A Trip to Normal

by Ray Wench

  She had no idea what, but from the reaction of the crew, something important had happened. Perhaps Lynn and Bobby had launched an attack. Everyone on board began moving faster and toward mid-ship. With their backs to her, she used the distraction to join the rear of the crowd.

  Christ! How many people lived on this ship?

  Becca moved with the group, acting as though she belonged. However, staying calm amidst the enemy was not easy. Furtive glances told her that as yet, no one had noticed she didn't belong. The crowd narrowed along the outer passageway as they passed the stairs leading to the bridge. She walked side-by-side with another woman. The short dark-haired woman looked at her for a long few seconds but gave no indication of sounding the alarm.

  Once around the forecastle, the crowd spread out again then abruptly stopped. Becca glanced around but failed to see a reason for it. She turned to look out over the water. Though the sky was clearing, it was still gray, but through the morning haze and the choppy water, Becca swore she could see dark spots riding the waves. Lynn!

  A cheer rose from the crowd, drawing her attention. Spying the source of their excitement, Becca cried out. Standing on top of a storage container, a noose around his head, was her father. Her knees buckled and she started to fall. Reaching out, she grabbed an arm and almost pulled the dark-haired woman down with her.

  “Hey!” she cried out. “Watch what the hell you're doing.” She pried Becca's fingers from her arm. Becca was just able to get her feet beneath her to keep from falling to the deck. Keeping her head down, she uttered, “Sorry,” and moved away from her.

  Becca took up another position where she could see her father better. The question was, how to reach him before that noose tightened? Even if she did make it in time to cut him free, they would be surrounded with no hope of escape. Still, it would be better to go down fighting, side-by-side with her father, rather than watch him die, swinging from a rope, with no hope at all.

  She looked for a path through the crowd. The audience stood about ten deep in a large circle. The position of the storage bin in the center blocked her view of how many others stood on the opposite side. She craned her neck to see how they got to the top of the container: two metal ladders leaned against the longer side. She had to get to that spot.

  She slipped through an opening in the outer row when an arm snagged hers and pulled her back. The short, dark-haired woman stood there. “You don't belong here. Who are you?”

  Panic accelerated through her system. Becca shot glances to both sides to see if anyone was watching the exchange, then, an overhead loudspeaker came to life, drowning out the crowd noise and gave her an idea. She mouthed something with no volume. “What?” the woman shouted and leaned closer. Becca spoke again, giving voice to every third word. Her inquisitor shook her. “Speak up, damn you.”

  Becca forced a frown to her face and motioned for the woman to follow her. Becca headed back toward the outer passageway with the woman trailing but still holding her arm. Once out of sight from the assembly, Becca looked down at the water and made her move. She stopped and faced her opponent. Leaning forward, as if to speak close to her ear, she slid the knife free and punched the blade deep into the soft flesh of her abdomen. The woman's eyes widened in horror. Becca slapped her left hand to the woman's mouth and lifted the blade until the rib cage prevented further progress.

  Looking over the other woman's shoulder to make sure they hadn't drawn attention. Becca bent, grabbed a leg and attempted to lift the heavy woman over the rail. Several moments and a lot of effort later, the body plummeted, crashing into the waves. She leaned over the rail and thought she would heave. The exertion had left her weak. She sucked in the sea air and scanned the water. Becca no longer had any doubt that the growing dark specks on the water were approaching boats. Spurred by the knowledge help was on the way, she fortified herself with one more deep breath and went to rejoin the audience preparing to watch the hanging of her father.

  Bobby lowered the rifle and turned to Lynn. The look on her face was both determined and frightened. “Becca's on board.” He had to shout to be heard. Lynn cocked her head in an inquisitive manner; her eyes lit with comprehension. She nodded, but although the knowledge might mean hope, the look of fear did not recede.

