A Trip to Normal

by Ray Wench

  “We have to hurry and join the others,” she said to the man at the helm. He nodded and pushed it to full throttle. A streak from the freighter struck the stern and lifted them into the air. Lynn was catapulted from the vessel. The boat, or what was left of it, crashed upside down in the cold, rough waters of Lake Erie.

  Forty-Nine

  Mark felt bile rise in his constricted throat after seeing his daughter fly over the edge of the container. He managed to backpedal enough that falling and hanging were not a threat for the moment. Getting free of his predicament was another matter, though.

  He looked around for a solution, eyes stopping on one of the bodies where a long knife was strapped to a leg. Did he have enough slack in the rope to reach it? And if he did, how was he going to get it into his hands in a position to free him? Only one way to find out.

  Mark walked toward the body near the edge of the bin, testing the length of his lethal leash. The rope tightened with him still six feet from the body. It became difficult to breathe at four feet and gasping at three. He backed up enough to allow air to flow and tried to rethink his actions. He was at a loss, resigned to the chance of hanging himself to gain his freedom, when the thumping first reached his ears above the clamor of the battle below. He turned his head to catch the direction of the familiar sound. He'd heard that thump-thump before, someplace far away and a long time ago.

  It came back to him in a rush. A helicopter was in the sky somewhere to the east of the boat. He gazed into the rising sun, blinded. Narrowing his eyes against the glare, he searched for the approaching bird. Was it friend or foe? How could it be friend? They had no helicopter. The sounds of the gun battle receded to a degree as others heard the approach.

  A small black dot came out of the center of the sun. Seconds later, the chatter of a large caliber machine gun caught everyone's attention. Sparks and pieces of metal licked into the air, followed a second later, by blood and bone. Screams filled the deck and the defending force broke and ran for cover.

  Mark savored the feeling of relief and the smile that crept across his face. Tears welled as he thought about rescue. His soaring heart fell as the vision of his daughter plummeting over the edge, arms and legs flailing, replayed.

  He was in the middle of a prayer when something changed.

  He looked around searching for the cause as the noose slowly tightened, but he stood alone on the container. He turned his gaze upward and noticed the crane that held the rope was moving. As his feet lifted from the surface, newfound panic rose in Mark and he realized rescue would not come in time for him.

  “Oh shit! Look!” Mel pointed from the co-pilot seat. “It's Mark. They're hanging him.”

  “Aw, hell no.” Tara swung the copter toward the crane. Mark dangled from the end of a rope, his feet kicking in protest told them he was still alive, at least for the moment. “Lieutenant, that man is one of ours. I need you to take out that crane.”

  “Aye-aye, Captain.”

  She angled the ’copter so his .50 cal gun had a line of sight. The gun rattled, a vibration ran through the deck of the bird. Bullets ripped through the machinery. The operator tried to escape but got caught and did a death dance before falling to the deck.

  Seeing Mark's kicks falter, Tara shouted, “We have to get someone on the container or he'll die.” Tara hovered and lowered as far as she could. They were taking fire, though nothing too severe for the moment.

  Corporal Levine moved to the edge of the open hatch on the opposite side of the machine gun. “Get me lower,” he shouted over the wash.

  Tara obliged but still couldn't get much lower than ten feet. Levine didn't hesitate. He jumped, landed on the container and rolled. He splayed his arms and legs wide to halt his progress, stopping just before his momentum would carry him over the side.

  Levine scrabbled to his feet and slid a knife free from a sheath on his harness. He ran to Mark stretched an arm out and snagged Mark's body as it swung toward him. His face had transitioned from fiery red to bulging purple by the time he cut Mark loose. Levine wrapped both arms around Mark's torso and fell backward to prevent the added weight from pulling him down to the deck. With no more pressure on his stretched and raw neck, Mark lay on his back, sucking in air.

  “Come on, sir,” Levine said, helping Mark to sit. “We have to get out of here.” He worked on freeing Mark's hands.

