Skull Wave (A Troy Bodean Tropical Thriller Book 5)

by David F. Berens

  Mel tapped a digital GPS unit on the dashboard. “Right where you told me to go.”

  Troy inhaled deeply. “Maybe I was wrong. Maybe Jack wasn’t taking them out here. I mean, the ocean is an infinitely massive haystack to hide his needle in. Hell, it’s probably too late any—”

  “There!” Clarice shouted, interrupting him.

  “Huh?”

  He looked back at her. She was jumping up and down and pointing to their port side—north of the line Mel’s boat was cutting in the water. Troy followed her gaze and was met by a similarly gray and dismal view of what at first looked like nothing. He lifted his binoculars and scanned the waves. He was just about to put them down and tell her she was crazy and had seen some sort of ocean mirage when he saw it.

  In the distance—he saw the shape. In the distance, a sharp bow began to emerge from the spray. Troy knew it was them. Mel started turning toward it and throttled up.

  “Faster,” Troy yelped.

  “I’m givin’ her all she’s got!”

  Troy flung the field glasses down and hobbled out toward the deck. Clarice grabbed the edge of his shirt.

  “Hey!” she protested. “Where do you think you’re going? You just going to jump in and swim over?”

  Troy looked back at her and tried to hide the pain on his face, but he knew she saw it. Her gaze softened.

  “It’s going to be okay.” She gripped his shoulder. “They’re going to be fine. But now is not the time to be impetuous.”

  He took a deep breath and the tension in his body eased a little. He nodded.

  “We need a plan,” she started. “It’s not likely that they know we’re coming.”

  “Right,” Troy said. “So, sneak attack? Creep up on ‘em and—”

  “That shit ain’t gonna work,” Mel said, cutting him off. “They’ll hear us coming like a herd of wild elephants wearin’ jingle bells.”

  Troy almost laughed at the bizarre metaphor the old man had apparently created on the spot. Almost.

  “Okay, then.” He shrugged his shoulders. “What do we do?”

  Mel’s face split into a grin that seemed to grow and grow across his face. Troy noticed that the old guy was missing more teeth than he still had. I had to ask, Troy thought.

  “Same thing I did to them guerilla fighters down in Panama. See we was comin’ through the canal and they jumped in front of us in their damn old-school German U-boats. Tough little boats, to be sure, but they weren’t no match for the hull o’ my icebreaker. I say we ram the bastards before they get a chance to get up to speed.”

  Troy opened his mouth to respond, but then closed it. It wasn’t a bad plan at all. Even if they heard them coming, they’d be going too fast for them to do anything about it.

  “But Meira and Riley. If they’re still alive…”

  “I’m just gonna clip the back of the boat. Sheer off their motor and the engine. They’ll be dead in the water and we’ll just mop up the mess.”

  Troy looked back through the windshield. He was surprised to see that Jamaica Jack’s boat was startlingly close.

  “Clarice,” he said over his shoulder. “Why don’t you hunker down in the cabin. I reckon there’s gonna be a bit of a jerk when we hit this thing.”

  “But—”

  “Clarice,” Mel said. “It’s for the best. Let me and the boy do the dirty business.”

  For a second, Troy thought she might resist, but she finally sniffed and walked out. Troy watched her go and was hard pressed to decide which side of her body was her best side. All of them looked pretty dang—.

  “Might want to hang on ta somethin’!” Mel blurted out and rammed the throttle all the way forward.

  The tug lurched and jerked forward at a speed that surprised Troy. He stumbled backward and fell into the chair next to Mel, knocking the old man off his seat. His hand grabbed wildly at the dashboard and his fingers caught hold of the key and managed to turn it in the ignition. They both tumbled to the floor. Troy pulled himself up to see that they were still moving along toward Jack’s boat, but they were slowing. The engine had sputtered and quit and Mel’s tug was losing speed fast.

  “Dangit,” Troy muttered.

  He was no physics expert, but he was guessing they weren’t going to do much damage to the boat. And then Troy saw him. Barry was standing on the deck holding a sword over his head. He was covered in blood and looked like…well, like a madman. Without thinking, Troy jerked the cockpit door open and started running toward the bow of the tugboat.

  “Hey!” Mel yelled behind him, but Troy didn’t stop to explain.

