Instead of tying up the chief, Malik quietly picked up his spear instead. Very slowly, he tiptoed toward Runkle, who still had his back turned. I looked away on purpose, so as not to alert Runkle, and silently willed Carol and Tasha to do the same. Malik lifted the spear over his head and crept closer.
"S-save some… rope," Runkle wheezed. "I w-want… you… to t-tie up… the r-rest of… them… t-too."
"Whatever," Malik said, creeping closer. "You're in charge."
"T-that's right…I am in…"
Runkle suddenly doubled over, clenching his side and gasping with pain. He squeezed his eyes shut and his gun hand went limp. The weapon pointed at the deck. With a shout, Malik lunged forward and drove the spear down into Runkle's back. The boy struggled, putting all of his weight behind the shaft. Runkle stiffened, trying to stand. He opened his mouth to scream, but only a strangled sigh came out. The pistol slipped from his fingers, landing in a puddle of bloody seawater. Tasha leapt forward to grab it, but I warned her to stay seated. Runkle's infected blood had mixed with the water in the boat. There was no sense in chancing it.
Malik continued thrusting the spear into Runkle's back. The spear's tip poked through his chest, ripping the peacoat. Runkle tried to scream again. Instead, he gurgled. Dark blood-almost black-bubbled from his gaping mouth.
Jumping out of my seat, I swung the oar like a club, striking Runkle across the face. The shock reverberated up my arms. Runkle grunted. His lips split. Blood and teeth flew through the air. Dropping the oar, I jumped to Malik's side and grabbed the broom handle right above his hands. Together, we spun the impaled man around and pushed him over the side. His blood dribbled down the spear toward us. We needed to hurry. Runkle gripped the edge of the lifeboat, holding on for dear life. Malik and I pushed harder. The tendons stood out on his neck as he struggled with us. The spear sank deeper into his body. The blood ran closer. Tasha ran forward, scooped up the shotgun, and smashed his fingers with the stock. With a final shove, Malik and 1 managed to topple the crazed cop into the churning waves. We let go of the broom handle, letting Runkle take the bloody weapon with him.
"He shouldn't have messed with us," Malik said, puffing out his chest.
"Are all of you wearing socks beneath your shoes?" I asked.
Nodding their heads slowly, Carol, Malik and Tasha all looked at me as if I'd lost my mind.
"Help me get the chief up," I said. "Runkle bled into the water in the bottom of the boat. I don't want the chief swallowing it."
Tasha looked worried. "How are we going to bail if his blood's in the water?"
"I don't know yet," I admitted. "But first thing's first-help me with the chief. Carol, pick up everything that doesn't have blood on it yet, especially the food and our weapons."
Out on the ocean, Runkle let out a choked scream. I looked up in time to see a huge gray shape rising up beneath him. Runkle waved his arms, frantically beating at the water. His eyes bulged. There was a flash of white, what looked like a fin, and then he was gone in a surge of spray. Whatever the creature was, it had dragged him beneath the surface.
Malik ran to the edge of the lifeboat. "What the hell was that?"
"Don't worry about it now," I panted, sliding my hands under the chief's armpits. "Just help me get him up before he's infected."
Carol collected the weapons and food while Tasha and Malik helped me with Chief Maxey. We got him into a sitting position on the bench. His head lolled back and forth in time with the waves. His nose was swollen and bloody, obviously broken, and he was missing one of his teeth. But he was breathing. I gently patted him on the cheek, and after a few seconds, his eyelids fluttered.
"Are the water bottles okay?" I asked Carol.
"They seem to be," she said. "There's no blood on them that I can see."
"Hand me one."
I unscrewed the cap and put the bottle to the chief's mouth. The rim must have brushed against one of his sore spots, because he winced and then opened his eyes. Spring water ran down his throat, and he choked, spitting it back up.
"Runkle?" he gasped, glancing around. "Where is he?"
He tried to stand, but I gently forced him back down.
"We took care of it, Chief. Relax. You okay?"
"My nose hurts like a son of a bitch. I think it might be broken. But I'll live."
