Strikers (39 page)

The latest transmission said that Mario was at the final port before they entered the Gulf and that he was refueling. He’s not in danger, which is good, and his passenger is behaving, but seems determined. Creedy’s also got a serious grudge going against us and isn’t shy about sharing it. In a way, this is good news, too. It means that we have no cause to second guess what we’re doing.

In a way, I wish Creedy would make a move so that Mario would have to take care of the problem, but that’s a cowardly thought and I know it. On the river, there are too many people and sound carries from bank to bank. And Mario shouldn’t have to deal with the problem and carry the guilt. Still, if Creedy would just be more himself and do something aggressive, all our problems could be readily solved with no lingering doubts.

Marcus and Jovan get us underway, the sails full and tight in the wind. The strange little turbines on his mast and at the bow whir so quickly they whine even over the sound of the water on the hull. The batteries will charge quickly with that much wind and I’m glad for it. I want every tool we have at our disposal ready when we need it.

With nothing left to do but wait and watch, I decide we might as well eat. I’ve also decided that I love the idea of refrigerators and already, I miss the delight of cold water and tea straight from inside one. We don’t have that aboard the boat, but there is a large ice box, much like a smaller version of the hold where they put their catches, and it’s lined in metal and blocks of ice. Marcus says it will last for over a week but even now, there’s a small pool of water under the grate near the bottom.

From its depths, I gather all that we’ll need for a meal big enough to keep us, but not so much that it will slow us down or make us need naps. There’s no fish, which seemed odd until Marcus explained that once they start netting their catches, they eat fish for every meal. His mother likes to start them off with something other than that to keep them happy. It also serves to keep them eager for home when it runs out. That information just makes me like the Flints more.

Jovan helps me, turning the food with quick, meticulous flips of his knife. We’re enjoying the meal until the crackle of the radio brings Marcus to his feet, his plate forgotten. There are no words, only pops and squeals, but Marcus takes notes on a slate tied to the console. When it’s done, he presses a button in a quick sequence on the radio and then turns back to us with a grim smile.

“They’re in the Gulf, past the gate. We’ve got to slow down and circle back a little or they won’t catch us. The waves are a little much out here for Mario to take a long swim,” he says and dips the last bits of food from his plate without sitting back down.

We travel back toward land, which is nothing more than a smear of green on the horizon, for about an hour then strike the big sails, leaving only the smaller ones up to keep us steady. The small boat that Mario is in starts as just the smallest dot of white, the blue hull lost against the water. It’s easily mistaken for a wave top for a long while, but the steady approach makes it grow until there’s no mistaking it for a random wave.

I’m pretty sure it takes a million years for the boat to go from a smear of white to a recognizable boat, but when it does, I want it to go away again. Cassi crouches in front of the wheel, the platform hiding her from view. Marcus steers but keeps looking behind us, gauging the distances and adjusting our course in ways and for reasons I don’t fully understand. He looks confident enough, so I ignore that and focus on Jovan.

He’s got the detonator clutched tightly in his hand but the safety cap is firmly in place. It’s a rather large thing, with a big red case and a handle molded to the shape of gripping fingers. The cap is bright yellow and is perfectly placed so that a thumb can flick it upward to press the button inside. It doesn’t need wires, but it has to be close enough that the signal will travel through the air—yet another strange mysterious object from the East.

The roar of Mario’s engine changes pitch and the boat lowers in the water as it slows, still a couple of hundred yards from our boat. He turns it sideways to us and I see a figure lurch to the side with the sudden motion. Though he’s just a tiny thing from this distance, I can tell it’s Creedy when he rights himself. There’s an almost tangible chill coming off the water from his direction.

“Are you ready?” I ask Jovan, keeping my eyes on the boat.

He doesn’t answer for a moment, just flexes his fingers on the detonator a few times like he can somehow make it more comfortable to hold. “Ready as I’ll ever be,” he says.

