Strikers

by Ann Christy

  “I can tell you why it’s hard for me to think about killing Creedy, even though I know as well as you that he deserves it,” Jovan says.

  When he doesn’t speak further, I motion for him to continue. It’s an impatient move that says very eloquently that he’s wasting his time.

  “When I was too little to sit a horse, Creedy used to sit me up in front of him and take me with him through the pastures. He’d give me milk right from the cows, still warm, even though my father didn’t like it,” he says quietly. “You don’t understand.”

  He turns to me, his eyes pleading for me to see whatever it is he sees in Creedy, but I don’t and it shows.

  “It was just different when I was young. I didn’t understand about people working for other people or anything like that. All I knew is that my father was never around and when he was, he was stiff and had time only for business. And I knew that when I went outside, Creedy would call me “Pardner” in a funny voice and lift me up for a ride on the horse. I remember that guy,” he says to his feet.

  “And then that same guy was dragging Strikers or Climbers or whoever else wouldn’t be missed back into his house and doing who knows what to them,” I add in a bitter voice.

  His head sinks a little further at that and he nods. “I know,” he says. It’s an admission, a sad one, and it’s filled with grief.

  In my heart, the feeling part of me, I can understand a little. I have memories of my mom when she was younger, before drinking became something she did every day. I remember bright sunshine and the smell of cookies and her laughing. But the part of me that thinks, the cold and logical brain, is well aware that the woman who did those things is as dead as if she had truly died. That part of me is aware that she is dangerous and I stay clear of her.

  Creedy is far worse than my mother. In this matter, my heart and my head both say the world is better off without him. And for certain, we will be better off.

  “I’ll do it,” I say. “It’s just pushing a button.”

  In the end analysis, that’s all it is. On Mario’s boat is a bundle of explosives. It’s a small thing, no bigger than a bagged lunch, but it will blow the boat to pieces. As well as anything on it. The trigger is on this boat, though Mario has one as well in case the opportunity arises—along with a gun and who knows what else—but the intention is for us to take care of it.

  This is our responsibility so the guilt must be ours, too. That’s the way they do things out here in the Gulf lands. Though, generally speaking, they don’t take the law into their own hands to this extent. Our situation is too different for comfort, too nebulous for clarity and too filled with influential and moneyed backers for us to be sure justice will prevail.

  The plan is for Mario to pick up Creedy at a pre-arranged location. He’s been vouched for and it’s all arranged under the promise of a fast boat and knowledge of where we might be. Once he enters the Gulf and the open water beyond, the problem belongs to Jovan, Cassi and me. We just have to make sure Mario is off the boat and away before we do anything.

  It would be better if we could shoot him—and if we can and spare the boat, we will—but the explosives are a safety measure we need. There’s the added incentive that this boat is newly refurbished, so accidents do happen during their first voyages. If we blow it up with a nice big explosion, providing smoke that can be seen on land, then the story that we died as well is much more believable. Besides, Creedy is a much better shot than any of us and from a moving boat, I doubt we could hit him except by accident.

  Jovan jerks me out of my dark thoughts by taking my hand and holding it tightly in his. His fingers are cold and I can smell the gun oil on them. He says, “I’ll do it, but I had to tell someone—you—that it’s not easy or simple. It’s important that you know there’s more to me, more to Creedy.”

  I squeeze his cold fingers in mine. Then on impulse, I lift his hand and press the cold back of it to my cheek. He smiles a little and says, “Warm.”

  Nodding, I say, “That’s the point.” I can only do that so long before it gets weird, so I pull his hand down and hold it between both of mine against the pillow. It’s a good compromise and I get to keep holding his hand without the weirdness.

  “I’ll be okay,” he says, then yawns.

  “I’m guessing you could sleep now,” I say and feel a yawn tickling at the back of my throat as well. I let his hand go—so much for the hand holding—and make to get up from the couch and go back to my sleepless bed.

