Skull Wave (A Troy Bodean Tropical Thriller Book 5)

by David F. Berens

  “Brother,” Mel slapped him on the shoulder as he relinquished the wheel. “This here’s a fine young woman. Maybe you’ll finally do what’s right and settle down with this one.”

  Troy cleared his throat as Meira arched an eyebrow and grinned.

  “This one, eh?” she jibed. “Mel, just how many others have there been?”

  “Oh, geez, I dunno, ten maybe…er…fifteen…Troy what do you figure is the count up to by—.”

  Troy interrupted him with an elbow to his ribs.

  “Hey! Whatch where yer stickin’ that thing,” Mel complained.

  But Troy wasn’t listening anymore.

  “Uh oh,” he muttered and checked his speed.

  He inched the throttle up, careful not to spill the passengers in the raft behind them. He looked over his shoulder and mumbled something about them being safe or not.

  “What is it, Troy?” Meira asked.

  He pointed south of the boat. She and Mel turned to look. A menacing looking cloud was dancing on the horizon. Streaks of lightning blasted the water, and the clouds rumbled toward them.

  “It’s moving fast,” Troy said. “I’m not sure we’ll make it back before it gets us with those kids in tow.”

  “Can we bring ‘em in?” Mel asked as he scratched his chin.

  “We probably should.” Troy inhaled slowly.

  And that was when the rogue wave decided to slam into the side of his boat.

  It wasn’t the kind of giant wave pictured in disaster movies that wiped out Florida or California. And it wasn’t big enough to hurt his boat. Mostly it just tossed the passengers from one side to the other and knocked every dish Troy owned off the shelves in his kitchen below deck. And unfortunately, it dumped everyone who had been in the raft into the water.

  “Dangit,” Troy barked as he picked himself up off the floor. “Mel, shut her down and hold her steady. Meira, come help me do a little fishin’.”

  “You got it.” She struggled to find her footing but was able to make her way toward the back of the boat moving slowly, hand over hand on seat backs and side rails.

  As they looked out behind the rolling boat, they could see the raft had torn away and was floating far behind. And along the way, dotting the ocean like lost beach balls bobbing up and down, were the four leaders of the protesters. Todd was splashing around flailing his arms and screeching at the top of his lungs. To her credit, Clarice was swimming calmly toward the boat. Along the way, she grabbed Todd by the dreads and dragged him along with her. The others were treading water and making their way toward the boat as well.

  By the time Troy had hauled them into the boat, it was beginning to rain. They had slowed down enough for the storm to catch them. He walked out onto the deck where the group of kids was huddling and addressed them with as much authority as he could in his voice.

  “S’gonna get a little rough when the squall hits us. Boat’ll be fine, but you all will have to ride it out up here. There ain’t enough room below for everyone and it’s unnecessary anyway.”

  “We’re all going to die out here, aren’t we?” groaned Todd.

  Clarice slapped him across the cheek, and Troy was glad to see that maybe the young woman was beginning to see the true nature of her boyfriend.

  “Nobody’s gonna die. Just hang on to the rails on the side and stay low. You’re gonna get wet, but in the state yer in, it’ll probably feel pretty good.”

  Troy plopped down in his captain’s chair and clicked on his radio. The coast guard was sending out a warning and advising that all craft make their way to shore. They would be sending rescue teams out only in life-threatening situations. Troy glanced at Mel and the old sailor nodded. They both knew that meant things were a little more serious than they had thought.

  “Straight line to shore,” Mel said. “Slow and steady will get her home.”

  “Meira,” Troy said quietly. “You should go down below. It’s gonna get rough up here.”

  “But I don’t want—.”

  Mel interrupted her. “Darlin’, this is one time you should probably listen to Troy. Let the salty dogs handle this one. You keep tucked in down below.”

  She nodded her head at the old sailor. She swallowed and kissed Troy on the lips, long and hard. With one last hug, she left his side and eased down the steps into the boat.