  Above them, while Stevens kept up a steady covering fire, Mel had tossed out a rope. “I'm going to tie you to the rope and they'll hoist you up.”

  Mark rubbed his neck and in a coarse voice, said, “No! I have to get my daughter.”

  His savior looked perplexed. Mark pointed. “She went over the side. I have to get to her.”

  Levine nodded. He helped Mark to his feet. After arming himself with a handgun and rifle, Mark crouched at the edge. Below, the inert body of his daughter lay on top of the man she’d attacked. His heart filled his throat and he fought back a sob. “I have to get down there.” He moved to the one ladder still standing, swung his legs over the side and descended while Levine covered him.

  No longer able to hover safely, the helicopter lifted higher and took up position over the water. Someone launched a missile at it, but the shooter missed by ten yards, the white plume it left playing across the Black Hawks windshield like a scar in the sky.

  “Lieutenant,” Tara shouted, “that missile launcher needs to disappear.”

  “Roger that.” Stevens directed his barrage toward the launcher.

  Mark reached the deck and ran to his daughter. He crouched over her and felt for a pulse. To his relief, he found one. He looked up to see the position of the copter. Above him, Levine looked down and raised a thumb. Mark understood it was a question and nodded. Levine motioned for the ’copter then climbed down.

  The rope still dangled as the helicopter returned. Quickly the two men tied the rope around Becca's legs and under her arms. As her body lifted, the freighter crew launched a more concerted counterattack at both the copter and them, forcing Tara to move to safety over the water. Mark watched helplessly as Becca's limp body ascended like a soul toward heaven. Someone attempted to haul her aboard, but the progress was slow.

  “They won’t be able to come back for us,” Levine said. “We're gonna have to find another way off this tub.”

  Mark nodded. The only other way was over the side. Boat or not, the safest place was in the water. “We're gonna have to jump. Can you swim?”

  “Like a fucking walleye.” Levine fired left and right to suppress return fire before he broke toward the rail. Mark followed suit. As Levine reached the rail and leaped up, two men stepped from a container and opened fire on him. He arched backward as the round struck home. Mark emptied his rifle into the two men, dropping both, tossed the gun away, placed one hand on the rail and swung his legs over the top. He fell for what felt like an hour, before plunging into the cold dark water.

  Immediately, he spread his hands and feet to stop his descent and propelled himself back to the surface. The shock revived him. As he cleared the depths, he scanned for his rescuer. On a wave forty feet away, the body of the man rose and fell like a surfer. He swam toward the body using the remaining strength he had. No other boats were near, as far as he could tell. Even if he reached the man in time, the chances of their surviving were slim. Still, whatever death awaited him, was better than hanging.

  He stroked onward, trying to keep track of the soldier’s body, thankful that at least Becca was safe.

  “Did you see that?” Doreen said.

  Shavonne had not seen whatever the woman was ranting about now. She had only just managed to cut through the mooring line and crawl back to the deck. “No.”

  “A helicopter lifted a woman off the boat, two men just jumped into the water.”

  Shavonne didn't care about anyone from the ship. She just wanted to get away from there and on dry land. A thought struck her. “A woman?” Could it be?

  “What?”

  Shavonne gav
e her a look of annoyance. “You said a woman was lifted off the ship. Did it come to attack the ship or do you think it belongs to them?”

  “I think it was rescuing them … whoever is in the helicopter was shooting at the people on the ship.”

  Shavonne rummaged through the small boat’s compartment until she found binoculars. She aimed them at the copter, and frustrated, adjusted the lens. The body of a woman was being hauled upward. It was difficult to see, but it could be the woman who had saved them from the cell. To her dismay, whoever it was did not move.

  She lowered the glasses and searched the water. On a falling wave she spied a body, face down. It took a while to find the other man. He was swimming toward the first man. She exhaled and glanced up at the ship. No one appeared to be looking down. She made her decision and stepped to the wheel. The engine turned over. She hesitated as she put the boat in gear, ready to change her mind. No, people had risked their lives to get her free. She would do the same for them.