  “Stay,” he says. At my look, he clarifies, “Just for sleeping. The couch is big enough for both of us. I don’t want to be alone.”

  Since I know with absolute certainty that I don’t want to go back into that room and stare at the curving wall till it’s time for watch, I’m happy to take him up on the offer. We settle in after an initial period of uneasiness at touching each other with so many parts of our bodies.

  The couch really isn’t big enough for two, though it is meant to serve as a bed, and it just fits the two of us if we nestle in close. At first, Jovan puts his arm up on the back of the sofa, which can’t be comfortable, but finally gives up and lays it over the top of me, careful to let his hand rest over the edge of the couch rather than on me. It’s so solicitous that I smile in the darkness.

  With a blanket over us, his icy feet warm up quickly. I hadn’t expected to feel like I could sleep, or even get any decent rest despite the exhaustion I feel, but the sound of his soft breathing behind my ear and the warm, safe feeling I get from feeling his body close behind mine makes me drowsy almost immediately. I think it does for him, too, because his breathing slows and becomes deeper, his arm heavier. Even as I wonder at this, the first time I’ve slept next to a boy, I fall asleep.

  Cassi wakes us with good natured teasing and a few ribald jokes that I don’t take very well in my freshly woken state. It’s full daylight, which means they’ve let us sleep in. I appreciate it, but jokes really should wait till after I’ve brushed my teeth and had some coffee. Jovan won’t meet my eyes and his face is flushed due to Cassi’s teases, but by the time we’re both well awake and on deck, whatever embarrassment he felt seems to have passed. When I pass him a cup of hot brew, he smiles and thanks me just like any other morning.

  Marcus tells us that Mario is slated to pick up Creedy late in the afternoon, but he is far behind us and anticipates we’ll be entering the Gulf by the time they get close. This is good, because being out to sea is what we need. And that will be tomorrow, late in the morning by Marcus’s best estimate of our speed.

  Our day is quite pleasant, all things considered. We’re not stopping anywhere and I’m wearing my standard boy disguise to alleviate suspicion from boats passing by or observers along the distant river banks. The wind is fresh and the sails snap, a sound I find liberating for some reason. We cook pork kabobs over the little stove, chunks of fresh vegetables I wouldn’t be able to harvest for months back in Texas interspersed with the seasoned chunks of meat. One of the most interesting things about sailing, I have found, is that everything tastes and smells far better than it does on land. Whether it is the freshness of the air or the simple act of sailing, it is universally true of everything I have tasted or smelled so far. Even the lingering scent of fish has changed into something pleasant.

  I know Jovan is feeling it, too. His brow has cleared of worry lines and his feet move lightly over the deck as he tends the lines and adjusts sails. He really is a natural at it. The way he swoops past a boom, one arm on a line to keep him from flying over the side, is a study in grace. It’s strange because Jovan is tall and muscular, even with the lack of food during our escape, but I never think of him as graceful. I think of him as strong, sure and confident, but never graceful. Yet, that is exactly what he is and I can’t tear my eyes off him.

  The sun is hanging large and low in the sky when I hear stirring below decks. I almost wish they’d go back to sleep and leave Jovan and I up here alone to enjoy the sunset. We’ve not spoken in several hou
rs now, but it isn’t uncomfortable. It’s like we’re both trying hard to take in every single moment we have because tomorrow at this time, our lives will be different. Win or lose, we will be forever changed.

  He smiles a secret sort of smile at me when the little hatch opens and our two friends make their way up on deck. It warms me from my toes up. He gives me a hand up from our spot and for just a second, we are very close. Then the envelope bursts and the evening is filled with cooking, changing the watch and catching up with Cassi.

  She is aglow. There’s simply no other word for what I see in her bright eyes and utterly content smiles. Everything about her radiates satisfaction and I wonder for a moment what’s been going on down below. In truth, I probably don’t want to know. How two people can fall so completely for each other in such a short span of time is beyond me, but there’s no question it has happened. And I don’t think it is merely a physical attraction gone out of control because they are far too compatible in every other way. They hand each other things before the other has a chance to ask for it and do all the other things that people who have been together for a long time do. His family clearly fell in love with Cassi from almost the moment they met her, which just supports my theory that it is with the Flints that she belongs.