  The ocean was rough. So rough that Troy was reminded of the time he’d ridden out the storm in the Gulf of Mexico with his brother, R.B. Hell, that’d been a tropical storm and it didn’t seem this bad. The rain pelted them in hard, knifing sheets and the wind buffeted so hard he thought his sails might tear off and fly into the water. But the boat held strong and they sliced a path through the rumbling skies. Twice, lightning hit the water so close that Troy felt the hair on his arms stand up. He exchanged a look with Mel and for the first time, the old guy looked nervous.

  Troy thought about trying to walk up to the front and check on his naked, sunburnt, and now soaked passengers, but the boat rocked so violently, that he thought he might be thrown off. If they weren’t still on board, there would be nothing he could do for them anyway.

  His knuckles were white on the wheel as he finally caught site of the shore. He was mentally preparing to beach the boat if need be when the storm finally let up. The wind calmed as they found the shallows and the clouds roared northward in search of more beaches to drown. Troy handed off the wheel to Mel and threw out his secondary anchor. He walked toward the front of the boat and found the group of millennials huddled together looking much like elementary school kids, wet, shivering, tired, and scared. He scanned the waves and saw no sign of his rowboat. The storm must’ve carried it away. Nice, he thought. I was hopin’ for a swim today.

  “Everything’s gonna be fine,” Troy told them. “We’re safely in and we’ll get you all back to shore as soon as possible. I’ll have to go in to get a dingy to shuttle you in, so it’ll be a few minutes. Just relax and stay as warm as you can.”

  “How will you get there?” Clarice asked him.

  “I’ll be swimmin’ in, young lady.”

  “I’ll go with you,” she said as she stood up.

  Troy was impressed that the young woman could find such courage, being naked, sunburnt, and tired, to join him on a long swim into shore.

  “I’m thankful that you’d come,” Troy put a hand on her shoulder. “But I think some of your friends need you more than I do right now.”

  She glanced back at them. “I’m not really sure they’re my friends anymore.”

  “Don’t be so hard on them,” he said with a wink. “They ain’t as smart as you are. Hang back with them, I’ll be back in a jiffy.”

  “Hey, by the way,” she said. “Where’d you say that aloe was?”

  “I’m not sure it’s environmentally—.”

  She held up a hand interrupting him. “Don’t care. Just need to get something on this burn.”

  Troy couldn’t help but glance down at the girl’s bright red skin drawing out the shape of where a bikini should’ve been. She seemed to follow his eyes and covered herself with one hand.

  “Uh hem,” she cleared her throat playfully.

  “Oh uh, yeah. Um…see if Meira can find any for you,” he said. “She’ll be down below.

  “Keep her from driftin’ too much, Mel,” Troy told the crusty old man at the wheel. “I’ll bring back a ferry for the kids and Meira. Then we’ll work on that tug for your boat.”

  “If there’s anything left of her after that squall.” Mel looked out toward the open water.

  “I’m sure she’s fine,” Troy said, not really sure he believed it.

  He plopped his hat on top of Mel’s head and patted it down. The man’s wiry gray hair sprang out like a stainless steel Brillo pad on all sides.

  “This thing’s comfy,” he said with a randomly toothed smile. “I need to get me one of these.”

  “Uh uh. Don’t make any plans on keepin’ it. I’ll be back for it in a few.”

&
nbsp; With that, Troy dove into the water and began the long swim into shore. A distant memory flashed into his mind… something about the war. Something had triggered him last night, but he couldn’t remember what it was…

  He shook the thought away and concentrated on making it to the beach.

  17

  Tastes Like Chicken

  Troy and Meira watched as the naked protesters piled into a couple of rental vans the Nags Head PD had rented just for this pickup. They were all to be arrested for disturbing the peace, but rather than being upset, many were happy to be getting this badge of distinction. Now they weren’t just protestors; they were officially rebels. And it would have disturbed Troy except for the fact that they were all so sunburnt and storm-blown that sitting down was at the same time difficult and impossible to avoid. He shook his head as he watched Todd hop onto the van, stand in the doorway and raise a fist high in the air.

  “Power to the people!” he cried, but there was no one there to listen except Troy, Meira, and Mel.