  Shavonne throttled up and spun the wheel. Doreen cried out from behind her. “Wh-what are you doing? You're going the wrong way.”

  “We're going to rescue those men.”

  “Are you crazy? You'll get us killed.”

  Shavonne whirled on the woman. “Shut up, you ungrateful, bitch. Have you forgotten that others risked their lives for you? I'm not leaving them to die. If you don't like it, jump.”

  Doreen stepped back, stunned, as though she'd been slapped.

  Shavonne looked down at the weakened man lying on the deck. It had taken his last bit of energy to crawl off the bow. He'd be no help. As Shavonne maneuvered closer to the swimming man, she called to Doreen. “Grab that life saver I used for you and get ready to toss it to that man.” Shavonne glanced back once to make sure Doreen was doing that. Satisfied, she directed her attention to getting close to the swimmer without running him over.

  She idled back and said, “Now.”

  Doreen threw the ring, but her aim and arm strength left much to be desired. Shavonne stepped to the stern and hauled it back in. As she had done for Doreen, she flung it with all her might. The white ring landed three feet and one wave in front of the man. He stopped and looked around as if surprised this miracle had fallen from the sky. Seeing the boat, he motioned toward the second man. Shavonne nodded. She recognized him now. It was the man who saved Kendra, father of the woman who saved them.

  The wave brought the ring right to him. He latched on and Shavonne began drawing the rope in. The boat lurched forward and she stumbled, almost pitching over the side. Regaining her balance, she looked to see Doreen had taken the wheel. In a flash, Shavonne was at her side. She ripped the woman away from the wheel and delivered a bone-jarring punch to her face. Doreen's eyes rolled up and she fell to the deck.

  Shavonne stepped over the unconscious woman, took control of the boat and brought it back on course. To her surprise, the man still held onto the ring. The task of landing the man took time, but once he was on board, they quickly retrieved the second man. He was wounded and didn't look alive.

  Bullets whined past the boat. Someone had noticed them. The man said, “Get us out of here. I'll see to him.” Shavonne returned to the wheel as a bullet found its mark and bored into the deck. She turned the boat around but not before getting swamped by a large broadside wave. The boat recovered from its sluggish start and jumped across the next wave, riding it parallel to the ship.

  Clear of the freighter, Shavonne turned to take in the scene on the deck. To her surprise, the father sat, with his hands propped on the bench. He breathed hard and had his head back and eyes closed. The other man lay on his back, with no sign of life. Her gaze lifted and the father opened his eyes. They locked for a moment and he nodded his head, confirming what she already suspected.

  “Where should we go?”

  He pulled up high enough to see over the side. The battle was subsiding. The helicopter flashed over the raider's boats, ripping them apart with its machine gun. Most of them were fleeing. “Head for shore,” he said.

  Shavonne aimed the bow landward.

  Fifty

  Ward pulled Lynn from the water. He laid her on the deck where she coughed, gagged and spat up some of the water she'd swallowed. She tried to sit up, but a pain in her head forced her back down. “You've got a nasty cut on your head, Lynn. You may have a concussion. Stay put and try not to move around. It looks like they're running. We'll get you ashore soon.”

  She closed her eyes, flashed on the boat and her two companions. She sat up fast and groaned. “I told you to lie still.”

  She grabbed his arm. “What about Bobby and Eddie? They were with me. Did anyone pick them up?”

  “I don't know. We didn't, but other boats have been circling looking for survivors.”

  The implication of that word struck home. “Survivors? How many did we lose?”

  Ward shook his head. “Don't know for sure. Probably won't till we get ashore. I suspect we lost a few though.

  She lay back and closed her eyes, tears welling. What a price to pay … losing lives to save lives. Was it worth it? Was any of this worth it, anymore? She'd been lucky to survive, but what about Eddie and Bobby … and Becca … and who else? How many deaths were justified to save one person? Her thoughts turned to Mark. What would he say? She knew. He would've told them not to risk lives to save him. Yet, he would've been the first one to risk his life to save someone else.

