. It was cramped, far worse than the car trunk had been. But now, on top of the musty boat air, I smelled Abby's perfume. Oranges. It made me feel better. My body was warm where she pressed against it. There were two of us. We had a chance.
“We need a distraction,” I said. “So we can pop the snaps and get out without getting shot.” Swimming the sound in the dark, in cold water and with an injured ankle, was crazy. We needed everything else to go perfectly.
“Here.” She wiggled around, reaching for something, and then pressed something small and flat into my hand. Her two-inch Swiss Army knife. “It's funny. Jeremy was the one who gave this to me. We won't need to pop the snaps. We can slit the tarp. It'll be quieter.”
I popped up one snap so I could peer outside and watch for a cloud to cross the moon. Abby leaned back and cracked open the benches to rummage inside for anything we could use. We had to move slowly so they wouldn't notice. With each minute, my heart pounded faster.
“Life jackets?” she asked.
They would help us swim, but they would also make us an obvious target. Reluctantly, I said no. I would get us to shore. I had to.
Abby gasped. “Bram!”
“What?”
“I found our distraction.”
We had taken off our shoes and jackets. That was as much as we could manage without drawing attention.
I peered through the open snap. The tiny crack of moonlight disappeared. “Now,” I said.
Abby slid her knife through the tarp, making a large, L-shaped flap that would open to the driver's side to make it harder for the skinny guy to get a clear shot. I held the edges together.
Abby had wedged one of the benches open with a life jacket. She reached in to snip the wire that led to the boat's headlamp. That was our distraction. It would also make it harder for them to find us once we were in the water.
“It won't cut,” she whispered.
I shoved my arm into the opening and fumbled for the wire. Abby put my hand on it. I grabbed it and yanked.
Someone shouted, but Abby and I were already moving. I grabbed the chrome handrail with one hand. Abby held the other. We hurled ourselves into the water.
The cold shocked my muscles still. I wanted to kick and claw my way to the surface, but I swam down to avoid the propeller blades. Down and away from where we had splashed in. If they shot at us, I never knew it. I just swam down and down with Abby, until my lungs ached and Abby's hand tugged at mine.
We surfaced. I sucked in air. Abby was coughing. I gripped her with one arm, using the other arm and my good leg to tread water. I had to kick with the bad ankle to keep us on the surface in two-foot waves. It hurt, but we were alive.
“You okay?” I asked. She coughed. “Abby! You okay?”
“Cold,” she finally managed.
“I know.” My teeth and bones ached with it. I could hear the roar of the motor. The taillight darted back and forth. They were looking for us. “We have to go under again, okay?”
We dove. The cold numbed my skin. I concentrated on kicking, on gliding. On Abby's hand in mine. We surfaced again. All I smelled, all I tasted, was salt.
“I c-c-can't. C-c-c-can't d-do th-that anymore,” Abby said, when we surfaced the fourth time. Her teeth chattered.
“It's okay,” I said. “They're far enough away.” When the next swell carried us up, I glanced around until I saw city lights. Far away. My heart sank.
“Is th-that home?” Abby asked.
Connecticut or New York, I didn't care. It was land. “Yeah,” I said. “Don't let go.”
We swam, always touching each other. Sometimes a lopsided breaststroke, sometimes on our backs. Moving warmed me a little, but not enough. The moon slipped in and out of clouds.
We were swimming on our backs the first time she went under. No splashing, no coughing, just a quiet, sudden sinking and her hand limp in mine. “Abby!” I hauled her up.
She blinked and coughed. “Bram?” Her voice was thick and slurred. “Where are we?”
I wanted to cry. My eyes stung. “Don't do this,” I whispered. I couldn't swim for both of us. I was so tired. My arms and legs ached. My clothes were heavy, and my ankle was a dull throb. The shoreline was still so far away.
Abby sank again.
“Tired,” she said, after I pulled her up and she stopped coughing.
I looked at the lights. Too far away. I swallowed. “It's okay,” I told Abby. “Just kick your feet.” I hauled her into a lifeguard tow, my arm across her chest, her head on my shoulder. And I swam.
The cold and the waves, the repeated motion of swimming, it all numbed me. The moon slid into and out of sight. I measured time that way. Moon seconds, long and slow. I forgot where I was and what I was doing. My body kept moving without me.
I drifted into the dark. And then cold water closed over my face, splashed into my mouth and nose, choked me. I woke up, tightened my hold on Abby, found the city lights and kept swimming.
I drifted again and didn't come back until I felt hands tugging at me, shaking me. I coughed water from my burning throat and looked into Abby's face, pale as the moon.
“Don't drown,” she said. “Don't drown.”
“I won't,” I promised. We swam together for a while until I felt her sinking, and then I carried her again.
I don't know how long I was in shallow water before I realized it. Sand and rock ground against my skin. A beach. I crawled a few feet, pulling Abby.
A bright light shone in my eyes. Yellow. It wasn't the moon. I blinked and focused three times before I understood that it was a streetlamp. There was a boardwalk running along the beach. Too far away.
I lay down in the wet sand, pulled Abby close and slept.
I woke up in a hospital room, warm and dry, with an iv needle stuck in my arm. Mom and Dad were there. And, after the nurses cleared it, the police arrived. An early-morning jogger had found us and called 9-1-1.
I told them the whole story, over and over, until my throat hurt. I found out later that I wasn't allowed to see Abby. They had to make sure our stories matched.
I also learned Steven had called the Coast Guard and had them out looking for us. I wasn't sure how to feel about that.
Coach made it most of the way to Mexico before they caught him. He and his wife had a lot of cash stashed in their car. More money than you make coaching varsity sports. It was all part of Nate's father's cleanup, I guess. Maybe when you have a lot of money, you can go through life not caring who you hurt. Or maybe it's not about the money. Maybe it's just who you are, your character.