She could see the killer running along the shore, keeping as close to them as he could. He took up a prone position on the rocks opposite the anchored boat, resting his gun barrel in front of him. He seemed to have recovered from the blows to his head. Abbey came up alongside the starboard side of
'He's shooting at the boat!' Jackie screamed, falling back into the dinghy. Abbey grabbed her collar and dragged her up and over the gunwale. Another window blew out, scattering chips of glass over the deck.
'Stay down!' Abbey crawled along the cockpit and into the pilothouse, Jackie following. Grabbing a knife from the toolbox, she shoved it in Jackie's hands. 'Be ready to run forward and cut the anchor rope--not now, but when I give the word.'
Abbey switched on the battery power, and, staying low, reached up and turned the key on the engine panel. It roared to life.
She gunned the engine, the boat straining forward against the anchor rode. For a moment Abbey thought it wasn't going to work, but she goosed the throttle and felt the anchor pull free. The boat surged forward, dragging the anchor along the bottom. If only she could get away, into deep water, they could deal with the anchor later.
But the boat only managed to go another hundred feet before the anchor fetched up hard on a rock and the boat swung around by the bow, the engine straining. They were still in range.
'Now! Cut the anchor!'
Jackie sprinted forward and, keeping low, using the pilothouse as cover, crawled up to the bow and sawed through the rope. The boat lurched forward and Abbey slammed the throttle to the console, eyes glued to the chartplotter, trying to keep the boat within the narrow channels among the islands. In a moment they were out of range and a few minutes later they passed the end of Little Green, swung around it, and headed down the winding channels for the open ocean.
Abbey throttled down and sagged against the wheel, suddenly feeling dizzy.
'Oh my God,' said Jackie, holding her head. 'Oh my God.' Her face was bleeding from flying glass.
'Come here.' Abbey wiped the blood off her face with a paper towel. 'Hold still. You're hyperventilating.'
Jackie made a visible effort to get her heart and breathing under control.
'Man, Jackie, that was some scream you let loose back there. I'll never call you a wimp again.'
Jackie's shaking began to subside. 'I was mad,' she said.
'You're not kidding.' Abbey wiped the blood off her own face and steadied herself, her hands firmly on the wheel. She shifted her attention to the chartplotter, thinking of the best way to get into port. 'Let's go straight to Owls Head,' Abbey said. 'Get the hell out of here and call the cops.'
'You can call the cops right now,' Jackie said, turning on the VHF. They waited for it to warm up. The boat swung north in the channel and, coming around a protected island, entered open water at the southern end of Penobscot Bay. A powerful swell shuddered the boat and Abbey was surprised to see the very heavy seas running out of the east, the kind of deep rolling swell that preceded a major storm. It was dark; she glanced up and realized the Moon had been obscured for some time. The wind was rising steadily and lightning flickered along the sea horizon.
She raised the mike, turned the VHF to channel 16, pressed the transmit button, and made an emergency broadcast to the Coast Guard.
75
From his shooting perch behind a boulder, Harry Burr watched the boat disappear among the islands. He shoved the gun into his belt and leaned on the rock, his head pounding. He could feel the blood still trickling down from his ear and scalp. Feeling the growing lump on the side of his head, an ungovernable rage took hold, so powerful it caused stars to pop up in his field of vision. Two bitches had fucked up everything, smacked him on the head, taken his dinghy. They saw him and they could identify him. The stars swarmed about and he felt the almost physical pressure of anger behind his forehead, a humming sound, like a cloud of bees trying to escape.
It was him or them. If he didn't catch up to them and kill them, he would go down. It was as simple as that. If they got to shore, he'd be finished.
He ejected the empty magazine from his piece and reloaded it with loose rounds he carried in his pocket, smacking it back into place. He had very little time. But all was not lost. He still had the other dinghy and a more seaworthy boat--along with an ace in the hole: the father.
Ignoring the pounding in his head, Burr jogged down the strand and into the woods. He pulled the dinghy out of the bushes, retrieved the hidden oars, tossed them in, and dragged the skiff down the beach. Shoving off, he rowed toward where he'd anchored the
He pulled with the current, and as he did so, he noticed how dark it had become and how much the wind had risen. Even in the protected waters of the islands, whitecaps were forming, the sound of the wind moaning in the spruce trees. He could hear the distant thunder of surf on the windward islands, a mile off.
He crossed the channel and came around the edge of the adjacent island, the
He bumped up against the gunwale and climbed aboard, cleating off the dinghy. 'Look sharp, Straw, we got business to take care of.'
'You touch my daughter and I'll kill you,' he said in a low voice. 'I'll search you out--'
'Yeah, yeah.' He went straight to the VHF radio, turned it on to channel 16. If there was one thing he had to do, it was stop the girl from calling the Coast Guard.
76
When Abbey finished making the identification call and released the transmit button, instantly a hoarse voice came on. 'Abbey? There you are!'
It was the killer's voice. He must have gotten back to his boat and had been monitoring the emergency channel.
'You bastard, you're toast,' she began.
'Ah, ah! Don't use bad language on an official government frequency, where your father can hear it.'
'My--what?'
'Your father. He's here on the boat and we're having such a good time together.'