The boat is creeping closer, but slowly. Creedy gesticulates for Mario to hurry, but the boat doesn’t speed up at all, which is good. I judge the boat to be about a hundred yards away, perhaps less, when Mario executes a neat dive over the side and into the water. He doesn’t delay, and I can see the regular strokes of his arms as he swims away from the boat.

Creedy seems at a loss for a moment, shifting from one side of the boat to the other. He grabs at the wheel and the boat jerks as he clumsily steers. Then he points toward the water where Mario swims away and the report of a gun sounds out. I can hardly believe my ears. He’s actually shooting at Mario. I don’t think about my actions—or how inexpert I am with a gun—when I reach down and grab the gun from Jovan’s belt.

Even if I had actually ever practiced and done more than dry fire a gun, there’s no way I would have been able to hit anything at this distance. Even Jovan told me that these types of guns are only good for shooting at a few dozen paces, so they certainly aren’t for a target at seventy-five yards and closing. But before all this can do more than flash through my mind, I raise the gun, click off the safety and fire.

The reaction from the other boat is immediate. Creedy ducks down and I see him peek over the console. I have no hope that it hit him and the fact that he doesn’t fire back tells me that he knows accuracy at this distance isn’t possible and he’d just be wasting ammunition. But that doesn’t matter, because he stops firing into the water at Mario and that’s all I wanted.

Jovan’s looking at me like I just grew another head, but I ignore it and pull him down to make him less of a target. For all I know, Creedy has a better gun than we do and I certainly don’t underestimate his ability with a firearm.

“Sorry. But he was shooting at Mario,” I say while peeking over the back of the boat. The boat is aimed toward us again and moving slowly our way. He seems to have figured out steering but not speed, because it’s still a slow approach only a little faster than ours. The little green light we should see on the top of the detonator is still stubbornly unlit, so we can’t just push the button and get it over with. It has to be in range and the detonator’s parts must be communicating with each other for it to work.

His eyes keep flicking back from Creedy to the detonator and his jaw is so tight I think he might shatter his teeth. When I peek back up, the boat is closer. It’s close enough for me to see the details of the boat and the gray in his hair. A short gasp behind me makes me turn, only to see a slowly blinking light on the detonator. That green flash means it is trying to connect with its twin on the other boat. Jovan looks frozen, his knuckles white around the handle and the cords in his arms standing out like he’s carrying an unbearable weight.

I don’t need to ask him if he’s okay to do this thing. I can see that he’s not. He delayed not a second when it came to a stranger in that old building where I lost my father, but this is different and far more personal. I stand so that I’m in full view of Creedy. He’s within fifty yards of us now and we can see each other plainly. I hear a shout from his boat and then his hand comes up. It takes all my will not to flatten myself on the ground, but I’m counting on his anger, the motion of two boats and the distance to keep me safe. It’s a foolish thing to do but I can’t just take the detonator with it gripped so tightly in Jovan’s fist and his thumb clamped over the cap. “Down,” I say behind me.

Just as I knew it would, a shot rings out and it’s close enough to make me cringe, but a quick inventory tells me I’m not hit and the shot went wide. Jovan’s free hand tugs at my arm, but I pull right back and say, “Give it to me, Jovan. I’m not going to spend the rest of my life running from him or others like him.”

It seems like a short eternity that we stare at each other and when a second shot rings out, I flinch and hear the round thunk into the water ladder, now lifted up and no more than two feet from my legs. Jovan flinches too but stands.

Creedy is perhaps thirty yards from us and the steady green light on the detonator signals its readiness. And now, I think Jovan is ready as well. For a long moment, they look at each other and I see from the corner of my eye as Creedy lowers the gun. Then Jovan flicks the cap and presses the trigger.

I’m just another girl enjoying the sunshine with pixie short hair and tan lines on my feet. I couldn’t be happier about it. Everything else aside, there is something wonderfully liberating about being on the water with no land anywhere in sight. Also a little scary, but I think that’s part of the fun of it, too.