  Bobby turned and focused his scope on the spot where he had discovered his sister. A moment earlier, he’d witnessed the brief encounter with the other woman and the body falling into the water. Now, his sister was gone. Feeling a twinge of angst, he scanned right, then back left toward the crowd. He spied her sliding between two men at the back of the gathering and surmised her plan. She would work her way to the front in hopes of cutting their father free. But he knew how her mind worked. She would know there was no escape, so would stand and fight alongside Dad until they both fell. It would be an end they would both prefer, but one he had to try to prevent.

  Lowering the rifle, he tried to think of a way to make that happen. In this rough water, it was impossible to get off an accurate shot. All he could hope for was to aim into the crowd to disperse them, thus decreasing the combatants Becca and Dad faced. Of course, that was only if they fought hand-to-hand. If shooting broke out, they'd be gunned down in an instant. What other choice did he have? None was the only answer that surfaced.

  The hull of the freighter loomed ever larger until the order came to slow. All vessels along the line did the same. The plan called for a waiting game approach to lure the enemy boats in closer. However, that plan had not taken into consideration the execution of their father. It wasn't likely he had enough time for their plan to work.

  Knowing he could do nothing to affect the outcome of the hanging, he sent a mental message to his sister. It's all on you now, sis. I love you. Good luck.

  “Steady everyone,” Lynn warned into the radio. “Back row, go to idle.”

  All along the back line of boats, the power was cut but they kept advancing. Bobby watched as she spoke, her eyes never leaving the scene on the deck. As if aware of his gaze, Lynn faced him, her eyes an unasked question, his answer a shake of the head. Her eyes glazed and watered; she blinked them clear and went back to staring at the freighter.

  Bobby swung his attention in that direction too. There had to be something he could do, if only to delay the inevitable. Yes, he could do something, but not from here. He turned his head. “You have to get me closer.” Lynn studied him for a moment and nodded. “Everyone hold your position and follow the plan. We're moving forward. I repeat, hold your positions and follow the plan.”

  She leaned forward, spoke to the pilot and the boat increased speed, advancing on the freighter and the line of defenders like a one-boat assault team. It was a suicide run to be sure, but living, knowing he hadn't done everything in his power to save his family, would be like death anyway. He sent a smile to Lynn, she nodded and returned it. She knew this was the end. He sighed and sighted through the scope, making some adjustments as the target grew bigger.

  Shavonne walked across the bow, using the rope to lead Doreen as if she was landing a sailfish. She brought her around to the stern, opened the gate to the platform and flipped the ladder into the water. Bending, she snared one of Doreen's hands and pulled it toward the ladder until she could grasp a rung. Doreen transferred her other hand and both feet then clung tight.

  She scanned the horizon where the armada of boats had taken up a defensive position around the home ship. “Doreen, we don't have much time. You have to get yourself on board while I go help that man.” She glanced up and spotted him two-thirds of the way down the chain. “Hurry! We have to get out of here while we still can.”

  If the other woman offered a response, she didn't hear, nor did she wait around for one. Shavonne ran across the deck and climbed back onto the bow. Catching her balance as a wave struck, she rode it out as if on a surf board, then slid her feet toward the line. She gripped the wet rope and pulled, dragging the boat closer to the rope. She looked up. The man stopped to check the distance, then resume
d the descent.

  Shavonne held the rope to keep the boat near the chain. A quick glance showed Doreen lying on the swimming platform, her chest rising and falling in rapid heaves. With less than twenty feet to go, the man looked down, swung his legs off the chain and let go. He plummeted, landing just behind Shavonne. He fell, rolled and almost fell off the bow, but Shavonne released the rope and dove to keep him on board. He, too, sucked in air with audible draws.

  Sure he was no longer in danger of dropping into the lake, Shavonne went to the wheel, found the key and studied the dashboard. Certain she could operate the boat, she made the climb to the bow. She reached the cleat where the raiders had tied off the boat and worked at releasing the soaked and tightened knot. Every few seconds she swept a desperate glance along the water, praying they had yet to be discovered.

  “Come on,” she cried out.