  Barry screamed in such a way that Riley was sure she’d cut his vocal chords with her pipe. It was a ragged, gurgling sound and she could see the gore and tendons hanging down on his neck. Blood pulsed from the wound and she was sure he would pass out soon…but not before he brought his blade down and killed her. Then she saw the shape behind him.

  Oh, God, she thought, his dad is here to join in the fun. But as the figure resolved, she was shocked to see Meira standing just behind Barry. She realized that their entire struggle had only taken a few seconds and her mom had climbed the ladder right behind her. She was clutching her arm to her side and Riley saw the blood and what must be the bone sticking out. She had broken her arm much worse than she had let on. A sob escaped Riley’s throat as she saw Barry tense and start the blade swinging down toward her. With all the effort she could muster, she rolled hard to the side. His sword slammed into the deck an inch from her head. Barry tugged on it, but it was stuck. He’d driven it three inches into the wood. Without thinking, she reached out and grabbed hold of the handle. Heaving her feet up, she thrust them into his chest and kicked as hard as she could, using the sword for leverage. He was shocked at her sudden kick and flew backward, but he had the presence of mind to hang on to his Dadao. The sword jerked free and slid through her grasp, it’s blade slicing both of her palms.

  She cried out as she watched him fall. His momentum carried him stumbling across the deck toward Meira, who had grabbed the jagged pipe and was holding it like a spear out in front of her. Riley watched in horror as he twisted to catch himself, saw Meira there and raised his own blade. They impaled each other, her pipe in his stomach and his sword in hers.

  Riley screamed as she saw both of their eyes widen at the sudden simultaneous lancing. Unbelievably, Barry laughed—cruel, wretched, hoarse sound. Riley thought it sounded like a demon from the Bladehammer game laughing when it had caught its prey.

  “No mortal can kill Tyron the Tyrannical,” he cried, tilting his head back.

  He let go of his sword and banged his fists on his chest. Riley stood up and lunged at him. She banged her fists into his back. Without turning, he backhanded her. His blow felt so much harder and heavier than she could have ever imagined. She felt her jaw jerk to the side and flew across the deck in an impossible arc. Suddenly, she bumped into something. She picked her head up gingerly to see what it was.

  Jamaica Jack stood over her with a grin that she now recognized as Barry’s. Like father, like son. He reached down and grabbed her arms and jerked her upright. It took a lot, but she managed to spit in his face.

  “Son, finish up that wench yer playin’ with and let’s get this done!” he growled.

  Riley tried to wrestle her arms free, but she couldn’t. The man’s grip was like a vise. She kicked his shins as hard as she could, but her strength was spent. She felt like a rag doll in his grasp.

  “Quit yer kickin’, missy. Don’t ya worry, I’ll let ya watch.”

  He flung her around so she was facing the odd embrace that her mother and Barry were locked in. Meira’s face was pale and Barry was teetering too. Blood poured down from both of their abdomens and pooled dark and sticky at their feet.

  “Mom!” she screamed.

  Meira Carr looked up in the direction of the scream. Her eyes fluttered open and she mouthed, I love you. Tears streamed down Riley’s face. Meira turned her head toward the ocean
and then looked back at Barry.

  “Looks like your friends have arrived,” she said to the pale, freckled, red headed boy who was impaled against her.

  Riley watched as her mother jerked a thumb over her shoulder. She followed her mom’s finger out toward the ocean and saw them. Fins. Seven, maybe eight, shark fins circling just a few feet from the boat. Riley watched in terror as her mother grabbed hold of the blade and pipe that joined them together and take a step backward toward the railing. She took another step and Barry stumbled forward.

  “Mom, no!” she cried.

  “Boy, finish that bitch. Don’t ya be playin’ now.” Jamaica Jack’s voice came hot over her shoulder.

  Meira’s backside bumped into the rail and she stopped for a second.

  “Tyron the Tyrannical,” she said. “I hope you can swim.”

  Time slowed again for Riley. She watched her mother lean backward over the rail and tumble over. Barry was stuck. His feet skidded across the blood and rain-soaked deck and his hands caught the rail, but the momentum was too much. His head tipped over the edge and his legs flew up in the air…and they were gone.