  It gives me a pang to think of it, but I smile through it and hold up my end of the conversation as we eat under the glow of a perfect sunset. There’s even a cake that Susanna packed for us. Chocolate is a rarity in Texas, but here it is quite common and this cake is all chocolate and then some. There are even curls of chocolate poked into the frosting and I shamelessly snitch them off of Jovan’s piece before he can even reach for a fork.

  When night falls, the wind picks up and we stay to adjust the sails once more before going below. My mouth still tastes of chocolate and as Jovan closes the hatch behind me, I feel heat move up my neck when the thought comes to me that he probably tastes of chocolate as well. He must read something in my eyes because he brushes his fingers across my cheek and I see his face flush even beyond the color that the wind and sun have given him. Though I actually try not to, I lick my lips and could just about sink into the deck knowing what he must think. It’s just that my mouth has gone dry, my throat tight and I have an almost overwhelming urge to touch him. Instead, I turn around and clench my fingers into fists, leaving his hand in the air and my cheek missing his touch.

  This time I stay in my room. Tonight it seems to have shrunk even further and every few seconds the blood rushes to my head until I have a crashing headache. Eventually, I resort to counting cows like I did when I was little. Surprisingly, it works.

  *****

  “It’s time for all hands on deck,” Cassi says into my ear. I wake so suddenly that I bang my head on the shelf above the bed, then fall back to the pillow with a groan and an unpleasant word.

  Cassi only laughs and hands me a steaming cup of coffee. When I take it, she wrinkles her nose and leans forward, sniffing at me. Then she waves her hand in front of her face and says, “You smell like you’ve been running for hours. Rough night?”

  I’m not sure how I feel about being woken after a few restless hours of sleep, striking my head hard enough that I need to probe for a wound and then being told I stink. I sip the hot coffee and glower at her while she waits for an answer. One of her eyebrows creeps up so I finally put the cup down and say, “Come closer for a second.”

  She gives me a questioning look, but does it. As soon as she is in range, I pull her down on the bed and rub my stink all over her hair. She gags dramatically and laughs, but when I let her go, I feel better. I take my cup, sip my coffee and say, “Want to take a dip?”

  Even as I open the hatch, I can tell there’s been a change. The air smells different, almost spicy, and the wind is cool and stronger. Cassi motions me onward with a grin on her face and I step up into a whole new world. During the night, we’ve left the river and entered the Gulf. The ocean. It’s almost heartbreakingly beautiful. Puffy white clouds dot the sky and the water is brilliant with a million glints of reflected sunlight. I want to jump in immediately.

  Marcus stops us from doing anything so rash, informing us in teacher-like tones that the ocean is not a river and not a forgiving body of water. We nod obligingly until he gives up, hands us two floatation vests and tosses the ladder over the back of the boat so we can get up and down conveniently.

  I’m eager until the moment I’m standing over the water, my feet on the top step of the ladder and the choppy waves licking at my feet. I decide there’s nothing to do but go for it, so I step down into the blissfully perfect water before I can lose my nerve. There’s no possible way to drown in the huge vest. I can barely dip back far enough into the water to wet my head. Cassi splashes in and paddles around, shooting arcs of water out of her mouth at me and making noises of delight that are almost indecent.

  Marcus has struck the sails and is using the little engines to keep close. Jovan stays on deck to help him until we come back and he can take a turn. He and Marcus keep looking back toward shore and I know they’d both feel better if we kept moving, even though we have hours of time left. I cut my adventure short since I still feel less confident in the water, especially since I can feel how endless the depth is beneath my feet.

  I hand off my vest to Jovan and he wastes no time getting in the water. He fills some pails that I hand down to him so Marcus can wash in the salty water up on deck. Then he swims around like a fish, which is very interesting to watch, and not just because he’s beautiful.