  A scraping sound behind her made her gasp and turn. Doreen had taken a tentative step on the bow. Evidently, afraid of losing her balance, she squatted and scraped something on the deck to get Shavonne's attention. She looked and spied the source of the noise. Doreen had found a knife. Relief washed over her. She nodded and Doreen slid it along the surface. The knife slid sideways rocking with a wave. For a moment, Shavonne feared it would slide overboard. She dove for it, catching the blade in her hand.

  She sucked on her wounded finger while she applied the blade on the rope. She had no doubt it would be a long process, so removed her finger from her mouth and went to work sawing the rope. She was right. The fibers parted with grudging progress.

  Forty-Eight

  Becca maneuvered to the front row while the assembled masses listened to the droning of some asshole on the PA. He spouted gibberish that Becca only paid partial attention to, most of it relating to the charges against her father, his attacking navy, and the sentence levied against him.

  With the ladders in sight, she considered her options. She thought about making a mad dash to scurry up the ladder, kick the other one over to buy her some time, but decided a slow and casual approach would give her the best chance of reaching the top before bullets chased her. People would see her and wonder what she was doing, but she hoped no one would challenge her until she reached the top. Five armed men stood surrounding her father. In her mind, she envisioned the scene and sequence of events. She'd shoot the executioners, pull her father down, out of sight from shooters below, and cut his hands free.

  She'd give him one of the dead men's rifles and she'd use the handgun and knife. They might not last long, but they'd certainly take a bunch with them before they went down. Rehearsing the move several times in her head, she steeled her resolve and stepped from the crowd. With a casual nonchalance she did not feel, she sauntered toward the ladders. No one stopped her, but a murmuring of voices followed her.

  Her hand shook as it clasped the ladder. She didn't lift her foot high enough to step on the first rung and kicked it. The second attempt was successful and she scaled the rungs waiting for the bullets to riddle her body. More than halfway up, an inquisitive face looked down over the side of the container. She hesitated, forced a smile and continued to climb.

  At the top, she paused to get her bearings. Five men stood atop the metal bin. Two held her father in place, one stood behind him and two stood to the sides holding rifles. One of the riflemen stepped closer to her and although he didn't point the barrel at her, he left no doubt in her mind it was ready to swing her way in a heartbeat.

  “What you doing here, girl?” the closest gunman said.

  The man standing behind her father, said, “Maybe she come to give him his final blow job.” The others thought that funny.

  Becca glanced at her father. He watched her. She averted her eyes to avoid displaying any connection to him. She placed a foot on the metal surface, but the gunman stepped forward and prodded with the barrel. “No need for you to be up here. Best you take your skinny butt back down the way you came.”

  Becca searched for something to say ... some reason for her to be there, but all that came out was, “I, uh, I, umm ...”

  That's when the first gunshot rang out. Everyone ducked, including her, but she used the distraction to roll onto the container. There, she scurried behind the gunman as if afraid to get shot and used him as a shield.

  From all over the boat, return fire was directed toward one of the boats on the lake. It sat proud of the others, a solo target for the assembled shooters. A second shot came from the boat and one of the men on deck fell back. That caused a new flurry of motion as everyone ran for cover. From somewhere to her right a fiery streak flashed toward the lead boat. Becca swallowed hard, fearing the occupants were about to be incinerated, but the rocket missed, flying across the bow like a warning shot, and exploded in the water, ten yards away.

  Becca swept her gaze across the deck, trying to locate the source, but, whoever had fired the explosive was hidden from view. The man in front of her squatted and loosed a short burst at the small craft. The second rifleman moved to the edge of the bin to her left and fired single shots. Becca was ready to take both men out when the voice on the loudspeaker said, “Push him off. Hang that bastard.”

  Fear-laced adrenaline coursed through her veins, her heart rate spiked and her breaths short, choked gasps. She turned to see the two men beside her father, forcing him toward the edge. Her father bent his legs and dug in his heels. They grunted and swore at him, one man punched him on the side of the head. The third man rushed forward and slammed a shoulder into his back and her father was no longer able to delay the inevitable.

