Repairman Jack [07]-Gateways (46 page)

“Anyone see any problems with that?”

Dad and Carl shook their heads.

“Good. Okay, once we’re all in position, I’ll fire a couple of shots to get their attention, then tell them I’m from the Novaton Police Department and demand they release Anya or else.”

Dad grinned. “Novaton Police Department? You’re planning to kill them with laughter…is that the plan? Better off saying you’re from the Miami-Dade Sheriff’s Department.”

“What if they don’t buy it?” Carl said. “What if they start shooting?”

“Then we’ll have to shoot back—unless of course they bring Anya on deck.”

“Then what?” Carl asked.

“Then we improvise.”

Lifting his poncho to reveal the Mossberg, Dad spoke to Carl. “Since these are loaded with alternating slugs and double-ought, I suggest we aim the buckshot at the decks and the slugs at the waterline, preferably near the bow. Anywhere but the superstructure. At this range the boat walls will, I hope, stop most of the shot, but the slugs will go through them like paper, and Anya could be in there.”

Carl nodded. “Gotcha. Easy. Those boats is too pan-o-ramic to miss.”

Dad looked at Carl, then Jack.

“Don’t ask, Dad.” Jack gestured ahead. “Let’s go.”

“And look out for that alligator along the way,” Dad said.

Carl shook his head. “I heard Semelee and Luke talkin’ while I was stuck here and they was sayin’ Devil was hurt bad. The way they was talking, I don’t think he’ll be up for chasin’ us.”

“Be on the lookout anyway,” Jack said. “Even if he’s not, there’s still that two-headed snapping turtle.”

“Oh, yeah,” Carl said. His lips tightened. “Dora.”

“Two-headed snapping turtle?” Dad said. “What—?”

“Later, Dad. Just don’t get too close to the water.”

“Haven’t you both forgotten about something else to look out for? What about those flying things that gobbled up Anya’s dog and made such a mess of her place? I don’t want to run into
them
.”

“A snootful of double-ought buck will clip their wings, don’t you think?” Jack said.

Dad frowned. “If you can hit them. The ones I saw in the movie were moving pretty damn fast.”

On that reassuring note, Jack turned and led them away from the canoe. Heads down against the wind and rain, they sloshed through the oaks, palms, and cypresses, keeping a good ten feet from the water’s edge, heading toward the cenote. Well before they reached it, even through the driving rain, Jack could see the lights flashing up from its depths.

As they arrived at the rim, now only an inch or so above the waterline, Dad leaned close to Jack and spoke in a low voice, barely audible above the storm. “Now isn’t this a helluva thing?” He peered down into the flashing depths. “What on earth is going on down there?”

“Not sure,” Jack told him. “But you want to avoid too much exposure to those lights.”

Dad took a quick step back. “Why? Radioactive?”

Worse
, Jack wanted to say, but that would stimulate a lot of questions he didn’t have time to answer. So he settled for, “Could be.”

Carl stepped ahead and crouched behind the head of a newly fallen royal palm. “This here looks like a good spot. Gives me a good bead on the
Horse-ship
. I’ll park here.”

Jack nodded and motioned his father southward. Dad followed, but kept glancing over his shoulder at the lights from the cenote. They seemed to fascinate him.

Along the way they passed the clan’s little boats—the
Chicken-ship
, the
No-ship
, and others—pulled up, turned over, and tied down on the bank. Jack spied a spot near the old Indian huts to take cover, but he kept walking. He wanted to see Dad as fully protected as possible.

He found him a spot behind the wide trunk of a cypress where he had a good angle on the
Bull-ship
.

Jack gave the old man’s shoulder a gentle squeeze and leaned in close. “Keep your head down, Dad. And if all hell breaks loose, be careful.”

His father patted his hand. “I’m the soldier here, remember? You just take care of yourself and don’t worry about me.”

Jack had a sudden urge to pull everyone out and head back to Novaton. A dark premonition stole over him, a feelin’ that something terrible was about to happen, that fewer would be leaving here than arrived. But he couldn’t turn back now, and he knew neither his dad nor Carl would go. They’d come too far. And Anya needed them.