  Clarice, entering the van behind him, shoved him harshly and slammed the door in his face before getting into the passenger’s seat. She rolled her window down.

  “Thanks, Troy.” She waved and smiled as she said it. “Maybe I’ll see you again sometime?”

  “We’ll see,” Troy said.

  She held up a cell phone—presumably the officer’s—and said, “I’ll transfer the money into Mel’s bank account. It should be there in a few minutes.”

  “Much obliged,” he said and tipped his hat as they pulled away.

  Mel had been let off with a warning, insisting that he’d had no idea what the kids had planned until he’d gotten out in the water. Troy had backed him up, but he suspected the officers knew better.

  When the vans drove out of sight, he asked Mel, “What now? Where you goin’?”

  “Gotta get me a dang tug to tow that heap o’ junk in and see what gives with the engine.”

  “I know a guy down at the pier. He’s probably the cheapest tow you’ll find out here. I’ll give him a ring. Gotta get me a new Jon boat while I’m at it. Storm took mine off.”

  Mel, upon seeing Troy’s phone, eyed it and said, “You mind if I borrow that thing?”

  Troy shrugged and handed him the phone. Mel squinted his eyes and pecked around on the screen. A few seconds later he grinned and tossed the phone back to Troy.

  “Thanks to you, I’m good with whatever he charges.”

  Troy smiled. “You need a ride back to town?”

  “Nah.” Mel sniffed and scratched his chin. “I think I’ll see if I can find me a cab and grab a beer.”

  “Be sure not to overdo it, old-timer.”

  “Bah.” Mel waved him off as he started walking down the street.

  Troy watched him limp away, naked except for the shorts he’d loaned him. He couldn’t help but wonder how this story would be exaggerated the next time Mel had a captive audience to tell it to.

  Troy turned around at the sound of Meira sighing in exasperation studying the screen of her own phone.

  “Somethin’ wrong?” he asked.

  “Riley’s phone is going straight to voicemail. She wouldn’t turn it off. I think something’s wrong.”

  “Ya think maybe the power’s out at home and her phone died? That storm was a doozy. Might’ve had her stuck in the dark.”

  “Maybe,” Meira said as she started walking toward the road. “You got your truck here?”

  “Yup.” Troy pointed up the road to a white pickup sitting on the shoulder.

  “Can I get a ride?”

  “Sure thing. I gotta get to work for my shift tonight, but I’ve got a few minutes to take you home.”

  They drove in silence to Meira’s place. When he pulled the truck into the driveway, Meira jumped out. Troy opened his door to get out too, but she stopped him.

  “You get to work,” she called as she jogged up the steps to the front porch. “I’m sure she’s fine. I’ll call you later.”

  “You sure?”

  “I’m sure. Go on now, I don’t want you to be late.”

  “But—” he started to protest.

  Meira stuck her head into the door, then leaned back out and called to him. “All good. She’s upstairs. I can hear her radio. Thanks, Troy.”

  “Alright then. Maybe I’ll drop by on my way home?”

  “Sounds good.”

  He watched her disappear into the house and sat studying the house for a few seconds. Everything seemed okay, so he put the truck into gear and eased out of her driveway. Troy picked up his phone and saw it was twenty past five. He was late.

  “Dangit.” He found the store’s number.

  After a couple of rings, Barry answered. “Hello?”

  “Barry, it’s Troy. I’m on my way. Sorry I’m late.”

  “No worries,” Barry said. “It’s all good. I’ve started on the big clam order. Take your time.”

  The line disconnected and Troy stared at his phone. That’s odd, he thought. Barry’s never sounded so friendly…or relaxed. He shrugged it off and tossed his phone into the passenger’s seat. The trip to the store took half an hour in the slow-moving, post-storm traffic. He stepped through the front door and heard Barry whistling in the back.

  He grabbed an apron off the hook as he pushed through the double swinging stainless steel doors into the kitchen.

  “My bad, man,” he said as Barry looked up.

  He was smiling and slicing into a slab of white meat. The smell was…off. Troy couldn’t help but pinch his nose.