  Taking a quick assessment of the five men, Becca pulled her knife and handgun. The three men wrestling her father to his death had their hands full and held no weapons. That gave her seconds to eliminate the main threats before her father went airborne.

  She plunged the knife into the back of the shooter in front of her. As she pulled it free, she placed her foot on his butt and pushed. Screaming, he fell off the container. As soon as he was over the edge, Becca turned and fired at the second rifleman. She pulled the trigger until he fell then spun on the other three.

  The two men on the sides, fumbled for weapons at their belts. The third man, perhaps unaware of what was happening, continued to push like a defensive lineman working on a blocking sled. The man to the right freed his weapon first, so Becca aimed at him and fired point blank into his chest. Her father kicked a leg out sideways, knocking the second man’s gun up and off target. But that altered his balance and left him with little resistance against the man still pushing.

  Becca shot the second man as her father reached the edge of the bin. Becca jumped behind the man, pressed the gun to his head and pulled the trigger. However, nothing happened … the gun was empty. Aware of his situation now, he stopped pushing and turned to face the threat. Becca ran at him her hand punching short jabs with the knife like a piston. Her opponent blocked most of the thrusts, but Becca increased her attack. She saw her father pirouette and balance precariously. His body wobbled: at any second he could go over. The noose had already tightened to a point his face was turning red.

  Distracted by her father's perilous plight, she missed the counter attack and took a shot to the face that sent her sprawling. She rolled and came to her knees in time to see the man, clutching his bloody abdomen, walk toward her father. He would reach her father before she could get to him. Panic fuelled her thoughts and Becca pushed off like a sprinter, giving it every ounce of strength and effort she possessed.

  She slammed into the man just as he lifted her father off his feet. The impact sent him over the edge with her right behind him. As the deck rushed to meet her, she had no idea of her father’s fate.

  As soon as Bobby fired the first shot, Lynn lifted the radio to her mouth and shouted, “Now! Go! Go!”

  All hell broke loose. Like mayflies, a swarm of bullets whizzed through the air, past their heads and cracked into the hull. Lynn ducked. Bobby shot again. Lynn couldn’t tell if he’d hit anyone,
her eyes focused on the top of a metal container where Mark's life was moments from ending.

  She didn't bother looking behind to see if the plan was being carried out. There was nothing she could do about it now anyway. A streak of fire flew past the boat forcing her to duck. The explosion threw water up in a geyser.

  “Lynn,” the pilot said. “We have to get out of here. We're too close. It's just a matter of time before they find the range on one of those rockets.”

  Lynn forced her eyes away from Mark and the fight taking place on the container. Be strong, Becca, she willed. As much as she wanted to watch to make sure Mark was safe, risking their lives to do so made no sense. “Let's get out of here.”

  The pilot needed no encouragement. He swung the wheel so hard and fast Lynn had a sudden fear they would flip. As they righted, she was surprised to see the extent of the naval battle before her. Boats sped in wild, zig-zagging patterns, dodging bullets and each other. A cacophony met her ears from all directions. Someone hurled one of the sticks of dynamite and an enemy boat erupted, showering the water with splintered and fiery debris.

  She scanned the watery battlefield. As planned, at the signal, the rear line spun a hundred and eighty degrees and charged the row of boats that had circled behind them. At the same time, six boats manned by Elijah's people left the dock and swept in from astern on the unsuspecting enemy line, catching them in the crossfire.

  The plan called for the combined forces to make quick work of the rear line, then join the fight. The remaining force would be outnumbered for a time until that happened. If for some reason the maneuver didn’t work, the main force would be hard pressed to survive, let alone do much damage.

  As she watched, she noted Elijah's boats joining the battle. The plan seemed to be working, having taken the enemy boats by surprise. But her elation subsided when she scanned the main force and realized it was much smaller than when it started. One of their boats listed and began to sink. Another stick of dynamite arched into the air but missed its mark. Water shot up in the air showering the intended target but otherwise leaving it unharmed.