One more squeeze of his father’s shoulder and then he hurried back to the ruins of the Indian huts. He found himself a spot behind a thick support post. He wouldn’t have thought it possible, but it began to rain harder.

Jack squatted and spread his poncho like an umbrella over the plastic bag. He removed a few of the grenades and stuck the safety clips into his belt. He pulled out the big Ruger and checked the cylinder. He didn’t have a holster big enough to hold it so he stuck it in his waistband. The nine-plus-inch barrel was cold and not a comfortable fit. If Semelee got a look at him she’d probably think he was
very
glad to see her.

But he wouldn’t be. It would be just fine with Jack if he never saw her again.

He rose and started to cup his hands around his mouth when he sensed movement behind him. He whirled, pawing at his poncho, trying to get his hand under its flapping hem, but stopped when he saw what it was: a small towel, tacked to one of the hut posts, was flapping in the wind.

Jack waited to let his racing heart slow—for a second there he’d thought he’d walked into an ambush—then turned back to the water.

He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted.

“Hello the boats!”

He repeated this three times at top volume before deciding that they weren’t going to hear him over the storm. He pulled out the Ruger and pointed it skyward. He’d never fired one of these, and had only heard of the .454 Casull round. He knew it was a monster so he was ready for a loud report and a wrist-jolting kick when he fired two shots in the air. Even so, the boom surprised him.

That ought to wake them up.

He replaced the two rounds as he began calling again.

5

“You’ll never guess who’s out there,” Luke said, grinnin’ and drippin’ as he came in from the deck. He wore a yellow slicker and a Devil Rays cap. Corley and a couple of the other men trooped in behind him, shakin’ the water off theirselfs like dogs.

Semelee didn’t feel like guessin’—specially if she’d ‘never’ guess the answer—so she waited for him to tell her.

Everybody in the
Bull-ship
had jumped at the sound of those two shots a moment ago. It’d sounded like a cannon goin’ off. Luke and the others went out to see what was up. Semelee had heard some shoutin’ back and forth but couldn’t make nothin’ out of it due to the poundin’ of the rain on the roof and sides of the boat.

Finally Luke told her: “It’s your boyfriend.”

Boyfriend? Semelee thought. What’s Luke—? Oh, shit.

“You mean that Jack guy? He ain’t no boyfriend of mine. I hate him.”

She did. Sort of. But that didn’t keep her heart from flutterin’ for a second at the passin’ thought that he’d come all the way out here in this for her. But that thought flew out the window soon as it came. He’d made it awful clear he wasn’t interested in the likes of her.

“Good,” Luke said. “Cause I hate him too. I hate anybody who thinks I’m stupid, and he must think we’re pretty damn stupid. Know what he said? Said he was from the Miami-Dade Sheriff’s office and that he’s got a whole passle of cops out there in the dark with him.”

“You sure it’s him?”

“Sure I’m sure. Recognized his voice, even through the rain. Couldn’t see him, but it’s him.”

“What’s he want?”

“Says he wants the old lady back. Callin’ her ‘Anya’ or somethin’ like that.”

Semelee felt her stomach plummet. “Then he knows we was there.”

She went to one of the little rectangles of glass that served as windows on
Bull-ship
’s deckhouse and looked real hard into the storm. The rain splashin’ against the glass and runnin’ down its outside kept her from seein’ even an inch beyond it.

“He knows somethin’,” Luke said, “but he don’t know everthing, that’s for sure.”

“But how’s he know we was there?” She couldn’t imagine Jack just watchin’ from a window. He and his daddy woulda come out sure, probably with guns a-blazin’.

“Don’t know, don’t care,” Luke said.

She turned and saw that Luke had opened a closet and was handin’ out rifles and shotguns. He pointed to Corley.

“Get below and haul everbody up here.”

“What you gonna do?”