"Good. Might want to pick your feet up and keep them off the bottom of the boat."
He looked down, and then back to me. "Is that my blood or Runkle's?"
I shrugged. "Both, I think."
Tasha grabbed my arm and pointed off the bow.
"Something moved out there."
I squinted into the darkness. "I don't see anything. What was it?"
"I don't know. Something jumped out of the water and then swam underneath again."
"Maybe it was just a big wave," Carol suggested. I could tell by the tone of her voice that she didn't believe it herself.
A blast of thunder ripped the night sky, drowning out the roaring winds.
I turned back to the chief. "Can you row?"
He nodded. "Yes, I think so."
"Okay. I think we should get moving." I sat cross-legged on the bench, keeping my feet out of the tainted water, and grabbed an oar. "Everybody sit back down. Try to stay out of the water. Hopefully, we'll get a few more really big waves and they'll wash that shit out of here. Then we can start bailing. Carol, are you awake enough to act as lookout?"
"Yes. I don't think I could fall asleep right now if I wanted to."
"Okay. You stand watch. Tasha, I want you to use the rifle. Make sure there's no blood on it."
She nodded.
"Hey," Malik hollered. "What about me? How come I never get nothing?"
I smiled. "You get the shotgun. If you have to shoot it though, I want you to be careful."
"Why?"
"Because it's liable to knock you overboard, and we don't need that."
He looked back at where Runkle had been.
"No," Malik said. "We sure don't."
We all took our places. Carol peered out into the sea. The chief and I started rowing. The kids held their weapons at the ready, keeping the barrels beneath some plastic sheeting that had escaped the water and blood. We didn't talk. The GPS beeped mournfully. Chief Maxey glanced at it, checking our coordinates.
"We still on course, Chief?"
"We are," he said, "and please, just call me Wade. I don't have a boat anymore to be chief of."
I nodded. "Okay… Wade."
The thunder rumbled again. Then the glow stick went out, plunging us into darkness.
In that darkness, something moved. It splashed just off our starboard side. Whatever it was, it sounded big.
"Chief." I whispered. "Sorry-I mean, Wade. Maybe we should start the motor."
Lightning flashed, and I saw him nodding his head in agreement. Chief Maxey reached behind him and took a deep breath. Another splash echoed across the water, this time to our rear. Something bumped us from underneath the hull. We smelled it-rotten fish. Something dead, but still swimming. Then the motor burst to life. Chief Maxey gave it full throttle and we shot into the night.
The splashing sounds followed us for a long time before they faded.
When I looked back, all I saw was darkness.
Chapter Thirteen
The storm finally ended several hours later. There were a few last flashes of lightning and some final rumbles of thunder, almost as an afterthought. Then it was gone. During that time, we didn't see anything else in the water, either above or below. Maybe the weather kept the creatures away or maybe there was a war going on beneath the surface, and they were too busy eating each other to worry about us. A replay of what had happened in our cities, a battle between the living and the dead, now being waged under the sea as well as on land. The sky cleared and we could see again. The sun was still down, but its first few predawn rays were visible as a red glow on the horizon. I wished the sun would hurry its ass up. All five of us were cold and shivering, soaked to the skin from the rain and the waves. The kids had runny noses. The chief- even though he'd asked us to just call him Wade, I still thought of him as Chief Maxey-had picked up a bad cough. Sounded like a goose. His entire body shook each time he coughed. His broken nose had swelled up like a golf ball, and when he talked, it sounded like he had a bad cold.
The storm had battered us about all night long. Luckily, the lifeboat hadn't sunk. I'd been right about the storm surges washing the blood back into the sea. We were able to bail the water out after the first half hour. Carol and I did it while the chief stood guard and the kids held the weapons. We bailed very carefully, mindful of any leftover blood. When we were finished, Carol and I gathered up anything with Runkle's blood on it and then tossed the items over the side, including his handgun. I hated to get rid of it, but we had nothing to clean and disinfect the weapon with. It sank like a stone.