Cassi’s bright red-gold hair is no more and the dull shade of brown that covers her unique shade somehow makes her look more grown-up. The curls are still there, now hidden by the two tight braids that rest on her shoulders and swing like fat tails when she moves. She’s coiling ropes on the deck, excited about the day to come, while I’m doing little to help and just enjoying the way the early sun feels on my skin. It’s nice and with the salty breeze, it’s like I’ve grown more nerve endings with which to feel it.

It was hard to cut my hair off, to see it flutter away in the wind and fall into the sea, but I have to admit that I like it now. I don’t even need to comb it with anything other than my fingers and the knots that plagued my daily life are a thing of the past. Jovan and Marcus still start now and again when they see me, even though it’s been two weeks since I cut it.

Two weeks since the day after our final confrontation with Creedy. By now, the news that Creedy and his boat-load of prisoners were lost at sea has traveled up the river. Given that we radioed that Mario was the only survivor and the family is well known, I’m pretty sure it will be believed by those who need to believe it. I feel bad for our families, but I’m confident our choice was the right one.

Only Mario and Cassi seem to really like my new look and Mario’s taste simply can’t be trusted. He’s long married and has four little girls, so he says everything is pretty as a self-preservation instinct.

Today is our first trade, the first we’ll need to make in order to pay back the rather nebulous cost of the boat and engine. I really don’t think they actually care much about it and I could probably pay it many times over with what’s on my pendant, but it’s an excuse for us all to stay together for a while. It gives me the time—and Cassi the time—to decide on the future. I have a feeling that when we move on, Cassi will be staying behind. That’s a hard thought and I’m more than willing to put it off.

When we pulled into a huge port called Pensacola, supposedly once a part of Florida but now belonging to the Gulf Cooperative, a quick visit to the wall confirmed my message had reached my father’s wife and a return message awaited me. And my approval as a citizen awaited me as well.

My first experience with a computer followed and I was amazed at it. Afraid to touch it, the gate-keeper had operated it for me and I read the glowing letters with trepidation, fearing the words would be accusatory and angry. They weren’t though. Instead, the message was simple and direct and very understanding. So much so that I found tears stinging my eyes. She ended by telling me to come when I could, that I was and always would be welcome.

Her words freed me in so many ways. I’m not ready to face them yet. I’m not ready to start a life that I’ll continue forever. Right now, I’m just happy to wallow in the pause between lives, relishing the moment.

Not wanting her to think me dead if the news ever made it that far, I wrote back to let her know I was traveling for a while but would see her when I was done. I hope she understands. I hope Quinton, my as yet un-met brother, understands.

On the upside, we were able to get a message to Maddix and Connor. These computers are amazing. All I had to do was give their name and a border worker looked him right up for me. They are fine, though missing us, and making their way to Pensacola to meet up with us. I’ll be so happy to see them again, whenever that may be.

Today, we’re about twenty miles off the coast of Florida. I can’t see it with my eyes, but it’s on the chart kept flat and weighed down by old stones. Our trading mission isn’t exactly legal or illegal, but lies in the vast gray space between.

Florida doesn’t get along with the East or Northeast, but has a relatively benign relationship with the Southeast and the Gulf Cooperative. Yet theirs is the land of the best technology, highly sought after yet traded only under the most stringent circumstances. Hence our little trading deal. Off the books and no one the wiser is how these things are done.

“There they are,” Marcus says from the bow, pointing to a spot in the water.

I look out but see nothing for a moment. There’s something, a small white spot, far too small to be a boat. After I’ve got that one resolved, I realize there are two and they are speeding toward us. The ball Marcus dropped over the side on a line will tell their trading partners where we are. I didn’t believe it then, but there’s no denying the two small white objects coming toward us at a decent clip.

“Okay,” Marcus hollers back at Mario, who is tending the wheel. He includes us by saying, “Let’s lower the sails and get ready. You three are okay with doing the trade? You’re sure?”

I know I am, and the way Cassi is bouncing on her toes says she is as well. Jovan already has the big orange floating buoy and the line attaching it to the boat in hand, ready to toss it over the side at Marcus’s sign. I’m guessing that means he’s ready to.