She had to be disarmed.
Bet she can’t swim with them, I thought.
The lagoon crossed my mind, but I rejected it. For one thing, how do you get there from here? For another, the ocean was dead ahead.
Swim out to the boat, I thought.
I remembered the two dinghies tied at the dock.
Can’t leave either of them behind.
Dealing with them would take a while.
Suddenly, I wished I hadn’t slowed down. I poured it on and sprinted at top speed for the shore.
How the Chase Ends
If I’d had another ten seconds, maybe I would’ve had time to slice through the mooring line of the second dinghy. As it was, I only cut through one.
My plan, formed as I dashed for the cove, had been to cut both the dinghies loose, hop into one, and tow the second away from the dock. Which would force Thelma to swim after me, leaving her machetes behind.
Probably not such a terrific plan, anyway.
But I didn’t get a chance to find out, because Thelma came pounding onto the dock before I even had a chance to start cutting the second rope.
I dropped the line of the first dinghy, sprang up and ran like hell for the end of the dock.
My sneakers clumped on the planks. Thelma, barefoot, slapped and thudded after me, wheezing for breath.
Again, she didn’t stand a chance of catching up.
On my way to the end of the dock, I flipped the razor shut and dropped it into my pocket.
I raced to the very edge, then dived.
My dive carried me way out over the water. I hit the surface flat out with a whop that hurt. Then the water shut down on top of me. I stayed under and kicked hard, trying to pick up speed.
No big splashing sound came from behind me. I kept waiting for it. My headstart hadn’t been much; Thelma should’ve already reached the end of the dock.
Obviously, she’d decided not to jump in.
Needing air anyway, I kicked to the surface. As I filled my lungs, I looked back.
I was closer to the dock than I’d expected or hoped. The shoes had probably slowed me down—as had my big, baggy shorts. Even though I wanted more distance between myself and Thelma, I began treading water.
The shoes made it tough, but I wasn’t about to kick them off and lose them. Pumping my feet as if I were racing a bicycle, I managed to keep my head above the surface.
Thelma, pale in the moonlight, was stepping down into the first dinghy. She held her arms out for balance. Beyond her hands, the blades of her machetes gleamed like silver.
She set the weapons down inside the boat. Then she bent over the outboard motor.
For a few seconds, I could only see her rump and the backs of her thighs. Then the drifting dinghy gave me a side view. Thelma had already planted one hand against the motor’s cowl. With the other, she jerked its starter cord. Her breasts swung like crazy. The motor coughed but didn’t start. She gave the cord another pull. The motor sputtered and caught.
Next thing I knew, she was sitting down and steering the boat in my direction.
I started swimming like mad for the cabin cruiser.
In this race, Thelma had the advantage. The dinghy was no speed-demon, but it moved faster than I could swim.
I had a fair headstart.
Not good enough, though. At the rate Thelma was coming, she’d overtake me long before I’d reach the cruiser.
I swam as fast as I could, and didn’t look back. The growing noise of the motor told me all I needed to know.
From the sound of things, Thelma was straight behind me, coming on, probably planning to run me over and chop me with her propeller blades.
I caught a deep breath and plunged for the bottom.
The motor sounded like a tinny, grumbling buzz as the dinghy passed over me. Abruptly, the pitch lowered. My guess, Thelma’d throttled down.
The noise faded, then swelled.
Thelma had turned around.
She’s going to stay up there, I realized. Circle and wait me out. Knows I can’t stay down forever. When I come up for air, she’ll try to nail me.
Rolling onto my back, I looked up and saw the moonlight shining on the water. I also saw the dark underbelly of the dinghy. It glided over the surface like a shadow.
I had a shark's-eye view of the dinghy.
Inside my head, I started hearing the theme music from Jaws.
If I were a Great White, I could shoot straight up and ram the dinghy hard enough to capsize it. In the water, Thelma’d be at my mercy.
Ramming the dinghy wasn’t likely to work, though, me being a little guy and having nothing to push off against. If I shot up like that, playing shark, I might rock the dinghy a little bit. Mostly, though, I’d simply end up shoving myself downward off its hull.
While I considered these things, the boat slowly circled above me. And my lungs began to burn from holding air too long.
Getting some fresh air shouldn’t be terribly difficult. I could probably surface a safe distance from the dinghy, grab a breath, and have enough time to submerge before Thelma could reach me. Just a matter of picking the right moment to pop up. And being quick about it.
A fresh breath would give me extra time, but it wouldn’t solve my main problem.
If I could keep going up and snatching breaths…
Doing that, I might swim all the way to the cruiser. Or back to the dock.
What would that accomplish? She’d be right there, ready to chop me.
Sooner or later, she’ll run out of gas.
At first, the idea thrilled me.
No gas, no motor. The dinghy would be useless to her. She’d end up drifting around aimlessly. She’d either have to sit there and hope for the best, or start swimming.
Perfect!
But I had no idea how empty her tank might be. For all I knew, the gas might last for an hour.
An hour of me bursting to the surface, every minute or two? No way. I might be able to pull off a stunt like that three or four times, but then she’d catch on. I wouldn’t last ten minutes.
Unless the dinghy was already running on fumes…
Not much chance of that.
But maybe I could think of a way to kill her motor. Something that didn’t involve an endless wait.
By the time I’d gotten that far with my thoughts, my lungs ached so much that I could no longer think straight. I looked for the dinghy.
Damn!
It had just reached the far curve of its circle—as far away as it was likely to get. With each passing moment, now, it would be moving closer to me.
I rushed for the surface, jabbing my arms up, kicking hard. I went up so fast that I almost lost my shorts. I felt them slipping, but didn’t dare make a grab for them.
When they were down around my thighs, I remembered the razor in my pocket.