And then we waited, watching each other for the first warning signs of the disease. All of us were sleepy, but there was no nausea, shortness of breath, or decreased circulation. We kept an extra eye on the chief, figuring he'd had the greatest risk of exposure. Hours passed uneventfully. If any of us had contracted Hamelin's Revenge, we showed no indications of it. We all felt and seemed fine. Carol suggested that maybe there was something in the saltwater that killed the disease. But the fact was that none of us knew for sure. I was an unemployed factory worker. Carol was a former quality control manager at an injection molding plant, and more recently, a makeshift teacher for the kids. And the chief was an ex-coast guard chief and museum guide. None of us had the tools to fully understand and diagnose Hamelin's Revenge, let alone the skills for figuring out how to defeat it.
The sun crept higher and the birds came out, circling over us and screeching at the dawn. I wondered where they'd all come from. According to the chief, there was no land nearby. We'd seen none during the night-no lights on the horizon. They'd obviously taken shelter from the storm. But here they were now, as if materializing out of the clouds.
We shut the motor off again to conserve fuel, and once more began rowing. I looked out across the ocean and sighed. I felt like shit. I was exhausted, grimy, and sore. My ears felt all stuffed up because of all the close-range gunshots without hearing protection. My clothes were soaked. Dried salt caked my lips and the corners of my eyes. The wind scraped against my skin like sandpaper. As I rowed, 1 blocked out the protests from my arms and back, focusing instead on the sea. It was a big contrast from the night before. The water was so beautiful. The hypnotic rhythm of the foam-topped waves almost lulled me to sleep. I stopped rowing for a second and rubbed my bloodshot eyes. They felt dry and crusty. I kept them closed, and my breathing slowed. I felt relaxed. Peaceful. Then a wave lapped gently against the side of the lifeboat, breaking the spell. I shook my head and began rowing again, forcing myself to wake up. The surface was like the top of a birthday cake-smooth and flat, broken only by small, cresting waves. Farther down in the depths, the deep blue gave way to gray and green, then black. It seemed like it went on forever. Nothing moved down there. I wanted to jump over the side and just sink to the bottom, washing the filth from my body-a baptism.
The chief was also staring into the depths.
"We should be right over the
Ethel
C."
"What's that?" Malik asked.
The chief snorted, clearing dried blood out of his sinuses, and then told us.
"The
Ethel C
was a Lebanese freighter. That's a ship that carries cargo from one place to another. She sank here back in April of 1960. She departed New York on her way to the Mediterranean Sea, hauling a load of scrap iron. Historians believe that the cargo must have shifted, breaching her hull. Some of the survivor's reports indicate that. Others differ. Whatever the cause, the pumps couldn't keep up with the water flooding in, and she sank. They never even managed to get out a distress call. According to reports, she went very quickly."
Malik moved closer to him. "Quicker than the
Spratling
did?"
The chief nodded sadly. "Much quicker, but despite everything, all of the crew made it off alive. There were twenty-three men in the lifeboat. Imagine how crowded they must have been, packed in there like sardines in a can. And you folks thought this little lifeboat was crowded. Of course, theirs was a lot bigger than this one. They drifted for thirteen hours before the coast guard picked them up. That's where their story ends. But that's not the end for the
Ethel C.
She's still there. She's down there right now-sitting upright on the bottom of the ocean."
Malik glanced out at the water. "Just how deep is this, anyway?"
"Where we are?" The chief shrugged. "If I remember correctly, it's right around one hundred and ninety feet deep. The wreck is intact-all three hundred and twenty-nine feet of her-so if you were to dive down there and go scavenging, you'd find her wheelhouse at about one hundred and forty feet and the rest of her below that."
"Intact?" Tasha slid closer, enthralled with the conversation. "You mean like it's still new?"
"Well, not quite. The
Ethel C
has been down there for a long time, so she's in pretty bad shape. The hull is probably corroded. But as I said, she is still upright and divers say that she has a very impressive haul. Over the years, they've brought up the navigation equipment and most of her portholes, along with silverware, mementos, picture frames, pocket watches, jewelry-things like that. People pay big money for treasure like that."