  “It’s fine, Troy. Here grab a knife and help me get this cut up,” Barry nodded toward the table.”

  “What’s up with the smell?” Troy asked as he leaned over the table to inspect the meat.

  Barry tightened his lips. “Power went out for a bit. I had to rescue some of the meat. Don’t worry, I cut away anything that had lost temp.”

  Troy eyed the meat suspiciously. “It’s got a strange texture, don’t it?”

  Barry shrugged. “Hell, I dunno. But we gotta get this order done asap or we’re both gonna get canned.”

  Troy just stared at the table. Something was wrong, but he couldn’t put his finger on exactly what it was…so, he grabbed a knife.

  “Cool,” Barry said. “Gimme a bunch of one inch strips, about three inches long. Got it?”

  “Yup,” Troy started in on a piece and pushed the tingling suspicions aside as he worked.

  “Then we gotta get some spices on this shit and make sure they don’t taste what we smell, capiche?”

  “Sure, got it.”

  Meira jogged up the stairs two at a time calling out her daughter’s name. She could hear the sound of music coming from Riley’s room and assumed she was probably sitting at her desk, working on homework. The music was loud so obviously Riley couldn’t hear her calling—no big deal—but Meira couldn’t remember her daughter ever enjoying the radio before.

  “Sweetie, I’m home,” she shouted over the Beastie Boys as she came to Riley’s door.

  It was pulled closed, but not quite all the way. A sign on the door posted the warning: KNOCK PLEASE. Another proudly displayed several magazine cutouts of some cute boy from the latest boy band sensation surrounded by a few red, glittery hearts.

  Meira knocked again and opened the door.

  “Riley, I—” she paused, finding the room empty.

  She walked over to the radio on the bedside table. It was blaring. The settings showed the alarm that usually woke Riley up for school had gone off and hadn’t been silenced.

  The bed was made with the quilt laid over the top of two pillows. Meira knew instantly what was happening here. Her daughter, the good little girl, had made a fake body under the covers to fool her mom. But if that was the case, where had her daughter gone? And how long had she been away?

  “Shit.” Meira suddenly realized that she had peeked in on Riley last night and had thought she was still in bed.

  She jogged out
into the hall yelling Riley’s name. No answer came back. She ran from room to room, panic starting to set in.

  “Wait, wait,” she told herself out loud. “Duffy saw her at school.”

  She glanced at her watch. School was likely out by now, but Riley wouldn’t have had time to make it home yet. School, Meira thought, gotta get to the school.

  She ran out to the truck, jumped in and backed out of the driveway so fast, gravel spewed out from under her tires. A loud horn blast behind her warned her that she’d almost plowed into the post office truck bring her mail.

  “Shit, shit, shit,” she mumbled raising her hand out the side window in an apology and mouthing the word, “Sorry.”

  The man in the truck waved back, but shook his head in disgust as he jerked open her mailbox, shoved in a handful of envelopes, and then slammed it shut. He pulled forward to the next house and Meira squealed out again. No time to worry about appearances, she thought.

  Traffic was heavy in the early afternoon with school buses and carpools flooding the streets to and from the plethora of schools in the Outer Banks. Meira banged her hand on the steering wheel of the truck as she inched forward.

  Unbelievably, she was stuck behind an ice cream truck shaped like a circus tent going ten miles an hour. The driver was an ancient black man with a patent leather brimmed cap and a bizarre patch over one eye. He was trolling all the kids around and was going slow enough to give them time to pitch the appropriate fit until their parents gave in.

  “Oh, for Pete’s sake,” Meira said and honked her horn, but it had no effect.

  The ice cream truck inched along and finally pulled onto the shoulder of the road, a sufficient crowd of children waving money collected there.

  She jerked the wheel, surged around him, and sped toward the school. The parking lot was half empty when she got there and she swung the truck into an empty staff spot near the front entrance. She caught the door as a couple of boys walked out and nearly knocked them down as she ran into the building. To her right was the counter that separated the public from the front office. A dark-haired receptionist—Meira had met her before, but couldn’t for the life of her remember what the girl’s name was—was smiling and waving to kids as they left.