Brazen Violations

by Jonathan Macpherson

  Canella walked towards the port side, where she thought she would have a clean shot at Mitch and Peter, like shooting fish in a barrel. Before she got there the hatch burst open in her peripheral vision, Betts springing out. She spun with the Uzi, spraying a burst of six rounds per second across the deck as Betts crouched and returned fire. He hit her close to the heart, but couldn’t escape the Uzi onslaught, taking a bullet to the hip, which buckled him over. He got another shot off, hitting the center of her torso before he fell to the deck.

  Blood gushed from Canella as she staggered backwards and fell down the steps into the cabin, landing hard with a crack so loud Betts thought she had split the flooring.

  He lay on the deck, blood pouring from his hip. No major arteries there. Probably not fatal, but my pelvis must be shattered.

  He lay rigid, the agony immense and paralyzing.

  Canella, mouth agape and gurgling blood, lay on her back near the open ammunition trunk. She looked at the blood spurting up from her chest and placed a hand over the wound, alarmed to discover it was about the size of her palm. Death was imminent and she knew it. But she was going to make sure she took Betts with her.

  With a mighty effort she sat up, her torso trembling from the strain. Blood seeped from the corner of her mouth and out both nostrils. She reached into the trunk and pulled out the magazines of ammunition four at a time until she had small stack beside her. Then she collapsed back to the floor.

  Still gripping the Uzi, she aimed it at the wall behind the steps, hoping to blast through to the engine, which was still idling beneath the rear deck. She squeezed the trigger, discharging twenty odd rounds in just a few seconds. The teak finish and fiberglass wall splintered into a dust cloud, which soon filled the cabin, snowing down upon her, into her nose and mouth and eyes, and the cavity on her chest. She coughed and spluttered, then reloaded.

  ***

  Betts lay flat on the deck, the agony in his hip beginning to register. He stuck a finger in the small wound, pushing it in deep to plug the bleeding. He was alarmed to discover he no longer had a hip, just bone fragments that felt like croutons floating in a bowl of warm soup.

  Another burst of bullets ripped through the hull beneath him, soon followed by the unmistakable whump of fuel igniting. Thick black smoke poured from the edges of the closed hatch.

  ***

  Mitch kept Peter on his back, his mouth clear of the water. A helicopter circled overhead, a searchlight beaming over the surrounding water, but not finding them.

  “Over here!” Mitch yelled, waving desperately. But the light didn’t come any closer.

  Then another light found them, a light coming from a boat as it bounced on the swell.

  “It’s the cops,” said Mitch, “we’re going to be okay.”

  ***

  Braun sat beside the police helicopter pilot, Vance in the back, both equipped with headphones and radio microphones. They approached the CarnivOrca, smoke billowing from the rear deck.

  “That’s Betts,” Braun said, pointing to the prostrate figure on the deck.

  “He’s armed, and wounded by the looks of it,” Vance said.

  Betts, still on his back, waved one arm at the helicopter.

  “You got a rope-ladder on this thing?” Braun asked.

  “Yes sir,” the pilot said.

  ***

  Canella looked up through the moon-roof as the chopper hovered directly overhead, the searchlight blinding her. She took aim with the Uzi and blazed away, closing her eyes as the moon-roof glass shattered and rained upon her. But she only fired a few shots before the magazine was empty.

  The helicopter pilot didn’t notice the bullet piercing the floor of the aircraft and lodging in the frame of his seat, but Vance yelled when the next bullet split his thigh and bounced off the ceiling.

  “Aahh! I’ve been shot!” he said.

  “Fall back!” Braun yelled, and the pilot obliged, rapidly ascending at a diagonal.

  ***

  Betts wondered how much ammunition Canella had left. The chopper wouldn’t be able to pick him up while she was still blazing away, and if one of her bullets didn’t kill him, the fire surely would. He had to finish her off.

  Betts clawed his way towards the open cabin door, leaving a trail of blood on the deck. He peered over and saw Canella, lying flat on her back and unclipping a magazine. Her boots were just a few feet from the base of the steps. She was looking up at the ceiling and didn’t notice him as she loaded another clip. Betts ducked out of sight, hugging the floor as she aimed at the deck. Another storm of bullets erupted below Betts, ending in seconds. The deck beneath him began to creak and bend. He knew it was going to give and clawed to one side. But not far enough and when it collapsed he rolled into the cabin.