  But what of her motivation – had her decisions been selfish, born from the love she felt for Mark? Did she have the right to lead others into battle to save the man she loved? It felt wrong. True they had all volunteered, and in so doing, accepted the risks. But the loss was too great and the gain too personal.

  It dawned on her that she had no idea if Mark was even alive. The picture of his body dangling at the end of the rope, swaying with the waves and lake breeze, taunted her. She tried to sit up. She had to look; to know for sure, but the effort and the pain prevented her. Or was it fear of what she might see?

  Lynn rolled on her side, ignoring the aches and pain, and wept.

  “I saw him go overboard,” Stevens said. “He took a running leap, but I lost him when he hit the water.”

  “We can't stay here,” Tara said. “We're taking fire. If one of the missiles locks on us, we're done.”

  Stevens made no response. He leaned out the hatch searching the water. He spied a boat.

  Two men and two women, and the man was pulling a body from the water. “I think I found him.” He pointed though no one could see.

  “Good. We have to cover the boats’ retreat. We're leaving, so get back on that gun.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Tara wasn't sure if his reply was sarcastic or not, but if he was ready to fight again, it didn't matter. She turned the bird and sent it into a dive. The machine gun strafed a row of boats taking the fight out of their crews. Four of them turned and fled back to the freighter. Two others were incapable of doing so.

  “Mel, how's our guest?”

  “Still out. I can't see any wounds, other than some scrapes and cuts, but her left arm might be broken. I'm guessing she has a head injury but can't be sure of whether she's just unconscious or if her brain's been scrambled. Hell, she might have a broken back for all I know.”

  “Shit!” Tara said.

  They stayed over the water watching their own fleets retreat to shore, before following and setting down on the open ground to the west of the docks. Stevens sat on the deck of the copter and hung his head, exhausted from the killing. Tara got out and leaned inside the cabin to look at Becca.

  “What should we do?” Mel asked.

  Tara frowned and shook her head. “Until we know for sure, we can't move her. We need to find a board to strap her on and something to prevent her head from moving.” She glanced around as if expecting one to appear. Mel's hand grabbed hers and gave a squeeze. Tara looked at her. “You all right?”

  “I guess. That was pretty hairy for a whi
le. Especially when that rocket blew past. I thought we were dead for sure.”

  Tara nodded but didn't speak. She found it too difficult at the moment. She had thought the same thing. Somehow her training had kicked in just in time, as she juked and the dodged the deadly blow.

  “I can see why you love it though,” said Mel. “The flying, not the shooting. The feeling of being up in the air is exhilarating. We'll have to try it again during more peaceful times.”

  Tara squeezed her hand back. “It's a date.” She released Mel's hand. “I need to go and check on things.”

  “Okay.”

  Tara trotted toward the docks where the boats were already disembarking. Elijah's group huddled in a circle, hands joined, offering up prayers for their losses. Tara stopped on a dock, put a shielding hand to her forehead against the rising sun and scanned the other boats searching for Lynn. She shifted her gaze to the boats still entering the marina. A knot formed in her stomach.

  Ward's boat came in and he jumped to the dock to tie off. He motioned Tara over. “Captain, Lynn's here. I think she's concussed.”

  Tara looked into the boat. Lynn lay curled in a loose fetal position. Tara thought the woman looked rather pathetic and the only thing missing from the picture was a thumb in her mouth. “What happened?”

  Ward said, “Her boat got blown up. It flipped and landed upside down, I think with her inside. I didn't see the other two after they hit the water, but Lynn came floating right to the surface, so we pulled her in and left.”

  “Has she spoken?”

  “Yeah, she asked about Bobby and Eddie, the other two on her boat.” Ward pointed to a dock two away from where they stood. “There's Bobby. He's walking without help, so that's a good sign. I don't see Eddie anywhere.”