  Riley felt Jack’s grip loosen on her. He had yelled something, but she was in shock and didn’t hear what it was. Then they were running toward the rail beside each other. Riley scanned the water and saw sharks lunging, diving, tearing, and churning in a frenzy against the side of the boat. Red blood filled the circle of the beasts that now feasted on Barry…and probably…her mom.

  “Noooooo!” she cried and was about to jump in…

  But then she saw him. Barry Olsen Barron—or Tyron the Tyrannical. His head popped up in the water and he was grinning. How in the holy hell is he still alive? her mind screamed. In some sort of adrenalin fueled rage, he slammed his fists against the sharks around him.

  “No mortal can kill Tyron the Tyrannical,” he growled as they bit into his flesh.

  Riley watched as the nearest maw of jagged razor sharp teeth surged up out of the water and latched onto his head. The shark flipped once and Barry’s head came off in its mouth. The silvery beast fell back into the deep and his headless body bobbed up and down twice before the other sharks swarmed in, smelling the new blood pouring out of his neck.

  There was no sign of her mother. Riley felt the darkness close in around her and the shock took her into unconsciousness.

  The tugboat slammed into the back of Jamaica Jack’s boat with less speed than hoped for, but it was enough to sheer off the engine and some of the aft section. Troy Bodean had been watching the strange, bloody, grappling fight happen on deck in front of him and was trying to make sense of it all. He knew Meira had gone into the water with Barry and he had seen Riley and Jack still on the deck.

  He had tried to time his jump with the collision, but had miscalculated slightly. As such, he slipped on the rail and plunged into the water. Terror coursed into his veins as he hit the icy waves. His first instinct was to swim hard toward the boat, but a massive dark shape raced in front of him and he saw the black doll-like eye of a bull shark. He was headed to the other side of Jack’s boat, likely toward the feeding frenzy happening there. Troy calmed his movement to avoid distracting the shark from his direction. When he was sure the big fish was safely past him, he began to slowly paddle his way toward the opposite side of the boat. Two times he was sure he felt something brush past his feet, but he kept swimming as fast as his nerve would allow.

  An anchor line coming out of the side of the boat was his lifeline. He grabbed hold of it and climbed up slowly, hand over hand. It was slow going until he was able to wrap his legs around the rope and use them to help his ascent.

  When he finally reached the rail, he threw his left hand up and grabbed it. But his hand slipped off as he tried to pull up. The force of his body slipping from the rail jerked his legs from the line leaving him hanging on the rope by just his right hand. He grabbed the rope with his left hand, holding on for dear life. Below him, three ten-foot bull sharks were churning the water. Must’ve eaten everything up, he thought, and now they’re lookin’ for more. He looked back up at his hands and noticed that the hand he’d grabbed the deck with was covered with blood. That was what had made him slip. He wrapped his legs back around the line and inched his way back up to the railing. Several places were bloody and likely slippery, but he noticed a few that were still clean. He heaved his way up and found a clean spot to grab. With effort that made him sweat through the ocean water on his forehead, he pulled himself up on the deck. When his feet hit, both of his hamstrings cramped simultaneously causing him to fall flat on his butt. He grabbed the backs of his legs in pain and rubbed hard, trying to release the cramps.

  “Get the hell off my boat, ya scurvy rat! Yer stinkin’ up the place!”

  The voice surprised Troy and he looked up. It was Jamaica Jack…but he wasn’t yelling at Troy. He was instead standing a few feet away from and old, gray man holding an oar. Mel. The crusty seaman was holding the paddle up and preparing for a fight. Jack was grinning and Troy saw why. In his hand, he held a massive machete-looking knife. Amazingly, Mel took a step toward Jack, who stood his ground. And why not? Only an idiot would bring an oar to a knife fight, Troy thought.

  He opened his mouth to shout at Mel and tell him to get away. Before he could say anything, his eye caught a flutter of movement just to Jack’s right. Riley…covered in blood. Troy wondered how badly the poor girl was injured. And then, Mel lunged at Jack. Oar held forward like a spear, he nearly dove at the much larger man.