  Cassi’s nose gets red from the sun quickly so she comes back too, wiping a streak of thick white ointment onto her cheeks and nose and cramming a wide-brimmed hat onto her head. Marcus doesn’t seem to mind her ridiculous appearance because he kisses her soundly and then taps the tip of her nose with a finger affectionately.

  She spends the next hour telling me every detail of a sunken city called Nola that we passed during the night. Half underwater and half not, the tops of taller buildings leaning over the shorter ones and boats tied to anything that stuck up out of the water. I almost regret missing seeing the ghostly ruins as she describes them, but then again, everything fills her with wonder.

  Soon enough, fun time is over. We’re all a little sticky from the salt but far cleaner. At least I don’t smell like the sweat that bathed me in my nightmares anymore. Jovan looks better, too. No one wants to think about what we’re going to do, but that doesn’t stop us from hanging on every crackle and pop of the radio.

  The latest transmission said that Mario was at the final port before they entered the Gulf and that he was refueling. He’s not in danger, which is good, and his passenger is behaving, but seems determined. Creedy’s also got a serious grudge going against us and isn’t shy about sharing it. In a way, this is good news, too. It means that we have no cause to second guess what we’re doing.

  In a way, I wish Creedy would make a move so that Mario would have to take care of the problem, but that’s a cowardly thought and I know it. On the river, there are too many people and sound carries from bank to bank. And Mario shouldn’t have to deal with the problem and carry the guilt. Still, if Creedy would just be more himself and do something aggressive, all our problems could be readily solved with no lingering doubts.

  Marcus and Jovan get us underway, the sails full and tight in the wind. The strange little turbines on his mast and at the bow whir so quickly they whine even over the sound of the water on the hull. The batteries will charge quickly with that much wind and I’m glad for it. I want every tool we have at our disposal ready when we need it.

  With nothing left to do but wait and watch, I decide we might as well eat. I’ve also decided that I love the idea of refrigerators and already, I miss the delight of cold water and tea straight from inside one. We don’t have that aboard the boat, but there is a large ice box, much like a smaller version of the hold where they put their catches, and it’s lined in metal and blocks of ice. Marcus says it will last for over a week
but even now, there’s a small pool of water under the grate near the bottom.

  From its depths, I gather all that we’ll need for a meal big enough to keep us, but not so much that it will slow us down or make us need naps. There’s no fish, which seemed odd until Marcus explained that once they start netting their catches, they eat fish for every meal. His mother likes to start them off with something other than that to keep them happy. It also serves to keep them eager for home when it runs out. That information just makes me like the Flints more.

  Jovan helps me, turning the food with quick, meticulous flips of his knife. We’re enjoying the meal until the crackle of the radio brings Marcus to his feet, his plate forgotten. There are no words, only pops and squeals, but Marcus takes notes on a slate tied to the console. When it’s done, he presses a button in a quick sequence on the radio and then turns back to us with a grim smile.

  “They’re in the Gulf, past the gate. We’ve got to slow down and circle back a little or they won’t catch us. The waves are a little much out here for Mario to take a long swim,” he says and dips the last bits of food from his plate without sitting back down.

  We travel back toward land, which is nothing more than a smear of green on the horizon, for about an hour then strike the big sails, leaving only the smaller ones up to keep us steady. The small boat that Mario is in starts as just the smallest dot of white, the blue hull lost against the water. It’s easily mistaken for a wave top for a long while, but the steady approach makes it grow until there’s no mistaking it for a random wave.

  I’m pretty sure it takes a million years for the boat to go from a smear of white to a recognizable boat, but when it does, I want it to go away again. Cassi crouches in front of the wheel, the platform hiding her from view. Marcus steers but keeps looking behind us, gauging the distances and adjusting our course in ways and for reasons I don’t fully understand. He looks confident enough, so I ignore that and focus on Jovan.