  Canella lifted her head to see the havoc she had created. Betts looked through the dust cloud and saw her glassy eyes staring at him. She took aim with the Uzi but Betts fired first, blasting off her forearm from the elbow. She made an odd, grunting sound, her lungs almost completely filled with blood. She was no threat now, didn’t have long to go. But he thought he might not either, judging by the way the water was pouring in through hull.

  Betts looked up and wondered how the hell he was going to get out. The idea of drowning beside Canella repulsed him and he scanned the wreck for an escape route. The steps looked like they had been chain-sawed down the middle, but they still lead out of the roofed cabin onto the collapsed deck where the fire was now raging in the engine cavity. It was the only way out. Once he got on the deck he could try to crawl off the side into the water. Betts pulled himself over the debris and grabbed a hold of a step.

  Canella was barely conscious, the blood only trickling out of her wounds now. She noticed the remote to the chest-cam on the floor nearby and reached for it with her remaining hand. It was just out of reach. She looked over to Betts, who had made it up a few of steps. Forcing her upper body sideways she reached again, just managing to touch it. But she couldn’t quite get a hold of it.

  Betts grabbed another broken step and pushed off the debris with his good leg, climbing closer to the deck.

  Canella tried again, groaning with effort. She finally grabbed the device and dragged it closer, spitting blood with each breath.

  Betts was almost out of the cabin when the familiar warning sound of crackling electricity buzzed in his chest.

  Oh Christ, no! Not now!

  He pushed a little further but then the blast struck, disabling him and racking his body with agony.

  Canella heard him groan and her mouth curled slightly into a smile. But she was too weak to keep pressure on the button.

  The current stopped in Betts’s chest and he reached forward.

  Knowing she had seconds left, Canella lifted her hand in one last effort and put it on top of the button, hoping to keep the current running after she had gone. She gargled a little more, then lay still, her last wish fulfilled as the dead weight of her forearm kept the button depressed, and the current running through Betts’ body.

  Betts could feel his heart spasming. Surely it couldn’t take much more punishment. He could hear the water flooding into the boat now. Then it began to sink. The stern went first, the fire swallowed by the dark water. As the back of the boat sank, the front end began to see-saw out of the water, approaching the vertical. Canella’s arm slid off the remote and Betts was finally freed from the current.

  ***

  The chopper’s searchlight flooded the cabin and Betts could see the water rising quickly. As the boat became vertical, debris fell all around him. He looked up to see Canella sliding down towards him. He tried to move sideways but could not escape her corpse, which pinned him against a corner cupboard. They lay face to face, her nose squashed against his cheek, a foul, abdominal gas leaking from her mouth. The water level was rising fast and he tried to wrestle her off, but they were both jammed in. Then they were under water.

  Betts moved his head to one side, grinding past her cold fla
bby cheeks and thrusting his face just above the water. He took in a last breath and a mouthful of her oily hair, before sinking below the water level.

  Betts tried again to wrestle free, but he was weak and she was heavy. He thrashed and finally pushed her to arm’s length, then kicked off from the wall and slid out from under her.

  Betts swam towards the surface but the sinking boat was gaining momentum, taking him deeper. Soon it would be so deep he wouldn’t have enough air in his lungs to make it out of the wreck, let alone swim to the surface.

  Then he saw his exit: the shattered moon-roof. He pushed off the table top and surged towards it. He grabbed the frame with two hands, the jagged glass cutting his fingers as he pulled himself out of the sinking vessel. Betts kicked away from it as it plunged into the dark depths.

  The light on the surface seemed too far away and the water pressure was immense. It seemed to be crushing him, squeezing the air out of him.

  But he paddled furiously and kicked with his good leg, pursing his lips to keep the air from escaping. He felt like his head was going to explode but he kept going. His vision was going, he knew he was blacking out, but the light on the surface was getting closer, slowly. The urge to exhale was incredible but he knew if he did that, he would inhale a lungful of water and it would be over.

  Just a few more strokes!

  Then he made it to the choppy surface and roared as he released the air from his lungs. He sucked in the salty air before a wave washed over him. It passed and he struggled, barely keeping his head above the surface.

  There was a thumping splash beside him, an orange ring buoy. He grabbed it, panting and glad as hell to see it being dragged by the cop on the water-police boat. The light was on inside the cabin and Betts could see Mitch and Peter huddled, hot drinks in their hands.

  The End

  From The Author

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