  Jack stepped easily to the side and Mel’s wooden oar thumped against the cabin of the ship. The bigger man laughed and his hard, leathery belly shook giving Troy the unmistakable image of some sort of sick tropical Santa Claus. He brought his machete up and was about to swing down on the wiry back of Mel, but before he could, the old guy swung sideways hard with the oar. It connected with Jack’s torso, and Troy was sure he heard a crunch.

  Jack’s eyes flared with anger as he clutched his side. Mel stood up and grinned.

  “If I’m a scurvy rat,” he wheezed at Jack. “I’m carryin’ the black death for you, Jack.”

  Troy couldn’t help but cock his head to the side. He understood the reference, but it wasn’t exactly the kind of thing that would strike fear in most people. In fact, Jack looked a bit puzzled.

  “Ya know,” Mel felt the need to explain, “the plague…black death…1300’s? Bubonic Plague, man. Do ya not know what I’m referrin’ to?”

  Jack snapped. “I know what yer talkin’ about, old man.”

  Troy lost track of the banter between the two old sailors when he saw Riley jerk upright to a sitting position. Luckily, neither man noticed. He felt his eyes go wide and was relieved to see she was looking right at him. He held up a finger to indicate that she should stay quiet. She gave him the smallest, most imperceptible nod. He returned it with a slight nod of his own. He inhaled slowly, trying desperately to think of a plan.

  But suddenly, Mel was taking another swing at Jack, this time from his right side. The blow connected higher on the salty dog’s shoulder and sent him flying down to the deck. He rolled away quickly, his blade clattering as he did. Troy saw a chance. Mel moved to follow his prey and Troy leapt up. He ran to Riley with his arms outstretched. She saw him coming and jumped up. He grabbed her by the forearms and jerked her backward toward him. She almost flew off her feet and Troy was happy to find that she was lighter than he expected. In one swinging motion, he flung the girl back over the shattered aft rail of Jack’s boat and onto Mel’s tug.

  “Run!” he hissed at her.

  She didn’t ask questions. When her feet hit the deck of the boat, she turned around and sprinted toward the cabin of the tugboat. And that’s when Troy realized the damage done to Jack’s boat was more serious than he had guessed. They were taking on water and the boat was getting closer and closer to dipping into the waves. The boat was sinking. Once water got up onto the deck, it would sink pretty dang fast.

 
He jerked his head around and saw Mel standing over Jack. He had his oar pressed into the man’s throat and was shoving downward hard. Jack’s face was bright red and he was gasping hoarsely.

  “Mel, no!” he shouted.

  And then the first bad thing happened. Later, Troy would call it the worst timing ever for a PTSD episode. He no longer saw Jack or Mel.

  He saw Harry Nedman. Screaming in the sand. He heard nothing; the blast that had ripped Harry in two had deafened him. Dang I.E.D. The oddest sensation was the cold sweat that sprang up on his forehead in the searing heat of the desert.

  He yelled and screamed and tried to run to Harry. But they were taking fire from somewhere above. Troy sank to his knees as he watched the light fade from Harry’s eyes. He died with his hand outstretched toward his friend. Troy put his face in his hands. He kept them there until he felt the water splash up on his thigh. Water? What the hell?

  He pulled his hands away and opened his eyes. And the episode was over. Gone as quickly as it had come on. As the scene in front of him began to crystalize, he saw that something had gone terribly wrong for Mel. He was not hovering over Jack anymore with his oar jabbed into the man’s neck. Mel was now leaning back on the rail of the boat, his oar was gone, and Jack had his sword raised and pointed at the man’s chest.

  Troy yelled something, but no sound seemed to come out. Jack plunged the sword forward and Troy watched as it sank into Mel. The old man’s eyes went wide and his tongue jutted out of his gaping mouth. No, Troy thought, I’m not losing another Harry. In an instant, he was running. His knee screamed in pain, but he sprinted as fast as he could toward Jack, whose back was toward him.

  And then the second bad thing happened. The boat tipped back suddenly, it’s bow rising high in the air. Water surged under Troy’s feet and he slipped and fell into the knee-deep water. They were about to go down. That’s when Jack saw Troy. He bared his teeth in an awful grin…a grin full of madness. Troy tried to get up, but his feet couldn’t find solid purchase in the ever-rising blackness of the water. And Jack was on him. He lifted the machete high over his head. It was going to come down in the middle of Troy’s skull.