He smiled at her again. “Gonna give him a nice warm lagoon-style welcome and make sure he don’t leave the Glades—least not alive.”

“That really necessary?”

As Semelee watched the men start pilin’ up from below decks, grabbin’ guns, and headin’ for the deck, she felt a little somethin’ stir in her chest. Like sadness. Like guilt. She’d taken a change of heart about Jack since yesterday afternoon. She’d tried to make him die then, but afterwards she was a little glad she’d failed. Yeah, he’d turned her down right to her face, but he’d only been tellin’ the truth:
I’m taken
meant he had someone else he liked better. End of story. He could’ve lied and then used her like she’d been used before, then dump her like she’d been dumped before. That would’ve been worse. That didn’t make her heart hurt any less, but at least he’d been straight with her.

“I think when he don’t get what he’s askin’ for—and he ain’t gonna—then I got a feelin’ there may be some shootin’. So I figure we’ll shoot first.”

“What if you’re wrong?” Semelee said. “What if that really is a buncha deputies out there?”

“Ain’t wrong. It’s him, I tell you.”

“All right. Say it is. What if he ain’t alone?”

Luke’s smile turned real ugly. “I hope he ain’t. I hope he brought Daddy along.” He lifted his cap and ran a hand over his scabbed-up head. “I got me a score or two to even with that old coot.”

Semelee stepped back to the window. Why did he come? This storm’s tearin’ up the place and yet here he comes, loaded for bear, lookin’ for an old lady he only met a couple days ago. What sort of man does that?

She ducked away from the window as the gunfire started outside.

Whatever sort of man Jack is, she thought with a sting of sadness, he’s gonna be a dead one pretty soon.

6

Jack had taken cover behind an old fallen trunk at the first sight of a rifle on the
Bull-ship
’s deck. Good thing too, because they’d opened up without warning. Dad and Carl had responded immediately. The element of surprise allowed them to take down a couple of the clan before the rest of them dropped to the deck to take cover behind the gunwales. The
Horse-ship
crew had their guns out now and the air was filled with wind and water and lightning and bullets and shot.

Most of the fire from the
Bull-ship
seemed concentrated on Jack’s position. Semelee’s idea, probably…or Luke’s…or both. He’d definitely put himself on the wrong side of those two. When Jack dared raise his head, he fired back with the Ruger. He wanted Luke. If he could take him out, the rest of the clan would lose their steam. But Jack couldn’t identify him through the dim light and the rain. And even if he did, he’d be hard to hit. Jack wished he were a better marksman, but knew if by some chance he did hit Luke he’d be a goner. He was firing Cor-Bon .454 Casulls, hard-cast, flat-point, 335-grain rounds that jerked the barrel high every time he pulled the trigger. Which was okay in a way. If he missed, he wanted to miss high. He didn’t want one of those big rounds to plow through the hull and hit Anya.

The fire on Jack’s position became so intense he didn’t dare raise his head to return it. These guys were good shots. When a lull came, he belly-crawled back to the old huts and took a position behind a post. Maybe from back here he’d be able to take the time to aim and make his shots count. He glanced back at that towel flapping in the rain, thinking it ought to be one damn clean piece of cloth by the time this storm is done.

Lightning flashed as he turned back to the boat, revealing a design on the fabric that caught the corner of his eye. Something familiar about that pattern of lines and dots…

Whatever it was caused a ripple of nausea, and a chill, as if something has crawled under his hood and whispered across his neck on spider legs.

Jack fixed his gaze on the cloth, waiting for the next flash, and when it came he saw the pattern again and knew where he’d seen it before.

On Anya’s back.

With his blood sludging in his veins, Jack rose and stepped over to the cloth, ignoring the lead whistling around him, because it had to be a cloth, a cloth someone had drawn on, copying the pattern they’d seen cut and burnt and punctured into Anya’s back. He reached out and touched it, and when his fingers flashed the message that this was too thick and entirely the wrong texture for cloth, he slumped to his knees in the mud. Somehow he managed to hold on to the Ruger.